Harry Potter and The Heir of the Shadow Throne

King's Cross Station was packed with people rushing to catch their trains. The air smelled of metal, oil, and fast food from nearby kiosks, blending into the overwhelming noise of chattering travelers and the occasional echo of a station announcement. Muggle families bustled past, hauling luggage, yelling about tickets, and completely oblivious to the fact that an entire secret society was slipping through a brick wall into a hidden train platform. It was actually impressive. The Ministry of Magic must have been running one hell of an Obliviation department.

Marigold, on the other hand, looked like she was about to hex anyone who so much as glanced at us wrong. She had been gripping my arm so tight, I was considering whether I still had circulation in it.

"Relax, Mom, we look totally normal," I said, trying to sound casual.

She shot me a glare. "Normal? We are literally sneaking you into a wizarding school under a false name, Zephyr."

"Okay, fair point."

As we weaved through the crowds, dodging hurried passengers and overburdened luggage carts, we finally reached the barrier between platforms 9 and 10. I was about to do the classic run-through when my Phase Step accidentally activated, and instead of slipping smoothly onto Platform 9¾, I phased in at an awkward angle and nearly crashed into a trolley full of owl cages.

"Bloody hell!" someone shouted as I stumbled forward.

I barely had time to reorient myself before I heard a scoffing voice. "Watch where you're going, will you?"

I turned to see a pale-haired boy in expensive robes eyeing me with mild disgust. Ah. Draco Malfoy.

"Wow, sorry, I didn't realize I stepped into the Malfoy VIP section of the platform," I said dryly.

Draco sneered. "Who are you?"

I smirked. "Just a kid who nearly Phased into an owl massacre thanks to faulty wizarding architecture."

Draco blinked. Clearly, he had no idea what to do with that information. Before he could recover, a booming voice called out.

"FIRST YEARS, OVER 'ERE!"

As students rushed past, boarding the train in groups, I caught sight of a familiar boy with messy black hair and round glasses. He stood near a red-haired family, looking a little overwhelmed. That had to be Harry Potter. The kid who had unknowingly put down the Dark Lord as a baby and now had an entire world expecting him to be some kind of legend. No pressure, right?

I caught his eye for a second, and he nodded at me uncertainly. Before I could react, Marigold gave my shoulder a squeeze. "Go. And remember—keep your head down."

"Yeah, yeah, no explosions on day one. Got it."

Stepping onto the Hogwarts Express was like stepping into another world. The train was long and sleek, its polished scarlet exterior gleaming under the station's artificial lights. Steam hissed from beneath as the engine rumbled, the scent of warm metal and magic lingering in the air. Students bustled about, dragging trunks, laughing, and exchanging excited chatter about the school year ahead. I found an empty compartment and settled in, watching the controlled chaos unfold outside my window. The train lurched forward with a hiss of steam, the platform disappearing from view as we left London behind. I was just starting to relax when the door to my compartment slid open.

A few minutes later, the door to my compartment slid open, and in walked a red-haired boy, stuffing a half-melted chocolate bar into his mouth.

"Mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full," he said, already dragging his trunk inside before I could even answer.

I shrugged. "Go ahead."

"Thanks, mate. I'm Ron, Ron Weasley," he said, plopping down across from me.

"Zephyr Rid," I replied, keeping it brief. No need to get into details.

Ron unwrapped another chocolate bar, but before he could eat it, the door slid open again, revealing Harry Potter. He hesitated, glancing between us. "Er—sorry, do you mind if I sit here?"

Ron immediately perked up. "You're Harry Potter!"

Harry gave an awkward nod, clearly already tired of hearing his name exclaimed like that.

"Blimey, I knew it! You've got the scar and everything!" Ron added enthusiastically, pointing at Harry's forehead.

I smirked. "Relax, Weasley, you're gonna make him self-conscious."

Ron flushed. "Right, sorry—it's just—you're famous!"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, so people keep telling me."

