Chapter 13
"Ravenclaw really doesn't have many students," I noted thoughtfully on the morning of September second, walking to breakfast with a group of only six other first-years under the guidance of a prefect. Very strange, very unfamiliar sensations. I knew, of course, that Hogwarts was essentially an elite school that didn't accept just anyone. You either studied here because you were local nobility—the richer part of it—or because you were genuinely gifted in magic.
But even so, seven first-years for the entire House felt almost too modest… No wonder we almost always had double classes with another House. Holding lessons for only seven students would be wasteful, especially given the qualifications of our professors, where every second one seemed to be a certified master in his subject.
The prefects actually told us about that on the way to the Great Hall. They also explained how to behave in this or that class—where you could relax a little, and where you shouldn't even breathe too loudly unless you wanted to end up boiled alive in a cauldron.
"Oh yes, even outside the school there are some very grim rumors about our Potions master," said Camila Atwood, Ravenclaw's female prefect, in a quiet, intense voice, as if telling an entertaining ghost story. "But don't worry too much. You're lucky this year—you won't have Potions in the first two days. You've looked at your timetable already, haven't you? Who knows what you have today?"
"Intro Charms and double History of Magic," one of my classmates replied instantly. I still didn't know his name, but I couldn't help noticing that plenty of the young Ravenclaws had already checked the schedule. For a moment, I even felt like I was the only one who hadn't bothered with something so important.
"Correct. But remember, your first Charms lesson will be with Hufflepuff, and you'll be sitting through History of Magic with Gryffindor," the prefect continued immediately, now talking about the other Houses and their quirks. That was how we reached the Great Hall, where dozens of eyes focused on me almost at once.
"Ugh. I can feel their attention on my skin," I shivered in annoyance, spotting a familiar blond head and giving Draco Malfoy a quick nod. Draco practically lit up from the gesture, nodding back brightly, and within seconds he was already chatting excitedly with his Housemates.
A funny little brat—he managed to pull some of Slytherin's attention onto himself… while making the other Houses stare at me with even more focus, interest, and confusion. Only Ravenclaw didn't show any especially active curiosity, proudly and rather elegantly shielding me from the rest.
"Of course. How else would it be? For once, a celebrity like this ended up in their House, not in some Gryffindor or Slytherin, which had almost three times as many students as we did," I thought, while in practice trying not to clutter my head with small things.
A sleepless night in a new place, mixed with anxious thoughts and a sharp surge of motivation to study mind-protecting magic as soon as possible… none of that helped my mood or energy, so I tried not to focus on what irritated me.
Instead, I chose to focus on breakfast, which wasn't nearly as good as yesterday's feast. And when even that stopped helping, I shifted my attention to my magical sensitivity, measuring the strength of the professors at the staff table.
The Headmaster stood out the most, as expected, eclipsing everyone else in the castle with his… let's call it an aura. But our Head of House didn't fade next to Dumbledore either—Professor Flitwick, who looked like a strange little half-goblin dwarf, felt like a very powerful wizard, with something slightly "wrong" in his aura.
"How interesting… and Quirrell doesn't give off anything like that. A normal wizard. Not even particularly strong," I analyzed without lifting my eyes to the staff table, remembering perfectly well that this professor was supposed to come with one bodiless Dark Lord attached… but right now there was nothing of the sort.
Either my sensitivity simply wasn't strong enough to pierce someone's concealment—which was much more likely and fit my theory that other wizards must have their own ways of evaluating magical ability—or everything I'd seen in the films was, in fact, just a story.
"I'll have to watch that wizard carefully… and I shouldn't dismiss the possibility that the films were just fiction," I tried to rein in my excitement as we left for our first lessons.
Unfortunately, the lessons themselves contained nothing even remotely exciting. Intro classes are intro classes—they familiarize children with a subject rather than teach the secrets of great magic. Charms with our Head of House was a perfect example. History of Magic, meanwhile, was a complete disappointment. The fact that the subject was taught by a totally unmotivated ghost was confirmed, and it didn't improve my mood.
And we had two History lessons in a row. Wonderful. Still, I figured I'd find ways to occupy myself on such boring classes later. Today, the first day, I couldn't even nap through the lecture. The constant attention and whispers behind my back wouldn't let me relax… and after class, some of those whisperers didn't hesitate to come after me with questions.
