Harry groaned and rolled over in his bed as sunlight filtered in through his window at the side of his bed. The heavy quilt was soft against his back and legs as he attempted to bury himself further into the soft mattress.

It was a few moments later that a familiar weight landed on his back. He groaned and squirmed a little as the familiar feeling of sharp talons poked and prodded him through the material that covered him.

"G'way, Clara…" He mumbled sleepily, waving a tired arm behind him. He only managed a single feeble swipe before the arm dropped to his side heavily.

There was a series of gentle taps against the back of his exposed head – harmless, but increasingly annoying.

He scrunched his eyes tighter and made a feeble groan of protest.

"Clara…" He muttered, frowning into the soft cotton of his red pillows.

There was a lengthy pause before another, single tap echoed in his skull.

He opened his eyes slowly and glared at the bird perched on his chest – he thought she looked far too smug for his liking – at least this early in the day. Despite her avian nature, there were times when she seemed far too human – and he definitely recognised that mischievous glint in her black eyes.

"Don't you fuc-" Harry began as he pointed a finger in his familiar's direction. She tapped him again.

He jumped out of bed; his hands outstretched as he scrambled to get a hold of the bird. "Come here, you bloody pompous chicken!"

With two powerful flaps of her wings, Clara was in the air and gliding back to her perch. Harry, in his haste to follow, kicked his legs from the bed and leapt to his feet as the quilt pooled around him on the floor.

He took a step forward, a menacing glare on his face that would put even Daphne's to shame, only to cry out in alarm as he tipped forwards and groaned as he lay in a crumpled heap. Clara gave a quiet trill of amusement before she circled the room in her own victory lap before landing on her perch once more.

As he lay there, contemplating his defeat and staring up at the ceiling, he let out a quiet sigh as his mind began to clear of the sleepy haze that had encompassed it only moments before.

The memories of the previous night danced through his mind, and he found himself smiling at the images in his mind's eye. There had been the journey on the train, the trip across the lake, the sorting and the feast! If he closed his eyes, he could remember every smell of the cooked foods – he could feel the fresh air on his face out on the lake, and even feel the coarse material of the seat on the train.

He groaned as he pushed himself to his elbows and glared at his familiar. The glorified pigeon was staring at him unblinkingly, her hooked black beak glinting in the early morning light. He pushed himself onto his hands and took in the dark grey of his nightshirt that clung to his skin with a frown.

He had woken up in a panic again last night – it had been months since his last night terror. It had felt so real, so visceral. He could feel the smooth stone of the cobbled road, the sound of the spells flying past his head in every direction, the heat of the flames as Clara forced her maturity to protect him.

Even now, the cries of pain from those long dead echoed in his ears as he breathed deeply. The time since the battle had been time well spent. He had begun to use a blade under the instruction of a tutor that Arcturus had hired, and he was pleased with the steady progress he had been making.

His tutor, a woman named Kina Parren – a member of a minor family sworn to the service of House Black, had begun instructing him not long after their initial return. She had been ruthless in her teaching, not afraid to throw his arse to the dirt to prove a point. They had begun with daggers; the small blade had become a constant fixture on either his belt or in his boot ever since.

The sword had become a part of his training after two months of lessons three times a week. It had taken some getting used to, with the long blade and the increased weight as opposed to a dagger – especially with his own limited size, but he had persevered.

Kina had become even more punishing in her drills. For hours, he would repeat the same movements, drilling the repeat motions into his subconscious with her barking voice and rough shoving. Outside of the training, she was a soft spoken and had a kind smile – the second they each hefted their training blades, that persona was replaced by a gruff, loud and seemingly angry young woman. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't had one or two nightmares about her.

He scrambled to his feet, the bare flesh slapping against the smooth floorboards with each shuffle as he extricated himself from the mound of duvet. With a final tug, he stumbled backwards into one of the chest of drawers that lined the walls of the small room. He turned quickly and snatched at the wobbling black-iron candle stick that threatened to topple over.

He let out a small sigh as he looked about the room – besides the mess of his bed and Clara, who now had her head ducked beneath a wing as she preened herself. He had spent some time, after showing Neville the carving of his fathers initials, sorting his belongings into the various drawers, chests and along the occasional shelf to make it into something resembling a home – a refuge from the chaos of the days where he could relax.

His clothes were all folded and stored by item – he was absolutely convinced Lispy would pop into the room and bend him over her knee if he didn't abide by her system, and his boots were neatly lined by the door next to a small hamper that he assumed was for washing.

Gathering the quilt in his arms, he threw it on the bed and quickly tidied it – tugging at little creases and making sure everything was straight. While he was aware of the House Elves of Hogwarts, thanks to Sirius and Remus's many tales of their adventures, he refused to give them any more work than he absolutely had to.

With the bed straightened, he went about gathering his toiletries and a fresh change of clothes. He had no idea if anyone else was awake, but with the bloody chicken having woken him up, he knew going back to bed – regardless of the time, would be impossible.

He paused as he pulled a fresh tunic from a draw by the window as his eye caught something he hadn't noticed in the darkness of the night. Quickly placing the items in his hands down atop the furniture, he moved to the window and lifted the large metal latch and pulled the frame towards him. It didn't open large enough for a human to fit through – for obvious reasons, but it was large enough for something smaller.

He looked over his shoulder and raised his brow at Clara expectantly. "Come on then, I assume this is why you're so insufferable this morning."

Clara hopped across the room slowly. He knew she was doing it on purpose because she could have easily crossed the room in a glide from her perch. He rolled his eyes at her smug countenance as she hopped up onto the ledge where she shuffled side to side for a moment. With a smirk on his face, he closed the window with a little force that shoved her from the ledge in an undignified squawk.

There was a quick burst of flame after a moment, and he winced as he felt Clara appear behind him. He turned slowly as she hovered in the air, her wings beating in a steady rhythm as she glared at him. Her eyes held a challenging glint to them as she lifted her beak a little higher. There was a dull thud across the top of his head as she caught him purposefully with her right wing before she burst into flame once again. He pouted as he rubbed at his skull.

