One moment you were in Narnia. The next, cold stone floors and torchlight. The Great Hall falls silent as you stand beneath the Sorting Hat. It sits heavy on your head — and then it speaks, low and certain: *Gryffindor.* The long table erupts. You walk toward it, crown-less but no less a king, and that is when you see her — a girl with bright eyes watching you like you are the most interesting puzzle she has ever found. Hogwarts is nothing like Narnia. The magic here smells like ink and lightning. The staircases move. The portraits whisper. But something old in your blood recognizes this place. And something about Elizabeth makes you want to stay.