9: First Day Mishap

THE-BOY-WHO-LIVED MISSING?

By: Barnabas Cuffe

Editor in Chief

The magical community was shaken today by a disturbing news after an incident at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry confirmed a speculation that has been circulating the magical community for many years now.

It was reported that Harry Potter, more known as The-Boy-Who-Lived was deemed 'missing' after failing to show his presence on the sorting ceremony at the night of September first in the said school.

The teachers and the whole student body expressed their horror and disappointment when the boy did not show up after his name was called many times for the sorting. News of Harry Potter's disappearance had reached the parents from their worried children who then later brought the matter to our attention.

Mr. Potter's admission to the school was anticipated by the wizarding public after ten years of living with his Muggle relatives. It was recalled that the boy was turned over to their custody after his parents James and Lily Potter were murdered by He-Who-must-not-be-named despite the protests of many including the ministry and the Wizengamot. Harry Potter was until now the sole survivor of the killing curse that had caused the fall of the Dark Lord, thus, ending the first wizarding war.

Several theories have roamed across that could have led to the child's mysterious disappearance. None of which this reporter hoped to be true. The ministry has now offered to look into several angles of his location and has conducted a special search party to look for the boy. Meanwhile, the Wizengamot is also looking at the possibility of bringing the matter to court to question the Hogwarts Headmaster who stood as Harry Potter's legal guardian and was responsible for leaving the care of the child to his muggle relatives who turned out as per initial investigation were unaware of the said transfer of custody.

"We are discussing it now. However, our priority is to find the boy and make sure that he is safe. He is the magical community's icon. A hero. Nevertheless, we will definitely ensure that someone will hold responsible to such neglect that had resulted to this very unfortunate incident," said the Wizengamot Spokesperson on their press release after the news broke out.

We have also tried to obtain a statement from Headmaster Albus Dumbledore himself on his reaction from these accusations and to hear his side of the story. However, the school's doors remained closed from our interviews.

As of today, hundreds of questions are roaming among our dear readers. What happened to the Boy-Who-Lived? What future awaits the wizarding community from this grave scandal?

To know more about the Potters' Murder Case, please turn to page 4.

Harry made it to the Great Hall just in time for the mails to arrive. About hundreds of owls had suddenly streamed in from different directions, circling the tables until they saw their owners, dropping letters and packages onto their laps.

Hedwig flew in with the others but hadn't brought him anything. Perhaps she was expecting Harry to send his uncle something on his first day of school. She landed on his lap, nibbling his ear affectionately before having a bit of the toast on the boy's plate.

Draco next to him was loudly exhilarating over the box of sweets the family eagle owl had sent from home. As if he had any interest listening to the blonde talk about the shops in Paris where the bonbons and madeleines were ordered from – the bloody git!

But it was the whispers from the other tables that infuriated his lovely breakfast the most. Several owls brought copies of the Daily Prophet's morning edition bearing the headline of the Boy-Who-Lived's disappearance on the front page complete with a photo of the scene taken from the sorting ceremony the previous night. Some of the students' opinions were inanely ridiculous that Harry was tempting not to hit their heads with the rolled paper one by one just to get them to their senses.

The murmurs grew louder and louder, people keeping their hopes up that Harry Potter might miraculously appear in the Great Hall soon. Perhaps in a dramatic way in their wildest delusions.

"Blimey, this is a nightmare!" he could hear one Gryffindor jabbering in panic.

"No wonder we couldn't find him in the train," said Ron Weasley over a German sausage he was devouring like a wolf.

"I've been hoping to meet him since I was five!" was that Hufflepuff about to burst into tears? Merlin, he needed more patience to bear this!

"What are we gonna do now? We're all doomed!"

Wait, WHAT?!

Harry looked around. Everyone seemed to be perturbed by Potter's disappearance. Even the teachers on the high table were exchanging conjectures among themselves of the missing boy's whereupon.

"I don't understand what in Morgana's fine tits this fuss is all about," Pansy had drawled what his thoughts were trying to scream out of his head this whole time. Among the four tables, only the Slytherins seemed indifferent from what was happening. Except maybe Draco who was wearing a frown on his face when the conversation shifted to the murmurs they were hearing.

"It sounds to me they are troubled that Harry Potter is not around to help them solve their petty little problems," Zabini mused, sniggering.

Millicent Bullstrode scoffed, her head shaking, "that could be the most pathetic thing I've heard in my life."

"Well, look at them. Scurrying like headless chickens," said a second-year boy having breakfast next to them.

"There's a rumor circling around that the Dark Lord may still be out there bidding his time and Harry Potter's the only one who can stop him from returning to power." Someone from the end of their table grumbled loud enough for them to turn their heads to gape at him in surprise.

"Seriously?" Draco wheezed, "That's worse than Black here hearing stories about Harry Potter riding dragons and saving damsels in distress."

"Hey!" Harry protested, "At least I'm not like someone I knew out there who fancies him big time he made his bodyguards search the train to sign his autograph."

"I did not ask for his signed autograph!" said Draco scandalized.

"Oh yeah? Tell that to your blushing face." Harry countered.

"How dare you! Prat!" His sneer was retaliated by Harry childishly blowing raspberries at him.

Their little banter was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Professor Snape holding a bunch of parchments that turned out to be their course schedules.

"Unless you don't want to get to your classes on time, you will start acting your age and finish your meal before I turn you both into blundering ferrets!" he snarled, causing both boys to wolf down their porridges in less than a minute and then scurried off to their first classes for the day.