Gathering his clothes under his arm, he grumbled about lazy familiars and stupid windows. Harry snatched at a towel that he'd set aside the previous night and shuffled from the room. He left his coat – that he'd noticed had the red of Gryffindor lining the inside, hanging by the door. There was no need to be dragging it into the bathroom with him.

The small common area was empty, the chairs and small tables all with the red of Gryffindor or the golden lion incorporated in their design somehow. There was a large recessed window that matched the curve of the tower that stretched for a few metres above his, Neville's and Seamus's doors.

He padded over the plush crimson rug with golden patterning and shouldered the door to the shared bathroom open.

The white marble tiles caught the light from the small window and reflected it easily enough, illuminating the room nicely. Along the far wall were the five separate shower stalls, while an equal number of private toilets sat opposite – their thin wooden doors shut. Along the wall closest to him were a number of sinks, each with bronze coloured faucets and a mirror above them. Like with the tiles of the room, the porcelain of the sinks was white and seemed to sparkle in the early morning light.

He moved along the row to the far stall and laid out his clothes in a small area between the door and the shower curtain, hanging what he could, while the rest was laid neatly in an efficient pile on a small white stool. He arranged the pile sensibly – his breeches on the bottom, then his socks and on top was his underwear. His hung his tunic on a hook on the door, while his boots sat below it. The towel he draped over a second hook along the wall by the curtain.

He pulled his nightshirt over his head, grimacing as the still damp material almost peeled off of him and slapped against the floor. Next were his pyjamas, which thankfully were far more pleasant to remove.

Stepping behind the curtain, he brushed the rune with his thumb, sighing as the warm water cascaded over his body. He stood there for a time, just allowing the water to sooth his cramped muscles in his shoulders and neck.

A small sigh whispered past his lips as he pushed the hair from his face, the thick locks of his hair plastering themselves to him wherever they fell. Blinking the water from his eyes, he brushed another rune, and began washing both his hair and body. Whatever soap the water was charmed with, it smelled of strawberries and practically vanished any tension that remained in his body. He could get used to this.

He rinsed himself quickly before shutting the water off. He threw the curtain open and palmed the towel from the hook before throwing it over his head. He rubbed at his dark hair and face, scrubbing away what water he could.

Harry moved methodically down his body before laying it down on the floor before the stool. He quickly went about drying his toes before pulling on clean underwear and breeches. The tunic came next – it was baggy, but as he tucked it away, it began to conform to his figure a little more. The light material was breathable and in an off-white colour that complimented his dark boots, breeches and coat.

He opened the door once he was dressed and gathered his washing in the towel on the floor before rolling it up. With towel-turned-bag in hand, and his left hand running through his damp and wild hair, Harry moved to return to his room – noting how there was still no sign of his classmates. Perhaps Clara had woken him too early? If she had, he'd make sure to contact Sirius to plan the appropriate revenge.

With a sigh, he placed the towel and dirty laundry into the hamper and moved to his small bedside table. On it were a few things – namely his wand, a few leather ties for his hair, a book on charms he had perused a little before falling asleep and a large sheet of parchment that had been folded a number of times in different directions.

Grasping his wand, he muttered a pair of incantations under his breath. The first, required him to move his wand in a clockwise spiral around his head, with the tip pointed towards the floor. He smiled to himself as he felt the magic dry his hair, give it a little volume, and brush away the knots painlessly. The second required a sharp upwards flick of his wrist with the tip pointed at his mouth. Once the small rush of magic disappeared, he ran his tongue over his teeth – there was a distinct hint of spearmint on his tongue.

With his hair dry, Harry snatched up one of the leather ties from the table and tied his hair in a comfortably loose knot at the back of his head, grumbling as a few strands came loose, though he didn't bother to fix them. Next was his long-sleeved black doublet with the lion of Gryffindor on the breast beside the wolf of Potter that he had placed on his bed as he had gathered his clothes for his morning shower.

His arms threaded into the sleeves comfortably, the hem just slightly past his wrists. The material was soft and smooth against his fingertips as he tied the leather fasteners down his front with deft fingers. He quickly strapped his wand-holster, with his wand already placed inside it, against his right forearm before pulling the fabric of his sleeve over it.

All that remained was his coat, the fine black dragon leather garment cinched around his waist with a tan-coloured leather belt. Normally, the belt would hold his dagger, but as it was a school, he decided that in his time here, it would remain sheathed in his right boot.

He looked at himself for a moment in the wall-length mirror on the other side of the door to the hamper. He tugged at any perceived wrinkles or flaws in his appearance – Arcturus would accept nothing less than perfection in his appearance.

With one final rallying breath, he nodded to himself and picked up his satchel from the hook on the door.

As he stepped into the small common area, he noticed Neville sitting on one of the wooden chairs looking a little bored. Neville did happen to perk up as he stepped into view, however.

"Harry! About time you showed up. I was beginning to think you'd stay in there for the rest of the day trying to make yourself look pretty."

Harry snorted as he moved across the room and took in Neville's appearance. Much like himself, Neville wore the traditional robes of Hogwarts students, though his doublet held the bear of Longbottom. Neville's face was clean, which was a rarity in itself considering the boy's love of plants, and his brown mop of hair looked glossy and clean.

"Nothing wrong with wanting to be presentable, Longbottom." Harry sniffed, winking as his friend rolled his eyes and followed him out the door with his own satchel over a shoulder.

"There's presentable, and then there's the level you take it to, Potter." Neville replied as they began the spiral down the steps.

"Were any of the others awake?" He asked as they walked lazily through the empty common room – besides the half dozen sleeping cats in front of the fire, of course.

"I didn't see anyone. I don't think it's long past seven in any event – they have plenty of time." Neville shrugged as they stepped through the portrait.

The inside of the castle looked vastly different in the daylight. They were in one of the large square towers he'd seen on the lake, with staircases leading to all sorts of corridors and doors – though a quick glance over the railing told him they were on the seventh floor.

