4. Welcome to Hogwarts

“Ethan!” James shouted, throwing his arms open and hugging his shorter friend.

Harry watched from the side, face carefully blank. He had his trunk and his school robes in his pack, Alektra in her cage in his left hand, and his holly wand in the flick-out holster on his right arm. He’d stocked up on books from the Potter library that should get him through the school year and practiced the ward spells he fully planned to put up around his bed to keep the other boys in his dorm away. He’d finished a preliminary reading of all the first-year textbooks just a few days ago and planned to go back through the first chapter of each before any of his classes started, and he and Nott were planning on finding each other on the train. He felt about as prepared as he could’ve hoped to be.

James had decided to show Harry and Jules the Muggle way to the Hogwarts Express, since apparently running at a solid barrier with your eyes closed was what James considered fun. Harry personally would’ve preferred to Apparate or Floo.

And, of course, as soon as they were on the far side of the barrier, Thorne appeared out of absolutely nowhere, hugged James, and jumped right in with a briefing on the various media outlets present to document the Boy Who Lived’s departure for Hogwarts.

Harry slipped away in the chaos of reporters and posed photographs and people asking for Jules’ autograph, nodded to Longbottom, Thomas, and a boy he didn’t know, and boarded the train.

It was just as chaotic on the train as it had been off of it with the Potters. Harry spent fifteen minutes searching for either Nott or an empty compartment. He ended up in an empty one, cast a locking spell on the door, pulled one of his Muggle fiction novels courtesy of Dudley out of his bag, and started reading.

Someone knocked a few minutes later. He stood up, opened the door, and let Nott into the compartment.

“I couldn’t even break that locking spell,” Nott said by way of greeting.

Harry smirked. “You’re the one who sent me the book about ward spells, did you think I wasn’t going to apply those lessons?”

Nott raised an eyebrow, and Harry knew his message had gotten across—he wasn’t above using questionably legal spells, and he didn’t fault the other boy in the slightest for having owned, and passed on, a book of them.

“In fact,” he continued, sitting down across from Nott, “I found a book in the Potter library I thought you might like.” He pulled out the book of Dark plants from his pack, where he’d put it instead of in his trunk for easy access, and handed it over.

Nott examined the cover, then paged through. “Mmm. Interesting. I don’t believe I’ve seen this one before.”

“Oh good,” Harry said with a grin. “That would’ve been rather tacky.”

Nott met his eyes and Harry knew they were both aware of the subtext of this exchange, too—Harry repaid his debts, and he wasn’t any more opposed to supposedly “Dark” magic than Nott.

The other boy nodded slowly, and smirked suddenly. “You’re all right, Potter.”

“Likewise,” Harry said with a grin, and picked his own book up again.

Nott looked at it, and his eyebrows rose. “Is that a Muggle novel?”

“Muggle raised, remember?” Harry said. He shrugged. “They’ve got their depictions of magic wildly wrong, but that doesn’t mean it’s not entertaining.”

Nott looked interested. “Can I see?”

Harry passed it over, and somehow that resulted in an involved conversation comparing Harry’s knowledge of Muggle fiction with Nott’s knowledge of wizarding fiction. Nott read a chapter of Dragon Rider and concluded that it seemed interesting, even if the dragons were completely unrealistic. Harry reminded him that it was a book for kids and anyway, Muggles didn’t know anything about real dragons, so how could they be held to any standards of accuracy in their books? Nott laughed and conceded the point, and they only cut themselves off when someone rattled the compartment door furiously.

Nott glanced over. “Oh dear, Potter,” he said in an abruptly bored tone of voice. The switch from his animated bearing of just a second ago tipped Harry off that something was up. “It’s your brother. I don’t think he’s happy to see me.”

Harry looked up. An irate Jules Potter was glaring at them through the glass of the compartment door.

“I really should’ve closed the shade,” he said.

“Too late now. Better let him in before his head explodes with anger,” Nott said.

Harry snickered at that image and muttered a quick Finite Incantatem at the door, canceling the lock spell.

Jules barged in, followed closely by Ron. “Harry!” he exclaimed.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Yes, that’s me.”

Nott made a choking noise that sounded a lot like trying not to laugh.

Jules turned and glared at him. “Nott,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Potter,” Nott said coolly.

“Oh good, I don’t have to introduce you,” Harry muttered, hoping this wouldn’t turn into hex-throwing less than half an hour into the train ride.”

“Harry, come on,” Jules said, finally tearing his furious gaze away from Nott. Weasley, behind him, looked about ready to hurl himself in fists first if something broke out. “We’ve got a compartment in the middle of the train.”

Harry glanced at Nott and saw the resignation in the other boy’s eyes. Nott fully expected him to go with his brother.

Harry looked back at Jules. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Harry,” Weasley said tightly. “That’s—Theo Nott.”

“Yes,” Harry said. “I know. We’d hardly have gone this whole train ride in the same compartment without introducing ourselves.”

Weasley glared. “He’s a Death Eater’s son.”

“My father was acquitted,” Nott said. “So unless you’re suggesting that you, an eleven-year-old, know better than the entire Wizengamot, I recommend you back off such accusations.”

“Technically you could sue him for slander,” Harry said casually.

Nott shook his head. “It’s hardly worth it.”

Harry shrugged, as if it didn’t matter to him either way.

“Fine!” Weasly snarled. “Be a—be a prat, then!”

“Harry, come on,” Jules said. “You’ve got to associate with the right sort.”

“I’d salute you for that statement, Potter, if you weren’t associating yourself with a Weasley,” a new voice sneered.

“Oh Merlin, give me patience,” Nott muttered.

Harry shot him a questioning glance as Weasley and Jules turned to face the newcomer. Nott shook his head and mouthed, Watch.

The speaker pushed his way into the compartment and sneered at Weasley. Harry couldn’t blame him, honestly; the redhead had a smudge on his nose and both he and Jules were wearing thoroughly messy clothes. Then Harry recognized this new addition as the pale Dudley-like boy he’d avoided in Diagon Alley. Interesting that Nott seemed to recognize his voice, and wasn’t too pleased that blondie was here.

“What’s wrong with being a Weasley?” Weasley snapped.

Blondie gave him a dismissive once-over. “Far too many freckles, obnoxiously red hair, hand-me-down robes, to start with—and I’ve heard your parents can’t even afford to get you younger lot your own wands, is that true?”

“And who are you?” Jules returned before Weasley could throw himself at the blond. Harry wished he’d brought popcorn.

