#a moment later Chaol was glad he was sitting-as Aelin Galathynius Rowan Whitethorn and several others entered. Mud splattered. Too long hair

[acourtofquestions]

KINGDOM OF ASH (by SJM)

Chapter 48

THE FAMILY REUINION🥹😆😭🫶& MY SOULLL

But when they reached Princess Hasar's battle tent, when they had all gathered around a map of Anielle, they had only a few minutes of discussion before they were interrupted. By the person Chaol least expected to walk through the flaps.

A moment later, Chaol was glad he was sitting down.

Nesryn breathed, "Holy gods."

Chaol was inclined to agree as Aelin Galathynius, Rowan Whitethorn, and several others entered the tent.

They were mud-splattered, the Queen of Terrasen's braided hair far longer than Chaol had last seen. And her eyes ... Not the soft, yet fiery gaze. But something older. Wearier.

Chaol shot to his feet. "I thought you were in Terrasen," he blurted. All the reports had confirmed it. Yet here she stood, no army in sight.

Three Fae males-towering warriors as broad and muscled as Rowan—had entered, along with a delicate, dark-haired human woman.

But Aelin was only staring at him. Staring and staring at him.

No one spoke as tears began sliding down her face. Not at his being here, Chaol realized as he took up his cane and limped toward Aelin.

But at him. Standing. Walking.

The young queen let out a broken laugh of joy and flung her arms around his neck. Pain lanced down his spine at the impact, but Chaol held her right back, every question fading from his tongue.

Aelin was shaking as she pulled away. "I knew you would," she breathed, gazing down his body, to his feet, then up again. "I knew you'd do it."

"Not alone," he said thickly. Chaol swallowed, releasing Aelin to extend an arm behind him. To the woman he knew stood there, a hand over the locket at her neck.

Perhaps Aelin would not remember, perhaps their encounter years ago had meant nothing to her at all, but Chaol drew Yrene forward. "Aelin, allow me to introduce"

"Yrene Towers," the queen breathed as his wife stepped to his side.

The two women stared at each other.

Yrene's mouth quivered as she opened the silver locket and pulled out a piece of paper. Hands trembling, she extended it to the queen. Aelin's own hands shook as she accepted the scrap.

"Thank you," Yrene whispered.

Chaol supposed it was all that really needed to be said.

Aelin unfolded the paper, reading the note she'd written, seeing the lines from the hundreds of foldings and rereadings these past few years.

"I went to the Torre," Yrene said, her voice cracking. "I took the money you gave me, and went to the Torre. And I became the heir apparent to the Healer on High. And now I have come back, to do what I can. I taught every healer I could the lessons you showed me that night, about self-defense. I didn't waste it-not a coin you gave me, or a moment of the time, the life you bought me." Tears were rolling and rolling down Yrene's face. "I didn't waste any of it."

Aelin closed her eyes, smiling through her own tears, and when she opened them, she took Yrene's shaking hands. "Now it is my turn to thank you." But Aelin's gaze fell upon the wedding band on Yrene's finger, and when she glanced to Chaol, he grinned.

"No longer Yrene Towers," Chaol said softly, "but Yrene Westfall."

Aelin let out one of those choked, joyous laughs, and Rowan stepped up to her side.

Yrene's head tilted back to take in the warrior's full height, her eyes widening-not only at Rowan's size, but at the pointed ears, the slightly elongated canines and tattoo. Aelin said, "Then let me introduce you, Lady Westfall, to my own husband, Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius."

For that was indeed a wedding band on the queen's finger, the emerald mud-splattered but bright. On Rowan's own hand, a gold-and-ruby ring gleamed.

"My mate," Aelin added, fluttering her lashes at the Fae male. Rowan rolled his eyes, yet couldn't entirely contain his smile as he inclined his head to Yrene.

Yrene bowed, but Aelin snorted. "None of that, please. It'll go right to his immortal head." Her grin softened as Yrene blushed, and Aelin held up the scrap of paper. "May I keep this?" She eyed Yrene's locket. "Or does it go in there?"

