Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or its universe. All original elements belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This story is a work of fanfiction created purely for entertainment purposes - no copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made. Any original characters, events, or concepts beyond the established canon are the author's own creative additions to expand the magical world respectfully.
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For those new to my story, this is Doctor Healer II, the sequel to Doctor Healer I. I know, I know, the name's a bit lame, but it was the best I could come up with. Part 1 covered Harry's pre-Hogwarts journey and his complicated relationship with the Dursleys. This part, Part 2, will dive into his first year at Hogwarts, and maybe even the second year, though I'm not entirely sure yet.

If you're looking for a quick summary, here it is:

What if Harry wanted to become a doctor? And what if he approached it with genius-level intelligence?

Harry Potter was an exceptionally bright kid, a prodigy in every sense. Initially, things were tough at the Dursleys – neglect and mental abuse (though "abuse" might be too strong a word) were his reality. Vernon despised him, Petunia was torn, and Dudley followed suit, but Harry remained kind and compassionate – perfect qualities for a future healer.

When primary school rolled around, Harry faced bullying, but with the help of a supportive teacher, he turned things around and became a top student. Petunia eventually warmed up to him and became a better aunt, which in turn made her a better mother to Dudley.

It was during this time that Harry's dream of becoming a doctor took shape after he aced a science scholarship exam. Around the same time, the Dursleys adopted a golden retriever puppy named Maple, and Harry's fortunes began to change. Vernon started to come around, and success seemed to follow Harry everywhere.

Just as things were looking up, Harry received his Hogwarts letter, complicating his choice of secondary school. He wanted to learn magic, but he wasn't ready to give up his Muggle education. This hesitation actually impressed Vernon, who appreciated Harry's commitment to his first choice. The Dursley family – an odd mix of a Muggle (Vernon), two Squibs (Dudley and Petunia), a dog (Maple), and a wizarding prodigy (Harry) – faced a new challenge when Septima Vector, the representative from Hogwarts, introduced them to the ICW initiative, a new education policy that valued both Muggle and magical education. This policy ultimately led Harry to choose Hogwarts, with a new goal in mind: to become a Healer, but not just any Healer – a Doctor Healer!

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The evening of August thirty-first carried an air of warmth and sentimentality that settled deep within Number Four, Privet Drive. The table was laid with a level of care that would have made even Molly Weasley nod in approval. Roast chicken, Yorkshire pudding, and Petunia’s famed lemon tart filled the air with a homely aroma. Vernon adjusted his tie for the fifth time, unusually quiet as he poured himself a glass of water.

Harry, dressed neatly in his new navy jumper, smiled as he glanced between his aunt and uncle. “You didn’t have to make such a big deal out of dinner,” he said softly, though his tone carried affection more than protest.

“Nonsense, boy,” Vernon grunted, though his eyes twinkled with pride. “It’s not every day one’s nephew goes off to a prestigious—er—academy.” He cleared his throat. “It’s a milestone, Harry. You deserve a proper send-off.”

Petunia gave a small nod, her lips curving into a rare, tender smile. “You’ve worked so hard, dear. It’s only right we celebrate you properly before you start your new chapter.”

Dudley, who was already halfway through his mashed potatoes, grinned. “You’ll have to write, Harry. Tell me if they make you do those weird levitation things like in the movies.”

Harry chuckled. “If I’m allowed, I will. Though I expect it’s a bit more complicated than movies make it look.”

They shared a round of laughter, but beneath it lay something deeper—an understanding that things were about to change. The laughter softened into comfortable silence as Petunia served dessert. It was then that Vernon cleared his throat again, exchanging a brief glance with his wife.

“There’s, er—something we’d like to give you, Harry,” Vernon said, his usual gruffness tempered with surprising gentleness. “A farewell gift of sorts.”

Harry blinked, setting his fork down. “A gift?”

“Yes,” Petunia said quickly, smiling in that peculiar way that meant she had kept a secret well. “You see, when that—Professor Septima, was it?—came to explain all about the wizarding world, she mentioned that you could continue your Muggle education alongside your magical one.”

Harry nodded. “Yes, that was what convinced me to go. I didn’t want to give up science or maths.”

“Exactly,” Vernon said, leaning back in his chair. “But then we did a bit of digging, thanks to educational program and a few acquaintances of mine in the academic field. Seems your Hogwarts won’t have any Muggle studies till your third year.”

Harry’s brow furrowed slightly. “That’s true,” he admitted. “Professor Septima said something about that—how Muggle studies begin only once students have basic magical grounding.”

“Well,” Petunia said softly, sliding a wrapped parcel across the table, “we didn’t want you losing two whole years of your education. You’ve got far too much potential for that.”

Harry’s eyes widened slightly as he untied the ribbon. Inside were several neatly labeled cassette tapes, some notebooks, and a sleek portable tape player. The cassettes were marked Mathematics: Advanced Foundations, Applied Physics Lectures, Modern Chemistry Concepts, and several more—each accompanied by study guides and printed transcripts.

Vernon’s voice carried quiet pride. “Those are recorded lectures and study materials from top Muggle schools—Oxford extension programs, a few private preparatory institutions. Cost a fair bit, but worth every pound for your education.”

For a moment, Harry simply stared, stunned into silence. He ran a hand reverently over the materials, his throat tightening. “I—Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia… this is—this is incredible.”

Petunia’s expression softened. “You’re a bright boy, Harry. You’ve always loved learning, and we didn’t want that spark to dim just because you’re stepping into a different world. You can keep studying your science and mathematics, in your own time.”

Harry’s green eyes glistened slightly. “Thank you. Truly.”

Vernon gave a satisfied grunt. “Now, don’t go getting sentimental on me, lad. Just make sure you use those properly. Education’s the foundation of every man’s future—wizard or not.”

Harry chuckled softly. “Yes, sir. I will.”

Dudley leaned over, curious. “Blimey, that’s loads of stuff. You’re going to end up being both a wizard and a scientist, aren’t you?”

Harry laughed. “Maybe. That’s the plan.”

The rest of the evening passed with laughter, fond recollections, and gentle teasing. Vernon even shared a story from his university days about nearly blowing up a chemistry lab—earning a genuine laugh from Harry that echoed warmly through the dining room.

Later, as dessert plates were cleared away and the candles burned low, Petunia rested a hand lightly on Harry’s shoulder. “You’ve grown so much, dear. Your parents would be proud.”

Harry froze for half a heartbeat before smiling faintly. “Thank you, Aunt Petunia. That means a lot.”

Vernon raised his glass. “To the future,” he said gruffly. “To the boy who’s managed to make both worlds proud.”

Dudley lifted his juice. “To Harry!”

Harry smiled, eyes shining in the candlelight. “To family,” he replied quietly.

The clink of glasses filled the air—soft, sincere, and brimming with unspoken affection. That night, under the warm hum of laughter and the golden light of home, Harry felt something profound settle within him: a balance between two worlds, and the love that anchored him to both.
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Morning sunlight filtered through the kitchen window, catching the steam that curled lazily from the teapot. The house at Number Four was unusually quiet for what was to be a day of departure. Two neatly packed trunks rested by the door—Harry’s, sleek and charmed to hold his new school things, and Dudley’s, stacked with Smeltings uniforms and gadgets.

Vernon sat at the table behind his newspaper, brow furrowed and mustache twitching as his eyes darted across the page. The rustle of paper broke the silence. “Well, I’ll be—this is something,” he muttered.

Petunia looked up from buttering toast. “What is it, dear?”

“Front page of the Times,” Vernon said, tapping the paper with the back of his finger. “Says here—‘This Year’s Top Primary Scholars Join Highland Academy for Advanced Learning in Scotland.’ Two of them. Apparently, the best and brightest in all the United Kingdom have been accepted.” He lowered the paper, peering at Harry over his glasses. “That means you, lad.”

Harry blinked in surprise. “Me?”

“Well of course, you!” Vernon grunted, half-smiling. “You topped the national aptitude exams, didn’t you? It says the top two. So you and—well, whoever this other prodigy is.”

Dudley, munching cereal, leaned forward eagerly. “Do they say who the other one is?”

Vernon shook his head. “No names. Confidentiality of minors and all that rot. Just says both will be attending Highland Academy.” He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. “Or should I say—Hogwarts.”

Harry chuckled softly. “It’s strange seeing it like that, isn’t it? The Muggle cover name. Feels… almost surreal.”

Petunia poured tea into his cup with a faint smile. “You’ll get used to it. It’s clever, really. That name sounds entirely respectable. No one would ever suspect it hides a school for magic.”

“Quite right,” Vernon agreed, folding the newspaper neatly. “Though I must admit, lad, this business of another top student being there—well, that’s something. Wonder if they’re another… one of your sort.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. “That’s what I was thinking. If they’re also accepted to Hogwarts under the Highland Academy name, it must mean they’re magical too.” He leaned back, thinking aloud. “It would make sense for the Ministry to register them the same way. But I can’t imagine who it might be. Maybe they’re from a wizarding family, or maybe they’re Muggle-born/raised like me.”

Dudley smirked. “Well, whoever they are, bet they can’t brew potions or fly on brooms like you will.”

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “You don’t even know if I can yet.”

“Oh, you will,” Dudley replied confidently. “You’ve always been the clever one. Bet you’ll top the class there too.”

The faintest flush rose on Harry’s cheeks. “Maybe. But it’s not about topping anyone. It’ll just be nice to meet someone who actually understands things like quantum principles in spell interaction.”

Vernon blinked. “Quantum—what now?”

Harry grinned sheepishly. “It’s a theory I’ve been thinking about. How energy fields might correspond to magical auras. The base logic might actually work.”

Vernon shook his head with a huff of amusement. “Merlin’s beard, lad—if you start mixing magic with science, we’ll have another Einstein on our hands.”

Petunia smiled softly. “At least he’s ambitious, Vernon. It’s what makes him special.”

Harry felt warmth in his chest. There had been a time those words would have sounded impossible coming from his aunt. Now, they were sincere.

The clock struck nine, and the ordinary rhythms of the morning resumed. Petunia began clearing plates, while Dudley took Maple out for a quick walk. Vernon lingered, watching Harry quietly inspect his trunk.

“You’ve come a long way, Harry,” he said after a pause. “From that cupboard under the stairs to this—heading off to a grand academy.” His voice softened, rare and genuine. “I’m proud of you, boy. Don’t forget that.”

Harry looked up, startled, before smiling faintly. “Thank you, Uncle Vernon. That means a lot.”

Vernon nodded briskly, embarrassed by his own sentimentality. “Right then. Best not get mushy before breakfast’s settled. You’ve got a train to catch .”

Harry laughed, and the tension broke. He glanced again at the folded newspaper on the counter, where his future—and another’s—had been announced to the world in a single understated headline.

Whoever that other student was, they would soon share the same halls, the same lessons, and perhaps the same curiosity about bridging two worlds. The thought made him oddly excited. At least, he wouldn’t be the only one standing between magic and science, between mystery and reason.

As Petunia came back with a fresh pot of tea, she caught Harry’s faraway expression. “You’re thinking about the other student, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “Yes. I just hope they’re friendly.”

Petunia smiled knowingly. “If they’re anything like you, I’m sure they are.”

Harry chuckled, but something deeper stirred within him—a sense that fate had just quietly introduced another thread into his story, one that would intertwine with his in ways he could not yet imagine.

Harry stood in the front hall, wand tucked neatly into his sleeve, his trunk already packed to the brim. Everything gleamed with the careful precision of a final inspection. He checked his list one last time—robes, spellbooks, potions kit, wand maintenance set, owl treats, Maple’s enchanted leash—nothing left behind. His heart fluttered somewhere between excitement and melancholy.

He turned toward the fireplace, where the emerald hue of the Floo powder shimmered faintly in the jar. “Now, Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia—just one last time,” he said patiently. “You toss a pinch into the flames, wait till they turn green, then speak the destination clearly—‘Gringotts Branch, Diagon Alley’ or ‘St. Mungo’s Reception,’ whatever’s needed. Don’t mumble, or the Floo might spit you out in Cardiff.”

Vernon grunted. “Yes, yes, boy, we’ve got it. Green flames, clear voice. No nonsense.” He crossed his arms, pretending to be unimpressed, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of fascination. “Still think it’s a dangerous business, traveling through fire.” added Petunia not helping.

Vernon gave his wife a pointed look. “We’ve practiced twice already, Dear. And we managed fine both times.”

Harry grinned. “Exactly. You two are getting the hang of it faster than most wizards.”

Behind him, three small figures stood near the kitchen door—Pipkin, Mixel, and Jugsy, each bowing deeply. Their large eyes were watery as they clutched their aprons.

“Master Harry, sir,” piped Pipkin nervously, “we promises to takes care of Mistress Petunia and Master Vernon while you is gone. No dust, no burnt pudding, no squashed biscuits, sir!”

Harry crouched down, giving them a kind smile. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. Remember—no punishing yourselves for mistakes. Just fix them and move on. I’ll check in every week.”

Mixel sniffled. “Yes, Master Harry, sir. We is proud to serve the Potter House.”

“Good elves,” Harry said warmly, rising again. “Keep the wards humming and make sure the house stays as neat as Aunt Petunia likes.”

Vernon cleared his throat. “Right then. Time we were off, before the neighbours think we’re hosting another circus act.”

Soon, all five of them—three Dursleys, one Potter, one owl, and one dog—were settled in the car. Harry’s trunk and Hedwig’s cage were secured in the back seat, while Maple sat contentedly on Petunia’s lap, tail wagging faintly.

Petunia stroked Maple’s golden fur, her expression tender. “She’s going to miss us terribly,” she murmured. “Aren’t you, darling?”

Harry chuckled softly. “She’ll have plenty of company in the castle, Aunt Petunia. She’s used to me, and Hogwarts has large grounds for her to run around.”

Dudley twisted in his seat, looking back at Maple. “Still not fair. I finally got used to her stealing my socks, and now she’s going with you.”

Vernon started the car with a low rumble. “Well, son, you’ll have your own adventures at Smeltings soon enough. Let your cousin have his magical mutt for company.”

As they drove through Little Whinging, the hum of the engine filled the car, broken only by the occasional bark from Maple or the rustle of newspaper tucked beside Vernon. After a while, Vernon spoke in his usual businesslike tone. “Harry, before we reach the station, there’s something I wanted to remind you of.”

Harry looked up curiously. “Yes, Uncle Vernon?”

“It’s about this Wizengamot business,” Vernon said, glancing at him through the rearview mirror. “Cyrus mentioned it when we met, remember? Said that although you’re too young to sit yourself, you can appoint proxies for the Potter, Peverell, and Gryffindor seats.”

Harry nodded. “Yes, I remember. He said each seat represents centuries of magical law and influence.”

“Exactly,” Vernon replied with a nod. “Now, Cyrus already holds one seat of his own, but he advised keeping options open. The next Wizengamot session’s in November, so there’s time to choose. Still, you’ll need allies—reliable ones. People who actually hold sway among those wizarding lords and whatnot.”

Harry thought about that, watching the hedgerows blur past the window. “So, you’re saying I should make contacts at Hogwarts? People who might know about politics or have family connections?”

“Precisely,” Vernon said, surprisingly shrewd. “You’ve got name, influence, and means—but it’s people who turn power into results. Never forget that.”

Petunia gave her husband an approving glance. “Your uncle’s right, Harry. You should make friends, not just study. A mind as bright as yours shouldn’t be isolated.”

Harry smiled faintly. “I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe someone in the old families might be worth speaking to.”

Dudley snorted. “Just don’t end up with some snobby pureblood who thinks he’s too good for everyone.”

Harry laughed. “I’ll do my best, Dud. Though from what Professor Septima said, Hogwarts is full of all sorts—purebloods, half-bloods, and Muggle-borns/raised like me. I’ll just have to see who I get along with.”

Vernon nodded approvingly. “Good lad. Trust your instincts. Just… try not to sign anything without consulting Cyrus first. Those wizarding contracts sound like devilish traps.”

“Understood,” Harry said, smiling. “Cyrus drilled that into me already.”

As the car turned toward the motorway, Harry gazed out at the skyline, feeling the mingling of nervousness and anticipation settle in his chest. Maple barked once softly, as if sensing his thoughts.

Tomorrow, the real journey would begin. But for now, surrounded by the family who had once been his greatest challenge and had become his unlikely support, he felt ready. The wind hummed through the open window, and Harry Potter, Healer-to-be, smiled toward the road ahead.
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King’s Cross was bustling with its usual late-summer chaos, filled with the echo of rolling suitcases, the sharp hiss of train brakes, and the chatter of travelers rushing to catch their departures. The Dursley family car rolled to a smooth stop near the main entrance. Vernon stepped out first, straightening his tie and scanning the crowd with the air of a man who detested public commotion.

“All right,” he grunted, opening the boot. “Let’s get this done quickly before someone dents the car.”

Harry smiled faintly and grabbed the trolley as Vernon heaved the heavy trunk into place with surprising care. Petunia adjusted her hat and looked around anxiously, clutching Maple’s leash while the golden retriever wagged her tail with innocent delight.

Dudley trailed beside Harry, curiosity bright in his eyes. “So this is where it all starts, eh? Doesn’t look magical at all.”

“Give it a minute,” Harry murmured with a grin, pushing the trolley forward. “Magic doesn’t usually announce itself in neon letters.”

They made their way through the throng of commuters, weaving between families and businessmen. The large clock overhead ticked toward ten o’clock. Harry’s eyes scanned the platforms—nine on one side, ten on the other—but there was nothing in between.

“Platform nine and ten,” Vernon muttered, squinting. “No sign of anything else. Are you sure this isn’t one of those pranks?”

Harry shook his head. “It’s here. Professor Septima told me. You just have to go straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten.”

Petunia’s eyes widened slightly. “Into the barrier? You mean the wall?”

“Yes,” Harry replied calmly, though his heart raced. “It’s charmed. You walk through as if it’s air. Just don’t hesitate, or the spell might repel you.”

Vernon’s face turned a rather unhealthy shade of pink. “Walk into a wall, boy? Good heavens, what kind of nonsense—”

“Uncle Vernon,” Harry said gently, “trust me. It’s perfectly safe.”

Petunia took a breath, tightening her grip on Maple’s leash. “If it’s safe for him, it’s safe for us.” She looked at her husband firmly. “We’re going with him.”

Dudley’s eyes gleamed. “Blimey, this I’ve got to see.”

After a moment’s pause, Vernon grumbled, “Fine. But if I break my nose, I’ll have words with that professor of yours.”

Harry laughed softly. “All right, I’ll go first. Watch me.”

He took a steadying breath, angled the trolley toward the barrier, and broke into a brisk walk. Just as the stone wall seemed about to collide with him, it shimmered faintly—and he was gone.

The Dursleys stared at the spot where he had disappeared. Maple barked once, tail wagging as if to say she approved.

“Did—did he just vanish?” Dudley gasped.

Petunia touched the barrier with one gloved hand. “It feels solid…” She looked up at Vernon. “Your turn.”

“Ladies first,” Vernon muttered gruffly, though his face was pale.

She huffed softly, gathered her courage, and stepped forward—straight through. Maple followed with a happy bark and disappeared as well.

Vernon exhaled deeply. “Right then, Dursley. Either that wall’s cursed or I’m about to be.” He squared his shoulders and marched into the barrier.

Dudley followed last, muttering, “If Dad gets stuck, I’m not pulling him out.”

A heartbeat later, the world shimmered—and they all found themselves standing on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

The sight that greeted them stole the breath from their lungs. The vast scarlet train gleamed under the glass canopy, billowing steam that curled lazily into the morning air. Witches and wizards hurried about in flowing robes, their trunks floating behind them, owls hooting in their cages. A few younger children chased after cats or held onto their parents’ robes as enchanted trolleys zipped past.

Vernon’s jaw nearly hit the ground. “By Jove… this looks like something out of those blasted storybooks Petunia used to read.”

Petunia’s eyes softened despite herself. “It’s… beautiful,” she murmured, watching a group of witches adjust their pointed hats while laughing. “So this is your world, Harry.”

Harry nodded, his heart swelling. “Part of it, yes.”

Dudley’s eyes darted around in fascination. “Look at that owl! It’s huge! And—hang on—did that bloke just vanish into his suitcase?”

“Expanding charm,” Harry said with a grin. “Probably fitting his trunk.”

Vernon wiped his brow, still staring. “Well, I’ll be… all these people walking about in cloaks and no one bats an eye. The government must have quite the task keeping this hidden.”

“They do,” Harry said, his voice steady but filled with quiet pride. “That’s why the Statute of Secrecy exists.”

Petunia smiled faintly. “You fit here, Harry. You always have.”

He felt warmth spread through him at her words. “Thanks, Aunt Petunia.”

They stood for a while, simply taking it all in—the whistle of the train, the laughter of students, the hum of magic in the air so palpable it made the hairs on their arms rise. Maple sniffed at the platform, tail wagging furiously, while Hedwig hooted from her cage atop the trunk.

Vernon finally spoke, his voice low but almost fond. “Well, boy, looks like this Highland Academy eh... Hogwarts of yours is quite the affair. I suppose it’s time to get you settled, eh?”

Harry nodded, smiling as the golden steam shimmered around them. “Yes, Uncle Vernon. Time to board.”

Dursleys looked not at a burden, but at a young wizard on the brink of his destiny—and, they felt a touch of pride too.
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The crowd at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters bustled like a living tapestry of robes, trunks, and fluttering owls. Steam from the scarlet train curled into the rafters, reflecting the morning light that filtered through the iron arches. Harry’s green eyes darted about in wonder, drinking in every detail. Petunia held Maple close, her lips parted slightly in awe, while Dudley’s eyes gleamed with a mixture of curiosity and disbelief.

It was Vernon who first caught sight of a familiar figure amidst the bustle. “Well, if that isn’t Cyrus Greengrass,” he said, a broad grin spreading under his moustache. “Petunia, Harry—over there!”

Harry followed his gaze and immediately recognized the tall, composed wizard with polished shoes and a graceful stride. Beside him stood Serene Greengrass, elegant as ever, her blue robes blending perfectly with the steam about her. And with them—three girls, all neatly dressed, their bearing refined but warm.

“Ah, Lord Potter! Mr. Dursley!” Cyrus called out cheerfully as they approached. His eyes gleamed with genuine pleasure. “How delightful to see you again before departure.”

Vernon shook his hand firmly. “Likewise, Mr. Greengrass! Or should I say—Cyrus, as you insisted last time?” he said with a chuckle. “Never expected to meet you here of all places.”

“Quite the coincidence indeed,” Cyrus replied warmly. “My daughters are heading off as well. Audrey—our eldest—returns for her fifth year. Daphne begins today, as does young Harry. And little Astoria,” he said, motioning fondly toward the youngest, “must wait one more year, much to her dismay.”

Serene stepped forward, greeting Petunia with a kind smile. “Mrs. Dursley, what a pleasure. I have heard from Cyrus how helpful you were in keeping all matters organized at Privet Drive. It is a relief to know Harry is among family that truly cares.”

Petunia flushed modestly. “That’s kind of you, Mrs. Greengrass. It’s been a learning experience for us all,” she said. “Though I confess, this world still leaves me a bit dizzy.”

Serene laughed softly. “You’ll find that’s perfectly normal. I have been married into it for nearly fifteen years and still find something new every week.”

Meanwhile, Harry and Daphne had turned toward each other with curious interest. Daphne’s blonde hair gleamed under the station’s lamps, and her blue-grey eyes studied him thoughtfully. “So, you’re Harry Potter,” she said, extending a hand. “I’ve heard my father mention your name a few times.”

Harry took her hand, smiling. “And you’re Daphne Greengrass. I suppose we’ll be in the same year then.”

“Indeed. And possibly the same house,” she said, smirking slightly. “Though I’ve heard Slytherin suits ambition better than Gryffindor’s heroics.”

Harry grinned. “Well, I’ve not decided what suits me yet. Maybe the hat will.”

Dudley snorted beside them. “As long as it’s not anything like that Sorting Hat thing we read about in your Hogwarts letter, I’ll be fine.”

