On the morning of 2 September, Vernon sat alone in the kitchen and nursed a cup of tea. Despite the exhaustion from all the excitement from the day before, he had hardly had a wink of sleep. To make matters worse, his ears were still ringing from Marge's angry words – the fact that her car had refused to start and the recovery mechanic couldn't find anything wrong with it had certainly not helped.
He closed his eyes for a moment and remembered what had happened less than twenty-four hours earlier, after the excitement and wonder at Kings Cross:
'You told me he was at St Brutus',' Marge had shouted at them before they had even opened the car doors. 'I thought you were finally seeing sense, but they told me that he's not there.'
'You're not on the approved list,' Vernon had said as he unlocked the door to the house and tried to usher her in. He saw curtains at several windows across the road flutter and shuddered at the scene his sister must have made while waiting for them.
'"Not on the approved list,"' Marge had snorted, 'who are they to decide that?'
'The school board,' Vernon had muttered. He had wanted to say more but knew it would be better not to. He stepped into the living room so that Dudley could sneak upstairs and hide the treats they had bought from a few stalls after the train had left the platform.
'Then call them now and prove it,' she said, and she grabbed the telephone from the small table in the living room, accidentally dislodging the handset from the cradle, and held it out.
Vernon took the phone from her hands and placed the handset back in the cradle before returning the telephone back on the table. 'Would it really make any difference? When they tell you he's there, wouldn't you demand to know why they lied to you?'
'Then let me speak to the boy,' she snarled.
'None of us are allowed to speak to him,' said Petunia. 'We can't call him.'
'It's all part of the self-reliance process and punishment,' said Vernon. 'If we were to call now and ask to speak to him then it gives him hope.'
'"Hope"?' spat Marge. '"Hope"? How much more hope does that parasite need? How much is he going to take away from us?'
It was only when Dudley had said, in quite an exasperated tone, that they had taken Harry to his new school that Marge finally accepted that Harry was no longer living at the house calmed down a little.
But not enough.
Vernon took a sip of tea and winced as it burned his lips a little and pulled him back from his memories.
'Can't even call the boy,' he whispered. He set the cup down and shuffled over to the bread bin. He gasped a little when the lock on the kitchen door clicked and the door opened.
'You go sit down,' said Petunia in a hushed voice as she padded into the kitchen and closed the door behind her. 'I'll get breakfast ready.'
'You're supposed to be asleep,' whispered Vernon.
'So are you,' replied Petunia.
'I was going to try and call Richard, catch him early and let him know that Marge might storm the school looking for Harry.'
'She wouldn't.'
Vernon looked at his wife, one eyebrow raised, and Petunia sighed and nodded.
'Ever since Harry saved Rachel from Gnasher, Richard has said he would do anything for him.'
'I know, but pretending that Harry is going to that school?'
'Like he said, "How is she going to know otherwise?"'
Petunia smiled and shook her head at her husband. 'I'll do some bacon and eggs – try to keep Marge happy – and then we can help Dudley get his things together.'
'He's still here another week, Petunia.'
'I know, but he insisted we start.'
'I actually thought this was going to be easier,' said Vernon, as he took out a carton of eggs and placed them on the counter. 'I thought that with Harry gone, with him finding out about himself… I thought…' He sat back down and sighed. 'I miss him, Petunia, and we can't even call.'
'He'll write.'
'It's not the same,' mumbled Vernon. He looked out of the window and saw a small speck in the sky. He frowned a little as it swiftly get bigger and bigger. He quickly got up and locked the kitchen door and then hurried over to the door to the garden and opened it. Within seconds, just as Vernon finished tying the small bag of food to the perch he had installed just beyond the patio, Hedwig landed. She held out her right leg and Vernon untied the small pouch she was carrying. Inside was a small scrap of tightly rolled paper.
Eagerly, Vernon unrolled the paper and frowned. It was only a little bigger than a paper joke in a Christmas cracker. He flicked it and then rubbed it with his finger and then, leaning forward and bringing it closer to his lips, he whispered, 'Abracadabra.'
Nothing happened.
He looked at the resting owl and then back at the slip of paper and noticed the word shakily written on it:
'Gryffindor.'
He nodded, understanding, and folded his fingers around the paper. 'He's okay, though, isn't he?' he asked Hedwig. The owl spread her wings and then touched Vernon's head with the tip of her right one before folding them back against her body again. 'Good,' he said, 'you make sure you keep an eye on him.'
He checked the bag of food and headed back into the kitchen, closing the door behind him.
'I told you he would write,' said Petunia.
The smell of bacon being cooked filled the air and Vernon took in a deep breath. He placed the piece of paper on the counter, just by the stove. 'It's just one word. He got into the House his parents were in.'
'Oh.'
'You sound disappointed.'
'I… I am. I thought… I thought he would write more.'
Vernon wanted to say that he had thought the same – that he had hoped the same – but, instead, he said, 'He probably will, once he gets settled.'
'Of course.'
'Although that Hermione-girl has probably sent her parents at least four pages.' He couldn't help himself, the words just tumbled out of his mouth.
'Vernon!'
'What was it Carol said? "She loves to write and read".'
'"And read and write."'
'It's a shame the boys aren't like that. I don't think either of them are going to be writing to us much.'
'You don't know that.'