What was a really marvellous sight though, were the staircases themselves, moving this way and that as the few students that were awake moved up and down them. Neville grimaced over his shoulder as he took in the sight for himself.

"I forgot we were so high up." He groaned, "It's times like this I'm going to wish I'd been placed in Hufflepuff or, Gods forbid, Slytherin. No safer place to be than on the floor."

Harry chuckled and slapped Neville on the arm. "House of the brave, remember? You'll get used to it in no time."

With that, they made their way down the staircases to the ground floor. They passed an untold number of portraits in their descent – all in various stages of alertness. One particular portrait of a group of old men were busy shooing a knight in full steel plate swinging a sword at invisible enemies away from their table of cards.

With their feet firmly on the ground floor of Hogwarts, Neville visibly relaxed – his shoulders, which had been tense throughout their short journey, slumped in relief. It took no time at all to retrace the previous night's footsteps to the Great Hall.

The doors were wide open this morning and seemed even larger than they had the night before. The ceiling was no longer bewitched, and the sheer emptiness of the room was astounding. Along all of the tables, there were only perhaps two dozen students, all in various states of alertness – one boy, who appeared to be a fifth year, barely caught himself from pitching forward into his porridge.

Harry's eyes swept the Slytherin table and caught sight of the long, dark hair he was looking for. He gently tapped Neville on the shoulder and pointed in Daphne's direction as the two of them gave her an enthusiastic wave and grin.

It seemed she had seen them, not that they were hard to miss, all things considered. With a short wave of her own, a roll of her eyes and a smirk, she stood up and moved to join them – a dark haired girl with shoulder-length hair joining her a moment later.

Harry and Neville sat themselves down at the Gryffindor table as they placed their satchels on the floor either side of them. Daphne and the new addition slid in gracefully opposite them.

"Harry, Neville, meet Tracey Davis. Tracey, these are the idiots."

Harry and Neville both grinned cheekily at the blue-eyed witch.

"Now why would you say something cruel like that?" Harry asked, clutching a hand to his heart.

"That was positively slanderous, was that." Neville added, holding the back of his right hand to his forehead as he leaned back dramatically.

Tracey giggled shyly and offered the two of them her hand to shake. Unlike the three of them, she was attired in the Muggle-born uniform. "Pleased to meet you both."

Neville and Harry shook her hand with no hesitation. If Daphne was introducing her, they trusted her – Daphne had an instinct about people that was down-right terrifying at times.

"So, if you don't mind me asking," Harry began as he placed a small assortment of fruit and crispy bacon on his plate. "how do you know Daphne?"

Tracey shifted in her seat a little. "We share a dorm. We met last night after the sorting."

"Well, you'll find no better friend than our Daphne." Neville smiled before taking a bite from a red apple. Daphne smiled at the praise, and he was positive he could spot the faintest hint of red on her cheekbones – though when he looked closer, it was gone.

"So, excited to start your day?" Harry asked, his eyes on the two girls opposite him. Daphne, he knew, was excited despite her cool exterior. Tracey, on the other hand, was barely keeping herself from bouncing up and down on the bench.

"I can't wait!" She grinned as she clapped her hands together. "What do you think will be our first class? Oh, I hope it's Charms! I heard Professor Flitwick is brilliant!"

Harry grinned at her enthusiasm, though it was a stark contrast next to Daphne – never in his wildest dreams could Harry picture his friend acting like Tracey.

The conversation flowed easily between the four of them, though the two Slytherins returned to their own tables when more students began to filter into the room. With their plates long since emptied, the two remaining Gryffindors turned to one another for entertainment until Professor McGonagall arrived.

The older woman stood over them as she cleared her throat. Both Harry and Neville jumped a little at the noise and looked over their shoulders with a light pink staining their cheeks.

Harry darted to his feet as he saw the Professor, though the sound of his knees catching the table did cause him to wince and bite on his lower lip for a moment. Neville, likewise, got to his feet.

They both offered the older witch small bows, while her eyes twinkled with amusement. "I trust, Mr. Potter, that you found your accommodation most suitable?"

Harry paused for a moment. "It was, Professor – I mean, that is to say, it is most suitable… Professor." Harry winced at the words.

"Good, I would hate for you to have been disappointed. Your Godfather passed along your hope that you would be assigned to it."

"You and Sirius…?" Harry gasped, his jaw dropping slightly. He'd made a passing mention of it years ago, but he had never thought Sirius would contact the school!

"Indeed. In any event, I came to offer the both of you your timetables for the year." Professor McGonagall said, handing the both of them a piece of parchment each.

"Thank you, Professor." Neville replied, his smile still a little nervous at having been caught unawares by the emerald-robed witch.

McGonagall nodded once and then moved further down the table as more and more students started sitting down. The two of them sunk to the bench quickly, their eyes scanning the contents in their hands.

They had five one-hour lessons a day – three classes in a morning, followed by an hour's lunch, with two lessons in the afternoon. Then, they would have a three-hour period for study and research before the evening meal was served at six. Another two hours of free time would see them through until curfew was called in the castle at nine.

As it was a Monday, their first lesson would be Introduction to Magic with Professor Selket, followed by Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall and his first Elective, Magical Languages with Professor Dots. They would have an hour for lunch before they went on to Basic Healing with Madame Pomfrey and to end the day they had…

"Oh, Merlin." Harry groaned as he wiped a hand down his face. He had forgotten about this class.

"What's wrong?" Neville asked, frowning as he looked up from the parchment.

"We've got Care of Familiars last."

"So?"

"I might have pushed her out of a window this morning." Harry muttered slowly, his eyes finding an absolutely fascinating spot of varnish on the table.

"You what?" Neville gasped, his eyes bulging wide.

"Hey, she started it!"

"What do you mean 'she started it'?"

Harry groaned pitifully and leaned his head on his folded arms atop the table. "She woke me up by tapping on my head. Repeatedly. She wanted me to open the window for her, even though she didn't need me to."

