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Hogwarts (Year One) - Part 4
🕑 Added 2025-06-12 08:30:40 +0000 UTCFirst Year Boys' Dormitory, Ravenclaw Tower, Hogwarts. September 4, 1989.
The next morning, I did something unusual and slept in until five minutes before breakfast.
After quickly checking my magical reserves, I was pleased to note that my spark had mostly recovered since yesterday’s fizzle. The headache had similarly dissipated.
It went without saying that I wasn’t looking forward to the next time I ‘fizzled out’. The term might sound cute, but the effects were anything but.
Following some sluggish morning rituals, I meandered downstairs to the spacious common room in my first-year school uniform.
“Good morning, Rowena.” I thought as I passed the beautiful marble statue. The founder of my house—Rowena Ravenclaw—had possessed a diadem that Voldemort then turned into a Horcrux before finally hiding it in the Room of Requirement—an elusive room hidden somewhere in castle. Of course, finding said room and the accompanying horcrux was on my growing to-do list.
But if yesterday had taught me anything it was that—albeit advanced for my age—my magic wasn’t yet at the level where I could wield advanced magics, which included cursed objects such as horcruxes.
Ergo, figuring out how to locate and destroy the horcruxes would have to wait until later.
In the airy, high-roofed common room, three prepubescent students could be seen waiting for me.
The first and most prominent was naturally Thalia, who relaxed on a couch with a book in her lap. Next to her sat the blonde Selene, fiddling with the rim of her black cloak.
Additionally, opposite to the two girls sat the very uncomfortable-looking ginger boy from last night: Thomas Winslow.
“Good morning.” I greeted sweepingly, but my gaze mainly landed on Thalia and Thomas. “Everyone slept well?”
“Morning Michael.” Thalia smiled as she looked up from her book.
“…morning…” Selene mumbled in response.
“Michael.” Thomas sighed, looking relieved as he spotted me. “G-Good morning.”
“Waiting for me?” I asked as everyone shuffled to join me.
Thalia and Thomas nodded curtly, while Selene remained quiet. I was pretty sure the blonde girl was here for Thalia, as I hadn’t exchanged more than a dozen words with her.
“Just returning the favour.” My friend skipped to walk beside me, her silky black hair flowing behind her.
Contrastingly, Selene and Thomas trailed us in silence. Glancing at the auburn boy, it seemed like he’d regressed back to his timid persona from last night. Like most eleven-year-olds, the boy seemed to be shy around strangers.
“Hopefully he finds a friend in Selene.” I thought.
I didn’t mind Thomas tagging along. He ostensibly seemed like an alright lad and shooing the poor boy off felt like throwing him to the wolves. So, much like with Alex, Rose, and Beatrice at the orphanage, I saw no other solution than to take him under my wing.
“There’s no way I’m cutting down on my practice, however.” Sooner or later, Thomas would have to learn how to fend for himself. It might sound cruel, but I did not have the capacity—or desire—to worry about every single hopeless Muggle-born or half-blood that crossed my path.
Our stroll to the Great Hall felt pretty awkward since only Thalia and I contributed conversationally. But ultimately, I concluded it was better than walking alone, albeit marginally.
The Great Hall was positively bustling with students. A single glance was enough to confirm that there were way more students than there had been the two mornings prior. I reckoned it had something to do with the weekend being over.
Monday marked the official beginning of classes. Something I'd looked forward to since Professor McGonagall first appeared at my orphanage.
In fact, there were only forty-five minutes left until my first lesson.
Charms—together with the Hufflepuff first-years.
As we passed the Badgers' table, I waved at Cedric and Eveline, both of whom were already seated.
All in all, breakfast was fine, if a bit too boisterous for my taste. Every now and then, a prefect’s voice would echo across the hall, trying to enforce order—but it had little effect on the overall din.
Most of the professors were conspicuously absent from the staff table. The few who were present didn’t seem particularly bothered by the noise.
They were probably used to it by now.
“I’d have chosen to eat in my office too,” I mused, thinking back to my own time as a teacher.
Next to me, Thalia seamlessly inserted herself into the conversation the girls were having, while Thomas hovered awkwardly, clearly torn between sitting near Roger Davies and the rest of the boys—or staying beside me.
In the end, he chose the latter.
During both the stroll to the Great Hall and the subsequent meal itself, I’d made a few attempts at conversation with the boy—but they fizzled out quickly. Thomas just wouldn’t carry his side of the dialogue. But, having once been a rather timid child myself, I understood his hesitance.
If only I hadn’t been so sluggish from morning fatigue, I might’ve made more of an effort. But as it stood, I let the silence stretch.
After breakfast, Cedric, Eveline, Thalia, and I grouped up to head to Charms together. I invited Thomas to come with us, but he gave a few glances toward Cedric and Eveline before hesitantly declining.