Blondie puffed himself up a bit. “Draco, Heir of Malfoy House.”

“Oh that explains a lot,” Jules said, crossing his arms. “My father never lets us go to events your family’s at. Death Eaters, the lot of you. And anyone who’s not is still an inbred Pureblood git.”

“Didn’t we already cover why that insult is a bad idea?” Nott muttered. Only Harry seemed to hear him.

Malfoy glared. “My father was Imperiused, Potter. Watch your tongue. And you’re Heir to a house of ‘inbred Purebloods’ yourself.”

“Actually, he’s not,” Harry pointed out casually, without even bothering to stand up. Malfoy’s eyes snapped to him and seemed to register the presence of two other people in the compartment, one of whom was identical to the Boy Who Lived save for being a little shorter and scrawnier, which clearly caught Heir Malfoy completely off guard. “Hadrian, Heir of Potter House.” He added, a bit condescendingly, “I’m the older twin.”

“Since when does Julian Potter have a twin?” Malfoy demanded.

“A magical accident a month ago,” Nott cut in. “Jules Potter’s personality split, leaving all the intelligence in one body and all the reckless idiocy in the other. You can probably tell which is which.”

It was Harry’s turn to choke on a laugh.

Weasley frowned, but Malfoy and Jules both caught the insult; Malfoy looked taken aback and Jules looked furious.

“Are you quite certain you don’t want my help finding the right sort, Potter?” Malfoy sneered, obviously choosing the Boy Who Lived as the better target for his social climbing aspirations than Harry.

“I think I’ll manage,” Jules said shortly.

Malfoy’s sneer deepened. “Suit yourself. Nott,” he said shortly, and turned on his heel. Harry saw two heavyset boys who looked weirdly like bodyguards following Malfoy down the hallway.

“What a slimy little git,” Jules snarled. “Bet you anything he’s in Slytherin.”

Harry looked questioningly at Nott, who rolled his eyes and said, “Unfortunately, he’s not wrong. On either count.”

Huh. Well, no House would contain only people Harry liked, and frankly he thought he’d prefer dealing with Malfoy than with Jules and Weasley.

“As if you really think that’s unfortunate,” Weasley said, turning on Nott. “You and he probably have matching snake tattoos.”

“Last I checked, the Death Eaters don’t recruit chilren,” Nott said acidly. “Except possibly as human shields. Now can you please go? It’s pretty clear Harry’s not interested, and I’d like to go back to my book.”

“Have fun with that, Harry,” Jules said darkly, and he and Weasley finally left.

Harry and Nott looked at each other, and burst out laughing.

“Okay, how do you and Jules know each other?” Harry asked finally.

Nott made a face. “He and I see each other at a lot of the events that’re mostly for old Pureblood families. We’ve never gotten along.”

“Understatement,” Harry said. “And Malfoy?”

“Son of an acquitted Death Eater,” Nott said succinctly. “Same as me.”

He dropped that one casually, but Harry knew Nott was waiting for surprise that didn’t come. Which would tell Nott both that he’d been a topic of discussion in the Potter household over the summer and that Harry had known and chosen not to care.

“I see him a lot more often than I do Jules,” Nott continued. “We’re not friends, but our fathers are, so we have to get along. He’s a bit too preoccupied with himself and he’s jealous that I’m smarter than he is.”

Harry snorted. “He reminds me of my cousin.”

“The baby walrus?” Nott said doubtfully. Harry had described Dudley, Petunia, and Vernon a bit in his letters.

“Not in looks,” Harry said. “Although I wish, it’d be so easy to poke fun at him. No, just—he’s so self-centered. Dudley’s the same way. World revolves around him.”

Nott smirked. “Yeah, that’s Malfoy, all right. Oh—”

Harry looked up just as the door slid open and Neville Longbottom paused on the threshold, biting his lip. “Hey, Ha-Potter,” he said. “Jules said you were down this way and, well, they’re being very loud—he was complaining about how you two just wanted to read, and I was wondering—can I join you?”

“Come in,” Nott said. Harry glanced at him and saw the appraising look his potential friend was giving Longbottom. “We’re not really reading, but I promise we’re quieter than a compartment full of probable Gryffindors.”

Longbottom grinned. “That’s all I ask.”

He sat down next to Harry and saw the book on the seat next to Nott. “Hey, is that a Muggle novel?”

“It’s mine,” Harry said. “I was reading it, and he wanted a look.”

“Huh.” Neville pulled out his own book, which seemed to be Herbology, and then he registered the title of Nott’s book and froze.

Harry tensed. He’d forgotten—Nott’s book was quite obviously not standard issue first-year content, and if Longbottom pitched a fit—

“You like Herbology, then?” Longbottom said, looking a bit nervous but determined.

Nott leaned forward, a gleam in his eye. “I do. This is a new book, though, I haven’t gotten very far, but there’s this one plant that produces sap that can turn a wizard into a Squib temporarily.”

Longbottom looked somewhere between sickened and fascinated.

Harry returned to his potions book, keeping half an ear on their conversation to make sure Nott didn’t eat Longbottom alive, but it turned out that Longbottom was quite the herbology prodigy thanks to his family apparently owning loads of greenhouses and a major chunk of the magical plant industry, and once he got over his nervousness he and Nott had quite a good conversation going. Most of it flew right over Harry’s head, and once he figured out that Longbottom wasn’t as prone to dumb stereotypes as Jules and Weasley, he tuned them out.

“Theo, darling,” someone crooned.

Harry looked up and saw a smirking eleven-year-old girl with icy blond hair.

“Daphne,” Nott said, looking resigned. “Should’ve known you’d find me eventually.”

“Couldn’t miss you,” Daphne said, sitting down with Nott like she owned the compartment. Another boy followed her in, short with curly brown hair and blue glasses and a round face.

Introductions were made. Daphne turned out to be Daphne Greengrass, from yet another old Pureblood family who tended to end up in either Slytherin or Hufflepuff, while the other boy was Anthony Goldstein, a cousin of hers by marriage. They’d grown up together by default. Harry could tell they bickered like siblings. Both of them expressed the now-expected shock that the famous Jules Potter had an older twin brother, which Harry brushed off with the canned excuse that he’d grown up away from his family for security reasons. They were soon joined by Daphne’s friend Tracy Davis, a halfblood witch, and then another witch named Sue Li who saw Daphne demonstrate a hairstyling charm and stepped in to ask about it and somehow never left. Harry was shocked that their conversations flowed so easily. At any given time, at least two topics were being discussed, and while it spilled over into fairly heated arguing several times, no one got really angry. Nott seemed reluctantly interested with everyone, and like Harry, a little surprised that so many people conversed so easily.