Yrene folded the queen's fingers around the paper. "It is yours, as it always was. A piece of your bravery that helped me find my own."

Aelin shook her head, as if to dismiss the claim.

But Yrene squeezed Aelin's closed hand. "It gave me courage, the words you wrote. Every mile I traveled, every long hour I studied and worked, it gave me courage. I thank you for that, too."

Aelin swallowed hard, and Chaol took that as excuse enough to sit again, his back giving a grateful tinge. He said to the queen, "There is another person responsible for this army being here." He gestured to Nesryn, the woman already smiling at the queen. "The rukhin you see, the army gathered, is as much because of Nesryn as it is because of me."

A spark lit Aelin's eyes, and both women met halfway in a tight embrace. "I want to hear the entire story," Aelin said. "Every word of it." Nesryn's subdued smile widened. "So you shall. But later." Aelin clapped her on the shoulder and turned to the two royals still by the desk. Tall and regal, but as mud-splattered as the queen.

Chaol blurted, "Dorian?"

Rowan answered, "Not with us." He glanced to the royals.

"They know everything," Nesryn said

"He's with Manon," Aelin said simply.

Chaol wasn't entirely sure whether to be relieved. "Hunting for something important."

The keys. Holy gods.

Aelin nodded. Later. He'd think on where Dorian might now be later. Aelin nodded again. The full story would come then too.

Nesryn said, "May I present Princess Hasar and Prince Sartaq."

Aelin bowed—low. "You have my eternal gratitude," Aelin said, and the voice that came out of her was indeed that of a queen. Any shock Sartaq and Hasar had shown upon the queen bowing so low was hidden as they bowed back, the portrait of courtly grace.

"My father," Sartaq said, "remained in the khaganate to oversee our lands, along with our siblings Duva and Arghun. But my brother Kashin sails with the rest of the army. He was not two weeks behind us when we left."

Aelin glanced to Chaol, and he nodded.

Something glittered in her eyes at the confirmation, but the queen jerked her chin at Hasar. "Did you get my letter?"

The letter that Aelin had sent months ago, begging for aid and promising only a better world in return. Hasar picked at her nails. "Perhaps. I get far too many letters from fellow princesses these days to possibly remember or answer all of them."

Aelin smirked, as if the two of them spoke a language no one else could understand, a special code between two equally arrogant and proud women. But she motioned to her companions, who stepped forward. "Allow me to introduce my friends. Lord Gavriel, of Doranelle." A nod toward the tawny-eyed and golden-haired warrior who bowed.

Tattoos covered his neck, his hands, but his every motion was graceful. "My uncle, of sorts," Aelin added with a smirk at Gavriel. At Chaol's narrowed brows, she explained, "He's Aedion's father."

"Well, that explains a few things," Nesryn muttered.

The hair, the broad-planed face ... yes, it was the same. But where Aedion was fire, Gavriel seemed to be stone. Indeed, his eyes were solemn as he said, "Aedion is my pride." Emotion rippled over Aelin's face, but she gestured to the dark-haired male. Not someone Chaol ever wanted to tangle with, he decided as he surveyed the granite-hewn features, the black eyes and unsmiling mouth.

"Lorcan Salvaterre, formerly of Doranelle, and now a blood-sworn member of my court." As if that weren't a shock enough, Aelin winked at the imposing male. Lorcan scowled. "We're still in the adjustment period," she loudly whispered, and Yrene chuckled.

Lorcan Salvaterre. Chaol hadn't met the male this spring in Rifthold, but he'd heard all about him. That he'd been Maeve's most trusted commander, her most loyal and fierce warrior.

That he'd wanted to kill Aelin, hated Aelin.

How this had come about, why she was not in Terrasen with her army ... "You, too, have a tale to tell," Chaol said.

"Indeed I do." Aelin's eyes guttered, and Rowan put a hand on her lower back. Bad— something terrible had occurred. Chaol scanned Aelin for any hint of it. He stopped when he noticed the smoothness of the skin at her neck. The lack of scars. The missing scars on her hands, her palms. "Later," Aelin said softly. She straightened her shoulders, and another golden-haired male came forward. Beautiful. That was the only way to describe him. "Fenrys ... You know, I don't actually know your family name."

