Hogwarts Castle was even more impressive in the light of day, if that were possible.
It was an enormous, seven story high structure with half a dozen mismatched towers, four balconies, and far too many staircases: a hundred and forty-two of them to be precise. There were wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; and some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. According to Luna one of the Founders had been very fond of sweeping up and down staircases in a long, billowing cloak and so had made sure to add stairs wherever it was possible to do so, which was why there was a set of stairs that wound up one side of the North Tower and back down again without actually going anywhere.
The inside of the castle was even more confusing if it was possible. There were corridors that looped and curled and twisted in on themselves, rooms that led into other rooms, and even rooms that had been built inside of other rooms. Then there were the doors: doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls that were just pretending. Add in the secret passageways, sliding panels and trapdoors, and it was nearly impossible find your way around.
And there weren't really any consistent landmarks either. Not with the way the people in the portraits liked to wander off and visit one another, and Harry was sure that the coats of armor moved about when no one was looking just to mess with you.
The ghosts were helpful enough, even if being in their presence for an extended period of time left Harry feeling as though he were coming down with a bought of flu; racked with chills and vaguely nauseous. Sir Nicolas was still a bit nervous in Harry's presence, but he was always ready enough to point him in the correct direction if asked. Peeves the Poltergeist, on the other hand, was a menace. Since he wasn't one of the Dead, Harry couldn't sense him coming and so had about as much warning as anyone else for when he was going to pop up, which was to say none at all.
Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Harry didn't know why someone who seemed to hate children as much as he did had got himself a job in a school, but here he was. All of the older students had some story about just how unpleasant the man was and by the time breakfast rolled around on their very first morning, Luna had a story as well.
"I got turned around as I was coming down to the Great Hall," she explained, stirring treacle into her porridge. "Then I accidently tried to go through the door that leads to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor when that cat of his, you know, Mrs. Norris, spotted me –"
Harry did indeed know about Mrs. Norris. A scraggly, saw-dusted colored creature with bulging, lamp-like eyes just like Filch's own. According to the Weasley twins, if you broke a rule in front of her, it was as bad as breaking one in front of Filch himself. Because she would immediately rush off for her master, then lead him back to you in an instant.
"– Filch didn't believe me when I told him I was lost," Luna went on. "He accused me of trying to break-in on purpose and was threatening to have me hauled down to the dungeons and strung up by my thumbs when the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor wandered by and convinced him to leave me alone."
While they had been talking the four Heads of House were walking along aisles between the tables handing out schedules. Harry received his from the stern looking Professor McGonagall, while Luna received hers from a diminutive little wizard named Professor Flitwick, who stood at least a foot shorter than either of the first years.
Schedules in hand, they immediately put their heads together to see if they had any classes together.
"We've got History of Magic after Morning Break today," Harry noted, then after checking the other History of Magic slots, added, "As well as after lunch on Tuesday and second period on Wednesday."
"As well as second period Charms on both Tuesday and Thursday," Luna added. "And we've both got Astronomy at midnight on Wednesday.
"All year mates have Astronomy together," said Fred Weasley as he and his twin claimed a seat on either side of Harry.
"Except after you take your O.W.L.s in your fifth year," said George Weasley, snagging himself a piece of toast. "After that the class is discontinued. According to Bill it's 'cause there's never enough interest to justify teaching it at N.E.W.T. level."
At a quarter till nine the first bell of the morning sounded, signaling that everyone had fifteen minutes to get to their first class. While most of the older students seemed content to finish off the last of their breakfast, there was a mad scramble amongst the first years to leave early since they knew it would take them the longest to actually find their way to their classrooms.
The duo parted ways in the Entrance Hall. Luna and her fellow Ravenclaws joining the trickle of first year Slytherins as they made their way towards the castle's oaken front door and the grounds that lay beyond them. They would each have Herbology three times a week with class being held in the castle greenhouses.
Harry meanwhile joined his fellow Gryffindors as they headed up the marble staircase to the first floor where they would be having Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Quirrell. As they walked Harry found himself the subject of much gawking and a fair number of whispered conversations.