Hearing a thud from the third bedroom, the anxious couple froze.
'Let's get this day over with,' Vernon muttered, and he opened the loaf of bread and loaded the toaster with four slices. 'At least we did the shopping on time.'
Harry stared at the red velvet curtains hanging above him and sighed. He had been awake for a little over half an hour but he hadn't been able to bring himself to leave the four-poster bed. He had found that one of this teeth tasted like the treacle tart he had gorged a little on at the Welcome Feast and he had been thinking about all the food he had eaten and all the dishes he simply hadn't had room for.
He shifted a little in his bed and looked through the gaps in the curtains. At the other side of the room from him, hidden from sight by the warm stove in the middle of the room, slept Neville, the boy with the wandering toad. To the right, hidden by a curtain, was Ron. To the left, also hidden by a curtain, was Seamus Finnegan, sent over from Ireland by his Mum. Further to the left was Dean Thomas, an eleven-year-old who was tall enough to pass for a fifteen-year-old. Like Harry and Hermione, he had only learned about magic recently.
As he looked around the room Harry realised something: it was too tidy. The bed warmers each of them had taken from their beds and placed on the floor were gone and all the clothes they had tossed out of their trunks so they could find their sleepwear were neatly folded and sitting on top of their trunks.
'Aunt Petunia would love this,' Harry whispered, and then he sat up and reached for the parchments and quill he had placed on the bedside table. Next to the inkwell were four Muggle pens that no longer seemed to work - although it likely didn't help that the nibs of each one were covered with ink.
D
I don't know if this will reach you before you go or if Hedwig can find you at Smeltings. Hagrid said that she can but she's never been, so how can she?
This place is strange, just like your Mum said it would be. There are ghosts. Real ones. The staircases move but not like escalators. The paintings talk. We have a painting of a fat lady and have to say the password to get to our rooms.
The rooms are nice but no real heating. There's a stove in the middle but it was off. It's on now, though. I have a four-poster bed!
Write back when you can and I'll tell you all about the feast next time. Treacle tart! Going to get some breakfast.
H
He folded the parchment and tucked it into a small leather pouch. He then picked up another piece of parchment and started writing.
Dear Aunty and Uncle
I miss you.
You were right: the food here is amazing. Yours is better.
The rooms in the tower are how you told me they would be. Even the bed warmers!
I saw Professor Dumbledore. His beard is so long. A lot of the wizards don't have beards. One with dark hair kept staring at me. Everyone keeps staring at me.
Professor Maggonnagall McGonagall reminds me of you and I'm scared I might call her Mum!
Give D some hugs from me.
H
As he placed the second leather pouch with the first, his stomach began to growl. He frowned, surprised at being hungry again but then grew curious about what feast awaited them. He remembered that Percy had told them, after showing them into the common room, that breakfast was served from seven in the morning but nothing about what kind of breakfast it was. Was the welcome feast a one-off? Had the range of options his Aunt had mentioned changed since his mother had left Hogwarts?
A low moaning sound began to fill the room and Harry popped his head out between the curtains at the foot of the bed and looked around. Ron was sat up in his bed, arms wide, stretching and making the moaning noise. One by the one, the other boys woke up, too.
'I didn't snore, did I?' mumbled Dean as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
'Like mountain troll,' teased Seamus through grit teeth and a long wake-up stretch.
Dean sighed and pulled a gooey glob from the bridge of his nose. 'Told my Nan this wouldn't work,' he muttered.
'Kidding, mate, kidding,' said Seamus, and he snorted a little as he watched Dean try to flick the glob from his fingers.
With moans and groans and a lot of heavy breathing, the boys got themselves out of bed and began to get ready for the day ahead.
'Anyone know how to get to the Hall?' asked Neville. The boys all stopped whatever they were doing and looked at each other.
'Follow the girls,' said Harry.
'Yer what?' asked Seamus.
'My Uncle said men hate asking for directions, him included, so when you're lost but know that there are girls or women heading to where you need to be, then follow them.'
'Your Uncle never came to Hogwarts, Harry,' said Neville.
At breakfast, with tables laden with thick slices of French toast and pots of colourful jams, pancakes and crepes, sausages and bacon and all sorts of other foods, including buttered parathas and sweet rice, Percy and the rest of the prefects walked along the rows of dining tables and handed out class timetables. A few of the older students compared their timetables with the person next to them but most of them ignored the stiff sheets of glossy vellum and continued shovelling food into their mouths.
Shortly after some of the teachers left the High Table, Fred and George hopped onto an empty bench and began to call out to all the first years. Some of the older students in each of the four Houses stood and leaned over their tables.
'Listen to this,' they sang, 'this is a song you should pay attention to.'
The twins both raised a leg and stomped on the bench. The standing students clapped loudly twice and the twins stomped again.
Intrigued, and encouraged by their housemates, some of the first-year students moved down the hall towards the Gryffindor tables.
'Gather 'round, little ones, and let us tell you a story
Be careful, though, it might get a little gory.'
The twins stomped again and the other students clapped again. Harry, remembering the twins' caterwauling of the school song at the Welcome Feast, leaned towards Ron and whispered, 'I thought they couldn't sing.'
Stunned by what he was seeing, Ron stared at his brothers and whispered back, 'Same here.'