"Who didn't need ye to, Harry?" Seamus Finnegan asked, his thick Irish accent causing Harry to momentarily wince from within the comfort of his arms. He sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes.

"Familiar troubles." Neville chuckled. Harry scowled at him.

"We've all been there, mate." Ronald Weasley said as he patted Harry on the shoulder sympathetically. Seamus and Dean had sat down opposite the two of them, while Ronald had taken the seat next to Harry.

"What could be wrong with it?" Dean asked, the tall, dark skinned boy asked. Upon first meeting him last night, just before they had gone to bed, Harry had decided he quite liked the boy. He was polite, well spoken and had a brilliantly sarcastic sense of humour.

"She's a bloody git, is what she is." Harry grumbled, earning a scoff from the Muggle-born.

"Careful Harry, she might hear you." Neville winked.

"Hear him? What do you mean?" Ronald asked, a fat sausage already impaled on his fork. Harry shrugged.

"She'll come if I call her name, is all."

"I didn't know ye had a dog, Potter." Seamus grinned excitedly. "What kind is it? Is it a big or a small one?"

Harry scoffed and rolled his eyes. "She's not a dog, she's a bloody oversized pigeon."

"How long have you been bonded with her?" Ronald asked as he reached a free hand into a pocket on his robe. "I got Scabbers over Summer. Percy had him before me. He's bloody useless."

At this, Harry's eyes were drawn to the brown garden rat in his hand. Its nose twitched this way and that, and its beady black eyes seemed to focus unnaturally on Harry for a moment. He wasn't sure if he was imagining it, but he could have sworn something hadn't been quite right. He shrugged – it was probably nothing.

"I bonded with her about two years ago on a trip." He replied, giving himself a little shake as he tore his eyes from the rodent.

"Two years?" Seamus gasped. "I 'eard most kids get theirs from Diagon Alley!"

"Most do, but you're not limited to there. I found Trevor in the Magical District in Cardiff." Neville smiled.

"What do you two have?" Harry asked, eager to divert attention away from the bloody hook-nosed peacock.

"I have a cat called Bishop. I named him after the captain of West Ham." Dean grinned.

"Mine's a Barn Owl called Ava." Seamus smiled.

Harry noted that Ron was eyeing his Rat nervously. "Say, you don't think they'd go for Scabbers, do you?"

Neville snickered, "I'd be surprised – familiars tend to ignore other familiars they would otherwise regard as prey. Something in the magic, I think."

Ronald let out a breath as he slumped a little in relief and Harry chuckled to himself.

Professor McGonagall returned a short time later, handing each of their dorm-mate's similar pieces of parchment before swiftly moving on. There was a quiet moment as those around him gazed at their lesson plans.

"Wahey, free period before lunch!" Ron cheered, his grin barely holding the food in his mouth from hitting the table.

"You have a free period? What were your Electives?" Neville asked, surprised.

"Oh, I just chose Alchemy. I'm no good with languages – I leave that kind of thing to Percy." Ronald shrugged, nodding his head over towards a tall, skinny boy with curly red hair that Harry recognised as one of the Prefects.

"I assume he's a brother?" Harry asked slowly.

Ronald nodded as he swallowed a mouthful of food. "Oh yeah. There's seven of us! Bill's the oldest and is working as a Curse-Breaker in Egypt for Gringotts. Then there's Charlie – he graduated last year and has gone off to Romania to work on the Dragon Reserves. Then Percy, the twins; Fred and George. Then there's me, and Ginny should be coming next year."

"That's quite the family, Ronald." He murmured, blinking several times as his brain struggled to imagine that many children in one house.

"Call me Ron." The boy smiled easily.

"I can manage that." Harry smiled in return. He was about to ask after Ron's oldest brother – Bill, if Harry remembered the name correctly, when the sound of a large bell echoed slowly throughout the hall. Students rose as one, gathering their bags and slinging them over their shoulders.

"Come on, that's the bell for first class. Best get a move on." Neville murmured in his ear as they both stood with the crowd.


Introduction To Magic was the first class of the day, located in a room on the second floor on the north-side of the castle. The room was spacious and cosy, though Harry noted the distinct lack of any tables and chairs.

The class was larger than he had expected. Sirius and Remus had told him the classes were often large for the core subjects, but he had expected two houses to a class – not all four. The boys and girls of his year shuffled awkwardly as they awaited their teacher.

Harry took the opportunity to allow his eyes the chance to take in the room, strange bags on the floor and all. The walls were the same unadorned stonework that made up the rest of the castle, though there were a small handful of bookshelves dotted around the edge – all were stacked with untold numbers of books and tomes.

Sunlight filtered in through a series of windows on the far wall, and the smell of incense wafted through the air. The combination of the warm lighting and the smell of jasmine helped to make the entire room warm and relaxing.

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply for a moment, simply basking in the smell. Beside him, Neville did the same – it seems this teacher, whoever they were, had two fans already.

The sound of heels clacking against the stone floor of the hallway outside caused him to turn slowly, watching as a woman with auburn hair and blue eyes entered the room and closed the door quietly behind her.

She was tall and dressed in light-blue robes and her hair hung loose at the back of her head. Her hair was wavy, rather than straight and shimmered in the sunlight.

Her complexion was pale, but not unhealthily so, with just the hint of freckles on the bridge of her nose and a pleasant smile on her lips.

"Good morning class, and welcome to your first lesson here at Hogwarts." She called out as she walked to the front of the class. "My name is Professor Selket, and in this class I'll be instructing you in how to control and harness your magic."

Harry looked at her expectantly as her gaze swept the class.

"Now, how about you all take a seat on the beanbags, hmm? I find them much better suited to meditation than tables and chairs."

Harry moved to the side of the room closest to the bookshelves, the smell of musty parchment and old books mingling pleasantly with the jasmine in the air. He could enjoy this class very much.