"Look there – it's him!" the other students would say. "Next to the tall kid with red hair."
"You're right it is him!" others would reply. "Did you see his face? Did you see his scar?!"
It was all rather off putting, Harry thought. He was used to being able to fade into the background and be just another face in the crowd at his primary school and now he felt as though he had a spotlight fixed upon him. Still, things settled down a bit once the nine Gryffindors finally found themselves in their Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
As they entered a different sort of excited whispering broke out amongst them and it was easy to see why. If the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom itself was anything to go by then then lessons would be quite interesting indeed.
The room was made up of a wall of arching windows that illuminated the three rows of desks that occupied the floor – four desks to a row – as well as the teacher's lectern and desk at the head of the room. Then up above them, suspended by iron chains from the ceiling was the preserved skeleton of small dragon, which to Harry's senses filled the room with the faint deathly aura of a crypt.
However, for all the excitement they had felt upon entering the room, the lesson itself turned out to be rather underwhelming if Harry was feeling kind and a complete joke if he wasn't.
If possible Professor Quirrell seemed even twitchier and more nervous than he had been when Harry had run into him on Diagon Alley. Not to mention the man now seemed to absolutely reek of garlic.
"I overheard that prefect, Isobel MacDougal, saying that he ran into vampires on the continent and now he's stuffing them in his turban so that he'll be protected where ever he goes," Fay Dunbar whispered when the professor breezed up the aisle between her and Parvati Patil.
His turban, Professor Quirrell explained to them himself, had apparently been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome necromancer of minor talent who had been terrorizing a local village with a fair number of Inferi she had raised.
However, no one was quite sure if they believed his story. For one thing, when Seamus Finnigan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had defeated the necromancer and gotten rid of the reanimated corpses, Quirrell had gone pink and started talking about the weather.
Did he disperse some clouds to expose the Dead Hands to sunlight or something? Harry wondered to himself as that was the only way he could think of off the top of his head that weather magic might be used to banish a pack of Inferi.
Then the rest of the lesson was spent listening to Quirrell as he gave a slapdash lecture on what the Dark Arts even were.
Harry's next lesson was an improvement only because the Gryffindors shared it with the Ravenclaws, which meant that Luna was there to suffer along with him.
History of Magic was a subject that Harry would have normally enjoyed, but here it was transformed into the most boring class Harry had ever taken. Professor Binns's dry, dusty voice could easily make the most fascinating events in wizarding history seem as dull and monotonous as watching paint dry. To make matter's worse Binns was also the only teacher who was also a ghost. So, while Binns droned on and on and Harry's classmates struggled to stay awake long enough to scribble down names, dates, and locations of important wizarding events, Harry was left with a chill working its way deeper into his bones and a sense of nausea like he'd eaten something a bit off at breakfast.
Lunch afterwards was a relief as the duo trudged their way down to the Great Hall. There they snagged a couple of porkpies apiece and a cup of peppermint tea to settle Harry's stomach, before making their way into one of the castle's courtyards to eat.
"I spotted it on my way out to Herbology," said Luna, daintily nibbling at the flaky crust of her lunch. "And the weather's just too nice not to enjoy it while we still can."
And it was nice out. The sky was a clear forget-me-not blue with a few feathery wisps of cirrus cloud and the temperature was just cool enough to let you know that autumn was beginning without being cold.
"How was class with Malfoy and his cronies?" Harry asked, pulling his attention away from a cloud that held a vague resemblance to a crocodile.
"He made some remarks about how nobody stays friends with someone after they're sorted into a different House," she said serenely. "Then he added that you might keep me around on account of a Ravenclaw being useful for copying homework from."
"Wow, so I'm fair-weather and a moron that can't do their own work," Harry deadpanned. "Here's hoping I'll only have to put up with him in Astronomy. Otherwise all this charm he oozes might just have me walking him off the North Tower."
Luna just laughed and said, "It's not nice to murder people your first week of school, Harry."
"Not murder if he manages to pull a Neville and bounce," Harry returned.