Harry raised an eyebrow at him. Nott shook his head.

Harry focused back on the argument between Goldstein, Li, and Davis about whether it would be possible to enchant a Muggle radio to work in Hogwarts. Greengrass was listening with an expression of reluctant interest. Harry figured she’d probably grown up with some of the anti-Muggle beliefs James was always going on about, but at least she wasn’t picking a fight about it.

A bit of paper hit his forehead. Harry just managed to catch it before it hit the floor. Nott was determinedly not looking at him, which told Harry exactly where the paper had come from.

He surreptitiously unfolded it. The message was short and to the point. To answer what I think you were trying to ask me, people tend to avoid me because of my surname.

He nodded slowly, aware that Nott would see the motion in his peripheral vision, dropped the note on the floor behind his foot, and set it on fire with a thought.

No one so much as twitched, so he’d gone unnoticed. Good. He didn’t want to let slip just yet that he could do wandless, wordless magic, no matter how simple his tricks were. Even James and Jules didn’t know.

“Excuse me,” someone said, “has anyone seen a cat? Some girl’s got out, I said I’d help her look—oh, is that the second year Potions textbook?”

Everyone looked up, blinking, to find a bushy-haired young witch standing stubbornly in the doorway, looking with interest at Nott, who’d pulled out the second-year Potions book from his trunk to prove a point to Longbottom about the use of a particular plant.

“Yes…” Nott said.

“Is it good? My mum and dad wouldn’t let me buy the second or third year books, they said the first-year set would be enough. I’ve already memorized all the course books, of course, I just hope it’ll be enough, I’m the first person from my family to have magic, it was ever such a surprise when the letter came—I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, do you mind if I join you?”

Harry couldn’t quite process this entire stream of rapid-fire words.

A sneer was already forming on Greengrass’ face, and Nott looked somewhere between cold and bemused, but Goldstein elbowed Greengrass sharply in the ribs and said, “Yeah, sure, I think we can make space for one more—”

Harry, Longbottom, and Li shifted to allow space for the newcomer on their side of the compartment. It was getting a bit cramped, but they made it work.

Greengrass, and Nott were noticeably cool towards Granger at first. It didn’t that she was rather a know-it-all, but Harry didn’t think she was trying to come off that way. Mostly she just seemed like an overachiever who was a bit desperate for friends. He’d seen kids like her in Muggle school and knew she probably hadn’t had many before. The smart ones always got picked on by people like Dudley’s gang. So while he found her chatter irritating, he was willing to put up with her, especially since she was actually intelligent. Plus it was informative to watch Greengrass and Nott deal with the presence of a Muggle-born. Greengrass never quite lost the vague disdain, but Nott was at least trying. And neither of them made any sneering comments.

In fact, Harry got so engrossed in their various conversations that he didn’t even notice the changing landscape until a brisk knock sounded and a tall redheaded boy—probably an older Weasley—stuck his head into the compartment. “We’ll be at Hogwarts soon,” he said. “Best be changing into your robes.” He paused, looking at wands lying across laps and textbooks open to where people had been arguing about their contents. “Budding Ravenclaws, I see,” he said with a grin.

Harry snorted—he couldn’t help it.

The prefect looked at him and recognition flashed, but thankfully, he didn’t comment. “See you all in school,” he said with a proud, if pinched, expression, and left.

The compartment slowly emptied as the others left to find their trunks and change into their robes, until only Harry and Nott were left. Longbottom asked if he could come back and join them instead of Jules’ crew for the trip into the school. Harry tried not to laugh as he assured the boy that he’d be welcome.

He and Nott packed up their books and wands and changed into their school robes, talking casually and occasionally about nothing particularly important.

“What’d you think of Granger?” Nott asked after a bit.

Harry shrugged. “Bit annoying, but maybe we can train the know-it-all out of her. If nothing else she’ll be useful to possibly study with.”

“I’d be willing to make this crew a study group,” Nott said thoughtfully. “I have to say, I’ve never met a Muggle-born before.”

Harry was surprised for all of half a second before he remembered who Nott’s family was and that of course he probably didn’t go to things that Muggle-borns got invited to as well. “She’s no less smart than us,” he said. “Just… different social graces.”

“Someone’s got to instruct her in the etiquette,” Nott huffed, “or Daphne’s gonna lose it within two months and hex that girl eight ways from Sunday.”

Harry snorted, picturing the icy Daphne going up against heart-on-her-sleeve Hermione Granger. “I have a feeling she might handle that a bit better than you expect.”

“I’ve been on the receiving end of a hex from Daphne,” Nott said with finality. “It’s not a pleasant place, let me tell you.”

Harry made him tell that story, which involved a Christmas feast and a bit of Babbling Brew slipped into Daphne’s drink. Nott was halfway through when Longbottom came back, which of course meant Nott had to start the story over, and then Goldstein popped up again with Sue Li in tow, and by the time Nott finished the story, it was time to get off the train.

Leaving his trunk behind left a nervous feeling in Harry’s stomach, since it contained almost everything he owned in the world, but the others went along with it without hesitation so he made himself expand it to full size and leave it on the rack next to Nott’s before he followed the others off the train.

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years this way!” a deep voice bellowed.

Harry and Nott both jumped a bit when a looming figure, far too large to be a natural man, lumbered through the steam from the train. He was carrying a lantern and his face looked kindly enough, but Harry couldn’t help seeing Uncle Vernon when the big man walked by, and he shrank back a bit.

Nott eyed him, but didn’t comment. “I guess we’re supposed to follow him,” he said.

Harry chewed his lip and nodded.

The giant led them down to the edge of a lake, turned black by the lateness of the hour, where a small fleet of wooden boats waited. Harry, Nott, Longbottom, and Goldstein climbed into one; Greengrass, Davis, Sue Li, and, surprisingly, Hermione Granger were in the boat next to them. Granger chattered on with Li, oblivious to Greengrass’ cold glares. Nott elbowed Harry, who turned and exchanged a smirk with him over the Muggle-born witch’s somewhat lacking social skills.

“If she makes it across the lake without any kind of ‘accident,’ I’ll be shocked,” Nott muttered.