Neville followed along a step behind him, plonking himself down on the bag next to him. Daphne and Tracey appeared over his shoulder while the bushy-haired girl – Hermione, sat down carefully on a bag in front of him. The brief glimpse of her face he had seen as she carefully put her bag down at her side couldn't help but make him think she seemed a little put out he had snagged the seat closest to the books.

He shrugged to himself as he smoothed out a wrinkle in his coat.

"Harry," Neville whispered as he leaned over to him. Harry looked at his friend, an eyebrow raised curiously. "If I fall asleep, kick me if I start to snore." Neville grinned.

Harry couldn't help but smile as Professor Selket's voice called out once again. "Now that you're all settled and comfortable, I understand that there's a disparity among the class common in all years."

She began pacing the room slowly, her hands clasped at the small of her back. "Unfortunately, because of the nature of how many of you were raised, that leaves those of you who were Muggle-born or Muggle-raised to be a little behind your peers."

Murmuring broke out among the Muggle-born.

"Don't worry, don't worry – nobody is at fault in this situation. It's unfortunately a harsh reminder that our two societies are separated. For example, I'm sure many of you raised in the Muggle-world had episodes of Accidental Magic?" The Professor asked, her blue eyes sweeping across those in the Muggle-born uniforms slowly. All nodded slowly, besides one or two.

"There is nothing to be ashamed of." Professor Selket smiled kindly, her voice soothing. "Wizarding families will often teach their children control very early on to avoid these episodes. As a result, the first weeks at Hogwarts are often easier for them as they're already familiar with the feel of their magic."

She took a deep breath, and Harry found himself sinking into the seat a little more.

"That's what this class is for – together, we'll spend the year teaching you all different methods of becoming familiar with your magic, how to control it, and most importantly, how to trust it."

The sea of heads nodded slowly.

"Now, does anyone know the most common method?"

Hermione's hand shot up in front of him.

"Yes, my dear. What's your name?"

"Hermione Granger, miss." Hermione replied confidently. At Professor Selket's nod, she continued, "Meditation, Professor."

"Excellent, take five points for Gryffindor." The Professor beamed.

The Gryffindors in the room gave a quiet cheer, with Harry and Neville clapping their hands together. Harry turned to look over his shoulder at Daphne and gave her a playful wink. They may be friends – the closest of friends, but it was an unspoken rule to be smug about the winning of house points. Daphne rolled her eyes playfully.

"As Miss Granger said, Meditation is the most common method. Other ways include methods such as subjecting the body to great stress, exercise, as well as a handful of other, less savoury methods." The Professor said, noting each one down on the board at the front of the class with her wand.

"Now, it is my hope that you shall all become familiar with your magic through meditation – as such, there will be a regular homework for you each night to meditate a little before going to bed. The more you explore, the stronger that connection will be."

The Professor swept her eyes over the class as she clasped her hands before her. "Now, who can tell me of the different types of magic? Anyone?"

Harry raised his hand, Hermione's in front of him just a blink behind.

"Ah, yes. Your name, my boy?"

"Potter, Professor. Harry Potter."

There was a moment of silence as the Professor took in his appearance before she shook herself slightly. "Sorry, continue, Mr. Potter."

"There are several types of magic, Professor. There's Wild Magic, that is found in all living things, including Muggles and is what we use mostly. There's also Ritual Magic and Familial Magic."

"Excellent, Mr. Potter. Five points!"

Harry grinned at Neville. He could hear Daphne scoff behind him and resisted the urge to chuckle.

"Indeed, Mr. Potter is correct. While we won't be exploring Ritual or Familial magic in this class, it is important for you to know of them and be aware of them for your Magical Theory class later in the week." Professor Selket smiled before clapping her hands together. "Now, I want you all to close your eyes, take a deep breath and get comfortable. Anyone falling asleep will find themselves losing house points."

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. He knew the feel of his magic and had been wrestling it under control for years. It was wild and untamed. Seductive and yearning to be released, to bend the world to his desires – despite how much tamer it was before his experience with The Council.

He found it quickly, a writhing mass of magic that he kept firmly under control. Unlike before, as he caressed it, it seemed to almost go docile. No longer was it banging on the gates of his control, always in the back of his mind. In all the years since he had first been taught by Remus in how to manage his magic, how to feel it, never had it felt so submissive to his wishes.

It was calm at his touch, warm but powerful. He smiled at the thought of working in tandem with it over the coming weeks and months for the first time in his life. In all his years, he had only ever allowed the tiniest trickle to seep through – activating a rune or summoning something across a room. There were so many possibilities.

With the smell of jasmine and old parchment, the warmth of the early morning light and the suppleness of the beanbag against his back, Harry thought he could enjoy this class very much indeed.


Transfiguration was held in a classroom on the ground floor of Hogwarts on the western side of the school. The room was large and airy and was a stark difference from the previous classroom, with only the occasional cabinet holding everyday items lining the sides.

Rows and rows of chairs and desks lined the length of the room in three rows, with a single large desk and chalkboard at the front.

Upon their arrival, the room was absent of any teacher besides a small grey and black cat that was perched on the desk and peered at the students filtering into the room.

The gong of the school bell echoed throughout the room, the large wooden doors booming shut behind him as the last of the students entered. Harry slid into a seat next to Neville halfway down the far-left row, with Daphne taking up the seat across the aisle with Tracey. Ron and Seamus sat behind him, while Dean and a Hufflepuff took up the bench behind them.

Hermione, he noted, had gravitated to the far side of the room with another Gryffindor girl. He chuckled a little to himself as he saw her extract book after book, quill after quill and place them on her desk. How did she fit so many in her bag?

"Where do you think ol' McGonagall is?" Ron whispered behind him.

Both he and Neville shrugged at the question, keeping their heads turned to their bags as they pulled their own books and parchment out. The tome for first year Transfiguration was a thick volume, with a fine leather cover with a gold embossed wand on the front. It had been one of Harry's favourite books to read over the Summer, swallowing entire chapters of it in an evening.

He looked towards the desk as he put the bag down on the floor by his feet, careful not to jostle it too much – he'd hate to damage any of his other books with his carelessness.

