Once the bell rang, the young wizards packed up their things and flooded into the Great Hall for lunch.
Richie and his roommates found an empty spot and started digging in. But as they ate, news of Richie's stellar morning performance was already sweeping through the hall.
"Wait, seriously? Five points in Charms and another two in Transfiguration? A first-year literally earned seven points on his first morning?!"
"Seven points for Ravenclaw!"
"Damn, who is this kid?"
"Richie Harland, I think?"
As Richie's name echoed across the Great Hall, Hermione Granger sat at the Gryffindor table, her eyebrows knitting together in a deep frown.
"Why did Ravenclaw get two classes this morning when we only had one?"
Hermione, who had only attended Transfiguration that morning, had also earned two points for Gryffindor. But clearly, the math wasn't sitting right with her.
"I actually heard my annoying brother Percy talking about this," Ron mumbled around a mouthful of food. "Apparently, a few years back, the Ravenclaw prefects petitioned for an extra daily class. Said something about not wanting to waste time. You know how they are—nothing but studying on the brain."
"Luckily, the prefects from the other three houses fought it tooth and nail. So in the end, the school only forced the extra class on the Ravenclaw first-years."
Sitting next to them, Harry chimed in curiously. "So does that mean they get to finish classes a few days earlier at the end of the year?"
"Nope. Sounds like they just use that extra time for organized review sessions or something."
Hearing this, Hermione glanced over at the Ravenclaw table. She spotted Richie, who was currently stuffing his face just like Ron. A heavy wave of pressure settled over her.
They were in different houses, so she had no way of tracking his study habits. And now, thanks to some ridiculous house privilege, he was getting an entire extra class over her every single day?!
How was she supposed to compete with that? How was she supposed to beat him?
"Honestly, it's just seven points. I don't get why they're acting like they just won the lottery," Ron said, tearing a chunk of meat off a chicken leg. "We've got a long year ahead of us. Just wait—Gryffindor is definitely taking the House Cup this year!"
Ron's words struck a chord. Hermione's eyes suddenly lit up.
That's it! The House points!
She could use the point system to measure herself against Richie! As long as she earned more individual points than him, it would prove she was outworking him. It wasn't about the overall House Cup; it was a head-to-head competition for personal points.
So what if he had an extra class? Quantity didn't equal quality! Plus, this made beating him an actual challenge.
Mind made up, Hermione gave a firm, determined nod.
"Go get 'em, Hermione. Beat that guy," Ron said. Seeing her looking so intensely motivated, he subconsciously stopped himself from reaching for the last chicken leg on the platter. He assumed she wanted it for fuel. "Uh... do you want this leg?"
"Hmph." Hermione just turned her head, completely ignoring the glutton.
"Weirdo," Ron muttered. He grabbed the drumstick anyway and went back to gnawing on it.
"Hey, Seven-Pointed Star!"
"Looking good, Seven-Pointed Star! Keep it up!"
"Let us know if you need help with anything!"
During the walk to History of Magic after lunch, several older Ravenclaws kept waving and shouting greetings at Richie.
"Seven-Pointed Star? Why the hell are they calling me that?" Richie asked, looking at Terry, who was snickering beside him.
Terry clapped him on the shoulder. "Professor Flitwick started it. He literally called you 'a brilliant seven-pointed star rising into the night sky.'"
"Think about it—you're a 'seven-pointed star' because you earned seven points for the house this morning. Everyone's hyped that we're already pulling ahead of the other houses on day one."
Richie blinked at the grinning Ravenclaws around them, finally putting it together. Ah. I've become the house mascot.
"Whatever. Fair enough," Richie sighed, nodding in resignation.
He had never planned on hiding his abilities anyway. Since he was already in the spotlight, he might as well use it. Earning a stellar reputation early on meant the professors would like him more, which meant they'd be way more willing to answer his questions later. It was a solid tradeoff.
Second floor, end of the east corridor: History of Magic.
The boys walked in and claimed seats right in the front row.
"Ugh, these desks are disgusting. They're covered in carvings and graffiti!" Anthony complained, leaning over his desk. "Doesn't anyone ever clean these?"
Richie glanced down. He was right—the wood was a mess of faded ink and chaotic scratches. It looked awful.
Without a word, Richie pulled out his wand and cast a quick Scouring Charm over their row. In the blink of an eye, the graffiti vanished, leaving behind the smooth, albeit weathered, surface of the old wood.
"Richie, I swear you don't act like a first-year at all. You act like an upperclassman," Anthony said, impressed.
"Hey, if you want to start calling me 'Senior Harland,' I won't stop you," Richie joked.
Just then, a specific carving etched deep into the wood of his clean desk caught his eye.
TOM
Tom... like Tom and Jerry?
Chuckling to himself, Richie casually tossed his History of Magic textbook over the name.
The bell rang, and the professor finally arrived. Or rather, he floated in. Literally straight through the chalkboard.
"A ghost?!"
"Our professor is a ghost?!"
"Okay, that is insanely cool!"
The excitement, however, died almost instantly.
Professor Binns was indeed their History of Magic teacher, but unlike the other professors, he didn't seem to care if there were actually students in the room. He just floated there and immediately started droning on about goblin rebellions.
Worse, his voice was so incredibly flat and monotonous that it essentially functioned as a lethal form of white noise.
Coupled with the warm afternoon sun streaming through the windows, it didn't take long for the kids sitting on the edges of the room to start nodding off.
Within twenty minutes, ninety percent of the class was fast asleep. Only Richie and his roommates were still fighting for their lives. Sitting dead center in the front row made it way too awkward to just pass out.
Richie wasn't actually tired—he had plenty of energy from lunch—but he had to admit, Binns's lecture was agonizingly boring. Giving up on listening, he just opened his textbook and started reading ahead on his own.
"Oh my god. That was honestly the best nap of my entire life."
"Haha, I totally stayed awake the whole time!"
"Liar, I can literally see the drool on your chin!"
The class finally ended, and the bleary-eyed first-years stumbled out of the room. They headed back to their dorms to grab their supplies before making their way down to the Great Hall for the mandatory self-study period.
"Man, we have to write actual essays for Transfiguration and History of Magic. How are we supposed to do that?" Terry groaned as the three roommates huddled together in despair.
"I have no idea. I've never written one before," Anthony sighed.
"I mean, back in Muggle school I wrote a three-hundred-word short story once..." Stephen offered weakly.
The three eleven-year-olds sat there, completely stressed out, trying to figure out a game plan.