The twins stood up straight and held out their wands. With all eyes on them, the boys cut through the air with their wands and stomped their feet again. Plates and cutlery rose from the tables and, much to the surprise and delight of the first-years, music began to clang and play.
'It's a story about a caretaker and his cat
And one never told by the Sorting Hat
It starts a long, long time ago
When the winds were high and a family was dealt a blow
Filchy the Babe was born with a-bellow
His parents thought he'd be a fine fellow
Little did they know, those lovers true
That Filchy would grow up to hate me and you
He hides it well, our Filchy, the secret he has to bear
Don't ask him now because he'll never tell you
But the truth really is out there
Stalking and skulking through the corridors of this hallowed place
His appearance makes many turn about-face
Sucking out the fun and making things glum
We know no ladies would take him home to Mum'
Some of the younger students said 'aww' and Fred and George gestured for them to listen.
'Here are some of the things you need to know
As you finish your breakfasts and get ready to go
With his cat, Mrs Norris, often leaping into his arms
We remember being confused, wondering about his charms
Trust us when we tell you this
When you hear Mrs Norris mew and hiss
Run'
The twins and the older students roared the word and the first-years yelped and jumped.
'Listen to us, all our words are true
If nothing else, this we promise you
At night, when all should be sleeping and without much to do
We wander about, as kids are wont to
With the lamps cooling and darkness creeping
Sometimes you wonder what you just stepped in
Then comes a whine and a shout that will definitely unnerve you
And you wonder if the bathrooms will have a free stall or two
Was it the Bloody Baron or Myrtle the Moany
Nearly-Headless Nick or the Friar all bonny
The shouts will come and your heart will flutter
And then you'll hear that unmistakable mutter
The walls here hold secrets and places to hide
Where you can sit or stand for time to bide
We're explorers, you see, and we like to wander
Come with us sometime, there are rooms to plunder
What's the muttering, I see your eyes ask
It's simple, really, Filchy has one little task
With students so many, and a few teachers, too
It falls to Ol' Nosey to keep an eye on me and you
"Lead on, Mrs Norris,"
You'll hear him sometimes stop and say
Then "What's this? I see you"
And you'll think "no way!"
"Why so strict?" we're sure you're wondering
Alas, at Hogwarts, it can sometimes be a thing
"Forbidden is this place," comes the decree now and then
But that's just not fair for you nor me
And here's the thing you need to be aware
Filchy, the old boy, don't care for fair
So, then, with a growl and a roar
When he sees your head pop out the secret door
Filchy starts to hobble and run
In all honesty, that's when things start to get fun
It's hilarious to see, as we dash through the corridors
Sometimes even Peeves joins in
And starts slammin' doors
He follows with a "Wheee" and a long hard giggle
But what you hear most are Filchy's keys jiggle
We should probably stop there
Since we're not rhyming and don't care
With classes starting soon, we really should get out of here
We hope you listened to this
These words will be important to you
We thought about making it scary
We said so at the start
But we realised as we sang to you
That Ol' Filchy already looks the part'
The Great Hall erupted with cheers and laughter and some of the older students and the Weasley twins jeered as they pointed at Argus Filch who was stood, cradling a cat, by a wall near the High Table. He glared at the Weasley twins and his lips moved as he muttered under his breath but it was Mrs Norris that unnerved the awkwardly clapping first years as her head turned and she looked over them all.
'Why are you being mean to him?' asked Harry, as the crowd dispersed and the students either continued with their breakfasts or started to leave the Hall.
'It's not being mean if it's true,' said George, and he hopped off the bench and sat opposite Harry.
Harry shook his head. 'Doesn't matter if it is, it's still mean.'
'Trust us. Filchy's just around to make our lives miserable, so we just send it back to him.'
'Doubled,' said Fred.
'They've been doing this ever since he caught them in their first year,' said Percy.
'You're one to talk,' said Fred, 'he hauled you to Dumbledore, too.'
Percy's face reddened. 'That was a complete misunderstanding. Ms Prince-'
'Ms Prince Ms Prince Ms Prince' mocked George, and Percy glared at him, his face reddened even more, and stormed off.
Harry picked up the sheet of parchment Percy had placed next to him on the table before the twins' song. Across the top it said Gryffindor First Years and the words in the table glowed or sparkled or bubbled. Harry closed his eyes and rubbed them for a few seconds and then looked at the glossy parchment again and saw that the strange effects had stopped. Something else caught his eye and he frowned.
'We have classes at night?' he whispered.
'You didn't think the telescope was for show, did you?' said Hermione, and she rolled her eyes a little.
'Well, no, but it says it's at midnight and for two hours.'
'Two periods,' corrected Hermione. 'So?'
'What about sleep?'
'There's time to nap.'
Harry set the timetable down on the table again. 'Two hours of just looking at the sky.'
'It's more than that. We're looking at the stars and the planets and how they move.'
'I've been to the Planetarium, Hermione.'
'So have I, but this is different.'
'Different how? They didn't even assign a book to study.'
She frowned a little at that and nodded twice, agreeing with him, but then she shrugged and spooned some porridge. 'We'll find out.'
The Great Hall started to get emptier and quieter as the rest of the students began to follow the Ravenclaws and make their way to their dormitories and get ready for their first classes. Harry glanced over at the tables where the Slytherins were seated and saw that a small group of their first-years were huddled together. He got up and started walking towards the Slytherins.