The cat stood lazily, before it leapt off the desk and morphed into the form of Minerva McGonagall. Harry gaped as the room gasped collectively. He had no idea she was an Animagus!

"Good morning, class."

"Good morning, Professor McGonagall." The class replied as one.

"Welcome to first year Transfiguration. In this class, you will learn how to change the shape and appearance of inanimate objects, and later animals to serve various purposes. Are there any questions so far?"

A student in the middle row raised their hand slowly, and Professor McGonagall nodded at him. "Are we going to learn to transform like that?"

The emerald-clad professor's lips quirked a little at the question. "No, I should think it unlikely. The Animagus transformation is a difficult and arduous process that few can achieve for various reasons – not to mention, it can be quite unsafe to do so. Any other questions?"

A few hands went up in the air.

"That aren't related to Animagi?"

The hands went down.

"Very well. I believe you have all just finished your Introduction to Magic class?" She asked the room at large, receiving a sea of nods. Harry had his parchment out and his quill ready to be dipped in ink to take notes.

"Excellent. In that case, I want you all to open your textbooks and copy the first chapter word-for-word. Afterwards, we shall discuss as a class the importance of safety when performing Transfiguration, and magic as a whole."

Harry nodded to himself as the class groaned quietly. His book was open a second later, with his quill already dipped in a light coating of black ink. The scratching of quills against parchment accompanied his methodical notes for the rest of the lesson as he tried to take everything in.


"Welcome to Magical Languages, class. I'm Professor Jaran Dots." The kindly looking older man smiled as everyone found their seats.

Professor Dots wore a simple tunic and breeches under a leather coat that stretched down to his mid-thigh. His hair was shoulder-length and silver and was parted neatly in the middle. The lower half of his face was covered in a well-trimmed beard, and his brown eyes were warm and friendly.

All around the room, which was located on the sixth floor, just a short few minutes' walk from Gryffindor Tower, were large framed phrases in a variety of languages that he didn't recognise. Some appeared to be alphabets, while others appeared to be short paragraphs.

Magical Languages was the first of his Electives, and as a result, the class was much smaller than his previous two. Many wizards and witches didn't put much stock in learning other languages – even if they were other human languages, but Harry thought that notion was idiotic at best.

Why would you limit yourself to your mother language, particularly in a society whose economy was ran by an entirely different species? Not only that, but it was a matter of politeness – he understood that English was the Lingua Franca of both Magical and Mundane societies, so why not meet the being opposite you in the middle and speak in their tongue?

The whole thing baffled him to no end.

Luckily, he wasn't alone in the class – both Neville and Daphne sat on either side of him, with Tracey taking a seat next to Neville this time. She seemed like a nice girl, if a little excitable at times – though he could see why Daphne liked her. She was intelligent, quick-witted and seemed the kind sort.

He was glad that Daphne had found another girl to be friends with – Merlin himself knew just how much he and Neville would drive her up the wall with their boyish boorishness, as she often put it.

The shuffling and scraping of chairs quietened, and Professor Dots clapped his hands before him and rubbed them together with a grin on his face.

"Now, I see you've all got your textbooks out, excellent, excellent. First of all, does anyone in here speak any other language? Muggle or Magical, either is fine."

Hermione raised her hand and Professor Dots nodded excitedly at her.

"I speak French, Professor."

"Ah, le langage de l'amour. Comment est ton accent?" The Professor replied – whatever he was saying was completely lost to Harry.

"Un peu rude, mais passable dans la plupart des domaines, me dit-on." Hermione answered, her shoulders shrugging easily as she finished.

"Excellent pronunciation, my dear. French is a wonderful language, and I commend you for learning it – five points to Gryffindor."

Harry turned to Daphne, who was sat to his right, and grinned. "Better start answering questions, or there'll be no competition for the House Cup." He whispered.

Daphne rolled her eyes and elbowed him in the ribs. He fought the urge to wince. Her elbow was sharp.

"Now, what languages do you think you'll learn in this class, hmm?"

Daphne's hand shot into the air before he could blink.

"Aqosa?" She asked when the Professor pointed to her.

"Excellent! The language of the Dwarves! Two points! Anyone else?"

Daphne looked decidedly smug as he looked at her. He'd deserved that, he supposed.

"Lubian? The Giant's language?" A blonde-haired Ravenclaw asked as he lowered his hand.

Professor Dot clapped excitedly – it seemed despite his seemingly advancing age, the man was still every bit as giddy about teaching as he must have been as a young man. Harry smiled at the sight – if this was how the rest of his lessons would go, he could enjoy it very much.

"Excellent – it's the language often most forgotten! Two points for Ravenclaw, young lady! Any others?"

A few hands went up, and the Professor made a point of slowly waving his hand back and forth indecisively before settling on a dark-skinned Hufflepuff boy at the front of the class.

"Itopeti?"

"Yes! The language of the Centaurs! Very well done – two points!"

"Gobbledegook?" Malfoy asked in a bored voice from the back of the room.

At the word, the Professor's smile disappeared, and his countenance became stern. "Young man, I will not have you referring to the Goblin's language in such a derogatory manner, am I understood? Five points from Slytherin for the use of the slur."

The Slytherin's in the room groaned and glared at the Malfoy heir. Draco seemed nonplussed and just shrugged in response.

"As to your intended question, yes – you will be learning The Old Tongue, as it is properly called. In fact, this is the language we shall be beginning today! Everyone, to chapter one if you will!"


Lunch had been a quiet affair, with a light meal of chicken, potatoes and vegetables. Even now, as he walked to his fourth lesson of the day, he smiled a little at the feeling of the food in his belly. The meal had been fantastic, though he would be the first to admit to feeling a little groggy ever since – a nap after a meal was always welcomed, as far as he was concerned.

Basic Healing was a core subject taught in a small auditorium located off of the Medical Wing by Madame Pomfrey, the school's resident Healer. He shouldered the large doors to the infirmary open and immediately his nose was assaulted with the sting of antiseptic and a concoction of potions – all of them no doubt tasting nothing like they were supposed to.

