Harry woke to sunlight streaming through the tower window, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar blue hangings around his bed. For a brief, confusing instant, he expected to see the crimson of Gryffindor Tower or the plain black ceiling of his room in Grimmauld. Then reality crashed back—this was Ravenclaw Tower, decades into the past, and he was Harry Peverell now, not Harry Potter.
He sat up, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair, and reached for his wand on the bedside table. A quick tempus charm showed it was just past six in the morning—early, but not unreasonably so. Old habits from the wartime died hard; he'd often been waking before dawn for years.
The memory of the previous night—Nymeria in his room, in his bed—brought a small smile to his face. It had been risky, but after the tension of the journey and the Sorting, they'd both needed the release. Still, she'd been right to leave. They couldn't afford to be careless, not with so much at stake.
Harry showered quickly in the small bathroom adjoining his room, a luxury he hadn't expected but certainly appreciated, and dressed in his new Ravenclaw robes. The blue and bronze trim felt strange after years of red and gold, but he had to admit it suited him. The colors were more subdued, less likely to draw attention—which was exactly what they needed.
He made his way down to the common room, expecting to find it empty at this hour, but was surprised to see several early risers already settled at various tables and armchairs. Ravenclaws, it seemed, took their studies seriously at any hour. A few looked up as he descended the stairs, their curious gazes lingering a moment too long before returning to their books and parchments.
Not Helena Burke though, who looked up at him as he approached.
"Morning," she said, marking her place with a thin ribbon. "Sleep well?"
"Well enough," Harry replied, dropping into the chair across from her. "Just getting used to the new surroundings."
Helena nodded, her gray eyes studying him with that distinctly Ravenclaw mixture of curiosity and assessment. "First days are always the hardest. Schedule?" She held out her hand expectantly.
Harry pulled out the parchment Merrythought had handed him last night after the feast. Helena examined it with a critical eye.
"Not bad," she decided, handing it back. "We share Transfiguration and Charms today. Defense isn't until tomorrow. Dumbledore first thing, though—that'll be interesting."
"Oh?" Harry kept his tone casual, though his interest was genuine. "What should I expect?"
Helena smiled, closing her book completely. "Brilliance, mostly. He doesn't tolerate laziness, but he rewards creativity. Don't try to impress him with by-the-book spellwork. He's seen it all."
Harry filed this away, though of course, he already knew what teaching with Dumbledore would be like. But hearing a contemporary perspective was valuable.
The portrait hole opened, and Nymeria emerged, perfectly put together in her Ravenclaw robes, dark hair pulled back in a loose but elegant braid. Her eyes found Harry immediately, and she gave him a small, private smile before schooling her features into polite neutrality.
"Good morning," she said, approaching their chairs. "Am I interrupting?"
"Not at all," Helena replied, rising to her feet. "I was just telling Peverell about Dumbledore's class. We have Transfiguration first." She glanced between them. "Breakfast?"
The Great Hall was half-full when they arrived, early morning sunlight pouring through the high windows. The enchanted ceiling showed a clear blue sky with just a hint of autumn crispness. Harry led the way to the Ravenclaw table, taking a seat that offered a clear view of both the staff table and the entrance. Old habits died hard.
"Mind if we join you?" came a cheerful voice. Robert Fawley, the prefect from last night, stood there with Millicent Bagnold and a boy Harry hadn't met yet. "This is Edgar Jones," Robert added, nodding to his companion.
"Please," Nymeria gestured to the empty seats, her smile welcoming.
Edgar Jones—a lanky, freckled boy with a shock of red-blond hair—studied them with undisguised interest as he sat. "So, you're the new transfers, eh? Causing quite a stir. Haven't had adult students at Hogwarts in ages."
"We noticed," Harry said dryly, reaching for the toast.
"Don't mind Edgar," Millicent said, adjusting her glasses. "He fancies himself a journalist. Runs the school newspaper."
Edgar grinned, unabashed. "Speaking of which, I'd love an interview at some point. 'Mysterious Adult Transfers: What Brings Them to Hogwarts?' It would make a smashing headline."
Harry exchanged a quick glance with Nymeria. "Maybe once we've settled in," he deflected, spooning eggs onto his plate. "Right now, we're just trying to get our bearings."