'Harry, where are you going?' asked Ron.
'I'll just be a minute.'
'The dorms are this way,' said Neville, but Harry kept walking.
Pansy Parkinson, one of the Slytherin first-years, spotted Harry approaching and directed her housemates' attention towards him.
Malfoy turned and smirked a little. 'You lost, Potter? Changed your mind about Gryffindor?'
Harry looked at the other first years seated around Malfoy and tugged on the sleeves of his robes and tried to stand a little straighter. 'Hi Draco. My Uncle often tells me not to hold grudges.' He held out his right hand. 'It's our first day, let's start over?'
Malfoy frowned and shook his head. ''Why would I listen to the advice of a Muggle?'
'Why should we fight?' Harry shrugged.
'Because you're one of them,' said Draco, gesturing at the Gryffindor table with his chin, 'when you could have been one of us.'
'We could be friends,' said Harry, and he let his hand hover.
'You decided not to be,' said Draco, and he turned away from Harry and picked up his goblet of orange juice.
'Okay,' said Harry, and he turned and started walking away. 'See you in class.'
'What?'
'We have potions together.'
Malfoy grabbed a parchment from Crabb's hands and ran his finger over the timetable. 'And flying, too,eh?' he muttered.
Noticing that the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs had been watching everything, Harry lowered his head and hurried back to his seat, grabbed his timetable and headed towards the doors.
'Wait for us,' urged Ron, his voice muffled by the blueberry muffin he had taken a bite of, and the rest of the dorm-mates grabbed their timetables and a few bits of food and followed Harry.
Percy's voice echoed through the Great Hall and the dormitories: 'Classes start in twenty minutes. Plenty of time for you to get your books and be ready.'
Back in the dormitory, Harry picked up the pouch containing the note to Dudley and then scribbled a quick note on another small piece of parchment:
D
Got my timetable just now. I have a class at night! Guess what it is. Staring at the sky. I think being chased by Ripper would be better.
Breakfast was like a buffet. I think even Aunt Marge would like it. I had French toast stuffed with fruit.
Harry quickly stuffed the note into the pouch and placed it in his satchel together with the one for his Aunt and Uncle.
The first thing Harry noticed as they neared the massive greenhouses was the smell. The second thing was that it made him regret having had three stuffed French toasts for breakfast. Some of the students waved their hands in front of their faces but most of them covered their mouths and noses with the sleeves of their robes. Eyes watering, they entered the first greenhouse.
The far end of the greenhouse was a wall of green leaves and vines that seemed to writhe and pulsate. Strange whispers seemed to emanate from a row of small potted plants on some shelves near the door and the wood and tiled floor was littered with soil. A dozen rows of workbenches stood in the middle of the room, three abreast, and each one had three stools placed just underneath. Seeing the stools, the students hurried in, set their bags down and placed their wands, quills and parchments in front of them.
'Good morning, boys and girls,' said a voice from somewhere within the wall of green. 'My name is Professor Sprout. Welcome to Greenhouse One, welcome to Hogwarts, and welcome… to Herbology. Now, before we start, I just wanted to say a few words.'
A mass of green detached itself from the far wall and plump woman dressed in green robes and a green not-so-pointy hat turned and faced the class. Some of the students picked up their quills and looked at Professor Sprout attentively as she walked through the middle of the greenhouse, some others yawned, but most sat, eyes watering, struggling to breathe through the fabric of their robes.
'For the most part, you won't be using your wands in the greenhouses but they may come in useful - it will be up to you to know when. For now, wands away.'
Professor Sprout began pacing along the back of the large greenhouse, tickling one collection of plants and gently stroking another. Dried mud clung to her fingers and the front of her thick robes were a myriad of colours and stains. The plants she had tickled and stroked shuddered and a faint mist drifted through the greenhouse.
'Herbology is a core subject at Hogwarts and every other school of wizarding and witchcraft, and for good reason. Many of you, if not all of you, have walked through fields or smelled flowers, perhaps cut your hand on nettles.' She pointed to a number of small labelled bottles and plants, Dittany and Wormwood and roses and daisies among them. 'Some of you may have been given medicines and brews made from plants in your gardens, some of you may have had frightening experiences and boils and spots and your tongue sticking out of your mouth for a week.
'Many of you will have those experiences over these next five years - accidents happen and allergies exist - but if you pay attention to what I teach you, the lessons will serve you well for the rest of your lives.
'Like many things in life, Herbology is safe but it can be dangerous. Pot a rose in the wrong type of soil or with some dragon manure and you can easily have something with nettles as big as the flower. Pot a mandrake in the wrong type of pot and you can end up with a bundle of roots for a soup and nothing more.
'Now, some things to note:
'Greenhouse One is safe. Some of the plants may cling to you but they are not dangerous. Some may spit at you but they should not kill you. There are masks for those of you with allergies or,' she lifted up a large glass container holding a thick purple liquid, 'you can drink this before each class and work to your heart's content.
'Greenhouse Two is mostly safe. There have been occasions, like the time with Priscilla when she let a Leaching Libonia get to her, but I think you'll all be sensible about things like that. Won't you?'
'Yes, Professor Sprout,' answered the children, some of them nervously looking at each other.
'Greenhouses Three to Seven are forbidden to all first and second years. No exceptions. Not even if you are related to Phyllida Spore.'