"Hey, Harry Potter! Is it true you personally finished off the Dark Lord?" A voice I immediately disliked grabbed my shoulder, cutting off my attempt to escape before it even started… and I disliked its owner even more once I recognized him as one of the characters I hated most in this now very real franchise.
It wasn't that I wanted to judge real people by a crooked, half-forgotten image from a screen—but I wasn't judging. Ron Weasley had already shown himself in all his glory during half of our double History class, annoying everyone with loud conversations and even shouting. The ghost professor barely reacted to it, unfortunately.
"Who are you?" I muttered, turning to the red-haired, loud, overly excited boy. "And what do you want from me?"
"Uh…" the Gryffindor said profoundly, earning chuckles from a couple of his new friends. "I'm Ron Weasley. The youngest of the Weasley brothers."
"And what do you want from me, Ron Weasley? Haven't you heard that grabbing people and distracting them from what they're doing isn't very polite?" I kept pressing, not because I felt some deep hatred toward him, but because I wanted to drive off all these half-fans. So I wasn't going to be especially gentle.
"Uh, what's your problem?" Ron began to simmer and get irritated under the pressure. "I just came up to ask you something! And you start snapping…"
"I don't like attention. I don't like being yanked around for nonsense. And I don't like stupid questions with obvious answers," I eased off a little, realizing the boy hadn't meant anything bad… he just wanted to meet me and hadn't thought about how his pestering looked from my side.
"What the—" Ron frowned, his face showing stubborn but not very successful thinking. "You looking for a fight?"
"No. I just want you to think, sometime, about how a one-year-old baby is supposed to remember killing someone. Right out of the cradle, yeah," I shook my head, turned sharply on my heel, and walked away calmly. I didn't rush, but my whole posture screamed that I had no desire to continue this conversation.
That clearly stung the youngest Weasley, even if he didn't dare follow the celebrity who didn't live up to his expectations. He just cursed somewhere behind my back and then stormed off.
"So we've met. Hopefully we won't cross paths again. I have zero desire to 'fix' you too. I've had enough of Dudley these last few years," I grumbled to myself, not entirely sure what Ron's resentment could lead to. Would the older Weasleys come after me for sending their little brother away?
An interesting question, but I didn't dwell on it. There were worse things than schoolchildren, even those a couple years older… On my agenda was a trip to the library and the search for knowledge I urgently needed. Above all, I was interested in mental magic and any other methods of protecting the mind.
But to be honest, I didn't want to walk up to the librarian with questions like that. My overly eager interest in protecting my mind could easily give people the idea that Harry Potter had something to hide at such a young age… Of course I already had excuses prepared.
Still, it made more sense to start exploring the Hogwarts library with something simpler… for example, information about one unpleasant Hat that had apparently cracked my biggest secret in passing, yet still let me study at Hogwarts. I was sure no one would be surprised by that kind of interest. And any questions about why I ended up in Ravenclaw would vanish instantly.
What? Who even cares enough about me for all this caution? Until recently, I'd have said the same. But the constant feeling of eyes on me and nonstop whispers behind my back in just one day had made it painfully clear that I should watch my behavior—at least at first, until the fuss around me quieted down.
Because those damned stalkers could twist any action of mine into something absurd… I'd never been in a situation like this before, but instinct and a basic understanding of how a closed school society worked didn't exactly soothe my nerves.
Thankfully, the library was quieter. Even Ravenclaw students didn't rush to storm this temple of knowledge on the very first day. Older students had other concerns, and first-years didn't find it so easy to navigate the castle's corridors.
While everyone else memorized the timetable, I'd studied the rough map of the ancient castle that hung on one of the walls in our common room… and I didn't regret it for a second. Plenty of people knew the schedule, but only I could navigate the castle from day one.
Thank you, excellent memory—and minimal but timely help from the prefects, who advised me to ask directions from the "living" portraits or the ghosts wandering the corridors if needed. That last advice proved especially useful when one of the moving staircases carried me to the wrong floor, and in my stupidity I tried to avoid the whole attraction of stair flights running around, got turned around, and briefly lost my way…
Luckily, it didn't lead to further adventures. I reached the library and immediately asked the older librarian where the books and volumes I needed were. Hogwarts had quite a lot of material on the history and peculiarities of the Sorting Hat. It was a local landmark and one of the school's founder relics, after all.