It wasn't long before the bell rang to let everyone know that they needed to get a move on to their afternoon classes. While Luna made her way back up to the castle for her first Transfiguration lesson, Harry got his own chance to see what Herbology classes were going to be like.
Gryffindors shared their Herbology lessons with the Hufflepuffs and were taught by their Head of House, Professor Sprout. A cheery, if dumpy, little witch with flyaway gray hair and rosy cheeks.
She gave them all plenty of time to pull on their tan over-robes over their uniforms before letting them into Greenhouse One, which housed the least dangerous of the magical plants and fungi that they would be studying. Nevertheless, Harry couldn't help privately dubbing the class "Extreme Gardening" when halfway through their first lesson one of the Hufflepuff first years, Wayne Hopkins, was strung up by his ankles by a particularly recalcitrant cluster of Devil's Snare.
Professor Sprout quickly subdued the irate creeper with a little puff of flame from the end of her wand and even taught them a handy little rhyme so that they could remember how to deal with the plant if they ever encountered it in the future:
"Devil's Snare's deadly fun,
but will sulk in the sun."
They then finished the lesson with a lecture on spotting the differences between the Common Flitterbloom and Devil's Snare, which looked remarkably similar save for the slightly lighter green shade of the Flitterbloom's spade-shaped leaves and the purple veins that ran the length of the underside of the Devil's Snare's.
"Next class I shall be showing you how to use spray bottles filled with ground slow-stone mixed with water to temporarily immobilize different sorts of strangling creepers for proper pruning," she informed them as they made their way to the greenhouse's door.
It was on Tuesday that Harry was reminded that there was a lot more to magic then just waving your wand around and saying a few quasi-Latin words.
Luna's Head of House, Professor Flitwick, taught Charms. The tiny wizard was so small that he had to stand on a pile of books just to see over the top of his desk. And though he seemed to be a rather excitable sort of fellow – having become so emotional during the roll call that when he reached Harry's name he'd given a little squeak and topple out of sight from atop his stack of books – he also really seemed to know his stuff.
He was quick to inform them that they wouldn't be preforming any magic during this lesson, nor would they in the next either. He wanted each of them to have a solid grounding in the basics of magical theory before they even so much as began trying to shoot sparks.
Still he managed to make everything seem so interesting that only a couple of people groaned when he assigned a short essay on the three-steps of spellcasting.
"And remember," he called as they began to troupe out at the end of class, "you need to start carrying your wand on your person at all times. This will allow your most trusted magical tool a chance to bond with you properly."
Harry and Luna ate lunch in the Great Hall as the enchanted ceiling churned above them with great, grey thunderheads that promised an incoming storm by nightfall. Then they headed off for their second History of Magic lesson, where they did their best not to mix up historical figures like Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball due to their grogginess.
Harry's very last class of the day was Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall and he quickly discovered that his first impression of the witch – that she wasn't a teacher to cross – had been quite right. Strict and clever, she gave them all a talking-to the moment they had finished seating themselves at their desks.
"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. You should all be aware that the forcible transfiguration of another human being into an animal, vegetable, or mineral is not only strictly prohibited, but also violates the second of Merlin's Seven Laws of Magic," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and be barred from returning. You have been warned."
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 that they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals until at least their third-year. But after taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and instructions on how to begin trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Hermione Granger had made any difference to hers; Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy at one end and gave Hermione a rare smile.
Wednesday morning had seen tempers flare when Harry tried to sit with Luna at the Ravenclaw table for breakfast. Percy Weasley had gone from bleary-eyed after a late night up the North Tower the previous evening to puffed up and irate as he demanded that Harry return to his seat at the Gryffindor Table claiming that it was against school rules for students to mingle in such a way.
Luckily the duo the Ravenclaw prefect, Robert Hillard, had stepped in before Percy could work himself up into a proper lather.
"It's only against rules if it's during the Welcoming or Leaving Feasts and you know it, Weasley," he interjected. "What are you trying to do – hog the Boy Who Lived all to yourselves?"
"Now that's not it at all," Percy burst, a wash of high color creeping up the back of his neck. "It's only the first week of term and the first years should be acquainting themselves not only with their dormmates but also their housemates to build House unity and pride."