"Fair enough," Edgar conceded, though Harry could tell by the gleam in his eye that he wouldn't drop the idea easily. Just what they needed—a budding Rita Skeeter on their case.
The clatter of owls announced the morning post, dozens of birds swooping in through the high windows. A handsome eagle owl landed in front of Nymeria, extending its leg with a black envelope attached. The seal bore the unmistakable crest of the Black family.
"Already?" Nymeria murmured, untying the letter. Her face remained impassive as she scanned its contents, but Harry caught the slight tightening of her jaw. "Well, that was fast."
"Trouble?" Harry asked quietly.
She folded the letter and tucked it into her robes. "Just a cordial invitation to explain myself to dear cousin Pollux at my earliest convenience." Her voice was light, but her eyes conveyed the seriousness of the situation.
The Ravenclaw table's quiet atmosphere was suddenly disturbed by the arrival of three Slytherin students who approached with clear intent. The girl in front Harry recognized instantly—the same proud bearing, aristocratic features, and piercing gray eyes that characterized the Black family. Dorea, who they'd met already. Flanking her were two boys who could only be her twin, Arcturus, and the slightly older Pollux.
"Miss Black," Pollux said, his voice cool but not unfriendly. "I trust you received our message?"
Nymeria rose to her feet, her posture relaxed but alert. Harry tensed, ready to intervene if necessary, though he knew she could handle herself.
"I did, cousin," Nymeria replied, emphasizing the last word slightly. "I was planning to reach out after classes today."
Arcturus stepped forward, his gaze assessing. He was taller than Harry expected, with the same dark hair and gray eyes as the others, but there was something less severe about his features. "Perhaps you could join us for lunch? The three of us are quite eager to hear how another Black has suddenly appeared at Hogwarts."
His tone was carefully neutral, neither threatening nor particularly warm. A diplomatic approach, then.
"I'd be delighted," Nymeria said, matching his formality.
Arcturus's eyes shifted to Harry and narrowed slightly, though there was no hostility. The interest was not hidden either though. "Peverell, isn't it? Not a name one hears often these days."
"Not in Britain, perhaps," Harry said smoothly. "My family has been abroad for some time."
"So we've heard," Pollux remarked respectfully. "You're welcome to join us, Peverell. It may be a family matter, but nothing that demands privacy… yet."
Harry offered a faint, polite smile. "I wouldn't want to intrude. This seems like something the family should discuss amongst themselves."
Pollux dismissed the concern with a slight wave of his hand, as if brushing aside an unnecessary formality.
"Nonsense. You're already involved by proximity, and from what I understand, you two are already acquainted. Besides," he added, glancing briefly at Nymeria, "you may offer a perspective we lack."
He turned to her then, his voice still neutral but edged with courtesy.
"Unless you object, of course."
Nymeria gave a casual shrug, not bothering to hide the amusement playing at the corners of her mouth.
"He's already here. Might as well join in."
A flicker of what might've been a smirk passed across Dorea's face before it disappeared behind composure once more. Pollux inclined his head slightly.
Their little standoff—for that's what it was, beneath the veneer of courtesy—was interrupted by the arrival of a boy who could have been Harry's reflection, albeit with subtle differences. His hair was neater, his jaw slightly broader, and his eyes were hazel instead of green. But the resemblance was striking enough that several heads turned to stare.
"Morning," the newcomer said, before he paused as he noticed Harry properly. His eyebrows shot up. "Well, that's uncanny. Didn't notice it properly last night. Charlus Potter." He extended his hand to Harry with a grin. "Seems like we might share some ancestors."
Harry felt a jolt of recognition as he shook his grandfather's hand. "Harry Peverell. It's possible. The Peverells and Potters intermarried centuries ago, from what I understand."
Charlus studied him with undisguised curiosity. "Must be why we look like we could be brothers. You'll have to tell me about your family line sometime."
Pollux cleared his throat. "We should be heading to class. Lunch, then, cousin? The alcove by the courtyard."
Nymeria nodded, and the Slytherins departed, Dorea casting one last appraising look over her shoulder.
"Well, that was interesting," Edgar Jones commented, watching them go. "The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black summoning one of their own. Don't envy you that conversation, Black."
"I can handle my family," Nymeria replied with a calm that Harry knew concealed her tension.