“Whatever.”
…
“So…” Eveline began as we exited the Great Hall. “Who’s the stray?”
“She means Thomas, right…?” I furrowed my brows.
“He’s another Muggle-born who Michael befriended yesterday,” Thalia explained smoothly. “From what I gathered, he’s just really shy.”
“That’s an understatement.” I muttered, sighing.
“Tom’s a good person—just very… new to all of this.” I gestured vaguely toward the castle walls, though what I meant was the wizarding world itself.
Eveline and Cedric exchanged a look; brows raised at my words. Coming from me, my words probably came across as a bit strange, seeing as I was also new to all of this.
“I had Professor McGonagall walk me through everything. She gave me my letter and explained quite a bit about the wizarding world,” I clarified, not lying. “Tom got Snape.”
All three of them visibly flinched. Apparently, Professor Snape’s reputation preceded him.
“Ah…” Cedric exhaled. “That can’t have been easy.”
“I bet it wasn’t,” I agreed.
“Still…” Eveline eyed me, looking a bit confused. “We’ve got Muggle-borns in our house too, and you’re definitely an oddball—even among them.”
“Thanks,” I said, deciding to take it as a compliment.
“Is that because—”
“Eve…” Thalia groaned. “You’re doing it again.”
“O-Oh…” Eveline blinked, then began muttering apologies under her breath.
“With that kind of curiosity,” Cedric quipped, “it’s a wonder you weren’t sorted into Ravenclaw along with these two.”
“Ey!” Eveline protested, scowling.
We continued our good-natured banter all the way to the classroom.
…
Professor Flitwick’s Charms class was located on the right-hand side of the third-floor corridor. The room was spacious, with tall windows letting that bathed the desk in soft, natural light.
Cedric and I shared a desk, while Thalia and Eveline sat together at the one adjacent to us.
Altogether, the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw first years amounted to exactly thirty students—a sizeable number of eleven-year-olds to cram into one room. Hence, I was pleasantly surprised when Professor Flitwick handled the group masterfully.
“Welcome, new pupils,” he said, his voice high-pitched and cheerful as he drew everyone’s attention. “To your first Charms class at Hogwarts! As many of you already know, I’m Professor Flitwick—proud Head of House Ravenclaw.” He punctuated his introduced with a playful wink toward our side of the room.
“Today, we’ll begin with some general introductions. I’ve always found that pupils work better when they know one another.” He clapped his hands together, smiling. “But first—can anyone help me explain what a charm is?”
Hesitantly, a Ravenclaw boy lifted his hand.
“Yes, Mr. Underhill?”
“It’s magic, sir.”
“Right you are, Mr. Underhill, but I was looking for a more precise answer.”
When no one else volunteered, Professor Flitwick continued.
“Simply put, a charm is an enchantment applied to an object or person. Now it’s important to note that there are two broad categories of charms: standard charms and dark charms. The latter are what we refer to as jinxes, hexes, and curses. But we’ll get to those later.”
The sound of quills scratching against parchment filled the classroom. Naturally, I was also taking notes, albeit using a ballpoint pen instead. One of the many I’d brought with me from home.
“Can anyone give me an example of a charm?”
This time, Matilda Vance raised her hand.
“The Disarming Charm, otherwise known as the Expelliarmus spell, sir.”
“A very good example, Ms. Vance. Five points to Ravenclaw!”
Chatter erupted, at least until Professor Flitwick cleared his throat.
“The Disarming Charm—or Expelliarmus—is typically taught in your third year. That said, pupils with an interest in duelling may pick it up as early as second year. As its name suggests, it’s a defensive standard charm used to disarm an opponent. It also happens to be one of my personal favourites, in fact.”
“In your Standard Book of Spells by Miranda Goshawk, you’ll find the names of the charms and jinxes we’ll be working with throughout the year. However,” Professor Flitwick added, raising a finger, “the goal of this class is not merely to learn new spells, but to understand their origin, their history, and their practical function in society. You may expect a balance of theory and practice in our lessons.”
He clasped his hands together, smiling. “Now, I understand many of you are eager to cast magic. But before we expand your repertoire of spells, we must first familiarize ourselves with the basic wand movements and the magical theory that underpins them. With that said, please turn to page four in your textbooks. There’ll be no need for wands today.”
Thus began the remainder of class, spent rotating through brief partner introductions and practicing foundational wand movements. Movements which, admittedly, I’d been practicing for several weeks at the orphanage.
I hadn’t been allowed to perform magic outside Hogwarts, of course—but no one said anything about twirling sticks in the air.
One had to remember I was eleven, at least physically. I was permitted to be a bit silly at times.
