Chapter Text
Duncan pressed his forehead against the glass of the train window. The countryside rushed past in a blur of green hills, stone fences, and the occasional crooked farmhouse. He had been watching the view for nearly an hour. Not because it was especially interesting. Mostly because it gave him something to look at that was not the inside of the train or the students milling about.
A pair of first years had been hovering just outside the open door for the past several minutes. They were doing a very poor job of pretending they were not staring. “That’s him,” one of them whispered.
“I know it’s him,” the other whispered back.
“How do you know?”
“Look at his hair.”
Dunk reached up and pushed a hand through said hair. It stuck up in every direction. He had tried to flatten it earlier that morning but it refused to cooperate. The whispering continued. “And the scar,” the second kid added.
He resisted the urge to sigh. Aye. The scar.
He rubbed absentmindedly at the faint line above his eyebrow. It had faded a lot over the years but apparently it was still recognizable enough. People always noticed it. People always stared. And apparently people always whispered about it like he was not sitting three feet away.
Duncan leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. The train rattled loudly as it rolled over a section of track. Across the corridor someone laughed. Someone else dropped a suitcase.
He should have been thrilled, since this was the first time he had ever been to the academy. A real magic school. Even from his youth as an orphan, he had dreamed of it.
Another group of students passed by the compartment. One of them slowed down. “That’s him,” the girl whispered.
Dunk groaned and dropped his head back against the seat and stared at the ceiling.
Fantastic.
At this rate the entire train was going to know exactly which compartment he was sitting in. In an attempt to flee the scene, he was just about to get up and wander, when the door slid open, and three boys stepped inside without knocking.
Clearly the one in front considered himself the leader, something Duncan couldn't help but notice immediately. He had pale blond hair that fell neatly across his forehead and robes that looked brand new. He truly looked like he owned the place, and expected everyone that stood before him to bow like he was royalty.
Two other boys followed behind him. One tall and broad shouldered. One thin with narrow eyes that darted around the compartment.
The main boy took a slow look around the space. Then his gaze landed on Dunk. He stopped, and for a second he just studied him, his eyes wandering over the male’s height. Then a small smile appeared on his face. A smile that likely couldn't be trusted. “Well,” he said. His voice was as smooth and dangerous as a snake's venom. “So it’s true.”
Duncan raised an eyebrow. “What is?”
The blond boy stepped further into the compartment, no intention of leaving just yet. “You are the one.”
Duncan tilted his head. “That depends.”
The boy’s smile widened slightly. “On what?”
“On who’s asking.”
One of the boys behind him snorted. The blond boy did not even glance back, instead he extended his hand across the compartment. “Aerion Targaryen.”
Duncan looked at the offered hand for a moment wondering if it might somehow bite. But reluctantly he shook it. The other first year’s grip was noticeably firm. “Duncan,” he said, releasing his hand.
Aerion’s eyes flicked briefly toward the corridor behind him. Several students had stopped walking and they were watching the conversation, ready to enjoy the hot tea in real time. “I imagine you’ve noticed the attention.”
Duncan leaned back in his seat. “Aye, a little.”
“A little,” The other repeated. His tone suggested he did not believe that at all.
Dunk shrugged. “People get curious.”
“Yes,” Aerion said quietly. “They do.” One of the boys behind them also added to the growing chatter. “That’s the kid who survived."
Duncan’s shoulders stiffened slightly, and the other boy shot the peanut gallery a quick glance. “Brilliant observation,” Aerion said dryly. The boy flushed and shut up.
He turned his attention back to Duncan. “You probably don’t know much about the academy yet,” he said.
Duncan frowned slightly. “I know a few things.”
“Do you?” The blonde leaned one shoulder casually against the compartment wall. “Most first years don’t.”
Dunk studied him. There was something about Aerion that felt… practiced. Like at any moment if he so wished to, he could strike with a flick of his wand or swallow him whole.
“You’ll want to be careful about the friends you make,” He continued. “Some houses are better than others.”
Ah. There it was.