Fenrys threw a roguish wink at the queen.

"Moonbeam."

"It is not," Aelin hissed, choking on a laugh.

Fenrys laid a hand on his heart. "I am blood-sworn to you. Would I lie?"

Another blood-sworn Fae male in her court.

Across the tent, Sartaq cursed in his own tongue. As if he'd heard of Lorcan, and Gavriel, and Fenrys.

Aelin gave Fenrys a vulgar gesture that set Hasar chuckling, and faced the royals. "They're barely housebroken. Hardly fit for your fine company." Even Sartaq smiled at that. But it was to the small, delicate woman that Aelin now gestured. "And the only civilized member of my court, Lady Elide Lochan of Perranth." Perranth. Chaol had combed through the family trees of Terrasen just this winter, had seen the lists of so many royal households crossed out, victim to the conquest ten years ago.

Elide's name had been among them.

Another Terrasen royal who had managed to evade Adarlan's butchers.

The pretty young woman took a limping step forward, and bobbed a curtsy to the royals. Her boots concealed any sign of the source of the injury, but Yrene's attention shot right to her leg. Her ankle. "It's an honor to meet all of you," Elide said, her voice low and steady. Her dark eyes swept over them, cunning and clear. Like she could see beneath their skin and bones, to the souls beneath.

Aelin wiped her hands. "Well, that's over and done with," she announced, and strode to the desk and map. "Shall we discuss where you all plan to march once we beat the living shit out of this army?"

[kingdom-of-dorian]

for what it feels like the 100th time, I've reread the TOG series all over again.

but, kingdom of ash, damn. the entire book's filled with goosebumps and emotional moments, so I will share my favorite ones with you.

• "Her lip curled. “I would be inclined to believe that if I hadn’t seen you crawling after Maeve on the beach.”

Lorcan blinked at the words, the hatred in them, stunned enough that he let her walk past this time. Elide didn’t so much as look back.

Not until Lorcan said, “I didn’t crawl after Maeve.”

She halted, hair swaying. Slowly, she glanced over her shoulder. Imperious and cold as the stars overhead."

“I crawled …” His throat bobbed. “I crawled after Aelin.”

• The spider hissed, “I do not need a boy’s mercy—”

“It is a king’s mercy you receive,” Dorian said coldly, “and I’d suggest being quiet long enough to receive it.” Rarely, so rarely did Manon hear that voice from him, the tone that sent a thrill through her blood and bones. A king’s voice.

• Let it kill him, wreck him. He would not serve. Not another heartbeat. He would not obey.

He would not obey.

And slowly, Fenrys got to his feet.

honestly, this entire chapter...

• ““Please,” Aedion bellowed. The word was devoured by the screams of the dying. “Please!”

He’d make any bargain, he’d sell his soul to the dark god, if they spared her.

He hadn’t meant it. He took it back, all those words.

Useless. He’d called her useless. Had thrown her into the snow naked.

He took it back.

Aedion sobbed, flinging himself toward her as Lysandra tried again to rise, using her shield to balance her weight.

Men rallied behind her, waiting to see what the Fire-Bringer would do. How she’d burn the ilken.

There was nothing to see, nothing to witness. Nothing at all, but her death.

Yet Lysandra rose, Aelin’s golden hair falling in her face as she hefted her shield and pointed the sword between her and the ilken.

The queen has come; the queen fights alone.

Men ran back to the front line. Turned on their heels and raced for her.

Lysandra held her sword steady, kept it pointed at the ilken in defiance and rage.

Ready for the death soon to come.Please,” Aedion bellowed. The word was devoured by the screams of the dying. “Please!”

He’d make any bargain, he’d sell his soul to the dark god, if they spared her.

He hadn’t meant it. He took it back, all those words.

Useless. He’d called her useless. Had thrown her into the snow naked.

He took it back.

