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The Slytherin common room held a different quality in the early morning hours. Without the usual conversations and political maneuvering, it possessed an almost scholarly tranquility that Harry found deeply appealing. He sat in one of the high-backed chairs near the fireplace, a book propped open on his lap, savoring the rare solitude.
Wizards of the Ages made for fascinating reading, particularly the sections on bloodline politics and magical inheritance. According to Professor Snape's speech last night, Slytherins were supposedly the greatest of all four houses, but Harry suspected that was largely ego talking. Every house likely claimed superiority in some fashion—it was simply human nature dressed up in school colors.
He turned a page, scanning the biographical entry for Albus Dumbledore. Half-blood, the text noted clinically, though it provided frustratingly little detail about his lineage. Yet here was a half-blood wizard considered among the most powerful in the world. The book mentioned several other renowned magical figures—Seraphine Lockkey, Grindelwald, Merlin himself—and their blood status seemed far less relevant than their actual abilities.
Which raises interesting questions about the pureblood supremacy some families preach, Harry mused, thinking of Draco's casual slur yesterday about Hermione, who apparently was a Muggle-born. His own mother had been Muggle-born, yet Hagrid had described her as brilliant. If magical ability truly correlated with blood purity, such examples shouldn't exist.
Harry was irked by Draco's words towards Hermione last night; his mother had been a Muggle-born, so Harry thought Draco was foolish for dropping such a slur so casually. Harry understood that Draco only saw what Harry's name represented, The Boy Who Lived, but at the same time, Draco had not realised that by using that word, he was also insulting Harry's mother.
Harry would make sure to settle that score, but not today, he still needed to get a foot on this place, he knew last night wasn't so bad, the Slytherins had not tried something right away, but Harry knew it was only a matter of time until someone foolish enough tried to do something in the middle of the school.
Harry flipped to the section on the Noble Houses of Britain, studying the intricate family trees and political alliances. House Black, he noted with interest, was in shambles. Sirius Black and Bellatrix Lestrange (Former Black) were imprisoned in Azkaban, leaving only Narcissa Malfoy as the family's respectable representative. The others had apparently risked everything for this "Dark Lord" Hagrid had mentioned.
Foolish, Harry concluded. Whatever ideology drove them to support Voldemort, it cost them everything. A cautionary tale about the dangers of absolute loyalty to anything other than one's own interests.
Still, this information provided useful context for understanding Draco. As the nephew of the only free Black family member, he likely felt pressure to restore his extended family's reputation. That could be leveraged if handled correctly. Draco might not be the brightest, but he could be useful.
The sound of footsteps on stone interrupted his thoughts. Theodore Nott emerged from the dormitory, already dressed but moving with the careful quiet of someone trying not to wake others. He stopped short upon seeing Harry.
"You're up early," Theodore observed, his soft voice carrying a note of surprise.
"I enjoy the quiet," Harry replied, closing the book but keeping his finger between the pages to mark his place. "Easier to think without distractions."
Theodore nodded slowly, apparently understanding the sentiment. "I sometimes wake early myself. My house can be...overwhelming during the day."
There was something carefully neutral in Theodore's tone that Harry found intriguing. Unlike Draco's natural arrogance or Crabbe and Goyle's obvious simplicity, Theodore seemed to observe more than he revealed.
"First day of classes," Harry commented. "Are you nervous?"
"Cautious," Theodore corrected. "Father says first impressions at Hogwarts matter more than people realize. Professors remember students who stand out, for better or worse."
Interesting, Harry thought. A political family, then. One that understands the long-term value of reputation management.
"Any particular professors to watch out for?" Harry asked with casual interest. He remembered them mentioning McGonagall to him last night, but he wanted to ask more questions, to know more.
Theodore's expression remained carefully neutral. "Professor McGonagall has a reputation for fairness, but she's Head of Gryffindor. Some say that creates... complications for Slytherins."
"And Professor Snape?"
"Protective of his own house, but demanding. He expects excellence, not just effort." Theodore paused, then added quietly, "Father mentioned you specifically in his last letter. Said your sorting was... unexpected."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what did your father think of unexpected events?"
"That they create opportunities for those clever enough to recognize them," Theodore replied, meeting Harry's gaze directly for the first time.
Before Harry could respond, more footsteps echoed from the dormitory. Draco emerged with Crabbe and Goyle flanking him like oversized bookends, already dressed and looking supremely confident.
"Potter!" Draco called out cheerfully. "Couldn't sleep?"
"Actually, I've been up reading," Harry replied, lifting his book slightly. "Trying to understand more about our world."
Daphne appeared from the girls' dormitory at that moment, followed by other first-year girls, impeccably dressed despite the early hour. Her pale hair was arranged with the same precision she'd maintained yesterday, and her robes showed not a single wrinkle.
"Good morning," she said with polite acknowledgment to the group. Her gaze fell on Harry's book. "Early morning studying? How... dedicated."
"Knowledge is power," Harry replied with a slight smile. "And I have a lot of catching up to do."
Draco dropped into a nearby chair, curiosity evident. "What's that you're reading?"
Harry held up the cover. "Wizards of the Ages. Thought I should familiarize myself with the people considered powerful in our society."
"And what's so special about reading about powerful wizards?" Daphne asked, settling gracefully into her own chair.
"Understanding what makes someone powerful helps you recognize opportunity when you see it," Harry replied smoothly. "Besides, it's important to know the names that matter when they come up in conversation."