“Yeah? And which house do you recommend?” Duncan asked.
Aerion did not hesitate. “Slytherin.” The tall boy behind him nodded eagerly. It was amazing his head didn't somehow fall off. “Best house there is.”
“I think I’ll decide for myself.” The compartment went quiet. One of the wannabe Slytherins frowned immediately. “You should listen when someone gives you good advice,” he said.
Duncan ignored him, and kept looking at Aerion, but his expression had not changed much. If anything, he looked slightly amused, like one might watching a jester at court.
“Of course you will,” Aerion chuckled. “Everyone thinks they will.”
Duncan tilted his head. “Is that supposed to be mysterious or just annoying?”
The thin boy in the back snorted. Aerion’s smile sharpened slightly. “I'll let you assume.” He straightened away from the wall. “You should know something though.”
Duncan waited. “Fame,” Aerion said, “tends to attract the wrong sort of people.”
That made him blinked. “That sounds like experience talking.”
The shorter boy did not answer right away. For just a moment something unreadable passed across his expression. Then it vanished. “Maybe it is.” He turned toward the door. “I suppose we’ll see where you end up.” His lilac eyes flicked back toward Duncan.
“Try not to disappoint everyone.” Then he stepped out into the hallway and other two boys followed him immediately. The compartment door slid shut behind them, and the silence returned.
Dunk stared at the door for a few seconds, then he leaned back in his seat again. “Arrogant prick,” he muttered.
The train rattled loudly as if agreeing.
He stared at the door for a few more seconds, half expecting it to slide open again so Aerion could deliver another dramatic line. When it didn’t, Duncan let out a slow breath and rubbed the back of his neck.
That had been… strange. Not a bad type of strange. Just really....bizarre. He had met arrogant people before. Plenty of them, actually. But the Targaryen had a different sort of arrogance.
Duncan tilted his head back against the seat, wishing they were already there.
Slytherin.
He had heard the name before...a house created by a powerful, but a controversial wizard. He didn’t know the full story, but people tended to say the name with a particular tone.
The train lurched slightly as it rounded another bend in the track. Outside the window, the countryside had changed. The hills were taller now, dotted with patches of dark forest. A river flashed silver in the sunlight before disappearing behind a ridge.
He watched it pass, but his mind kept drifting back to the blond boy who had just left.
Aerion Targaryen.
The name sounded like it belonged in one of the old wizarding history books Duncan had read while growing up. Something about it carried weight. Like people would recognize it. Which meant the boy probably came from one of those old wizarding families.
He sighed and pushed himself upright again. Sitting alone and overthinking the conversation wasn’t going to make the rest of the train ride any less awkward. He stood up and slid the compartment door open.
The hallway was crowded. Students moved back and forth carrying bags, arguing over seats, or leaning into compartments to talk to friends. Someone further down the train was trying to show off by casting sparks from the end of their wand, which resulted in a prefect loudly telling them to stop before they burned the train down.
He stepped into the corridor, and of course, thanks to his height and growing fame, a few students noticed him immediately. Whispers followed him as he walked.
“That’s him.”
“I told you.”
“Do you think it’s true?”
But he pretended not to hear any of it. Instead, he wandered past several sections before stopping at one where the door had been left open. Inside sat a girl with messy hair who was surrounded by a mountain of books, and a wooden puppet seated next to her. She looked up when she noticed him standing there.
“Oh,” she uttered in surprise, looking up. “Hello.”
Awkward, he blinked. “Hi.”
She studied him for a moment, then her eyes widened slightly. “Oh!” she said again. “You’re Duncan.”
Duncan braced himself. But instead of gawking at his scar, she immediately stuck a bookmark into the book she had been reading and leaned forward. “I’ve been hoping I’d run into you,” she said.
He stepped into the compartment. “You have?”
“Yes,” she said matter-of-factly. “And, I had several questions.”
He laughed despite himself. What a day already. “Of course you do.”
She closed her book completely and set it aside. “First of all,” she said, “is it true you cast your first spell before you were even taught how?”