“Afraid of hats now, are we?” Daphne teased lightly, earning a laugh from both boys.

Audrey, wearing her prefect badge proudly, turned to Harry with an approving nod. “You’ll find Hogwarts exciting, Lord Potter. It’s a place full of wonders—and dangers, if one isn’t careful. Stay close to the right people, and you’ll thrive.”

Harry met her gaze steadily. “Thank you, Prefect Greengrass. I’ll remember that.”

Astoria tugged gently on Serene’s sleeve. “Mum, can’t we stay a bit longer next year when it’s my turn?”

Serene smiled, brushing a lock of hair from her daughter’s face. “You’ll have your moment, darling. Let your sister have hers this year.”

Vernon, adjusting his tie, leaned toward Cyrus. “Hard to believe we’re letting them all go off like this, isn’t it? My boy to Smeltings, Harry to Scotland—it feels rather quiet already.”

Cyrus nodded. “Indeed. Yet it is right to let them fly when the time comes. We can guide, but we cannot cage.”

“Wise words,” Vernon said with genuine respect. “You know, I must admit, Cyrus—I’ve grown rather fond of your world. Strange as it is, it’s… well, remarkable.”

Cyrus smiled knowingly. “It has that effect on those with open minds. Perhaps one day you’ll visit our Ministry branch again—not for business, but as a friend.”

Petunia and Serene exchanged a glance that carried unspoken understanding—two women from different worlds who nonetheless shared the same mix of pride and worry that only mothers could know.

The train whistled then, sharp and echoing. Steam hissed and swirled about their feet. Harry turned to the family who had become his anchor in both worlds. Petunia straightened his collar; Vernon clapped a firm hand on his shoulder. Dudley grinned and gave a mock salute.

“Write often,” Petunia said softly. “And don’t forget to eat properly.”

“I will,” Harry promised, eyes shining.

Serene smiled warmly. “Safe travels, both of you,” she said to Harry and Daphne. “May your first year be everything you wish it to be.”

Cyrus added with a knowing twinkle, “And may it not be too exciting, hm?”

Harry laughed. “I’ll try my best, sir.”

As the final call echoed through the platform, the families stood together watching the young students board the train, pride and nostalgia mingling in the air thick with steam and magic.

Steam drifted lazily around the platform as the train’s whistle shrieked again, echoing against the iron arches. Passengers hurried to climb aboard, voices mingling in a lively hum. Harry gripped the handle of his trunk firmly, heart thudding with a mix of excitement and nerves. Beside him, Daphne adjusted her gloves with practiced poise, her eyes bright with anticipation.

“Allow me,” Harry said, stepping forward before she could lift her own trunk. With a confident but courteous motion, he placed hers behind his on the trolley and began steering toward the nearest carriage door. Petunia’s lips curved in a small, proud smile as she watched him.

Daphne blinked, pleasantly surprised. “Thank you, Lord Potter. That was very gentlemanly of you.”

Harry gave a shy grin. “Just Harry, please. And… well, my aunt would be horrified if I didn’t mind my manners.”

From the platform, Petunia chuckled softly. “Horrified indeed,” she murmured to Serene, who nodded approvingly.

As they reached the steps, Harry turned back and offered Daphne his hand. “Careful there, wouldn’t want you tripping in all this bustle.”

She placed her gloved hand in his, allowing him to help her up. “You certainly were raised differently from most,” she said with a slight smile once they were both aboard.

“Victorian habits, apparently,” Harry replied with mock solemnity. “Aunt Petunia says a lord should always act as if the Queen herself might appear around the corner.”

Petunia, hearing that, laughed softly and dabbed her eyes. “Oh, my sweet boy,” she whispered. “He’s really growing into it.”

They turned to wave from the door. Harry held Maple up slightly so she could see her better; the golden retriever gave a short, affectionate bark. “Goodbye, Harry!” she called.

“Good luck, son!” Vernon added, his voice rumbling over the noise. Dudley raised a hand in farewell, his grin wide. “Don’t let the hat stick you in something boring!”

Harry laughed and waved back. “See you at Christmas!”

Daphne also waved to her family, Audrey giving her a proud nod while Cyrus and Serene stood with calm composure. Little Astoria waved enthusiastically, calling, “Write to me, Daph! I want all the details!”

Once the final whistles blew, Harry and Daphne stepped aside to let others pass and made their way down the narrow corridor. “Let’s find a compartment before they all fill up,” Daphne said briskly.

“Agreed,” Harry replied, glancing through the glass doors until he spotted an empty one near the middle. “This one looks free.”

They entered, and he set both trunks down. “One moment,” he said, lifting Daphne’s trunk and fitting it neatly onto the upper rack. “There we are.”

Daphne raised an eyebrow. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

Harry chuckled, brushing his hands. “I’ve moved a few boxes about for Aunt Petunia. I suppose it’s similar—only less likely to contain china.”

Daphne gave a small laugh, her earlier poise softening. “You’re full of surprises, Harry Potter.”

As Harry sat down, Maple wagged her tail by the window seat, curling up comfortably beside Daphne, who reached down to stroke her golden fur. “She’s lovely,” she murmured. “So calm.”

“She’s a good girl,” Harry said warmly. “My aunt will miss her terribly. I thought it’d be better if Maple came with me for now.”

Daphne smiled softly. “A comforting presence in a strange place. I think that’s rather wise.”

Meanwhile, Hedwig gave an indignant hoot from her cage, her amber eyes fixed on the sky outside. Harry laughed quietly. “All right, all right, I know you hate trains,” he said, unlatching the cage.

With a graceful sweep of white feathers, Hedwig flew out through the open window, disappearing into the morning sun. Daphne watched her go with admiration. “She’s magnificent,” she said.

“She prefers flying to any other way of travelling,” Harry replied. “She’ll meet me at the castle.”
______________________________

The train began to move then, the gentle jerk nearly unseating Maple, who adjusted with a soft woof. Outside, the figures of their families grew smaller, blurred by the steam. Petunia waved a lace handkerchief, tears glimmering in her eyes, while Vernon stood tall, one arm around Dudley’s shoulder.

Harry leaned slightly toward the window, his throat tightening. “They look proud,” he murmured.

“They are,” Daphne said quietly, following his gaze. “You’re their bridge into something new, you know. Most people never manage that between worlds.”

Harry turned to her, surprised. “You think so?”

She nodded thoughtfully. “My father says those who stand between two worlds often change both. You might do just that.”

For a moment, Harry had no words. Then he smiled faintly. “That’s quite the prophecy, Miss Greengrass.”

“Not a prophecy,” she said lightly. “Just an observation.”

Maple yawned, laying her head on Daphne’s lap as the countryside began to rush past outside. The rhythm of the train filled the quiet that followed, comforting in its steadiness.

Harry looked around their compartment, feeling a deep contentment settle within him. No one had stared at his scar, no one had whispered his name like a legend. Daphne was just a girl his age, polite, sharp, and curious. It felt… normal, in the best possible way.

As the train picked up speed, Daphne leaned back against the seat, eyes bright with excitement. “Well then, Harry,” she said with a grin. “To Hogwarts.”

Harry returned the smile, heart light. “To Hogwarts.”

The train rattled softly as it curved northward, the countryside blurring into greens and golds beneath the morning sun. Harry had begun explaining a muggle concept called “cellular regeneration” when the compartment door slid open with a sharp click.

“Daphne! There you are!” a cheerful voice exclaimed.

A girl with curly dark hair and bright grey-blue eyes stepped in, her smile wide and confident. She wore her new Hogwarts robes already, though her tie hung loose around her neck.

“Tracey!” Daphne stood immediately, delighted. “I was wondering when you’d find me. Come in, please.”

Tracey looked around, her eyes landing first on Harry, then on Maple, and finally on the small pile of neatly arranged books near his seat. “Oh, I didn’t realise you had company,” she said, pausing in the doorway.

Harry stood at once, as etiquette demanded, giving a polite nod. “Not at all. You’re most welcome, Miss Davis.”

Tracey blinked. “Oh—thank you, my lord,” she said automatically, though the words came out slightly awkward, as if she wasn’t used to such formality.

Daphne smirked faintly. “Harry, this is my best friend, Tracey Davis. Tracey, Lord Harry Potter.”

Harry inclined his head in greeting. “A pleasure to meet you.”

Tracey gave a quick curtsy, but her eyes widened slightly when the movement caused his fringe to shift, revealing the faint lightning-shaped scar beneath. “Merlin’s beard…” she whispered, staring.

Harry, feeling the familiar flush of discomfort, gave a polite, tight-lipped smile. “Yes, that’s the one,” he said lightly.

Before Tracey could say anything more, Daphne’s elbow nudged her firmly in the ribs. “Tracey,” she muttered warningly.

Tracey winced, rubbing her side. “Right. Sorry,” she said quickly, cheeks coloring. “I didn’t mean to—well, you know.”

Harry chuckled softly. “It’s all right. People have done worse than stare.”

“Still rude,” Daphne said primly, crossing her legs with a huff. “Honestly, I told you not to gawk at people like a tourist in Diagon Alley.”

Tracey groaned. “Oh, come off it, Daph. It’s Harry Potter! You can’t expect me to act like he’s just anyone!”

Harry shook his head, amused. “Actually, that’s exactly what I’d prefer.”

Daphne shot him an approving look. “See? He has good sense.”

Tracey sighed dramatically and dropped into the seat opposite them. “Fine, fine. Normal conversation. Merlin save me, this year’s going to be mad.”

Maple lifted her head, sniffed curiously at the newcomer, and gave a quiet woof.

“Oh, she’s adorable!” Tracey leaned down, her earlier embarrassment forgotten. “What’s her name?”

“Maple,” Harry said with evident fondness. “She’s been my companion for years.”

“She’s got lovely eyes,” Tracey said, scratching Maple gently behind the ear.

“She knows it too,” Harry replied, smiling. “She uses them shamelessly to get extra food.”

Daphne chuckled. “Sounds like Astoria. Same innocent look, same appetite for mischief.”

Tracey grinned. “I like her already.”

The three of them settled comfortably as the train continued its rhythm. Hedwig swooped past the window, a flash of white against the clouds, making Daphne glance up. “Your owl’s flying well,” she observed.

“She always does,” Harry said quietly. “She’s as free-spirited as she is loyal. I suppose that’s what makes her perfect.”

“So,” Tracey said after a pause, stretching her legs. “What house do you think you’ll be in, Harry?”

Harry glanced at her thoughtfully. “I’m not sure. I’ve read about all of them. They each seem to value something I believe in—wisdom, courage, ambition, loyalty.”

Daphne smirked. “You sound like you’re trying to win points with every house at once.”

“Perhaps I am,” Harry said with mock solemnity. “Diplomacy is a noble art.”

Tracey laughed. “Well, you’d fit right into Slytherin with that attitude.”

Daphne raised an eyebrow. “Careful, Trace. He might take that as a compliment.”

Harry grinned. “Who says I wouldn’t?”

The girls laughed again, and the sound filled the compartment, mingling with the rhythm of the train and the occasional bark from Maple. Outside, the countryside shifted from city sprawl to rolling green hills.

As conversation turned to Hogwarts, subjects, and teachers, Harry found himself quietly observing his companions. Daphne was poised, thoughtful, and sharp-witted, while Tracey had an easy charm that filled the space around her.

For the first time, he thought that perhaps, this world—the magical one—might not be so lonely after all.
______________________________

The door slid open again with a soft clatter, and two girls peeked in, both looking slightly breathless from their search. One had vivid red hair tied in a neat plait, freckles dancing across her nose, and a warm, confident expression. The other was a honey-blonde with round cheeks, bright hazel eyes, and an air of cheerful nervousness.

“Excuse us,” said the redhead politely. “Everywhere else is full. Do you mind if we sit here?”

Harry rose at once, smoothing his robes instinctively as Petunia’s voice echoed in his mind: ‘A gentleman always stands to greet a lady.’ He smiled. “Not at all. Please, do come in. There’s plenty of space.”

The blonde brightened. “Oh, thank you! I thought we’d be standing till Scotland!”

Daphne gestured gracefully toward the empty seats. “You’re welcome to join us. We were just settling in.”

The girls dragged their trunks inside, relief written on their faces. The redhead extended a hand first. “I’m Susan Bones.”

“Harry Potter,” he replied, bowing his head slightly as etiquette required. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Bones.”

Susan blinked, startled by the formality, then smiled shyly. “Oh! The pleasure’s mine, Mr.—I mean, Lord Potter?”

Tracey snorted softly from her seat, earning a glare from Daphne. Harry, however, handled it with composed ease. “Yes, technically, though there’s no need for titles among school friends.”

The blonde followed Susan’s lead. “I’m Hannah Abbott,” she said, beaming.

Harry inclined his head once more. “A pleasure, Miss Abbott.”

As he spoke, the girls’ eyes flicked up almost in unison to his forehead. The faint scar glimmered in the morning light as the train shifted, and both girls froze for half a breath before realizing they had been caught staring.

“Merlin’s beard,” Hannah whispered, then quickly clapped a hand over her mouth, mortified. “Oh—sorry! I didn’t mean to stare!”

Harry chuckled softly. “You wouldn’t be the first. It’s all right. I’ve rather gotten used to it.”

Daphne rolled her eyes. “Honestly, people act as though they’ve never seen a scar before.”

Tracey grinned. “It’s not just a scar, Daph, it’s the scar. You know, the one every kid grew up hearing about?”

Susan flushed slightly, trying to recover her composure. “We didn’t mean any disrespect, Harry. It’s just… you’re a bit of a legend in our world.”

“Legends are exaggerated,” Harry said calmly. “I assure you, I’m far less interesting than the stories make me.”

Tracey whispered, “He says that, but he has a pet owl and a dog named Maple sitting beside him. That’s practically noble status already.”

Daphne smirked. “That’s because he’s noble, Trace.”

Hannah giggled, leaning down to stroke Maple, who sniffed her hand curiously before wagging her tail. “She’s gorgeous. What breed?”

“Golden Retriever,” Harry replied, his tone softening. “She’s been with me since before I even knew about magic.”

Susan looked intrigued. “You mean she’s a Muggle dog?”

“Yes,” Harry said with a nod. “Though she’s rather more intelligent than most humans I’ve met.”

That earned a chorus of laughter,  easing the last of the tension from the air. The two new girls seated themselves opposite Daphne and Tracey, while Harry took the corner nearest the window, Maple’s head resting contentedly on his knee.

“So,” Tracey began mischievously, “Hufflepuff I mean wanting to be, right?”

Both Susan and Hannah exchanged a grin. “How’d you guess?” Susan teased.

“Your colours,” Daphne said knowingly. “Subtle yellow trim on your luggage. Old-family enchantment pattern—Bones and Abbott crests both glow faintly when charmed.”

Susan’s eyes widened. “You noticed that?”

Harry gave a small smile. “Lady Greengrass notices everything. It’s one of her more terrifying qualities.”

Daphne elbowed him lightly. “Careful, Potter.”

“See? Terrifying,” he murmured, earning another laugh from the group.

The conversation soon turned to Hogwarts itself. Hannah asked, “Do you think the castle’s really got moving staircases?”

“I’ve read about them,” Harry said, recalling his preparatory studies. “They’re enchanted to prevent predictability in intruders—but it seems they cause as much trouble to students as to anyone else.”

Susan grinned. “I hope we don’t get lost on the first day.”

Tracey leaned back smugly. “Oh, we will. Everyone does. Tradition, apparently.”

“Wonderful,” Daphne muttered dryly. “We’ll arrive with trunks, pets, and no sense of direction.”

Harry looked out the window where the fields rolled past in streaks of sunlight. “At least we’ll have company in confusion.”

Hannah smiled. “That’s a comforting thought.”

Susan nodded. “It really is. I think we’ll all be all right.”

The whistle of the train echoed faintly, mingling with the hum of conversation and the clinking of sweets being unwrapped down the corridor.

For a brief moment, Harry allowed himself to lean back, watching this odd little group—two pure-bloods, two half-bloods, one Muggle-raised boy with a lightning scar, and a golden retriever sleeping peacefully between them.

He thought, almost in wonder, This is how it begins.
______________________________

It had been nearly an hour since the train had left King’s Cross. The countryside blurred past in a whirl of green and gold. The compartment had grown comfortably lively with chatter, laughter, and the occasional bark from Maple, who had quickly charmed everyone. Harry was halfway through explaining how electricity worked in Muggle homes when the compartment door slid open again.

A tall, dark-skinned boy with neatly cropped hair stood there, looking mildly irritated. “Mind if I join you lot? My last compartment’s full of idiots comparing Chocolate Frog cards like they’re precious artefacts.”

Daphne smirked. “Depends. Are you planning to insult us too?”

The boy gave a small, amused grin. “Hardly. I’ve more sense than that. Blaise Zabini.”

“Harry Potter,” Harry said, rising slightly in greeting. “You’re welcome to sit.”

Blaise’s eyes widened at the name, and his gaze flicked automatically toward Harry’s forehead. “Merlin’s breath—you’re him.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Harry said wryly. “Though I assure you, I’m quite alive and not nearly as fascinating as the rumours.”

Tracey giggled. “That’s his usual disclaimer.”

Blaise chuckled softly and stored his trunk above the seat before settling in beside her. “Well, at least I’ve found decent company. The rest of this train feels like a gossip column waiting to happen.”

Before anyone could respond, there came a loud thud outside the door, followed by frantic footsteps. The door burst open to reveal a tall, lanky boy with flaming red hair, blue eyes wide with panic, and a smudge of soot on his nose.

“Sorry—can I—uh—hide here a second?” he gasped.

Harry blinked but quickly stood and motioned him in. “Of course. Close the door, quickly.”

The boy scrambled inside, slamming the door shut just as a pair of identical redheads passed by the compartment, laughing and carrying what looked disturbingly like a large, twitching jar.

“Safe,” Harry said, locking the latch with a quiet click. “You can breathe now.”

The boy exhaled heavily, leaning against the door. “Thanks. Those gits are going to get me killed one day.”

Susan tilted her head. “Who?”

“My brothers,” he groaned. “Fred and George. Pranksters. I’m Ron—Ron Weasley.”

Hannah smiled kindly. “Nice to meet you, Ron. You look like you’ve just escaped a dragon.”

“Worse,” Ron muttered darkly. “A spider. A huge one. Lee Jordan brought it on the train, and Fred said it’d make a nice pet for me. Blimey, I nearly jumped out the window!”

At that, Tracey burst into laughter. “A spider? You ran from a spider?”

Ron’s ears turned scarlet. “It was massive! Eight legs and hairy! You’d run too!”

Daphne tried to hold back her laughter but failed, while Hannah and Susan giggled nervously, clearly uncomfortable.

Harry, however, did not laugh. He simply tilted his head. “Actually, that sounds quite unpleasant. Arachnophobia’s nothing to joke about.”

Ron blinked. “Arachnowhat?”

“Arachnophobia,” Harry repeated. “It’s the term for a fear of spiders. A phobia is when something causes an extreme reaction—panic, dizziness, sometimes even nausea—far beyond what most people feel. It’s not funny; it’s neurological.”

The laughter subsided as quickly as it had started. Even Tracey’s grin faltered as she frowned thoughtfully. “You mean… it’s like being sick, not just scared?”

“Exactly,” Harry said, nodding. “It’s how the brain reacts. You can’t just will it away.”

Ron looked surprised. “You actually get it?”

Harry smiled gently. “I’ve read about it, and it makes perfect sense. Everyone’s afraid of something. There’s no shame in it.”

For a moment, Ron looked like he might actually hug him. “Thanks, mate. Most people just laugh.”

Daphne offered a small, sincere nod. “He’s right. Fear isn’t weakness. It’s human.”

“Speak for yourself,” Blaise murmured, smirking slightly, though there was no malice in it.

“Even for Slytherins,” Tracey teased back, elbowing him.

Blaise gave her a mock glare, but Harry could see he was enjoying the conversation.

Ron finally settled onto the bench opposite Harry. “So, you’re really Harry Potter, huh?”

Harry nodded once. “I’m afraid so.”

Ron gawked for a moment. “Blimey. Mum’s going to faint when she hears I shared a compartment with you.”

“Please don’t let her,” Harry said with mock seriousness. “I’d hate to be responsible for domestic chaos.”

Laughter erupted again, lighter this time, genuine and friendly.

“Anyway,” Ron continued, eyes wide as Maple stretched lazily at Harry’s feet, “is that your dog? And that owl outside—she’s yours too?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “Maple’s a Golden Retriever, and the owl’s Hedwig. She preferred to fly rather than stay cooped up.”

“Brilliant,” Ron whispered. “We’ve got an old owl at home, but she’s nothing like that.”

Susan smiled. “This compartment’s turning into quite the menagerie.”

“Better than one full of pranksters,” Daphne said, smirking.

Ron nodded fervently. “Amen to that. I’ll take polite company over spiders any day.”

The train rattled on, sun glinting through the window as laughter and chatter filled the air once again. Harry felt something wholly new settle in his chest—contentment. He was not just “the Boy Who Lived” anymore. He was part of something simple, ordinary, and warm.

He glanced around at the group—Daphne leaning against the window with quiet poise, Tracey and Blaise trading witty remarks, Susan and Hannah whispering over Chocolate Frogs, and Ron grinning sheepishly as Maple nuzzled his hand.

Yes, Harry thought with a quiet smile, this was the beginning of something good.
______________________________

A/n: I hope You like it. Please ignore grammatical and spelling errors. 

Looks like a new crew is forming! Yeah, I know Ron's being unusually nice to Daphne, Tracey, and Blaise, but let's not forget they haven't been sorted into houses yet - so technically, they're not Slytherins... yet! Ron's got no reason to hate them right now. Plus, they've understood his arachnophobia, and that's a first!

As you might've guessed from my other stories, I'm a total sucker for interhouse friendships. And Maple's definitely stealing the show, isn't she? I'm loving the golden retriever too!

Also, just to clarify, don't get any ideas about Harry and Daphne - it's not a Haphne story. I like that ship, but I'm a die-hard Hinny fan. I don't think I'll be writing any other ships anytime soon. That being said, Harry and Daphne will definitely remain good friends!

Also a Very Happy Christmas to Everyone !!

Hey for this story I wasn't able to decide Chapter names easily so for fun why don't you all comment what you think chapter name can be ? I will be waiting.

Thanks for reading. § Hinny Forever § Please Review!!!

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or its universe. All original elements belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This story is a work of fanfiction created purely for entertainment purposes - no copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made. Any original characters, events, or concepts beyond the established canon are the author's own creative additions to expand the magical world respectfully.
______________________________

The group had grown comfortable, laughter spilling as easily as Pumpkin Juice. The trolley witch had already passed, leaving behind a small mountain of sweets and snacks-Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Bott's Beans, Cauldron Cakes, and, at Harry's insistence, a few Muggle sweets he had brought along.

Ron eyed the unfamiliar bars curiously. "What's this one called again?"

Harry smiled. "A Mars Bar. It's made of caramel, nougat, and chocolate."

Blaise leaned forward, interested. "Sounds divine. I'll try one."

The moment Blaise bit into it, his eyes widened. "By Salazar's cane! This is incredible!"

Tracey snorted. "You're acting like you've discovered a Philosopher's Stone made of sugar."

"Let him be," Daphne said, smirking. "Blaise always had a sweet tooth." Apparently they knew each other from some dinners.

"I do not!" he protested, reaching for another bar.

Ron, chewing on his own piece, nodded enthusiastically. "Blimey, he's right! Muggles might not have magic, but they sure know their sweets. My mum never lets us have this stuff."

Susan laughed. "You'd get along well with my aunt Amelia. She keeps a drawer full of Honeydukes' finest."

Hannah, not wanting to be left out, exaggerated a dramatic sigh after tasting a bit of fudge. "Oh heavens, I think I'm in love."

Tracey clasped her hands over her chest, copying her tone. "Positively enchanted, I daresay!"

The group burst into laughter, Harry nearly choking on his chocolate. It was light-hearted and ridiculous, and it made the journey fly.

That was when the compartment door slid open again. A round-faced boy with trembling hands stood at the entrance, looking close to tears. Beside him was a bushy-haired girl with an expression of determined concern.