Draco perked up at this. "Anyone particularly interesting?"
"Quite a few," Harry said, flipping through pages. "Though I was surprised to learn how many famous wizards weren't actually purebloods. Dumbledore's a half-blood, for instance."
Theodore shot him a sharp look, while Draco's expression grew slightly uncomfortable.
"Yes, well," Draco said dismissively, "there are always exceptions. The truly powerful pureblood families have other advantages."
"Such as?" Harry asked with genuine curiosity.
"Connections, obviously. Resources. Political influence." Draco gestured vaguely. "It's not just about magical power—it's about understanding how the world works."
"That makes sense," Harry acknowledged. "Speaking of understanding how things work, I read quite a lot about Quidditch as well."
This earned an eye roll from many girls, while Daphne gazed at Harry as if he were an interesting puzzle piece.
Draco's entire demeanor brightened immediately. "Father says I'm a natural on a broom. I've been flying since I was six—did I mention that yesterday? We have the finest brooms money can buy at the manor."
As Draco launched into a detailed description of his family's collection of racing brooms, Harry listened with apparent interest while mentally cataloging useful information. Flying ability, family wealth, obvious pride in status—all potentially valuable points of connection or leverage.
"Perhaps you could show me some basics when we're allowed on brooms," Harry suggested during a pause. "I'd appreciate learning from someone with experience."
"Of course!" Draco replied eagerly. "Though first-years aren't typically allowed personal brooms... Father's looking into making an exception."
Naturally, Harry thought, but merely nodded with appropriate admiration.
Eventually, the common room began filling with other students preparing for breakfast. The group made their way through the castle corridors, Harry noting the route carefully while participating in light conversation.
The Great Hall buzzed with morning energy as students filled the house tables. Harry observed the staff table as they entered—Professor McGonagall looked stern and alert, Dumbledore appeared serene, and Professor Snape... well, Snape looked as though someone had forced him to drink particularly bitter medicine.
Though that might just be his default expression, Harry mused.
A tall fifth-year boy approached the Slytherin first-years, carrying a stack of parchment schedules. His expression held the bored authority of someone accustomed to having younger students defer to him.
"Schedules," he announced curtly, handing them out. "Don't lose them—we won't make you new ones."
Harry accepted his schedule and glanced down, frowning. The parchment was completely blank.
"Excuse me," Harry said politely, "but mine appears to be empty."
The prefect glanced at the blank schedule, then at Harry's face, recognition dawning. "Tough luck, Potter," he said with a smirk, turning away dismissively.
Harry stared at the boy's retreating figure, feeling a familiar cold anger settle in his stomach. He'd hoped that having a wand might change the dynamic of dealing with bullies, but apparently, some things remained constant regardless of the magical nature of his new environment.
However, Harry thought grimly, this time I'm not defenseless.
He pulled out his holly wand with smooth precision, pointing it at Draco's schedule while murmuring, "Geminio."
The spell worked perfectly—Draco's schedule duplicated itself onto Harry's previously blank parchment, complete and legible. Several first-years nearby watched with surprise and not a little admiration.
"Impressive," Daphne said quietly. "Were you expecting someone to tamper with your schedule?"
Harry shrugged, tucking his wand away. "I've learned to prepare for people who try to feel powerful by bullying someone four years younger than them." His voice carried just enough edge to make his meaning clear. "Fortunately, wands don't care how tall you are."
Theodore looked thoughtful, while Draco appeared caught between concern and excitement.
"That was a second-year spell," Draco said. "How did you—?"
"I read ahead," Harry replied simply. "Seemed practical."
As they settled at the Slytherin table, Harry scanned his newly acquired schedule. "So our first class is Transfiguration with the Gryffindors," he observed. "Interesting choice for a first lesson."
"What do you mean?" asked Tracey Davis, who had appeared beside them with her own schedule.
"Think about it," Harry said, buttering a piece of toast. "They could have arranged the schedule to keep houses separate for most classes, but instead they're deliberately mixing the two houses with the strongest rivalry. It's designed to create tension."
"And that's bad because...?" Draco prompted.
"Creates an adversarial environment that could interfere with learning," Harry replied thoughtfully. "On the other hand, it also provides motivation to excel—nobody wants to be shown up by their rivals. Professor McGonagall probably uses the house competition to push students harder."
Daphne nodded slowly. "Clever observation. Use rivalry as a teaching tool."
"Exactly," Harry agreed. "Though it probably makes things more difficult for students who don't respond well to competitive pressure."
Their conversation was interrupted by a second-year boy sitting nearby. "Is there a map of this castle somewhere?" Harry asked him. "It seems easy to get lost."
The boy shook his head. "No official maps. You learn by exploring and remembering."
"What happens if you get completely lost?" Harry pressed.
"That's why first-years stick together," Theodore pointed out. "Safety in numbers."
"But what if someone wants to explore independently?" Harry asked.
"Then you'd better have a good memory," said a third-year girl with a smirk. "Some students have made their own maps over the years, but they usually keep them private."
"Good idea," Harry said without hesitation. "I think I'll make one myself."
Several students looked at him with interest.
"Seriously?" asked Draco.
"Why not?" Harry replied. "I like understanding my environment. A detailed map would be useful for finding the quickest routes between classes, identifying interesting areas to explore, and generally avoiding the crowds."
"That's... actually quite practical," Daphne admitted.
