"There, look."
"Where?"
"Next to the tall kid with the red hair."
"Wearing the glasses?"
"Did you see his face?"
"Did you see his scar?"

Whispers followed me everywhere in the first few days. Ron and Neville stayed with me, more loyal friends nobody else could ever have. Somehow between the whispers, the staircases (that moved!!!) and the three of us, we managed to get to most of our lessons on time. Peeves was another factor that hindered us when we were lost somewhere in the castle. Peeves is a poltergeist that has the unfortunate fascination with causing mischief no matter where he was. Saying that, it was great in the breaks to hear a yell, and pressing against the sides of the corridors see someone (normally Percy Weasley) chasing Peeves down the halls as Peeves had taken something that they needed.

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Ron, Neville and I managed to get on the wrong side of him on our first morning. He found us as we were trying to get to class, not knowing that we were on the third floor, the one that Professor Dumbledore had banned us from. He wouldn't believe that we were lost, and threatened to lock us in the dungeons until we were rescued by Professor Quirrell, who was passing.

He also owned a cat called Mrs. Norris a dust-coloured thing that had the same eyes and temper as he did. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, all of us in Hogwarts hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many (especially Ron) to give Mrs. Norris a good kick.

The classes were so different to what any of us were suspecting. All three of us had grown up in magical families, and shared so much of our younger lives with each other, but we were no better off in the lessons then the muggle born in the classes. We studied the night skies through our telescopes every Wednesday at midnight, learning the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. Three times a week we went out to the greenhouses behind Hogwarts Castle to study Herbology, our teacher, a good-natured dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout, whose job it was to teach us the different properties that all magical and non-magical plants had.

Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only one taught to us by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him, as Hermione Granger informed us on the first lesson, reciting words that I was sure she had copied down in her head from Hogwarts: A History. The Professor droned on and on while we tried to scribble down names and dates, getting the names from age-old wars mixed up.

Professor Flitwick, our Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of our first class he took the roll call, and when he reached my name he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight, much to my embarrassment. Though I knew that I was the reason that the war was over I hated being reminded about the past, and how much had been lost.

Professor McGonagall was again different. I had been warned by Dad how she wasn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave our class a talking-to the moment we sat down in her first class. Though I had known her for years she changed completely for our classes. I had always known her to have very strong views, but somehow seeing her at my home, and seeing her here was very different and strange. It was easy to see why Percy made such a big thing about her the first time he had met her at my home.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."
Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. We were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realised that we weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes, we were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Hermione Granger had made any difference to her match; Professor McGonagall showed us how it had gone all silver and pointy and gave Hermione a rare smile. Ron grimaced at Hermione's back, deciding at once his view on her. Neville looked confused at his. Somehow his mach had turned black and was shaking.

The class we had all really been looking forward to was Defence Against the Dark Arts, but Professor Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone (being Fred and George) said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, he told us, but we weren't sure we all believed this story. For one thing, when Seamus Finnigan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

Friday was an important day for Me, Ron, Seamus, Dean and Neville. All five of us finally managed to find our way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once, something that the girls, annoyingly, had managed a few days ago.
"What have we got today?" I asked Ron as he poured sugar on his porridge.
"Double Potions with the Slytherins," Ron replied gloomily, we had managed to fall out with most of that house earlier on in the week. "Snape's Head of Slytherin House. They say he always favours them -- we'll be able to see if it's true."
"Wish McGonagall favoured us, " I said. Professor McGonagall might be the head of Gryffindor House, but it hadn't stopped her from giving us all a huge pile of homework the day before.
Just then, the mail arrived, about a hundred owls streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps.
Hedwig had brought me a few letters so far mainly from Mum, with Dad's scribble on the bottom. Sometimes she just flew in to nibble my ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the owlery with the other school owls. This morning, however, she fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto my plate, I frowned as she had chosen to place it right in the middle of the spoonful of scrambled eggs I had just put on my toast. I tore it open once I had taken off most of the egg. It said, in a very untidy scrawl, that I recognised at once, seeing Dad receive many a letter inviting him out for a night. Sirius used to go with him, before Azkaban:
Dear Harry,
I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you, Ron and Neville like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three?
I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig.
Hagrid

I quickly stole Ron's quill, ignoring his protest as he tried to fill in an order form.