For the rest of the lesson, Professor Sprout detailed the various properties of soil from different parts of the world and then divided the class into groups to study and present on them.
D
This place is so strange! The plants move and some of them even hiss. Apparently, some are like a Venus Flytrap but for people!
Hedwig just got back. Will let her rest and then send this out to you.
H
The following morning, the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall showed that the sky outside was cloudless and blue. The Gryffindor first years sat together looking over their copies of The Standard Book of Spells.
'Professor Flitwick is legendary,' said Fred. He plonked himself down next to them and placed layers of bacon on a buttered roll.
'You're going to love him,' said George, and he bit into a sandwich made of bread-slice-sized hash browns and three sausages.
'Better than Dumbledore?' asked Harry.
'Different,' said the twins, covering their mouths so as to avoid spraying food.
'Both geniuses, though,' said George.
'Oh, definitely geniuses,' agreed Fred.
Ron looked at his brothers warily but relaxed when Percy confirmed Professor Flitwick's esteemed status. 'He's a little too cheery at times,' said Percy, 'but he'll always try to help you.'
The Charms Corridor was bright and filled with the sounds of birds singing and chirping. Small trees lined the walls and flowers bloomed and faded and bloomed again. It was far different to the other corridors they had been in and each student remarked on how, somehow, it smelled of their homes. Even Harry was convinced he was could smell the aroma of his Aunt's Beef Wellington wafting down the hallway.
The room their class was being held in had a view of a massive field, in the centre of which appeared to be a huge stadium draped in the colours of the four houses. The desks were arranged in two long rows, with the second one set higher than the first row so the students' view would be unobstructed. Professor Flitwick's desk stretched along the other side of the room and had piles of books at various intervals set along it.
The Professor hovered in the middle of the room, his hands behind his back as he stood on a thick leather-bound book.
'Hands up,' he said, his voice slightly high in pitch but melodious and soothing, 'those of you who remember how it felt when you first held your wand.'
Most of the students, including Harry, smiled and raised their hands. A few of them, Ron and Neville among them, look forlornly at their wands.
'You remember the warmth? The comfort?'
The students quietly nodded and their smiles grew wider.
'It's something I want you to try to find each time you use your wands. Each time you practice. Find that warmth. Find that belonging and togetherness. It sounds strange now but, in time, it will make sense. I have had my wand since I was your age and we have had many adventures together over the years. I have used other wands, too, and have often found emptiness. There was magic but it wasn't quite right.'
A murmur spread across the classroom: The wand chooses the wizard.
'Precisely. We don't know how and we don't know why but we do know that they do. Your wand chose you. Most of you. Something about you made that wand want to be with you and when it found you, when you held it and raised your hand high-'
Sparks and fireworks filled the air above the Professor's head and came together to form the shape of an egg, which then 'cracked' and released a golden dragon that spread its wings.
'You knew.'
The dragon turned into red and gold sparks and then a series of multi-coloured light which then fizzled out and the room quietened again. Professor Flitwick looked over the room of gaping students and chuckled a little.
'Wands can be fickle, too, though,' he warned. They want you to work for their attention. To focus. I know some of you are wondering why you couldn't get your wands to work when you got home or even when you finally arrived here at Hogwarts - and I can see that some of you most certainly did get your wands to work for you, and quite well, too. Bravo.'
Some of the students stood or leaned forwards and backwards to see who had impressed the Professor, and he waited patiently for them all to settle again.
'Focus. Put simply, you have to will it to happen.'
The thick book he was standing on drifted backwards and towards the middle of his desk.
'Now then: charms.'
He hopped off the book and onto the desk.
'Charms are an act of giving. When you charm a cup - or a book - to fly you are gifting it flight.
'The charm can be enduring and last centuries or it can be fleeting and last seconds, either way, it is a gift. You are giving of yourself, of your words and the magic in you and around you, and gifting it to the object or person or creature…'
At the end of the class, as the rubbed their sore arms and flexed their aching fingers, the students all agreed that Professor Flitwick was, simply put, amazing. Harry also realised something: the twins hadn't made any jokes about Professor Flitwick's height.
'What are you thinking, Harry?' asked Ron as he shouldered his bag.
'That we can make a magic carpet and fly.'
Confused, Ron asked, 'Why? We have brooms.'
'I really don't see my Uncle riding a broom. Maybe a sofa…'
There was a hum of subdued anticipation in North Tower as Harry and the others gathered for their first Defence Against the Dark Arts class. All night, they had been hearing stories of adventures the older students' friends and relatives had had over the years in putting a stop to one monster or another but their expectations had already been lowered that morning when they had overheard the third and fourth year students complain about the class not being as exciting as the ones from the year before.
'I honestly didn't believe it when they said she wasn't coming back,' Harry had heard someone say, 'didn't think the curse was real, but with Quirrell…'
'Quirrell was all about the Muggles,' someone else had said. 'I don't care if he says he chased a vampire last year, he'd fall apart if a doxy jumped on his face.'
Any remaining excitement the first years had had for their Defence Against the Dark Arts class vanished as soon as the thick wooden door to the classroom opened. The corridor had been dark and ominous and had given weight to the twins' warnings of disembodied hands scuttling along the stone floor, and so expectations had been quite high. The floor of the large room was so brightly lit that it was almost impossible to see any shadows. It also, as Hermione pointed out, made it 'very difficult to write anything down'.
