By the time the train began to slow, its cheerful whistle echoing through the fog-draped Scottish highlands, excitement had swept through the compartments like wildfire. Students pressed their noses against the windows, eager for a glimpse of the legendary castle.
Petunia, however, remained seated, her face calm, gaze unreadable. Her fingers tapped idly against the windowpane, betraying only a sliver of the anticipation curling in her stomach.
A sudden jolt signaled their arrival. Outside, the platform was a chaotic dance of mist, students, and glowing lanterns swaying gently in the breeze. Somewhere beyond the trees, the lake shimmered like black glass under the moonlight.
The door slid open with a clang.
"Firs' years! Firs' years over here! Come on now!" called a booming voice.
A giant of a man stood at the edge of the platform, bearded and broad as a barn door. His lantern swung above his head like a lighthouse beacon.
"Blimey, is he part troll?" whispered Sirius.
"That's Hagrid," Remus whispered back. "I read about him in the handbook. Keeper of Keys and Grounds."
"Looks like he eats keys, more like," James muttered, then yelped when Petunia elbowed him in the ribs.
They followed the line of nervous children, past the lantern's glow, down the slope, and toward the waiting boats at the lake's edge.
The castle—Hogwarts—rose above them like something out of a dream. Spires twisted into the mist. Lights glittered in arched windows. The reflection on the lake below made it appear as if the castle floated in the sky.
"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called.
Petunia, James, Sirius, and Remus naturally piled into the same vessel.
As the boats pushed off and glided across the water, the silence grew. Even Sirius quieted. It wasn't just the castle—it was the feeling. Like something ancient was watching them, weighing their presence.
Petunia sat upright, cloak flapping lightly in the breeze. She didn't smile. Her gaze locked on the looming silhouette ahead. Something about it all felt... right.
When they reached the far shore, they clambered out. Hagrid led them up a narrow stone stairway carved into the rock. At the top, the massive front doors opened of their own accord.
"All right there, Professor McGonagall, here's the lot of 'em!" Hagrid said with a grin.
A tall, severe-looking witch in emerald robes and a pointed hat stood waiting with arms folded.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take it from here."
She turned to the wide-eyed first-years.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said crisply, her Scottish brogue clear. "You are about to begin your journey as witches and wizards. But first, you must be Sorted into your Houses. They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin."
She paced slowly before them, her eyes sharp and calculating. "Your House will be your family while you are here. Your successes will earn it points. Your misbehaviour will lose them. The Sorting is final. Follow me."
The great double doors to the Great Hall creaked open.
Gasps erupted around Petunia.
The enchanted ceiling reflected the starlit sky. Candles floated high above the tables, which were lined with hundreds of older students in black robes. At the far end of the hall stood the staff table—an array of professors in robes of every colour, all watching with interest.
At the front of the room, upon a stool, sat a battered, patched old hat.
Petunia had read about the Sorting Hat. But seeing it... the way it wriggled and twitched like it was alive? She found it equal parts fascinating and revolting.
"When I call your name, you'll sit on the stool and place the Sorting Hat on your head," McGonagall instructed.
And then the list began.
"Abbott, Myra!"
"Hufflepuff!"
"Bones, Edgar!"
"Ravenclaw!"
One by one, names echoed across the chamber, followed by cheers from the four house tables.
Then:
"Lupin, Remus!"
Remus stepped forward nervously, brushing back his hair. The hat sat for a moment before shouting:
"Gryffindor!"
A few minutes later:
"Black, Sirius!"
There was a hushed silence. A Black being sorted was a rare occasion. The Slytherin table perked up with expectation.
But the Hat paused.
"Hmm… brave, daring, a sharp tongue and a sharper heart… not what your family might expect, but yes, I see it now—
Gryffindor!"
Cheers erupted—loudest from James.
Speaking of...
"Potter, James!"
James practically skipped forward. It took the Hat two seconds.
"Gryffindor!"
He whooped, high-fived Sirius, and sat beside Remus, bouncing in his seat.
Then came silence.
The Hall had hushed again.
"Targaryen, Petunia."
The name echoed off the stone walls like a gong. Eyes turned, murmurs rippled across the tables—Targaryen? Most had never heard of it. The word had the cadence of something foreign, ancient, and oddly majestic.
Petunia stood from the line of first-years with grace not common for an eleven-year-old. Her long coat, tailored and crisp, shifted slightly with her steps. She didn't look afraid—no, not at all. She looked like a young noblewoman striding into court.
James nudged Sirius, whispering, "Look at her. is she from a purebloodfamily?"
