Harry woke up slowly at around 4:30 AM, his internal clock coming in clutch today. The Gryffindor dormitory was still wrapped in deep silence, broken only by the occasional snore from the other boys. He lay there for a moment, staring at the canopy above his four-post bed, before sitting up with a quiet sigh.
With a casual wave of his hand, he dispelled the privacy wards he had placed around his bed the night before. They were quite simple but effective nonetheless. They kept curious eyes from peering through the curtains and ensured that any late-night mutterings or thoughts spoken aloud stayed private.
The dormitory was bathed in a very dim predawn light filtering through the windows as he stood up and stretched with a yawn, letting his mind map out the day ahead. It wasn't an overwhelming schedule, but there were things to handle: sending letters home, surviving another round of mind-numbing classes, afternoon Quidditch practice(hopefully with his broom arriving today finally), and perhaps a quick visit to the forest to check on Lumos. The unicorn had become strangely grounding presence in this new life of his.
One step at a time, he reminded himself.
The other first-year boys: Dean, Seamus, Neville, and Ron were still dead to the world, which was very apparent from their combined snoring.
"Quite a weird orchestra," Harry chuckled to himself.
With another lazy flick of his hand, he neatly made his bed. Blankets smoothed themselves, pillows fluffed, and the curtains drew back into perfect order. He then proceeded to gather a fresh set of clothes and headed straight to the bathroom.
Forty minutes later, after a long, cold shower that chased away the last traces of sleep, Harry had slipped out of the common room. The Fat Lady barely stirred as the portrait swung open and he stepped out.
The castle at this hour was something else entirely. Early morning light poured through the tall windows, painting the ancient stone walls in soft golds and warm ambers. Dust motes danced in the beams, and the suits of armor stood like silent sentinels.
There was a certain majesty to it, a quiet grandeur that tickled his mind in the best way possible.
Harry's footsteps echoed softly as he made his way towards the Owlery. The circular tower room was filled with the soft rustling of feathers and the occasional sleepy hoot. Most owls were still perched in their nests, but Hedwig was already alert, her snowy white plumage almost glowing in the growing light. She hooted softly in greeting as soon as she spotted him.
"Morning, girl," Harry said warmly, approaching her perch. He gently scratched her head, the way she liked and pulled out some treats from his pouch with the other hand. Hedwig leaned into the touch, nipping playfully at his fingers.
"Got two important deliveries for you today," he continued, as he gave her the treats. Pulling out the letters from his pouch. The first was addressed to his family. Just a reassuring note about settling in, and promising he was being careful and also asking to send a tart. Although he did have to send the Aurora Petal to his sister, as it would definitely make her day. The second was for Sirius with a subtle reminder to take it easy on his recovery.
He secured the letters and the small box containing the Aurora Petal for Abby to her leg making sure the knot was comfortable but tight.
"Straight home first, first letter for Mum, the box is for Abby, then Sirius if he's not there," Harry murmured. "Take your time if you need to rest, but come back soon."
Hedwig puffed out her chest proudly, gave his fingers one last affectionate nip, and launched gracefully from her perch. Harry watched from the tower window as she soared into the brightening sky, a white speck against the vast morning blue.
With Hedwig on her way, Harry turned and headed back down through the castle. The morning chill still lingered, and the thought of something warm to drink felt increasingly appealing. And maybe some snacks to go with it, since he was feeling peckish.
So, instead of heading back to the common room, he decided that a visit to the kitchen was due and with that he shifted his direction and aimed towards the out-of-the-way staircase, towards the Hufflepuff territory of the basement.
Walking past the massive barrels stacked in the stone recesses until he found himself standing right in front of a particularly large, vibrant still-life painting. Framed in dark wood, it depicted a giant, gleaming silver bowl piled high with fruits—apples, grapes, and a massive, brilliantly green pear right at the center.
For a second, nothing happened. Then, the painted fruit began to squirm. Harry watched, genuinely amused, as the pear let out a soft, high-pitched giggling sound. It rippled under his touch, its green skin shifting and hardening until it puckered outward, transforming right before his eyes into a large, gleaming brass doorknob.
Harry let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head at the sheer flimsiness of it all. He reached out, turned the handle, and pushed the heavy door open stepping into the bustling kitchen.
The moment he stepped in, the rich aromas of breakfast preparation enveloped him. Sizzling bacon, fresh bread, omelets, sandwiches everything hit at once. The house-elves darted efficiently between stations, their movements coordinated and cheerful. Pots clinked, pans hissed, and the entire space hummed with purposeful energy.
One elf, distinguished by an impressively tall chef's hat that wobbled with every step, noticed Harry immediately. His large eyes widened to the size of saucers, and he came bustling forward so quickly that a spoon clattered from his apron.