Charlus Potter hadn't moved, his attention still fixed on Harry with fascination. "Sorry for staring," he said, not sounding particularly sorry. "But the resemblance is remarkable. You're new, right? Both of you?"
"Transferred in this year," Harry confirmed, studying the face of his future grandfather with barely concealed emotion. "Sixth year."
"Same as me," Charlus said, brightening. "I'm in Gryffindor, but we'll probably share some classes. In fact—" He pulled out his schedule. "Defense tomorrow and Potions later this afternoon."
"Looking forward to it," Harry said, meaning it more than Charlus could possibly understand.
The bell rang, signaling the approach of the first period. Helena stood, gathering her books. "We should head to Transfiguration. Dumbledore doesn't appreciate tardiness."
Harry felt a nervous flutter in his stomach as they made their way to the Transfiguration classroom. Facing Dumbledore as a student again, especially under these circumstances, would be challenging. He and Nymeria had discussed this moment extensively, planning how to handle their first interactions with the future headmaster.
The Transfiguration classroom was much as Harry remembered it, though the desks were arranged differently, and the collected oddities that had filled the room in McGonagall's time were replaced by different curiosities. Dumbledore himself stood at the front, resplendent in robes of midnight blue embroidered with silver stars. His auburn hair and beard were shorter than Harry had ever seen them, and there was a vitality to him that spoke of a wizard in his prime.
"Good morning," Dumbledore said as they entered, his blue eyes twinkling as he gazed ahead. "Please find your seats promptly. We have much to cover today."
Harry and Nymeria selected desks near the middle of the room—not hiding at the back, but not putting themselves front and center either. Helena sat beside them, while the rest of the class filled in around them, a mix of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.
"Welcome to your sixth year of Transfiguration," Dumbledore began once everyone was settled. "Those of you who achieved an 'Exceeds Expectations' or better on your O.W.L.s have demonstrated the necessary foundation for the advanced work we will undertake this year. And to our new additions—" His gaze settled briefly on Harry and Nymeria. "—I look forward to seeing how your previous education has prepared you."
The first half of the lesson was theoretical, focusing on the principles of human transfiguration. Harry took careful notes, though much of it was review for him. Beside him, Nymeria was doing the same, though he could tell from the slight furrow of her brow that she was resisting the urge to raise her hand and contribute. They'd agreed to moderate their participation, at least initially.
"Now," Dumbledore said, clapping his hands together after forty minutes of lecture, "let us put theory into practice. Today we will begin with partial human transfiguration—specifically, altering the appearance of your eyebrows. Please partner up and take turns. The incantation is Crinis Muto, with a sharp flick and twist. The pages in your text offer various suggestions for concentration techniques."
The class shuffled into pairs. Harry automatically turned to Nymeria, but Helena was quicker.
"Partner with me?" she asked Nymeria. "I could use someone with fresh perspective."
Before either could respond, a Hufflepuff boy approached Harry. "Fancy working together? I'm Oswin Crouch."
Harry managed not to react to the name. "Sure," he agreed, moving to a clearer space with Crouch.
"You go first," Oswin offered, looking nervous. "I've never been particularly good at Transfiguration."
Harry nodded, raising his wand. He deliberately added a slight hesitation to his movement, making the spell look more difficult than it was. "Crinis Muto," he said, focusing on turning Oswin's sandy eyebrows a deep blue.
The transformation was successful but not perfect—he'd left the right eyebrow slightly darker than the left, a deliberate imperfection.
"Impressive on a first try," Oswin said, conjuring a small mirror to examine his reflection. "I've heard people can't manage color change right away."
Harry shrugged modestly. "I've had some practice with similar spells. Your turn."
Across the room, he could see Nymeria working with Helena. She too was holding back, he could tell—her wandwork just a fraction slower than her usual speed, her results good but not exceptional.
Oswin's attempt to turn Harry's eyebrows platinum blond resulted in a patchy effect, with streaks of his natural black still showing through. As they worked to refine their technique, Harry felt the intensity of Dumbledore's gaze on them. The professor was moving through the classroom, offering corrections and praise, but Harry noticed he spent extra time observing the new students.
"Miss Black," Dumbledore said, appearing at Nymeria's side. "An interesting technique you're using. Eastern European, if I'm not mistaken?"