Professor Quirrell seemed to be a nervous man. Rumours, started by the twins, had begun to spread that he was really a zombie with half his head missing, which was why he was wearing the strange turban.
'The dark arts,' said Professor Quirrell as the class sat at their desks and squinted at him, 'can be p-p-performed in many ways. Even mundane ways.'
In all the other classes and introductions they had had in those first few days, Harry had just been Harry. Another first year. He had heard the whispers through the corridors and in the Great Hall and felt dozens of eyes watching him all through the day but everyone had left him, The Boy Who Lived, alone, and he had been grateful for that. Within minutes of their Defence Against the Dark Arts class, however, Harry found himself to be the centre of attention, and he didn't like it.
'It's been m-m-many years since there has been a n-n-need for t-t-training against the Dark Arts. There are experts and aurors and so on, of c-c-course, and most of your p-p-parents likely know the basics of warding off simple c-c-curses, but to defend against something like the Killing Curse is only achieved through immense power.'
Harry kept his head down and closed his eyes. He could feel his classmates looking at him but the bright light from the floor made him feel queasy.
'Of course,' continued the Professor, 'a baby would have no idea how to c-c-counter such p-p-powerful magic, but it is curious.
'Anyway, today's lesson is a simple one, and all about light. Specifically, the Wand-Lighting Charm. Certainly, this is something Professor Flitwick would teach you but it is something which can help in some defence against darker creatures.
'Does anyone here know what a Gytrash is? Anyone? Anyone? Miss Granger?'
'A vicious white dog that roams at night, usually in pairs or in packs of up to six,' said Hermione.
'Good, very g-g-good.
'A gytrash is a hunter and is very q-q-quick. It's white but it blends into darkness… and a few b-b-bites are enough to k-k-kill a twelve-year-old.
'There are a few w-w-wandering the Forbidden F-f-forest. But, a gytrash is sensitive to light. S-s-so, the Wand-Lighting Charm...'
Much like the Charms Corridor, but unlike the DADA classroom, the room the students were gathered in for their Transfiguration class was comfortably well-lit. The only warning the twins had given Harry and Ron about the class was one that they both readily accepted and knew to be true: Professor McGonagall was strict, firm, and fair.
'Transfiguration and Transmutation are not the same thing,' said Professor McGonagall. 'Although many interchange the use of the words, it is important that you understand and accept their differences. Transfiguration changes the outward appearance of something. A skilled practitioner can make themselves look like an armchair but they are still that person. A mouse can be changed to look like a glass goblet but it remains a mouse, so you do not drop it,' she said, sternly, looking at the pupils over the top of her glasses. She gestured at the blackboard behind her and a piece of chalk hovered in the air, waiting for her instruction. 'As difficult as transfiguration can be,' she continued, 'transmutation is much more so, but what you will be learning here will try you and exhaust you and, frankly, frustrate you.'
She gestured with her wand and the objects on her desk - a snail, a matchstick, a feather and a rose - all transformed into something else - a teapot, a needle, a cushion and a bonsai tree.
'Elements of what you will learn with Professor Flitwick will help you with your transfiguration spells. There are many overlapping elements in the two disciplines so you shouldn't favour one over the other.' She paused and looked at the students scribbling away on their parchments. 'The same goes for the other disciplines you're learning. This includes,' she said, catching their attention with her slightly firmer tone and prompting some of them, especially Hermione and Neville, to look at her, 'Herbology. I grant you, there are many spells and items that have… made things easier, in certain respects, but a good grounding in Herbology will serve you immensely, should you ever wish to be like someone such as Theseus Scamander.'
'Really?' asked Dean. 'Herbology as well?'
'Herbology as well, Mr Thomas. Now, are there any questions?'
A dark-haired girl raised her hand.
'Yes, Miss Patil?'
'I know this will be a silly question…' she looked at Kellah and then at a couple of the other students, who all nodded at her, encouragingly, 'but can you make a suit of armour walk and fight?'
Hearing the question, everyone, including Harry, sat up a little straighter.
Professor McGonagall cast her eye over the class and pursed her lips a little. 'Ooh that Angela and the things she told the Muggle-borns,' she muttered. 'Are they still showing that ridiculous piece of "entertainment"? The short answer to your question, Miss Patil, is "yes", but it takes far more than a few words and a little song.' The piece of chalk that had been hovering in front of the blackboard started to move and words appeared as Professor McGonagall spoke: 'I'm sure most of you have seen your parents do the washing and cooking while being busy with other things. The principles are similar but the energies and focus are different.'
She gestured with her left hand and the children gasped as a series of small statues and figures of cats and dragons and phoenixes leapt and flew from the shelves lining one of the walls and darted along the floor or through the air.
At the end of the class, as the students filed out, Professor M heard a few of them humming and singing and sighed. '"Substitutiary locomotion". Every year.' She gestured with her wand and all the materials used in the class gently rose up from the desks and floated over to an open cupboard. 'That woman.'
D
I have so much homework. Is it homework when it's not being done at home? Is this home now?
Are you ready for Smeltings?
I miss you, D. I miss you all.