By the end of my first class at Hogwarts, Professor Flitwick had awarded house points a total of seven times, based on the accuracy of our movements.
Ten points to Cedric.
Ten points to Thalia.
Another ten to Matilda.
Five points to Eveline and two other students whose names I hadn’t caught.
And ten points to me.
Being the only non-pure-blood student to receive points caused a small stir.
Added together, Ravenclaw had earned forty points—double that of Hufflepuff. Judging by the determined glint in the badgers’ eyes, however, I suspected we’d soon learn why “hard-working” was considered one of their defining traits.
Even without casting a single spell, I left the lesson feeling unexpectedly satisfied. Professor Flitwick had offered an invaluable piece of advice I hadn’t expected: my grip on the wand was too rigid, and I was relying too much on my arm rather than letting my wrist do the work.
After class, I noticed something had changed when I held my wand. My wand felt… lighter. More attuned. It was a subtle shift, but unmistakable—like it was sitting more comfortably in my hand. An instinct told me that this newfound harmony would have a positive impact on my spellwork moving forward.
I looked forward to experimenting.
…
My second class—Herbology—was held in one of the greenhouses, this time with the Gryffindor first-years.
Compared to Professor Flitwick’s class, which had been more foundational and theory-focused, Professor Sprout clearly preferred a hands-on approach. Personally, I found merit in both teaching styles. My peers, however, seemed far more interested in sizing up the students from the rival house.
Unlike the Hufflepuffs, the Gryffindor students were louder and more self-assured—a combination that drew a few raised brows from the Ravenclaws. Whenever Professor Sprout asked a question, at least five Gryffindors would immediately shoot their hands up. Their learning style was gruff and headstrong, and it ignited a competitive spark in many of my Ravenclaw peers—Matilda and Thalia chief among them.
At one point, I caught Fred and George nicking a pair of immature Dittany plants. Why they felt the need to pilfer healing herbs, of all things, was beyond me.
A part of me deliberated whether to oust them, but I ultimately chose not to. There was no point in making more enemies than I already had.
By the end of class, Ravenclaw had earned another twenty house points, while Gryffindor edged us out with twenty-five. Naturally, the boisterous brats wouldn’t stop bragging about it afterward.
“Not very likeable.” I frowned at their behaviour.
Fred and George were natural-born extroverts, their mischief and twin charisma managing to charm even some of my own housemates. Matilda Vance, for one, didn’t seem to mind their ginger company at all.
I, on the other hand, kept as much distance between myself and the Weasley twins as the greenhouse allowed.
One small but notable development was that Thomas actually seemed quite taken with the subject. His quiet enthusiasm had earned Ravenclaw five points, and—perhaps most hearteningly—several of our peers had looked past his blood status and cheered for him. Evidently, the competition for the House Cup was more than just symbolic; it was a unifying force.
…
Lunch was scheduled from 12:15 to 1:00. On Mondays, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw shared the time slot, while Hufflepuff and Slytherin took theirs earlier.
During the meal, I chatted with Roger Davies, whose competitive spirit had been kindled by the lions’ aptitude for herbology.
…
Like in Charms and Herbology, I began the final class of the day—Defence Against the Dark Arts—in silence.
It was the first class we didn’t share with another house.
“Many believe the cornerstone of a solid defence lies in knowing the right counter-charm,” Professor Crowe began promptly at one o’clock, ignoring the chatter. “Others argue that the Shield Charm is paramount. And while I agree that both are essential when facing dark magic, I must disagree with the notion that either is the most important.”
Professor Crowe’s seasoned gaze swept across the room of first-years. Several students flinched under his stare.
“The first and most fundamental skill any witch or wizard should master,” he continued, tapping a finger against his temple, “is knowing when and how to dodge. Not all curses can be countered—but, to my knowledge, every spell can be evaded.”
He raised his wand and demonstrated with a sharp flick. A bolt of red light sparked from its tip and sizzled harmlessly against the stone window.
“That,” he said, lowering his wand, “was the Red Sparks Charm, or Vermilious. It is often used as a distress signal. You’ll find the charm’s incantation and relevant wand movement on page thirty-six of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. If you have yet to procure the literature, I believe Madam Pince might be in possession of a few spare copies.”
He paused, letting silence settle. “By Friday, I expect each of you to have mastered the charm to a satisfactory degree. Failure to do so will not be tolerated. Is that clear?”
A scattered wave of surprised nods and a few half-hearted “Yes sir…”'s followed.
Professor Crowe’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “When I ask a question, I expect an answer. Is that clear?”
““Y-Yes sir!”” The class chorused.
“Good.” He nodded. “I understand Professor Flitwick has already introduced you to the basic wand movements. Don’t disappoint me.”