Nymeria didn't flinch, though Harry knew she was caught off guard. "Yes, Professor. I had an instructor from Bulgaria who favored this style of wandwork for precision transformations."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with interest. "Indeed. I encountered something similar during my studies with Nicolas Flamel. May I?" He gestured for her to demonstrate again.
With Dumbledore watching closely, Nymeria performed the spell on Helena, turning her blonde eyebrows a subtle shade of copper. Her wandwork was flawless this time—she couldn't risk making obvious mistakes under Dumbledore's direct observation—but she kept the overall effect underwhelming.
"Good control," Dumbledore commented. "Though I wonder..." He turned to Helena. "Miss Burke, would you mind demonstrating the standard technique we teach here at Hogwarts? I'd like to show Miss Black the difference."
Helena performed the spell competently, turning Nymeria's eyebrows silver.
"You see?" Dumbledore said, addressing Nymeria. "The British method emphasizes the twist at the end, whereas your technique focuses on the initial precision. Both effective, but with different emphases." He smiled benignly. "Sometimes tradition blinds us to alternative approaches. Five points to Ravenclaw for demonstrating the value of diverse magical education."
He moved on to Harry and Oswin, observing their progress with the same keen interest. "Mr. Peverell," he said after watching Harry successfully turn Oswin's eyebrows bright orange. "Your wandwork shows... unusual experience. Not quite the standard curriculum from any school I'm familiar with."
Harry met his gaze steadily. "I've had several tutors, Professor. My technique is probably a bit of a hybrid."
"Necessity often breeds innovation," Dumbledore observed, his expression unreadable. "Nevertheless, good work. Try focusing your intent more narrowly on the next attempt—I suspect you're capable of more precision than you're showing."
It wasn't quite an accusation, but Harry felt the subtle challenge in Dumbledore's words. The professor moved away, leaving Harry with the distinct impression he was already under more scrutiny than they'd hoped for.
By the end of class, both Harry and Nymeria had established themselves as competent but not extraordinary students—exactly as planned. As they gathered their books, Dumbledore called out, "Mr. Peverell, Miss Black. A moment, please."
They approached his desk, exchanging a brief glance.
"I received your examination results from the Ministry," Dumbledore said, shuffling through some parchments. "Quite impressive in several areas. I notice you both achieved Outstanding in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms."
"We've had... practical experience in those subjects," Harry said carefully.
Dumbledore's penetrating blue eyes studied them. "Yes, I imagine you have. These are troubled times, and many young people find themselves developing skills out of necessity rather than academic interest." He paused, steepling his fingers. "Should you find yourselves in need of additional resources or guidance during your time here, my door is always open."
"Thank you, Professor," Nymeria replied, her tone respectful but guarded.
"One more thing," Dumbledore added as they turned to leave. "Professor Slughorn mentioned you'll be attending his gathering this weekend. He has quite the eye for potential. I look forward to seeing how you both progress this year."
The dismissal was clear, but the subtext was unmistakable: they were being watched.
-Break-
"That could have gone better," Nymeria muttered as they made their way to Charms. "He's already suspicious."
"He's Dumbledore," Harry replied, keeping his voice low. "He's suspicious of everyone. But I don't think he's onto us specifically. Just... curious."
Charms passed without incident. Professor Flitwick—not the Flitwick Harry knew, but an older relative—put them through their paces with advanced Banishing Charms. Both Harry and Nymeria performed well enough to avoid negative attention but carefully avoided showing their full capabilities.
At lunch, they approached the designated alcove where the Black cousins waited. Harry felt Nymeria tense beside him, her back straightening almost imperceptibly as she adopted the aristocratic bearing that came naturally to her role.
"Peverell, Cousin," Pollux greeted, rising to his feet. Unlike at breakfast, his expression now held a hint of warmth. "Join us, please."
The alcove contained a small round table set with silver and crystal—clearly the House Elves had been instructed to provide something more elegant than the standard Hogwarts fare. Dorea and Arcturus sat on either side of their older brother, leaving two chairs for the newcomers.
"Thank you for the invitation," Nymeria said smoothly, taking her seat. Harry sat beside her, watchful but relaxed.