Harry kept an eye on the other boat, but Daphne was too well bred to try anything so crass as dumping Granger in the lake, and simply resorted to largely ignoring the other girl. Davis managed to bounce back and forth between Greengrass and the other two, looking torn between her friend’s snobbery and her obvious interest in whatever Granger and Li were talking about.

Nott and Longbottom got caught back up in herbology—apparently Longbottom’s father had enjoyed the subject as well, and used to tell the Longbottom matriarch about some strange plants that grew in the lake—while Goldstein chatted amiably about what members of his family had been in what houses and Harry listened with vague interest. Everyone stopped, though, when they curved around a slight peninsula and the castle came into view.

It was beautiful.

Harry’s eyes couldn’t drink it in fast enough. He realized he was leaning forward and made himself sit up straight, but he couldn’t contain his excitement, couldn’t contain his hunger. The school was big, and clearly old, with towers and battlements and windows glowing with golden light. Somehow intimidating and friendly at the same time. You are welcome here, it said, but it will not automatically be easy.

And it practically hummed with magic.

Harry’s fists clenched. This was everything he’d been dreaming of, and more.

“Merlin,” Longbottom breathed.

Nott and Harry exchanged a glance. Nott was trying to hide it, and he’d never verbalize it, but he was just as awed as Longbottom and Harry.

Harry grinned at the other boy. Nott hesitated, and then grinned back.

They saw Malfoy walking along with his bodyguards and three other girls and a boy, all clearly quite focused on Malfoy. Harry rolled his eyes and caught Nott doing the same.

“It’s going to be so fun if we have Defense with him,” Nott muttered. “It’s basically a school sanctioned opportunity to hex people.”

“Sounds bloody fantastic,” Harry said. “I can already think of a few people I’d love to aim at.”

Nott sent him a sly glance. “Let’s see… Jules Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Malfoy?”

“Aren’t you the clever one,” Harry deadpanned.

“Yes, actually, thanks for noticing.”

Longbottom squinted at them. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you two disliked each other.”

“Oh, we do,” Nott said.

“Bordering on hate,” Harry agreed, trying not to laugh at how confused Longbottom looked. He lasted right up until he made eye contact with Nott, and then they both lost the battle and cracked up.

Longbottom shook his head. “You’re both nutters.”

“Takes one to know one,” Greengrass retorted, leaning an elbow on the slightly shorter Goldstein’s shoulder as she rejoined them, trailed by the other girls from her boat.

“We nutters have to stick together,” Goldstein agreed, grinning.

Nott opened his mouth but was interrupted by the sudden arrival of multiple ghosts soaring through the front of the room the first years had been herded into. Harry jumped and promptly got annoyed at himself. At least he hadn’t shrieked, like a good third of the students had.

The ghosts made a big show of pretending to notice the first years, hinting at the Sorting Ceremony, and soared away.

“Well that was subtle,” Harry muttered. Only Nott and Goldstein heard him. Or maybe they were the only ones who appreciated his sarcasm. Either way, Goldstein snorted and Nott smirked.

A tall, severe woman entered the room and gave them a quick speech. Her hair was scraped back into a bun and probably didn’t dare so much as attempt an escape. Harry was a bit wary of her; something about the sternness of her face reminded him of Aunt Petunia a bit, but there was a kindness and steadiness to her that Petunia didn’t have. So maybe she wouldn’t be too bad.

She introduced herself as Professor McGonagall and began organizing them into loose lines. Harry nodded goodbye to his companions and worked his way through the crowd just as McGonagall reached Jules.

“Professor?” he said tentatively.

She turned, looked down at him, and promptly raised her eyebrows so far they almost disappeared into her hairline. “Mr. Potter, and—Mr. Potter?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry agreed, trying to be polite and ignore the glares he was getting from Jules. Luckily the room was a chaotic mess of first years trying to sort themselves by alphabetical surname and no one really paid him any attention. “I was wondering—alphabetically, I’d go before Jules, my name’s Harry, but I’d rather let him go first—I know he’s excited about the Sorting, and people are going to point at me—”

“I suppose I can make an exception,” McGonagall said, still clearly not over the shock of the Potter twins.

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry said as politely as he could manage, and elbowed his way into line after Jules.

“What was that for?” Jules hissed.

Harry shrugged. “If everyone’s talking about me, it’ll take away from your dramatic moment, little brother.”

Jules looked caught between furious and confused. Clearly he couldn’t tell whether he’d just been insulted, which of course he had, but no one with any sense of subtlety was there to interpret it for him.

They might’ve bickered more, but McGonagall called for their attention and opened the door she’d come from, leading the double line of first years out into the Great Hall.

Harry was so stunned by trying to take everything in at once that he almost stumbled when the line stopped moving. Jules elbowed him with a frown. “Be careful,” he hissed.

With a massive effort, Harry managed to keep himself from elbowing Jules right back. It would only escalate, and they were up on stage, being stared at by over three hundred people. Not the time for sibling squabbles.

There was an old, battered, pointed wizard’s hat sitting on a stool on the dais, front and center. Harry was just starting to wonder what was going on—he’d read about the Hat in Hogwarts, A History, but it wasn’t moving—when it opened its brim and began to sing.

It had a surprisingly good voice, for a hat.

Harry only half listened to it. The descriptions of the Houses were accurate enough, he supposed, from what he’d read, but short and simple. He was more interested in watching the students. The table of red-and-gold was the on his far left, obviously Gryffindor, and then Hufflepuff in black and yellow, Ravenclaw in blue and bronze, and finally Slytherin in green and silver on the far right. He was pretty sure they’d put Slytherin and Gryffindor on opposite sides of the Great Hall for a reason.

The Hat finished singing, everyone applauded, and McGonagall stepped to the front with a scroll in her hands.

“Abbott, Hannah!”

Harry watched the blond girl walk up to the stool in the middle of the dais and jam the hat over her pigtails.

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

The Hufflepuff table erupted in cheers. Harry saw the glint of money changing hands and decided people must bet on which house would get the first Sort every year.

Susan Bones, who Harry knew from Jules’ little get-togethers, went to Hufflepuff, and a girl Harry thought he remembered Sue Li mentioning named Jessica Banderas was the first to go Ravenclaw. Davis went to Slytherin, which surprised Harry a little; she’d seemed like more a Ravenclaw but he supposed he didn’t really know her all that well. Seamus Finnegan ended up in Gryffindor, which surprised Harry not at all. Granger took almost two full minutes to sort, but eventually the hat opened its brim and screamed “GRYFFINDOR!” Granger was clearly pleased. That one did surprise Harry a little.