"Plus," Harry added with a slight grin, "it would give me something productive to do during my inevitable wandering around this castle."
As breakfast wound down and students began gathering their things, Harry felt a mixture of anticipation and calculation settling over him. The first day of classes would reveal much about the academic expectations, professor biases, and student dynamics he'd need to navigate.
"Twenty minutes until Transfiguration," Draco announced, checking his pocket watch. "We should head up to McGonagall's classroom early—Father says punctuality matters to her."
"Lead the way," Harry said, standing and adjusting his robes. "Let's see what Hogwarts has to teach us."
As they left the Great Hall, Harry caught sight of Professor Snape watching their group with an unreadable expression. Their eyes met briefly, and Harry offered a polite nod before turning away.
Let the games begin, he thought with quiet determination. Time to see what kind of wizard I really am.
The Transfiguration classroom was located on the second floor, accessed through corridors that seemed determined to confuse first-year students. Harry made mental notes of the route as their group navigated the moving staircases, already beginning his promised map of the castle.
"Left here," Draco announced confidently, then paused as the staircase they'd been climbing suddenly lurched into motion. "Or... perhaps not."
"This is why I want a map," Harry muttered, watching their intended destination slide away as the staircase repositioned itself. "Architectural mobility should come with warning signs."
Daphne, who had been walking beside him, allowed herself a small smile. "Perhaps you could include movement schedules in your map project."
"If such schedules exist," Harry replied. "Though I suspect the staircases operate on their own mysterious logic."
After a few false starts and redirections, they finally located Professor McGonagall's classroom. The door stood open, revealing a stern-looking woman sitting behind a desk that had been transfigured into what appeared to be a tabby cat—until it suddenly shifted back into ordinary wood as students entered.
Impressive, Harry thought, filing away the seamless demonstration of advanced transfiguration. She's establishing her credentials before the lesson even begins.
Professor McGonagall surveyed the entering students with sharp eyes behind square spectacles. Her expression remained neutral as Slytherins and Gryffindors filed in, though Harry noted she greeted both houses with equal formality.
"Take your seats," she instructed crisply. "There will be no talking during my lessons unless specifically asked to respond."
Harry selected a seat that provided a clear view of both the professor and his fellow students, with Daphne settling beside him and Draco taking the seat on his other side, along with the two shadows of his. Across the classroom, he spotted the bushy-haired girl from yesterday—Hermione, he recalled—sitting with perfect posture and an expression of rapt attention. She was sitting with a blonde-haired boy from Gryffindor. Harry tried to remember his name from last night...what was it...oh yeah, he is the Longbottom, another Pure Blood.
"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall began without preamble. "Anyone messing about in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."
She gestured to her desk, which obligingly transformed back into a tabby cat, then back to wood again. Several students gasped in amazement.
"Transfiguration is the art of changing the form or appearance of an object by altering its molecular structure," McGonagall continued. "Today, we will begin with the fundamentals—transforming a match into a needle."
Harry leaned forward slightly, genuinely interested. He'd read about transfiguration theory, but seeing practical application would provide valuable insight into how magical transformation actually worked.
McGonagall distributed matches to each student, along with their textbooks. "The incantation is simple: Vera Verto. However, the wand movement and mental visualization are crucial. You must see the needle clearly in your mind—its length, its sharpness, its metallic composition."
She demonstrated the wand movement, a precise diagonal slash followed by a small clockwise circle.
"The match must cease to exist as a match and become entirely needle," she continued. "Half-transformations are not merely failures—they can be dangerous. A half-transfigured object is inherently unstable."
Harry watched as McGonagall performed the spell on her own match, transforming it into a gleaming silver needle with apparent ease.
"Now," she said, "you may begin. Remember—visualization, precision, and intent."
Around the classroom, students began attempting the spell with varying degrees of success. Harry observed carefully before making his own attempt, noting how others held their wands, the speed of their movements, and their concentration.
Draco went first among their group, declaring confidently, "Vera Verto!" His match flickered briefly but remained stubbornly match-like.
Daphne attempted the spell, her wand movement textbook-perfect. Her match developed a slight metallic sheen but retained its original shape.
Across the room, Hermione was frowning in concentration, her lips moving silently as she practiced the incantation.
Harry continued observing, analyzing the correlation between successful elements and failed attempts. The students who achieved partial success seemed to have clearer wand movements, while those who failed entirely appeared to be rushing through the incantation.
Transfiguration requires absolute certainty, he realized. Half-believing in the transformation creates half-transformations.
Harry noticed Professor McGonagall watching him. She seemed like she wanted to ask why he hadn't tried yet.
Beside him, Daphne's frustration was evident only in the slight tightening of her grip on her wand. Her match had grown slightly silvery but remained stubbornly wooden.
"The visualization helps," Harry murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. "Think about the molecular structure changing, not just the appearance."
Daphne's ice-blue eyes flashed. "I don't need—" she began, then paused, considering his words. Her next attempt produced a match that was definitely metallic, though still match-shaped.
On Harry's other side, Draco was having similar difficulties. "This is ridiculous," he muttered. "Father said Transfiguration was—"
"Watch the wand movement," Harry suggested casually, demonstrating the correct motion while pretending to stretch. "It's more about precision than power."
Crabbe and Goyle were practically stabbing their matches with their wands. Goyle looked ready to snap his in frustration.
"Goyle," Harry called softly. "Come here a moment."