"We thought it best to discuss matters privately," Pollux continued, serving wine into crystal goblets with a casual wave of his wand. "News of another Black appearing at Hogwarts has already reached our parents. They're... curious."
"I imagine they would be," Nymeria replied, accepting her goblet with a nod of thanks. "The Black family tree is extensive, but well-documented, at least until it comes to squibs."
Arcturus leaned forward, his gray eyes sharp. "That would explain why you're not on it."
"That would, and as Dorea said when we met in the bookstore, the family's never been kind to those who don't have magic," Nymeria said, sipping her wine. Harry admired how effortlessly she navigated the conversation, never quite lying but never revealing too much.
"Your direct ancestor was estranged from the main line years ago," Pollux observed.
"Yes, he was," Nymeria agreed calmly. "He left Britain, traveled to Eastern Europe, and eventually married a witch from an old Romanian family."
Arcturus studied her with renewed interest. "And yet you have magic. Strong magic, from what I hear."
"Magic often resurfaces in subsequent generations," Nymeria said with a slight shrug. "Goes to say how worthless the squibs really are."
"Why return to Britain now?" Dorea asked, ignoring the sarcastic remark, her tone less confrontational than her twin's but no less probing. "And why Hogwarts at your age?"
"The political situation in Eastern Europe is deteriorating," she replied, putting her wine glass on the table. "Grindelwald's followers are becoming bolder, targeting those they see as traitors. I decided to leave before things got even worse than they are right now. There's also the fact that I'm the last of my branch of the family."
The explanation was close enough to their prepared story without revealing too much. The Black cousins exchanged glances, communicating silently in that way siblings and close relatives often did.
"We're sorry to hear that," Dorea said softly, earning a nod from Nymeria.
"And you, Peverell?" Pollux turned his attention to Harry. "What's your stake in this? The Peverells died out centuries ago, yet here you are. And with a remarkable resemblance to the Potter line, I might add."
"The Peverells didn't die out—they just became less visible," Harry countered. "And yes, there's Potter blood in my line, several generations back. My branch of the family left Britain during the goblin rebellions of the 1700s and settled in various parts of Europe."
"Your accent is impeccably British," Arcturus noted skeptically, not missing how Harry kept his explanation perfectly vague. He gave enough, but hid just as enough. He couldn't help but give it to the man. He knew how to play his cards.
"My father insisted on it," Harry replied without missing a beat. "He believed we might return to Britain someday and wanted me to fit in when we did."
Pollux leaned back, swirling the wine in his glass. "Well, regardless of the circumstances, it seems we have a long-lost cousin and the... heir of a legendary family in our midst." He focused on Nymeria again. "The question remains: is there something you want from the Black family? Recognition? Resources?"
"Nothing," Nymeria said simply. "I didn't come to Britain seeking the Black family's approval or support. I came seeking safety and education. If you choose to acknowledge our connection, I would be open to it. If not, I'll be fine by myself. My family didn't need the main line, and I don't either."
Her directness seemed to catch Pollux off guard. After a moment, he smiled—a genuine expression that softened his aristocratic features. "Refreshingly straightforward. Most people want something from our family."
"I have what I need," Nymeria replied, her fingers entwining with Harry's under the table.
"Perhaps we should get to know each other before making any decisions," Dorea suggested, her initial coolness thawing slightly. "After all, blood is blood, and you are family."
"I can see the sense in that," Nymeria said with a small quirk of her lips.
The conversation shifted to lighter topics—classes, professors, the upcoming Quidditch season. Harry noticed that while Arcturus remained reserved, both Pollux and Dorea seemed increasingly at ease with Nymeria. By the time lunch ended, a tentative understanding had been established.
"We'll speak again," Pollux said as they rose to leave. "Perhaps at Professor Slughorn's gathering this weekend. I understand you've both been invited."
"We have," Harry confirmed.
"Then until Saturday," Pollux inclined his head slightly—not quite a bow, but a gesture of respect nonetheless. "Cousin," he added, addressing Nymeria directly.
As they walked away, Harry nudged Nymeria gently. "That went better than expected."
"It's just the beginning," she murmured. "They're still assessing us. Pollux seems reasonable, though. Less rigid than I expected."
"And Dorea warmed up by the end," Harry added. "Arcturus is the one to watch."