Anthony Goldstein went to Ravenclaw, Malfoy’s goons to Slytherin, Sue Li to Ravenclaw, and Longbottom to Gryffindor. That Sorting took even longer than Granger’s and made Harry’s eyebrows flick up. Harry’s eyebrows rose. Either the lions would eat Longbottom alive or he’d learn to display a bit of the spine he’d shown when arguing with Nott about plants.

Malfoy went to Slytherin, and with every name, Harry got more and more nervous.

Not about the Sorting so much as—

Everyone was going to stare at him.

This is what you wanted, he reminded himself harshly. You deliberately kept your existence a secret for the last month. Now deal with it.

Nott went to Slytherin. He didn’t seem surprised in the slightest, and sauntered over to sit with Daphne, ever-so-slightly separated from Malfoy, the goons, and the stocky girl Harry had seen with Malfoy earlier. Evidently Greengrass wasn’t much more fond of Malfoy than Nott. Harry wasn’t surprise. She valued class and subtlety, and Malfoy had neither, only money and arrogance.

Padma Patil ended up in Ravenclaw. Parvati went to Gryffindor. Harry could barely pay attention; he was too busy trying to wipe his sweaty palms on his robes without being too obvious about it.

Finally—

“Potter, Julian!”

Whispers broke out over the hall. “Potter, did she say?” “The Jules Potter?”

Jules walked up to the stool like he hadn’t a care in the world, sat down, and put the hat on his head.

It took barely five seconds to settle on “GRYFFINDOR!”

Harry would’ve felt vindicated except he was too busy trying not to panic.

The red-and-gold table exploded in screams. The Weasley twins were chanting “We got Potter! We got Potter!” Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw applauded enthusiastically; the Slytherins looked to be clapping mostly out of decorum.

“Potter, Hadrian!”

Harry lifted his chin, made sure his blank mask was firmly in place, and walked up to the stool as confidently as he could manage, ignoring the sudden, louder set of whispers and confusion.

He picked up the hat and put it on his head. Its wide brim slid down, caught on his glasses, and then slipped over them.

“Hmm,” said a little voice in his ear. “Interesting… A fine mind, plenty of courage. Talent, oh my goodness, yes—wandless magic? At your age?”

Are you going to tell anyone? Harry thought as loudly as he could.

The hat snickered. “It’s hardly my place to reveal your secrets. Oh, look at that, such a thirst to prove yourself—and you don’t forgive easily, do you… Yes, I think I know where you’ll be great…”

Harry thought back on what Ollivander had said. On being called freak, of James and Jules just assuming he was weak and helpless and to be sent away. Yes, he thought. Greatness. I want that.

“Well, in that case… better be SLYTHERIN!” The hat screamed the last word for the whole hall to hear, and Harry bit back a grin as he stood up and took the hat off.

The hall was dead silent.

He stubbornly ignored the shock. Didn’t look at Jules or anything except the black-and-green blur of the Slytherin robes. He was halfway to his new House table before they got over their shock and started applauding. The rest of the school followed suit.

Mercifully, McGonagall moved on briskly to “Roper, Sophie!” just as Harry slid into a set next to Tracy and across from Nott.

“Well, this is certainly a surprise,” a snide voice said.

Harry glanced to his right while applauding for Sophie Roper’s sorting to Hufflepuff and saw the same pretty dark-haired girl who’d been with Malfoy earlier.

“Parkinson, right?” he said, hoping not to deliberately antagonize anyone just yet. He knew exactly what a shock his sorting was.

“Pansy Parkinson, at your service,” the girl said, giving him a cunning smile. On Parkinson’s other side, Malfoy studiously ignored them in a way that told Harry he was hanging on to every word. “I can’t say anyone was expecting you to be in Slytherin.”

“Or, you know, to even exist,” Greengrass said. She and Parkinson made eye contact. Harry thought the temperature fell a few degrees.

Parkinson smirked. “That, too.”

“I lived with relatives until a month and a half ago,” Harry said coolly. “For… security reasons.”

“What relatives?” Parkinson said, clearly interested. Harry could already tell her sort; he’d known girls like her before, who collected gossip and rumors like they were prized gems and used what they knew to rule the social ladder. It’d be bad to get on her bad side, but he also didn’t particularly like her, or the way she hung on Malfoy’s every word.

“My mother’s Muggle sister and her husband,” he said flatly.

It was, as he’d predicted, rather like dropping a bomb on the table. “Muggles?” Malfoy said, losing his studied disinterest. The others had learned on the train already, but Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, the stocky girl, and Parkinson were visibly shocked. “I hope you washed the taint off.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s not as if it’s contagious.”

The stocky girl curled her lip. “So I suppose it’s as if you grew up Muggle-born.”

Harry was sorely tempted to wandlessly lift the pitcher of water from the middle of the table and pour it on her head, which should make his point quite nicely, but he didn’t want to play that card just yet. “I suppose,” he said indifferently.

Malfoy sneered. Harry was starting to think he made that face rather a lot. “A Slytherin with a Muggle childhood. Wait till my father hears about this. You’ll probably disgrace all of us with your primitive ways.”

Harry glanced around his end of the table. Nott, Greengrass, and Davis were all clearly waiting for him to handle this on their own. He could already tell Slytherin was the house of power plays and internal politics, meaning that he had to deal with this challenge or they’d all think of him as the weak one and probably shun him.

Fine. He’d dealt with worse bullies than Malfoy.

“I did plenty of reading over the summer,” he said pleasantly. “Enough to know that it’s a poor idea to antagonize the heir to an Ancient and Noble House on the first day of term. A lesson some of us could apparently stand to learn.”

Malfoy blushed bright red. “You think you’re so clever, Potter,” he snarled.

“No,” Harry said flatly. “Just right.”

He turned back to Nott, hoping no one could see how nervous he was, hoping that had been enough to at least keep him from turning into Malfoy’s verbal punching bag.

Greengrass was watching him the way a cat does something that it had thought was a mouse but suddenly shows it has claws. Davis was grinning and Nott looked approving.

Ron Weasley, unsurprisingly, followed Jules, Finnegan, and Dean Thomas into Gryffindor, and with “Zabini, Blaise” being placed in Slytherin, the Sorting finished.

