Glimpses of Light

II

On the 25th of November, 1944, the moment Antonin Dolohov and Nika Miron stepped into Hogwarts' Great Hall, an immediate hush fell over the gathered students and teachers. They moved quickly, heading straight for the stool and the battered, ancient Sorting Hat. They paused, waiting for the plump witch with white, curly hair to announce: "Antonin Dolohov."

Antonin, a striking seventeen-year-old with jet-black hair and piercing black eyes, settled onto the stool with a reluctant air. His annoyance was palpable; he clearly had no desire to be there, his cold demeanour was uninviting.

"SLYTHERIN!" the Hat declared after a brief pause. Antonin maintained his composed, distant expression as he walked over to the Slytherin table, which responded with a mix of muffled cheers and awkward silence. The students were clearly unprepared for the introduction of new, fully-grown peers this late in the term.

"Veronika Miron," the witch called out next, her voice echoing slightly in the vast hall.

It's Nika, she corrected in her mind reflexively, a twinge of annoyance flickering across her face. She had never liked the formal version of her name.

As Nika settled into the chair and the hat was placed on her head, a shiver coursed through her, sharp and chilling. She became acutely aware of the countless eyes fixed upon her, and the sensation of being at the centre of attention made her feel painfully exposed. In her final year at Durmstrang, she had withdrawn into herself, growing accustomed to isolation as her world slowly narrowed. Solitude had become her refuge, a familiar comfort she clung to now more than ever. The only people she had truly cared about were gone—lost to the chaos that had consumed her world, chaos bearing the name of Gellert Grindelwald and those who had followed in his shadow.

Her grieving gaze found Antonin. He was already mingling, shaking hands with an air of entitlement. His expression remained unchanging—arrogant and detached, embodying the very essence of the disdain he often displayed.

As Antonin's eyes, heavy with contempt, met hers, his words from just minutes earlier as they'd approached the castle echoed in her mind.

*start flashback*

"You must be sorted into Slytherin," he had insisted, his tone begrudging. "As much as I despise the notion, you are now under my family's care, and they've instructed me to watch over you. The only feasible way I can manage this irksome duty is if you're sorted into Slytherin with me."

"But how can you be so sure you'll be sorted into Slytherin?" Nika had countered, her brow furrowed in confusion. "I've read about Hogwarts' sorting ceremony. It's well known that the Sorting Hat makes its own decisions."

"Trust me, I will be in Slytherin," he had interrupted, his voice cool, his expression rigid and unyielding. "The other Houses are nothing but a joke."

"But I read that—" she began again, only to be cut off.

"You seem to know quite a lot about the Magical World for a Mudblood," he had snapped suddenly, stopping in his tracks and turning to face her sharply. Nika didn't take it personally; years at Durmstrang had dulled her sensitivity to such slights. "Anyway," he continued, resuming his stride, "just think about wanting to be in Slytherin when they place that hat on you. That should do the trick," he concluded, his voice commanding, leaving no room for further discussion.

*end flashback*

There, Nika sat on the stool, the Sorting Hat slowly slipping down her forehead, and all she could think was, not Slytherin, anything but Slytherin.

"They're a tough crowd, you know," whispered a small, crisp voice into her ear, causing her to jump slightly. "I think I know where you can find the rest your heart so desperately seeks. You should be in HUFFLEPUFF!" it finally declared, and the yellow and black table erupted in a welcoming cheer far warmer than the reception Antonin had received at the Slytherin table.