The rest of class was spent practicing Vermilious. Like most charms, it allowed for personalization and finesse—though for first-years, the goal was simply to produce a proper red spark. Skilled casters, I’d read, could manipulate it into elaborate firework displays.
I believe it was the spell Harry Potter had used in labyrinth, when trying to call for help.
Personally, I wouldn’t have picked it as a first spell—given the risk of uncontrolled manifestations—but then again, chaos was a good teacher.
And how much damage could an eleven-year-old inflict with a distress signal spell, really?
Needless to say, I attained basic mastery over the charm fairly quickly. It took me about thirty minutes to get the incantation and wand movement precisely right.
I allowed a small smile when a red spark shot from the tip of my wand, swam through the air, and dissipating before it reached the wall.
When I finally managed to cast the charm, more than a few heads turned in my direction. Matilda and Roger, in particular, didn’t seem thrilled by my success. Thalia frowned at me too, though I liked to think hers was the kind of frown born from competition—not irritation or jealousy.
Naturally, Professor Crowe didn’t miss the red spark that erupted from my wand either. But his expression remained unreadable. Was he surprised? Impressed? Displeased?
I couldn’t tell.
What I could tell was that the one-eared professor didn’t award me any points, despite me being the first one to successfully cast the spell.
Not keen on attracting further attention, I quietly lowered my wand and refrained from casting the spell again for the rest of the lesson.
Fortunately, class ended shortly thereafter. Thalia, to her credit, managed to produce a few flickering red flashes before the bell, but nothing substantial enough to count as a successful attempt.
“You really do have a knack for charms,” she muttered as we exited the classroom. “Or… have you been practicing that one too?”
“I’d read about it, yes. But no—I haven’t tried casting it before today,” I admitted. In truth, I surmised the Red Sparks Charm wasn’t much more difficult to learn than the Wand-Lighting Charm. And with my refined wand movement and recent breakthroughs in intent control, picking it up had felt almost natural.
It also didn’t hurt that I’d spent six years honing my ability to project intent without all the usual magical scaffolding. Now, I was simply reaping the fruits of that labour.
“I see…” Thalia murmured, leaving the rest unsaid.
As we walked down the corridor, I didn’t miss the way Matilda and Roger continued to glare at me—though they had the decency to pretend otherwise when I glanced their way.
…
The DADA lesson ended at 2:30 p.m., marking the conclusion of my first proper school day at Hogwarts.
Even surrounded by witches and wizards, I still struggled to accept the fact that I was actually a student at Hogwarts.
That said, I was pleasantly surprised by the standard of education at Hogwarts. What I appreciated most was that the professors didn’t coddle or infantilize their students. Frankly, I was tired of being treated like a child—especially by authority figures.
“I wonder if I can use magic to grow up faster…” I mused, scratching my smooth chin.
I missed my beard.
It was an intriguing thought. In the books, the Weasley twins had once tried to outsmart the Goblet of Fire by using aging potions to bypass Dumbledore’s protective enchantments. Unfortunately for them, the spell saw straight through their attempt—and promptly expelled them from the age line.
“I’ll have to research the topic at the library later," I decided.
Of course, there was always the option of consulting Professor Snape during Potions class tomorrow. But, for some reason, I doubted he’d willingly part with the information—even if he knew of a potion like that.
A permanent aging elixir didn’t strike me as something found in the average student’s syllabus.
Since Thalia expressed a desire to go check in on Eveline, we amicably decided to part ways until dinner.
I would’ve offered to help her to practice the Red Sparks Charm, but judging by how frustrated she’d been during class, I figured she’d prefer figuring it out on her own.
If she needed my help—she’d ask for it. Not that I thought she’d need it. From what I’d seen so far, Thalia was a wickedly gifted witch.
“Michael!” A familiar voice echoed down the corridor, stopping me in my tracks.
I turned to find Matilda and her loyal retinue striding toward me. Behind them trailed Tom—his eyes firmly fixed on the floor.
“What now…” I sighed inwardly. Outwardly, however, I kept my expression neutral.
Or so I hoped.
“Matilda.” I greeted her with a faint smile.
“Great work in class today,” she said, smiling cutely, her tone bright and innocent. “Muggle-borns usually struggle with magic.”
Something about her phrasing clashed oddly with her expression.
“Thank you,” I replied evenly, nonetheless. “My friends say I have a knack for charms. But personally, I like to think it’s the castle lending me its wisdom.”
Her brown eyes widened, ever so slightly. A girl part of the retinue behind her snorted.
“Indeed,” Matilda said, her gaze trailing the ancient stone walls. “My father often talks about the magic inherent in Hogwarts. He claims it’s the only reason he passed his OWLs.”