It was a universal law, in Harry's opinion, that if a medical potion was supposed to taste like strawberry, raspberry or any kind of fruit, that it would taste absolutely nothing like it.

He stepped past the beds quickly, his boots clicking against the smooth marble tiles and echoing against the high ceiling. He was alone, and admittedly running a little late after a short stop at a bathroom along the way.

Thankfully, he was just in time as he stepped up to the plain wooden door and opened it quietly. It had been his hope that he could sneak in and get a seat in the back row if the lesson had already started. As it was, his dreams were dashed as Madame Pomfrey called his name.

"Mr. Potter, do you have a reason for your tardiness?"

"No, Madame – I just stopped at the bathroom on the way from the hall."

The Healer appeared to be mulling the information over in her head for a moment before she finally gave a short nod and gestured for him to take a seat.

He did so, sliding into a bench in the tiered room next to a mousy-haired Ravenclaw boy. He nodded and offered a polite smile, which the boy returned, before he pulled his parchment, quill, ink and textbook out.

"Welcome to Basic Healing. As I am the only fully-trained Healer on-staff, I will be teaching you all how to perform basic first-aid on yourselves or others in the event that you are ever injured. Those of you who feel drawn to the Healing Arts will have the option to continue the subject to OWL and NEWT-level, in which event you will find yourself regularly assisting me in the Medical Wing. Any questions so far?"

The room was silent.

"Excellent. Now, as this is our first class, and we only meet once a week, we shall begin with studying the theory behind healing magic. Does anybody care to take a guess as to how you heal a broken bone?"

A number of hands went up, and Madame Pomfrey pointed to one of them. From Harry's perch at the back of the room, even elevated as he was, he couldn't see who she had chosen.

"If you understand how bones form, break and are made, the odds of you successfully repairing one are much higher." Daphne's voice called out. Harry grinned as his friend earned her house five points.

"Excellent answer, Miss…?"

"Greengrass, Madame. Daphne Greengrass."

"As Miss Greengrass said, to heal something, you must understand it as best you can. Take a broken bone, if you heal it without understanding it, you run the risk of a fracture, or deformation in its shape. As a result of this, this class shall run on a two-week schedule."

Madame Pomfrey raised her wand elegantly in her hand and uttered a spell. Bright light burst from the tip and began swilling before her. Slowly, the magic began to take shape – at first it was a pair of feet, then two calves and up and up the figure was formed, ending in the shape of a full-grown man that was semi-transparent.

The figure floated there, completely immobile with its arms out to the side slightly as a number of girlish giggles echoed throughout the room, accompanied by a few boyish snickers. It took him a moment to realise the figure was completely nude. Harry rolled his eyes, though the faint heat in his cheeks was hard to ignore.

"Yes, yes, get your amusement out of your system." Madame Pomfrey sighed. "Now, if you're all quite finished?" She cleared her throat. "Now, as I was saying. We shall work in a two-week system. In one week, you shall cover theory and biology. In the second week, we'll cover useful spells and continue rotating between the two."

With a flick of her wand, the figure morphed into the skeletal structure of the human body.

"First, I shall teach you human anatomy. Once I believe we have covered it sufficiently, we shall look into Goblins, Dwarves and so on until the for you to choose your Electives."

The room was silent as they all absorbed Madame Pomfrey's words.

"I'll take the resounding silence as a cue to move on with the lesson. Now, if you would all open your textbooks, we shall begin with the human skull."


They had been released from Madame Pomfrey's lesson a little earlier than the bell for their next lesson, as many students would have needed to rush back to their rooms to gather their familiars. Not all students had one, however.

As a result, he found himself stepping out of the classroom a little more lethargically than the rest of his fellow students, with his hands clasped easily at the small of his back, and his satchel hanging easily on his right shoulder.

The class would be taking place at the Groundskeeper's Hut, as there was plenty of open at the foot of the hill it rested on – not to mention the access to the fresh air for both the students and the animals.

Merlin, he hoped Clara would behave during the lesson. He loved her dearly, he really did – but he often couldn't help but compare her to Sirius at times. She was playful and mischievous, and fiercely loyal to him, as he was to her.

Clara adored attention, and he tried to give her as much as he possibly could – though she had given him the cold shoulder for a few days when he'd returned home with Hedwig. The two would argue and shunt each other every chance they got, both vying for his attention to the point he often had to physically separate the two.

Clara had size and a healthy number of flaming feathers – which thankfully had yet to set anything on fire, but Hedwig had enough attitude to make up for her shorter stature. No matter which he had brought to Hogwarts as his familiar, this class would have been a nightmare.

He stepped out into the afternoon sunlight, and he squinted up at the mountains on the far side of the Black Lake, which was only just visible above a dusting of trees thanks to the height of Hogwarts itself.

He turned right, and stepped around a number of older students who were returning from some lesson or another and began meandering his way down the path towards a long wooden bridge.

The bridge itself had a canopy to protect it from the elements, though the wind whistled loudly between the many periodic support struts on either side – though they had wonderfully intricate carvings and designs on them.

The lesson itself would take place on a generous stretch of flat land halfway down the hill. He made his way over and smiled to himself a little when he noticed the giant of a man from the day before already waiting with a huge dog at his side. The faint call of birds from the Forbidden Forest at the bottom of the hill punctuated the quiet with their songs.

"Ah, 'Arry! Lovely to see ye!" The man called, grinning widely behind his bushy beard.

"Pleased to meet you too, Groundskeeper Hagrid." Harry smiled back politely, bowing a little at the waist.

The Groundskeeper waved a large meaty fist dismissively. "I'll 'ave none o' that now, 'Arry. Ye can call me Hagrid. My, you've grown quite a bit, 'aven't ye?"

"We've met?" He asked, a frown on his face. He'd have thought he'd recognise a behemoth like Hagrid.