As the train rumbled forward, conversation turned to Hogwarts, the houses, and all the madness waiting for us there. Ron explained his family's long Gryffindor tradition, while I stayed vague about my background. The snack trolley arrived at some point, and while Ron looked like he was about to pass out at the sight of all the sweets, I realized something much worse—I had exactly zero wizarding money.

Harry, being the unexpectedly generous hero, bought way more than necessary and offered me and Ron some treats. I took a Chocolate Frog, nodding in appreciation. "Guess I owe you one, Potter."

As we ate, Ron explained the moving wizard cards that came with Chocolate Frogs, going on about Dumbledore's accomplishments. Meanwhile, Scabbers, his rather sad-looking pet rat, snoozed on his lap, looking like the most useless excuse for a pet I'd ever seen. But I knew better. That wasn't just a rat—that was Peter Pettigrew, the traitor, the coward, the reason Harry's parents were dead. I watched him for a moment, half-tempted to throw a Chocolate Frog at him just to see if he flinched. He didn't. Still, I made a mental note—keep an eye on that rat. The train continued its steady journey through the countryside, the golden fields rolling past the window as the conversation picked up.

As the train screeched to a halt at the station, the distant glow of lanterns flickered outside, casting long shadows across the misty platform. The air smelled of damp earth and old iron, and beyond the steam hissing from the engine, the towering silhouette of the castle loomed against the starry sky. The chatter of excited students filled the train as doors slid open, and everyone scrambled to gather their trunks. I stepped onto the platform, adjusting my grip on my trunk. Just as I was taking in the night air, a familiar booming voice rang out—Hagrid, larger than life, waving a lantern high above his head.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over 'ere!"

The crowd of nervous first-years quickly gathered around him, their breath forming little puffs in the crisp night air. Hagrid beamed down at us as he led the way toward a narrow, winding path that sloped down toward the lake. We reached the edge of a vast, black lake that stretched out in front of us, so still it looked like glass. Moored along the shore were a fleet of small boats, bobbing gently as the night breeze skimmed across the water.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, motioning us forward.

Harry and Ron climbed into a boat together, and before I could decide where to go, a bushy-haired girl stepped determinedly into the nearest one.

"Are you coming?" she asked briskly, glancing at me as she tucked a book under her arm.

I blinked. Hermione Granger. Her sharp gaze flicked over me like she was already analyzing everything about me.

"Yeah," I said, stepping in as the boat wobbled slightly. Another student joined us just as the boats began moving forward on their own, gliding soundlessly over the smooth surface of the lake. The water was so dark that it looked bottomless, reflecting the starry sky above us. And then I saw it. Hogwarts.

The castle loomed ahead, its massive stone towers rising high into the night, lit by countless glowing windows. It looked impossibly grand, perched atop a cliff with winding staircases visible through its arched windows. The turrets stood proudly against the sky, flickering torches illuminating the ancient walls. It was like something out of a legend, a fortress of magic that had stood for centuries, waiting for generations of witches and wizards to pass through its halls.

I had read about Hogwarts, imagined it, even seen glimpses in my old memories. But nothing had prepared me for the sheer, breathtaking presence of it. For the first time since stepping into this world, I felt something close to awe.

"Wow..." Hermione breathed beside me, her voice barely above a whisper.

I silently agreed. Once we reached the shore, Hagrid led us up a stone pathway to a grand set of oak doors. The castle loomed over us, its windows glowing against the dark sky. As we reached the entrance, the doors swung open, revealing Professor McGonagall standing tall and composed, her sharp gaze scanning over the gathered first-years. The doors creaked open, revealing a grand hallway lined with flaming torches. The sheer size of Hogwarts felt overwhelming, its enchanted ceilings stretching impossibly high above. As we followed the older students into the Great Hall, the murmuring crowd of students turned toward us, their eyes full of curiosity.