“You jest too much, Matilda,” a freckled girl cut in. “There’s no way Lord Vance struggled with his OWLs.”
Something about my reaction piqued Matilda’s interest.
“That’s right,” she said, flicking her hair and looking insufferably smug all of a sudden. “My father’s a Senior Adjudicator on the Wizengamot.”
“I see…” I replied slowly, not expression flat and unfeigned.
An adjudicator… That was some kind of judge, wasn’t it?
Needless to say, Matilda’s smile froze ever so slightly—presumably thrown by my underwhelming response. Again, the freckled girl stepped in with a scoff.
“Leave it to a Muggle-born not to know who Lord Vance is.” The freckled girl narrowed her eyes as she looked me up and down, sizing me up. Behind her, Tom visibly flinched in response to her words.
“I bet he doesn’t even know what the Wizengamot is.”
“I’m perfectly aware of the Wizengamot’s responsibilities,” I said curtly, then shook my head. What was even the point in arguing? I’d only be stooping to the level of a bunch of eleven-year-old sycophants.
I sighed.
“You’ll have to excuse me, I’m afraid I have a prior engagement.” With my research journal. Though I left that last part out.
“Thank you again, Matilda, for the compliment. If you ever need help with your spellwork, feel free to consult me.”
My words must’ve stung worse than intended—given how their expressions soured.
“See you at dinner.” I gave the girls a polite nod, then turned on my heel, not bothering to wait for their response.
Interestingly, Tom markedly chose not to follow me.
…
Back in my disused classroom on the fourth floor, I unpacked my supplies—arranging them in a neat row in front of me.
There was my wand, a notebook, a ballpoint pen, The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1), and The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection.
Clearing my throat, I readied my wand.
“Vermilious.” I chanted, flicking my wand according to the instructions in the book. My grip was loose but practiced—remembering what Professor Flitwick had told me.
Instantly, a cheeky red spark shot from the tip of my wand. The projectile fizzled through the air, flying roughly ten meters before dissolving into tiny particles mid-air.
Thoughtfully, I scribbled down my reflections.
“After casting the Red Spark Charm, using both the correct incantation and wand movement, a bright red projectile travelled nearly ten meters before dissipating. While technically a successful cast, the spark’s trajectory was noticeably shakier and shorter than Professor Crowe’s demonstration. Furthermore, the projectile itself lacked in both tangibility and stability.”
I frowned. In my mind, there was no point in practicing the spell wandlessly until I’d fully mastered it with the magical scaffoldings in place.
With renewed focus, I adjusted my grip.
“Vermilious!”
…
Two hours later, I narrowed my eyes as a red projectile crumbled apart just a few meters short of the far wall.
“Fifteen meters,” I noted inwardly. Admittedly, it was a marked improvement after only two hours of practice. Nevertheless, it vexed me that I hadn’t yet reached the wall—just twenty meters from where I stood.
I’d tried refining my intents, tweaking the wand movement—heck, I’d even experimented with different emotional cocktails to fuel the spell.
At one point, I’d accidentally produced a markedly larger projectile—one that radiated an ominously crimson hue. But even that unstable monstrosity hadn’t reached the far wall before it fizzled out.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be too greedy…” I sighed.
Still, a fifty percent increase in spell duration was no small feat. And that wasn’t the only improvement. Compared to my earlier attempts, the latest iterations of the Red Sparks Charm were far more grounded.
The projectiles had gained definition—more vivid in colour, less prone to disintegrating due to an unstable foundation. Now, they only crumbled when they ran out of energy.
Unfortunately, pumping the charm full of energy turned out to have the opposite effect. The structure of the spell couldn’t contain excess magic—the manifestation was simply too fragile to hold anything beyond its intended spark-energy.
While a useful distress signal, I’d concluded the Red Sparks Charm was virtually harmless. At worst, it might briefly blind or startle someone. To my knowledge, there was no way to imbue the spell with kinetic force.
Still, I liked the charm. The best part was undoubtedly its efficiency. Even after two hours of continuous practice, I estimated I still had a dozen or so casts left in the tank. But with my spark clearly starting to strain, I decided it was wise to stop.
Especially seeing as I’d overclocked the poor thing yesterday.
My stomach growled, despite dinner still being another two hours away.
After a brief moment of deliberation, I packed up my things and made my way out of the classroom.
…
The Hogwarts Library was a vast chamber located on the first floor. Stepping into it felt like entering a cathedral.
Vaulted ceilings. Soft, natural light filtering through enchanted windows. Students moving quietly between endless rows of towering shelves.
The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and worn leather. I found I’d smelled worse things.
Ladders on wheels leaned against some of the taller bookcases, granting students access to the upper tiers. A few senior students balanced precariously on them, tip-toeing to retrieve their desired tomes.
