Could the first day at Hogwarts possibly go smoothly, especially after those enormous announcements at the Welcoming Feast? Absolutely not.
My day started normally. Early morning rise, running up the main tower staircase—a great idea, by the way. Physical exercise, a shower, and now I was alert, clean, fresh, well-groomed, and ready for action.
By this time, "first-day activity" had already begun in the common room. Lazy and sleepy students of all ages were milling about, and if it weren't for the circular doorways, the kids would surely be bumping into them. Although, I suspect the circular doors aren't a gift either—the gnome still doesn't like them.
As far as I knew, they hadn't thrown much of a party last night. The students just sat around in the common room and chatted. Professor Sprout had stopped by, radiating kindness and care for the first-years, and then talked with the older students who stayed up—I was already asleep by then, and I only knew about it through rumors.
Cedric, suspiciously energetic and active, was handing out schedules: personally to each first-year, and in a stack to the most responsible student in the other years. For our year, that turned out to be me. But handing them out wasn't a problem—the slips were labeled, and the boys were already gathered on the couch at our usual table.
"Here, take your pick," I placed the sheets in front of them, and they were immediately taken by the right hands.
"Hmm..." Justin frowned, looking at the timetable. "Joint classes with everyone again."
"Not surprising," I sat down, scrutinizing the schedule like the others. "The Headmaster said the teachers would need to free up maximum time. Merging classes worked well last year, so they probably decided to continue the practice. And there's a reason to."
"You're right," Ernie nodded. "But that doesn't mean I like it."
"What can you do?" Susan asked, shrugging. "The classes did go quite well. And the more people, the more interesting it is."
"Alright, enough dwelling on it. Let's move to breakfast."
Hermione intercepted me right at the Great Hall doors.
"Hi," she nodded and pulled me out of the general flow.
"Hello, if you're not joking. Something wrong?"
"Yes, something is wrong," she nodded emphatically. "Did you know that Hogwarts uses House-Elves? They're used like actual slaves. They have no days off, no holidays, no salary, no vacations..."
"Slow your roll, Miona," I put up my hands in a defensive gesture with a smile. "Why the rush..."
"It's wrong, Hector," she stated seriously. "You can't exploit slave labor like that. It's wrong."
"And what's the 'right' way? And Miona, why don't you read a book about House-Elves, and then stage your liberal revolts against society."
"But..."
"Don't be America—you shouldn't impose democracy with fire and sword on a world you know nothing about..."
"But I..." she inhaled, clearly wanting to speak her mind.
"You know what?"
"Of course. After all, I've spent much more time here and know a lot about the wizarding world."
"What are House-Elves?"
"House-Elves are..." Hermione started, but then trailed off.
"Start with that," I patted my sister on the shoulder, heading towards the Great Hall, but then turned back to her. "And eat something. Brains don't work without food."
At breakfast, many were discussing the Tournament. I figured this topic wouldn't die down anytime soon—it usually takes about two weeks... And that's exactly when the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang delegations will arrive, plunging the school back into a maelstrom of discussion, rumors, and gossip. But on the other hand, we'd get to see students from other schools, talk to them, and find out what the difference is in the subjects they study, if any.
At our table, they were discussing possible ways to magically age themselves. Well, it's better than talking about some other foolishness. It might turn out that such conversations will encourage the boys to spend more time on various unconventional methods of spellcasting—you can't be satisfied with just the school curriculum; you need to broaden your horizons.
The first class of the day was Herbology. As soon as we entered the greenhouse, led by Professor Sprout, I immediately felt a bit uneasy. The reason was simple: the class was combined with all students in our year, and the teaching aids were pots of Bubotubers. These plants looked more like slugs growing out of the earth, with bulging pustules under their skins. I was familiar with the ingredient we were likely harvesting today from books and references, and it was quite risky.
"Bubotubers," Professor Sprout cheerfully pointed to the aids set out on the long table we stood at. "Today, we're going to harvest the pus."