"Excuse me," the girl began quickly, "has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one."

Neville's lower lip quivered slightly. "His name's Trevor. He keeps hopping off."

Harry immediately rose. "No, we haven't seen him yet. You're Neville Longbottom, right?"

Neville blinked in surprise. "Er-yes. How'd you know?"

Harry smiled kindly. "You look a lot like your mum."

Neville's eyes widened. "You knew her?"

"Sort of, from photos," Harry said quietly. "My godmother. She wanted to take me in when I was a baby, but circumstances didn't allow it."

Neville's expression softened with understanding. "Oh. Gran told me about that."

Harry nodded once, then turned to the girl beside him. "And you must be?"

"Hermione Granger," she said briskly. "I'm new to all this-Muggleborn, they call it?"

Tracey grinned. "That's right. Don't worry, you'll get used to the madness soon enough."

Daphne inclined her head gracefully. "Daphne Greengrass, of the Most Noble House of Greengrass."

Hermione blinked. "Er-pleased to meet you."

Then one by one, the others followed suit.

"Tracey Davis, heiress of the Davis family."

"Susan Bones, heiress of the Bones line."

"Hannah Abbott, heir of Abbott."

"Blaise Zabini," Blaise said with a half-smirk. "No need of title, but sufficient charm. Though of you really need it, it's Heir Zabini."

"Ron Weasley," Ron added sheepishly. "Just... Weasley. Er..of House Weasley I guess?"

Harry finished the introductions with a nod. "Harry James Potter, Lord of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter."

Hermione's mouth dropped open slightly. "Oh-I've read about you! You're-"

"Yes," Harry said before she could continue. "That one. Pleased to meet you, Miss Granger."

She flushed. "Sorry, it's just-I've read so much about the wizarding world, and you're in half the books!"

Daphne's lips twitched. "Half of them exaggerated, no doubt."

Hermione frowned lightly. "You all introduce yourselves like we're in a period drama. Do all wizards talk like that?"

Blaise chuckled. "Not quite. That's etiquette. Wizarding society values formal greetings, especially among old families."

"Oh." Hermione's eyes brightened immediately. "Then I'd better learn, hadn't I? I wouldn't want to sound rude."

Tracey whispered under her breath, "She'll fit in Ravenclaw fast."

Neville, still anxious, interrupted softly. "Er-if anyone spots Trevor, please tell me."

Harry gave a reassuring nod. "Of course, Neville. But you don't need to wander the whole train. Talk to a prefect. They'll help."

"Prefect?" Hermione asked, perking up again.

"Yes," Harry said. "Audrey Greengrass, Daphne's sister, is one. She'll know what to do."

Daphne smiled proudly. "Audrey's on duty in the front cars, I think. She's quite responsible."

Ron added, "My brother Percy's a prefect too. Bit of a stickler for rules, but he'll find your toad even if it's on the roof."

Neville managed a weak laugh. "Thanks. I'll go look for them."

"Wait," Harry said, opening the door. "We'll keep an eye out. If Trevor hops in here, he's safe."

Hermione smiled appreciatively. "That's very kind of you."

Ron waved dismissively. "Don't worry. We'll guard it better than Fred and George guard their prank stash."

The others chuckled as Neville and Hermione left, and Harry sat back down, thoughtful.

"She's clever," Daphne remarked. "Bit bossy, though."

"Just confident," Harry replied, watching the door. "She'll do well."

Susan leaned toward him, smiling. "So will you, Lord Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Just Harry, please."

Tracey grinned. "Just Harry, who knows every sweet, phobia, and etiquette rule imaginable. You're setting quite the bar, Potter."

The group laughed again, the train's rhythmic clatter underscoring their growing camaraderie. Outside, the sky blushed with sunset hues, painting golden streaks across their reflections in the glass. For the first time, every one of them-pureblood, half-blood, and Muggleborn alike-felt that something special was beginning, something that would bind them beyond names, titles, or houses.
______________________________

The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels filled the quiet between bouts of conversation. Maple had curled comfortably by Daphne's feet while Tracey was debating with Blaise whether licorice wands were an abomination or a delight when the compartment door slid open again.

A tall, well-built boy with tousled brown hair and a Hufflepuff badge on his chest poked his head in, holding a slightly slimy toad. "Excuse me," he said politely. "Any of you lot missing a toad? Poor thing nearly hopped into the trolley witch's cauldron."

Neville, who had just reached the corridor with Hermione, gasped. "Trevor!" He hurried forward, nearly tripping over in his haste. "Oh, thank goodness! I thought I'd lost him for good this time."

The older boy smiled and handed the toad over. "Glad to return him, then. Cedric Diggory, third year-Hufflepuff."

Harry rose from his seat with a courteous nod. "Harry James Potter, and thank you, Cedric. That was very kind."

Cedric blinked, then blinked again. "Wait-Harry Potter? As in-"

"Yes," Tracey interrupted mischievously. "The one with the scar. Try not to stare; we've all been warned once."

Blaise chuckled under his breath. "Twice, in her case."

Cedric flushed slightly but managed a smile. "Right, sorry. I didn't mean to-well-Merlin's beard, I didn't expect to meet you on my rounds for a toad."

Harry grinned good-naturedly. "Don't worry. Happens more often than you'd think."

Hermione stepped inside again with Neville, both looking grateful. "Thank you, Cedric," Hermione said briskly. "That was very kind."

"No trouble," Cedric replied warmly. "Just doing my part to keep the train free of amphibians."

Tracey leaned back with a grin. "You must be one of the prefects then?"

Cedric nodded. "Not yet, but I help the younger students when I can. My dad works at the Ministry, says it builds character."

"Wise advice," Daphne said with an approving smile. "And much appreciated, I'm sure."

As everyone settled again, Hermione and Neville found space near the door, the once roomy compartment now bustling with energy. Ron frowned, glancing around. "How in the world are we all fitting in here? There's hardly room to breathe!"

Before anyone else could speak, Harry and Hermione both answered in unison, "The compartments are charmed to expand as needed. Up to fifty people can fit in one at a time."

They both stopped mid-sentence, turning to look at each other, surprised.

Tracey burst into laughter first. "Brilliant! Perfect synchronization!"

Susan giggled behind her hand. "Even used the same tone! You two sound like you've rehearsed that."

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling. "Guess we both read the same thing."

Hermione nodded, blushing slightly. "Hogwarts: A History. It's all explained there, though I suppose most people haven't gotten through the entire text yet."

Blaise raised a brow. "You actually read that whole brick of a book?"

"Twice," Hermione admitted earnestly. "It's fascinating!"

Even Cedric laughed at that. "I've been at Hogwarts for two years and haven't gotten past the first chapter. It's useful stuff, though, I'll give you that."

Daphne smirked at Harry. "You read it too, then?"

Harry shrugged modestly. "A Healer must understand history and structure of magical institutions. It's only proper preparation."

Ron groaned dramatically. "Brilliant. My compartment's full of scholars. Next thing you'll tell me you've memorized the castle's floor plan."

Hermione hesitated just long enough for everyone to laugh again.

"You actually did, didn't you?" Tracey said in mock disbelief. "You two are going to make everyone else look like trolls."

Neville smiled softly, stroking Trevor, now content on his lap. "I think it's great. Maybe one of you can help me figure out where the greenhouses are."

Susan patted his shoulder kindly. "Don't worry, Neville. We'll all stick together for the first week."

Cedric nodded approvingly. "That's the spirit. Hogwarts can be overwhelming the first time, but you'll find your rhythm soon enough."

Ron looked intrigued. "What's Hufflepuff like? Everyone says it's the quiet house."

Cedric laughed. "Quiet? Maybe in the library. We're the loyal ones, Weasley. Hard-working, fair, and usually first to the feast tables."

Tracey leaned toward Blaise, whispering, "He sounds like one of Professor Sprout's speeches."

Blaise smirked. "Probably memorized it."

Cedric caught the whisper and winked. "Maybe. Helps during inter-house debates."

Daphne smiled, her poise unwavering. "Well, Mr. Diggory, if all Hufflepuffs are as polite as you, I shall have to revise my expectations."

"Coming from a Greengrass, I'll take that as high praise," Cedric replied with a slight bow.

Laughter rippled through the compartment again. The tension that had once filled the air was long gone, replaced by warmth and camaraderie. Even Hermione had relaxed, tucking a stray curl behind her ear as she listened.

Outside, the countryside was a blur of gold and green, sunlight glinting off rivers that wound through the hills. The Hogwarts Express thundered northward, carrying them toward the unknown, toward magic, toward the beginning of something extraordinary.

Harry leaned back against the seat, eyes on the horizon. He was part of a circle, a world where laughter and learning coexisted, where new bonds were quietly forming.

Daphne noticed the thoughtful look and smiled faintly. "You're thinking again, Lord Potter."

Harry returned her smile. "Just Harry. And yes, I suppose I am. It feels like this is the start of something big."

"Maybe it is," she said softly, as the train roared ahead into the sunset, carrying every one of them toward destiny.
______________________________

The compartment had grown lively after Cedric's departure, the air still carrying a faint echo of laughter. The rhythmic clatter of the train was now drowned out by the hum of chatter and the occasional hoot from outside where Hedwig circled the Express. It didn't take long before the steady knock of curious students began.

It started with a pair of second-years who shyly peeked in, whispering before one finally stammered, "Er-sorry, but-is it true Harry Potter's in here?"

Harry managed a polite smile. "Yes. But please, call me Harry."

The boys stared at his scar, muttered a quick "thank you," and scampered off down the corridor.

Tracey sighed dramatically. "You're going to be a celebrity by the time we reach Hogwarts."

Daphne smirked. "He already is. They're just seeing proof."

Harry chuckled softly. "I'd rather they saw me as Harry than as some legend in a history book."

Before anyone could answer, the compartment door slid open again with a burst of loud laughter. In marched two identical redheaded boys with mischievous grins and a darker-skinned boy with dreadlocks in tow.

"Well, well," said one of the twins, feigning a bow. "Is it true? The famous Harry Potter, riding in our very own train?"

"Indeed it is, Fred," replied the other twin, his grin broadening. "And might I say, even more heroic-looking than the Chocolate Frog cards claim."

Lee Jordan, trying and failing to contain his grin, added, "Fred, George, behave. You'll scare the poor bloke before he even reaches Hogwarts."

Harry laughed. "It's quite all right. I've been through worse."

That only seemed to encourage them.

"Brilliant! He's got humour!" Fred exclaimed.

George nodded solemnly. "That settles it. You're one of us now."

Tracey groaned. "Merlin help Hogwarts if that's true."

The twins burst out laughing again. George leaned forward. "Well, we'll let you first-years enjoy your peace while it lasts. Just remember, if you ever need fireworks, pranks, or chaos of the highest quality, look for Weasleys' future founders."

"Of what?" Hannah asked curiously.

"Of the greatest joke shop wizardkind will ever see," Fred declared dramatically.

Lee added proudly, "And I'll be their manager when they're rich."

"Manager?" Daphne raised an eyebrow. "You sound certain."

"Of course," Lee replied. "Someone has to handle the galleons they'll lose on their first explosion."

Laughter filled the compartment again, and even Harry joined in.

When the trio left, the air seemed lighter, though the whispering outside continued. Hermione looked half-amused, half-irritated. "Honestly, you'd think people had never seen another student before."

Neville shrugged. "To be fair, they haven't seen the Harry Potter before."

Harry sighed. "Let's hope they get over it soon."

The door slid open yet again, though this time with gentler manners. A brown-haired boy with intelligent eyes stepped in, followed by a cheerful blonde and a boy with sandy hair holding a book about magical creatures.

"Excuse me," said the brown-haired one. "All the compartments are full with older students and we would rather not sit with them. May we join you?"

Harry gestured for them to come in. "Of course. There's space."

"Thank you," said the boy politely. "I'm Terry Boot."

"Lisa Turpin," said the blonde with a bright smile.

"Rolf Scamander," added the third, clutching his book tightly.

Blaise's brows rose slightly. "As in the Newt Scamander? Author of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them?"

Rolf nodded modestly. "That's him. He is my grandfather."

Tracey's grin widened. "Oh, Merlin, we have another celebrity of our own."

Harry smiled at Rolf. "Then you must like magical creatures quite a lot."

Rolf's eyes lit up. "They're fascinating! I want to study them properly one day, maybe even travel like Grandfather did."

Neville perked up. "Really? I love Herbology, but creatures sound interesting too."

"Maybe you can both work together one day," Daphne suggested, earning approving nods all around.

Lisa looked around the group, clearly impressed. "This is quite the gathering. It's not every day one finds such company on the train."

Hermione smiled politely. "It is nice, isn't it? A mix of everyone."

Moments later, another boy appeared in the doorway-tall, neat, with a slightly hesitant smile. "Er, I'm Justin Flinch-Fletchley. All the other compartments are packed with older students."

Harry stood again. "Please, have a seat, Justin. We're quite the collection already."

"Thank you," Justin said gratefully as he settled beside Blaise. "Muggle-born, by the way. This is all still a bit new."

Hermione smiled encouragingly. "Me too. Don't worry, you'll get used to it quickly"

Tracey smirked. "You might want to keep that enthusiasm when the homework starts."

Daphne gave her a look. "Ignore her. She's being dramatic again."

As the train rumbled on, conversation flowed easily. Terry and Hermione discussed spell theory; Rolf tried explaining the difference between Crups and Jack Russell terriers to a baffled Ron; Blaise and Susan compared wizarding sweets to Muggle ones, and Harry sat back, watching them all with a quiet smile.

It struck him then how... normal it felt. Different students, different worlds-pure-blood, half-blood, and Muggle-born-all laughing together over Chocolate Frogs and Pumpkin Pasties.

Maple wagged her tail lazily as if in approval.

Harry leaned back, watching the landscape blur past. "Feels like Hogwarts won't just be a school," he murmured thoughtfully. "It might actually be home."

Daphne heard him, her expression softening. "Perhaps for all of us," she said quietly, as laughter echoed again and the scarlet train thundered northward into the heart of magic.
______________________________

The chatter in the compartment grew lively as the Hogwarts Express thundered along the tracks, the soft clinking of Chocolate Frog wrappers and Pumpkin Pasties punctuating their laughter. Blaise leaned back with a smug grin. "Alright, then. Let's make a game of it. Which house do you think you'll end up in?"

Ron straightened immediately. "Gryffindor, of course! All my brothers are there. Best house there is!" His voice carried the confidence of someone who had rehearsed the line for years.

Daphne smirked slightly, eyes glinting. "Predictable, Weasley. Some of us have higher standards. Slytherin for me. My family's been there for generations."

Tracey nudged her playfully. "And I suppose that means I'll follow along? I wouldn't mind Slytherin either, though Ravenclaw sounds tempting. All that cleverness."

"Ha!" Blaise laughed. "Slytherin for me, no question. Cunning, ambition, power-it's practically home."

Across from them, Hannah munched on a licorice wand before declaring brightly, "I want Hufflepuff! Mum says it's the kindest house, and Professor Sprout sounds lovely."

Susan nodded in agreement, twirling a strand of red hair. "Either Hufflepuff or Gryffindor for me. Auntie always said both houses produce fine witches and wizards. I'd be proud of either."

Lisa adjusted her glasses, an analytical glint in her eye. "Ravenclaw, obviously. It's where the sharpest minds go. Besides, I like the idea of solving riddles instead of giving passwords."

Terry chuckled, brushing his fringe aside. "I wouldn't mind Ravenclaw either, though Gryffindor sounds exciting. Heroes and adventure, you know?"

Hermione's head lifted instantly. "I agree with Terry," she said earnestly. "Knowledge is important, but courage is just as valuable. Ravenclaw or Gryffindor, I think."

Ron blinked at her. "You've thought that out already?"

She gave him a look that suggested she always thought things out. "Naturally. I've read about all four houses. The Sorting Hat takes your qualities into account, but your choice matters too."

Neville, who had been quietly stroking his toad now perched on his lap, murmured, "Gran says my parents were in Gryffindor. I'd like that. Though... maybe Hufflepuff would suit me better."

"Not at all, Neville," said Harry kindly. "Bravery takes many forms. I think the Hat knows that."

Neville looked up, grateful, as Hermione nodded in approval.

Justin, meanwhile, straightened his tie. "Well, I'm Muggle-born, so I've no family precedent. Gryffindor sounds brave, but Hufflepuff seems... fair-minded. I suppose either would do."

Ron grinned. "You'll fit right in, mate. Hufflepuffs are good sorts."

Hermione frowned slightly. "It's interesting how most people already have expectations about where they belong. I wonder if that influences the Hat's decision?"

"Probably," said Blaise lazily. "Confidence always does."

The group's attention shifted to Harry, who had been watching the banter with quiet amusement.

"Well, Potter?" Ron asked, leaning forward. "Which house do you fancy?"

Harry smiled faintly, his green eyes thoughtful. "Honestly? I don't mind any of them."

There was a small silence, followed by surprised laughter.

"Any of them?" Daphne asked incredulously. "You can't be serious. Everyone has a preference."

Harry shrugged lightly. "Each has something to offer. Gryffindor's courage, Ravenclaw's wit, Hufflepuff's loyalty, Slytherin's drive. Why limit myself to one ideal before I even know who I am?"

Tracey let out a low whistle. "Merlin's beard, that's rather profound for eleven."

Hermione's expression softened with respect. "That's... quite a good point, actually."

Ron blinked. "Blimey, that's a very un-Weasley way to look at it."

Blaise smirked. "Sounds like something a Slytherin would say-ambitious enough to see value everywhere."

"Or a Ravenclaw," Lisa countered with a grin.

Susan giggled. "Maybe he'll start a fifth house."

Harry chuckled. "I think four are enough to manage, thank you."

Neville smiled faintly. "You really don't mind where you end up?"

"Not really," said Harry quietly. "What matters is what I learn, not what banner hangs over my head."

For a moment, the compartment was calm, the steady rhythm of the train filling the space. Then Ron snorted. "If you end up in Slytherin, I'll eat my wand."

"Careful," Tracey teased. "We'll hold you to that."

Everyone burst out laughing, the tension gone, the camaraderie bright and easy. Hermione shook her head with a fond sigh. "You lot are impossible."

Harry leaned back, smiling to himself as conversation resumed around him-laughter, debate, sweets exchanged, and friendships quietly forming under the hum of magic and motion.
______________________________

Hermione sat up straighter as the train rumbled gently beneath them, her eyes lighting up as the conversation lulled. "Oh! That reminds me," she began, clasping her hands on her lap. "Before I got my letter, I read in the Daily Mail-well, the Muggle newspaper-that two top students from all of Britain's primary schools were both accepted to the Highland Academy for Advanced Learning in Scotland."

Ron frowned. "Highland what now?"

She smiled patiently. "That's what Muggle families are told Hogwarts is called. You know, so they don't think it's strange. The Ministry apparently sets up the cover so it sounds like a prestigious boarding school. Quite clever, really."

"Blimey," muttered Terry, impressed. "You mean they actually use fake schools to keep the Statute of Secrecy intact?"

Hermione nodded eagerly. "Yes, exactly! Anyway, the article said both students scored the highest national marks in every subject-mathematics, sciences, literature, languages, the works. It even mentioned they were invited to study under a 'special advanced curriculum' in Scotland. That must have been Hogwarts."

Blaise leaned forward, a teasing smirk forming. "Let me guess... you were one of them?"

Hermione's cheeks flushed pink, but she didn't deny it. "Well... yes. I knew I was one of them, of course, because my parents were notified by the Muggle authorities. But the paper never named the other student. I've been wondering all day who the other person in my year could be."

Susan let out a small gasp. "Wait, so you're one of Britain's top students?"

Hermione looked down modestly. "It sounds rather silly when said aloud, but yes, I suppose I was. I only wish I knew who the other one was. The paper didn't say."

The moment hung for half a second-until Harry, who had been listening quietly, nearly choked on his Pumpkin Juice. "Wait-you were one of them?" he exclaimed, eyes wide.

Hermione blinked. "Yes... why?"

Harry looked utterly dumbfounded, then broke into an incredulous grin. "This morning, I was wondering the exact same thing! My Uncle made a huge fuss about me being one of the two top students in the country. I thought the other person was just some Muggle genius I'd never meet."

For a heartbeat, silence filled the compartment. Then pandemonium.

"Merlin's beard!" Ron shouted. "Both of you? You're saying we've got two prodigies sitting right here?"

Blaise  leaned forward, giving a low whistle. "I’ve heard of this. My mother told me the Ministry keeps an eye on Muggle testing to find 'outliers.' To beat out millions of Muggles... that’s an insane amount of competition."

​"What’s a 'primary school' exactly?" Susan asked, looking curious. "Is it like the tutoring we did at home?"

​"In a way," Hermione said, her voice warm. "But there are thousands of schools. I suppose our magic might have given us a bit of an edge with focus or memory, even if we didn't know we were using it."

​Tracey  leaned toward Hermione, grinning. "No wonder you knew so much before even stepping into the wizarding world. You were already at the top of the other world."

​Hannah and Lisa swapped wide-eyed looks of excitement. "This is incredible!" Lisa clapped her hands. "Most of us were just doing basic reading and sums with our parents or tutors. We're literally sharing a compartment with the two brightest students in Britain!"

Hermione shook her head quickly. "Oh no, no, please don't make a fuss. I didn't mean to brag or anything. It's just... fascinating, isn't it? How magic somehow reaches out to those who excel even without knowing it exists."

Harry gave a soft laugh. "You weren't bragging. Looks like fate had an interesting way of introducing us."

Hermione smiled, her earlier shyness fading into warmth. "I suppose it did."

Neville chuckled softly. "So the famous Harry Potter and the top Muggleborn scholar in one compartment. Hogwarts better be ready."

Ron elbowed Harry. "Blimey, mate, you're not just The Boy Who Lived-you're The Boy Who Topped Exams too!"

Harry groaned, hiding his face behind his hands as the others burst out laughing. "Please, don't start that."

Blaise smirked. "Too late, Potter. You're officially legendary in two worlds now."

Tracey chimed in mischievously. "Imagine the professors' faces when they realise they've got both of you in the same year."

"I bet Professor McGonagall's already planning to make them prefects," Hannah teased.

Hermione blushed again. "Oh, I'm sure there are plenty of brilliant students here. Still... it's rather exciting, isn't it? Two worlds meeting in one place."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah. Maybe Hogwarts isn't just about learning magic. Maybe it's where everything-magic, knowledge, people-comes together."

Susan grinned. "You're both going to make the rest of us look bad, aren't you?"

"Not at all," Harry replied with a grin. "We'll just share our notes."

The laughter resumed as the train sped northward. Hermione and Harry exchanged a look-one of mutual understanding, of two prodigies from entirely different worlds suddenly finding a kindred mind across the aisle. For once, the boy who bore a legend and the girl who chased knowledge felt something simple yet rare: belonging.
______________________________

The chatter in the compartment paused abruptly when the door slid open once more. Standing there, framed by the corridor's golden light, was a pale boy with slicked-back blond hair, his pointed chin raised in practiced arrogance. Two bulky boys flanked him, their expressions dull yet intimidating.

"Ah," the blond drawled, surveying the compartment. "So it's true. Harry Potter is on this train."

Harry looked up calmly from his seat. "Indeed," he replied with the faintest nod. "You must be Draco Malfoy."

Draco blinked, thrown slightly off balance by the composed greeting. "Yes-yes, I am. My father told me about you. Said it would be wise to make... certain acquaintances early. After all, not everyone is worth mixing with."

Ron groaned under his breath. "Here we go."

Before Draco could continue, Harry rose slightly and inclined his head with the grace of a young lord. "It is courteous of you to introduce yourself, Mr. Malfoy," he said evenly. "However, I prefer to choose my friends myself."

For a moment, Draco stared, uncertain whether he had just been insulted or politely rebuffed. The proper tone and manners left no space for open offense. His eyes flicked quickly to Daphne, Blaise, and Tracey-all pure-bloods observing the exchange with quiet amusement. He hesitated, then forced a thin smile. "Of course. Well, do remember what I said."