"Good morning," Harry said, offering a polite, perfectly measured nod of acknowledgment. "I am Harry. May I ask your name?"
"Master Harry Potter, sir!" the elf squeaked in awe, stopping short and bowing so low his nose nearly brushed the stone floor. "Oh, what an honour! What an absolute honour! Chef Bolly is being most delighted to see Harry Potter in his kitchens!"
Harry smiled warmly. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Chef Bolly. I was hoping I could trouble you for a cup of hot chocolate and a few light snacks, if it isn't too much bother."
The elf's ears flapped with excitement. His hands trembled as he clutched his apron, looking as though Harry had just handed him the greatest honour of his life.
"Hot chocolate and snack? For Harry Potter, sir?" Bolly's voice rose several octaves. "Bolly is making the very best hot chocolate! Extra creamy, extra rich, with perfect touch of cinnamon! Bolly will not be disappointing the great Harry Potter!"
"And what is Harry Potter sir wanting for snacks?" Bolly asked.
Harry glanced around the bustling kitchen. The sight of fresh ingredients being prepared with such care gave him an idea. He didn't need a feast, but something comforting sounded perfect.
"Actually, Chef Bolly, if it isn't too much trouble," He said, "I saw some bacon and eggs being prepped. Do you think I could get a sandwich made with those?"
Bolly's large eyes shined, his ears twitching as he listened intently. "A sandwich, sir? Anything Harry Potter desires! What else is going inside?"
"Let's do crispy bacon, a fried egg, and a layer of nice creamy salad inside," Harry replied, describing it precisely. "But for the bread… instead of putting the cheese on the inside, could you melt a generous layer of cheddar directly onto the griddle first, and press the bread right onto it? So the cheese forms a crispy, golden crust on the very outside of the sandwich."
"Of course, Harry Potter!" Bolly quipped, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. "Bolly will make it perfect! The crispiest cheese crust for the great Harry Potter!"
The house-elf rushed off in a blur of motion, barking cheerful orders to other elves. Within a few minutes he returned, proudly presenting a steaming mug of rich hot chocolate and a perfectly crafted sandwich wrapped in parchment. The aroma of crispy bacon, fried egg, and that golden cheesy crust made Harry's mouth water.
Bolly bowed deeply again, hands trembling with delight. "Bolly hopes Master Harry Potter enjoys it very much, sir!"
Harry took a bite of the sandwich right there. The cheese crust crunched satisfyingly, giving way to the warm egg and smoky bacon. "This is fantastic, Bolly. Thank you. You've outdone yourself."
The elf looked ready to burst with pride. "Such praise! Bolly and the others will be working even harder now!"
Harry thanked him once more, took the hot chocolate and sandwich, and stepped back into the corridors, casually levitating the mug as he munched on the sandwich.
By the time Harry climbed the final flight of stairs and reached the corridor of the Fat Lady's portrait, the sandwich was entirely gone. He hadn't just eaten it; he had thoroughly enjoyed it. In fact, contrary to the meal satiating him, the perfect combination of that crispy cheese crust and smoky bacon had achieved the exact opposite effect. It was so incredibly good that his stomach let out another explicit rumble, demanding a second one.
Next to him, the steaming mug of hot chocolate drifted lazily through the air at chest level, completely unaffected by the drafty castle corridors. Harry kept a casual, warming charm wrapped around the cup, ensuring it stayed at the perfect, tongue-scalding temperature.
He caught the mug out of the air as he stepped through to the portrait, taking a rich, cinnamon-spiked sip. He was definitely going to have to make the kitchens a regular stop.
The Gryffindor common room was still pleasantly quiet when Harry stepped inside. Only a handful of early risers were scattered about: a few older students reading by the windows, and a third-year girl, Patricia Stimpson, who was just coming down the dormitory steps, yawning. The fireplace was crackling softly, casting a golden glow across the scarlet and gold furnishings.
Harry headed over to his favorite armchair near the hearth. He caught his floating mug out of the air just before sitting down, the warmth of the ceramic instantly seeping into his hands.
Patricia, still looking half-asleep, walked toward the fire to chase away the morning chill. She glanced at the empty armchair opposite him, then her eyes caught the gentle wisp of steam rising from his mug, smelling distinctly of rich cocoa and cinnamon.
"Morning," Harry said with a friendly, easygoing smile, breaking the ice. He gestured politely toward the empty seat. "Feel free to take the chair if you'd like. It's easily the warmest spot in the room right now."
Patricia blinked, slightly startled to be addressed by a first-year she hadn't really talked to yet. She looked at Harry, then at the cozy armchair, and offered a grateful, if slightly tired, smile.