Zabini took a seat in between Crabbe and Nott, on the opposite side of the table from Harry. He was tall and dark-skinned with a cutting white smile and an expression that made it seem like he was perpetually laughing on the inside at a joke the rest of them were too ignorant to get.

“Zabini,” Malfoy mused. “Not the Black Widow’s son?”

Zabini’s smile went from cutting to lethal. “On the chance that I am, Malfoy, are you really willing to piss me off?”

Malfoy grumbled.

Harry raised his eyebrows at Nott, who mouthed later just as a tall man with a flowing silver robe and tastelessly purple robes stood up and gestured for silence. “Welcome!” he cried, beaming as if nothing could’ve made him happier than seeing all their faces. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

“Thank you!”

He sat back down.

Harry stared at the high table, then turned back to his year mates. “Is he—a bit mad?”

“Bloody disaster of a headmaster, if you ask me,” Davis sighed.

“And yes,” Nott added. “He’s… off upstairs. Of course, he’s also one of the most powerful wizards alive today, arguably the most powerful, and rumor has it he’s the only person the Dark Lord ever feared.”

“And he’s a school headmaster?” Harry said in disbelief. “If I was that good a wizard, you can bet I’d be doing anything except—except hanging around this place teaching.”

The others chuckled, and then the conversation was interrupted by the appearance of so much food Harry’s jaw dropped.

“Tuck in, Potter,” Nott said with a smirk.

“I love magic,” he said fervently, serving himself a healthy amount of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.

Conversation mostly died as they steadily ate their way through everything on the table, and them all the desserts when the main course disappeared. Malfoy seemed content to retreat to his own conversation with Parkinson, and Harry stuck with Nott, Davis, Greengrass, and to some degree Zabini, who seemed content to stay quiet and aloof.

Harry was starting to feel warm and sleepy from all the food he’d eaten and sipped ice water to keep himself alert. His new housemates didn’t seem the sort he could drop his guard around. Not yet, anyway, especially not the girls and Malfoy and his goons. He finally dared turn his attention up to the high table. He’d been determined, this whole time, to act as though his sorting wasn’t a Dramatic Event, which of course meant not sneakily looking around at people’s reactions.

McGonagall was seated in between a very short man and a tall man with slightly greasy dark hair. Since the first years sat at the table closest to them, Harry had an excellent view of the professor on the end, who wore a turban and seemed exceedingly nervous, especially whenever the black-haired man turned to talk to him.

“Who’s got the turban?” he said.

Nott glanced at the table. “New Defense teacher.”

“They say the job’s cursed,” Parkinson said with relish. “No one’s been able to hold the position for more than a year in over a decade.”

“His name’s Quirrell,” Nott said offhandedly. “Apparently he had a bit of a scare with a vampire and walks around with garlic in his turban now.”

They all stared at him.

“What?” he asked. “My cousin’s a Ravenclaw fourth year.”

Harry glanced up at the high table again just in time to meet Quirrell’s eyes. A sudden hot pain seared in his scar.

He winced once before he mastered himself and tucked the pain away.

“You all right, Potter?” Nott said.

Harry met his eyes squarely. “Fine. Who’s the professor who looks like he wants to poison me?” He had a pretty good idea based on James’ furious ranting about someone named Snape, nicknamed Snivellus, who had apparently gone to school with James and his friends and was a “greasy, slimy, Slytherin git.” Jules apparently had instructions to “not accept any bias” from the mysterious professor. Harry had stayed out of those discussions while privately deciding anyone James Potter went to the trouble of giving such a nasty nickname couldn’t be that bad.

Greengrass glanced at the black-haired man, who seemed to be alternating between glaring at the Gryffindor table and at Harry. “Professor Snape,” she said, confirming Harry’s suspicions. “Our Head of House, and the Potions master here.”

“He really does not seem to like you, Potter,” Malfoy sneered.

Harry glanced at the table again. “Well, he seems to like my brother even less, so I’ll take my chances.”

Nott and Greengrass took turns explaining what their older relatives had told them about the various teachers, with Zabini, Harry, and Davis in particular paying close attention.

Dumbledore dismissed hem from the hall with a few warnings, namely that the Forbidden Forest was forbidden—“Never would’ve guessed,” Nott muttered with heavy sarcasm, drawing smirks from Harry and Zabini—and that a particular corridor on the third floor was strictly out-of-bounds on penalty of death, leaving Harry wondering exactly what kind of school this was.

“Slytherin first years,” someone said firmly. “Come with me, please.”

They looked up and found an older girl and boy waiting for them, both wearing little silver badges embellished with a stylized P. Prefects, Harry assumed.

The first years obediently shuffled off their seats and fell in behind the prefects. Harry lingered so no one would be able to get behind him; Nott casually let Malfoy pass him by to walk with Harry at the back, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by anyone except possibly the monosyllabic slabs of beef who appeared to consider themselves Malfoy’s shadows.

The prefects introduced themselves as they walked as Gemma Fawcett and Tony McDougal, sixth year Slytherin prefects. Evidently the major wizarding school exams were at the end of fifth and seventh years in Hogwarts, so the sixth year prefects were responsible for handling the firsties. Harry paid attention to all their commentary about landmarks to help them find their way through the twistin corridors of the dungeons. He did not want to get lost down here. They also mentioned something about secret passages, which Harry resolved to search for at the first opportunity.

“That there is our Founder, Salazar Slytherin,” Fawcett said proudly, pointing at a large portrait depicting a sharp-faced, dark-haired man holding a large snake. He raised a scornful eyebrow at them all and turned away. “Most of the other Houses would assume the entrance to our dorms is behind the painting. If any of you corrects that misconception, you can expect one of the upper hears to hex your mouth shut while you sleep.”

Harry blinked. All right then.

“The entrance is actually down here,” Tony added, winking at them and pointing to a blank stretch of wall, then showing them that the wall sconce across from the concealed door had a tiny snake engraved on the side, where no one would think to look unless they knew it was there. After telling the password to the wall—“Firedrake”—the stone rumbled out of sight and let them into their common room.

Harry had thought he wouldn’t be impressed, not after Potter Manor, but he was. Distinctly. The common room was littered with chairs, tables, and couches; it might’ve been oppressive expect for the fire crackling merrily in the massive hearth and the white-gold glowing wizard lights shining from chandeliers and wall sconces all around the room. One wall was lined with books; another was made entirely of glass that seemed to look into the bottom of the lake. Harry imagined it’d be stunning during the day, but at night it was just blackness outside the windows. A large bulletin board, mostly empty, waited on the wall next to the entrance.