The larger boy lumbered over, looking confused. Harry lowered his voice conspiratorially. "You're actually quite close. You've got the power part down – most people can't even affect the match at all. If you just adjust your grip like this..." He demonstrated a subtle modification. "Try it."
Goyle's face lit up with unexpected comprehension. "Oh! Like holding a beater's bat?"
"Exactly," Harry smiled, noting how the boy's entire demeanor changed at being treated as competent. "You've got natural talent for this – you just need to fine-tune it."
Having planted those seeds, Harry finally turned to his own match. He had already analyzed everyone else's attempts, identified the common errors, and formulated his theory. Now it was time to test it.
With precise wand movement and clear visualization, Harry transformed his match into a perfect silver needle on his first attempt. The needle gleamed in the morning light, its eye perfectly formed and its point razor-sharp.
"Well done, Mr. Potter!" Professor McGonagall's voice carried across the classroom. She picked up his needle, examining it closely. "Perfect transfiguration on the first attempt. Most impressive. May I ask how you achieved this?"
Harry gave her his most charming smile. "I noticed the transformation requires three key elements working in harmony – the precise wand movement, clear visualization, and understanding of the fundamental nature of both objects. I suppose the match and I had something in common, Professor – we both wanted to make a point in your class."
Several girls giggled at his metaphor, and even McGonagall's stern expression softened slightly. "A very astute observation, Mr. Potter. Ten points to Slytherin."
A few minutes later, Hermione Granger managed the transformation as well, though Harry noticed she had been watching his technique carefully. "Excellent work, Miss Granger. Five points to Gryffindor," McGonagall awarded.
She is a clever one, or maybe it's just books, Harry wasn't sure yet.
Daphne's eyes narrowed at this success, and her next attempt was fueled by competitive determination. The match shimmered and transformed into a nearly perfect needle, lacking only the eye.
"Here," Harry whispered, sketching the correct motion with his finger. "Think about threading the needle – the eye is as essential as the point."
Her pride warred briefly with practicality before she made the slight adjustment. The needle's eye formed perfectly.
"Well done, Miss Greengrass," McGonagall nodded approvingly. "Another five points to Slytherin."
By the end of class, Draco had managed a decent transformation (after 'coincidentally' noting Harry's technique), and Goyle had produced something that was at least partially metallic, which was more than most of the class had achieved.
As they packed up their bags, Goyle moved closer to Harry. "Thanks," he mumbled. "Nobody ever explained it like that before."
"Happy to help," Harry replied warmly. "We Slytherins look out for each other, right?"
The larger boy nodded earnestly, and Harry suppressed a smile. Having one of Draco's loyal followers feel personally indebted to him could prove useful.
"Mr. Potter, a moment please," McGonagall called as students filed out.
Harry approached her desk, noting how Hermione lingered nearby, obviously hoping to hear the conversation.
"Your performance today was exceptional," McGonagall said, studying him over her spectacles. "Your father was similarly gifted in Transfiguration."
"Was he?" Harry asked, genuine interest seeping into his voice like water in a glass. "I'd love to hear more about his magical abilities sometime, Professor. It would mean a lot to learn about that part of my heritage."
Something flickered in McGonagall's eyes – sympathy, perhaps, or remembrance. "My office hours are posted on the board, Mr. Potter. You're welcome to visit if you have questions about your father's academic achievements."
"Thank you, Professor," Harry replied sincerely. "I appreciate that more than I can say."
As he left the classroom, Harry caught Hermione's thoughtful gaze following him. Interesting – the competitive Gryffindor apparently saw him as an academic rival. That could be useful, especially if he needed information from the Gryffindor side of things in the future.
Daphne was waiting in the corridor. "Subtle, Potter," she commented dryly. "Though I suppose I should thank you for the assistance."
"I have no idea what you mean," Harry replied with a playful smirk. "You figured it out yourself. I was merely thinking out loud."
She raised an elegant eyebrow but seemed pleased by his maintenance of her dignity. "Shall we head to our next class? I believe we have Potions with Professor Snape."
"Lead the way," Harry gestured gallantly, earning an amused eye-roll from Daphne and a snicker from Theodore, who had materialized nearby.
The Potions dungeon was exactly what Harry had expected—cold, damp, and filled with the unsettling scents of preserved specimens floating in glass jars along the walls. Pickled animals Harry couldn't identify stared down at him with glassy eyes, while shelves lined with bottles of mysterious powders and liquids created an atmosphere that was part laboratory, part medieval torture chamber.
Harry took a seat beside Daphne at one of the wooden tables, noting how the Slytherins naturally clustered on one side of the room while the Gryffindors occupied the other. The division seemed more pronounced here in Snape's domain than it had been in McGonagall's classroom. Students started talking among each other. Draco was telling Harry about Professor Snape, how he would see how much better Snape was compared to the other Professors when Professor Snape entered the classroom, moving like a bat without wings.
"Silence everyone," Professor Snape said without preamble as he swept into the room, his black robes billowing dramatically behind him. His dark eyes scanned the assembled first-years with the expression of someone who had found something particularly distasteful stuck to his shoe.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," Snape continued, his voice barely above a whisper yet somehow carrying to every corner of the silent room. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic."
His gaze lingered meaningfully on the Gryffindor side of the room.
"I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses..."
Harry found himself genuinely interested despite Snape's theatrical delivery. Potions represented a different kind of magic—methodical, precise, scientific in its approach.