Professor McGonagall's eyes flickered over us, assessing. "Welcome to Hogwarts," she said, her voice precise and authoritative. "Before you enter the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. Your house will be like your family while you are here. The four houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each has its own noble history and traditions, and your triumphs will earn you points, while rule-breaking will cost you. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup."

She let that sink in before continuing, "The Sorting Ceremony will take place shortly. While you wait, please compose yourselves."

She turned and disappeared through a side door, leaving us standing in nervous anticipation."

As soon as she left, nervous murmurs spread through the group. Some students straightened their robes anxiously, while others exchanged curious glances. A few whispered frantically about what the Sorting process would entail—whether it involved an exam, a duel, or something worse. That was when Malfoy took his opportunity to start causing trouble.

"So, Potter," Malfoy drawled, stepping beside Harry with his usual air of superiority. "I hear some wizarding families are better than others. You'd be better off making the right sort of friends."

Harry frowned, glancing at Ron beside him. "I think I can tell who the wrong sort are by myself, thanks."

Ron grinned. "Nice one."

I smirked from my spot a few feet away. Malfoy looked like he had swallowed a lemon, his pale face twisting into something between indignation and disbelief. Deciding to twist the knife just a bit, I casually said, "Careful, Malfoy. Too much sneering might make your face stick that way."

Ron snorted, and Harry barely held back a grin. Malfoy's lips curled in irritation, but before he could spit back a retort, Professor McGonagall returned, her sharp gaze scanning over us. "Follow me," she instructed, and we obeyed in nervous silence.

She led us through the towering double doors into the Great Hall, and the sight stole my breath away. Thousands of floating candles hovered in mid-air, casting a warm glow over the four long tables packed with older students. The ceiling, enchanted to mimic the sky outside, shimmered with deep blues and scattered stars. The walls stretched impossibly high, lined with ancient tapestries and tall, arched windows. Gold plates and goblets reflected the candlelight, making the entire hall feel otherworldly.

I had imagined Hogwarts countless times, but reality outshone any vision I had. The air itself seemed to hum with ancient power, woven into the towering stone walls and the enchanted ceiling that mirrored the starlit sky. Every flickering torch and floating candle added to the grandeur, as if the castle was more than a place—it was a presence, watching, waiting, full of secrets just beyond reach.

At the very front of the hall, just before the high table where the professors sat, was a single stool. Resting atop it was a battered old hat with frayed edges and deep folds. It looked ancient, as if it had seen every student to ever pass through these halls—and judging by the way it shifted slightly, I had a feeling it had opinions about all of them.

As I scanned the high table, my eyes began picking out familiar faces. There was Dumbledore, seated at the center, his long silver beard making him look like he had just stepped off the set of a grand fantasy epic. If he suddenly muttered something about 'one ring to rule them all,' I wouldn't have been surprised. He radiated a quiet amusement, his eyes twinkling like he already knew all our secrets—and was rather entertained by them. Then there was Snape, looking like he had just bitten into the world's sourest lemon, his black robes giving him the appearance of a bat lurking at the edge of the table. The way his gaze flickered toward Harry made it very clear that someone was not having a good time tonight.

I leaned slightly toward Ron. "I give that guy five minutes before he either deducts house points or kills someone with a glare."

Ron snorted. "That's Professor Snape. My brothers say he's the worst. Always favoring Slytherins."

"Shocking," I muttered. "You'd think someone that grumpy would at least be neutral in his hatred of all things bright and happy."

McGonagall, now standing beside the stool, cleared her throat, drawing everyone's attention back to the Sorting Ceremony.

Professor McGonagall unrolled a long parchment and began reading names.

"Hannah Abbott."

A blonde girl stepped forward, trembling slightly as she sat on the stool. The Sorting Hat barely had time to settle on her head before it shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!" The table second from the left erupted in cheers as she hurried over to join them, looking relieved. The Sorting Hat would be placed on their heads, and after a moment of consideration, it would shout the name of their house for all to hear. The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers whenever someone joined their ranks, while the Slytherins watched with cool indifference, only nodding in approval when a name they deemed worthy was announced.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, McGonagall called out, "Potter, Harry!"