"Aye, a few times. I knew ye parents, lad. Dear friends o' mine. I'm the one who brought ye to 'Ogwarts that night. Carried ye all the way m'self."

Harry smiled a little at the mention of his parents – the man seemed earnest enough, and despite his size and obvious strength, the way he scratched absently at the back of the dog's head spoke of a tenderness he hadn't expected.

"Any friends of my parents are friends of mine." Harry replied, noting absently that Hagrid's eyes appeared quite shiny.

The Groundskeeper gave a loud sniff and cleared his throat as he shifted from foot to foot. Behind Harry, he could hear the approach of a number of students – even without calling Clara, he was shocked he had arrived first.

"'Ave you got your familiar, 'Arry?" Hagrid asked after a moment, tugging on the sleeves of his moleskin coat absently.

"I'd rather call her when needed, if that's okay? I'm worried she'll make a fuss if she's here before she absolutely has to be."

Hagrid nodded and patted Harry on the shoulder with the same gentleness that he had used with his dog.

"Alrigh' class, gather round, gather round!" Hagrid called to the students.

Harry took in the sight of everyone. Many had owls perched on their shoulders, or cats held in their arms. There were a pair of students with large snakes draped around their necks, and a number of various dogs sat, rolled or lay on the grass panting happily.

Harry stepped to the side of the class and found himself next to Hermione, who he noted didn't seem to have a familiar. If her studiousness from the day was anything to go by, he'd put his money on her bonding with an owl of some sort.

He smiled politely as she glanced at him, earning a shy one in return before her attention snapped back to their teacher.

"Now, I'm 'Agrid and I'll be teachin' ye 'ow to look after yer familiars. Meet Fang – e's mine."

"Gonna need a bucket for all that drool." Someone muttered from the back, earning a number of chuckles, including Hagrid himself.

"Aye, e's a messy on alright. Now, I want ye all to spread out with your familiars. 'Arry, migh' be worth callin' yours now, eh?"

Harry sighed as he placed his bag on the floor and tried to ignore the stares.

"Potters got to call his? What is it, a racing pigeon?" Draco sniggered as a number of students from all houses chuckled quietly.

Harry rolled his eyes and looked over at the castle. "Clara!" He called.

There was no brilliant burst of flame, nor the sound of her calls on the wind. He bloody knew it. He knew she was going to pull something like this.

"Clara!" He called more forcefully this time, frowning as once more went unanswered.

"Potters lost his pet." A Ravenclaw chuckled. Harry glanced over his shoulder and glared at the boy who was cradling a rabbit.

"Clara, I won't call you again." Harry tried once more, this time hearing the familiar whistles and calls of his companion. He sighed in relief.

Everyone in the class looked towards the castle as they too heard the answering call. There was a dim burst of light behind one of the far towers, before he spotted her graceful swoops around the tall buildings.

There were gasps all around him before the murmuring began – even Hagrid stepped up next to him, his mouth open in wonder.

Clara approached slowly, banking this way and that on the wind and a small trail of flame following in her wake. It took far longer than it should have for her to fly over the bridge, even as she dropped beneath it out of sight, only to swoop back up.

She came to a hovering halt just above them all, her powerful wings beating steadily as her black eyes swept over all gathered, though they lingered on Harry the longest.

"Come here, you bloody peacock." Harry sighed, pointing at the floor.

She landed gracefully before taking a short hop towards him. She tilted her head slightly, and Harry scratched her feathers lightly with his fingertips. There was utter silence.

"What is that?" Someone asked – no doubt a Muggle-born. Harry turned to look at the amazed expressions on the faces of the class – besides Neville and Daphne, of course.

"That is a bloody Phoenix!" Someone else muttered, immediately starting a small chain of whispers.

"'Arry, where did ye bond with a Phoenix, of all things?" Hagrid asked, kneeling before the creature and offering a finger slowly. Clara preened at the attention and allowed Hagrid to stroke her feathers.

"I was… on a trip, and I found her in a bush – I think she'd had a recent burning. She's not had one since, though." Harry shrugged.

"Wait, you've had a Phoenix for two years?" Ron gasped; his rat firmly clutched in his hands.

"About that. I bonded with Hedwig over the Summer too, but she just handles the mail, mostly." Harry replied and rubbed at his forehead.

"You have two?" Dean asked, his cat perched on his shoulder as it pawed at his short hair.

"Aye, it's more common than you'd think." Harry shrugged, trying to deflect the attention.

Clara took that moment to hop over to Neville and Daphne, who were standing nearby. Harry sighed and rubbed his temples as both gave her a friendly scratch. Neville even threw her a piece of meat, which she scarfed down. Bloody traitor.

"You two knew about this?" Someone else, a Hufflepuff, asked. The girl looked between both of his friends.

"Aye, we've known Clara for almost as long as Harry." Neville shrugged as Trevor croaked in his hands.

"And you didn't say anything?" A Ravenclaw demanded. Harry frowned at that.

"Why would we? She's Harry's familiar, not ours and certainly not any of yours." Daphne shot back, scowling.

"Can we pet her?" A quiet voice asked to his side – he noticed absently that it was Hermione, who appeared as if she were physically stopping herself from rushing the bird as she chewed on her lip and toed the floor absently.

"She's going to be impossible after this," Harry groaned as he sat down on the floor, completely exasperated. "Yes, you can pet her if she lets you. Fair warning, she'll burn you and bite you before asking any questions. I'm not responsible for either."

Harry groaned as almost the entire class rushed the bird. From what he could see between the legs of the students and Hagrid – who had moved far quicker than he had thought the man capable of, Clara was proudly strutting from student to student, basking in the attention and adoration.

Neville sat himself on Harry's left, snickering to himself as he gently scratched the back of Trevor's head, and Daphne elegantly folded her legs beneath her as she scratched her Hawk, Merlin, under the chin.

"You've nobody to blame but yourself." Daphne chuckled, rolling her eyes at him as he pouted.

"Bloody chicken." Harry muttered to himself as the corners of his lips twitched upwards.