"I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stop death," Snape said, his voice growing softer and more menacing. "If you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
His eyes suddenly fixed on Harry, and the anger behind his cold, corpse-like eyes was visible even to someone like Crabbe.
"Potter!" he barked. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry felt every eye in the classroom turn toward him. He recognized the question immediately from his reading—it was well beyond first-year level, clearly designed to embarrass him. The slight smirk on Snape's face confirmed this suspicion.
So we're playing that game, Harry thought, keeping his expression pleasantly neutral.
"The Draught of Living Death, Professor," Harry replied easily. "Though I'd recommend being very careful with the dosage—too much and you might accidentally bottle actual death instead of the living variety."
A few students snickered at his light tone, while Snape's expression darkened.
"How amusing, Potter," Snape said with venomous sarcasm. "I see your time with Muggles has taught you to treat dangerous potions as a source of entertainment. Perhaps next you'll suggest we add warning labels for those too dim to understand basic safety." Snape added with a dangerous smile. "Tell me, Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
Another advanced question. Harry maintained his calm demeanor.
"In the stomach of a goat, sir. Though I imagine you'd prefer I let the goat keep it until absolutely necessary—they're probably quite attached to their stomach stones."
This earned him a few more quiet chuckles from his classmates. Snape's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Charming," Snape sneered. "Your concern for goat welfare is touching, Potter. I'm sure the Dark Arts practitioners you might face will appreciate your sensitivity toward magical creatures when they're poisoning you. How very... Gryffindor of you to prioritize sentimentality over practicality."
"What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?" Snape continued, his voice growing more venomous.
Harry's humor faded. He wasn't sure what Professor Snape's problem was, but it was clear the man had a personal vendetta against him, so he decided to be more serious this time. "They're the same plant, Professor—Aconitum. Also known as aconite. It's extremely poisonous and used in the Wolfsbane Potion to help werewolves maintain their human mind during transformation."
The classroom fell completely silent. Snape stared at Harry for a long moment, clearly not having expected such complete answers.
"I see fame isn't everything," Snape finally said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Five points from Slytherin for showing off, Potter. Clearly, someone has been feeding you answers."
Harry blinked in surprise. Five points from his own house? For answering correctly?
"I'm sorry, Professor," Harry said carefully, "but I'm not sure I understand what I did wrong. You asked questions, and I answered them."
"Don't be clever with me, Potter," Snape snarled. "I won't tolerate arrogance in my classroom."
Arrogance? Harry thought incredulously. For answering questions correctly?
"Of course, Professor," Harry replied calmly, deciding that discretion was the better part of valor. "I apologize if my responses seemed inappropriate."
Snape's eyes narrowed further, as though Harry's polite response had somehow offended him even more.
"Today you will be brewing a simple potion to cure boils," Snape announced, turning his attention to the rest of the class. "The ingredients and method are on the board. You have one hour."
As instructions appeared on the blackboard, Harry studied them carefully. The potion seemed straightforward enough—dried nettles, snake fangs, stewed horned slugs, and porcupine quills added in a specific sequence.
"Work in pairs," Snape commanded. "Potter, you'll work with Longbottom."
Harry glanced around and spotted the round-faced boy from the boat ride sitting nervously at a nearby table. Neville looked up as Harry approached, relief evident in his expression.
"Hello again," Harry said with a smile, settling beside him. "Neville, wasn't it? From the boat ride?"
"Y-yes," Neville stammered, clearly surprised that Harry remembered him. "I wasn't sure you'd remember."
"Of course I remember. You were much better company than the giant squid we kept seeing through the water." Harry began organizing their ingredients. "How are you finding Hogwarts so far?"
"It's... overwhelming," Neville admitted quietly. "Everyone seems to know so much more than I do."
"I doubt that," Harry replied, examining their dried nettles. "We're all starting from the same place, more or less. Besides, I suspect you know plenty—you just haven't had the chance to show it yet."
As they began working, Harry noticed Neville's hands shaking slightly as he handled his knife.
"Take your time with those snake fangs," Harry suggested gently. "Precision matters more than speed in potions."
"How do you know so much about this?" Neville asked, carefully crushing the fangs as instructed.
"I've been reading everything I can get my hands on," Harry replied, adding dried nettles to their cauldron. "Had to catch up somehow—I only learned magic existed a month ago."
Neville's eyes widened. "Really? But you're Harry Potter."
"Fame doesn't teach you how to brew potions," Harry said with a slight smile. "That requires actual study."
As they worked, Harry kept a careful eye on Neville's technique. When his partner reached for the porcupine quills, Harry quickly caught his wrist.
"Wait," he said quietly. "The cauldron needs to be off the heat before adding those, or they'll cause the potion to explode."
Neville paled. "Oh! I almost—thank you."
"No problem. Easy mistake to make—the instructions could be clearer about the timing."
Harry discretely removed their cauldron from the heat, allowing Neville to add the quills safely. Their potion turned the required pale pink color, bubbling gently.
Around the classroom, other pairs were having varying degrees of success. Draco and Crabbe's potion had turned an alarming shade of orange and was producing purple smoke. At another table, a Gryffindor boy with sandy hair was frantically trying to stop his cauldron from overflowing. Another one with ginger hair, whom Harry knew to be a Weasley, was looking down at his cauldron in alarm, while the Granger girl seemed to be doing just fine.
"Time," Snape announced after what felt like considerably less than an hour.