Farther in lay the Restricted Section—cordoned off by an ominous black iron gate. To my knowledge, only students with a signed permission slip from one of the professors could enter this area.
I stopped mid-step as a ghost—Professor Binns—phased up through the floor ahead. If the professor noticed me, he showed no signs of it. The history professor simply floated away without a word.
“I wonder what his lessons will be like…” I mused, looking forward to my first History of Magic class.
As a former history teacher myself, I couldn’t help but to feel a sense of anticipation swell within me. Ordinary—Muggle—history I was intimately familiar with already. But I had nearly no frame of reference to what magical history entailed.
And though my peers had already voiced their less-than-charitable opinions about the ghostly professor, his undead condition only piqued my curiosity further.
“Why exactly do some people become ghosts and others do not?”
The question lingered as I watched Professor Binns drift through the stacks of tomes. A part of me couldn’t help but envy him a little. If Professor Binns wished, he could read every single book in this library—unhindered by time or the need to sleep.
Though, in all honesty, I reckoned being a ghost probably wasn't as romantic as I made it seem.
Passing by the Head Librarian’s office, I offered a polite nod to Madam Pince. She, however, returned my courtesy with a sharp, suspicious glare.
“Not exactly a warm welcoming…” I noted silently. Then again, given the tales I’d heard about the Head Librarian, her reaction was par for the course.
After a few minutes of wandering the labyrinthine aisles, I finally located the section I’d been looking for. It was on the main floor, tucked between Arithmancy and Charms.
The Transfiguration section.
Towering bookcases held dozens—if not hundreds—of books devoted to the subject. Some were familiar, like A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration, our first-year textbook.
Others, however, were far more tantalizing. Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration. Inanimate to Animate: The Laws of Magical Matter Conversion. Titles that practically hummed with potential.
To my mild frustration, none of the books appeared to cover advanced Transfiguration topics—certainly nothing bordering on human transfiguration. But I suppose it made sense. It was reasonable to separate advanced and beginner texts, considering the potential harm a transfiguration spell could inflict.
If Madam Pomfrey’s elixirs could rearrange transfigured limbs, I didn’t want to find out for certain.
If I wanted to learn how to become an Animagus, it seemed I would have to think outside the box.
Still, it wasn’t like there were no other research areas that piqued my interest. So, after a while, I plopped down by an empty desk with Inanimate to Animate: The Laws of Magical Matter Conversion in my hands.
Ready to lose myself in theory.
…
Dinner in the Great Hall was as boisterous as ever. Four long tables stretched the length of the room: each draped in the distinctive colours of one of the Hogwarts Houses.
Gryffindor’s was red and gold.
Hufflepuff’s was yellow and black.
Ravenclaw’s was blue and bronze.
And Slytherin’s was green and silver.
I naturally made my way to the Ravenclaw table, where others clad in blue and bronze had already gathered.
A few older students shot me sharp looks as I passed—whispering indistinctly to one another. It was the same group who’d teased me and Thalia the day before.
Sandra, the platinum-haired seventh-year, gave me a cheerful wave from further down the table, surrounded by a cluster of sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds.
I pretended not to notice.
Before sitting, I offered Cedric and Eveline a friendly nod. Since the seats around Thalia were already taken by a group of girls, I settled down elsewhere—closer to Roger Davies and his circle of prepubescent boys.
“—still huge!”
“I’m telling you, that’s nothing. I saw a real giant when I was in Ukraine with my family last summer. They’re absolutely massive. My dad says there are fewer than a hundred left in the wild.”
“I wonder who it was that slept with a giant—his mum or his dad.”
“Obviously his dad… otherwise—"
“Pfff!” Another boy snorted juice out of his nose, setting off a round of laughter.
I, on the other hand, furrowed my eyes at their conversation.
“Michael!” Davies grinned at me from across the table. “Where’d you disappear to? You missed our trip to the Forbidden Forest!”
“The Forbidden Forest?” I frowned.
“Well,” Davies waved a hand dismissively. “We didn’t actually go in—we just stepped outside for some fresh air, that’s all.”
“Then the Groundskeeper shouted at us…” Another boy chimed in.
“Yeah, Hagrid’s such a buzzkill.”
“Correction: a huge buzzkill.”
“I went to the library.” I said, stabbing a piece of baked potato with my fork. “And studied.”
A round of groans spread around the table.
“You’re already studying?” One boy sighed. “But classes just started today?”
Before I could reply, Roger cut in.
“Well, don’t be like that. We’re not like the lions. We’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
Unsurprisingly, everyone nodded in agreement, no more groaning. Leave it to Roger to make studying seem cool.
I sighed inwardly.