"What?" some overly sensitive students exclaimed in disgust.
"Yes, pus, precisely," Professor Sprout smiled as she said it. "Before you begin, be sure to put on your dragon-hide gloves. Concentrated Bubotuber pus is quite dangerous to the skin and can cause a lot of trouble. You will collect it in these little jars..."
There were indeed small jars next to the pots.
"You must be extremely careful," Professor Sprout continued while we were putting on the gloves. "Do not squeeze the pustules—the pus can squirt anywhere. Use a silver needle; the tools are in front of you. Make a careful puncture until you feel no resistance, hold the jar to the pustule, and pull the needle out. Only when the pus stops oozing on its own should you begin to press gently, using the rim of the jar."
To be honest, it wasn't a pleasant task, and many wrinkled their noses. But the good thing was that the pus smelled strongly of petrol. If it had smelled like actual pus, few would have been able to suppress the gag reflex.
At the end of the lesson, quite a lot of pus had been collected, a couple of liters, and Professor Sprout praised us all for our work. Not a single incident occurred, which was surprising.
Next up was Care of Magical Creatures, and those who chose the subject walked without much enthusiasm down the path softened by the overnight rain—nothing had dried in half a day, and the sky remained overcast.
This lesson turned out to be quite ordinary—Hagrid showed us Bowtruckles, tiny creatures seemingly made of twigs and leaves. They are guardians of the trees they live on. Hagrid explained how you can distract and appease them to harvest wood, but he lamented that they are not very useful overall, unless you're a gardener. Gardeners love and value them greatly, as these little creatures not only protect trees from people but also from animals, pests, and insects—the latter they particularly love to eat. However, the shaggy giant spent most of the time complaining that his "beautiful" Blast-Ended Skrewts had been confiscated.
"But they were so sweet... So, yeah..."
No one much shared the shaggy giant's sorrow. Everyone had long since figured out that the cuter a creature was in Hagrid's eyes, the more dangerous it was. If the Skrewts were "so sweet," you should stay far away from them—who knew how big they'd grown over the summer?
After Care of Magical Creatures was lunch, and after that, Ancient Runes. The classroom doors were open, and the few of us who chose the subject quietly took our seats. Hermione, as always, immediately claimed the front desk, closest to the teacher's table. I noticed Daphne, who had subtly changed her hairstyle—her black hair looked slightly different. Maybe her fringe was lying differently? My memory is perfect, yet I still tend to remember people more by general images than specific details.
"Greengrass," I nodded, sitting down next to her.
"Granger," she greeted me with a nod.
A couple of textbooks lay on the table in front of her, and, as in Runes last year, they weren't on the official supply list. Daphne noticed my gaze, eyed her study materials warily, and clearly wanted to move them to the far edge of the table, securing them from my encroachments. But no, she sighed sadly.
"I'll make you copies."
"I am most grateful," I smiled in response. "Did you change your hairstyle?"
"Is it that noticeable?"
"I'll be honest—yes, very."
"Excellent," Daphne nodded seriously, maintaining a calm face, but her eyes were clearly pleased.
"Do you think Snape will agree to supervise our extra practice this year?"
"That's a very... difficult question," Daphne seemed puzzled herself. "There's a high probability he simply won't have the time. But if he agrees, the ingredients for the first half of the year are on me."
Hmm... Suspicious generosity. Recalling the Potions curriculum for this year, which I had glanced through and memorized, I remembered that the most expensive ingredients were required in the second half.
"Clever," I smiled, which elicited a foxy grin from the brunette in return. "But the difference isn't great, so I agree. I'm willing to bet you've already acquired them, so that would be your final argument."
"Of course not," Daphne sniffed, but it was clear she meant, "Yes, I bought them." "That would be imprudent."
We would simply practice without Snape's supervision, that's all—the ingredients wouldn't go to waste. But I didn't get a chance to voice this point of view. Professor Babbling walked into the classroom and immediately started the lesson.