Hagrid, Ron and I would love to come Neville has to find something in his trunk before Monday for Professor McGonagall, see you later! Harry

It was lucky that I had tea with Hagrid to look forward to, because the Potions lesson turned out to be the worst thing that had happened to me so far. I knew that Professor Snape needed to show that he disliked me, so that if Voldemort did rise up again then he could help the Order of the Phoenix. I had grown up with him around, but only when no-one else was there. Snape didn't just pretend to dislike me -- he made it seem that hated me, even I, who knew that he liked me and Meg really was shocked.
Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.
Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at my name.
"Ah, Yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new -- celebrity."
Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands, I could feel myself burn in the darkness. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of the usual warmth in there. They were cold, empty and made you think of dark tunnels.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but we caught every word -- like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses.... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death -- if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
More silence followed this little speech. Ron and I exchanged looks with raised eyebrows. Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Powdered root of what to an infusion of what? I glanced at Ron, who looked as stumped as I was, I had looked in my books for a moment before I started but since coming here I remembered nothing; Hermione's hand had shot into the air.
"I don't know, sir," I said uncertainly.
Snape's lips curled into a sneer.
"Tut, tut -- fame clearly isn't everything."
He ignored Hermione's hand.
"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat, but I didn't have the faintest idea what a bezoar was. I tried not to look at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were shaking with laughter.
"I don't know, sir."
"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" I forced myself to keep looking straight into those cold eyes, remembering that it was all just a show for the others. Snape was still ignoring Hermione's quivering hand.
"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.
"I don't know," I said quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"
A few people laughed; I caught Seamus's eye, and Seamus winked. Snape, however, was not pleased, he looked like he did the time that Sirius had 'accidently' put ground cayenne pepper into his cinnamon roll one morning.
"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"
There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter."
Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put us all into pairs and set us to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching us weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticising almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just telling all of us to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.
"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"
Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.
"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on me and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.
"You -- Potter -- why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."
This was so unfair that I opened his mouth to argue almost forgetting the pretence, so raw was Snape's 'hate', but Ron kicked him behind their cauldron.
"Don't push it," he muttered, "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."

As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, my mind was racing and my spirits were low. I'd lost two points for Gryffindor in my very first week.

"Cheer up," said Ron, "Snape's always taking points off Fred and George."
At five to three we left the castle and made our way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.
When I knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "Back, Fang -- back."
Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.
"Hang on," he said with a grin. "Back, Fang."
He let us in, struggling to keep a hold of his huge dog Fang.
There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.
"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Ron and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang wasn't as fierce as he looked. Hagrid started to busy himself with tea and put a plate of rock-cakes on the table. Dad had warned me long ago about Hagrids cooking, but I decided that he was exaggerating. Something I later regretted.

The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke their teeth, but Ron and I pretended to be enjoying them as we told Hagrid all about our first lessons. Fang rested his head on my knee and drooled all over his robes. Ron and I were delighted to hear Hagrid call Fitch "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 -- Fitch puts her up to it."

I let Ron tell Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid told us not to worry about it, that Snape liked hardly any of the students.
"But he seemed to really hate me." I decided to say, even Hagrid didn't know how close Snape was to Mum and Dad
"Rubbish!" said Hagrid. "Why should he?"
Yet I couldn't help thinking that Hagrid didn't quite meet my eyes when he said that.
"How's yer brother Charlie?" Hagrid asked Ron. "I liked him a lot -- great with animals."
I wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Ron told Hagrid all about Charlie's work with dragons, I picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cosy. 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 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 spokesgoblin this afternoon.

I remembered Ron telling me on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but Ron hadn't mentioned the date.
"Hagrid!" I said, "that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there! Before Sirius…" I cut the sentence short, it was hard to think on what happened that day.
There was no doubt about it, Hagrid definitely didn't meet my eyes this time. He grunted and offered me another rock cake, which I hid as soon as I could without looking rude.

I 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 it emptying, taking out that grubby little package. Had that been what the thieves were looking for?
As me and Ron walked back to the castle for dinner, our pockets weighed down with rock cakes we'd been too polite to refuse, I thought that none of the lessons I'd had so far had given me as much to think about as tea with Hagrid. Had Hagrid collected that package just in time? Where was it now? And did Hagrid know something about Snape that he didn't want to tell me?