He moved between the tables, examining potions with obvious distaste. When he reached Draco's table, his expression softened slightly.
"Adequate, Mr. Malfoy, though next time ensure your partner measures more carefully. Still, five points to Slytherin for a reasonable attempt."
Harry noticed that Draco's potion was distinctly the wrong color and consistency, but Snape seemed inclined to overlook these flaws.
When Snape reached Harry and Neville's table, he paused, examining their perfect pale pink potion with its gentle bubbling. For a moment, his expression was unreadable.
"Potter," he said finally, his voice dangerously quiet. "Did you assist your partner beyond what was permitted?"
"I pointed out when the cauldron needed to be removed from heat, Professor," Harry replied honestly. "The instructions weren't entirely clear about the timing for adding porcupine quills."
"I see," Snape said coldly. "So you presume to criticize the clarity of the instructions I provided."
Harry felt a flash of irritation but kept his voice level. "Not at all, Professor. I merely noted that the sequence could be interpreted differently by someone unfamiliar with the process."
"How generous of you to share your vast expertise," Snape sneered. "Perhaps next time you'll allow your partner to learn from his own mistakes rather than preventing valuable lessons in failure."
Valuable lessons in failure? Harry thought incredulously. Like explosions?
"I'll remember that for next time, Professor. Though I hope you won't mind if I step back when my partner starts reaching for explosive ingredients—purely for my own educational experience, of course."
Snape examined their potion more closely, clearly looking for flaws. Finding none, his expression grew even more sour.
"Passable," he said finally, though the admission seemed to pain him. "Though I suspect luck played a larger role than skill."
Harry bit back his first three responses, all of which would have been extremely unwise to voice.
As the class ended and students began cleaning their workstations, Neville turned to Harry with obvious gratitude.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "I would have definitely blown up our cauldron without your help."
"Happy to help," Harry replied genuinely. "You did most of the work—I just offered a bit of timing advice."
"You probably saved my life," Neville said with nervous laughter. "Gran would have been furious if I got expelled on my first day for blowing up the Potions classroom."
"Well, we can't have that," Harry said with a grin. "Besides, I have a feeling you're more capable than you give yourself credit for. Just need a bit of confidence."
As they packed their belongings, Harry noticed Snape watching him with hostility. Their eyes met briefly, and Harry winked at him, causing Snape to glare so fiercely that for a moment, Snape seemed like he wanted to use his wand on a first-year.
So much for house unity, Harry thought as they filed out of the dungeon. Apparently, succeeding in Snape's class is more offensive to him than failing.
Daphne fell into step beside him as they climbed the stairs from the dungeons.
"That was quite a performance," she observed quietly.
"Which part?" Harry asked. "The pop quiz or the creative grading system?"
"Both," Daphne replied. "Though I was particularly impressed by your restraint. I'm not sure I could have remained so polite."
"Losing my temper wouldn't have accomplished anything productive," Harry said pragmatically. "Besides, Snape clearly wanted me to react badly. Disappointing him seemed like the better option."
"Strategic thinking," Daphne approved. "Though I suspect this won't be your last conflict with him."
"Probably not," Harry agreed. "But that's tomorrow's problem. For now, I'm just glad we all survived our first Potions lesson with our eyebrows intact."
Daphne's lips curved into a rare smile. "Indeed. Though I notice you didn't receive any points for your perfect potion."
"I noticed that too," Harry said mildly. "Apparently, brewing correctly while being named Potter is considered showing off."
"Politics," Daphne said with a slight shrug. "You'll learn to navigate it."
I already am, Harry thought, but merely nodded in agreement. The first few classes were revealing the challenges he'd face at Hogwarts—some academic, some political, and some purely personal.
But challenges, Harry reflected as they headed toward their next lesson, were just opportunities in disguise. And he was becoming quite good at recognizing opportunities.
The Charm's Class
The Charms classroom occupied a cheerful space on the third floor, with tall windows that let in streams of afternoon sunlight. Unlike the oppressive atmosphere of the Potions dungeon or the stern formality of the Transfiguration classroom, this room felt almost welcoming—an impression reinforced by the tiny professor standing behind his desk on a stack of books.
Professor Flitwick was easily the smallest teacher Harry had encountered at Hogwarts, requiring his makeshift platform to address the class at eye level. Yet despite his size, Harry couldn't help but feel that he was dangerous if he wanted to.
"Welcome, welcome!" Flitwick squeaked enthusiastically as students filed in. "First-years, how wonderful! Please, take your seats anywhere you like—we're all friends here in Charms!"
Harry noted with interest that unlike McGonagall's assigned seating or Snape's obvious favoritism, Flitwick seemed genuinely indifferent to house distinctions. Students naturally arranged themselves in mixed groups, with several Gryffindors sitting near Slytherins without apparent tension.
"Now then," Flitwick began, hopping down from his platform with surprising agility, "who can tell me what charm work involves?"
Hermione's hand shot up immediately, practically vibrating with eagerness. Harry had to admire her enthusiasm, even if her obvious desperation to answer every question struck him as slightly exhausting.
"Yes, Miss...?"
"Granger, sir. Hermione Granger," she replied quickly. "Charms involve using magic to give objects new properties or abilities, like making things float or glow or move."
"Excellent! Five points to Gryffindor," Flitwick beamed. "Though I might add that charm work is perhaps the most practical branch of magic you'll study. Every wizard uses charms daily—from cleaning spells to protective enchantments."
