A sharp, electrical jolt had seized Jona's hand, a phantom ache tracing up his arm. He pulled back instantly, his fingers tingling. The boy with the dark hair and round spectacles looked up, startled, his own hand dropping the book. A faint, jagged line on his forehead, almost hidden by his fringe, seemed to throb in Jona's peripheral vision.
Jona’s breath caught. His own forehead, smooth and unblemished, suddenly felt a strange, prickling heat. It wasn't pain, more like a ghostly echo, a memory of something that wasn't there.
"Sorry!" Jona mumbled, his cheeks flushing. He hadn't meant to touch the other boy. He’d just reached for the same worn copy of *Hogwarts: A History*.
"No, it's fine," the boy replied, his voice quiet. He picked up the book again, eyes scanning Jona's face for a moment before dropping back to the page. His scar, now visible, seemed to pull at Jona’s attention.
Curiosity flared. Jona had heard whispers about the Boy-Who-Lived, the legendary Neville Longbottom. This quiet, unassuming boy, with that distinctive mark, had to be him. A hero, they called him. Yet, he seemed so… ordinary.
An unsettling feeling churned in Jona's gut. The prickling on his forehead persisted, a faint hum beneath his skin. He wanted to ask, to understand what had just happened, but the words wouldn't form. The boy seemed to shrink into himself, already engrossed in his book.
Cedric appeared at Jona’s side, a cheerful grin on his face. "Find anything good, little brother?" He ruffled Jona's hair, oblivious to the strange encounter.
"Just… looking," Jona said, his gaze lingering on Neville for a moment longer before turning away. He couldn't shake the sensation, the brief, unsettling connection.
---
Diagon Alley buzzed around them. Jona tried to concentrate on the vibrant displays in Quality Quidditch Supplies, on the towering stacks of cauldrons at Potage's, but his mind kept drifting back to the scar.
That odd prickle. It had felt like a forgotten memory trying to surface, a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit. He ran a hand over his own smooth forehead. Nothing. Just skin and bone.
Cedric, meanwhile, was explaining the nuances of broomstick models, pointing out the latest Nimbus. "Maybe one day, Jona, you’ll join me on the Hufflepuff team!" he enthused, his eyes sparkling.
Jona smiled faintly. "I think I'd rather watch you, Ced," he admitted. He loved the excitement of Quidditch, the thrill of the chase, but the idea of actually flying a broomstick in a competitive match made his stomach clench. He preferred the quiet satisfaction of growing things.
Amos Diggory bought Jona a new set of robes from Madam Malkin's, and Celeste found him a sleek, black cauldron. Each purchase felt like another thread weaving him into this magical world, a world that still felt new, yet profoundly familiar.
Later, at the Leaky Cauldron, over steaming bowls of stew, Jona brought up the subject, albeit vaguely. "I met a boy in Flourish and Blotts," he began, stirring his stew. "He had a scar."
Amos chuckled. "A lot of wizards have scars, Jona. Comes with the territory, sometimes."
Celeste gave him a gentle look. "Was he a nice boy?"
Jona hesitated. "He was… quiet. But when I touched his hand, by accident, it felt… odd. Like static electricity, but inside my head."
Cedric leaned forward, intrigued. "Magic, maybe? Sometimes accidental magic happens when you least expect it, especially around other powerful wizards. Perhaps he had a strong magical core."
Amos nodded. "Cedric's right. It's not uncommon for young wizards to have unexpected surges. Don't fret over it, son. You're just getting used to your own power."
They didn't mention the Boy-Who-Lived. Jona didn't press. He knew he was Neville Longbottom, of course. The name was whispered everywhere. But the Diggorys rarely spoke of the war, or Voldemort, or the hero. It was as if they preferred to focus on the present, on their own peaceful lives.
---
September first dawned crisp and clear. Jona felt a thrill course through him, a nervous excitement that vibrated in his bones. Today was the day. Hogwarts.
King's Cross Station was a swirling vortex of steam, trunks, and excited chatter. Owls hooted from cages, cats slinked between legs, and parents embraced their children. The air itself thrummed with magic.
Cedric, now a confident fourth-year, expertly navigated them through the crowd towards the barrier between platforms nine and ten. "Alright, Jona," he said, a proud glint in his eyes. "Just walk straight through, no fear."
Jona took a deep breath, clutching his trolley. He followed Cedric, pushing forward, and then, in a blink, the brick wall dissolved into a bustling, scarlet-clad platform. The Hogwarts Express, a magnificent crimson beast, waited patiently.
"Wow," Jona breathed, his mouth agape. The sheer scale, the number of wizards and witches, the palpable sense of anticipation – it was overwhelming in the best possible way.
"Find an empty compartment," Cedric instructed. "I'll see you at the feast. Try to make some friends, Jona. Hufflepuff's a friendly house, you'll love it."
Cedric clapped him on the shoulder, then disappeared into the throng, undoubtedly off to find his own friends. Jona felt a pang of loneliness, quickly replaced by a surge of determination. This was his adventure.
He pulled his trunk along, scanning the faces. He half-expected, half-hoped, to see the scar-faced boy from Flourish and Blotts. A flicker of recognition would be nice, a familiar face in the sea of strangers. But he saw no sign of him.
