"Next time, I'm partnering with Richie!"
"Ha, in your dreams!"
"Let's just stick to a fair draw. Richie belongs to all of us."
After class wrapped up, Snape assigned them a half-foot essay on the Cure for Boils and swept out of the dungeon. Terry and the guys immediately huddled together, aggressively debating who got custody of Richie for the next Potions lesson.
"Um, excuse me."
A blushing Hufflepuff boy walked over. It was Cavendish Baratheon, one of the kids from the group that had managed to blow up their cauldron earlier.
"I wanted to ask... how did you manage to brew yours so perfectly?" Cavendish stammered, wringing his hands. "I know it's probably rude to ask, but... the measurements, the reactions..."
Seeing the kid getting flustered, Richie offered an easy smile. "Hey, don't sweat it. I know what you mean."
A few other first-years, overhearing the exchange, stopped in their tracks and curiously edged closer.
"Honestly, keeping a level head and observing closely are the only two things that really matter," Richie explained.
"At the end of the day, it's just brewing a potion. It's not life-or-death. If you go into it with a learning mindset, keep your hands steady, and stay alert, you're halfway there."
"As for the 'observing closely' part... Professor Snape mentioned that the magical properties inside every single ingredient vary slightly. Because of that, the exact amounts you need to add will vary slightly, too."
More kids had gathered around by now—some had even turned back from the doorway to listen. Richie didn't stop, continuing his breakdown.
"How much is 'one scoop'? How wide is 'one slice'? How big is 'one drop'? The textbook doesn't give you exact metric measurements."
"But what the book does give you are the reactions you should be looking for—the color, the smell, the way it simmers."
"So, getting the measurements right isn't about blind guessing, and it's not about measuring down to the microgram. It's about paying attention to the cauldron."
"You watch how the potion reacts. Within a reasonable margin, if you add a bit too much, you just extend the brewing time. If you add a bit too little, you toss a little more in if the current step allows it. If something goes wrong, you immediately use the remedial steps. For example, what are you supposed to do if the potion starts smoking blue?"
"Lower the heat and stir counter-clockwise!" the young wizards answered in unison.
"Exactly," Richie nodded. "Making the right judgment call in real-time can completely save a botched step. That's why my potion succeeded."
Richie tapped the cover of his Potions book to drive the point home.
"Keep a level head and observe closely. Follow the steps in the book, one by one. If you do all that, theoretically, you shouldn't have any major disasters. If you do, it means you made a very obvious mistake."
"And if you make a mistake like that, you'll usually figure out what it was pretty quickly. Just don't do it again next time."
Richie's explanation was grounded, practical, and incredibly easy to digest. The young wizards all nodded, looking like a massive weight had just been lifted off their shoulders.
"Merlin, he really is the Seven-Pointed Star!"
"That makes so much sense!"
"So that's how you're supposed to do it!"
---
Their next class was Herbology, held out in the greenhouses on the south side of the castle grounds.
Because Richie's impromptu lecture had taken up some time, the kids had to hustle to make it. They rushed through the stone archways and arrived at Greenhouse 2 just as the bell rang.
"Oh, my dear children! The first magical plant we're going to get to know today is the Mandrake. Can anyone tell me what we need to watch out for when handling them?"
Professor Sprout's warm, gentle voice acted like an instant balm for the mental trauma the kids had suffered in Potions. The class finally relaxed and eagerly started raising their hands to answer.
The first Herbology lesson was purely introductory—learning to identify the plants in the greenhouse and going over standard safety protocols. With no hands-on repotting required yet, the vibe was wonderfully laid-back.
Once class ended, everyone trekked back up to the Great Hall for lunch.
When it came to Hogwarts, Richie's number one favorite thing was acquiring magic. His second favorite thing? The food.
The meals here were lightyears ahead of the bleak culinary wasteland of Muggle England. Richie was fully convinced that by the time he graduated, he'd be a giant in both mind and body.
While he ate, the story of Richie earning a point from Snape—followed by his masterclass in the dungeon—was already spreading like wildfire across the Great Hall.
"Wait, someone from another house actually got a point in Snape's class?!"
"His understanding of Potions is insane. Classic Seven-Pointed Star."
"Woohoo! Eight points in two days! Ravenclaw is dominating!"
Over at the Gryffindor table, Hermione was practically grinding her teeth, glaring daggers at Harry and Ron, who were happily stuffing their faces.
In yesterday's Potions class, Harry's total ignorance had cost Gryffindor two points. This morning, Harry and Ron showing up late to Transfiguration cost them another two.
As for Hermione herself, today's Transfiguration lesson was still about turning a match into a needle. Since she had already mastered that yesterday, Professor McGonagall had tasked her with adding intricate silver patterns to the needle. She hadn't quite managed to pull it off, so she didn't earn any extra points.
The score currently stood at Richie: 8, Hermione: 2. The gap was just getting wider.
Her mood absolutely tanked. Hermione gripped her fork and began viciously stabbing her steak.
"Hey... who made her mad this time?" Ron whispered, looking a bit freaked out by Hermione's aggressive knife work.
Harry just shook his head, totally clueless.
---
That afternoon brought Flying Class.
The first-years were buzzing with excitement as they headed down to the training grounds. This was one of the rare blocks where all four houses were scheduled together.
Madam Hooch split them up: Gryffindor and Slytherin in one group, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff in the other.
The first lesson was as basic as it gets—learning how to mount a broom, take off, and land without breaking an ankle.
For the first thirty minutes, Gryffindor and Slytherin took to the field, while Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were instructed to sit on the sidelines and read The Flying Broomstick Manual. For the second half of the class, they would swap.
The bell chimed, and the first group officially started their lesson.
Sitting on the grass, Richie casually flipped through the manual. It was a quick read—maybe ten pages total, mostly dedicated to polishing and maintaining broom twigs.
"This is the class I've been looking forward to the most!" Terry, who came from a magical family, said, practically vibrating with excitement. "I heard that if we do really well in Flying, we might actually get picked for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team!"
Stephen shot that down immediately. "Not going to happen. The youngest players on the team are usually third-years. We're only first-years."
"Wait, what's a Quidditch team?" Anthony asked. Being Muggle-born like Richie, the word meant absolutely nothing to him.
"Quidditch is a... uh... it's a..." Terry waved his hands around, struggling to find the right words to describe it to a Muggle. Defeated, he looked to Stephen for help.
Stephen sighed, pushing his glasses up. "Quidditch is a competitive sport played on flying broomsticks. The main goal is to..."
Hearing this, Richie closed his manual and leaned in to listen.
By the time Stephen finished breaking down Chasers, Bludgers, and the Golden Snitch, both Richie and Anthony had a pretty solid grasp of it.
"Okay," Richie summarized. "So it's a competitive arena sport. Kind of like Muggle soccer, just played vertically in the air with more violence."
Anthony, who had been struggling to visualize it, instantly got it. "When you put it like that, it actually sounds pretty awesome."
Just then, a terrified, echoing scream ripped through the air, grabbing everyone's attention.
"Ahhhhhh~!"