Aedion sobbed, flinging himself toward her as Lysandra tried again to rise, using her shield to balance her weight.

Men rallied behind her, waiting to see what the Fire-Bringer would do. How she’d burn the ilken.

There was nothing to see, nothing to witness. Nothing at all, but her death.

Yet Lysandra rose, Aelin’s golden hair falling in her face as she hefted her shield and pointed the sword between her and the ilken.

The queen has come; the queen fights alone.

Men ran back to the front line. Turned on their heels and raced for her.

Lysandra held her sword steady, kept it pointed at the ilken in defiance and rage.

Ready for the death soon to come.

• A moment later, Chaol was glad he was sitting down.

Nesryn breathed, “Holy gods.”

Chaol was inclined to agree as Aelin Galathynius, Rowan Whitethorn, and several others entered the tent.

• Aelin. Aelin was—

Arcas neared the earth, talons splaying. Aelin hit the ground, rolling, rolling, until she uncoiled to her feet.

Right in the path of that wave.

“Oh gods,” Fenrys breathed, seeing her, too.

They all saw her.

The queen on the plain.

The endless wall of water surging for her.

• “I shall answer Terrasen’s call,” Manon said.

Asterin stepped to her side, fearless as she surveyed the assembled camp. “As shall I.”

Sorrel flanked Manon’s right. “So shall the Thirteen.”

Manon waited, hardly daring to acknowledge the thing that began burning in her chest.

Then Bronwen stepped up, her dark hair blowing in the chill wind. “The Vanora hearth shall fly north.”

Another witch squared her shoulders. “So shall the Silian.”

And so it went.

Until the leaders of all seven of the Great Hearths stood gathered there.

• But he still said, The king I wish to be is the opposite of what you are. He gave Maeve a smile. And there is only one witch who will be my queen.

• “We came,” Manon said, loud enough that all on the city walls could hear, “to honor a promise made to Aelin Galathynius. To fight for what she promised us.”

Darrow said quietly, “And what was that?”

Manon smiled then. “A better world.”

• Her Second, her cousin, her friend, smiled, eyes bright as stars. “Live, Manon.”

Manon blinked.

Asterin smiled wider, kissed Manon’s brow, and whispered again, “Live.”

• A horn cleaved through the air, through the battle, through the world.

Aedion went still.

Whirled toward the direction of that horn, to the south. Beyond Morath’s teeming ranks. Beyond the sea of blackness, to the foothills that bordered the edge of Theralis’s sprawling plain.

Again, that horn blared, a roar of defiance.

“That’s no horn of Morath,” Lysandra breathed.

And then they appeared. Along the edge of the foothills. A line of golden-armored warriors, foot soldiers and cavalry alike. More and more and more, a great line spreading across the crest of the final hill.

Filling the skies, stretching into the horizon, flew mighty, armored birds with riders. Ruks.

And before them all, sword raised to the sky as that horn blew one last time, the ruby in the blade’s pommel smoldering like a small sun …

Before them all, riding on the Lord of the North, was Aelin.

• Maeve extended a hand before her, darkness swirling in her cupped palm. “There are no gods left to watch, I’m afraid. And there are no gods left to help you now, Aelin Galathynius.”

• “Terrasen is my home,” Aelin said. It was the only answer in her heart.

Darrow smiled—just a bit. “So it is.” He bowed his head. Then his body. “Welcome,” he said, then added as he rose, “Your Majesty.”

But Aelin looked to Evangeline, the girl still beaming.

Win me back my kingdom, Evangeline.

• She beckoned her court forward.

Then smiled at Dorian and Chaol, at Yrene and Nesryn and Sartaq and their companions. And beckoned them forward, too.

Brows rising, they approached.

But Aelin, crowned and glowing, only said, “Walk with me.” She gestured to the gates behind her. “All of you.”

This day did not belong to her alone. Not at all.

And when they all balked, Aelin walked forward. Took Yrene Westfall by the hand to guide her to the front. Then Manon Blackbeak. Elide Lochan. Lysandra. Evangeline. Nesryn Faliq. Borte and Hasar and Ansel of Briarcliff.