He gestured enthusiastically with his tiny hands. "Today we'll be learning the most fundamental charm of all—the Wand-Lighting Charm, or Lumos. It's the simplest charm in existence and requires the least amount of magical energy to cast successfully."
Flitwick picked up his own wand and held it aloft. "This charm has saved more wizards from dark places than any other spell. Lumos!"
A bright white light emanated from the tip of his wand, illuminating the classroom despite the afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows.
"The incantation is simply 'Lumos,'" Flitwick explained. "And the wand movement is minimal—just a gentle upward flick. The beauty of this charm lies in its simplicity. No complex gestures, no difficult pronunciation. Pure intent focused through your wand."
He demonstrated the slight upward motion. "The counter-charm is equally simple: Nox." The light extinguished immediately. "Latin for 'night,' and performed with a small downward flick."
Harry watched the demonstration with keen interest. The simplicity was appealing—no room for overthinking or complicated technique to go wrong.
"What makes this charm special," Flitwick continued, "is that it responds almost entirely to your magical intent. You simply must want light, and your wand will provide it. Shall we try?"
Around the classroom, students raised their wands with varying degrees of confidence. Harry held his holly wand loosely, focusing on the simple desire for light.
"Begin when ready!" Flitwick announced cheerfully.
"Lumos," Harry said clearly, giving his wand a gentle upward flick.
Immediately, a steady, bright light emanated from his wand tip—not flickering or dim, but strong and consistent. Around the room, he could hear other students attempting the spell with mixed results.
"Wonderful, Mr. Potter!" Flitwick squeaked with delight. "Perfect on the first attempt! Five points to Slytherin!"
Harry smiled, genuinely pleased. The magic had felt as natural as breathing, requiring no conscious effort beyond the simple intention to create light.
"Now try the counter-charm," Flitwick encouraged. "Just think 'darkness' and say 'Nox,' with a small downward flick."
"Nox," Harry said with a small downward flick, and the light extinguished instantly.
"Marvelous! Absolutely marvelous!" Flitwick clapped his tiny hands enthusiastically. "Such control for a first attempt!"
Around the classroom, other students were having varying degrees of success. Some managed weak, flickering lights that died almost immediately. Others produced nothing at all, despite repeated attempts. A few achieved steady glows, though not as bright as Harry's.
Across the room, Hermione was frowning at her wand, which was producing a respectable but somewhat unsteady light.
By the end of class, Harry could produce Lumos and Nox effortlessly, varying the brightness of his light with simple concentration. Several other students had achieved basic success, while a few were still struggling with consistency.
"Excellent first lesson, everyone!" Flitwick announced. "Practice these charms—they'll be useful throughout your magical careers. Next lesson, we'll work on the Levitation Charm. Remember, confidence and clear intent are your best tools!"
Slytherin Common Room
Harry entered the Slytherin common room alongside his fellow first-years, their animated discussion about the day's lessons trailing off as they noticed the distinctly hostile atmosphere. Five fourth-year students had arranged themselves strategically near the fireplace, occupying the prime seating with the obvious intention of making their presence felt. Their conversation died as the first-years approached; they stood up and started approaching Harry.
The apparent leader of the group was a tall, thin boy with pale skin and dark hair, distinguished primarily by the small green snake coiled around his shoulders like a living accessory. The snake's black eyes were looking at Harry.
"Well, well," the boy drawled, his voice carrying the practiced arrogance that seemed endemic to certain pureblood families. "If it isn't our famous first-year and his little entourage."
Harry felt his fellow first-years tense beside him. Draco's expression shifted from confusion to unease as he recognized the potential for conflict. Daphne maintained her composure, though Harry noticed her hand move subtly closer to her wand. Crabbe looked uncertain, glancing between Harry and the older students as though trying to understand the dynamics at play.
"Good evening," Harry replied pleasantly, stepping slightly forward to position himself between the fourth-years and his housemates. "I trust you've had a productive day?"
A stocky boy with a brutish face snorted with derision. "Oh, very productive. We've been hearing all about your little performance today, Potter. Quite the show-off, aren't you?"
"I wasn't aware that succeeding in classes qualified as showing off," Harry replied, maintaining his pleasant tone while noting escape routes from the corner of his eye. "Though I suppose different people have different definitions of achievement."
Behind him, he heard Draco whisper urgently to the others, "We should get a prefect—"
"Stay where you are, Malfoy," the snake-bearer commanded without taking his eyes off Harry. "This doesn't concern you. Yet."
"Actually," Harry said conversationally, "I'm curious about something. What exactly is it about first-year academic success that troubles you so much? Because I was under the impression that reflecting well on our house was generally considered positive."
The snake-bearer leaned forward. "Clever words, Potter. But some of us aren't impressed by your little performance today. Getting perfect marks doesn't make you a true Slytherin."
"And what does?" Harry asked with genuine curiosity. "Because I was under the impression that cunning, ambition, and resourcefulness were our house values. Academic excellence seems to demonstrate at least two of those qualities."
A thin girl with sharp features and cold eyes spoke up. "You think you're so smart, but you're just a celebrity playing at being one of us. We see right through your act."
Harry noticed Goyle shifting uncomfortably behind him, the large boy's face creased with confusion and growing concern. Unlike his usual blank expression, Goyle seemed to be genuinely processing what was happening.