Even the other two prefects for Ravenclaw and Gryffindor had been drawn into the matter. Penelope Clearwater was on Percy's side; while Isobel MacDougal had chimed in that there was nothing wrong with inter-house friendships or relationships.
"After all, not everyone has their whole family in one House, Percival," she added pointedly shooting a glance at her younger sister, Morag, who was a dormmate of Luna's.
The matter was put to bed quite firmly by a passing Professor McGonagall, who had a keen sense for when trouble was about to break out.
"For goodness sake, Mr. Weasley, if they wish to eat together and it's not against school rules for them to do so then let them do as they please," she informed him brusquely. Then a bit quieter, she asked both Harry and Luna to at least consider eating with their own House at least once a day. "I won't order you to," she added. "Nor will you be punished if you don't, but Mr. Weasley does have a point about getting to know your housemates."
And so, Harry had Luna had begun a rotating schedule of which table they had breakfast and dinner at with lunches spent at neither table, but in one of the courtyards if weather permitted.
Friday marked an important day for both Harry and Luna. Not only had they managed to make it down to the Great Hall without getting lost or having to ask for directions once, but they had also discovered a point of convergence when traveling the most direct route from their common room down to the Entrance Hall. The stature of a Glatisant Beast devouring a knight in full plate armor on the fifth floor, therefore became their meeting point when heading down for breakfast and where they went their separate ways when heading up to bed in the evening.
"So, what have we got today?" Harry asked Luna, who was seated beside him at the Gryffindor table as they both studiously ignored the rather pointed looks being sent their way by Percy the Prefect.
"You have Double Potions with the Slytherins this morning," said Luna, who had memorized both of their schedules the very first day. "And I have Double Potions with the Hufflepuffs after lunch."
"Snape's their Head of House," Ron Weasley informed them from across the table. "I've heard he favors them – wish McGonagall favored us. Then maybe we wouldn't have got that mound of homework yesterday."
Harry highly doubted this. Professor McGonagall was unerringly fair in her treatment of students from all of the Houses. Something Harry could only see as a positive since in addition to being their Head of House she was also the Deputy Headmistress as well.
"Post's here," someone called from further down the table as about a hundred owls suddenly streamed into the Great Hall.
The first time this had happened it had given Harry a bit of a shock as there was quite a bit of difference between receiving owl-post from a single bird and the morning post delivery at Hogwarts, which felt quite a bit like being dropped into the middle of a feathery windstorm. Still, once the initial surprise faded it was rather interesting to watch the jewel-eyed birds circle the tables in a loose formation until they saw their owners and dropped letter and packages into their laps or sometimes landed and relayed recorded messages aloud.
Harry hadn't received any post yet, but this was about to change as Hedwig and one of the school's tawny owls winged their way over to him. Hedwig, perched herself gently on Harry's right shoulder, dropped a thick envelop onto Harry's plate and began to groom the messy hair above his ear. Meanwhile the tawny alighted between the marmalade and the sugar bowl.
The tawny owl didn't have a letter on its person, but it did have one recorded by the runes set into the keratin of its beak.
"Message for Harry Potter," she said, in a voice that was not like any bird's he'd heard before. "Message."
"I'm Harry Potter," he informed the bird. "Tell me the message please."
The tawny owl cocked her head to one side and opened her beak. Harry saw a glint of spell-light on the bird's tongue, then it began to speak with Hagrid's voice.
"Hello Harry. I know yeh get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup o' tea with me 'round four? I want ter hear all about yer firs' week. Send us an answer back if you do – Hagrid."
The voice suddenly stopped, having reached the end of the message. The owl made gave a faint hoot and began to preen between her scaly toes.
Not quite sure how to send a reply in the same manner yet, Harry instead seized a spare bit of parchment from his bag along with a quill and scribbled out a short note that read:
Hagrid,
I would love to come for tea. See you this afternoon.
H.P.
He then pulled his wand from the holster on his hip and muttered, "Exsiccabo Atramento," while waving it over the glistening into to dry it. With this done, he folded the note up so that it would be easier to carry and handed it to the tawny owl, who flew off with it to where Hagrid was seated at the High Table at once.