"Maybe? , I'm not familiar with the Targaryen name though "
"me neither "
"Wouldn't surprise me ." Sirius muttered, eyes following her.
Petunia reached the Sorting stool and sat without hesitation. Her back remained straight, chin slightly lifted. It was not arrogance, but certainty. The hat was placed over her head, slipping down just enough to cover her eyes.
Then:
> [ding! Mental-type spell detected.]
[Analyzing purpose: reading surface thoughts and personality.]
[Would you like to repel the spell?]
[No.]
With that, Petunia focused her mind entirely. No use letting the hat fumble about on shallow thoughts. If it wanted a read, it would get one—but on her terms.
Her thoughts, instead of wavering with fear or excitement, honed in like a scientist with a scalpel.
How is this hat made? Is it gold in essence or illusion? Could I trace the enchantments if I dissected it? How would it react to a spell of exposure? What protections prevent mental manipulation? Could it be duplicated—no—replicated?
The Sorting Hat gave a startled shudder atop her head.
"Merlin's knees… hold your courses, young lady!" it exclaimed in a voice only she could hear. "I've never had anyone mentally attempt to reverse engineer me mid-Sorting before."
You're the one reading my thoughts, Petunia thought sharply. It's only fair I read you back.
The Hat let out something between a sigh and a laugh.
"Quite the mind… methodical, cold at times, but not unkind… Deep logic. An insatiable curiosity—ruthless in its questioning. You'd make a brilliant Ravenclaw… but there's ambition too. Calculated. Strategic. You could do well in Slytherin. Hmm… yet that resolve, that sharp snap of spirit… Gryffindor could harness it, if you dared. Even Hufflepuff isn't without merit for you. You protect what you value."
A pause 'me?'
The Hat tilted internally.
"I daresay… I haven't had one like you in decades. But you lean, yes—you lean toward the eagle. Wisdom before power. Knowledge before glory."
Then aloud, it declared:
"RAVENCLAW!"
The Ravenclaw table burst into polite applause. Some students clapped with raised brows—she didn't look like the typical bookish sort. Others nodded, impressed by the calm air she carried.
Petunia removed the hat delicately, handed it back to Professor McGonagall with a courteous nod, and stepped down.
She was pleased.
Ravenclaw was more than a house. It was a strategic placement.
The Ministry of Magic—specifically the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Department of Mysteries—was dominated by Ravenclaws. They were the ones promoted, respected quietly but obeyed openly. To be Ravenclaw was to wear invisible robes of status, especially when one played the long game.
Not to mention, Professor Flitwick was one of the finest enchanters in the country. Petunia had read up on him—half-goblin, charming voice, dueling champion. A man of subtle strength and technical brilliance. Exactly the kind of mentor she could learn from.
She reached the Ravenclaw table, slid into a seat between two older girls who shifted to give her space, and offered them a polite nod. They responded with equal grace.
At the front of the hall, Professor McGonagall watched her keenly.
The Deputy Headmistress had been warned by Madam Pomfrey over tea one evening: "Watch that girl. She's far older in thought than her years would suggest. One to observe."
And now, having seen her composure, the faint smirk she wore as if amused by the entire ritual, and the way her eyes roamed not with awe, but with calculation—McGonagall made a mental note of her face.
Yes… that one will be back in my office eventually. Perhaps for trouble. Perhaps for tea. Possibly both.
---
The Sorting Ceremony had ended in a crescendo of cheer and the clinking of silverware. Dumbledore, with that glint in his eye and a tone caught between whimsical and ominous, stood to deliver his parting words.
"A few start-of-term notices, my young witches and wizards…" he began, the room falling into a hush.
Petunia, already sipping her pumpkin juice and analyzing the headmaster's cadence, knew that this part was always the same.
"The Forbidden Forest is, as always, strictly off-limits to all students. And do resist the temptation, won't you? It has been known to… seduce the curious." His eyes twinkled dangerously. Several first-years looked nervously toward the enchanted windows showing dark trees swaying in the night beyond the castle.
"And a reminder: no wandering the corridors after bedtime. Hogwarts may be your new home, but even homes have teeth in the dark."
With that cryptic smile, he dismissed them. Cheers and nervous chatter filled the hall as the students were guided by their prefects to their common rooms.
---
Ravenclaw Tower
By the time Petunia reached her shared dormitory, the vast castle had already begun to hum with the soft echoes of magical life: portraits whispering, staircases creaking, enchanted torches flickering in deliberate rhythm.