The class flew by—the magical interpretation of various Runes, their composition, and so on... This was much more interesting than simply memorizing the language itself, which was mostly what we did last year. I thought we would move on to a much more extensive practical part this year. But without knowing Runes as a language, it's impossible to interpret them correctly. So, I couldn't say last year was useless.
We weren't given homework, and I was surprised that Hermione was happy about it—she hurried out of the classroom looking quite pleased. Daphne and I weren't in any particular rush, moving leisurely towards the Great Hall. It was dinner time, and right after classes, there would be a real crowd of hungry students, even though not much time had passed since lunch. The Ravens who were in class with us also didn't rush—so we joined the gradually increasing stream of unhurried students.
"How were your holidays?"
"Not bad. A bit of travel and a lot of independent study. My parents aren't too fond of my interest in Potions, and they're trying to discourage it by getting me interested in Charms and spells."
"Successful?"
"You know how I feel about wand magic."
"What can you do?" I shrugged. "Wandless schooling is only available to the Africans."
"That's bad, too," Daphne shook her head briefly. "Slow, cumbersome, and inconvenient."
"Then you either have to develop your mind or practice wand magic until, as a friend of mine says, you have bloody calluses and equally bloody sweat. Then you'll get results."
"That could take decades..."
"You can't get a quality quick result in any field," I shrugged. "I think it's the same with magic. I suppose, for a fast result, you could switch to spellcasting purely through images and strong emotions, but... I don't think that's a good idea."
"Hmm? Intriguing. Explain?" Daphne clearly knew something I didn't, but was catching up to with my phrasing. Curious.
"Well, look," I stopped by a window, and Daphne stood next to me. "If the literature and my meager experience are anything to go by, wand movements, words, and formulae are all necessary for a spell, but a spell can be created without them, purely on willpower, if you train it properly."
I cast a weak Lumos on my fingertip.
"I can do that, too. And besides, many people make Lumos their first wandless spell," Daphne nodded and repeated the trick.
"I don't doubt it," I smiled and dismissed the spell. "But the feeling? How much concentration does it take, huh? And the feeling is like lifting a huge boulder when it's actually just a small pebble."
"That's true," Daphne contemplated.
"Now imagine performing... I don't know, Transfiguration. Something large and complex. Even with a wand, it can be tough, right? I don't know how you personally feel the 'weight' of a spell, but I feel it like the air is thickening."
"No, it's different for me."
"It doesn't matter much. What if you try it wandlessly? The sensation increases many times over. I read a theory somewhere that this is how the flow of magic passing through the wizard's consciousness is felt. The stronger it is, the harder it is on both the mind and the body. Willpower casting—the actual manifestation of desire into reality, not the use of ingrained methods developed over years of practice—is too much for us."
"That's why I'm saying," Daphne looked at me stubbornly. "Our brains are too weak for powerful magic, and we don't want to use all those tricks."
"Well, you know," I smiled, and we continued down the corridor, reaching the stairs. "I have no advice for you there. We are who we are. We can improve ourselves with magic, perfect our minds with training, but it won't give you a manifold increase. I think you could change yourself, increase your magical and mental power through serious alterations, but you would turn into anything but a human. But is it worth it?"
"Meaning?"
"Humans are social creatures," I shrugged, and meanwhile, we had descended one flight of stairs and were standing among two other students, waiting for the staircase to finish moving. "We live among other people, one way or another. And people fear and hate everything that is unlike them. Is it worth becoming a monster, an ugly and frightening freak, some kind of chimera, just for magical power? A boogeyman, whose terrifying stories mothers will tell their children to frighten them."
"But that is strength and power," Daphne shrugged neutrally. "What does it matter what you look like afterward?"
"Oh, really? What if someone offered to double your magical power, but you would have to remain bald for the rest of your life..."
Daphne processed the information for a second, paled, and accidentally touched a black strand of her hair. It was at that exact moment that the staircase settled into place with a loud thud.
"Absolutely not."