“Welcome home,” Fawcett said with a grin.

A few upper years were already camped out at the chairs and tables. They ignored the firsties. Some others came in the entrance, skirted the group of young students, and went into a passage over to Harry’s left that he guessed went to the dorms.

“First years, this way,” McDougal said.

They settled down into a series of sofas and chairs scattered around the fire, all facing Fawcett and McDougal. Four others joined them and introduced themselves as the new fifth year prefects, Ava Pucey and Lucas Roberts, and the seventh year prefects, Emily Taylor and Spencer Wright. The fifth and seventh years then sat down and let Fawcett and McDougal lead the orientation.

“I know you’re all tired, so we’ll keep this short,” Fawcett said. “Welcome to Slytherin. The people in these dorms will be your second family for the next seven years. After your biological family comes loyalty to the school, and within it, loyalty to Slytherin House.”

“Professor Snape, our Head of House, has certain standards,” McDougal continued. “Grades, for those who don’t know, are O—outstanding—E—exceeds expectations—A—acceptable—P—poor—and D—dreadful. On the OWLs in fifth year, you can actually get a T for troll, but that pretty much only happens if you sleep through the test or someone hits you with an Illiteracy Jinx.”

Harry made a note to look up and learn that hex.

“If you’re floundering in a class, come to one of us,” Fawcett advised. “Me or Tony first, then if you can’t find us, one of the fifth or seventh year prefects. We’ll arrange tutoring from one of the other upper years. We work together to keep everyone up to scratch.”

“We’ll pass out your schedules and maps of the castle in the morning,” Fawcett said. “We’ll lead you to your dorms tonight and to the Great Hall in the morning, but after that you should be able to find your way around. If you get really lost, poke the maps with your wands and say “Slytherin” and they’ll guide you back to the common room.”

“One last thing,” McDougal said. “The Slytherin rules.”

“Rule one: House unity above all. Whatever squabbles and power plays you have, keep them to yourselves. Never bicker with another Slytherin where another house can see.”

“You should be warned that most of the other houses don’t like us much,” Wright cut in. “We get on well enough with Ravenclaw in the classroom and most of the Hufflepuffs at least get what it’s like to be stereotyped, but a lot of the school—especially Gryffindor—will expect you to be a set of stupid prats. Don’t go picking fights and proving them right.” He paused. “At least, don’t be stupid. If they’re prats, go ahead and be a prat back.”

“Just do it with class,” Ava Pucey added, drawing laughter from the other prefects.

“Anyway,” McDougal said, “rule two. Don’t get caught. We’re Slytherins, meaning we do what it takes to be successful, even if that involves breaking the rules. But we’re also the house of cunning, which means if you’re breaking a rule, you better have a damn good reason, and you better have a plan to pull it off.”

“Rule three: if you do get caught, blame someone else, and make sure that person isn’t a Slytherin.”

“Rule four: Academic standards of excellence, like we covered.”

“Rule five: No dueling in the common room or the dorms. We don’t want to have to deal with repairing broken furniture, and no one likes it when the whole common rooms stinks of burned hair.”

“Rule six: no non-Slytherins in the common room. Ever. The password changes every week; it’ll be posted on the bulletin board on Mondays. Don’t tell it to anyone who’s not of this House.”

“Rule seven: what happens in the dungeons, stays in the dungeons.”

They paused, looking around at the first years. Harry had never seen a group of eleven-year-olds this solemn.

“All right,” Fawcett said at last, looking satisfied. “You’re all probably exhausted. Girls with me, boys with Tony.”

Harry fell in with Nott, Malfoy, the beefcakes, and Zabini. Tony showed them the branching passages of the boys’ dorms, explaining how the castle opened and closed rooms for every student. “There’s six of you, which is the most we ever put in a room,” he said. “You’re here. The doors are all labeled with what year you’re in, so you have zero excuse to barge in on another dorm. We all respect each other’s privacy; no peeking in upper year dorms and we won’t break into yours. Same goes for each other’s trunks and wardrobes. If you need warding spells, come talk to me or Wright. Bathrooms are at the end of the hall. Keep them clean and don’t leave your toiletries lying about. Clear?”

They all nodded, and he pushed the door open.

The room was long and rectangular, larger than Harry would’ve expected, with three beds on the left and three on the right. He took a second to decide—bed by the door, so he had an easy exit, or bed by the back, so he had a corner to back into and his roommates as buffers if a threat came in?

The decision was made for him when Zabini and Crabbe took the beds closest to the door. Harry made a beeline for the back corner and snagged the bed on the same side as Zabini; he had Nott next to him and Goyle across the aisle. Malfoy settled down in between Crabbe and Goyle, prattling on about how he shouldn’t have to share a room with anyone, and how he’d be complaining to his father about this, and how his father said the Head Boy and Girl got their own rooms, and he’d be going for that in a few years, thank you very much, and how his father told him there were secret passages in the Slytherin dorms if you were clever enough to find them. Harry and Nott made eye contact and Harry had to look away to keep himself from sniggering.

As soon as he sat on the bed, there was a pop and his trunk appeared at its foot. Harry was immensely relieved. He hadn’t realized how nervous he’d been about being separated from it until he got it back.

He watched Malfoy unpack into the wardrobe by his bed and decided there was no point in doing the same. The wardrobe section of his trunk was just as functional, and it allowed him a quick exit if he needed one. He changed into his pajamas and started muttering ward spells and silencing spells around his bed. He had nightmares sometimes, nightmares that made him talk and shout even if he never remembered them, and there was no way he’d let his dorm mates overhear. Or sneak up while he was sleeping. The book on wards that Nott gave him was complicated, and most of the spells in it were way beyond Harry’s current magical ability, but he’d mastered a simple one that would turn the curtains around his bed into a barrier and another that set off a wail if anyone but him tried to touch the bed. There were others that you could weave something called the Body-Bind Jinx or the Stunning Jinx or another, nastier curse into, but he couldn’t cast either Petrificus totalus or Stupefy yet, much less the more complicated ward. The book said that stunners needed a stronger and more mature magical core than almost anyone under age thirteen or fourteen possessed. The Body-bind, on the other hand, could probably be cast by a skilled first year. He resolved to practice it soon. Possibly on Weasley.

Nott and Zabini both seemed to be casting wards of their own. Malfoy frowned at them and crawled into bed, looking annoyed; clearly he hadn’t thought to learn any ward spells. Neither of the beefcakes did, either, but that was no surprise.