"He's suspicious by nature," Nymeria agreed. "But family loyalty runs deep with the Blacks. If Pollux accepts me, the others will follow eventually."
The afternoon brought double Potions, where they found themselves sharing a classroom with Gryffindors for the first time. Charlus Potter immediately waved them over to his table, where he sat with Harfang Longbottom and a girl Harry didn't recognize.
"Thought you might want friendly faces," Charlus said, grinning. "This is Augusta Whittington, by the way. She's the smartest witch in our year, so you'll want her as your partner if she allows it."
Augusta—who Harry realized with a jolt must be Neville's future grandmother—gave them a measured nod. "Don't oversell me, Potter. I nearly blew up the classroom last term."
"Only because you were experimenting beyond the curriculum," Harfang pointed out loyally.
Before they could continue, Professor Slughorn bustled in, his girth already substantial though not yet as pronounced as it would be in Harry's time. His walrus mustache was more brown than gray, and he moved with surprising energy for a man of his size.
"Welcome, welcome!" he boomed, beaming at the class. "Ah, I see our new additions have found seats already. Excellent! Today we'll be brewing the Draught of Living Death—a challenging potion that will test the skills that earned you all a place in my N.E.W.T. class."
He waved his wand, and instructions appeared on the blackboard. "You may work in pairs. The best potion will win a small vial of Felix Felicis—liquid luck! Begin!"
Harry hesitated, memories of his first attempt at this potion in his "original" sixth year flooding back. Charlus nudged him. "Partner with me? Augusta always works with Harfang."
"Sure," Harry agreed, while Nymeria paired with a Gryffindor girl at the next table.
Working with Charlus was surreal—his mannerisms were so similar to what he'd heard of his father from Sirius and Remus, yet unique in their own way. He was skilled at Potions, methodical in a way Harry hadn't expected, crushing ingredients with precision and stirring with careful attention to the instructions.
"So," Charlus said casually as they waited for their sopophorous beans to soak, "you and Black. Are you two...?"
Harry nearly dropped his silver knife. "Are we what?"
Charlus grinned. "You know. Together? There's a bet going in Gryffindor tower already."
"We're associates," Harry said, keeping his voice neutral. He couldn't believe there was already a bet like that. It'd not even been a day! "We met during the summer when we realized we're both transferring. Common interest and all."
"Just associates, huh?" Charlus looked unconvinced. "The way you look at each other says otherwise."
Harry focused on stirring their potion, which was turning the pale lilac color described in the textbook. He wondered if he should elaborate further, his instincts warring with his urge to be honest with the man who would be his grandfather. Finally, he settled on a compromise. "It's complicated."
It wasn't as if there would be an avalanche with this little remark, he thought.
"Isn't it always?" Charlus laughed, adding powdered asphodel with a steady hand. "You know, it's strange. I feel like I know you somehow. Like we've met before."
Harry's heart skipped a beat. "Maybe in another life," he said lightly, hoping the comment would come across as a joke rather than the near-truth it was.
Across the room, he could see Nymeria working efficiently with her partner, her potion already approaching the ideal shade. Slughorn was making his rounds, offering praise and critique in equal measure. When he reached Harry and Charlus, his eyebrows rose in pleasant surprise.
"Well done, gentlemen! See how the potion has that precise shade of lilac? That's exactly what we're looking for at this stage. Five points each to Ravenclaw and Gryffindor."
By the end of class, three potions were in contention for the Felix Felicis—Harry and Charlus's, Nymeria and her partner's, and Augusta and Harfang's. Slughorn examined each carefully, checking the consistency and color.
"All excellent attempts," he declared. "But the winner is... Miss Whittington and Mr. Longbottom! Perfect consistency and exactly the right shade of clear water with just a hint of pink. Well done!"
Augusta accepted the tiny vial with a satisfied smile, while Harfang beamed beside her.
"Don't worry," Charlus told Harry as they packed up their equipment. "We'll get them next time. You're good at this, Peverell. Better than you let on, I think."
Harry smiled noncommittally. "Like I said, I've had practice."
As the class filed out, Slughorn called, "Mr. Peverell, Miss Black—a moment, please."
They approached his desk, where he busied himself organizing some papers. "Excellent work today, both of you. I'm impressed. It confirms what I suspected when we met in Diagon Alley—you both have real talent."