All the women who had fought by her side, or from afar. Who had bled and sacrificed and never given up hope that this day might come.

“Walk with me,” Aelin said to them, the men and males falling into step behind. “My friends.”

The bells still ringing, Aelin nodded to the guards at the castle gates.

They opened at last, and the roar from the gathered crowds was loud enough to rattle the stars.

As one, they walked out. Into the cheering city.

[aelin-and-feyre]

A School of Fire and Shadow (Part 2)

Big thank you to @rhysand-and-rowan for being my beta on this chapter!

Tagging: @starzablaze @hannahnosretep @runesandfaes @mayhemories @illyrian-queen @bluephoenix222 @carolineherr15 @rugrat-mama @rowanismybae @themajorindianfangirl @a-courtof-fangirls-and-fanfics (let me know if you want to be tagged in the future!)

TOG x ACOTAR Crossover - Hogwarts au

House Key

Last Part  Next Part 

The Great Hall was surreal, Rhysand had to admit. The mystical ceiling itself was unbelievable and the floating candles high above were both concerning and amazing. During the entire feast, the new Slytherin kept making sure no hot wax had accidentally fallen onto his plate.

When the Sorting Hat had been placed on his head, Rhys had been pretty sure he would be put in the snake house, as his father had been and his father before him. Azriel had joined not much later, a small smile on his face as the rest of the Slytherin table clapped for him. He could not help but feel a bit disappointed when Feyre was sorted into Gryffindor. Quickly, Rhys shook off the feeling. She was just a girl, and besides, cooties.

Aelin sauntered over to the Slytherin table, smiling grandly and sitting across from Rhysand after the Hat had been lifted from her head. “Why hello, Rhys.” She greeted, a wicked glint in her eye so intriguing that Rhysand suddenly found himself smiling back.

“Ready to rule the school, Aelin?” He inquired, quirking an eyebrow at the witch. From what he interpreted from the train ride, Aelin was just as much of a troublemaker as he was.

“Depends,” She responded, her eyes flickering briefly to Azriel. “Are you always as much of a buffoon as you were around Feyre?”

His best friend sent him a sideways glance but didn’t say anything, bless him. “Not usually, are you always as much of a pain as you were around Whitethorn?” Just as he said it, Rhysand noticed Rowan walking stoically to the Gryffindor, taking a seat next to Feyre. He did not mention it to Aelin but he had a feeling she had been listening anyway.

“Usually, yes.” Aelin smirked. “But that’s why this is going to be so great.”

Before Rhys could respond, a new witch stalked towards the table, her long white hair, extremely pale skin, and fierce golden eyes intimidating him just a bit. Aelin narrowed her eyes at the witch as she sat down next to her, the latter seeming to scrutinize her as well. Finally, they both broke into mischievous grins. “You’re going to be a piece of work, aren’t you, Blackbeak?”

The witch shrugged. “Aren’t we all, Galathynius?”

From what Rhys could tell, they didn’t previously know each other, but just knew how to spot competition, or an uneasy alliance. Cauldron, they would make a weird bunch.

“Wait, you’re Manon Blackbeak?” A third year Slytherin asked, deciding not to pretend like she wasn’t listening anymore. Rhys turned to look at the speaker and was taken aback by how similar she looked to Feyre. Must be a sister or other relative.

Manon nodded, not looking the least bit uncomfortable, as Rhys would have been in the same situation. Her face remained uninterested, but it almost seemed as if the third year was equally bored, already done with the conversation as her attention was turned back to the front of the Hall. Rhysand met Aelin’s gaze across the table and they both shrugged. Perhaps they should get used to the unusual at Hogwarts.

When the Sorting Hat finished, Headmistress Maas made a speech. She welcomed them to the school and proclaimed her hopes that the year would go smoothly for everyone. And then, the food arrived.