Harry then turned his attention to the thick envelop that Hedwig had delivered. He had sent a letter off to Grandad before the first-years Wednesday Astronomy lessons: Telling the older wizard all about the House he and Luna had been sorted into and the classes he'd already attended. He'd even tacked on a post-script asking for advice on how to deal getting through lessons with a ghostly professor.
This he assumed would be his grandad's answer; and so, he broke the wax seal on the envelope and opened it. Inside were a quill with a rune inscribed nip and several sheets of parchment covered with his grandad's fluid script. It read:
Dear Harry,
Congratulations on your sorting. I know your parents would be very proud. Your dad for getting into his old House and your mum for not allowing Inter-House rivalries to prevent you from sticking with your friend. She knew a thing or two about the difficulties of having a best friend in a rival House herself.
I'm glad to hear that you are enjoying the majority of your classes. The teachers you've mention all attended Hogwarts after my time there, but I have heard good things about them. Professor McGonagall has a reputation for being quite knowledgeable in her field and Filius Flitwick was your mum's favorite professor for a reason, so I'm sure you can learn a lot from the both of them.
As for Professor Binns, let's just say that being alive did not make his classes anymore lively than they already are. In fact, I'm not entirely sure that the man is aware that he actually is dead. The most shocking part of my third year was him floating into the classroom through the blackboard the morning he'd left his body behind in the staffroom.
In any case, I'll make the same recommendation for dealing with his lessons as I did for Lily. Do your readings outside of class and let the Dicto-Quill I've sent you take your notes for you while spending the class itself working with your Death Sense. Try tracking Professor Binns's aura as he moves about the classroom and see if you can learn how to differentiate between it and the other ghosts in the castle.
As for your Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons, I'm afraid that it doesn't surprise me that they aren't going any better than they are. Hogwarts hasn't been able to keep a Defense teacher for more than a couple of terms at a time since before your mother was a student. There are rumors that the post is jinxed or cursed and there are fewer and fewer people willing to take their chances on the job as time goes by.
All I can ask is that you try your best and study from the textbook as much as possible. I shall try to fill in any gaps in your knowledge during the summer. If the Moira are feeling merciful maybe you'll have a better teacher next term.
Things have been quiet here on the Ait without you around. Fea says I'm suffering from empty nest syndrome, but I am trying to keep busy. I've been carving Wind Flutes to set up at the barrow they are excavating down river from us. I don't believe that there will be any problems, but better safe than someone getting eaten by a Barrow-Wright.
And remember if there is anything you need don't hesitate to ask and I'll do my best to pass it along with Hedwig. Even if it's just a care package with some Muggle sweets for a taste of home.
Love,
Grandad
P.S. Don't forget to have a bit of fun while you're there. Join a club or something.
Harry refolded the letter and tucked it and the dicto-quill into his schoolbag.
"I'll write a reply and send it off this evening, Hedwig," Harry informed his owl offering her a rasher of bacon. She hooted dutifully and daintily accepted his offering without any fuss.
Beside him, Luna was unfurling the brand-new issue of The Quibbler that Herne had delivered.
"Anything good?" he asked, eyeing the magazine's colorful cover. At the moment it was sporting a grainy photograph of a fossilized tornado in the American Midwest.
"Oh, yes," said Luna, but she was prevented from elaborating by the bell ringing for them to head to class.
It turned out that Harry was very lucky that Luna had gifted him with H. B. Prince's Surviving the Dungeon for his birthday, because the book's contents kept him from making a fool of himself quite a few times in his first Potions lesson.
Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder in the subterranean room than it was up in the main castle and Harry thought that the room would have been quite creepy enough without the countless jars of pickled animals that Professor Snape seemed to be using as his main decorating motif.
At the Welcoming Feast, Harry hadn't quite known what to make of the Potions Master. He knew the man was part of Dumbledore's Old Crowd, but as the lesson went on it became apparent that any of Professor Snape's good will towards his fellow wizards only went so far as helping to ensure that an evil Dark Wizard didn't take over the country and did not mean that he was a nice teacher or even a pleasant individual.