"Thank you, Professor," Harry said, wondering where this was heading.
"I hope you remember I'm having a small gathering this Saturday evening," Slughorn continued. "Now, it's nothing formal—just a few students with particular promise or interesting connections. A chance to network, you might say. I do hope you'll attend?"
"We'd be honored," Nymeria replied smoothly.
"Splendid!" Slughorn clapped his hands together. "Eight o'clock, my quarters. Smart casual dress. You'll find some of your housemates will be attending as well. Miss Burke and Mr. Fawley, for instance."
"We'll be there," Harry promised.
"Oh, and one more thing," Slughorn added as they turned to leave. "I understand you've made contact with young Pollux Black and his cousins? Good, good. Family connections are important. And Charlus Potter and Harfang Longbottom too, I saw. You're making friends in all the right places, it seems."
His tone was jovial, but Harry didn't miss the calculating look in his eyes. The Slug Club was always about connections and potential, after all.
-Break-
Dinner in the Great Hall that evening was a more relaxed affair. Harry and Nymeria sat with their fellow Ravenclaws, fielding questions about their first day and sharing carefully edited stories about their previous education. The novelty of their presence was already fading slightly—they were becoming part of the Hogwarts landscape rather than peculiarities.
"Library after dinner?" Millicent suggested as they finished dessert. "We usually have a study group on the first day back. Sets the tone for the year."
"I'm in," Helena agreed. "We need to start that Transfiguration essay Dumbledore assigned."
Harry and Nymeria exchanged glances. They had planned to explore the castle tonight, reacquainting themselves with the layout and checking for any significant differences from their time. But establishing social connections was equally important to their mission.
"Sounds good," Harry decided. "We could use the guidance on the Hogwarts approach to essays."
As they were rising from the table, a familiar voice called out, "Peverell! Hold up!"
Charlus Potter approached, accompanied by Harfang and two other Gryffindor boys. "We're putting together a pick-up Quidditch game this weekend, before Slughorn's party. Interested? We need a Seeker for one of the teams."
Harry felt a surge of excitement at the prospect of flying again. "Definitely. I haven't been on a broom in too long."
"Brilliant!" Charlus looked delighted. "Saturday afternoon, then. The pitch is usually empty at that time." He turned to Nymeria. "You play, Black?"
"I prefer keeping my feet on the ground," she replied with a slight smile. "But I might come watch."
"Fair enough," Charlus shrugged. "Not everyone's mad enough to enjoy hurtling through the air on a stick." He grinned at Harry. "See you tomorrow in Defense? I hear Professor Merrythought has something special planned for the first day."
"Wouldn't miss it," Harry said, feeling a genuine connection forming with his future grandfather.
As the Gryffindors walked away, Nymeria leaned close to Harry. "Making friends with your grandfather?" she murmured, too quietly for anyone else to hear. "That's not complicated at all."
"Nothing about this situation is simple," Harry replied under his breath. "But we're making progress. First day down, and we've already connected with the Blacks, the Potters, and several future Ministry officials."
"And caught even more of Dumbledore's attention," she added, her voice carrying a warning note.
"That was inevitable," Harry sighed. "But as long as we give him no reason to dig deeper, we should be relatively fine."
The Ravenclaw group made their way to the library, finding a secluded table among the towering bookshelves. As Harry settled into the familiar environment, surrounded by the scent of parchment and leather bindings, he felt a strange sense of peace despite the complexity of their situation. They were at Hogwarts. They had a plan. And for now, at least, they were exactly where they needed to be.
Helena passed him a heavy Transfiguration text. "Here," she said. "This has the best explanation of the theory Dumbledore was discussing today."
Harry accepted the book with a grateful nod, opening it to the marked page. Across the table, Nymeria was already deep in conversation with Robert and Millicent about the practical applications of human transfiguration.
Tomorrow would bring Defense Against the Dark Arts, where he would need to be especially careful about showing his capabilities. But that was tomorrow's challenge. For now, he would focus on completing this essay, cementing these new friendships, and continuing to build the foundation they would need for the difficult work ahead.
As the evening deepened and the library lamps cast their golden glow over ancient books and young faces, Harry allowed himself to relax. Maybe, just maybe, they could pull this off.
TBC.
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