"Certainly," Harry replied smoothly, offering a slight, impeccable bow.

Draco, clearly unsettled by the situation, turned sharply on his heel. "Come, Crabbe, Goyle." The door slid shut behind him.

As soon as he was gone, Ron let out a snort. "Blimey, that ferret hasn't changed a bit from what my brothers said about his family."

Susan's lips pressed into a thin line. "My aunt would agree with you."

Hermione frowned. "Your aunt?"

"Yes," Susan said, folding her hands on her lap. "Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She's told me all about the Malfoys. It's because of them that so many Death Eaters walked free after the war."

Neville shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking toward her. "What do you mean?"

Susan sighed, her voice taking on a serious tone. "After You-Know-Who fell, the trials began. Bartemius Crouch was Head of the DMLE then. He was ruthless-never showed mercy to any accused Death Eater. People feared him, but they also respected him because he didn't bend to bribes or threats."

"Sounds like a proper man for the job," Ron muttered.

"He was," Susan agreed softly. "Until one trial changed everything. The Lestranges were caught and charged with torturing the Longbottoms-" she stopped, glancing apologetically at Neville, "-and Crouch's own son was found among them. It was a scandal that destroyed him. He had to resign, and the new leadership wasn't half as strong."

Daphne's eyes narrowed slightly. "That was when Abraxas Malfoy made his move, wasn't it?"

Susan nodded gravely. "Yes. Abraxas-Draco's grandfather-used the Imperius Curse on both the new DMLE head and the Chief Warlock at the time. Under his control, they declared that most Death Eaters still awaiting trial, including Lucius Malfoy, were 'victims' of the Imperius. That loophole allowed them to walk free legally."

Tracey gasped. "That's vile! They corrupted the law itself!"

"Exactly," Susan said. "And the Minister for Magic back then-Millicent Bagnold-was bribed to look the other way. Everyone in power had been bought or cursed. It took only a few weeks for half the Death Eaters to go free."

Hermione's face had gone pale. "But... didn't Dumbledore do anything?"

"Oh, he tried," Susan continued. "By the time he found out, it was too late. Rumour says he tracked Abraxas himself. But before Dumbledore could bring him in, Abraxas killed himself-erased any proof of the conspiracy. After that, Dumbledore took the post of Chief Warlock, just to make sure no one could manipulate the Wizengamot again."

Neville's voice was quiet but steady. "So that's why my parents never got justice."

"Yes," Susan whispered. "My aunt learned the full story when she became Head of DMLE. She told me that if not for Abraxas's corruption, people like your parents' torturers might have faced proper punishment."

Ron scowled, fists clenching. "And now that snake's grandson struts around like he's above everyone."

"Unfortunately," Susan said bitterly, "the current Minister, Cornelius Fudge, listens to Lucius Malfoy too much. My aunt and Dumbledore both have their hands tied."

Blaise leaned back, arms crossed. "Typical of the Ministry-too worried about influence to pursue justice."

Harry's gaze darkened slightly, though his tone remained calm. "Then perhaps it falls to our generation to fix what they broke."

Hermione's eyes met his. "You really believe that?"

"Completely," Harry replied. "Corruption may hide behind power, but it can't stand forever. History always brings light to darkness."

There was a moment of quiet respect after his words. Even Ron, still muttering under his breath about "slimy gits," nodded in reluctant agreement. The rhythmic clatter of the train filled the silence, carrying them all steadily closer to a new beginning-and perhaps, one day, to a reckoning long overdue.

"It's true," Susan said after a thoughtful pause, her tone steady but full of conviction. "Next generation can really make a difference. The Wizengamot might look unshakable now, but it's balanced on a very thin edge."

Hermione tilted her head curiously. "What do you mean?"

Susan folded her hands neatly over her lap, her Hufflepuff calm returning as she began to explain. "Right now, the Wizengamot is divided into three major factions-the Light, the Dark, and the Neutral. The problem is that the Dark faction has more support whenever the Neutral side swings that way. The Light side used to be powerful-back when the Potters, Peverells, and Gryffindors held their seats-but those have all been empty since Lord Charlus Potter's time."

Justin frowned slightly. "Empty?"

"Yes," she nodded. "Since Harry's grandparents' passing, no proxy has been appointed for the Potter, Peverell, or Gryffindor seats. Together, those three seats were some of the strongest voices of the Light. Without them, the balance shifted. That's partly why the Dark faction gained so much ground."

Ron looked rather startled. "Wait-Dad told me something like that once! Said our family used to have a Wizengamot seat too, the Weasley one, and that Mum's family-the Prewetts-had one as well. But they lost the right to vote."

"They didn't lose it, Ron," Susan corrected gently. "They were blocked. Lucius Malfoy has been doing everything in his power to keep those seats vacant. He's been arguing for years that because the Weasleys are 'too poor' and 'too diminished in magical influence,' they no longer represent a noble family line worthy of a vote. It's all politics, of course, but his allies in the Dark faction always support his motion."

Ron scowled. "Slimy git! He'll say anything to keep honest folk out of power."

Daphne spoke for the first time in a while, her tone analytical. "That tactic isn't uncommon. My father often says the Dark faction thrives on technicalities and manipulation of tradition. They twist the laws of inheritance and representation to serve their cause."

Harry's gaze darkened with thought. "So the Light side is weakened because many of its old houses no longer hold representation. And the Neutrals-how do they decide?"

Susan gave a small, knowing smile. "They tend to sway where influence lies. When the Dark faction seems strong, the Neutral bloc usually supports them for stability's sake. But if the Light faction regains equal footing, the Neutrals might swing toward it again. That's how power flows in the Wizengamot."

Tracey leaned forward. "So what you're saying is-if the Potters come back into play, the Light side rises?"

"Exactly." Susan's eyes gleamed with quiet hope. "If you appoint proxies for your three seats, Harry, the Light will immediately gain back the strength it lost decades ago. And if your votes support the reinstatement of the Weasley and Prewett seats, that'll give the Light faction majority again. Once that happens, most of the Neutral block will follow suit."

Harry's expression was thoughtful, his mind running quickly through implications. "That would change the entire balance of wizarding politics," he murmured. "Three seats from me, plus two restored from the Weasleys. That's five votes in one shift. Enough to counter Malfoy's entire circle."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "You realize, Potter, that's exactly why the Dark side will target you politically once they find out. To them, you're not just the Boy Who Lived-you're the one who can destroy their control."

"I'm not afraid of politics," Harry replied calmly. "If the law can be used to protect people, then it must be used. I don't plan to waste what my family stood for."

Susan's voice softened. "That's exactly what we need. A Potter back in the Light faction. My aunt always says that Dumbledore alone can't hold the Wizengamot steady forever. It needs young voices, ones the people can trust."

Ron grinned proudly. "Well, you've already got my support, mate. Dad'll be thrilled to hear someone's finally going to stand up to Malfoy in the Wizengamot."

Daphne smiled faintly. "You may find support from unexpected corners, too. My family leads the Neutral faction now. Father doesn't favor extremism-he prefers equilibrium. If your actions show fairness, I think you'll have the Greengrasses' backing as well."

Tracey nodded eagerly. "And if the Neutrals move to the Light, the Dark side will lose its hold for the first time in decades!"

Hermione, ever the realist, raised a cautious point. "It won't be easy, though. Bureaucracies never change overnight."

Harry looked at her with quiet resolve. "Then we'll start the dawn."

For a few moments, the compartment was silent except for the rhythmic hum of the train wheels. Each of them, wizard-born and muggle-born alike, felt the subtle weight of what had just been discussed-an understanding that their generation would inherit a world not yet healed.

Susan finally broke the silence, her voice soft but sure. "You know, Aunt Amelia always says the law bends only when people let it. Maybe this time, it's our turn to straighten it."

Harry smiled slightly. "Then let's make sure it never bends again."

The others exchanged glances, a quiet spark of unity forming among them. Even Blaise, leaning back with his usual cool detachment, looked faintly impressed. Outside the window, the Scottish countryside blurred past in shades of gold and green, as if the land itself was listening.

Harry leaned back, staring out the window as the countryside rolled by in a blur of green and gold. The train's steady rhythm lulled most of the compartment into a calm hum of chatter, but his mind had already drifted far beyond the rails. Susan's words lingered like echoes of revelation. "The next generation can really help," she had said-and now, Harry understood just how true that was.

He looked around at the faces sharing the compartment: Susan Bones, niece of the current Head of the DMLE; Daphne, daughter of one of the most respected neutral families; Tracey Davis, also a pureblood with old ties to the Wizengamot; and even Ron Weasley, whose family, though not rich, had long been stalwarts of the Light. It struck him with a quiet jolt that every person here had lineage, history, and political gravity.

"Uncle Vernon did tell me," Harry mused silently, "that good advisors build their worth on connections, not just coin." His uncle's business lectures, often long and droning, suddenly made a strange sort of sense in the wizarding world too. Without even intending to, he had done exactly what Vernon might have wanted-surrounded himself with potential allies from every faction.

He glanced at Daphne, who was discussing something softly with Tracey. The Greengrasses, Susan had said, were leading the neutral faction now. That made them incredibly important. He finally grasped why Cyrus Greengrass, his family's attorney, had refused to take proxy control of the Potter, Peverell, or Gryffindor seats. If Cyrus had done that, the Greengrass family would have automatically shifted to the Light faction. That would have destroyed the fragile balance of the Wizengamot.

Harry's thoughts ran faster than the train. "If the neutrals lean to the dark, the whole political map tilts," he reasoned internally. "But if they stay neutral while supporting reforms quietly, the Dark faction loses its edge." He could almost hear Vernon's voice again, lecturing about market equilibrium and power balance. "Never take sides too early, boy," his uncle had said once, "the smart man waits till both sides show their hands."

He smiled faintly. "Guess I've been listening after all, Uncle."

Ron was grumbling beside him, waving a Chocolate Frog card. "Honestly, Harry, politics is a headache. My dad says half of the Wizengamot is full of peacocks in robes arguing over titles."

Susan chuckled softly. "Perhaps, but those 'peacocks' decide laws that affect every witch and wizard. The Light can't afford to stay quiet anymore. If Harry restores his seats, that alone would change everything."

"Three," Susan said proudly. "Potter, Peverell, and Gryffindor. Together they hold immense weight. If he appoints the right proxies before Hogwarts even starts, the Light will have a voice again. My aunt says it would shift the power balance for the first time in years."

Harry felt the weight of those words settle on him like an invisible cloak. Power. Responsibility. Duty. He had inherited more than a vault full of gold; he had inherited influence over an entire society that had nearly destroyed itself once.

Daphne met his eyes briefly, her gaze calm and analytical. "If you're wise, Potter, you'll wait," she said quietly. "Take time before deciding on proxies. The wrong choice could ruin the equilibrium."

He nodded. "I understand. It's... delicate."

"Precisely," she replied, her tone even. "My father always says, 'Power handled without restraint brings ruin faster than war.' He admired your grandfather, you know. Said Charlus Potter was a man who used authority as a shield, not a sword."

Harry smiled at that, the image of his grandfather's legacy filling him with quiet pride. "Then I hope I'll live up to that," he murmured.

Susan gave him a small grin. "Oh, I think you will. You're already sitting among half the future Wizengamot, you know."

Harry laughed softly, though the truth in her words wasn't lost on him. "Merlin's beard, I didn't even plan this. I just sat where there was space."

Ron snorted. "Yeah, and now you're building the Light faction's next generation while eating Bertie Bott's Beans."

"Fate's funny that way," Harry said, half to himself.

Outside, the sky was beginning to darken, the first signs of dusk touching the horizon. Harry's mind was alight with new understanding. The wizarding world wasn't just about spells and potions-it was built on politics, alliances, and ancient oaths that outlived their makers. Without realizing it, he had stepped into that web, already tugging at the threads that would one day shape Britain's magical future.

He rested his head back, feeling the rhythm of the train once more. "Three seats," he thought, "three legacies. If used wisely, maybe they can bring balance again."

The train whistled sharply as if in agreement, and for the first time, Harry felt not just the thrill of a student heading to Hogwarts-but the quiet, determined awareness of someone who would one day lead.

Harry's thoughts drifted lazily, the countryside a green blur beyond the glass, until Daphne's calm voice sliced through his musings. "My father believes there's another seat that ties closely to your family," she said, tone almost speculative. "The Black family's seat in the Wizengamot."

Harry blinked, attention snapping back. "The Blacks?" he repeated, frowning slightly. "But weren't they Dark supporters?"

Daphne shook her head. "Not always. The Blacks were powerful, yes, but traditionally neutral. They only leaned dark in recent decades. Father says that during the old days, your grandfather Charlus Potter and Arcturus Black were the perfect balance-Charlus leading the Light, Arcturus the Neutral. Together they held enough influence to steady the Wizengamot."

Susan looked intrigued. "So what changed?"

"Death," Daphne replied simply. "Both Charlus and Arcturus died around the same period. Your father, James, was only sixteen then, wasn't he?"

Harry nodded slowly. "Yes. He once told my mum-well, in her diary-that his parents died during the war, protecting a Muggle village. He took over everything far too young."

"Exactly," Daphne continued softly. "With the war raging and no time for politics, he never took up the Wizengamot seats. Arcturus's younger brother, Orion, meanwhile, fell under You-Know-Who's influence. That shifted the entire Black family toward the Dark faction. Since then, the Blacks have been under their shadow."

Ron frowned. "But aren't they all gone now? I heard Sirius Black's the only one left-and he's in Azkaban."

Daphne gave a curt nod. "True. And that's where it becomes interesting. With no free male heir, the Black seat passed through marriage lines. Narcissa Malfoy-Lucius's wife-was born a Black. She inherited the seat's influence, though Lucius can only use it politically, not financially. The vaults are sealed until Draco comes of age."

Susan huffed. "That's rotten. So Lucius gets the power without earning it?"

"That's politics," Daphne said coolly. "Power follows bloodlines, not worth. Though..." she paused, looking at Harry with that same assessing calm, "by rights, you could have claimed the Black seat too. Your grandmother, Dorea Potter-Charlus's wife-was born a Black as well. But the Wizengamot won't allow it. Draco's relation is closer by one generation, unless Black will sAy."

Harry absorbed that quietly, feeling the invisible threads of history weaving tighter around him. "So if the Blacks had stayed neutral," he thought, "the balance might never have fallen to darkness."

The conversation trailed off into quiet reflection. Ron reached for another Chocolate Frog, muttering something about "bloody pureblood politics," and the train rattled on toward Hogwarts.
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Miles away, in the quiet grandeur of Aurorium Legal's Espen branch, Cyrus Greengrass sat behind his mahogany desk, quill poised over a half-finished parchment. His office, lined with shelves of floating legal tomes, was lit by enchanted lamps that mimicked a gentle afternoon sun. He was supposed to be reviewing trade contracts, but his thoughts wandered to the train heading north.

"I hope Daphne's managing well," he murmured, smiling faintly. "First year always stirs the nerves." His gaze softened as he imagined his younger daughter, Astoria, pouting in the manor garden because she couldn't yet go to Hogwarts. And Audrey-his eldest-was probably on duty right now, patrolling on train.

The soft flutter of wings broke his reverie. An owl, sleek and silver-marked, swooped through the open window, bearing a Gringotts seal stamped in gold. Cyrus frowned. Gringotts did not send messages lightly-especially not to his private office.

He broke the seal and scanned the parchment quickly. His eyes widened at the heading: Urgent Notification: House of Potter-Interlink Alert from House of Black.

The message was brief yet earth-shattering.

Lord Greengrass,
Following the ascension of Lord Harry James Potter as the Head of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, a corresponding magical resonance was detected within the records of the House of Black. Upon inspection and verification, the Black Family's ward-chain confirms that the current Heir Apparent to the House of Black is Harry James Potter, as designated by the last Lord, Sirius Orion Black. This designation activated automatically upon the recognition of Lord Potter's titles.
-Griphook, Senior Account Manager, Gringotts London.

Cyrus froze, parchment trembling slightly in his hand. "Merlin preserve us..." he whispered. "That cannot be."

He rose sharply, pacing. "Sirius Black? Declared Heirless, imprisoned-convicted of murder. By law, a convicted criminal cannot pass on lordship. Which means-"

He stopped mid-stride, blood draining from his face. "By magic, only the rightful Lord can name an heir. The wards wouldn't accept falsity." His thoughts raced furiously. "If Sirius's designation took effect, it means he was never legally stripped of lordship. Meaning-he was never convicted."

The realization hit like a thunderclap. "By the Founders... that means Sirius was never tried."

He slumped into his chair, staring blankly at the letter. The implications were staggering. Either the Ministry had imprisoned an untried man-or an innocent one.

He exhaled sharply, heart pounding. "This changes everything. If the Black seat reverts to Potter through inheritance, Lucius Malfoy loses his control entirely. The Dark faction's balance collapses overnight."

Cyrus reached for his quill again, mind racing through legal precedents and political dominoes. "Harry James Potter," he murmured, voice low and grave, "you've just inherited more than power. You've inherited a storm."
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A/n: I hope You like it. Please ignore grammatical and spelling errors.

Hello !! So now the kids are discussing politics !! Do imagine what a circle Harry has at the moment !! It's is full of Neutrals and Light sides. The future of Wizengamot and in turn the wizarding world !!

Hey for this story I wasn't able to decide Chapter names easily so for fun why don't you all comment what you think chapter name can be ? I will be waiting.

Thanks for reading. § Hinny Forever § Please Review!!!

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or its universe. All original elements belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This story is a work of fanfiction created purely for entertainment purposes - no copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made. Any original characters, events, or concepts beyond the established canon are the author's own creative additions to expand the magical world respectfully.

Title suggested by @Meaghan898
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The conversation had just begun to drift back toward lighter topics when Susan's voice, calm but deliberate, cut through the gentle murmur. "You know," she began, fingers nervously tracing the rim of her pumpkin juice bottle, "my aunt believes Sirius Black is innocent."

The effect was immediate.

Neville nearly choked on a chocolate frog. Ron's jaw fell open. Blaise's eyes snapped up sharply. Even Daphne, usually composed, blinked in surprise.

Harry froze. The words slammed into him like a Bludger to the chest. Innocent? His mind recoiled violently. Every story he had read, every late-night talk with Vernon, every whisper of betrayal came rushing back-the night his parents died, their murderer, the traitor Sirius Black.

His knuckles whitened, gripping the edge of the seat. "That's absurd," he said quietly at first, though his voice trembled. "He-he was the reason Voldemort found my parents! He betrayed them. Everyone knows that!"

Hermione and Justin exchanged confused glances, their expressions uncertain. The names and politics still tangled too thickly for them, but the sharp emotion in Harry's tone snapped them back to attention.

Susan looked at him, her eyes wide yet steady. "Harry, please," she said softly. "Just hear me out first."

Harry's jaw clenched. Anger burned behind his eyes, but it was tangled with something else-hurt, disbelief, betrayal. His heart hammered painfully in his chest. He wanted to shout, to demand how she could possibly defend that man. Yet something in Susan's voice-the quiet conviction-made him pause.

He took a deep breath, forcing the tension from his shoulders. Control, Harry. Uncle Vernon's first rule-never let emotions blind you to facts. He shut his eyes for a brief moment, inhaled, then opened them again, green eyes sharp yet calmer. "Fine," he said tightly. "Say what you have to."

Susan nodded, relief flickering in her features. "Thank you."

Everyone leaned forward slightly. The soft rhythm of the train on tracks was the only sound for a heartbeat before Susan spoke again.

"There's a reason my aunt believes that," she began. "Because... she was engaged to Sirius Black."

That revelation dropped into the compartment like a thunderclap.

"What?!" Ron blurted out. "Bones and-Merlin's beard-that can't be right!"

Even Blaise looked momentarily stunned. "Engaged?" he echoed, incredulous. "A Bones and a Black?"

Susan nodded, her tone steady despite the storm of disbelief around her. "Yes. They were engaged before the war ended. My aunt has never spoken of it publicly, but she told me. She believes he could never have done those things. She said Sirius loved your parents, Harry. James was like a brother to him."

Harry's throat felt dry. The anger had cooled into a gnawing uncertainty. He remembered faintly-a faded picture from one of the few surviving albums-a laughing man with wild hair standing beside his parents. Could that have been him?

Susan continued, her voice softer now. "My aunt says there's no real proof he was the Secret Keeper. Everyone just assumed it. The records were sealed, but she tried to get them opened."

Tracey frowned. "Wait-sealed? Trial records aren't supposed to be sealed, right?"

"Exactly," Susan said. "Every trial transcript must be part of the public record by law. But when my aunt requested Sirius's, she was told it was classified. She pushed harder. Eventually, she got a copy-but she says it's forged."

Hermione leaned forward, curiosity overtaking discomfort. "Forged? How could she tell?"

"Because every genuine Wizengamot document carries residual magic from the judgment spells," Susan explained. "It's a trace from the ruling enchantments-they can't be faked. But the transcript she got didn't have any. That means it wasn't produced through the proper channels."

Daphne's brows furrowed. "That's... serious," she murmured. "If that's true, then Sirius Black never even had a proper trial."

"Exactly," Susan said firmly. "My aunt thinks the Ministry hid it deliberately. Either he was never tried at all, or someone covered it up."

Harry sat back, mind spinning. The image of Sirius Black-the murderer, the betrayer-wavered and cracked like glass under pressure. "Never tried..." he muttered. "Then-then how did they send him to Azkaban?"

"No idea," Susan said softly. "That's what my aunt has been trying to find out for years. She suspects that after the war, the Ministry just wanted quick justice, someone to blame. And Sirius-being a Black and the closest to your father-was the easiest scapegoat."

Ron looked skeptical but uneasy. "That's... that's mental. They'd never-well, maybe they would..."

Harry rubbed his temples. His thoughts clashed violently-every certainty unravelling. He remembered the bitterness in Dumbledore's writings, the cold Ministry statements, the way newspapers had vilified Sirius. Yet if there had never been a trial-if there had been no proof-

Susan spoke again, her tone heavy with quiet pain. "My aunt became head of the DMLE partly because of him. She wanted justice for the man she loved. But she still doesn't have enough evidence to reopen the case. The Minister and Lucius Malfoy block her at every turn."

Silence fell across the compartment. Even Ron didn't dare speak.

Harry's gaze drifted to the window again, eyes unfocused, reflection pale against the blur of fields. He didn't know what to think anymore. Betrayal, guilt, confusion-all churned inside him like storm clouds.

Finally, he whispered, almost to himself, "If what you're saying is true... then everything I thought I knew might be wrong."

No one answered. The train clattered on, carrying them all toward Hogwarts-each lost in thought, each sensing, perhaps, that this conversation had just opened a door to something far larger than any of them could yet understand.
______________________________

Cyrus Greengrass sat alone in his office at Aurorium Legal's Espen branch, the soft crackle of the fireplace breaking the silence. Parchments lay scattered across his mahogany desk-some old, yellowed with time, others fresh from Gringotts, stamped with the goblin insignia of the highest priority. The letter from Griphook still lay open before him, its words heavy and unbelievable.

He rubbed his temples. "Sirius Black... heir recognized... by Gringotts' magic itself," he murmured under his breath. "That should not be possible."

The rules of magical inheritance were immutable. If a witch or wizard were convicted by Wizengamot decree, their titles and estates were forfeit, bound by old law. Yet Gringotts' magic could not lie-bloodline recognition was absolute. For Sirius Black to remain heir meant one thing only: there had never been a lawful conviction.

"By Morgana's quill..." Cyrus whispered, leaning back in his chair. "Then Amelia Bones was right all along."

He summoned a case file with a flick of his wand. The black-leather folder landed softly before him, glowing faintly as the sealing enchantments recognized his clearance. On the spine, the embossed letters read Case #A87 - Sirius Orion Black.

He opened it slowly. Inside lay only a single thin document-a supposed trial record from the Ministry. He raised his wand. "Veritas Arcanum."

The parchment glowed weakly, almost dead. No trace of Wizengamot judgmental residue. No echoes of spellwork. His suspicions hardened. "Forged," he muttered grimly. "Completely fabricated."