"I understand your skepticism," Harry said reasonably. "After all, my sorting was... unexpected. But perhaps you might consider that having successful first-years reflects positively on all of us?"
The stocky boy—whose badge identified him as a fourth-year—stood abruptly. "Listen here, Potter, we don't need some jumped-up celebrity telling us what's good for Slytherin—"
"No, you listen," Harry interrupted, his voice taking on a harder edge. He knew right away these four years weren't the kind whose minds changed with the right words, so Harry decided to be a little blunt, blunter than usual. "Because frankly, I'm having difficulty understanding why five fourth-years feel threatened by one first-year's academic performance." He allowed his gaze to sweep across all of them dismissively. "Unless, of course, you're concerned about being shown up by someone four years younger."
"Harry," Daphne whispered urgently behind him, "perhaps we should—"
"Should what?" the snake-bearer asked with false politeness. "Run to the prefects? How very... Hufflepuff of you, Greengrass."
Daphne glared at them, her hand on her wand, and Harry noticed her tip glittering ice blue. He had no idea what kind of spell she wanted to use against them.
The snake-bearer's lips curved into a cruel smile. "You know, Potter, I wonder what your dear parents would think of their precious son playing at being a snake. Oh wait—" his voice turned mockingly sympathetic, "—they can't think anything at all, can they? Just worm food now. Such a pity you don't have mummy and daddy to protect you anymore."
His smile turned vicious. "Don't worry though—you'll be joining them soon enough."
Harry's green eyes flashed with a cold fury that made several nearby students take an involuntary step back. For a moment, the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. When he spoke, his voice was deadly quiet.
"Careful," Harry said, each word precisely enunciated. "Insulting my housemates won't improve your position here. But speaking of my parents..." His gaze locked with the snake-bearer's, and there was something in his eyes that made the older boy's smirk falter slightly. "That's a debt that will be repaid. I promise you that."
The stocky boy drew his wand with obvious intent, either not noticing or not caring about the sudden tension. "Time someone taught you some respect, Potter. And your little friends can watch."
"No!"
To everyone's surprise, including his own, Goyle stepped forward, placing himself slightly between Harry and the fourth-years. The large boy's face was set with unusual determination.
"Goyle?" Draco whispered in amazement. "What are you doing?"
"Harry helped me today," Goyle said simply, his voice lacking its usual dullness. "In Transfiguration. When everyone else laughed 'cause I couldn't get it right, Harry showed me how. Didn't laugh. Didn't make me feel stupid."
The fourth-years stared at this unexpected development. The snake-bearer's expression shifted from amusement to annoyance.
"How touching," he sneered. "The troll has feelings. Stand aside, Goyle, before you get hurt."
"No," Goyle repeated with surprising firmness.
"Greg," Crabbe said uncertainly, but there was admiration in his voice. "They're fourth-years..."
"So?" Goyle replied.
The standoff might have continued indefinitely, but sharp footsteps on the dormitory stairs announced the arrival of Marcus Flint. The prefect descended with authoritative strides, his expression thunderous as he took in the scene—five older students with wands drawn, facing a group of first-years.
"What exactly do you think you're doing?" Flint demanded, his voice carrying the full weight of his position.
"Just having a conversation," the snake-bearer replied smoothly, though his hand moved away from his wand. "Nothing serious."
"A conversation?" Flint's eyebrow rose skeptically. "Five fourth-years with drawn wands facing first-years constitutes conversation now?"
The stocky boy flushed but didn't lower his wand entirely. "Potter was being disrespectful—"
"Potter is a first-year," Flint interrupted coldly. "You are fourth-years. The power dynamic here is hardly subtle." His gaze swept across the group with obvious disapproval. "Five against a group of first-years hardly demonstrates the cunning our house is known for."
The snake-bearer leaned back, his pet coiling more tightly around his shoulders. When he spoke, his voice was soft but laden with menace. "This isn't over, Potter."
"It is over," Flint stated firmly before anyone could respond. "Any further conflicts will be handled through official channels. Understood?"
Reluctant nods followed, though the hostility remained palpable.
"Excellent," Flint said with satisfaction. "Now perhaps you all have studying to do? Fourth-year coursework, if I recall, is quite demanding."
The group dispersed with obvious reluctance, shooting dark looks at Harry and his fellow first-years as they departed. The snake-bearer was the last to leave, pausing at the base of the dormitory stairs.
After they'd gone, the common room slowly returned to its normal evening activities, though Harry noticed several students watching their group with new interest.
"That was..." Draco began, then stopped, apparently at a loss for words.
"Terrifying," Daphne finished. "But well-handled."
Harry turned to Goyle, who was still standing protectively near the group despite the danger having passed.
"Thank you," Harry said simply. "That took courage."
Goyle's face reddened with embarrassment, but he looked pleased. "You helped me first. Fair's fair."
"Still," Harry insisted, "standing up to fifth-years on your first day takes real bravery. I won't forget it."
Crabbe clapped his friend on the shoulder with obvious pride. "Didn't know you had it in you, Greg."
"Neither did I," Goyle admitted with a shy smile.
As they headed toward the dormitory, Daphne fell into step beside Harry.
"You've made enemies tonight," she observed quietly.
"I suspect they were enemies already," Harry replied. "At least now the lines are clearly drawn."
"And you've made a real ally too," she added, glancing at Goyle with newfound respect.
Harry nodded, watching as Goyle animated explained something to Crabbe, his usual dullness replaced by genuine engagement.
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