“Also, Professor Crowe did assign us homework.” I reminded the group. What was left unsaid was that—considering what I’d seen during class—the boys would require practicing if they wanted to avoid Professor Crowe’s ire.
Half the boys’ faces whitened visibly at my words, evidently having forgotten about it already.
“That’s fine.” Roger shrugged confidently, despite having also failed to cast the spell earlier. “You’ll help us, won’t you?”
I opened my mouth to answer when a feigned cough suddenly grabbed our attention. Turning around, I saw a teenage boy with unibrows looking down on me.
“Prefect Quill.” I greeted the fifth-year prefect.
“Mr. Morgan,” Prefect Unibrow’s eyes narrowed before switching to another boy. “Mr. Avery.”
The pale boy—Avery—who had remained markedly quiet up until this moment, scoffed disrespectfully.
“What?”
Prefect Quill’s brows wrinkled as he glowered at my peer.
“We missed you during the seminar yesterday.” He said.
“I’m sorry I missed it.” I apologized, having already decided to do so beforehand. “I don’t have any excuse; I just forgot the time. Thalia filled me in afterward.”
In my defence, I had planned to attend. Things just hadn’t worked out that way. Nevertheless, apologizing was the right thing to do in this kind of situation.
Prefect Quill nodded curtly at me before turning toward my peer, who apparently also had been absent.
“What?” Avery scowled. “It’s not like attendance was mandatory.”
Prefect Quill’s face visibly soured.
“Neither is attending Hogwarts.” Prefect Quill quipped. “But you chose to do so anyway.”
“That’s obviously because I want to go to Hogwarts.” Avery retorted. “I don’t want to go to your—”
“I dare you to say that again you snake!”
Everyone—including Prefect Quill—visibly flinched as a student wearing Gryffindor colours stood up at their table.
“I said,” a Slytherin student also stood up, a pair of patronizing eyes fixed on the lion. “Mudbloods like you don’t belong at Hogwarts. If I were you, I’d go crawling back to your muggle parents—where you belong.”
In the corner of my eye, it looked like some wide-eyed professors were about to step in—but someone else beat them to it.
Two someones, in fact.
“Snake—” Fred Weasley began.
“—Attack!” George Weasley ended.
From my position, I couldn’t see what it was exactly that they tossed, but the results were the same: a thick cloud of smoke appeared at the Slytherin’s table.
I didn’t know what it was exactly—until the stench hit me.
My eyes watered as I suppressed the urge to dry heave.
“A Dungbomb.”
Nothing else could possibly be as foul-smelling. Though I’d only read about them in my past life, experiencing one first hand was markedly different—and definitely not in a good way.
Needless to say, mayhem ensued as the Great Hall erupted in activity. Students screamed, coughed, or cried as the stench proliferated around the hall—spreading its terrible smell.
Rotten eggs and vomit. That’s what it smelled like.
“Order!” A loud voice reverberated commandingly through the hall. Then, the cloud suddenly dissipated.
Though the smell still lingered.
“Ah,” Professor Dumbledore exhaled when the hall had quieted. “The noble art of Dungbomb deployment… alas, still forbidden.”
The headmaster sighed in regret.
“Messrs Weasley… for committing olfactory terrorism during supper, forty points from Gryffindor.” Yet, before any student could start protesting, Professor Dumbledore added. “Each.”
Shocked gasps filled the Great Hall—hundreds of eyes landing on the pair of ginger twins, whose smiles froze awkwardly.
“As for those who saw fit to provoke such theatrics,” Dumbledore continued, his gaze now settling briefly on the Slytherin table, “Mr. Pucey, Mr. Bellamy... please note your respective Head of House will attend to your consequences—personally.”
Once he’d said what needed to be said, Professor Dumbledore simply sat down and resumed eating—as carefree as ever.
That is, he ate despite the horrid stench still clinging to the surroundings.
A spare few tried to copy the headmaster, but most chose to simply end supper early.
I certainly wasn’t in the mood for food anymore.
…
“They should’ve been expelled.” Roger muttered as we stepped into our dormitory. “I mean who does something like that? Who in their right mind detonates a Dungbomb in the middle of the Great Hall?!”
I couldn’t help but to offer a nod in agreement.
“But I guess eighty points is harsh too…” Roger continued, plopping down on his bed. “My older brother says Dumbledore’s always been biased toward the lions.”
“Your older brother said that?” I asked, curious about this relatively minor character’s background.
“Yeah, Cassian,” Roger nodded, our two other roommates listening to our conversation. “He’s a Slytherin graduate, working as an Auror for the Ministry.”
The other two boys’ eyes widened, clearly impressed.
“Oh, I always forget,” Roger sighed, shaking his head. “An Auror is—”
“Magical law enforcement.” I cut off his explanation. “I know who they are. There are multiple historical references mentioning them in A History of Magic.” I added.