He set it aside and conjured a quill. "If this is true, then the Ministry committed one of the gravest breaches of law in centuries. And if Lucius Malfoy's name is anywhere near this..." His voice trailed off darkly.

Then, for a fleeting moment, his thoughts softened. He looked toward the small framed photo on his desk-Serene smiling with Audrey, Daphne, and Astoria in front of their manor gates. "Daphne, my girl," he murmured. "If only you knew the history unraveling beneath your very feet."

He sighed and turned back to his work, eyes narrowing. "Time to dig deeper. If Harry Potter is the new heir to Black... the political landscape just shifted overnight."
______________________________

Meanwhile, far away in the moving Hogwarts Express, Harry's mind still whirled with confusion. His words hung in the air-"If what you're saying is true, then everything I thought I knew might be wrong."

The rhythmic clatter of the train filled the silence. Then, without warning, an urgent tapping came at the window. Hermione, sitting nearest, looked up. "Oh! It's an owl-Gringotts seal!" she said, eyes widening.

Harry blinked, startled. "For me?"

The sleek silver-gray owl hooted imperiously until Harry opened the latch. It swooped in gracefully, dropped a sealed parchment stamped with Gringotts' crest, and flew off into the clouds.

Everyone stared. Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Gringotts sending letters mid-journey? That's... unusual."

Harry frowned, breaking the seal. His eyes darted over the letter quickly. As he read, his expression shifted from confusion to disbelief.

"What is it?" Daphne asked, leaning forward.

Harry exhaled slowly, then spoke. "It's from Griphook-my account manager. He says that since I accepted my family lordship, Gringotts detected a secondary inheritance... from another ancient house."

Tracey blinked. "Another house? Which one?"

Harry swallowed. "The House of Black."

Gasps filled the compartment. Ron gawked. "Blimey-you're joking!"

Harry shook his head, tapping the letter. "No. Griphook says the vaults identified me as heir by magic confirmation.
Apparently, Sirius Black, who was declared Head of House last year after the death of Walburga Black (though she wouldn't have held the position for long anyway, as the last Lord Black, Arcturus Black III, had specified in his will that the next Lord Black would be Sirius Orion Black), also named as the heir by Arcturus Black III. According to the will, Sirius Orion Black would inherit the title in succession to Regulus Black II, followed by any other Blacks with blood ties, including those from his brothers - Lycoris Black, Regulus Black I,  or cousins, such as Cygnus Black II , Pollux Black, Dorea Black, Cassiopea Black, Callidora Black, Marcus Black, Cedrella Black, or Charis Black - named me as his heir before.... everything happened."

For a moment, no one spoke. Susan's face turned pale with shock. "That-Harry, that's exactly what I meant! That makes sense-Gringotts would only recognize legal transfers if Sirius was never convicted."

Hermione's brows knitted. "So the goblins' magic just... ignored the Ministry's ruling?"

"There was no ruling," Susan said softly. "That's the point."

Daphne suddenly straightened, eyes flashing with realization. "It all fits," she said quickly, her voice sharp with excitement. "Merlin's beard-it fits perfectly!"

Everyone turned toward her.

Daphne leaned forward, speaking rapidly. "Lucius Malfoy! He's been hiding everything for years. He must have forged that fake trial transcript your aunt found, Susan. Think about it-if Sirius had been given a real trial, he would have been proven innocent and reinstated as Lord Black. That would've stripped Lucius of control over the Black seat in the Wizengamot."

Harry stared at her, stunned. "You mean... Lucius has the Black seat now?"

"Yes," Daphne replied. "Through Narcissa, his wife-she was a Black by birth. But it's temporary, held only until Draco inherits. If Sirius had kept his title, that seat would have remained neutral or even aligned with light families. Lucius can't afford that. So he made sure Sirius disappeared forever."

Tracey's mouth fell open. "So you think Lucius forged Ministry records?"

"Absolutely," Daphne said firmly. "It explains everything. The sealed transcripts, the missing trial magic, and now Gringotts confirming Sirius's heirship. He tried to control the Black legacy, but Sirius was one step ahead-he passed it to Harry. That's why Lucius is desperate to keep all of this hidden."

Blaise gave a low whistle. "If that's true, then your inheritance just caused a political earthquake, Potter."

Harry stared down at the letter again, his pulse racing. He could almost hear Vernon's voice echoing in his head-Power lies in knowledge, boy. Never ignore what others hide.

Hermione, ever practical, looked bewildered. "So you're now... Heir Black and Lord Potter?"

Harry blinked, dazed. "Apparently."

Ron gave a weak laugh. "Bloody hell, mate, you'll need two signet rings for that."

Susan smiled faintly, though her tone carried quiet gravity. "Then perhaps justice isn't lost yet. If your inheritance is legitimate, the truth about Sirius Black might finally come out."

Harry looked at her, determination flickering behind his green eyes. "Then we'll make sure it does."

Outside, the Scottish hills rolled past as the train thundered northward-carrying with it not just first-years and their hopes, but the first stirrings of a truth buried too long beneath lies and power.

Daphne's locket shimmered faintly against her chest, the silver glow pulsing as if alive. She frowned, feeling it vibrate, and murmured, "That's strange." Her hand instinctively went to it. The group looked at her curiously.

"It's a communication locket," Daphne explained softly. "Father enchanted it so he can reach me anywhere if there's something urgent."

Hermione blinked. "Like a mobile phone!" she exclaimed.

Daphne tilted her head. "A what?"

"Never mind," Hermione muttered, flushing slightly. "It's a Muggle device. Please, go on."

Daphne clicked open the locket, and Cyrus Greengrass's composed yet strained face flickered into view, projected as a floating image above the silver rim. His voice, calm but edged with urgency, filled the compartment.

"Daphne, is Harry with you?"

"Yes, Father," Daphne said quickly. "He's right here. Is something wrong?"

Cyrus's expression tightened. "Put him on, please."

Harry leaned closer, heart suddenly pounding. The tone in Cyrus's voice carried weight-a tone he had heard before when Vernon spoke about urgent business. Daphne handed him the locket carefully.

"Mr. Greengrass?" Harry greeted cautiously.

Cyrus's usually measured tone broke through with haste. "Harry, Gringotts sent me an urgent dispatch from Griphook concerning your account. It involves the House of Black."

Harry blinked. "The Black family?"

"Yes," Cyrus continued gravely. "It appears that you, Harry, are named as the heir to the House of Black. The record was sealed, and it only revealed itself when you formally took the Lordship of Potter. Sirius Black's magical signature designated you as his heir."

Gasps filled the compartment. Susan's eyes widened; Daphne covered her mouth in shock.

Cyrus's voice dropped lower, urgent and heavy. "That's the problem. By magical law, no convicted wizard can become Lord of a Noble House. Yet Sirius did. Which means, legally, he was never convicted by magical standards. Either he never had a trial, or it was falsified. I need to know if you received any correspondence from Gringotts."

Harry's breath hitched. "I did-just a few minutes ago." He quickly pulled out the parchment owl had delivered and unfolded it. "Griphook said the same thing. That I'm heir Black. And that... Sirius's status changed the moment I became Lord Potter."

Daphne's sharp voice broke in. "It all fits! This is why Lucius Malfoy hid the original trial records. He forged them to make it look legitimate. If Sirius was proven innocent, he'd regain the Black seat, and Lucius would lose his influence."

Justin looked bewildered. "So... you mean, he's really innocent?"

Daphne nodded firmly. "Most likely, yes. And naming Harry as heir was Sirius's safeguard. Draco can't inherit the title now, not while Harry's alive."

Cyrus's image leaned forward. "Harry, listen to me very carefully. This discovery changes everything. We have evidence enough to reopen the case. But the Dark faction will try to delay or suppress it. We cannot afford to wait until November to secure your seats."

Harry frowned. "You mean the Wizengamot seats?"

"Exactly," Cyrus replied. "You must assign temporary proxies immediately. I recommend Andromeda Tonks. She was born a Black, disowned for her principles, and she is Sirius's cousin. Her integrity is unquestionable."

Harry's mind raced. "Would that work?"

"Yes," Cyrus said firmly. "Her position bridges neutrality and light. It will lend credibility to the motion for retrial. I will contact Lady Augusta Longbottom and Madam Amelia Bones at once. If they move swiftly, the Wizengamot could convene an emergency session tonight."

Hermione's mouth fell open. "Tonight? Before the train even reaches Hogwarts?"

Cyrus nodded gravely. "If everything proceeds as planned, yes. The moment Andromeda receives your formal proxy letter and Amelia secures the vote, we can petition for Sirius's trial. Justice delayed is justice denied, Harry."

Harry's thoughts whirled. Sirius... innocent? His parents' supposed betrayer... maybe not at all? His chest tightened. "Then we'll do it," he said quietly, voice steady. "Send the parchment. I'll sign whatever is needed."

"Excellent," Cyrus replied, relief softening his expression. "I'll have a Gringotts courier reach you within minutes. Daphne, ensure he signs with his ring-it must be magically binding."

"Yes, Father," she said crisply.

As the image flickered out, silence hung heavy in the compartment. The train rattled on, but inside, no one moved for a long moment.

Susan finally broke the silence. "If this works... Sirius could be free tonight."

Harry looked at her, expression conflicted. "If he's truly innocent, he deserves it." He stared out the window, the sunset painting the sky in gold and scarlet. "And maybe... maybe I deserve the truth too."

Daphne smiled faintly. "Then let's make sure justice wins, Lord Potter."

Harry's eyes gleamed. "Fortis et Fidelis," he murmured under his breath. Strong and faithful. The Potter motto had never felt truer.

Harry slowly handed the locket back to Daphne, his mind still spinning. His friends stared at him with wide eyes, the enormity of what had just happened sinking in. The rhythmic clatter of the train seemed distant, muffled beneath the weight of revelation.

"So... it's true then," Justin murmured, his voice uncertain. "Everything we were guessing-Sirius Black might actually be innocent?"

Susan exhaled shakily. "Not just might be. If both Gringotts and Lord Greengrass confirmed the same, it means we were right."

Daphne nodded, her tone sharp yet amazed. "It's extraordinary. We stumbled into something the Ministry's been hiding for a decade. Merlin's beard, this is-this is history in the making."

Harry leaned back in his seat, staring at the parchment again. The official Gringotts seal shimmered faintly under the sunlight. "Uncle Vernon used to say coincidences are just patterns we don't yet see," he muttered under his breath. "Guess he was right."

Tracey looked thoughtful. "If this news spreads, the entire political structure could shake. The Blacks returning to neutrality-or even the light-would unbalance both factions."

"That's why we can't tell anyone," Daphne said quickly. "At least not yet. Father's right-Lucius Malfoy will do everything to stop this. He has influence, spies, and coin. He might already have ears at the Ministry."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Then we'll be faster."

Daphne's locket flickered again. She opened it instantly, revealing her father's strained but focused face.

"Daphne," Cyrus said sharply. "Tell Harry the Gringotts courier should arrive any moment. He must sign those documents the moment they arrive. Do not delay."

"They're coming here?" Daphne asked.

"Yes," Cyrus confirmed. "The goblins understand the urgency. They've dispatched one through accelerated apparition relay. Harry, once you sign, Andromeda Tonks will hold your seats. That will give Amelia Bones and Augusta Longbottom the authority to demand Sirius's retrial tonight. Stay alert."

Harry nodded firmly. "Understood, Mr. Greengrass."

"Good lad," Cyrus said before the connection flickered out.

Susan's eyes gleamed. "If this actually happens, Aunt Amelia will be over the moon."

Harry allowed himself a small, nervous smile. "Let's hope the Wizengamot sees sense before Lucius hears of it."

Just then, a soft whoosh filled the compartment, and a goblin owl materialized in front of Harry, carrying a bundle sealed with the golden sigil of Gringotts. The friends exchanged tense glances.

Harry broke the seal and unfolded the documents. His ring-the Lord's Ring-gleamed faintly as if it recognized its purpose. "Let's do this," he whispered. With deliberate precision, he pressed his ring hand onto the signature line. A flash of golden light sealed the magic.

The moment it did, the owl vanished again-off to deliver the parchment to Andromeda Tonks.

Daphne looked up at him, eyes bright. "It's done."

Harry exhaled slowly. "Then the game begins."
______________________________

Miles away, Cyrus Greengrass landed in the marble foyer of Gringotts with a sharp crack of apparition. His boots echoed against the polished floor as he strode briskly toward Griphook's chamber. The goblin accountant looked up the moment Cyrus entered, a gleam of understanding already in his narrow eyes.

"Lord Greengrass," Griphook rasped, "the documents have been prepared as per the boy's legal status. The heirship is verified. Sirius Black's magical records show no conviction rune-he was never lawfully tried."

Cyrus's expression hardened. "Then we were right. This is a political burial, not justice."

Griphook nodded curtly. "Indeed. The Potter-Black heir connection has activated clauses we could not access before. Black's vaults were locked under false legal pretenses. Now they respond to Lord Potter's lineage."

Cyrus pressed his palm against the counter, his voice low but resolute. "We cannot waste a second. If Lucius Malfoy learns this before the trial, he'll find a way to silence Sirius permanently. Even Azkaban won't stop him."

Griphook's sharp teeth flashed. "Then it must happen before the Ministry can act. These are your copies. The courier has already been dispatched to the train. The documents include trial reinstatement petitions and formal seat assignments."

"Good," Cyrus said curtly, gathering the scrolls. "I'll handle the political end. Send coded confirmation to Aurorium Legal-Espen and London branches both. This must remain confidential."

"Understood," Griphook said, bowing slightly.

As Cyrus turned to leave, the air shimmered faintly-a warning pulse from his daughter's locket. He tapped it open with a flick of his wand.

"Father," Daphne's voice came through, steady but urgent. "Harry's signed the papers. The courier just left."

Cyrus smiled faintly, pride flickering through his fatigue. "Excellent. You've done well, all of you. Stay alert and protect that boy. The ripples we've started tonight may rewrite wizarding history."

The connection closed, and Cyrus stepped into the glowing Gringotts atrium once more. He raised his wand, the tip blazing silver. With a deep breath, he muttered, "For justice and for truth." Then he Disapparated, bound for the Ministry to prepare the battlefield where the fate of Sirius Black-and perhaps the balance of all wizarding Britain-would soon be decided.
______________________________

Cyrus Greengrass arrived at the wrought-iron gates of Bones Manor, his cloak billowing in the chill night air. The manor stood proud and solemn, its windows gleaming with pale candlelight. He could feel the weight of centuries in the very stones. This was the heart of the Bones family, and tonight, it would become the stage for something that could alter wizarding Britain's destiny.

He had already dispatched letters to Amelia Bones, Augusta Longbottom, and Andromeda Tonks, requesting an immediate meeting. The Gringotts documents weighed heavily in his briefcase-truths powerful enough to shake the Ministry to its core.

He pressed the brass doorbell. Within moments, the door swung open, revealing a sharp-eyed house-elf dressed in a crisp white towel embroidered with the Bones crest.

"Master Greengrass, madam Bones be expecting you," the elf said, bowing deeply.

"Thank you," Cyrus replied curtly, stepping into the hall. The air smelled faintly of parchment and tea-a sure sign of a long discussion already underway.

He followed the elf into the drawing room. Amelia Bones, her monocle glinting, was pacing the carpet, an open file clutched in her trembling hands. Andromeda Tonks sat nearby, her dark eyes moist but resolute, while Augusta Longbottom, regal as ever in her vulture-topped hat, watched them both with a matron's firm authority.

Cyrus inclined his head respectfully. "Ladies."

"Lord Greengrass," Amelia greeted, voice steady but thick with emotion. "We received your letter. Merlin's beard, if what you wrote is true-"

"It is," Cyrus interrupted softly, setting the Gringotts folder on the table. "Griphook himself confirmed it. Sirius Black's record holds no conviction rune. Legally, he was never tried."

Amelia's composure cracked. "All these years," she whispered. "All these years, I believed they had locked him away because of evidence I never saw. And to think-he was denied a trial..." Her voice faltered.

Andromeda's hands clenched around her teacup. "Sirius, that fool, always running into danger-but he would never betray James and Lily. Never. I knew something was wrong when I wasn't allowed to even see the trial records."

Augusta gave a firm nod. "Which means the Ministry has been hiding more than we imagined. We will need both political power and proof to expose this."

Cyrus opened the Gringotts file, spreading the documents across the table. "Here are your proofs. Official inheritance activation from the Potter and Black vaults, verified by the Goblin Council. When Lord Potter accepted his lordship, the wards recognized him as heir Black by Sirius's designation."

Andromeda's eyes widened. "He named Harry his heir? That boy-"

"It was likely Sirius's last act of defiance," Cyrus said. "A failsafe in case something happened to him."

Amelia steadied herself. "Then we have leverage. If the heirship is active, we can request an emergency session under Wizengamot Code Twelve. The trial can be reopened tonight."

Augusta nodded briskly. "I will call in favors from the older members. Enough of us still owe Charlus Potter our loyalty."

Cyrus gave a brief smile. "I have already secured Harry's proxy transfer to Lady Tonks. The paperwork arrived moments before I came. That should give us the necessary voting weight."

Andromeda blinked, momentarily speechless. "I... I received it indeed. Just before you arrived. Ted has already gone to alert Dumbledore; he should be here any moment."

Amelia straightened her robe. "Then we act now. Once Lucius Malfoy learns of this, he'll rally the Dark faction to block us. We must call the session before the Prophet gets wind of it."

Cyrus gave a curt nod, relief barely visible beneath his stern demeanor. "I shall contact Gringotts for witness verification and have the magical transcripts ready. The sooner, the better."

As they began to gather the files, Cyrus's locket pulsed faintly. He stepped aside, flicked it open, and Daphne's small reflection appeared, surrounded by the familiar hum of the moving train.

"Father?" she asked quietly, the others leaning in around her. "Did it work? Did Lady Tonks get the documents?"

Cyrus exhaled softly. "Yes, my dear. She received them just in time. I'm at Bones Manor with Amelia Bones, Augusta Longbottom, and Lady Tonks. Preparations for the emergency trial are underway."

Daphne's eyes shone with relief. "Then Sirius might be free tonight?"

"If fortune holds, yes," Cyrus replied gravely. "Stay vigilant. Tell Lord Potter that his actions today might save an innocent man and restore balance to the Wizengamot. That is no small feat for one so young."

Harry's voice came faintly through the connection. "I'll remember that, sir. And thank you-for everything."

Cyrus smiled faintly, though his eyes were shadowed with thought. "Thank me when justice is done, Lord Potter. Now-keep quiet about this until we send word."

The connection flickered out.
______________________________

Back in the compartment, the group sat stunned, the locket's echo fading into the steady rhythm of the train. Hermione exhaled slowly. "So it's really happening."

Susan smiled faintly, hope glimmering in her eyes. "For the first time in years, maybe justice will happen."

Harry glanced out the window at the darkening horizon, the towers of Hogwarts still distant. "Let's make sure it does," he murmured, determination gleaming in his emerald eyes.

Harry exhaled slowly, staring at the parchment on his lap. His mind was spinning, the events of the last hour replaying in fragments that still felt unreal. A convicted criminal-his parents' supposed betrayer-might be innocent. And somehow, he, an eleven-year-old boy on his first train ride to Hogwarts, was right in the middle of the entire storm.

"Merlin's beard," Ron muttered beside him. "You sure this isn't some dream?"

Harry gave a small, humorless smile. "Wish it was. But no, Ron. This is as real as it gets."

The compartment was heavy with tension. Even Blaise, usually composed, looked unsettled. Hermione had gone quiet, clutching Hogwarts: A History like a talisman, while Maple, sensing the mood, lay at Harry's feet, resting her golden head on his boots.

Harry pulled out his quill and an empty parchment from his trunk. "If everything's true, Uncle Vernon deserves to know what's going on," he said. "He might not understand wizard law, but he's still my financial advisor. And... family."

Daphne nodded, folding her hands neatly. "Good thinking. It is wise to inform one's guardian of such developments."

Harry dipped the quill in ink and began writing swiftly, his penmanship neat but firm.

Dear Uncle Vernon,

You won't believe what just happened. Things have taken a rather serious turn. Apparently, Sirius Black-the man believed to have betrayed Mum and Dad-is not guilty at all. Gringotts confirmed he was never given a trial, and both Mr. Greengrass and some of the highest officials in our world are reopening his case tonight. If that goes through, an innocent man will finally be free, and someone's entire conspiracy might crumble.

I know this isn't your area, but you always said: 'Information is the real power.' So, I'm keeping you informed. I'll send updates when I can. I think I'll be safe-Cyrus Greengrass is handling everything-and from what I gather, this could even help fix a lot of corruption in the wizard government.

Also, tell Aunt Petunia not to worry. The train's fine. Maple's here, and everyone's looking after me.

Your nephew,
Harry J. Potter

He folded the letter carefully, sealing it with the Potter crest from his signet ring. As he looked up, a familiar flutter of white caught his eye.

"Hedwig," Harry said softly. The snowy owl had glided gracefully through the window, perching on the luggage rack. She gave a dignified hoot as if she already knew her task.

Harry smiled faintly. "You always know when you're needed, don't you?"

He tied the letter to her leg. "Take this to Uncle Vernon, girl. Urgent."

Hedwig nipped his finger affectionately before taking flight, vanishing into the night sky beyond the train window.

The group sat in silence for a while, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels filling the quiet. Maple nudged Hermione's hand, and Hermione chuckled softly despite herself. "You're quite the comforter, aren't you?" she murmured, stroking the retriever's fur.
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Back at Bones Manor, the atmosphere was equally intense. The fire crackled as the sound of Apparition echoed through the hall. Ted Tonks stepped in first, his usually genial face grave. Moments later, Albus Dumbledore arrived, his long silver beard slightly disheveled, his blue eyes sharp and assessing.

"Ah, Cyrus," Dumbledore greeted, removing his half-moon spectacles and polishing them slowly. "You sent quite the intriguing message. Mr. Tonks here has already given me the outline, but I must admit, I was... surprised."

Cyrus inclined his head respectfully. "Forgive the urgency, Headmaster. I would not have disturbed you before the feast if it were not a matter of utmost gravity."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled faintly, though his tone remained serious. "You did well. I confess, when Mr. Tonks appeared at Hogwarts an hour ago, I was rather cross. We were preparing for the feast, and his insistence that the world might change tonight seemed... overzealous. Yet now, having read the Gringotts confirmation, I find myself humbled-and hopeful."

Amelia stepped forward, still clutching her wand tightly. "Albus, tell me truly-was there ever a hearing for Sirius Black?"

Dumbledore sighed deeply, the weight of years evident in his expression. "No, Amelia. There was not. In the chaos after the war, Fudge and Crouch acted hastily, eager to show strength. I believed at the time it was handled through the standard procedures, but it appears I was... gravely mistaken."

Andromeda's voice trembled slightly. "Then we have been condemning an innocent man for a decade."

Ted rested a hand on her shoulder. "Not anymore, love. We'll fix it tonight."

Cyrus stepped closer. "The papers are ready. Andromeda holds Lord Potter's proxies; Amelia, you have the authority to summon an emergency session. Headmaster, as Chief Warlock, your role is critical to legitimizing this trial before the Dark faction catches wind."

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Then we must move swiftly. I will convene the Wizengamot within the hour. Let us see to it that justice-long denied-finally takes its rightful course."

Amelia's expression softened. "Thank you, Albus. For once, perhaps the light will outshine the dark again."

Dumbledore gave a faint smile. "Light only fades when those who bear it lose faith. Tonight, we shall remind them what it means to hope."

Outside, a silver-blue phoenix Patronus swept across the manor grounds-a silent herald that the Wizengamot was being summoned.
______________________________

And far away, on the Hogwarts Express, Harry Potter stared out at the star-speckled sky, unaware that by the time he reached the castle, the name Sirius Black might no longer belong to a prisoner-but to a free man.

Daphne's locket glowed a faint silver, pulsing once, twice. She pressed her fingers to it, whispering softly, "Father?" The faint sound of Cyrus's calm yet hurried voice came through. "Dumbledore has arrived. If all goes well, the trial begins in an hour. Tell Harry to be ready. Only one thing, Daphne-if we have an ace, now's the time. No one can deny the truth when it surfaces." Then the locket dimmed. Daphne exhaled in relief.