Professor Snape, like Professor Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll, and like the Charms teacher, he paused at Harry's name.
"Ah, yes," he said softly. "Harry Potter. Our new – celebrity."
Draco Malfoy and his cronies Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands. Professor Snape finished the roll call with "Blaise Zabini," and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, but that were the similarities ended. Where Hagrid's eyes were warm and kind, the Potion Master's were cold and empty. Bringing to mind dark tunnels or a sealed crypt.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making," he began, his voice was a rich baritone and yet he spoke in little more than a whisper. Nevertheless, they caught ever word – like Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape had the same gift of keeping a class silent and attentive without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe that this is magic. I don't expect those of you without the proper predisposition to understand the beauty of a softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes or the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind and ensnaring the senses…. I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper in death – that is if you aren't a big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
More silence followed this pronouncement. Harry could see Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnigan exchange mocking looks with raised eyebrows; Neville Longbottom was sunk deep into his seat as though hoping not to be noticed; and Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat looking quite desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.
"Potter," said Professor Snape abruptly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood? Harry mussed, noticing that nearly everyone around him looked rather stumped. The sole exception was Draco Malfoy, who was sporting a sneer of superiority, and Hermione whose hand had shot into the air.
Harry did know the answer, but only because he had spent so much of his time over the summer reading all the way through to the advanced materials his new textbooks.
"Powdered root of asphodel added to an infusion of wormwood is the first stage in brewing the Draught of Living Death, sir," he answered.
Was that an almost pleased gleam in the Potions Master's dark eyes that he'd been able to answer such a high-level question? If it was it was there and gone again so fast that Harry wasn't sure that he had seen it at all.
"Apparently fame hasn't completely addled your brains, Mr. Potter," remarked the professor, then with dark musing he added, "Then again, you may have just gotten lucky, so let's try again … Mr. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
Hermione stretched her hand into the air as high as it would go without her leaving her seat, but Professor Snape ignored her. This was Harry's question and he too knew the answer.
"It's a stone, sir, that is taken from the stomach of a farm animal like a goat or a cow," he replied, then remembering just why his grandad kept one in his standard travel kit, added, "Its most common use is that it can counteract most poisons."
For some reason Professor Snape didn't seem entirely too pleased with this answer.
"I didn't ask you for what it was, nor for its uses, Mr. Potter," he snapped coolly. "And I certainly don't appreciate showoffs in my class."
Harry felt a spring of anger begin to bubble up just behind his breast bone. He hadn't been trying to show off and he didn't care for the accusation that he had been, he thought as she stared straight ahead into the professor's dead, black eyes.
"Let's see if you can actually answer the question I'm asking you," Professor Snape went on, breaking the staring contest. His dark eyes focusing on some point just over his left shoulder. "What, Mr. Potter, is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
At this point, Hermione actually stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling, but the professor studiously ignored her quivering hand.
"It's the same plant, sir, so there isn't one." said Harry, his tone just shy of neutral. Prince's book had been sure to list common alternative names since apparently some plants could have a whole host of folk names. Monkshood and wolfsbane was also commonly known as aconite, devil's helmet, blue rocket, and the queen of poisons, just to name a few.
"Finally following directions are we, Mr. Potter," Professor Snape hummed darkly and Harry could see Malfoy and his cronies sniggering into their hands. He'd like to of seen either Crabbe and Goyle manage half as well if they were the ones being quizzed.
The Potions Master apparently didn't appreciate any form of mirth in his classroom, because he immediately snapped, "Why are the lot of you not copying that down?"
There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Hermione sat back down looking quite putout that she hadn't been called on once to display her ability to recite chapter and verse from any and all of her textbooks on command.
"Wow, Harry," Neville remarked in amazement. "You must know a lot about Potions to have gotten all of those right … I didn't know any of that except the bit about the aconite – but that's just on account of my grandad being a Herbologist."
"Not too much," Harry admitted, selecting a roll of parchment and a quill at random from his school bag.