The hall fell into complete silence. Everyone turned to watch as Harry stepped forward, looking both nervous and determined. Whispers spread like wildfire—everyone wanted to see where the Boy Who Lived would end up. The Sorting Hat barely touched his head before it began speaking. I could only imagine what kind of debate was going on inside his mind. Knowing the books and movies, I had a pretty good guess—something about proving himself, resisting Slytherin, and all that dramatic destiny talk. Maybe the hat was just messing with him for fun. Finally, after a moment that stretched too long, the hat declared, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers, and Harry, looking relieved, hurried over to join them. Malfoy scoffed from a few feet away, clearly unimpressed.

Then, McGonagall called the next name.

"Rid, Zephyr."

Whispers. It was faint, but I caught them. My name was unfamiliar to them. Good.

I stepped forward, feeling the weight of countless eyes on me. Some students leaned forward slightly, curious. Others murmured to their neighbors, likely trying to place the unfamiliar name. It wasn't a famous pure-blood name. It wasn't a name tied to any wizarding legacy they recognized. That was fine by me. But if they knew the truth—if they knew my father's real name—I doubted they'd be whispering. They'd be staring in horror. Maybe even running. It was better this way. Let them wonder. Let them guess.

I climbed onto the stool, my heart steady but my mind racing. Then, the hat was plopped onto my head.

I stepped forward, sat down on the stool, and the hat was plopped onto my head.

I took a seat, and the hat was plopped onto my head. Immediately, a voice echoed in my mind.

"Ah… what do we have here?"

"Someone who would like this to be quick and painless, please," I thought.

The hat chuckled. "Impatient, are we? Let's see… clever, resourceful, but not power-hungry. Brave, but not reckless. A deep connection to… oh my."

I felt the hat stiffen—as if hats could do that.

"What?" I thought warily.

"This wand… this presence… child, you are something quite different."

"Yeah, yeah, I get that a lot. Just sort me already."

The hat hesitated. "You could do well in Slytherin."

"No thanks."

"Hufflepuff, perhaps?"

I nearly laughed. "I appreciate the suggestion, but I'd rather not be a walking contradiction."

"Ravenclaw?"

"Sounds tempting, but I don't need people asking why I talk to my own shadow."

The hat sighed. "You are difficult."

"I get that a lot too."

There was a long pause. Then, finally, the hat called out:

"GRYFFINDOR!"

For a brief moment, I considered arguing. Maybe demanding a recount. Surely, there had to be some hidden fifth house—something like 'Chaotic Neutral' or 'Leave Me Alone and Let Me Tinker With Magic in Peace' house. But, alas, no such luck.

Huh.

Guess I was stuck with the reckless idiots. Neat. As I made my way to the Gryffindor table, I caught a few people staring. Up at the high table, I noticed Dumbledore watching me, his usual twinkle in his eye dimming ever so slightly. His gaze wasn't unkind, but there was something behind it—recognition, maybe? Understanding? Or perhaps just memories of another boy, long ago, with sharp features and a hidden past.

For a brief second, I wondered if he saw a ghost when he looked at me.

Then, just as quickly, he smiled, eyes crinkling as if to say welcome to the game before returning his attention to the Sorting Ceremony. Some just curious, others whispering. The name they knew me by was unfamiliar, but something about me must have been enough to make people uneasy. Or maybe it was just the way I smirked when I sat down.

That night, after the feast, we were led to our dorms, and I barely had time to process everything before my wand pulsed in my hand.

My system pinged.

Hidden Presence Detected.

The darkness in the room twisted unnaturally.

I glanced around, but none of the other Gryffindors noticed anything. Just as I was about to investigate, a voice whispered in my ear—

"Riddle."

I froze.

But when I turned, there was no one there.