Finding his way to his classes had proved to be the most challenging part of this ordeal (or that's what he thought). There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide; sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some led to somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely or tickled them in exactly the right place; doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. Not only that. It was also hard to remember where anything was, because the stairs seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept moving to visit each other, and Harry was sure those suits of armor could walk.

The ghosts didn't help either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. The Bloody Baron was too scary for them to ask for directions, and the nearly headless ghost of Gryffindor Tower refuses to help unless you belong to his house. Worse was the poltergeist named Peeves who was worth two locked doors and a tricky staircase if you met him when you're supposed to be late for class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!"

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. No one would ever wish to get on the wrong side of him or they'll bear the consequences. He owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-colored creature with bulging, lamp eyes just like her owner. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of the line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone (except rumor has it, the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students hated him, and it had been Harry's wild dream to send a letter to his Uncle Teddy asking for a vial of cyanide to feed the wretched cat if only the offense wouldn't merit him a ticket if not to Azkaban, then probably the Muggle Prison.

And then there were the classes themselves. There was a lot to magic than waving your wand and saying a few words. as Harry quickly found out, these classes were a lot worse than his history and etiquette lessons back home.

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. Good thing there was an exact replica of the universe in one of the massive rooms of Grimmauld Place that somehow Harry was already familiar with some of these heavenly bodies.

Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi and find out what they were used for.

Perhaps the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns droned on and on about the third Goblin war for hours that Slytherins used his time as an opportunity to nap (Theo Nott), play exploding snap (Crabbe and Goyle and sometimes accompanied by Draco), read their books on other subjects (Harry), and in Pansy's case, braiding her hair with the help of other Slytherin girls.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first class, he consumed about half an hour expressing his regret on not being able to teach poor, little Harry Potter just as how he taught his mother when she was his age.

Professor McGonagall was as strict and clever in class as she was outside. On their first day, she gave them a talking to reminding them all that anyone messing around was advised to leave and never come back. Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they weren't going to be changing furniture into animals just yet. They were each given a match and were taught to transfigure it into a needle in which only Hermione Granger had managed to make a difference by the end of their lesson. Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy and gave Granger a rare smile.

Now Defense Against the Dark Arts class was a complete disappointment. It was a joke in Harry's opinion. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic which everyone believed was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania. His turban, as he told them, had been given to him by an African price as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie. Harry even doubted zombies were real knowing they were simply a Muggle made-up creature they'd heard from classic films.

"What have we got today?" Harry asked Draco while stuffing bacon to his egg sandwich.

"Double potions with the idiots," said Draco with an eyeroll.

"You mean Gryffindors?"

"Whatever calling them pleases you," he bantered.

Harry thought these could be one of those reasons he'd consider himself lucky to have been sorted in Slytherin or he could've found himself on the receiving end of Professor Snape's wrath. The man was an absolute terror in class who had a very strong animosity against moronic behavior.

As expected, Potions Lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. Like their common room, it was colder than the main part of the castle and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

It strongly reminded him of the lower cells in Grimmauld Place his uncle forbid him from stepping into.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and precise art of potion making," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but the acidity in his words was clear enough they could catch every word. "As there is little foolish wand-waving you can find here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. 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… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed his little speech. The Gryffindors exchanged looks with raised eyebrows. Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to prove she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Mr. Black!" Snape barked suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

What?! Why me?! Harry mentally asked himself. Of all people, it was like getting struck by lightning from the question. Granger's hand shot into the air, but Snape ignored her. Good thing he was used to his Uncle Teddy threatening him with the concoction whenever he's mad that the components were already drilled in his mind since he was six.

"You'd get the Draught of the Living Death, sir," Harry replied shakily.

Snape's lip curled into a sneer. Was he expecting him to know the answer?

"Let's try again. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Wow. He had a hunch Snape was messing with him now. Incidentally, Zabini Blaise just mentioned something about this a day ago. Something his stepfather had kept avoiding dying from poisoning.

"You take it from the stomach of a goat," he answered. Granger's hand was again stretched as high into the air as it would go and was frustrated that she wasn't called.

"…and what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

This sounded like a tricky one. Hermione was obviously more than willing to help him answer on his behalf, but Harry seemed to have gotten the message now. Snape is trying to show something to these dunderheads and failing to answer these questions would lead him to a painful consequence.

Wait… he remembered something now. His Uncle Teddy once told him the story of a student in Hogwarts who turns into a werewolf every full moon and how a potion helped him lessen his tendency to become violent.

"Aren't they the same thing sir?" he asked a bit hesitantly.

"… also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape added, "Ten points to Slytherin for bothering to open a book," that earned them a glare from the Gryffindors.

Things weren't improving as the Potions lessons continued. They were all put into pairs and set to mix up a simple potion to cure boils. Snape was sweeping around in his long Black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone (including Harry) except Draco, whom he seemed to like. Harry's eyes narrowed at him as Snape tells everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs. He already had the urge to wrangle Neville Longbottom by the neck for nearly causing a terrible accident if he hadn't stopped him from adding the crushed snake fangs on time. It could have bore holes in his Oxford shoes and caused ugly boils all over his skin. A fiasco he's so not looking forward to experiencing any time. Somehow, he must've gained a friend out of the clumsy little kid, because the moment they climbed the steps out of the dungeon about an hour later, Neville ran after him and muttered something incoherent that sounded more like a 'thanks' before trotting ahead of their group.

Harry was left there with the others blinking in surprise, confused.