"Mr. Potter, I don't allow dicto-quills in this classroom as I actually expect my students to pay attention during the lesson," said Professor Snape, suddenly looming over Harry's right shoulder and plucking the rune inscribed quill from atop his desk. "I shall be confiscating this for the duration of class and taking a point from Gryffindor to ensure that this doesn't become repeat behavior."
The rest of the first half of their double period was spend taking notes, while Professor Snape filled the blackboard at the front of the room with cramp, spidery writing. When the bell rang signaling the start of the Morning Break, those who needed to were allowed leave so that they could visit the nearest lavatory before the second half of class was to begin.
For the second half of the lesson, Professor Snape split them all into eight groups of two and a single group of three, since there was an odd number of them. Harry supposed that Malfoy being paired with both Crabbe and Goyle wasn't really unfair to anyone but perhaps the blond, because the combined brain power of his two lackies was maybe equal that of anyone else's single partner. He then set them to work brewing a simple potion that could cure boils, even though created through magical means, such as a Pimple Jinx. The professor sweeping up and down the aisles between the worktables as they ground snake fangs into a fine power and weighed dried nettles under his critical eye.
Harry's own potion was coming along quite well even though Ron, his partner, didn't seem to have ever used so much as a kitchen knife, never mind a potioneer one. The slices of pungous onion he'd contributed to the recipe having come out unequal in size and quiet a bit thicker than Harry's own.
They had just finished extinguishing the fire from beneath their cauldron so that they could add the pair of porcupine quills that would finished it when acid green smoke and a loud hissing abruptly filled the dungeon.
The noise was coming from Neville and Seamus's workstation where the sandy-haired boy's cauldron had become a melted wreck; their potion spilling out from the twisted blob and sweeping across the stone floor as it burned holes into people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing atop their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in agony as angry red boils sprang up all over his visible skin.
"Confound it!" Professor Snape snarled, clearing the spilled potion away with one low sweeping wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"
Neville could only whimper as boils began to pop up all over his nose. Seamus, however, was looking quite indignant.
"No," he snapped. "We didn't even get a chance to before a great bundle went and landed in it."
"What did you say, Finnigan," hissed the Potions Master, and the class became deathly silent save for Neville's whimpers of pain.
Professor Snape's dark eyes bore into Seamus's blue-green as though he could pluck the truth from the sandy-haired boy's mind.
"I said, sir, that we didn't have a chance to add the quills," Seamus snapped belligerently.
"A point for you tone, Finnigan," Professor Snape snapped. "Now take Longbottom up to the Hospital Wing."
As Seamus bustled Neville out of the dungeon, Professor Snape eyed the lot of them – Gryffindors and Slytherins – with probing eyes. The majority of the class, even those who had been too far away to have tampered with Neville and Seamus's potions, were shuffling about nervously.
"If I ever find out who sabotaged this potion I will make their punishment as severe as I am able to make it, do I make myself clear," he snarled at them forebodingly. "Potions brewing can often be a deadly art and I will not tolerate any such behavior in my classroom. Those caught endangering the lives of their fellow classmates will be removed from this class and not permitted to return."
The remainder of the period was filled with nervous energy as the students with surviving potions bottled and labeled them, then placed their work up on Professor Snape's desk for grading.
"I bet you it was Malfoy," Ron remarked at the end of class as they all began climbing the stairs up and out of the dungeons. "He looked awful pleased when Neville's potion blew up in his face."
"But why would Malfoy try to sabotage Neville's cauldron," Luna asked once Harry had finished recounting his morning potions lesson to her.
The pair of them were sitting on the plinth of a statue the harpy, Celaeno, in the courtyard as they ate Cornish pasties.
"No clue," Harry admitted. "He could just like to be a bullying git – or maybe he was aiming Ron and I's potion. We were working at the table just behind them after all."
"It's possible," she agreed, but from the unfocused cast of her eyes she was pondering something else. "What was that first question Professor Snape asked you again?"
"'What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood,'" Harry repeated. "Why?"
"I bitterly regret Lily's death," Luna murmured vaguely.