Harry looked up from Hedwig's cage. "So it's happening then," he murmured, his mind reeling.

Daphne nodded, her face pale but determined. "Yes. It's really happening. Sirius Black might be free tonight."

Susan's eyes glistened. "It feels unreal, doesn't it? We were just theorizing, and now everything's falling into place so fast."

Hermione, always rational even in chaos, whispered, "Gringotts confirmation, the attorney's letter, the emergency session-it's all connected. The system may finally fix one of its worst mistakes."

Ron sat back, staring at them all, his freckles stark against his paling face. His mind felt as though it had been turned inside out. "Blimey," he thought. "This morning, I just wanted a good seat on the train, and now-now I'm friends with Harry Potter, who's got a dog that listens better than Percy, who understands my spider problem, and with Slytherins who aren't dark!" He rubbed the back of his neck. "And they're talking about Wizengamot seats, Black family trials, and Merlin knows what else. This is mental."

Maple gave a soft whine and laid her head on Harry's knee, sensing the tension in the compartment.

Ron's gaze drifted back to the floor where Scabbers was curled up on his lap. The rat was trembling. "Oi, what's with you, Scabbers?" he muttered. "You've been twitchy all day, and now-what's your problem?"

Hermione leaned forward. "Maybe he's reacting to the tension. Animals can sense strong emotions."

Ron frowned. "Maybe, but he's acting like he's seen a ghost."

Susan blinked. "Given our luck today, I wouldn't rule it out."

Before anyone could laugh, Scabbers suddenly gave a violent squeak and bit Ron's finger hard. "Ow! Bloody rat!" Ron yelped, jerking his hand back. Scabbers darted off his lap and raced toward the compartment door, clawing furiously.

"Hey! The door's locked, Scabbers, you're not going anywhere!" Harry said, instinctively pointing his wand.

The others watched, half amused, half alarmed. "Merlin's beard, that rat's gone mad!" Daphne exclaimed, startled as the creature banged against the door again and again.

Then the air around Scabbers began to shimmer. A faint, unnatural glow surrounded the rat. The laughter died instantly.

"What in Morgana's name-?" Susan whispered.

The rat's form twisted grotesquely, bones elongating with sickening cracks, fur vanishing, limbs reshaping until, before their horrified eyes, where the rat had been stood a short, balding man with watery eyes, a snub nose, and trembling hands. He wore shabby robes and had a terrified look as if he had just seen the end of the world.

Ron's mouth fell open. "Wha-what-WHAT?!"

Hermione gasped, frozen. "That-he just-he transfigured back-that's human Transfiguration! Impossible-"

Daphne's wand was already in her hand. "Everyone, back away from him," she ordered sharply.

The man before them looked utterly cornered, panting as his small, pale eyes darted between the young faces around him.

Harry's blood ran cold. There was something hauntingly familiar in those eyes-fearful, calculating. "Who... who are you?" he whispered, though he already sensed the answer clawing at the edge of his memory.

Ron, still clutching his bitten finger, stammered, "Th-that's not possible... Scabbers... he's been my rat for years..."

Susan's lips parted in disbelief. "No rat does that. Sweet Merlin, he's an Animagus!"

Hermione's voice trembled. "But that means-he's been hiding as a pet all this time."

The compartment fell utterly silent. Only the steady rumble of the train filled the air.

Daphne's locket flickered faintly again at her neck, as if echoing the tension. She whispered, "Father... you won't believe what just happened..."

Harry didn't move. His mind was a whirlwind of realization and dread. The name rose in his mind like a whisper from the past-a name spoken once in a dark story, one tied to betrayal and loss.

Peter Pettigrew.

The realization struck like a curse. Everyone's eyes were wide, their breaths shallow. For a heartbeat, none of them dared to speak.

"It's Peter Pettigrew," Harry said, his voice barely a whisper, yet it struck the compartment like thunder.

Everyone froze. The name hung in the air like a curse.

"Pettigrew?" Ron stammered, his freckled face paling. "That can't be-he's-he's dead! Dad said he was blown to bits-by Sirius Black!"

Susan's eyes widened as she turned toward him sharply. "No, Ron. Don't you see? That's what everyone thought! But if Pettigrew's alive-and he's been hiding all these years as your rat-then he must be the one who betrayed your parents, Harry!"

"It all fits!" Susan exclaimed, her voice trembling between outrage and triumph. "Sirius was framed. Pettigrew faked his death and hid! Merlin's beard-this proves Sirius is innocent!"

Tracey covered her mouth, eyes wide. "Oh my goodness... this changes everything."

Justin and Hermione instinctively stepped back, their wands drawn though their hands shook. Blaise, Susan, Hannah, Lisa, Harry, Neville, Tracey, Terry, and Rolf stood in front, forming a jagged semicircle, wands aimed directly at the trembling man. Daphne's fingers pressed to her locket, whispering rapidly, "Father, listen-Harry just identified him as Peter Pettigrew. Yes, the Pettigrew. He's alive-yes, alive! They've cornered him in the train compartment. Everyone's got their wands ready!"

On the other end of the locket, Cyrus's voice grew tense. "Keep your distance, Daphne. Pettigrew is dangerous."

"I know," she whispered back, her voice tight. "But he's trying something-wait!"

Pettigrew's watery eyes darted from wand to wand, sweat glistening on his forehead. "N-now, listen-there's been a misunderstanding! I-"

"Misunderstanding?" Harry snapped, fury blazing in his emerald eyes. "You betrayed my parents! You left Sirius to rot in Azkaban!"

"Stay back!" Pettigrew shrieked, clutching his chest as he stumbled toward the window. "You don't understand-I was forced! Dark Lord-he-"

"Liar!" Daphne shouted. "Father, he's trying to run!"

In an instant, Pettigrew lunged toward the small gap near the window, scrabbling like a trapped animal. The students reacted instinctively, not with spells-they hadn't learned proper dueling yet-but with sheer adrenaline.

Neville was the first to move, tackling Pettigrew from behind. "You're not going anywhere!" he grunted.

Blaise lunged next, grabbing Pettigrew's arm as it tried to reach for something in his pocket. Susan and Tracey jumped in from the sides, pinning him against the seat. "Hold him down!" shouted Rolf.

Peter shrieked, thrashing wildly. "Get off me, you little brats!"

"Not a chance!" shouted Harry, diving forward to grab Pettigrew's wrist. "You're not escaping again!"

The compartment descended into chaos-shouting, scuffling, the squeal of Maple barking furiously. Pettigrew kicked and struggled like a man possessed, but against nearly a dozen determined young witches and wizards, his strength faltered.

Daphne pressed the locket closer, breathless as she narrated. "They've got him! He tried to flee but Harry, Neville, and the others stopped him. He's pinned!"
______________________________

Across miles at Bones Manor, every adult in the room had gone still. Amelia Bones's eyes hardened like steel. "Peter Pettigrew-alive?" she whispered, disbelief warring with fury. "Cyrus, if this is true-"

Augusta Longbottom's cane struck the floor sharply. "Then Sirius was wronged, just as we suspected."

Andromeda's eyes glistened. "Merlin bless those children-they might have just uncovered the greatest miscarriage of justice in our time."

Cyrus's tone was firm, though his pulse quickened. "Keep describing everything, Daphne. We'll alert the Aurors immediately. Amelia, once Pettigrew's confirmed, you'll have grounds for an immediate exoneration hearing."

Dumbledore's calm voice broke through the tense silence. "I shall prepare the emergency trial chamber in the Wizengamot Hall. The truth must surface tonight."

Back on the train, Pettigrew's struggles were growing weaker. Ron stood frozen, staring at his former pet in horror. "I slept with that thing in my room for years," he whispered hoarsely.

Hermione's face was ashen. "He's been watching all this time... hiding in plain sight."

"Why would he stay a rat?" asked Justin, panting.

"To stay safe," Susan replied grimly, her wand unwavering. "To hide from the truth."

Pettigrew whimpered, his voice breaking. "Please-you don't understand-I didn't have a choice-"

"Save it for the trial," Harry said coldly.

Daphne's locket flickered again. "Father, they've subdued him. He's still trying to talk, but they've got him cornered. What now?"

Cyrus's response came immediately, sharp and commanding. "Tell them to hold him there. Aurors will be dispatched in minutes. Pettigrew must not escape. He is the proof that will free Sirius Black."

Daphne's breath hitched as she repeated the instructions aloud, every word firm. "We hold him here. He's the key."

The compartment was silent again, save for Pettigrew's shallow breathing and the steady rattle of the train against the tracks. Every eye was on the trembling man-the ghost of a betrayal finally dragged back into the light.

Pettigrew's eyes darted wildly between the drawn wands, desperation creeping into every twitch of his body. Then, with a squeal like a cornered beast, he twisted sharply-his form shuddering and shrinking until fur rippled across his body. In an instant, he was no longer a man but a rat once more, the same balding creature that had for years slept beside Ron's pillow.

"Bloody hell-he changed back!" Ron shouted, stumbling backward.

"Catch him!" screamed Tracey, but it was too late. The rat darted between Neville's shoes and leapt onto his robes, scrabbling upward with terrifying speed. Neville yelled in panic, trying to shake him off. In a flash of motion, the rat grabbed Neville's wand clumsily in its tiny claws and leapt for the door handle.

"Stop him!" cried Susan.

Harry's heart hammered. He didn't think-he simply reacted. "Expelliarmus!"

A surge of raw, crackling power shot from his wand, the spell far stronger than anything a first-year should have been capable of. A red beam blazed across the compartment, colliding with the fleeing rat midair. There was a loud crack as Neville's wand flew from Pettigrew's grasp and clattered harmlessly to the floor.

The rat landed with a squeak, twitching from the shock, before freezing as everyone stared at Harry in disbelief.

"Merlin's beard..." Blaise muttered. "That was Disarming spell how-"

Harry blinked, chest heaving. His hand tingled from the burst of uncontrolled magic. "I-I don't know. I just read about it in one of my books this summer... I didn't even practice yet."

Daphne looked at him with a mixture of awe and alarm. "You just cast it without focus or training. That's not beginner's magic, Harry-that's instinctive casting."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "You mean he just felt it and it worked?"

Susan gave a low whistle. "Remind me not to anger you, Lord Potter."

Harry, however, barely heard them. His mind raced. Pettigrew had managed to grab a wand, even if only for a second-he knew spells, he knew how to fight. He's more dangerous than we thought. His grip tightened on his wand. "We can't risk him escaping again. He's clever-too clever."

He closed his eyes for a second, drawing on the magic that hummed faintly in his blood. "Pipkin!" he called firmly.

With a soft pop, a small, long-eared house-elf appeared, wearing a dark green uniform embroidered with the Potter crest. "Master Harry called?" the elf squeaked, bowing deeply.

Everyone gaped. "A-house-elf?" Ron said in astonishment.

Harry nodded curtly. "Yes. Pipkin, secure that rat. He's not ordinary. Bind him if needed."

Pipkin's eyes glowed faintly, and with a flick of his fingers, shimmering cords of blue magic snaked through the air, wrapping Pettigrew's rat form tightly. The creature squealed and struggled, but the magical bindings held firm.

"Good work," Harry said quietly, though his heart still thundered. He looked at the others. "We can't stay here. Pettigrew knows too much, and we don't have the strength to hold him for long."

Meanwhile, Daphne's locket was alive with sound. "Father," she said rapidly, "Harry stunned Pettigrew-he just cast Expelliarmus instinctively! Pettigrew tried to escape as a rat but he's restrained now by a Potter elf."

On the other end, Amelia's voice was sharp with urgency. "That man is a key witness! We cannot lose him."

Dumbledore's voice followed, calm yet commanding. "We are Apparating there ourselves, Amelia. No time to send Aurors-he must be brought safely before the court."

"Let us move then," Dumbledore said simply. "The truth waits for no one."

Back in the train, Harry's eyes flicked toward Daphne. "Tell your father and the others we're moving. They can meet us directly."

Daphne blinked. "Moving? Where?"

"To Bones Manor," Harry said with quiet resolve. "They'll need Pettigrew there for the trial."

The compartment went silent. Every student looked at him as though he had lost his mind.

"Wait-how?" asked Tracey.

Harry turned to his elf. "Pipkin, transport all of us-and Pettigrew-safely to Bones Manor. Do not harm him, but make sure he cannot escape. Everyone's coming."

"Of course, Master Harry," Pipkin said with solemn respect, snapping his fingers.

There was a rush of air, a sensation of magic twisting around them like wind caught in a storm. The train, the tracks, the compartment-all dissolved in a whirl of light.

In that last instant before everything vanished, Hermione's breath caught. "This isn't even on the syllabus!"

Then, with a faint pop and a flash of magic, the entire group disappeared from the Hogwarts Express, leaving behind only an empty compartment and a faint echo of the boy who had just rewritten wizarding history before even reaching Hogwarts.
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A/n: I hope You like it. Please ignore grammatical and spelling errors.

Okay so yes it's all of a sudden but I do not have time for this drama later so better Free Sirius sooner than later !!!

Also a Very Happy New Year to Everyone 🎉 ✨ May this Year brings you Good Health and Prosperity 💚 💫

Hey for this story I wasn't able to decide Chapter names easily so for fun why don't you all comment what you think chapter name can be ? I will be waiting.

Thanks for reading. § Hinny Forever § Please Review!!!

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or its universe. All original elements belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This story is a work of fanfiction created purely for entertainment purposes - no copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made. Any original characters, events, or concepts beyond the established canon are the author's own creative additions to expand the magical world respectfully.
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With a sharp crack of displaced air, the soft lights of the train vanished, replaced by the golden glow of chandeliers and the solemn grandeur of the entrance hall of Bones Manor. Ancient portraits turned to observe the sudden intrusion, and every candle in the room flickered from the force of the group’s arrival.

Hermione stumbled forward, clutching the nearest armrest of a chair, her face pale. “Oh—oh my goodness! That felt like being twisted through a keyhole backwards!”

Justin groaned, clutching his stomach. “I think I left half my insides on the train. Is this what magic travel feels like? I’m sticking to buses.”

Harry steadied himself, blinking rapidly. “That was… intense.” He gave Pipkin an approving nod. “You did well, Pipkin.”

The house-elf bowed low, glowing faintly from magical exertion. “Master Harry and guests are safe, sir.”

Around them stood a formidable assembly of witches and wizards—Cyrus Greengrass in sharp robes, Amelia Bones in her DMLE uniform, Andromeda Tonks with a calm, sorrowful expression, Augusta Longbottom dignified and stern, Ted Tonks adjusting his glasses beside her, and finally, at their center, Albus Dumbledore himself.

The air felt charged with disbelief as the adults took in the sight: a group of first-years, their trunks half-open, one frightened house-elf trembling at their feet, and in the middle of it all—a magically bound rat glowing faintly blue.

Amelia’s piercing blue eyes widened. “Is that—” She cut herself off, drawing her wand in a swift, practiced motion. With a flick, Pettigrew’s bindings shimmered, forcing him back into human form. Gasps echoed as Peter Pettigrew, pale and trembling, fell to the marble floor.

The room tensed instantly. Amelia’s expression hardened, her jaw tight enough to crack stone. “Peter Pettigrew,” she said, her voice trembling with restrained fury. “By all the laws of magic and justice, you are under arrest for treason, mass murder, and framing Sirius Black.”

Pettigrew’s beady eyes darted around frantically, but the aura around Amelia stopped him cold. Her magic pressed down on the air like a storm about to break. Her wand hand shook, but not from fear—only the weight of years of buried grief.

Augusta’s voice was cold and formal. “Control yourself, Amelia. The boy must stand trial.”

Amelia exhaled slowly, forcing calm. “You are right, Madam Longbottom. But Merlin help me, this man’s face is the last one I ever wished to see again.”

Daphne whispered softly to Susan, “Her fiancé was Sirius… this must be unbearable for her.”

Susan nodded mutely, tears shining in her eyes. “She’s been waiting years for this.”

Meanwhile, the students who had never seen Dumbledore before could not tear their eyes from him. His half-moon spectacles glinted softly, his long silver beard glowing faintly in the candlelight. Despite the weight of the moment, his expression was serene, eyes twinkling behind his glasses.

Hermione’s jaw fell open. “You’re—Professor Dumbledore?”

“The very same,” he replied with a gentle chuckle, surveying the group. “Though I must say, Miss Granger, I expected to meet all of you at the Welcoming Feast, not in the midst of a criminal arrest. Life does have a peculiar sense of timing, doesn’t it?”

A ripple of nervous laughter spread among the students, tension easing for just a moment.

Harry straightened instinctively, his respect for Dumbledore immediate but mixed with confusion. “Professor, sir… we didn’t mean to intrude. Pettigrew was about to escape, and—”

Dumbledore raised a hand kindly. “No apologies needed, Mr. Potter. If anything, your actions have likely changed the course of history this evening.”

Cyrus’s voice was low but impressed. “Indeed. You acted wisely, Harry. Transporting everyone here was risky, but given the stakes, justified.”

Daphne gave a proud little smile, whispering, “Told you, Father.”

Amelia turned to Harry, her eyes softening slightly. “You have my thanks, Lord Potter. You may have just saved an innocent man’s life.”

Harry nodded, still dazed. “I just… couldn’t let him get away.”

Andromeda, who had been quiet till now, stepped closer to Peter, her gaze sharp. “So it really was you,” she said coldly. “The rat who betrayed James and Lily. The coward who hid while my cousin rotted in Azkaban.”

Peter whimpered, eyes flicking between the wands aimed at him and the towering figures around the room. “I—I can explain—”

“Save your breath,” Amelia said icily. “You’ll speak before the Wizengamot, not here.”

Behind her, Ted Tonks placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Easy, Amelia. He’ll face justice soon enough.”

Dumbledore nodded gravely.

Ron, still pale, looked between the adults and his trembling ex-rat. “I can’t believe this… he’s been sleeping in my bed for years! Mum’s going to go spare!”

Hermione managed a weak laugh. “I think everyone’s parents will, Ron.”

The tension slowly shifted as Amelia flicked her wand, sealing magical chains around Peter’s wrists. “He won’t escape again,” she said, her voice like steel.

Dumbledore turned toward the students once more, smiling faintly. “Now, my young friends, you have proven quite resourceful tonight. Though I must admit, next time you wish to make an impression before Hogwarts, perhaps a less dramatic method would suffice?”

Harry exhaled shakily, exchanging glances with his stunned companions. Despite everything—the chaos, the magic, the exhaustion—he could not help but smile faintly.

For the first time, it felt like his parents’ names might finally find peace.

Dumbledore’s twinkle dimmed as he straightened, his tone turning grave. “Now, before we go any further,” he began, his voice resonating through the hall, “I must impress upon you all the seriousness of what has just transpired. Each of you is now a witness to a matter of grave legal and magical consequence.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Witnesses? You mean… we’ll have to testify?”

“Precisely, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said, nodding gravely. “You all were present during the capture and revelation of Peter Pettigrew—an individual long believed dead. Your testimonies will be crucial before the Wizengamot.”

Neville shifted uneasily. “B-but sir, does this mean we’ll have to… stand in front of everyone?”

Dumbledore’s expression softened slightly. “Do not fret, Mr. Longbottom. The Wizengamot is a formal body, but truth, when clearly spoken, is your greatest ally.” He paused, glancing toward Amelia and Cyrus. “Now that Pettigrew lives, the very foundation of Sirius Black’s imprisonment is undone. We already possessed compelling proof—Gringotts’ correspondence confirming Potter Vault access by Pettigrew posthumously, the records of Sirius’s denied trial, and the forensic inconsistencies in the explosion on that fateful day. However…” His eyes darkened. “Now we have irrefutable proof—the living man himself.”

Gasps rippled among the students. Susan whispered to Daphne, “Axe proof… as in, impossible to deny.”

“Exactly,” Cyrus murmured, his expression sharp. “The Ministry will have no choice but to act.”

Amelia’s eyes blazed, the raw emotion in them only barely restrained. “He will not slither out of this one. I will see to it personally.”

Dumbledore inclined his head respectfully. “Your passion for justice, Madam Bones, is admirable—as always. However, we must proceed lawfully. The discovery of Pettigrew renders this hall, temporarily, a crime scene. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement will secure it shortly.”

Justin blanched. “A crime scene? In a house? Blimey, that sounds serious.”

Ted Tonks nodded grimly. “It is serious, lad. When a presumed-dead fugitive reappears, law dictates a full investigation. Every wand present must be verified, every witness accounted for.”

Harry’s heart sank slightly. He hadn’t thought that catching Pettigrew would lead to this. Still, Dumbledore’s next words caught his attention.

“As you are all minors,” Dumbledore continued, “you cannot stand as independent witnesses. Your guardians must attend the trial alongside you.” His eyes flicked briefly toward each student. “Fortunately, for several among you, that presents no difficulty. Miss Greengrass, Mr. Longbottom, and Miss Bones—your guardians, Lord Greengrass, Madam Longbottom, and Madam Bones herself—are already here.”

Daphne smiled faintly at her father, who inclined his head in silent reassurance.

“For Miss Davis, Mr. Zabini, Miss Abbott, Mr. Scamander, Mr. Boot, and Miss Turpin,” Dumbledore went on, “your guardians will naturally be in attendance, as most hold seats or advisory posts within the Wizengamot.”

Tracey exhaled in relief. “At least that’s one less thing to worry about.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore replied mildly, before turning his gaze toward the remaining three students. “Now, for young Mr. Weasley, I shall dispatch a message immediately to his parents. I have no doubt that both Arthur and Molly will come posthaste.”

Ron flushed crimson. “Mum’s gonna have kittens when she hears this,” he muttered under his breath.

Dumbledore’s lips twitched. “Perhaps, but better she hears it from me than the Daily Prophet.”

A few chuckles broke the tension before he turned to Hermione and Justin, his voice gentle but firm. “As for you, Miss Granger, and you, Mr. Finch-Fletchley, being Muggle-borns, it may not be feasible for your guardians to appear on such short notice. Thus, as your to-be Headmaster, I shall act loco parentis—in the place of your guardians—for the purpose of the proceedings.”

Hermione nodded gratefully. “Thank you, Professor. My parents… well, they wouldn’t even know where to begin with this world yet.”

Justin agreed. “Same here, sir. They’d probably faint if a parchment owl landed in the sitting room.”

Dumbledore’s expression lightened briefly. “Let us spare them the trauma, then.”

Finally, his gaze settled on Harry. The weight of it made the boy’s stomach twist slightly. “And for you, Mr. Potter… your legal guardian remains Mr. Vernon Dursley, does he not?”

Harry blinked. “Er—yes, sir. He—well, he has a Floo connection now, thanks to Uncle Cyrus’s arrangement.”

Cyrus inclined his head politely. “Indeed. The connection is registered and limited, but it suffices for Ministry summons.”

Dumbledore nodded approvingly. “Excellent. Then, with your permission, we shall contact Mr. Dursley to inform him of the situation. He will be expected at the trial.”

Hermione looked surprised. “You think he’ll actually come?”

Harry smirked faintly. “If it involves finance or reputation, he’ll show up in a suit and tie.”

Neville whispered under his breath, “A suit at the Wizengamot? Merlin help us.”

Even Dumbledore allowed himself a soft chuckle before turning solemn once more. “Then it is settled. Letters will be dispatched immediately to all guardians and relevant departments. The trial shall be convened within the hour. Until then, none of you are to leave the premises.”

“Understood, Professor,” Daphne said quietly.

Dumbledore’s gaze swept the hall one last time. “You have all acted with courage tonight—facing truths that many adults have long ignored. Remember this: bravery is not the absence of fear, but the will to act despite it.”

His eyes softened as they lingered on Harry. “And tonight, you all have acted most bravely indeed.”

______________________________

The stately drawing room of Bones Manor had never held so much chaos. Wizards and witches filled the chamber, some pacing, others whispering in disbelief. The adults’ expressions shifted between shock and outrage, while the younger witnesses huddled together, still pale from the evening’s events.