It took half an hour for the students to get to the top of the Astronomy Tower and, as much as they had resented Percy and the other prefects forcing them out of the dormitory a little before half eleven, they were all grateful that they had. They were also grateful that Hermione had been practising a Floating Spell and had helped some of them 'carry' their telescopes up the winding stairs to the open roof and the study area that was lit by softly glowing stones in the walls.
Smiling at them as they arrived, Professor Sinistra showed them how to set up their telescopes and then magicked a number of stools for the students to sit on.
The glowing stones dimmed and the students watched as the darkness enveloped them. Professor Sinister didn't say anything as she walked along the wall of the tower and round the seated students. Then a low gasp began to spread as their eyes adjusted to the lack of light and they saw the blanket of stars in the sky.
'When the Founders chose this site for the school,' she said, 'they did so for many reasons. This Tower - its size and location - is here precisely because of the opportunities it allows to study the sky above.'
She gestured and a large roll of parchment rose from an open wooden chest and unfurled itself to display images of clusters of stars. The borders of the images were covered with calculations and descriptions.
'For thousands of years, for example, astronomers have studied Algol. The Demon Star. We have observed its variations in light. We have studied its dips and eclipses. And we barely know anything.'
She gestured against the parchment rolled itself back up and returned to the wooden chest.
'You will learn from the teachings and approaches of Eratosthenes. You will look to Mercury and Mars and the other Wanderers and understand their journeys and where they will be tomorrow or next week or next year or centuries from now, and where they were yesterday or last year or when this Tower was established and before.
'Astronomy is not to be confused with Astrology. They both observe the stars and planets but they are not the same. Astrology tries to show how the motions and positions of the planets and so on affect us here on Earth, on a personal level, in a different way, and if any of you are interested in Divination then you can learn more about it there.'
She smiled and held her arms out wide, just as a stream of shooting stars cut across the sky behind her.
Everyone gasped.
'Astronomy is about history - the past and the future - and sometimes you can look ahead enough to know how to make things a little more exciting.'
D
I was wrong. The night sky is amazing. If Smeltings has a class like it DO IT.
No idea who keeps tidying up our room.
'Who do you keep writing to?' asked Neville as they got ready for bed.
'My family,' said Harry, and he tucked the note in the empty pouch Hedwig had returned with earlier that day.
'Never seen you receive any post.'
'They haven't written back yet.'
'Maybe they're busy.'
'Yeah, they must be,' agreed Harry. He held the pouch in his hands a little longer and then placed it on the bedside cabinet. 'What about yours?' he suddenly asked.
'Mine?' Neville's eyes widened a little.
'You keep mentioning your Nan. What about your parents?'
'Dean keeps mentioning his Nan, too,' Neville mumbled.
'He also talks about his stepdad and how-'
'I forgot,' interrupted Nevill, his cheeks had started to redden, 'I need to go to the library.'
'But,' protested Harry as Neville dashed out of the room, 'it's bedtime.'
Friday morning did not go as planned. Neville's toad had escaped the dorm room and, after failing to find him, Ron and Harry had taken a wrong turn on their way to breakfast… and had gotten themselves lost. Nothing around them was familiar, the ceiling was lower than any of the other corridors they had walked along, and a cold draft seemed to have found its way under their robes and made their toes feel strange.
'Ron,' whispered Harry as he glanced out of a narrow window, 'isn't this the third floor?'
'Yeah?' said Ron, uncertainly.
'We're not supposed to be on the third floor.'
The walls shifted around them and bricks and paving slabs scratched and scraped and the long corridor became more oval in shape.
'Oh blimey,' Ron exclaimed, 'this place never makes up its mind.'
Several doors appeared nearby and the boys dashed towards them. As Ron reached out for the handle on one of the doors he noticed something and hissed, 'Harry.'
'What?'
'Isn't that Mrs Norris?'
'Where?'
The cat scowled at them and then darted away.
'Let's get through this door and head down-'
'Got ya, ya creepers.' Harry and Ron yelped and grabbed onto each other as Filch and Mrs Norris leapt out of somewhere and stood next to them.
'We're sorry, sir,' said Harry, pushing himself away from Ron and holding his hands up in the air in surrender, 'we got lost.'
'"Lost"?' taunted Filch. He paced back and forth in front of the two boys, the keys in his coat pocket weighing heavy on the material and making it seem as if he had one shoulder higher than the other. 'Hear that excuse all the time. First years, fifth years, always lost.'
'We were trying to get to-'
Filch waved his hand dismissively. 'Come on, let's get you to the Headmaster. Let him deal with you.'
Just as Filch was about to grab hold of the boys' arms, a choked whisper drifted along the corridor.
'Harry P-P-Potter. What are you two doing here?'
'Could ask the same of you, Professor Quirrell.' Filch snarled a little and Mrs Norris hissed at the teacher.
'Now, now, Mr F-F-Filch, no need for that.'
'Third time you've been up here.'
'I t-t-told you, the corridors aren't like I r-r-remember.'
'First years, fifth years, even teachers. "Lost". Forbidden is forbidden, Professor.' He frowned a little as he noticed Mrs Norris bound towards another doorway and then look back at him. He glanced at the two boys and then at Professor Quirrell and said, 'but I'll let you deal with these two. A game is afoot!'
'Sorry about this, Professor.'
'Non-nonsense.' He looked at the door the two boys had tried to open and then tucked his hands into his robes and started to walk away.
