Chapter 3

The few hours he was alone in the common room were spent staring listlessly at the fire. When he heard two familiar voices from the staircase, he looked back to see Finn and Charlie who looked at him with tired smiles. He took it as his sign to finally stand with a weak yawn as he joined them.

"I'm really sorry, Rhys," Finn spoke as his head sank slightly.

"Yeah, our conversation kept you up, didn't it?" Charlie added, looking somewhat dejected as they both stood before him awaiting his response.

For a moment he only stared at them before recalling what they were talking about. Compared to the real reason he had gotten such terrible sleep, he had completely forgotten about trying to get to bed. "O-oh! No, don't worry about it," he assured as he fought back another yawn. "To tell you the truth, I really wanted to talk to you guys too, but I was tired and not really used to asking, I suppose."

He scratched the back of his head nervously as they both smiled at him, feeling more relieved as he opened up to them. As they approached the Great Hall the thick and sugary-sweet scent of breakfast wafted to his nostrils, making him close his eyes with a relaxed sigh. The smell alone was enough to make him feel rejuvenated and he walked briskly towards a vacant area.

"Here's a spot," he pointed out as they secured themselves between other students and eagerly filled their plates.

"This tart is fantastic," Charlie hummed with a delighted smile as he held it up to Finn.

Finn popped it into his mouth before his lips quickly curved into a pleased grin. He grabbed another piece from the table before offering it to Rhys who took it immediately before his better judgment could turn the boy down. He chewed slowly, at first, letting the sweetness melt into his tongue as he closed his eyes once more to savor the taste of it. Rhys could not help but let a satisfied smile settle into his comfortable expression as he nodded in agreement with the other two.

The troubled thoughts brought on by his nightmare were slowly starting to fade into nothing as laughter and the continued conversation with his housemates were all he was becoming conscious off. The exhilaration and happiness mingled together so that he could not keep himself from smiling no matter how much his cheeks hurt. Sitting at the Gryffindor table with such nice people were things he never dreamed possible until last night. The nightmare was absolutely meaningless, he thought with an assured nod to himself. With newfound confidence, he was determined to make the best of his time at Hogwarts, and not spend it worrying over such trivial matters that no longer concerned him. Being an Elwyn had nothing to do with it.

A muffled "Hey!" from Charlie brought Rhys's attention back to the table, realizing that everyone was looking toward the ceiling. A loud screech echoed overhead, making Rhys freeze in place as his eyes slowly trailed up to notice the swarm of owls that had entered the Great Hall with packages and letters in their beaks and talons. The other boys shared looks of excitement as the owls circled the hall, coming closer to them with continued squawks that only made Rhys flinch inward.

"Rhys?"

He felt his body begin to shrink back the closer the birds came, unable to reply to the speaker. It wasn't until he was almost completely under the table that he remained still, eyes shut tightly as his body trembled anxiously. Perhaps if he put himself out of their vision he wouldn't be attacked and murdered by a flock of birds before his first class. The sounds of packages and envelopes hitting the tables finally began to disappear after a few moments, giving him a bit of courage before he dared to peek over the table again.

"They're gone," Charlie stated, slightly puzzled.

He felt two arms wrap around him and pull him back into his seat, making him realize how stiff his entire body had become. His fingers felt cold as he massaged his temples in order to regain focus.

"Don't like owls, huh?" Charlie asked.

"Hate them," he snapped in a low tone. They exchanged odd glances before he realized there was a letter sitting on top of his toast. "Oh, hey."

"Chocolate frogs!" Charlie exclaimed as his attention returned to his package. "Yes!"

Rhys chuckled quietly before opening the envelope and reading the neat cursive of his mother's handwriting. As expected she was wondering if he had gotten any sleep, if he had seen anything, and if he had asked Regina for help if he was overwhelmed. He felt mildly irritated at the fact that this kept being brought up despite his efforts to forget the whole thing. However, telling her that he did not place a lot of faith in his dreams was not an easy task, especially coming from another Elwyn. Though, surprisingly enough, the last lines of her letter were what both captivated and confused him at the same time.

Congratulations on being Sorted into Gryffindor, my love. We couldn't be more proud.

The sound of tearing paper brought him back from his elated thoughts as he looked over at Finn who was holding a gold circular item. "What is that?"

"It's an astrolabe," Finn explained, "I've seen my mum use it before. She says she wants me to have one for Astronomy."

"But we don't need one," he stated, pondering the objective of such a small trinket.

"I know. But she's taught me a lot about the sky, and I asked her for one when I was little just to play with," he explained with a contented smile as he fiddled with the small object. "She always remembers."

"Do you mind if I sit here?" a small voice asked, making them look back to see Rebecca smiling at them.

"You're late, McCormick," Charlie greeted while seeming a bit shocked.

"I got lost," she admitted sheepishly as she took a seat next to Finn.