It was utterly delicious, and Rhys stuffed himself full with all the feast had to offer. Aelin and him became easy friends, bonding over their love of food. Manon seemed to be the opposite of a vegetarian, though Rhysand would never judge. His eyes may have bulged just a bit when he saw the amount of meat that she piled onto her plate, however.

About halfway through the meal, and a couple silent conversations between Rhys and Aelin, curiosity finally got the better of his new witch friend. “Why did that third year know your name?” Aelin asked Manon nonchalantly.

Manon took a bite of her chicken leg before responding. “Matron Blackbeak is my grandmother.” She said around a mouthful of meat. Her head jerked towards the head table where a older witch sat with about the same amount of bones on her plate to match the amount of meat Manon still possessed on hers. “She’s the flying instructor here.”

Rhysand gulped. The Matron did not look altogether loving towards children. He wondered briefly what prompted her to become a teacher in the first place. Azriel nudged Rhys in the side to get him to stop staring. Instead, his eyes averted to another teacher, a rather beautiful red-haired one that was talking to a man next to her.

When she caught Rhys’ gaze, she winked before going back to her conversation. Rhysand felt his cheeks heat, quickly looking down at his plate before he could embarrass himself anymore.

“That’s Amarantha, the Potions Mistress,” The third year from earlier interrupted again, not seeming to care that she was blatantly eavesdropping and watching them if she had seen where he had been looking. “And the Professor she’s talking to?” Her voice became disgusted. “That’s Professor Hybern, charms teacher and real pain in the ass.” The girl’s eyes skimmed over her audience of eleven year olds and she shook her head. “Forget that last part. Watch out for both of them though, not the best people in the world.”

Rhysand nodded. “Thanks for the advice.” But she had already turned back to her food.

The dessert appeared then, making the four of them jump. When she recovered, Aelin’s squeal practically burst his eardrum. She grabbed for the chocolate cake and was half done with it by the time Rhysand had gotten her attention again. He gestured to the head table and they surveyed it together, marking and observing. When they found each others gaze again, both nodded. 

Whatever came their way, Aelin and Rhys would have each other’s backs, because there was a distinct possibility that Headmistress Maas’ wish for a smooth year was severely misplaced.

...

“Gryffindor!” The Sorting Hat shouted in Rowan’s ear, making him jump, even though he knew it was coming. Rowan’s eyes found Lorcan’s at the Slytherin table as the Hat was lifted from his head. His older cousin’s face was expressionless, as always, but Rowan couldn’t help but feel guilty that he hadn’t been sorted into Slytherin.

He could feel her gaze on him. The two eyes that had been trained on his head since the moment his name was called. He hadn’t looked at her yet, had been instructed by Lorcan to not make contact until she did. His cousin felt pretty confident that Mistress Maeve would want him in her group, and just the thought of it had his palms sweating in anticipation. He sincerely hoped that him not getting into Slytherin didn’t mean that he wouldn’t be accepted into her cadre.

Eventually, he felt her gaze move, and Rowan shook off the remaining sensation as he walked the rest of the way to the Gryffindor table.

Feyre waited there, along with three other first years boys. He took a seat next to the witch, nodding to her in recognition and then introduced himself to his fellow Gryffindor wizards.

“You okay?” He asked Feyre, noticing her downcast expression. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one who was disappointed by the Sorting Hat’s choice.

Feyre shrugged half-heartedly. “I had a fifty-fifty chance of getting into a house with one of my sisters.” She explained. “Nesta is in Slytherin and Elain is in Hufflepuff but I got put into Gryffindor.” She pouted.

Hesitantly, because girls are gross, Rowan laid a hand on her shoulder. “It’ll be okay,” He tried, not very good at the whole ‘comforting’ thing. “We’ll have loads of fun in Gryffindor, I promise.” Even though he wasn’t sure about that himself.

Feyre nodded, smiling slightly at him. “Thanks Rowan. I shouldn’t even be surprised anyway. My sisters and I are nothing alike, of course we’d be put in separate houses.” She glanced over to the Slytherin table and Rowan followed her gaze.