Harry nodded goodnight to Nott and Zabini and climbed into his bed. His silencing spell cut off all sound as soon as he was fully on the mattress. He’d have to find a way to let sound in but not out instead of the spell being two-way.

The bed was even larger than his bed at Potter Manor, with a heavy duvet, silk sheets, and a canopy and curtains of a rich dark green. He saw Nott simply point his wand at the curtains to close them and copied the other boy; they slid obligingly closed.

I’m at Hogwarts, he thought with delight, I’m going to learn magic, and no words had ever sounded so wonderful.

***

Even a month at Potter Manor hadn’t been enough to undo the ingrained habit of getting up early. When Harry pulled his curtains apart, the window into the lake that formed the back wall of their dorm, which he hadn’t noticed the night before, still showed only blackness. His crappy digital watch showed it was 5:43 in the morning.

He strapped his wand holster back on, pulled the holly wand from under his pillow and slid it into place, gathered his toiletries, and headed to the bathroom. It only took him five minutes to shower, brush his teeth, and fail to get his hair in any kind of order.

When Nott and Zabini came up to breakfast, they found Harry already seated at the Slytherin table, eating a piece of toast and reading The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts.

“Morning, Potter,” Nott said, sliding onto the bench next to him.

“Harry,” Harry corrected absently. It was a school thing in general and a Pureblood thing in particular to go by surnames until official permission was granted to use the familiar first name. He figured, after half a summer swapping letters and being sorted into the same House, he could extend that permission to Nott.

Nott paused. “Only if you’ll call me Theo.”

“Done.” Harry pushed the pitcher of water towards Theo without looking up.

“I’m insulted,” Zabini said, not sounding very insulted. “No first names for me?”

Harry finally set his book aside and raised an eyebrow. “We met yesterday.”

Zabini smiled beatifically. “Yes, but we shared a dorm last night, Potter. Surely that counts for something.” He paused. “I can go first. Please, oh famous brother of the Boy Who Lived, would you do me the honor of calling me Blaise?”

“Er—okay,” Harry said, a little confused, as he’d never met anyone quite like Zabini—Blaise—before.”

Theo heaved a sigh. “Fine, I guess we’re all on a first name basis now. Wonderful to have that sorted. Someone get me food already.”

“Somebody’s not a morning person,” Blaise said, shoving a basket of still-steaming toast towards Theo.

Theo scowled. “What tipped you off?”

“Mainly the Stinging Hex you sent at Malfoy.”

Harry choked on his toast. “You what?”

Theo grinned meanly. “He was nattering on about his father and how he’s so irritated he can’t have his own broom and his father some more. I was sick of it.”

“Nailed him right in the arse,” Blaise said with satisfaction. “I’ve never heard a human make a noise that sounded so much like a large rodent before.”

Harry scowled at them. “Next time, Nott, do it when I’m around to watch.”

Theo snickered. “Don’t get up at such an unholy hour, then. How did you even wake up before the sun?”

“Old habits,” Harry said shortly.

Theo paused. He’d definitely picked up on enough from Harry’s letters, and from their conversation in Diagon Alley, to guess that life with the Dursleys had been less than ideal. Blaise looked between them, clearly picking up on the subtext.

“And where, precisely, did you develop that habit?” Blaise asked, when neither Harry nor Theo said anything else about it.

Harry shrugged. “My Muggle relatives expected me to cook breakfast.”

Blaise’s face darkened. “A wizard, slaving away for Muggles—that’s bloody appalling,” he muttered.

Harry found himself wondering what exactly Blaise’s views on Muggles and Muggle-borns were. Greengrass clearly thought them inferior; Davis didn’t seem to mind, but being a half-blood, that wasn’t surprising. Harry could already tell, though, that there was an unspoken seventh Slytherin rule: people who tolerated or accepted Muggles and Muggle-borns didn’t put up a fight on principle, and blood purity supremacists didn’t make a point of fitting “Mudblood” or “filthy Muggles” or “blood traitor” into every other sentence. With the exception of Malfoy, who for all he was a Slytherin seemed to have no more than a teaspoon of tact. Which all meant that though Harry liked Blaise, or thought he did, they definitely weren’t close enough for that conversation. He hadn’t even really talked about it with Theo.

They ate breakfast and speculated about their classes while the Great Hall slowly filled. Harry was pleased to see that Longbottom and Granger came in together, and that both of them nodded at him and Theo before sheering off to the Gryffindor table.

“Fraternizing with the enemy, Potter?” Blaise said lazily.

Theo glared halfheartedly at him. “We met them on the train. They’re both all right. If they can manage to avoid the contagious Gryffindor stupidity.”

“If anyone can avoid catching stupid, it’s Granger,” Harry said drily. “Hopefully she can teach Longbottom some spine and he can teach her some etiquette.”

Blaise looked between them and the Gryffindor table. “That girl’s a Muggle-born?”

Harry nodded like it didn’t matter in the slightest.

Blaise clearly wasn’t fooled by his casual act, but let it slide. “Longbottom… They’re an old family, right?”

“Pureblood back at least fourteen generations, I think,” Theo confirmed.

“Could do worse in a Gryffindor ally, I suppose.” Blaise eyed them both. “You do realize it’ll be hard to maintain any kind of social standing in Slytherin if you’re friends with a Gryffindor Muggle-born.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Harry said scornfully.

Blaise shrugged and went back to his food.

Malfoy sauntered in at three minutes to eight, which was when breakfast officially started, with his entourage of Parkinson, Bulstrode, Crabbe, and Goyle. Greengrass and Davis were close behind them and occupied the middle ground between Malfoy’s crew and Harry, Blaise, and Theo.

Not thirty seconds after they sat down, Snape came down from the dais holding a stack of parchments. His face was icy cold and his voice pitched just low enough that they all had to be perfectly still and silent to hear him over the growing breakfast glamor as he instructed them to get to class on time, comport themselves with decorum, and stay out of trouble. This last was accompanied by a particularly nasty sneer sent Harry’s direction. He kept his face blandly polite and respectful, hands resting neatly on the table, body language as nonthreatening as he could make it without literally bowing.

Snape handed out their schedules with one final sneer and stalked away.

Harry glanced his over.

“Herbology with Ravenclaw, Defense with Gryffindor, and Transfiguration,” Nott said. “Today’s going to be fantastic.”