'Where did you get lost?' asked Ron, as he and Harry hurried to catch up with him.
'Somewhere near the staircase with the missing step, I think.'
Everyday since the Welcome Feast, a few times at breakfast but always at dinner, Harry had felt a tingling around his head, as if something was brushing against it. He hadn't told anyone about it as, other than the occasional burning sensation in his scar, the tingling never hurt and he wondered if it was because he was surrounded by magic now.
On Friday morning, after receiving a note from Hagrid, carried by a small fluffy owl, wondering where Hedwig kept flying off to and asking if he wanted to have some tea with him that afternoon - to which Harry, of course, replied 'Yes' - the tingling had been particularly persistent. He looked around the room and over the throng of eating students and locked eyes with Professor Snape. He was sitting next to Professor Vector, who was animatedly describing something with a ball of light and hovering letters and calculations.
'Arithmancy,' said Hermione, 'Penelope Clearwater, in Ravenclaw, says it's a really interesting class.'
'Is it like Maths?' asked Harry.
'A little. I think. I don't really know.'
The tingles faded and Harry smiled and stirred some chocolate into his porridge.
Potions classes were held in the dungeons. Harry and Dean had thought it was a joke to describe them that way but quickly realised how real it was as they walked down the torch-lit stairs and saw the Slytherin first-years lined up against one of the corridor walls. Everyone stood silently, wholly aware of Professor Snape's detention-giving nature, and waited for the door to open.
The classroom was dark but surprisingly warm. Flasks and cauldrons bubbled on a table and Professor Snape stood by his desk as the class filed in. Harry shivered and almost fell off his stool as the tingles returned.
'I don't tolerate class clowns, Mr Potter,' said Professor Snape, and the snickering Harry's fumble had elicited quickly stopped. Snape conducted the roll call and then told them that their wands would not be required for this first class.
'Tell me, Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?'
Everyone turned to look at Harry and he swallowed the bitter taste of the orange juice he had had for breakfast returning to his throat.
'Something like the Draught of Living Death, sir?'
Something strange happened then but Harry couldn't be sure that he saw what he thought he saw. Professor Snape's eyes softened. It was for barely a second but Harry was convinced - or, rather, as convinced as he could be - that there had been a change in the intensity with which Snape had been looking at him.
Snape's mouth tightened and his strange smile vanished. 'It seems we have something like what I believe Muggles call a swot.'
The Slytherin tables laughed and the Gryffindor students, although bemused, looked at each other uncomfortably.
'So,' said Snape, 'since Mr Potter seems to be a know-it-all, perhaps he can tell us where a Bezoar can be found?'
'The stomach of a goat,' Harry immediately answered.
'The Muggles have a dull life if you did all that reading,' jeered Malfoy.
'I was just… interested.'
Harry's head began to throb and his scar ached and he felt his morning's porridge tickle his throat.
'Aww widdle Harry didn't know 'bout magic and missed his Mummy and Daddy.'
'Ouch,' Harry hissed, and he grabbed his head and squeezed it a little.
'No need to cry, Potter.'
'That's quite enough, Malfoy,' said Professor Snape, and the pain in Harry's head stopped. He walked along the rows of desks and looked straight at Harry. 'Potions are more than book learning. Magic is more than just book learning. Dangerous. Beautiful. Precise.' He turned on his heel and cast a gaze over the class. 'A mispronounced charm and you might end up with a buffalo sitting on your chest or a mouse-tail growing from your nose, but an incorrect potion can be death… or worse.
'It's interesting, though, that most of you don't see any point in noting my words.' Professor Snape said the last three words slowly and every student in the room, including Malfoy, hunched over their parchments and began writing.
As Harry noted down Professor Snape's advice to 'think ahead and think around' he had an unnerving sensation that someone was parting the hair on the back of his head one strand at a time. He resisted the urge to touch his head and bit on his lower lip as his scar began to burn a little. He shuddered as the sensations passed and then he wiped his clammy hands on his robes.
Tea with Hagrid and Ron had been interesting but what Harry had enjoyed most about it was that he felt that he could relax. Hagrid had been the one to introduce him to the world of magic but he had also seen how Harry's life had been in the Muggle world and, with all the new things around him and the silence from his family, Harry needed a little reminder of home.
Two things Harry knew for certain were that Aunt Marge would not approve of Fang, Hagrid's dog, or consider him to be of good pedigree and, with that realisation, Harry had felt a sense of connection with the massive boarhound.
The first week at Hogwarts had been far harder and more exhausting than any of the first years had expected. Jaws and wrists and voices were sore from repeated incantations and practising wand movements, and the dinner tables where they were seated were mostly quiet.
A few owls casually drifted into the Great Hall and Hedwig, much to Harry's surprise, was among them. She landed in front of Harry and held out her right leg. Harry grinned as he read the note.
H
M was here all week. Had to keep Hedwig safe and out of sight.
Don't send her out so much.
Jealous about all the food. Learn to cook and then feed us.
Rachel came to see you. So did Sarah? She said she used to sit next to you in class? Didn't believe me when I said you were gone.
Christmas?
D
(Author's note: 'The wand chooses the wizard' is a reference to Ollivander's words and both it and the questions Snape asks Harry are from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's (Sorcerer's) Stone)