A older witch, perhaps third or fourth year, that looked shockingly like Feyre was taking over Rhysand to say something to Manon Blackbeak. Rowan could not deny the family resemblance - light skin, brown hair, blue-grey eyes - but Feyre was also right about their different personalities. While Nesta’s face may look like Feyre’s, it did not hold the same kind, forgiving softness that the younger sister possessed.

“Yeah, you’ll have a much better time with me than her, I’m sure.” Rowan chuckled, retracting his hand from the witch’s shoulder and turning to listen to Headmistress Maas.

Chaol and Cassian had started up an easy conversation once the food had been served, and Tarquin and Feyre were talking effortlessly. If Rowan had cared enough to pay more attention, he might think that the wizard was flirting with her, though that might as well have just been the young boy’s personality.

“Hey... Rowan, right?” A second year further down the table called his attention. Rowan looked over to see the blonde from the train, Aedion, if he remembered correctly. Same blue and gold eyes and golden hair as Aelin, though Rowan wasn’t thinking about her, or the fact that she was sitting at the Slytherin table this very moment chatting it up with Rhysand. Briefly, he wondered how Aedion felt about his cousin in the snake house.

“Uh, yeah, hi,” Rowan said, his voice cracking and making him want to die. Lorcan already had a incredibly deep voice, but Rowan’s was embarrassingly high. He had just been glad Aelin hadn’t brought it up on the train.

“What do you think, man? Glad to be in Gryffindor?” Aedion asked, gesturing to the crowded table full of students scarfing down food.

Rowan didn’t particularly love lying, nor did he love coming off rude. “Yeah, I guess,” He shrugged noncommittally.

“Aw, come on, you’ll love it,” Rowan had a feeling his disappointment had shown before, and now the older wizard was trying to cheer him up, just as he had tried to cheer up Feyre. “Varian, the Head of Gryffindor, is awesome. Most of the time, he’s so caught up with Professor Amren that he let’s us do whatever we want!”

That caught Rowan’s attention. He glanced towards the head table where the teachers sat, scanning for the two professors who had originally welcomed them. They sat side by side, the witch looking stoically out at the hall, drinking a glass of... something Rowan could not see, and fully ignoring the wizard beside her. Professor Varian, with his large frame, ate visibly tense, as if restraining himself from talking to her.

“They don’t look like they’re together,” Rowan turned back to Aedion.

“That’s because they’re not,” A red-haired wizard with one brass eye interrupted the conversation with a chuckle. “Varian is hopelessly in love with Professor Amren, but refuses to admit it. It’s a rather funny circumstance though: Professor Varian, Head of Gryffindor, in love with Professor Amren, Head of Slytherin.”

Despite himself, Rowan’s eyes flickered to the Slytherin table, where Aelin and Rhysand were also currently examining the head table. His eyes were back on the two second years in front of him within a second, but Aedion had caught the look. The older wizard smiled. “Oh, Rowan,” He paused, his own gaze switching to his younger cousin, confusion masking his eyes for a moment before looking back to Rowan. “Good luck, brother.”

Rowan harrumphed. He didn’t need luck with anything. What did he need luck on? Nothing. There was nothing that needed luck whatsoever.

Cheeks red but stomach grumbling, Rowan turned back to his meal. He caught the end of Feyre’s conversation with Tarquin. “I wonder what it teaches.” She murmured.

Rowan followed their gaze to another teacher, sitting at the far end of the table. Feyre had called the person ‘it’ and he was sure that was probably a good assumption. It wore a cloak that concealed much of it’s face, but Rowan could just see the tip of a long nose, it’s skin cracked and flaky. It was looking down to eat but when it raised it’s head, Rowan was startled to see milky white pools where it’s eyes should be. The fingers that grasped the fork were too long to be normal, with black nails clinking against the metal.

“What is that?” He whispered to Feyre, who jumped a bit at the unpredicted noise.

Both her and Tarquin turned to look at him, and Feyre shrugged. “I’m pretty sure it’s a teacher, but I really don’t know. Would Headmistress Maas really let a thing like that teach children?”

