Vale watched Neville and Hannah with careful eyes as they discussed different things, including their House preferences.
The calculation that had become second nature to him since awakening in this world remained active, categorising their responses, filing away potential weaknesses, strengths, and future utility.
At this point, it was growing to become natural.
"—My whole family's been in Hufflepuff," Hannah explained, her hands animated as she spoke. "Mum says it's the best House if you want real friends. People who stick by you no matter what."
"Gran expects Gryffindor for me," Neville mumbled, his fingers absently stroking Trevor's warty head. "Like my parents. But I don't think I'm brave enough."
"That's not true," Hannah insisted. "You stood up to that third-year boy in Flourish and Blotts when he was making fun of that little girl."
Neville's face flushed crimson. "I just told him to stop. Anyone would've."
"Not anyone," Hannah said firmly.
Vale's mind automatically filed this exchange away: Neville—more courage than he realises. Hannah—observant, loyal, quick to defend. But something else was happening too, something Vale hadn't anticipated.
Despite his filing, he was actually listening. Not as a predator tracking prey. Not as a chess player analysing opponents. Just... listening.
'How fun,' he mused.
These weren't characters in a story he'd read long ago. They weren't pawns in some cosmic game.
They were children—real children with real fears that made their voices quaver when they spoke of expectations they might not meet. With real hopes that made their eyes light up when they imagined learning to make objects fly or plants grow.
Honestly, it was endearing.
"What about you, Vale?" Hannah asked, turning those earnest eyes toward him. "Any idea which House you'll be in?"
For once, Vale didn't calculate his response. Didn't weigh which answer would position him most advantageously. He simply felt the question and answered.
"I don't know," he admitted, the honesty of it surprising even himself. "I'm not sure where I belong."
And in that precious, dangerous moment of being genuine, Vale realised he'd momentarily stopped treating them as game pieces to be manipulated.
He'd just... been present. With them.
The realisation was as terrifying as it was exhilarating.
After all, he could confirm a part of his existence with this — he was still human despite the symbiotic Obscurus within him.
Vale watched as Hannah's smile widened at his honest admission. Something about her earnestness made him want to be genuine, if only for a moment.
"That's okay," she said, leaning forward slightly. "My cousin says the Sorting Hat takes your choice into account. So if you really want a specific House, you can ask."
"Really?" Neville perked up, his eyes widening with hope. "You can just... ask?"
Vale nodded, remembering this detail from the books. "It's supposed to see what's inside you, but it listens too."
The conversation flowed more easily after that. Hannah described her mother's stories about the Hufflepuff common room — "apparently it's like a badger's den, but cozy, with plants everywhere" — while Neville shared his grandmother's tales of Gryffindor's victory celebrations.
Vale found himself contributing without excessive care, drawn into their enthusiasm. When Hannah laughed at something he said, a casual remark about hoping the moving staircases came with safety rails, the sound was bright.
Neville, too, seemed to relax in Vale's presence, his nervous stuttering fading as they speculated about classes.
"I really do think I might like Herbology," Neville readmitted quietly, as if confessing a secret. "Plants make so much sense to me. Not like people."
"I understand that," Vale replied, surprised to find he meant it.
If he could have a garden for himself, he wouldn't turn down the opportunity. Especially if it was a magical garden.
'…Can plants become Obscurials too?'
Thinking this to himself, he almost laughed.
'That'd be terrifying.'
The train rocked gently as it curved around a bend. Outside the window, green hills rolled by under a sky turning golden with afternoon light. Vale felt something unfamiliar settle in his chest—not quite peace, but perhaps its distant cousin.
These children knew nothing of his nature, his plans, or the darkness that lived within him. They saw only another first-year, nervous and excited about what lay ahead. Their acceptance, however uninformed, created a peculiar warmth.
Their laughter echoed faintly even after Vale turned back to stare out the window, mind quietly churning with possibilities.
The world was starting to feel more real than it ever was.
'No longer a fever dream of deception,' he thought, content with the current situation.
* * *
The train slowed with a gradual hiss of brakes, and Vale felt a curious flutter in his chest—not quite excitement, not quite dread, but something suspended between the two. Outside the window, darkness had fallen completely, revealing only scattered lights in the distance.
"We're here!" Hannah exclaimed, jumping to her feet. "We should change into our robes."
Neville fumbled with his trunk, nearly dropping it on his foot. "Gran packed mine at the bottom," he muttered, digging through layers of carefully folded clothes.
Vale watched them with detached amusement because he had already worn his, having no other clothes in his ownership.
The fabric felt strange — it felt heavy and official. He patted them down, feeling the weight of what they represented. No longer was he merely Vale Windrow, an anomaly. Now he was becoming a Hogwarts student, assuming a role that would shield him from unwanted scrutiny.
The train platform buzzed with activity as students poured from the carriages. Vale stepped down after Hannah and Neville, immediately scanning the crowd with practiced ease. The air felt different here—charged with an ancient magic that made his Obscurus stir beneath his skin.
"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"
The booming voice cut through the chatter, and Vale turned to see the massive form of Hagrid towering above the sea of students, lantern held high. Just as described in the books, just as shown in the films—yet somehow more imposing in person. The half-giant's beard twitched as he called again, eyes crinkling with genuine warmth.
"C'mon, follow me—any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now!"
Vale fell into step with the other first-years, observing as they stumbled down a steep, narrow path. In the dim light, he could make out Neville's anxious face as the boy patted his pockets repeatedly, no doubt checking for his toad.
And then Vale saw them—three figures huddled together near the front of the group. A girl with bushy hair gesturing animatedly as she spoke. A tall, gangly boy with a smudge on his nose. And between them, smaller than Vale had imagined, a boy with unruly black hair and glasses hastily repaired with tape at first, and a spell afterward.
"Oh..?"
A sly smile peeked onto his lips.
The golden trio. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger.
Vale felt his breath catch, not from awe but from the strange collision of knowledge and reality.
These weren't characters anymore. They were flesh and blood, unaware of their own significance, unaware of the darkness that would chase them through the coming years.
For a moment, Vale no longer worried about himself. Instead, his thoughts drifted towards expectation.
The butterfly had flapped its wings.
And it will continue to do so.
What will become of the other side of the world, bathed in storms?
Conversely…
If the storms end, will the butterfly cease to exist?
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