"What?" he asked sharply.
"Asphodel are a type of lily that mean 'my regrets follow you to the grave' and wormwood means 'absence' but they can also symbolize bitter sorrow, so 'I bitterly regret Lily's death,'" Luna explained. "My Great-Grandmother on my mum's side was a Muggle-born, so she knew lot about the language of flowers and taught it to me, too."
"So, was Snape trying to wish me condolences or something, then," Harry wondered feeling more than a little confused.
As soon as the bell rang signaling the end of classes for the day, Harry and Luna were out the door and making their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small, circular wooden house with a thatched roof at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. As they approached, Harry could see a crossbow and a pair of Hagrid-sized wellington boots outside the front door.
Harry knocked on the door and nearly jumped out of his skin as a frantic scrabbling came from inside followed by several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "Back, Fang – back."
Hagrid's big, bearded face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.
"Hang on," he said. "Back, Fang."
He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.
There was only one, large room inside Hagrid's house and it was quite cozy. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling; a copper kettle was boiling over the open fire, and against one wall stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.
"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Luna and started licking her ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.
"This is Luna Lovegood," said Harry introducing the blonde girl. "I hope you don't mind me inviting her."
"Not at all," said Hagrid as the large man busied himself pouring the now boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate. "How are the both of yeh gettin' along with yer housemates?"
"Well enough," said Harry accepting potbellied mug of tea from Hagrid that was easily the size of a tankard. "Dean Thomas's Muggle-born so he's constantly asking the rest of us about the magical world; Neville Longbottom's nice, but painfully shy; and Seamus Finnigan and Ron Weasley spend most of their time talking about Quidditch…"
"Another Weasley," said Hagrid with a rueful shake of his head. "I swear I feel like I've spent half me life chasin' those twin brothers of his away from the forest … but they're a good lot – the Weasleys … I liked Charlie especially – great with animals."
"Ron says he's studying dragons in Romania," said Harry, taking a bite from one of the rock cakes and instantly regretting it as the rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that lived up to their name, but not wishing to be rude Harry pretended to enjoy them.
Luna actually seemed to be enjoying hers as she first softened them by dipping them into her tea. In any case she didn't seem to have much to say about her dormmates.
Hagrid asked them all about their first lessons and how they were liking the castle. As they talked Fang rested large his head on Harry's knee and drooled all over his robes.
Harry and Luna were both delighted to hear Hagrid called Filch "that old git."
"An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her – Filch puts her up to it, he does."
Harry told Hagrid about his potions class and Professor Snape's bought of temper at the thought of someone sabotaging another students' cauldron.
"I keep hearing people say he favors his House, but he was scrutinizing them just as closely as he was us. So I don't get where this is coming from?"
"Eh, Snape's protective of his own alright, but endanger any of his students in front of him and there'll be hell ter pay," said Hagrid darkly. "Though I have ter say I'm surprised ter hear you taken up fer him … wouldn't have thought the two of yeh would have got along."
"Why's that?" Harry asked curiously, but for some reason Hagrid seemed to be avoiding his gaze.
"It's nothing," he remarked with a rueful shake of the head. "Forget I said anythin' … How was yer Potions lesson, Luna?"
Harry couldn't help thinking that Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose.
While Luna walked Hagrid though her own significantly less explosive lesson, Harry picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet:
Gringotts Break-In Latest
Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.
Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier the same day.
"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokes-goblin this afternoon when questioned.
"You don't suppose the break-in was happening while we were at Gringotts, do you," Harry asked, setting the cutting back down on the table.
There was no doubt about it, Hagrid was definitely avoiding Harry's eyes this time. Instead of answering he just grunted and offered him another rock cake. Harry read the story again. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier that same day. Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen, if you could call taking that grubby little package out of it emptying it. Had that been what the thief had been looking for?
As Harry and Luna walked back to the castle for dinner, their pockets weighed down with rock cakes they'd been too polite to refuse, Harry thought that none of the lessons he'd had so far had given him as much to think about as tea with Hagrid. Had Dumbledore had Hagrid collect that package just in time? What was it? And where was it now?