"Thanks," she said, sinking into the plush leather with a soft sigh of relief. She rubbed her eyes, looking at him with mild curiosity. "I'm Patricia, by the way. Though I suppose everyone in the tower knows who you are."
Harry chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Well, I guess my fables precede me. But please note that about 99% of that stuff in the books is pure exaggeration."
"Just call me Harry," he continued as he extended his arm. "Nice to meet you Patricia."
Patricia smiled, completely disarmed, and reached out to shake his hand. "The books definitely don't do you justice, then. I never knew the Boy-Who-Lived would be so easy to talk to."
Harry snorted softly, taking a sip of his cocoa. "Honestly, that title always cracks me up. I'm pretty sure you could say that about literally everyone in this room. After all, everyone who is alive, lived."
Patricia let out a genuine laugh, her shoulders relaxing as she leaned back into the armchair. "Fair point. I suppose 'The Boy Who Happened to Be in the Room' doesn't have quite the same ring to it." She glanced toward the windows, where the horizon was just beginning to turn a soft violet.
"So," Harry asked, shifting the subject casually, "are you up early to cram for some brutal third-year classes, or is waking up before the sun just a habit?"
"Bit of both," Patricia sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Ancient Runes is turning my brain to mush, and my internal clock decided to punish me for it today." Her hazel eyes drifted downward, her nose twitching slightly as the rich, comforting scent of cinnamon and melted chocolate wafted across the gap between them. She eyed the steaming mug with clear envy. "Speaking of which... where on earth did you manage to score hot chocolate this early? The Great Hall doors won't even unlock for another half hour."
"It's actually pretty straightforward," Harry said, leaning forward a bit. "If you head down to the basement corridors, past the massive Hufflepuff barrels, you'll find a giant still-life painting of a fruit bowl. Right in the middle, there's a massive green pear. You just have to walk up and tickle it. It giggles, turns into a brass doorknob, and you're in."
As he spoke, Harry caught a sudden, subtle shift in the room's atmosphere. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that other early risers, who had previously been entirely absorbed in their books or staring blankly out the windows, had gone completely rigid. Pages stopped turning. A fourth-year boy had his quill frozen mid-air, his ears practically twitching to catch every syllable of Harry's directions.
Harry hid a smirk behind his mug, laughing silently to himself. Well, he thought, Bolly and the elves are about to get a massive line of customers.
"Tickle a pear," Patricia repeated, her eyes lighting up with sudden determination. She stood up from the plush armchair, all traces of sleep completely gone from her face. "Right. Ancient Runes can wait. I am going down there to get a mug of that exact same hot chocolate right now."
Harry chuckled, waving her off. "Please, go right ahead. It's incredibly good." He gave her a casual wink. "Tell Bolly you're a friend of mine, and you might just get something extra."
Patricia practically bounced on her toes, all traces of sleep gone. "I'm holding you to that extra something," she said with a grin, already heading for the portrait hole. "Thanks, Harry!"
"Anytime," Harry called after her, raising his mug in farewell.
He settled back into his armchair, a quiet smirk playing on his lips. By the time breakfast started, the elves were probably going to have a very busy morning. The thought amused him more than it should have.
Slowly, the deep silence of the tower completely gave way to the familiar, comforting hustle and bustle of a Hogwarts morning. Floorboards creaked upstairs, sleepy greetings were exchanged on the spiral staircases, and a steady stream of Gryffindors began trickling down into the common room.
"Blimey, Harry, you're up early," a groggy voice called out.
Harry looked up to see Ron trudging down from the boys' dormitory, his hair a wild, unruly nest and his uniform slightly disheveled. Closely behind him was Hermione, who already looked entirely awake, her heavy bag of books neatly organized and slung over her shoulder.
"Morning," Harry grinned, taking another sip of his cocoa.
Ron's eyes immediately locked onto the steaming mug in Harry's hand, his nose twitching. "Is that... hot chocolate? Where did you manage to get that? The Great Hall isn't even serving breakfast yet."
"Made a quick detour down to the kitchens," Harry replied smoothly. "I was feeling a bit peckish and needed something to wake me up."
Ron collapsed into the opposite armchair with a dramatic groan of envy. "You're killing me, mate. Next time you go on a kitchen raid, you're taking me. I don't care if it's four in the morning."
"Deal," Harry said easily.
Hermione appeared shortly after, looking far more composed with her hair neatly brushed and a stack of books tucked under one arm. She took in the scene, Harry relaxed with his drink, Ron still staring wistfully at the cup and raised an eyebrow.
"Where on earth did you get hot chocolate at this hour, Harry?" Hermione asked, looking between the steaming mug and his comfortable expression with a frown of genuine confusion. "I thought you could only get it at breakfast once the Great Hall doors opened at seven. Did you conjure it up?"