Her new room was circular, tucked high in the tallest tower, with wide arched windows that looked out over the grounds. The ceiling, domed and painted like a night sky, shimmered subtly with stars that seemed to shift when no one was looking.
She had expected eccentricity. Ravenclaw delivered.
Her bed was by the window, draped in navy-blue velvet and silver trim. The girl beside her, already unpacking, looked up shyly. Pale, with glasses and an apologetic smile.
"Hi… I'm Martha. I like Ancient Runes… and cats."
Petunia, in her mind a woman nearing forty, smiled inwardly. This would do. No screaming, no bouncing, no questions about shoes or boys. Just a quiet, studious girl in a quiet, studious house.
"I'm Petunia," she said with an elegant tone. "I like books… and a bit of quiet."
The girl smiled, then nodded and returned to sorting her socks.
Excellent, Petunia thought.
She unpacked with precision—robes, ink bottles, her new wand, and of course her enchanted trunk with hidden compartments. Everything in its place. Everything ready.
Then it came:
> [Ding!]
[Sign-In System Activated.] Rewards for first-day attendance at Hogwarts received.]
A neat golden screen appeared in her mind's eye, hovering in her vision but invisible to the outside world.
---
Sign-In Rewards:
Coupon: Strength Upgrade ×2
(Boosts user's physical strength and resilience when redeemed. Stackable. Passive integration.)
£25,000
50 Galleons
One Random Sock
(Pattern: mismatched stars and moons. Quality: absurdly warm. Charm: None… possibly cursed. Use with caution.)
Cube of Desire (Limited Use: 0/6)
(Special Artifact - [Rare])
---
Petunia's brow arched at the last one.
The Cube appeared in her palm—smooth, glossy black, its surface shifting like mercury beneath glass. The moment her fingers touched it, a stream of data surged into her mind, seamlessly integrating with her understanding.
---
Cube of Desire — Artifact Class (Limited Use: 6)
Function:
When activated, the Cube envelops the user and anyone they are in direct physical contact with. Inside, it creates a fully immersive simulated reality tailored to the user's imagination and subconscious intent.
Mechanics:
Reality Simulation: Anything imagined within the Cube becomes tangible—people, places, magical laws, even time.
Persistence: Time flows naturally. Damage, experience, and sensation are all real within the Cube.
Rule Bending: Physics, magic, and emotional logic can be rewritten inside. It is not a dream. It's reality re-coded.
Isolation: Nothing from inside the Cube may be brought out—no objects, no people, no knowledge physically etched into items. However, the experience and mental growth are retained.
Use Limitation: Only six uses are available. Each entry, regardless of duration inside, consumes one use.
Warning: Extended time within may cause emotional confusion or detachment.
---
Petunia stared at it silently for a moment. In the other bed, Martha had fallen asleep, her breaths soft and even.
The Cube pulsed once, faintly, as if acknowledging its new mistress.
Six entries into my own reality, Petunia mused. A place where I can create, experiment, and control every variable…
It was beyond valuable.
She quietly stored it in her system inventory, setting up protective commands so that it could never be activated by mistake.
Then, she accessed the two Strength Upgrade Coupons, confirming their use.
> [Applying Strength Coupons… Passive enhancement initiated.]
She felt it immediately—her muscles tensed slightly, spine straighter, heart beating a little stronger. It was subtle, not enough to alert anyone physically, but internally? She could feel the difference. Control. Power. Reinforcement of her bodily foundation.
This is just the beginning, she thought as she turned off her system interface and lay back in bed, listening to the soft creak of wind brushing against enchanted glass.
---
The Next Morning — Hogwarts Castle
The enchanted sky above Ravenclaw Tower shifted from a star-dusted midnight to a warm lavender, gently coaxing students from sleep. A small chime rang near each bedpost—Ravenclaw's built-in alarm charm, tuned to the house's schedule.
Petunia had been up before the charm, her inner clock still tuned to the rigid routine of adulthood. She tied back her hair, brewed a mild herbal tonic from her starter kit, and consulted the crisp, slightly glowing class timetable pinned to her bedpost.
Classes began at 8 a.m. sharp.
She had double Potions with the Gryffindors. Joy.
---
8:00 AM – Potions (with Gryffindor)
Dungeon Corridor B7
The dungeons were chill, damp, and carried the scent of moss and boiled roots. As the students trickled in, a few Ravenclaws muttered about the cold. Petunia didn't mind. She liked that it was quiet. Controlled.
Professor Slughorn stood at the front, tall and round like a well-fed pear in velvety green robes. His eyes twinkled behind wire-rimmed spectacles.
