House of serpents

The massive iron gates of Hogwarts creaked open, their twisted bars gleaming wet with the morning mist. Astra Blackthorne stepped through them, her polished boots striking the damp, cobbled path with a confidence that belied the distant, wary glances thrown her way. She inhaled deeply, the crisp Highland air cutting through the lingering scents of smoke and old leather that clung to her from her family's estate.

Ahead, the towering stone walls of the castle loomed, their shadows stretching long and jagged across the fog-draped grounds. The castle felt different this year – the air heavier, the magic more restless. She felt it thrumming beneath her feet, ancient and watchful, like the slow pulse of a sleeping beast.

Clusters of students milled around the entrance, their voices a low, buzzing murmur. Astra caught snippets of conversation as she passed – laughter, complaints about the damp chill, needless gossip about summer scandals. She felt their eyes on her, judgmental and curious, their hushed tone cutting through the mist like knife edges.

"Is that her?" one voice muttered, just loud enough for her to catch. "The Blackthorne girl?"

Astra's jaw tightened, but she kept walking, her head high, her steps unhurried. She had grown used to this – the sideways glances, the suspicion that clung to her name like grime. The Blackthorne family was as old as the Malfoys, as feared as the Lestranges, and as cunning as the Notts. And yet, they had stood alone – proud, defiant, refusing to bend the knee to Voldemort even at the height of his power. And It had cost them everything.