Amelia stood near the grand hearth, her arms crossed tightly, eyes gleaming with restrained fury. “To think… all these years Sirius Black rotted in Azkaban, and that rat lived free under our noses!” she hissed.

Arthur Weasley rubbed his temples, looking older than his years. “You’re not the only one horrified, Amelia. Merlin’s beard, that creature lived in my house for ten years—slept in my sons’ dormitory at Hogwarts!”

Molly’s eyes were red, her hands wringing the hem of her apron. “In Ron’s pocket, Arthur! He carried him around like a pet!” she cried, her voice trembling with guilt and terror. “All that time, and we never knew…”

Daphne stood beside her father, quiet but alert, occasionally updating him on details through a soft whisper. Susan hovered near Amelia, eyes wide. “Auntie… what happens now?” she asked timidly.

Amelia took a long breath, trying to calm herself. “Now, Susan, justice happens. We’ll have a trial within the hour. Pettigrew will face the full weight of the law, and Sirius Black will finally be free.”

Across the room, Augusta Longbottom nodded solemnly. “It’s long overdue. I always said the Ministry rushed that conviction. No trial for a pureblood heir—utterly scandalous.”

Andromeda, seated beside Ted, exhaled softly. “Sirius may be many things, but a murderer he never was. My cousin deserves his freedom.” Her tone cracked slightly with emotion.

Cyrus spoke next, measured and commanding. “We will ensure that tonight’s proceedings follow proper law. Pettigrew’s confession and living presence nullify any prior ruling against Sirius. The truth cannot be denied now.”

At that moment, the door opened, and a small commotion stirred near the entrance. The house-elf Pipkin announced in a squeaky voice, “Mister Vernon Dursley and Lady Petunia Dursley of Surrey, sir.”

Heads turned sharply. A stout man in a fine suit entered, his face red from exertion but his manner serious. Beside him was Petunia, her expression torn between anxiety and relief.

Harry’s breath caught. “Aunt Petunia?”

Before he could say another word, Petunia crossed the room and pulled him into a tight embrace. “Oh, Harry!” she whispered shakily. “When I got that owl from you, I thought my heart would stop. I came as fast as I could when Vernon told me.”

Harry blinked, stunned at her display of emotion. He hugged her back, feeling a surprising warmth spread in his chest. “It’s okay, Aunt Petunia. Things just… got really crazy.”

Maple wagged her tail and gave a soft whine, sensing the tension easing. Petunia bent to pat the golden retriever gently. “Oh, you poor thing,” she murmured. “You must have been terrified by all that… teleporting.”

Vernon cleared his throat and looked around awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable in a room filled with robed witches and wizards. “Er… I received two letters this evening,” he said stiffly. “One from Harry—sounded like a storm had hit the world—and then another from this Dumbledore fellow and Mr. Greengrass.” He nodded politely to Cyrus. “Apparently this Sirius chap is innocent after all, and that rat—Peter—was the real traitor?”

Harry nodded firmly. “Yes, Uncle. Pettigrew’s been alive all this time. He framed Sirius, and he’s been living as Ron’s pet rat.”

Vernon’s mustache twitched. “Living as a rat? Good Lord…”

Arthur coughed lightly. “Quite literally, Mr. Dursley. He’s an unregistered Animagus.”

Vernon muttered something about “mad magical nonsense,” but his tone carried no anger—only disbelief. “Well,” he said gruffly, “if the man’s innocent, then the Ministry had better fix their mess. No one should sit in prison for another man’s crime.”

Cyrus inclined his head slightly. “Your words hold truth, Mr. Dursley.”

Petunia squeezed Harry’s shoulder. “I wish I could stay longer, dear, but Dudley’s home alone. Tomorrow’s his first day back at Smeltings.” She glanced at the gathered wizards with a wary but polite expression. “I trust you’ll keep Harry safe.”

Harry smiled faintly. “I’ll be fine, Aunt Petunia. Thanks for coming.”

Petunia hugged him again, more tightly this time, then turned to Maple. “You take care of him, girl,” she said softly before standing.

Dumbledore, who had been quietly observing the exchange, smiled gently. “It warms the heart to see such steadfast family care,” he remarked kindly. “Though I suspect poor Dudley would prefer breakfast to parental company if left waiting too long.”

A few chuckles rippled through the room. Even Amelia’s stern features softened for a moment.

Petunia smiled faintly, then turned to leave. “Goodbye, Harry. Write me when everything settles, will you?”

“I will,” Harry promised.

When she departed through the Floo, silence lingered for a moment, heavy but not uncomfortable. Vernon straightened his jacket. “Well,” he said, “I suppose I’d better stay for this… trial. Someone’s got to keep an eye on the proceedings.”

Amelia nodded briskly. “Indeed, Mr. Dursley. You’ll have a seat reserved. As Harry’s guardian, your presence is legally required.”

Vernon puffed his chest slightly. “Very well, then. Let’s see how your… justice works.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled faintly. “I daresay it will be quite illuminating, Mr. Dursley.”

Harry exchanged glances with Daphne and Susan. The storm that had started on the train was far from over—but at least now, truth was finally beginning to win.

The drawing room of Bones Manor had grown more crowded by the minute. New arrivals in fine robes or travel-worn cloaks filled the space, the tension palpable. Cyrus stood by the hearth managing introductions and explanations, his tone even despite the whirlwind of emotion swirling around.

The first to enter was Blaise’s mother, Lavinia Zabini, regal as ever in dark emerald robes. Her sharp eyes darted around the room until they found her son. “Blaise Zabini,” she said sternly, “when I received that owl saying you were caught in a crime scene, I nearly hexed the messenger out of panic.” She hurried forward, her composure breaking for a brief moment as she pulled him into a tight hug. “Thank Merlin you’re unharmed.”

Blaise muttered awkwardly, “I’m fine, Mother. Really. It’s just… a bit complicated.”

Next came Hannah’s father, Mr. Abbott, a stout, kind-faced man with spectacles slightly askew from his rushed arrival. “Hannah! My sweet girl, are you all right?” he asked, cupping her face gently. “I was at the Leaky Cauldron when I heard—nearly fainted when the owl came.”

“I’m fine, Dad,” Hannah reassured him, her voice shaking just a little. “It’s been… a long evening.”

Terry Boot’s father arrived shortly after, his expression somewhere between shock and bewilderment. “A wizarding crime scene? My boy in one?” he sputtered, running a hand through his hair. “I expected you to get detentions, not dragged into trials.”

Lisa Turpin’s father, a wiry wizard with scholarly robes, was already taking notes, muttering about “unprecedented historical circumstances.” Lisa rolled her eyes. “Dad, please. Not now.”

Tracey Davis’s mother swept in next, elegant and anxious. “Tracey, darling, what in Merlin’s name have you got yourself into?” she demanded, then softened the moment she saw her daughter safe. “Oh, thank heavens.”

Rolf Scamander’s guardian arrived last—and his entrance silenced the room. An elderly man with silver hair, keen blue eyes, and a worn dragonhide coat stepped in, leaning on his walking stick. His very presence seemed to hum with quiet authority.

“Grandfather!” Rolf exclaimed, running to him.

Newt Scamander smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling. “Ah, Rolf, my boy. When the Ministry sent a message saying you were mixed up in something urgent involving magical creatures and a criminal, I feared the worst. Though,” he glanced toward Dumbledore, “given the company, I should have expected chaos of a rather historic kind.”

Dumbledore inclined his head with a faint twinkle in his eyes. “You always did have impeccable timing, Newt.”

Before the room could relax, the door opened again and in strode a young witch with bright pink hair that seemed to shift in shade as she walked. “Wotcher, Auntie,” she called, heading straight to Amelia Bones.

“Nymphadora,” Amelia began in warning.

Tonks groaned. “Please, Auntie, call me Tonks. Or Dora. Anything but that name.” She turned to Dumbledore and gave a brisk salute. “Report from the Ministry. It’s pandemonium out there. When I left, half the Auror Office was in a tizzy over the ‘emergency Wizengamot session.’ Fudge is stumbling over his own words, and Lucius Malfoy’s owls haven’t stopped flying.”

Dumbledore’s brows rose. “Ah. I trust you… provided an explanation?”

Tonks grinned mischievously. “Course I did. Told them a man attacked the Hogwarts Express—more specifically, a compartment filled with the heirs of multiple ancient houses. Not a lie, exactly.” She winked. “That should keep the gossip hounds off the real scent until Sirius’s verdict comes through.”

Amelia smirked faintly. “Resourceful, as always.”

Tonks shrugged. “What can I say? I learned from the best.”

Her gaze landed on Harry, and her grin widened. “You must be Harry Potter. You’ve got your mum’s eyes—heard that one yet?”

Harry blinked, startled, then smiled weakly. “A few times, yeah.”

Tonks offered her hand, her tone softening. “Well, I’m Dora Tonks. Auror-in-training, metamorphmagus, occasional chaos-maker, and niece to your godfather, technically speaking.”

Harry shook her hand, surprised by her friendly ease. “Nice to meet you.”

Just then, Andromeda and Ted Tonks joined them. Andromeda’s face was composed but warm, and Ted smiled kindly. “Harry, I’m sorry we didn’t introduce ourselves earlier,” Andromeda said. “Everything happened so quickly.”

Ted nodded. “We’re old friends of your parents. James and Lily were… extraordinary people.”

Harry’s throat tightened. “Thank you, sir,” he murmured.

Ted patted his shoulder lightly. “You’ve done quite a bit of extraordinary yourself tonight, from what I hear. Bringing down an unregistered Animagus is no small thing.”

Across the room, Augusta was speaking with Cyrus and Amelia in low tones. Newt had wandered toward the corner, examining Peter Pettigrew—now magically restrained—like a rare specimen. “Curious,” he muttered. “Animagus magic layered with degradation from prolonged transformation. Remarkable case study, if not for the crimes.”

Amelia shot him a withering glance. “He’s not a specimen, Newt. He’s a traitor.”

Newt inclined his head apologetically. “Of course, my dear. Old habits die hard.”

Tonks smirked. “You’ve got quite the crowd here, Harry. Some of the most powerful families in Britain under one roof, all because of you.”

Harry looked around, almost overwhelmed. “Yeah,” he said softly, “I noticed.”

Dumbledore’s calm voice rose above the murmurs. “Then let us use that power wisely. The truth deserves a voice tonight, and we have all the proof we need.”

Hermione and Justin sat together on a small sofa tucked against the wall, their eyes wide and unblinking. The firelight flickered across their stunned faces, throwing shadows that danced like restless thoughts. Neither of them had spoken much since arriving.

Hermione finally whispered, “I still can’t believe this. Our first day in the wizarding world and… we’re in a manor full of nobles, a trial is about to start, and a man who was thought dead turned into a rat!”

Justin gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I was expecting maybe a tour of the castle. Not a legal and political revolution.”

Hermione looked toward Harry, who was standing with a cluster of adults—some dressed like aristocrats from an old novel. “He looks so calm,” she murmured, half in awe. “I don’t think I could even breathe properly if I were him.”

Justin shook his head, still overwhelmed. “He’s definitely not normal. None of this is. Wizards are… intense.”

Across the room, the tension had begun to settle. Molly Weasley, red-eyed but resolute, approached Harry with Arthur beside her. Ron followed closely, his expression apologetic and hesitant. Molly’s voice was soft, yet carried the weight of deep guilt.

“Harry, dear,” she began, wringing her hands, “we wanted to speak with you. Arthur and I—well—we owe you an apology.”

Arthur nodded gravely. “It seems we… unknowingly sheltered Peter Pettigrew for years. If I had ever suspected—Merlin, I would’ve gone straight to the Ministry.”

Harry, who had been absently scratching Maple’s ears, looked up quickly. His eyes softened when he saw Molly’s distress. “You didn’t know,” he said gently. “None of you did. He fooled everyone.”

Molly looked as though she might cry again. “Still, he lived in our home. Slept in our son’s room. And after all he did to your parents…” She trailed off, her voice breaking.

Harry shook his head, firm but kind. “Mrs. Weasley, please don’t blame yourself. Pettigrew did what he did long before that. You gave him kindness—he didn’t deserve it, but that’s not your fault.”

Arthur exhaled slowly, visibly relieved. “You truly are your mother’s son,” he murmured.

Ron stepped forward awkwardly, scuffing his shoe. “Er… Harry,” he began, “I’m sorry too. I swear, I didn’t know. Scabbers—he was just my pet, you know?”

Harry’s expression softened even more. “It’s all right, Ron. None of us could have guessed a rat was actually a Death Eater.” He chuckled weakly. “To be honest, I still can’t wrap my head around it.”

Ron gave a nervous grin. “Yeah, me neither. Mum nearly hexed me when she found out.”

At that moment, a small, red-haired girl peeked out from behind Molly’s robes. Her large brown eyes locked on Harry almost instantly, and she froze. Ginny Weasley looked utterly starstruck.

“Ah, this is our youngest,” Molly said, noticing. “Ginny, dear, come say hello.”

Ginny hesitated, her face turning crimson as she stepped forward. “H-hello,” she stammered, barely above a whisper.

Harry smiled warmly. “Hi, Ginny.”

Her heart practically stopped. “H-hi,” she managed again, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.

Harry tilted his head slightly, amused by her shyness. She couldn’t have been more than ten, but her eyes held a spark of admiration so pure that it caught him off guard. For some reason, his own heart gave a strange flutter in his chest. Why am I suddenly nervous? he thought, confused by the unfamiliar rush of warmth spreading through him.

Maple wagged her tail, nudging Ginny’s hand. The little girl giggled softly, patting the golden retriever’s head. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered.

Harry grinned. “Her name’s Maple. She’s been with me since I was six.”

Ginny looked up at him shyly. “She’s really sweet. Just like you—” She stopped abruptly, face flaming red.

Ron groaned. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Ginny!”

Molly gave him a warning look. “Ronald.”

Arthur chuckled under his breath. “Let her be, son.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks slightly warm now too. “Er, thanks,” he said awkwardly. “You’re really nice too, Ginny.”

The girl’s smile widened, and Harry found himself staring for a moment longer than he meant to. Her fiery hair glowed under the candlelight, her eyes bright with innocent sincerity. It made something in him tighten—a flicker of happiness he hadn’t felt in years.

Then he mentally scolded himself. Get a grip, Potter. You’ve just witnessed a man turn into a rat and you’re blushing?

Still, as Ginny returned to her mother’s side, glancing at him once more with that shy little smile, Harry couldn’t stop his own lips from curving. Something about her—her open warmth, her quiet courage—reminded him of Lily.

Hermione watched from across the room, nudging Justin. “She’s blushing.”

Justin snorted. “So is he.”

“Ah,” Hermione said with a knowing smile. “Even in the wizarding world, some things never change.”

The murmurs of conversation rose again as adults prepared for the trial ahead, but for a brief, stolen moment amid the chaos, Harry’s gaze lingered on Ginny—and for the first time that long day, he felt a little less weighed down by the world.
______________________________

The air in the drawing room of Bones Manor had eased only slightly, though the shock of the evening still lingered like mist after a storm. Soft murmurs filled the grand hall as the guardians, children, and officials gathered. Silver trays floated gracefully in from the side doors, guided by the Bones Manor elves and Harry’s own Pipkin, who took particular pride in serving his young master’s friends.

“Tea for the young master and his guests,” Pipkin squeaked, bowing low before offering a polished tray to Harry.

Harry smiled faintly. “Thank you, Pipkin.”

The little elf’s long ears flushed pink. “An honor, Master Harry, sir! Miss Bones’ elves is saying Bones Manor has never seen so many important guests at once!”

Susan laughed softly, though her eyes were still shadowed from the evening’s revelations. “I think Bones Manor has seen enough drama for a century.”

As tea and biscuits were distributed, the children and adults began introducing themselves more calmly. Terry’s father extended his hand toward Harry. “Philip Boot. My son speaks highly of you already, young man.”

Harry shook his hand politely. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

Nearby, Hannah’s father nodded warmly. “You’ve had quite a night, lad. The way things are unfolding, I’d say you’ve the patience of a saint.”

Harry smiled faintly. “I’m still trying to understand it all, sir.”

Tracey’s mother approached next, elegant yet stern. “Morgana Davis,” she introduced. “I trust my daughter behaved appropriately amid all… this chaos.”

Tracey groaned softly. “Mum!”

Harry shook his head quickly. “She was brilliant, actually. Helped everyone stay calm.”

That earned a small smile from Mrs. Davis, who gave her daughter an approving nod.

Newt smiled kindly at the room before focusing on Harry. “So this is the young man at the center of all this fuss.” His eyes softened with quiet understanding. “You have your mother’s eyes, my boy.”

Harry blinked, unsure how to respond to such familiarity. “You knew my parents?”

Newt chuckled lightly. “Oh yes. Your father once borrowed a Crup from me for an experiment that went rather disastrously. I still have the bite marks.”

The tension broke with a ripple of laughter across the room. Even Amelia’s shoulders eased a fraction as she sipped her tea.

Then, a distinct pop echoed through the hall as the wards shimmered briefly. All heads turned as Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped in, tall, composed, and grave-faced. His deep voice carried easily. “Director Bones,” he said with a respectful nod, “as instructed, I have brought the prisoner.”

Behind him stood Sirius Black.

The change in the air was instant. Conversations died. Gasps filled the space like ripples after a stone dropped into still water.

Sirius looked… thinner than anyone expected. His face, hollowed by years in Azkaban, bore traces of the reckless youth he once was. His grey eyes darted across the room until they locked onto one person—Harry.

For a heartbeat, neither moved.

Then Sirius whispered, his voice trembling, “James?”

Harry’s chest tightened painfully. “No…” he said softly, stepping closer. “Harry. I’m Harry.”

Sirius blinked rapidly, tears welling in eyes that hadn’t known hope for a decade. “You—you’re so like him. Merlin’s beard… James' smile, Lily's’ eyes—”

He took a hesitant step forward, but Kingsley gently placed a hand on his arm, a silent reminder that the trial was yet to come.

Amelia Bones approached, her composure unwavering though emotion flickered behind her eyes. “Mr. Black,” she said formally, “on behalf of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I assure you that your case will receive immediate review. The truth will be made public.”

Sirius met her gaze with quiet intensity. “I don’t need mercy, Madam Bones. Just justice.”

Amelia nodded solemnly. “And you shall have it.”

Harry, unable to hold back any longer, spoke again. “I know you didn’t do it. We found Peter. He’s alive.”

Sirius froze. “Peter?” His voice cracked. “You—found him?”

Harry nodded, his voice firmer now. “He was pretending to be Ron’s pet rat. He confessed before everyone. The Aurors have him.”

Sirius’ expression crumbled, disbelief and relief colliding in equal measure. He staggered slightly, gripping the nearest chair. “After all these years… they’ll finally know.”

Kingsley placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “You’re free of the Dementors’ shadow now, Sirius. You’ll stand before the Wizengamot tonight.”

Sirius exhaled shakily, his eyes still on Harry. “You look so much like them,” he whispered again. “They’d be proud—so proud.”

Harry swallowed hard, feeling a lump in his throat. “I just wish they could see this too.”

For a brief moment, despite the grim robes, the memories of Azkaban, and the chaos beyond the manor walls, there was silence. A fragile kind of peace.

Then Amelia turned to Kingsley, her tone brisk once more. “Escort Mr. Black to the preparation chamber. The trial will begin in thirty minutes.”

Kingsley inclined his head. “Understood.”

As they moved, Sirius looked over his shoulder one last time, eyes meeting Harry’s. A faint, broken smile curved his lips. “See you soon, pup.”

Harry’s heart swelled at the word—a name filled with love and loss and everything between. “I’ll be there,” he promised softly.

Amelia stood motionless long after Sirius had been led away, her gaze fixed on the empty doorway as though the force of her will could call him back. The cup of tea in her hand had gone cold. For years she had fought to uncover truth within the Ministry’s broken walls, yet when justice finally stood before her in chains, she had been forced to treat him like a criminal.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she set the cup down. Merlin, he must despise me now, she thought bitterly. She had spoken to him as “Mr. Black,” not as the man she once loved. How could she have done otherwise? Duty demanded restraint, but her heart raged against every word of formality that had passed her lips.

She remembered their laughter before the war—his boyish grin, the warmth in his voice when he called her “Lia.” That memory stung worse than any curse. Ten years stolen from him, ten years she could have fought harder. “You should have trusted your instincts,” she whispered to herself. “You knew he was no killer.”

“Amelia,” came Andromeda’s soft voice. The elder witch placed a steadying hand on her arm. “He does not hate you. He knows who you are—and what you had to do.”

Amelia’s throat tightened. “Knowing and forgiving are not the same, Andromeda. I should have seen through it all. I am the Head of the DMLE—what good is that title if I couldn’t protect him?”

Andromeda met her gaze firmly. “You can protect him now. That’s what matters.”

Amelia nodded slowly, though the ache did not ease. She turned away, her eyes briefly meeting those of Cyrus Greengrass across the room. He gave a small, silent nod—an acknowledgment of both sympathy and the heavy burden of leadership they shared.

Meanwhile, Harry had slipped away from the adults’ conversation, feeling the weight of too many grown-up worries pressing on the air. Across the sitting room, Maple was lying on the polished floor, tail thumping lazily as Ginny knelt beside her, tossing a soft ball.

Harry smiled at the sight. The golden retriever barked happily as Ginny laughed, her red hair catching the firelight. The sound made something in Harry’s chest twist pleasantly, confusingly.

“Maple seems to like you,” he said, walking over.

Ginny looked up, her freckled cheeks blooming pink. “I—I love dogs,” she stammered. “She’s beautiful.”

“She’s a bit nervous today,” Harry replied, kneeling beside them. “Too much happened for one day.” Their fingers brushed as they both reached to pat Maple, and Harry felt a strange flutter in his chest. Why does my heart beat like this? he wondered. She just smiled at me.

They fell quiet for a moment, watching Maple nuzzle between them. Harry could feel his heartbeat picking up again, a strange warmth spreading through him. Why does she make me feel like this? he wondered. Her laugh, her eyes, even the way she looked at Maple—it all felt… right somehow.

Maple nudged his knee impatiently, and he patted her head, grateful for the distraction. “You’re jealous, aren’t you, girl?”

Ginny giggled again, her laughter soft and melodic. Harry felt the corners of his mouth lift helplessly. “You’ve got a beautiful laugh,” he said before he could stop himself.

Ginny’s eyes widened, and she ducked her head. “Th-thank you.” Her voice came out barely above a whisper.

Across the room, Vernon Dursley watched the exchange with a peculiar mix of bewilderment and reluctant fondness. Standing beside Cyrus Greengrass, he crossed his arms, muttering, “Never thought I’d see the day when my nephew’s chatting up some redhead in a wizard manor.”

Cyrus smiled faintly, his posture composed. “Young hearts tend to find peace in chaos, Mr. Dursley. Quite a remarkable trait, really.”

Vernon gave a gruff snort. “Peace in chaos? Hmph. Seems to me like he’s about to dive headfirst into it.”

Cyrus chuckled softly, folding his hands behind his back. “Perhaps. But it is good for him. Harry carries far too much weight for his age. Let him have this—innocent moments are fleeting.”

Vernon’s expression softened despite himself. He glanced toward Harry, who was laughing now as Maple rolled over, begging for belly rubs from both him and Ginny. Petunia’s earlier words echoed faintly in his head—“He’s our boy too, Vernon.”

He sighed. “He’s growing up faster than I thought. I just hope this world doesn’t swallow him whole.”

Cyrus’s voice was calm but firm. “Not if we stand with him.”

Vernon nodded, still watching Harry. “For this, Mr. Greengrass,” he muttered, “I might just agree with you.”

In the glow of the hearth, laughter from the children and the quiet conversation of the adults mingled together. For the first time that day, the heavy tension began to lift—if only for a moment—like the calm before the storm to come.