Duncan scratched the back of his head. “Uh… maybe?”
“Interesting,” she said, as if she were collecting data. He dropped into the seat across from her. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Tanselle.”
He glanced briefly at the wooden puppet sitting beside her. It was about the size of a cat, carved from pale wood, with little jointed limbs and painted eyes. Its head tilted slightly to one side as the train rattled along. “…And the puppet?” Duncan asked.
She brightened up immediately. “Oh! This is Rowan.” She picked the puppet up and set it on the seat between them. The wooden figure’s limbs clacked softly together.
“I make puppets,” she explained. “Well, not just the carving. The enchantments too. Rowan helps me practice.”
Duncan stared. “You enchanted it yourself?”
“Mostly,” she said modestly. “It only does simple movements right now.” As if on cue, Rowan’s little wooden head slowly turned toward Duncan.
Embarrassingly, Duncan jumped slightly which earned a laugh from the girl. “It’s not alive,” she said quickly. “Just… responsive.” Rowan lifted one stiff wooden arm and waved.
Well,” she said, “I wanted to know if the story about You-Know-Who is accurate.”
Duncan blinked. “You mean Voldem-”
Her eyes widened instantly. “Shh!” she hissed, glancing nervously toward the compartment door. He stopped mid-word.
“You’re not supposed to say his name,” she whispered urgently. “People call him You-Know-Who… or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”
The tall boy frowned slightly, feeling a touch dumb. “Right...sorry.”
Tanselle eased up and pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Anyway,” she continued, lowering her voice, “some people say the spell that hit you looked like lightning.”
“Oh.” Duncan scratched the back of his neck again. “Honestly? I don’t really remember much of it,” he admitted. “I was really little.”
She frowned thoughtfully, as if mentally reorganizing her research notes. “I guess that makes sense,” she said. He glanced down at Rowan again. “You’re really bringing that to the academy?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said.
“…Won’t teachers mind?”
“It’s technically an enchanted learning aid,” she replied, with all of the confidence in the world.
Duncan chuckled. “You’ve thought this through.”
“I try to.”
The train gave a sudden loud whistle. Both of them looked up as a voice echoed down the corridor. “We’ll be arriving in twenty minutes! First years should gather their belongings!”
Excited chatter immediately erupted throughout the train. Students rushed back and forth in the hallway. Several doors slid open as people started grabbing their trunks and bags. Duncan felt a small knot tighten in his stomach. This was it. The academy.
Tanselle began stacking her books into a neat pile. “Are you nervous?” she asked softly.
He thought about it. “…Aye,”
She nodded. “Me too.”
For a moment neither of them spoke, but then Duncan glanced out the window again. The landscape had changed dramatically. The rolling hills had given way to steep cliffs and dense forests. In the distance, towering mountains rose into the sky. Mist curled along their peaks like drifting smoke. And there...he leaned closer to the glass.
Across a wide black lake, perched high on a rocky cliff, stood the academy.
It was enormous. Tall stone towers reached into the sky, bridges stretched between sections of the castle, and banners fluttered against the sides. The entire place looked like it had been pulled straight out of one of Duncan’s childhood storybooks. “Whoa,” he breathed.
Tanselle leaned over beside him to look, and her eyes widened. “Oh.” She seemed just as speechless.
The train slowed as it curved around the lake. Up ahead, students were already gathering near the exits. Echoing them, Duncan pushed himself to his feet. “Well,” he said.
She scooped Rowan and her books into her bag. “Well,” she echoed.
They stepped out into the crowded hallway together.
As Duncan joined the flow of students moving toward the doors, he glanced down the train. For just a moment, through the shifting crowd, he spotted pale blond hair. The Targaryen from earlier stood near it, speaking quietly with the two boys from earlier.
As if sensing the stare, he looked up, and caused their eyes to meet across the crowded space. For half a second, neither of them moved. Then Aerion gave a devilish smirk and turned away.