“What are you guys talking about?” Aedion asked over Rowan’s shoulder, now making all three of the first years jump. Wordlessly, Feyre pointed towards the far end of the table. Aedion’s eyes followed and for a brief moment, when the boy did not reel back in shock, Rowan wondered if they were just imagining things. “Oh, the Suriel?”

“The what?” Tarquin asked, glancing back to the thing that had now grabbed a whole rotisserie chicken and was picking away at it.

Aedion went really quiet. “The Suriel. It teaches Divination, the practice of seeing the future, and it knows everything.”

“Everything?” Feyre echoed.

Aedion nodded solemnly. “It’s harmless, really, it would never hurt a student, at least I don’t think.” A chill ran down Rowan’s spine. “But if you need an answer, you go to the Suriel.”

“And does Professor Suriel -”

“Not Professor Suriel, just the Suriel.” Aedion corrected, just as dessert arrived, effectively ending all other conversation. Rowan cast one more glance back to the Divination teacher, and saw that Feyre was doing the same, a curious look on her face.

“What do you want to ask it?” He wondered, politely denying the scoop of pumpkin ice-cream that Cassian offered to him.

Feyre’s gaze drifted, seeming to only now notice the sweets displayed in front of her. “I’m not sure yet.” She admitted. “I’ll let you know when I do.”

...

Dorian sent a cursory glance around the room. Chaol got sorted into Gryffindor, no big surprise there as his best friend is one of the bravest people he knows. Other than that, he didn’t know many other people at Hogwarts.

Lysandra and Mor, the two first year girls that were also sorted into Ravenclaw, seemed very nice, if not incredibly pretty. Dorian wasn’t sure he wanted to go for them just yet though, as they’d be sharing a common room for the next seven years. He’d be their friend for right now.

Kallias, the wizard to his right, had been making silly faces at a Hufflepuff girl the entire meal. Dorian had to give props to the boy, he already had a girl just dangling from his fingertips. Of course Dorian could too but it was still a little early in the game for that.

Instead, the young Ravenclaw decided to talk to the ghost girl that had floated in a couple minutes ago. “So, Nehemia, any advice for a first year such as myself?” He wondered, still a little creeped out by the fact that Hogwarts just lets ghosts wander around the castle. Even being raised in a pureblood family had not prepared him for this.

“Fall in love.” Another voice that most certainly was not Nehemia’s spoke up from across the table. Both Dorian and the ghost turned to look at the speaker - a dark skinned second year who looked like he had a permanent smirk on his face. “Sorry to interrupt, I just couldn’t help but notice... Hello there,” He greeted Dorian with a polite smile, but the first year could see the excited flash in his coffee colored eyes. “I’m Helion.”  

“Nice to meet you, I’m Dorian,” He responded. “I’m not sure you’re the best to be giving me advice though, I’m only a year younger than you.”

Helion shrugged, popping a toffee in his mouth. “Falling in love is always a good piece of advice, right Nehemia?”

The ghost studied him for a moment, then turned to Dorian with her eyes rolling. “Don’t listen to him, all he thinks about is romance and... other things.”

Dorian lifted an eyebrow at the wizard who proceeded to lift his glass back in response. “Don’t worry, I think about plenty more things than that, she’s exaggerating. Please don’t hesitate to come to me if you need help studying, I’m very well-versed in almost every subject.”

The sentence was laced with innuendos that Dorian wasn’t sure should be coming from a twelve year old’s mouth or that his eleven year old brain should be understanding. However, the wizard looked sincere, as if he did truly know many things. Dorian nodded once, and Helion went back to talking with some other second years. Odd.

“Everything is odd here, Dorian,” Nehemia muttered, voicing his thoughts. “Better get used to it.”

Absentmindedly, Dorian nodded. His eyes drifted to a the Slytherin table, catching a glimpse of a girl his age with peach skin and glorious blonde hair. He smiled, knowing who he would start trying out his skills on. Roland had taught him well, and now that he was at school, Dorian was ready to master his charm. Like Helion had said, he should take this time at Hogwarts to... fall in love.

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