"Everyone chooses their own priorities," I stepped onto the stairs with a smile, and we walked down. "I'm interested in wand magic. I don't consider it some kind of peak art or anything. It just is. Knowing various spells, methods of casting, and practice—those are the keys to success."
"And a wand for a crutch."
"I don't see anything wrong with that. Humans can't fly, but they invent means of air transport. It's the same with magic. Potions, by the way, are also a 'crutch.'"
"Now, now, I ask you not to touch Potions," Daphne smiled.
Thus, pondering the theories of magic encountered in books, we reached the Great Hall. To our surprise, the crowd was still there, and the epicenter, as is usually the case, was Potter and Malfoy. Their argument escalated into Malfoy trying to launch something at Potter's back, but the blonde missed, which didn't surprise me at all. But the clump of a spell flew further down the corridor with a slight hum and crack, intending to hit either me or Daphne. Naturally, instantly, as if in a training session near the Weasleys' home, I transformed my wand into a whip, and at its tip—Protego Duo. The momentarily appearing protective film absorbed the clump. Of course, I could have drawn my wand, dodged, and cast a Shield Charm, but that would have taken more time, and I would have had to move too fast for it to go unnoticed.
Another pale clump shot out from behind me, and like a sneaky ferret, circumvented all the students, hitting Malfoy directly, transforming him into a white ferret hanging by its tail.
"Not bad, rookie..."
Moody emerged from the side of me, nodded, and walked towards the parting crowd. Approaching Potter, he asked:
"Are you alright, lad? Didn't get hit?"
"No, sir," he shook his head. "He missed."
Nodding, Moody looked at the squeaking ferret and the Slytherins standing next to it. He grabbed the ferret by the scruff of the neck and shook it in front of his face, staring at the ferret with his good eye.
"Listen here, you brat. I don't tolerate those who attack from behind, is that clear?" Moody lightly shook the ferret a couple of times, and it squeaked fearfully. "I remember your father, a terribly slimy character, but an excellent duelist, one you wouldn't be ashamed to face in a fight. And what are you?"
Moody shook the ferret again, and everyone just watched, listening, and honestly, they were quite pleased with this turn of events—and, interestingly, even the Slytherins, excluding Crabbe, Goyle, and a couple of others who genuinely sympathized with Malfoy.
"No cunning, no skill, no brains, just arrogance. Bah... A pale imitation."
Moody tossed the ferret aside; it transformed back into Draco mid-air. Draco tumbled and finally landed on the floor, disheveled and frightened, before quickly getting up and muttering something.
Professor McGonagall appeared around the corner, carrying a stack of books.
"What is going on here? Alastor?" she immediately walked to the scene.
"Nothing. Teaching the students a life lesson."
McGonagall surveyed the scene and the students with obvious doubt, but they only nodded, as if to say, "He's teaching. He taught him."
"No loitering here," she finally said. "Go to dinner."
"We have an interesting professor," Daphne said doubtfully. "I'll go join my friends."
At dinner, Moody's actions were, of course, the main topic of discussion. Everyone expressed their positive opinion of the retired Auror's skill, as such evasive spells are extremely difficult to perform, as well as his actions themselves. Well, they didn't like Malfoy, and he was to blame for that.
Somehow, I ended up sitting next to an extremely thoughtful Cedric. He was frowning, and no one rushed to find out what was wrong—it was too unusual a sight.
"Something happen?"
"Huh?"
Cedric looked at me and then smiled his standard smile.
"Nothing serious. Had Moody's class."
"Was it that bad?"
Everyone immediately began listening to our conversation, and even the appetizing-looking meat dishes, sides, and salads couldn't draw more attention.
"No, everything was excellent. He knows his stuff, is skilled, understands, and practices. He's seen a lot."
"So what's the problem?"
"He shares his experience. Too visually."
"But the material is presented clearly?"
"Excessively so."
"Hmm..." I contemplated, piling more food onto my plate. "Well, that's good then."
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