The Great Hall stretched before them with hundreds of students already seated at long tables, candles floating in midair and glittering against the enchanted ceiling that mirrored the sky outside. The aroma of freshly baked bread, roasted meat, and something sweet he couldn’t quite identify quite yet.
His newly found friend had grabbed his hand before they entered, squeezing it. “Ready?” she asked, a small, excited grin tugging at her lips. He nodded, though he felt more nervous than he had anticipated. “Aye. Just… let’s hope I don’t embarrass myself in front of everyone.”
“Not everyone,” she said quickly. “Just the people who matter.”
He raised an eyebrow, unsure what she meant by that.
The first years were ushered to a small wooden platform at the front of the hall. The Sorting Hat sat atop a stool, looking far older than the walls around it, patched and stitched up. Duncan stepped forward, his heart thudding so loudly he was certain everyone could hear it. Tanselle gave his hand a final squeeze before letting go.
“Next!” a booming voice called.
Duncan approached, and as soon as the Sorting Hat was lowered onto his head, the hall disappeared, and a voice spoke inside his mind.
“Well, well,” it said. “So this is the one. The boy who survived. Clever, strong, loyal… and cautious.”
Dunk swallowed, his mind racing. Where was he going to end up?
The voice chuckled, low and knowing. “Where you belong, of course. I could place you in Slytherin. Ambitious, cunning… you would rise. Power would follow, respect, influence. You could do anything.”
Duncan frowned, imagining Aerion in Slytherin, standing proud and untouchable. He shook his head. “No,” he thought. “I don’t want that. I want to do good… for everyone. Not just the ones who can defend themselves.”
"Ah… noble. Brave, too, but that is why you fear being ordinary. You care too much about others."
“I… I want to help,” He admitted, gripping the brim of the hat as if it might steady him. “I want to protect people who can’t protect themselves. That’s… what matters.”
"Mmm. Admirable. A boy with courage, yes… and a heart that will not turn cold even when power tempts him. You could be great in Slytherin, but… you would be lonely."
Lonely… Duncan shivered. He could imagine it already. Better not, then.
“Gryffindor,” he whispered finally, almost to himself.
A pause, then a note of approval. "Ah… so be it. You will do well there. Perhaps more well than you realize."
When Duncan removed the hat, the hall erupted in applause. He stumbled slightly, blinking against the bright light, and turned to look for Tanselle. She was clapping enthusiastically.
But then, he saw him. Aerion. Across the hall, seated in Slytherin’s table now, his lavender eyes had found Duncan’s. For a heartbeat, the boy felt like he’d been struck by lightning, unable to look away. His chest tightened. The world had narrowed to just that gaze, cold and sharp, yet…
He shook himself slightly, forcing his attention to return to the clapping around him. He caught Tanselle’s hand and let her guide him to Gryffindor’s table.
He noticed a Gryffindor boy waving at him from the middle of the table, short-cropped dark hair, strong build, and one of the biggest grins he had ever seen.
“Sit here,” the boy said, patting the seat beside him. “Name’s Lyonel Baratheon. Don’t worry, I’m friendly… heh, mostly.”
Dunk slid into the bench next to him, grateful for the distraction. “Thanks,” he said quietly.
“You’re the famous Duncan, right?” Lyonel asked without any hesitation.
Duncan nodded reluctantly. “That’s me.”
“Survived the Dark Wizard himself. Wow,” Lyonel said, shaking his head with a laugh. “I’m glad you’re on our side, honestly.”
He smiled awkwardly. “Thanks, I guess.”
Tanselle slid in across from him, giving him a reassuring smile. She had also been sorted into Gryffindor. “You did well,” she said softly.
He nodded, trying to shake off the lingering feeling from Aerion’s stare. He couldn’t help it...there was something in those pretty eyes that unsettled him, something that made the hair on his arms stand up. And yet… he couldn’t stop thinking about them.
Across the hall, Aerion observed him with the faintest look of displeasure. Perhaps he had hoped Duncan had joined the only correct house to be in.