"No, I went down to the kitchens myself," Harry explained, gesturing lightly with the mug.
Hermione's eyebrows shot up, "I know you could have conjured it up... But you actually found the kitchen?"
Harry chuckled, "Sometimes, a visit to the kitchen adds a bit of magic to the morning."
The three of them settled into comfortable conversation as the common room slowly woke up around them. Ron complained (predictably) about the upcoming History of Magic lesson, while Hermione defended the importance of knowing the past. Harry listened with quiet amusement, occasionally adding dry commentary that made both of them laugh.
His mind, however, kept circling back to a better solution for Binn's class. Remus Lupin. He knew from Sirius that Remus was quite good at History. Not just quite good but rather he was the teacher of their entire batch every year till graduation. He would be a massive improvement for the entire year. Maybe even the whole school.
Eventually the common room grew too crowded, and the trio made their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast. The long tables were filling steadily, and the enchanted ceiling displayed a beautiful clear sky. Harry ate heartily, knowing Quidditch practice later would demand the energy. He also kept one eye on the staff table, noting Quirrell's continued nervous act.
The morning classes arrived all too soon.
History of Magic was the usual exercise in torture. Professor Binns' ghostly voice droned on about the Goblin Rebellion of 1612 with all the excitement of drying paint. Harry lasted five minutes before his head started nodding. Ron didn't even try. He was openly sleeping in under two minutes. Hermione stayed awake and took notes, but even she looked faintly pained. When the bell rang, she had to physically shake both boys awake, muttering about "developing better study habits" the entire way to their next class.
The idea of proposing a replacement teacher lingered in Harry's mind, but he decided to bring it up with Dumbledore at a more opportune moment. But for now, the trio just focused on getting to their next class which was Defense Against the Dark Arts.
It was only marginally better. Quirrell stuttered his way through a disjointed lecture on basic shielding charms, his turban twitching oddly now and then. Harry spent most of the period quietly observing the man, mentally noting details while pretending to take notes. Well he hasn't been killing unicorns, otherwise Lumos would have warned him, but then again he just wished he could do something about the guy even before he did anything.
By the time they reached lunch, Harry was more than ready for a proper meal. They claimed their usual spots at the Gryffindor table as plates of roast chicken, roasted potatoes, and vegetables materialized before them.
Harry waited until everyone had food before bringing up the idea that had been on his mind all morning.
"Hermione, Ron," he began casually, "I've been thinking about something."
Both friends looked up, intrigued.
"Professor Binns is unbearable," Harry said bluntly. "He's putting entire classes to sleep. Literally. I'm considering suggesting a replacement to Dumbledore. Someone who could actually make History of Magic worth attending."
Ron nearly choked on potato. "You're going to ask Dumbledore to replace a ghost?"
"Not fire him," Harry clarified. "Just let him retire from teaching. He's been doing it for centuries. It might be time for fresh blood."
Hermione set her fork down, looking thoughtful but cautious. "Who do you have in mind?"
"Remus Lupin," Harry replied. "He's knowledgeable, patient, and from what I know, a natural teacher. I think the students would actually stay awake in his class."
Ron blinked. "The scarred bloke who came to our house? He seemed decent. But what makes you think Dumbledore's gonna listen to you?"
"I don't know? He should considering it's something every student can attest to," Harry said, leaning back as he finished a piece of chicken. "Besides, Remus is someone he knows and I'm sure Dumbledore knows about Remus's teaching knowledge of History. Anyway I'm planning to head up to his office after Quidditch practice this evening to pitch it."
Hermione tapped her chin thoughtfully with her fork, "It would certainly be wonderful to have a teacher who actually answers questions instead of just reading from a centuries-old script. But Harry, Professor Binns is practically a part of the castle's architecture. Overturning that kind of institutional inertia won't be easy, even for the Headmaster."
"I think it will be easy, Hermione. From the rumors I hear, it seems Binns doesn't even realize he is dead. Maybe someone just needs to make him realize." Harry speared another piece of roast chicken, his mind already turning ahead. 'Besides, I'd rather deal with bureaucracy now than suffer through another year of ghostly lectures."
"If it means I don't have to face-plant onto my parchment every Monday morning, I'll vote for this Lupin bloke to take over tomorrow," Ron muttered, grabbing a potato. "Traditions are fine, but Binns is actively trying to kill us with boredom."
Harry chuckled, shaking his head. He glanced towards the high, enchanted windows of the Great Hall, his mind shifting from the lesson plans back to his own schedule. The afternoon sun was shining brightly and it was almost time for his Quidditch practice.