"Ah, welcome, my bright little cauldron-clinkers! First years—always my favourite. Now now, find your partners—Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, yes—no elbowing, Mister Potter."
The cauldrons hissed with soft bubbling, and Slughorn walked among them with a small silver ladle in hand. They were making Cough-Curing Draughts—a standard for cold season.
Petunia paired with a shy boy named Dennis Vickers. His hands trembled while slicing dandelion roots, so she took over, showing him the right angle with calm patience. Their potion turned a pale teal—exactly as described.
"Miss Targaryen and Mister Vickers, excellent form!" Slughorn boomed. "Five points to Ravenclaw! And Dennis—chin up, you're not half bad when you don't panic."
James Potter, meanwhile, had nearly incinerated his mint leaves.
"Oh dear—two points from Gryffindor for trying to flambé the classroom, Potter."
> [Ding! Sign-in system activated.]
[● Experience Coupon: Potions received.]
---
10:00 AM – Transfiguration
The Transfiguration classroom sat on the third floor, full of natural light and the faint crackle of residual magic. Desks were wide, scarred by decades of wand-burns, and smelled faintly of varnish and ash.
Professor McGonagall entered like a well-oiled pendulum—graceful and precise.
"Good morning. I trust none of you has accidentally Transfigured your roommates overnight." Her lips almost twitched into a smile.
They began simple: matchstick to needle.
Petunia's fingers were steady, her focus razor-sharp. She didn't just want to get it right—she wanted to understand why it worked.
After three attempts, her matchstick glimmered silver and sharp, lying proud on the desk.
McGonagall paused beside her. "Hm. Very tidy. Ten points to Ravenclaw, Miss Targaryen. I suggest you keep a spare matchstick—you'll be revisiting this often."
Nearby, Remus managed a matchstick that turned halfway before snapping in half. McGonagall replaced it wordlessly with a fresh one, offering a nod of encouragement. "Better to break it than to set it on fire like Mister Black."
"Oi! It was experimental," Sirius muttered, poking at a tiny flame on his desk.
> [Ding! Sign-in system activated.]
[● Experience Coupon: Transfiguration received.]
---
12:00 PM – Lunch Break
The Great Hall bustled like any school cafeteria—if your cafeteria was decorated with floating candles and endless roast dinners.
Petunia picked a seat near the end of the Ravenclaw table, with her planner and a book propped open between a warm steak pie and some sliced apples. She glanced across the hall—James was tossing a sugar quill at Sirius, who batted it away dramatically. Remus was scribbling in a battered leather notebook while chewing roast parsnips.
At her table, someone asked how to pronounce "Bezoar" and a heated discussion broke out about whether magical creatures could legally vote in the Ministry elections.
Just another Tuesday, Petunia thought, amused.
---
2:00 PM – Charms
Professor Flitwick stood atop a stack of books on his desk. His robes swayed as he gestured excitedly.
"Today we begin with Wingardium Leviosa! Levitation, you see, is not merely lifting—it is elegant lifting. Dignified!"
Petunia enjoyed his class. Flitwick wasn't intimidating—he was like a very clever sparrow with the enthusiasm of a caffeinated violinist.
On her second try, her feather floated gently, hovering like a dancer on air.
"Splendid work, Miss Targaryen! Ten points to Ravenclaw!" Flitwick squeaked, eyes practically shimmering.
Nearby, a Gryffindor boy accidentally launched his feather into someone's pumpkin juice.
"Well, five points for effort... minus two for splash radius."
> [Ding! Sign-in system activated.]
[● Experience Coupon: Charms received.]
Petunia was beginning to understand how these "experience coupons" worked. They weren't raw knowledge—they were orientation. Little nudges. One helped her understand potion temperature better. Another gave her a fresh theory about feather-lightness in charmwork.
They didn't feel like cheating. They felt like natural brilliance having a good day.
---
4:00 PM – Free Period
Back in the Ravenclaw common room, the enchanted ceiling now glowed with soft afternoon sun. Some students practiced wand flicks near the fireplace; others read on floating cushions.
Petunia claimed a study nook near the window. She pulled out her planner, added her coupons to her system's ledger, and noted what concepts had become clearer. Every class was like a thread she could now follow deeper.
---
She closed her planner with a light smile.
Hogwarts was strange, yes—but somehow normal in its own magical way. Like a school filled with eccentric teachers, floating textbooks, and hyperactive wand-swinging kids who also had homework due on Tuesdays.
And for Petunia, who once lived in an office cubicle, it was blissfully refreshing.
---