They all got situated and comfortable with small talk across the table before he heard someone ask about what their first class would be.

"Potions," Charlie answered, seeming particularly pleased.

It was the first bit of good news he had heard all morning. When he was younger he recalled many days and nights spent with no one other than his sister while his parents were out, both having something important to do elsewhere. More often than not, he wandered into their library which had shelves that reached the ceiling filled with a plethora of books. Out of curiosity he had began his own studies of the magical world, though quickly finding that books about charms and spells did him no good as he was too young to test anything out. Potions, however, was a topic that had interested him from the beginning, and before he knew it he had read through all of the old Potions books kept by his mother before he even received his letter from Hogwarts.

As he tucked his letter away, reminding himself to write back when he had time later that night, Finn leaned closer to him, making Rhys shift his eyes over to stare at him hesitantly.

"Why are you afraid of owls, Rhys?"

He exhaled deeply through his nose to retain his composure as he turned to look back down at the eggs that no longer looked appetizing. Regardless, he gathered some onto his fork before he simply muttered, "They bite."

"Only if you let them, my lord," a boy whispered from behind him, making Rhys whirl around to glare at Linneus as he passed them.

The boy looked back at him with light brown eyes and a mischievous grin before exiting the Great Hall with a group of other third years. Rhys huffed to himself with a roll of his eyes, standing up with the rest of his housemates to get ready for their first class.

As they entered the dungeon's corridor, silence swept over them. Their hurried footsteps echoed off the stone walls as the air around them became progressively icier the further they ventured.

"Bonjour, my young lord!" a familiar voice exclaimed into the stillness of the air, making Rhys and the others turn around to see a group of Hufflepuffs trailing behind them.

Finn and Charlie both glanced at the Elwyn with raised brows, probably confused at her playful use of formality, but he didn't really care. He was more thankful to know that Anna had Potions with him as well. "Good morning, Anna," he greeted as he waited for her to catch up to him. "Did you sleep well?"

"Oui, my lord!" She answered with an affirmative nod. "Iz my lord ready for our firs' class togesser?"

"Definitely," he replied as they approached the classroom door. "I know that Potions is going to be my favorite subject."

"Mine too," Charlie added eagerly as they entered the room. "It's hard not to be excited after all that my father has accomplished."

"What does your father do?" Rhys asked

"He's written a few books," Charlie explained. "Maybe you've seen them? By Oliver Grisham."

"Oliver Grisham?" he questioned in bewilderment as they took their seats.

"Iz 'e anosser great Potions Master?"

Before Rhys could answer he pursed his lips together as the door towards the front of the room opened silently. The teacher stepped in, revealing the same pitiless stare he encountered the night before, making his chest deflate with disappointment before the teacher tapped his wand against his cauldron, hushing the remaining chatter as everyone's attention was drawn to him. When the man was standing he looked particularly tall with sharp dark eyes that peered down at each of them through his glasses.

"Welcome to Potions," he announced, his expression turning to more of a slight scowl as he continued. "My name is Isaac Wesley. You will address me as Professor Wesley, or sir. This term I will teach you the very basics of the art of potion making as to prepare you for their dangers, uses, and advantages out in the wizarding world. Any questions?"

It sounded more like a threat than an open invitation, so they all remained silent. Already, Rhys's stomach felt a tight pull of apprehension as he continued to stare up at the professor. How could someone who was meant to guide all of them be so standoffish from the get go? He wanted to enjoy the school year especially during the class he had been looking forward to since his acceptance to Hogwarts. He'd be damned if he let this man's attitude dictate the outcome of his first day. Rhys shook his head as he took out some parchment to prepare himself for notes. Optimism was all he needed at this point.

"Right then. Now, let's start off with a little trivia to see what you know. You, stand." He called with a quick point of his wand to Charlie, who practically jumped from his seat.

"What's your name, boy?"

"Grisham, sir." Charlie answered with a short cough to clear his throat. Rhys could tell he was nervous; his hands were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.

"Tell me one of the most common dangers of brewing a potion incorrectly," he demanded as he leaned back against his desk with his arms crossed. This man looked too arrogant for words; it made Rhys want to scoff and leave the room altogether.

"Um," Charlie said, clearing his throat again, "Burns."

Wesley twirled his wand, gesturing that he wanted Charlie to keep talking. "More specifically?"

"Mixing improper ingredients can cause unnatural acids to occur, which can burn the skin and possibly melt through metal cauldrons, especially pewter."

"Very good. Five points to Gryffindor. You," he said with another point across the room. "Name?"

"Saxon, sir," the Slytherin boy answered with an overly self-satisfied tone.

"Tell me the difference between a concoction and a brew."

"A concoction is a mixture of dry ingredients, sir, while a brew is a liquid mixture."