Finding a compartment wasn't easy. Most were already full, laughter and chatter spilling out into the corridor. Finally, he spotted one towards the end of the train, empty save for a single trunk on the luggage rack. He slid the door open.
"Is this seat taken?" he asked, a little too loudly.
A boy with neatly combed brown hair and a friendly, open face looked up from a book on Magical Creatures. "No, come on in!" he said, a warm smile spreading across his features. "I'm Justin Finch-Fletchley. And you are?"
"Jona Diggory," Jona replied, feeling an immediate ease with the boy. He hoisted his trunk onto the rack. "Nice to meet you, Justin."
Justin closed his book. "You too! Are you a first-year too?"
Jona nodded. "Yeah. Are you from a wizarding family?"
Justin shook his head. "No, completely Muggle-born! My parents were utterly flummoxed when the letter arrived. But they're quite chuffed now. I'm just hoping I don't make a complete fool of myself."
Jona chuckled. "Me neither. I mean, my family's magical, but I don't know much about… well, everything, really. I've only really been around my brother, Cedric."
Jona felt a swell of pride. "He's a fourth-year now. He's always telling me about Quidditch. I like watching it, but I don't think I'm very good at flying. But he is fantastic!"
"Oh, I've never even been on a broom!" Justin admitted, laughing. "I'm hoping to try out for the chess club, maybe. Or something with plants. I'm quite good with plants."
"Plants?" Jona’s eyes lit up. "Me too! I love Herbology. My mum has a garden back home, and I help her with all sorts of things. She even lets me try some of her more… experimental seedlings."
They talked for hours, the train rattling on, carrying them deeper into the countryside. Justin was a fountain of fascinating facts about the Muggle world, explaining things like televisions and motorways. Jona, in turn, described some of the more practical uses of magic he'd observed at home, like how his dad charmed the watering can to fill itself.
---
Darkness had fallen by the time the train finally slowed. "First-years out!" a booming voice echoed through the corridor. Jona and Justin scrambled to collect their things, a renewed wave of excitement washing over them.
They followed a giant of a man with a wild beard, Hagrid, who led them down a narrow, winding path to a black, glassy lake. Small boats waited at the shore. "No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid boomed.
Jona and Justin quickly found a boat with two other nervous-looking first-years. The journey across the lake was magical, the towering, majestic castle of Hogwarts appearing dramatically as they rounded a bend. Its windows glittered like a thousand watchful eyes.
Inside, the Great Hall was magnificent. Thousands of candles floated above four long tables, packed with students. The enchanted ceiling mirrored the starry night sky. Jona felt a profound sense of belonging settle over him, a feeling that this, finally, was home.
Professor McGonagall, stern-faced and efficient, led them to the front of the hall. The Sorting Hat sang its song, then the sorting began. Names were called, students stepped forward, and the hat shouted out their houses.
"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!" McGonagall called. Justin, looking pale but determined, walked up. The hat barely touched his head. "HUFFLEPUFF!" it bellowed.
Justin beamed, hurrying to the cheering yellow and black table. Jona clapped, genuinely happy for his new friend.
More names, more students, more houses. Then, "Diggory, Jona!" McGonagall's voice rang out.
Jona’s heart hammered against his ribs. He walked towards the stool, his legs feeling a little wobbly. He sat down, and the heavy hat dropped onto his head, falling over his eyes.
*"Ah, a Diggory,"* a small voice whispered in his ear. *"Loyalty, kindness… a good mind for nature, I see. And a quiet strength. Yes, definitely a Hufflepuff. You'll do well there, just like your brother…"*
"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat shouted, and Jona pulled it off, a wide smile breaking across his face. He made his way to the Hufflepuff table, where Justin was already grinning, and Cedric, further down, gave him a hearty thumbs-up, his eyes bright with pride.
Jona settled beside Justin, the warmth of the Hufflepuff common room already feeling like a distant promise. He scanned the other tables, searching subconsciously for that dark hair, that faint scar. He didn't see him. Neville Longbottom must have been sorted into Gryffindor already, lost in the sea of red and gold.
Dinner was a feast, mountains of food appearing as if by magic. Jona ate until he was stuffed, chatting happily with Justin and other Hufflepuffs. The earlier, unsettling prickle on his forehead was gone, replaced by the comforting hum of new friendships and the promise of a magical future. He was Jona Diggory, a Hufflepuff, and he felt utterly, completely at home.
---
Dumbledore’s eyes swept over the tables. He had little interest in the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, and the Slytherins concerned him only insofar as he needed to keep an eye on them. His gaze lingered longest on the Gryffindor table. These were the young witches and wizards upon whom the future depended!
He felt a brief flash of annoyance regarding the late Harry Potter—whose death had thrown his plans into disarray—but Augusta Longbottom had enthusiastically supported his efforts to shape Neville’s role following the attack on her beloved son.
After all, it brought honor to her dear Frank and made his sacrifice seem less senseless!
Dumbledore raised his goblet toward the Gryffindor table in satisfaction. how.
A sense of profound unease settled heavily upon Dumbledore. The world, he realized with a chilling certainty, was far more complicated than he had ever allowed himself to believe. And the truth, whatever it was, was about to unravel everything.