“There are?” Roger raised a brow, before his eyes suddenly widened in realization.
“Wait, does that mean you’ve already read through that tome? Isn’t it like eight-hundred pages long?”
“Six hundred.” I corrected. Obviously, I’d skimmed through the book covering everything from prehistoric magical practices to major dark wizards, international wizarding relations, and goblin rebellions.
History had once been my major, after all.
Still, truth be told, I’d probably have to read it again—more carefully—during class. Even for me, six-hundred pages of dry, encyclopaedic information covering thousands of years of wizarding history was a bit difficult to digest in one go.
Nevertheless, Roger’s eyes widened into saucers.
“You—” Roger closed his slacked jaw and sighed. “You really put us other ravens to shame, you know that, right?”
I simply shrugged.
“It’s not like I can practice magic at home.”
“Right,” Roger turned toward me. “I can’t imagine what that must be like. Living without magic. It sounds so—”
“Boring?” I helped.
“I mean, I was about to say inconvenient…” Roger smirked. “But I guess boring works too.”
“It’s not all bad.” I noted, thinking back to my time at the orphanage. “Don’t misunderstand me, magic’s awesome, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. But some things can be magical even without magic.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
I chuckled.
“I guess it doesn’t.”
A comfortable silence descended like a blanket on the room, and just when I thought we’d head to bed, Roger surprised me by continuing the conversation.
“You’re the first Muggle-born I’ve talked to.”
I raised my brows at that.
“Really?”
“Mhm.” Roger nodded, looking a bit awkward. Compared to his confident demeanour in the Great Hall, he looked contrastingly different.
“Then again, even adults behave differently around different people.”
“That really doesn’t make any sense.” Though I didn’t have the ratio ready, I knew there were plenty of Muggle-borns in the wizarding world.
“Yes it does.” Roger protested. “My family’s from Godric’s Hollow.” He said, as if that explained everything.
But based on what I knew from my previous life, Godric’s Hollow was where James and Lily had lived prior to being murdered by Lord Voldemort. And I was reasonably certain Lily had been a Muggle-born witch as well.
Still, it wasn’t like I could ask the boy whether he’d met Lily Potter. Most of my societal knowledge could be explained by being studious, but how on earth would I defend knowing something like Lily Potter’s blood status?
“And?” I asked, curious to hear the boy’s thoughts on the whole Muggle-born debacle. “What do you think?”
“I think my brother doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Roger frowned, stealing a glance at me. “He said Muggle-born are—”
He stopped, clearly blushing.
“People are different.” I explained. “Just like there are pure-blood wizards who struggle with magic, there are Muggle-borns who have a knack for it. Everyone doesn’t fit into generalized stereotypes.”
One of our roommates drew in a sharp breath at my words.
Still, based on Roger’s expression, I knew my words had struck home.
“I guess you’re right…” Roger replied, thoughtfully. “It’s not like Thalia would hang out with someone who’s rubbish at spells.”
“You know Thalia?” I asked with a raised eyebrow, surprised by his words.
“A bit,” Roger rubbed his nose, evidently embarrassed. “We never really talked much, but our parents are acquaintances—so we saw each other at times growing up.”
“I see…” I said, thoughtfully.
“Maybe Roger can help me figure out why Thalia doesn’t appear in any of the books?”
“What’s her family like?” I asked, fishing for information.
Yet, it seemed the eleven-year-old boy misinterpret my interest for something else since he smirked at me knowingly.
“Why? You interested in Thalia?”
“I’m interested in her family.” I replied with a deadpan look. “I was told her family’s part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.”
Fortunately, it seemed the topic was serious enough to knock some sense into my roommate.
“Right,” he sighed. “You might not know this, but in wizarding society, Thalia is all but considered royalty—or at least a lady.”
“But why?” I probed, curious. “What is it exactly that makes her family so special?”
“The Sacred Twenty-Eight aren’t just pure-blood, they are considered sacred blood.” Roger wrinkled his nose. “I don’t actually know why their blood’s so special, but I know they’re really important. My father talks about the Sacred Families all the time.”
“Your father at the Ministry?”
Roger nodded in response.
“So Thalia’s blood is sacred?”
“Some people think so.” Roger answered sceptically. “But again, I don’t really know why. I mean, I also come from a pure-blood wizard family, but my blood’s hardly considered sacred.”
“A good point.” I thought inwardly. “There are plenty of pure-blood families—such as the Potters—that aren’t considered part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Then maybe the status is a matter of seniority and history?”
“What I do know is that all the Sacred Families—even the declining ones like the Fawleys—are very important.”
“Interesting…” I muttered, unintentionally.
Roger just shook his head in exasperation.
…