"Five points to Slytherin. Well done," Professor Wesley nodded before pointing to the girl sitting beside Anna, who stood up nervously twiddling her thumbs. "Your name, girl?"

"Findler, sir," she answered sternly, though her eyes were moving about the room in a frantic panic of anticipation.

"Give me the three common ways of brewing."

After a brief pause she nodded. "Soaking, boiling - and steeping," she spoke slowly, as if the effort to force the words from her mouth was strenuous.

"Well done, Ms. Findler. Five points to Hufflepuff. Next," he said. "And your name, miss?"

"Harrington," a girl answered with a proud smile that made Rhys roll his eyes. A typical Ravenclaw.

"Can you give me one of the base ingredients to a standard antidote?"

"A bezoar," she replied immediately, "They're used in all antidotes, as they are the most common ingredient with the property to flush out toxins. Also, in a dire emergency, one can simply swallow a bezoar to negate the effects of a poison if no prepared antidote is present."

"Excellent, ten points to Ravenclaw for the brilliant addition to your answer as well," he said with a slight hint of a smile playing on his lips. "That's definitely a topic we'll be studying today. Now, the first thing you'll want to know in potion making is how to brew the simplest of antidotes, as they can be the most useful potions in your cupboards, and in addition to this, a bezoar can be the most essential ingredient you will ever work with. Today, I will be teaching you the proper ways to prepare a bezoar for such potions, so - "

"Sir," Rhys found himself cutting in while he raised his hand before he really knew what he was doing.

The professor stopped, turning slowly as his eyes rested directly on Rhys. Suddenly, all eyes converged on him at once, making him feel overwhelmingly unnerved as he sat up straight.

"Yes?"

"Couldn't you also use Mandrake and Honeywater as a substitute to a bezoar in such potions?" he asked quietly with a nervous glance to all his peers. It wasn't like he was making something up; he was allowed to ask legitimate questions if he wanted.

Professor Wesley crossed his arms once more as he raised a brow in speculation. "And what makes you say that?"

"Well, in Oliver Grisham's Alternatives to Common Draughts and Elixirs, he says that in the absence of a bezoar, Mandrake and Honeywater mixed as a concoction before added to a brew can be just as effective of an antidote, if not more so."

"What's your name, boy?" Wesley asked, his incredulity turning into another scowl as he took a step forward.

"Elwyn, sir," he answered curtly, disliking the teacher's derisive tone as their conversation continued.

"Well, Mr. Elwyn, I see no need to revert to such alternatives when brewing a simple antidote in the First Year Potions course. Furthermore, a bezoar has far more magical properties as an antidote than Mandrake."

"But when mixed with Honeywater, Mandrake gains similar properties, so it could be used just the same, am I wrong?" he retorted against his better judgment. Rhys knew that there was no need to deepen this into an argument, but the way the teacher reacted only made him angrier.

"Have you ever seen an antidote with such substituted ingredients administered to someone under the effects of a poison?" Professor Wesley interrupted.

"No, but - "

"So you would agree, then, that you are hardly qualified to make such a claim in this matter?"

"Well - "

"In any sense, are you capable of brewing such an antidote with the alternative ingredients, in this highly advanced Potions class, Mr. Elwyn? When I assume you've clearly had the practice to work with such a simple and common ingredient as a bezoar? I have yet to even teach you the basics of how to brew such a potion, seeing as you've interrupted me in the middle of that precise lesson on your first day."

Rhys couldn't bring himself to answer that. His face had become unbearably hot and the air was so tense that it was almost suffocating.

"Well?" the teacher continued.

"No, sir," he snapped through gritted teeth.

After putting his wand into his robes, Professor Wesley advanced toward the first year with an intimidating stride that made Rhys hold his breath as he approached. He remained perfectly still as the teacher leaned down to eye level with him, his gaze as sharp and as daunting as ever, but Rhys was determined to keep his wits about him and stared back at him with a calm expression.

"Do you even know the proper ratio for such ingredients to be used, Mr. Elwyn?" The question came off as more of a taunt, but he could do little more than reply.

"No, sir."

"Very well, then. I suggest you sit down and let me continue the lesson, with the simple task of studying a bezoar and its properties."

Rhys took his seat, slowly, glaring back at the teacher until he finally turned around, relieving the pressure that had come down over the entire room. He let himself breathe comfortably as he turned all of his focus on his parchment, ignoring the other students who were, undoubtedly, still staring at him.

"Now, although I do greatly respect the research and practices of Mr. Oliver Grisham, we will not be studying any of his lessons at the present time," Professor Wesley emphasized, though Rhys ignored his indignant tone and continued to scribbled away at the parchment . "So, if you would all open your books to the first chapter, we can start the lesson over."

The classroom soon filled with background noises of muffled chatter and flipping pages as the regular class resumed once more.

"And Mr. Elywn," Professor Wesley added before he put the chalk to the board. "See me after the lesson."

What an asshole.