Elsewhere, Dumbledore conversed quietly with Augusta and Andromeda, confirming arrangements for the imminent Wizengamot trial. The firelight glinted on his half-moon spectacles as he murmured, “Fate seems impatient tonight.”
______________________________

Sirius sat still, staring at the floor, the murmurs of conversation drifting around him like a dream. His heart ached as he caught sight of Amelia again—his Amelia—turning away to compose a report. He wanted to tell her he never blamed her, that her face had been one of the few memories strong enough to keep the Dementors from breaking him completely.

In another corner, Ron was whispering with his parents. “Mum,” he muttered, “that’s him, the real Sirius Black.”

Molly nodded, clutching her husband’s arm. “Yes, dear. And poor thing, what they did to him…”

Arthur’s gaze shifted to Sirius, pity flickering in his gentle eyes. “The truth will finally surface tonight. Justice may be slow, but it does not sleep forever.”

The great hall of Bones Manor, though filled with whispers and nerves, had changed its tone. The fear that had clung to everyone since the discovery of Pettigrew had begun to loosen its hold. There was still apprehension—but also hope. The light of truth, long buried under corruption and deceit, was about to break through.

Harry looked again toward Sirius, feeling an unfamiliar warmth spread through his chest. He’s family, he realized. He’s the last link to my parents.

And for the first time that day, amid the swirl of destiny, politics, and the echo of ancient names, Harry felt a quiet certainty. Tonight, everything would change.

Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes betrayed more mischief than his solemn face let on. The grand hall of Bones Manor had settled into a hushed, tense quiet, yet the old wizard’s gaze darted between Amelia and Sirius with unmistakable purpose. “Director Bones,” he began mildly, “perhaps it would be best if you took Mister Black’s account personally. No one knows the Ministry’s records as you do. I am certain that if anyone can find the truth in his words, it is you.”

Amelia hesitated, hands tightening on her quill. “Chief Warlock, surely one of the Aurors can—”

“Ah,” Dumbledore interrupted, voice lilting with that infuriating calmness that disarmed even the sharpest of officials, “but none possess your expertise… or your stake in this matter.”

Her eyes flicked to Sirius, who was watching her quietly, an expression unreadable on his gaunt face. A tremor of pain ran through her chest. She inhaled slowly and said, “Very well. I will take his statement personally. Auror Shacklebolt will record it.”

As Amelia motioned Sirius toward a smaller adjoining chamber, Dumbledore turned away, humming faintly. His eyes found Harry sitting beside Ginny again, Maple at their feet. When Harry noticed him looking, Dumbledore winked—an unmistakable signal that made the boy flush crimson.

What’s that supposed to mean? Harry thought, bewildered. Is he matchmaking everyone tonight or something? He looked at Ginny, who was now pretending to braid Maple’s fur, her face as red as her hair. His heart gave a nervous flutter.

Inside the smaller room, the air was cooler, quieter. Kingsley stood by a tall desk, setting up his parchment and quill with mechanical precision. Amelia took her seat, posture stiff, quill poised. Sirius stood before her for a long moment before lowering himself into the chair opposite, shackles faintly clinking.

“State your full name for the record,” Amelia said formally.

“Sirius Orion Black,” came the calm, low reply.

“Former member of the Order of the Phoenix,” she continued.

“Yes.”

“Charged with the betrayal of James and Lily Potter to Lord Voldemort, and the murder of Peter Pettigrew and twelve Muggles.”

Sirius’s jaw tightened. “False on both counts.”

Her quill scratched swiftly across the parchment. “You claim innocence. On what basis?”

“The basis that I wasn’t the Secret Keeper,” Sirius said bitterly. “It was Peter Pettigrew. We switched at the last moment, so the Dark Lord would never suspect. James trusted him. Merlin help us, we all did.”

Amelia’s hand faltered. She swallowed. “There is no record of such a change.”

“Of course not,” Sirius shot back. “No one lived long enough to record it—except Pettigrew, who faked his death and hid as a rat for a decade. In a Weasley household, no less.”

Kingsley’s quill stopped scratching as he looked up briefly. Amelia forced herself to stay calm, but her eyes softened. “You realise this contradicts every Ministry report.”

Sirius leaned forward, eyes blazing. “Your Ministry never gave me a trial, Amelia. You’re recording my first one now.”

That quiet admission broke something in her. Her formal tone faltered. “I tried to open your file,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “It was sealed. Forged transcripts, no magical residue. I should have fought harder—Merlin, Sirius, I—”

Sirius shook his head, eyes gentler now. “You had your hands tied, Amy. Don’t do this to yourself. I never blamed you.”

For the first time, her composure cracked completely. “You should,” she murmured. “You should hate me for every year they stole from you.”

He gave a soft, humourless laugh. “Hate you? You’re the reason I stayed sane. The thought that you still believed in me—even a little—kept me alive when everything else was gone.”

Amelia blinked rapidly, fighting tears. “You… thought of me?”

Sirius’s lips quirked faintly. “Every damn day.”

For a moment, silence filled the room, heavy but strangely warm. Kingsley coughed pointedly, trying to look anywhere but at the two of them. “Director, perhaps we should—”

“Not now, Kingsley,” Amelia said softly, her voice breaking slightly.

Her hand trembled as she set the quill down. Sirius’s fingers brushed hers across the table. It was a fragile, tentative contact that felt like sunlight after years of cold. Amelia exhaled shakily, tears finally spilling over.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“I’m not,” Sirius replied, voice hoarse but certain. “Because this moment makes every second of Azkaban worth surviving.”

Before she could reply, his hand rose to her cheek, rough thumb brushing away a tear. The space between them vanished like mist. Kingsley’s eyes widened in disbelief as his superior officer and the most wanted man in Britain leaned across the table and kissed—softly, desperately, like two people clinging to the first breath after drowning.

The Auror cleared his throat loudly, parchment fluttering awkwardly. “Er… shall I—uh—record this as part of the statement, Director?”

Amelia jerked back, crimson spreading across her face. “No, Auror Shacklebolt! Leave that out!”

Sirius chuckled, a real, warm laugh that startled even him. “Guess I’ll take that as an official pardon, then?”

Amelia glared half-heartedly, her lips trembling between outrage and laughter. “You are impossible, Sirius Black.”

Kingsley muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he magically rolled up the parchment. “Merlin save me… I’m definitely not paid enough for this.”

Outside the door, Dumbledore’s faint chuckle echoed, as if he somehow knew exactly what had just transpired.
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A/n: I hope You like it. Please ignore grammatical and spelling errors.  

I think Dumbledore just saved us from a whole lot of unnecessary drama and angst that would've blown up between Sirius and Amelia.

I know it all seems to be moving pretty fast, but like I said before, I didn't want to save this drama for later when the story picks up pace. The main theme of this story is healing and education, and of course, Voldemort will still be a threat. I just want to minimize unnecessary interventions and focus on the plot twists I've already planned.

This incident has actually been really beneficial for the friend group – it's solidified their bond in a major way. Just like fighting a mountain troll can create lifelong friends, so does fighting a supposedly dead person who's framed an innocent and made them a fugitive.

As you can see, this is more of a "good Dumbledore" story, rather than an "evil Dumbledore" one. I'm not a fan of excessive bashing or negativity in my writing.

Hey for this story I wasn't able to decide Chapter names easily so for fun why don't you all comment what you think chapter name can be ? I will be waiting.

Thanks for reading. § Hinny Forever § Please Review!!!

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or its universe. All original elements belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This story is a work of fanfiction created purely for entertainment purposes - no copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made. Any original characters, events, or concepts beyond the established canon are the author's own creative additions to expand the magical world respectfully.
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Kingsley emerged from the room looking red-faced and utterly mortified. His normally composed demeanour was in tatters, and his deep voice cracked slightly as he muttered, "They're... ah... discussing some emotional matters. Best not disturb them."

Cyrus Greengrass arched an eyebrow, amused. "Emotional, you say? That's one way to put it."

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled with unrepentant glee. "How wonderful. Reconciliation is a fine magic, perhaps rarer than any spell."

Molly Weasley, who had been hovering with a tray of scones, hid a smile behind her hand. "Well, I do hope they remember they're not teenagers anymore."

Arthur coughed discreetly, pretending to study the mantelpiece. "Best to... er... give them privacy."

Harry, sitting beside Ginny and Maple again, frowned slightly. "What's going on in there?" he asked under his breath.

Ginny giggled softly. "Adults," she said with a knowing grin. "They get weird about feelings."

Harry blinked, bewildered. "Weird how?"

Her eyes sparkled mischievously. "You'll find out someday, Potter."
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Inside the private room, the air had grown warmer, quieter, and charged with the unspoken. The tension between Amelia and Sirius was no longer the cold stiffness of an interrogation but something far more fragile-like two people remembering how to breathe the same air after years apart.

Amelia sat beside him now, not across the table. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve, the tremor in them betraying the storm beneath her calm expression. "You shouldn't have said that," she whispered. "You shouldn't make it sound like Azkaban was worth anything."

Sirius's gaze softened, the hard edges of his face gentling. "I didn't mean the prison was worth it," he said quietly. "I meant surviving it was. Because it brought me back here-to this moment, with you."

Her breath hitched. "You shouldn't say that either," she murmured, eyes lowering. "I don't deserve it."

He tilted his head slightly. "You always did have a habit of being too hard on yourself."

"Do not flatter me, Black," she muttered, though her lips quivered between resistance and something dangerously close to a smile.

He laughed softly, the sound rusty but real. "You still call me that when you're cross. Merlin, it's like Hogwarts all over again."

Amelia shook her head, though a faint blush coloured her cheeks. "You were insufferable then, too. Always sneaking into restricted corridors, smirking through detentions..."

"And you," Sirius countered, "always the responsible prefect, threatening to hex me if I broke curfew."

Her lips twitched. "I should have hexed you properly."

"Wouldn't have worked," he said, grin widening. "You always went easy on me."

The words hung between them like a confession. Amelia looked at him-really looked-and saw past the thinness and weariness, saw the same reckless warmth that had once made her heart race. The years had carved lines of pain into his face, but his eyes, grey and bright, still held mischief.

Her voice grew soft. "You've changed."

"So have you," Sirius said gently. "But not where it matters."

She blinked rapidly, eyes shimmering. "I thought you'd hate me. After everything-the silence, the Ministry's neglect-"

"I hated a lot of things," he interrupted, "but never you. I couldn't. I knew if you'd known the truth, you'd have torn the world apart to set me free."

Her hand rose almost unconsciously, brushing the side of his face. His breath caught at the touch. "You've lost so much," she whispered. "James, Lily, your freedom..."

He leaned into her palm. "Maybe it's time I started getting things back."

For a heartbeat, neither moved. The fire in the grate crackled softly, casting shifting shadows on the walls. Amelia's heart pounded, torn between duty and longing. She whispered, "This is madness."

Sirius smiled faintly. "Then it suits us perfectly."

Her resolve finally broke, and she leaned in, resting her forehead against his. "Merlin help me, I missed you," she breathed.

"Then stop trying to make sense of it," he murmured. "Just feel."

Her eyes fluttered shut as he kissed her again-gentler this time, lingering, full of all the lost years and what-ifs.

When they finally drew apart, she laughed softly, tears spilling down her cheeks. "We're both going to be in the Prophet tomorrow, aren't we?"

He chuckled, brushing his thumb over her hand. "Let them write whatever they like. For once, I'll enjoy reading the scandal pages."

Amelia rolled her eyes but didn't move away. "You really haven't changed at all."

He grinned. "Told you."

Outside, Dumbledore's faint voice floated through the door, far too conveniently loud. "Patience, everyone. I believe true reconciliation takes precisely as long as it needs."

Cyrus chuckled quietly. "Or perhaps a few minutes more."

Kingsley groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I'm never living this down at the office."

Inside, Amelia and Sirius laughed softly at the sound of it all. For the first time , the weight between them felt a little lighter-like maybe the world was finally giving them a second chance.
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The group emerged from Bones Manor into the cool evening air, the fading light glinting off the wards that shimmered faintly around the estate. The tension in the air was heavy but filled with purpose. Dumbledore led the group with his customary calm, his eyes twinkling despite the grave nature of their errand. Behind him walked Amelia Bones, her expression set and professional, though Sirius-now glamoured to appear as a tall, dark-haired wizard in crisp robes-stayed discreetly a step behind her.

"Stay close, everyone," Dumbledore said in his steady voice. "We must use the Floo in pairs. The Ministry is on high alert, and appearances must be maintained."

"Understood," Amelia replied crisply, though her fingers brushed briefly against Sirius's as they passed the doorway. His lips curved faintly.

Harry and his group followed in hushed awe, each step echoing through the long corridor. Hermione kept fidgeting with the edges of her robe, whispering to Neville, "Can you believe this? We're going to the Wizengamot! On the first day!"

Neville gave a nervous laugh. "I thought Hogwarts would be exciting, but this is-well-beyond anything Gran ever warned me about."

Tracey rolled her eyes. "At least you weren't sitting beside a murderer-well, an almost-murderer-on the train."

"Technically," Blaise said with a smirk, "we were all sitting in that compartment. Makes us part of history, doesn't it?"

"History with danger written all over it," Susan muttered, clutching her bag.

Harry walked a little apart from the chatter, Maple padding silently beside him. Ginny Weasley, walking just ahead with her parents, kept glancing back at him, cheeks flushed pink. Every time their eyes met, both looked away too quickly.

Ginny's mind was spinning faster than a racing broom. He talked to me. Harry Potter talked to me! She had nearly tripped over her own feet earlier when he had smiled at her before they left the manor. And then-Merlin above-he had asked if they could be pen pals.

Her heart gave another wild flutter at the memory. He said it so kindly, too. "Until you start Hogwarts next year, maybe we can write each other?" His voice had been a bit awkward, but warm. No boy had ever asked to write to her before, let alone him.

"Careful, Ginny," Molly's voice cut through her thoughts as her mother steadied her arm. "You're woolgathering."

Ginny blinked and mumbled, "Sorry, Mum."

Arthur, walking on her other side, gave a soft smile. "I daresay it's a lot for a young mind to take in. A Ministry trial, a train attack... and now this hush-hush business."

Behind the students, the guardians followed in a loose line. Vernon Dursley was keeping a wary distance from everyone magical, his moustache twitching every few seconds. "Floo travel," he grumbled, glaring at the fireplace. "Never thought I'd see the day." Even though he likes it.

Cyrus Greengrass nodded to him courteously. "It is efficient, Mr. Dursley. Disorienting, perhaps, but safe. Most of the time."

"Most of the time?" Vernon repeated, paling.

Newt Scamander chuckled softly from behind them, his eyes twinkling beneath bushy brows. "It's quite safe, really. Only issue is if someone sneezes mid-spin."

Tracey's mother gave a short laugh, while Blaise's mother raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "How reassuring."

At the front, Amelia was briefing Dumbledore quietly. "Once we reach the Ministry, I'll take Sirius directly to the holding chamber. No one must recognize him before the trial begins."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "Quite right. Kingsley will maintain the cover story. The rest of us will act naturally."

"Natural," Sirius muttered under his breath, "when I'm walking into my own trial disguised as someone else. Oh, what irony."

Amelia glanced at him, the corner of her mouth twitching. "You'll manage. Try not to smirk your way into suspicion."

"Can't promise that," he murmured, and for a moment her stern façade softened again.

As they gathered near the grand hearth, one by one the pairs vanished into green flame-Dumbledore and Amelia first, then Sirius and Kingsley, followed by the children in order.

When it was Harry's turn, he turned toward Ginny with an almost shy grin. "See you on the other side."

Ginny swallowed hard and managed a bright smile. "You'd better."

Her heart soared as he stepped into the flames and vanished. He smiled at me again, she thought dreamily. And he's going to write.

Molly caught the dazed expression and sighed softly, exchanging a knowing look with Arthur. "Our daughter," she whispered, "is smitten."

Arthur smiled faintly. "Better him than some prat from Ottery St. Catchpole."

Moments later, with one final whoosh of emerald light, the entire group vanished from Bones Manor. The calm of the old estate returned, leaving only the faint scent of magic in the air and the echo of whispered hopes-of justice for Sirius Black, and of a red-haired girl who could not stop smiling at the thought of a letter bearing Harry Potter's name.
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The Ministry Atrium was alive with noise and motion when the group arrived, green flames bursting one after another as they stepped out of the Floo network. Golden tiles gleamed underfoot, and enchanted advertisements whirled above the heads of bustling witches and wizards. Yet, the moment Amelia Bones and Albus Dumbledore appeared, the crowd fell into a curious hush.

"Clear the way!" came a rough bark from Alastor Moody, his magical eye whirling furiously as he stomped forward, staff thudding against the floor. "Wizengamot-bound party. No gawking, you lot!"

His presence alone made even seasoned officials step aside. Around him, half a dozen Aurors formed a moving perimeter, wands subtly drawn beneath their robes. Shacklebolt, having rejoined them, gave a firm nod to Amelia. "All secure, Madam Bones. Straight to the court entrance."

"Good," Amelia replied briskly. "Let's keep it that way."

Harry, walking between Hermione and Neville, glanced around in awe. "Blimey," he whispered. "It's... massive."

Hermione's eyes were wide with wonder. "It's incredible! So much magic in one place-oh, look at that quill! It's writing by itself!"

"Focus," Tracey hissed, nudging her. "We're not here for sightseeing."

Daphne, walking slightly ahead with composed grace, leaned closer to Harry and murmured, "Try not to stare at the ceiling enchantments. Ministry security will notice if you look lost."

Harry chuckled under his breath. "Too late for that, I think."

As they neared the grand golden gates leading toward the Wizengamot chambers, Cornelius Fudge himself appeared, flanked by his entourage. His lime-green bowler hat was slightly askew, and the forced cheer in his tone could not mask the anxiety in his eyes.

"Madam Bones! Professor Dumbledore! What an unexpected... ah... pleasure. I was informed of the emergency session, of course, though the details were-ah-scarce." His eyes flicked suspiciously over the students, their guardians, and the imposing figure of the glamoured Sirius.

Amelia's voice was perfectly professional. "Minister, the emergency was unavoidable. A serious criminal matter arose involving multiple heirs of noble families. Their testimony is crucial."

Fudge blinked, his smile faltering. "Heirs, you say? Merlin's beard! Who would dare?"

Before she could answer, a new voice cut through the corridor-smooth, cultured, and deceptively calm. "Indeed, Madam Bones, one wonders what kind of lunatic would target children of such bloodlines."

Lucius Malfoy strode forward, his silver-topped cane tapping lightly against the marble floor. His pristine robes gleamed, and his pale eyes swept across the assembly like a hawk assessing prey. He bowed slightly to Amelia and Dumbledore. "Minister. Chief Warlock. A most alarming affair."

"Lord Malfoy," Dumbledore greeted pleasantly, though his eyes held a certain knowing gleam.

Lucius inclined his head. "You must understand my outrage. To think-an attack upon heirs of the Greengrass, Bones, Longbottom, and Zabini lines! Such an insult to the very foundation of our society. I trust the culprit will be found and dealt with most... severely."

"Be assured," Amelia said evenly, her expression unreadable, "the matter is well in hand. The attacker has already been apprehended."

Lucius's brow lifted slightly. "Already? How efficient. I daresay that is a rare occurrence in our times."

"Sometimes," Dumbledore replied with gentle humor, "justice moves faster when truth is self-evident."

Lucius’s gaze lingered on Dumbledore, the faintest flicker of curiosity crossing his face. Then he looked at the students, his eyes narrowing as they passed.

“Children,” he said silkily, “how fortunate you are that the Ministry is taking this so seriously.”

Harry met his gaze, calm but alert. He inclined his head with deliberate precision, the motion practiced yet unmistakably aristocratic. “Indeed, sir,” Harry replied evenly. “Permit me to offer my proper introduction. I am Harry James Potter—Lord and Heir of the Most Ancient and Noble Houses of Potter, Peverell, and Gryffindor. It is my hope that the truth, once uncovered, will reflect favourably upon all who claim to serve it.”

For the briefest of moments, Lucius Malfoy’s mask faltered. His eyes flicked sharply to Harry’s scar, then back to his face—measuring, reassessing. Surprise flashed, quickly mastered.

“Well,” Lucius said at last, bowing with old-fashioned grace, his cane tapping softly against the floor, “the honour is mine, Lord Potter. Lucius Malfoy, Lord of the House of Malfoy. Your… lineage does you credit.”

Harry returned the courtesy, neither defiant nor deferential—merely correct.
“Yes, sir. We are fortunate that so many care about the truth.”

Lucius’s eyes sharpened once more, though his smile remained polished and polite.
“Indeed,” he murmured. “May it serve you well.”

Lucius's eyes sharpened, but his lips curled into a polite smile. "Indeed. May it serve you well."

Behind the group, Molly Weasley whispered to Arthur, "That man gives me the chills."

Arthur sighed softly. "That's because he's usually plotting something."

Ginny tugged at her father's sleeve, whispering, "Why's he pretending to be angry if he doesn't even know what's going on?"

Arthur gave a wry smile. "Because appearances, love, are the lifeblood of politics."

Meanwhile, Moody's voice boomed again, "All right! Enough chit-chat. Clear the corridor! Move along, people! You heard the Minister!" His magical eye spun toward Fudge. "You too, Cornelius. Unless you'd like to explain why the Wizengamot is waiting while we stand here."

Fudge straightened, face flushing. "Yes, yes, of course, Moody. Right this way." He gestured hurriedly, motioning for the grand doors to open.

The students followed in silence now, each aware of the weight of what was to come. The great circular doors swung open to reveal the imposing chamber beyond-tiered seats, ancient magic humming through the stones, and the scent of power that seemed to thicken the very air.

As they crossed the threshold, Harry felt the enormity of the moment settle over him. Whatever happened next would change everything-not just for Sirius, but for the entire wizarding world.

Dumbledore's eyes glimmered like twin stars as he murmured softly to Amelia, "History has a peculiar sense of timing, my dear. Let us hope it favors the truth tonight."

Amelia's jaw tightened. "For Sirius's sake, it had better."
______________________________

The grand chamber of the Wizengamot loomed like a cathedral of law and power, its high stone walls lined with ancient tapestries depicting centuries of magical justice. Silver torches burned with steady blue flames, casting an ethereal glow upon the assembled witches and wizards who filled the tiered benches. Each wore robes bearing their House crest and colour, marking allegiance in the eternal balance between Light, Dark, and Neutral.

At the lowest level, near the witness stand, the group of children sat quietly with their guardians-Molly and Arthur Weasley, Ted Tonks, and Vernon Dursley. The four adults exchanged uneasy glances, the enormity of the chamber weighing heavily upon them.

Ron shifted in his seat. "Blimey," he muttered, staring up at the semicircle of robed figures. "Feels like we're in some sort of ancient fortress."

Hermione, wide-eyed, whispered back, "It is ancient. The Wizengamot predates even the Ministry. Imagine all the trials that happened here."

"Let's not imagine that right now," Justin said faintly, gripping the arms of his chair.

Harry leaned forward slightly, eyes drawn to the vast marble dais at the centre where the Chief Warlock's seat towered above all others. The insignia of the Wizengamot-a phoenix rising from scales of justice-was carved behind it, gleaming in soft light. He could feel magic humming through the air, old and powerful, like the heartbeat of the wizarding world itself.

Dumbledore entered with silent authority, his robes trailing deep violet and silver. The murmurs of the chamber stilled as he ascended the dais and took his seat. The silver gavel beside him glowed faintly as he lifted it and struck once. The sound rang out, clear and commanding.

“Let it be formally entered into record,” Dumbledore declared, his voice calm yet resonant as it carried effortlessly through the chamber, “that this emergency convocation of the Wizengamot is hereby called to order.”

Whispers immediately broke out in the gallery. Dozens of quills began scratching upon parchment as court scribes prepared to record every word. The air was taut with curiosity-few knew why they had been summoned so suddenly, and fewer still dared to guess.

Beside the dais, Amelia Bones took her seat at the DMLE's representative table, expression composed though her eyes betrayed tension. Cyrus Greengrass sat a few benches away, posture straight, gaze sharp. Augusta Longbottom adjusted her spectacles, looking every bit the formidable matriarch she was.

Dumbledore raised his hand, restoring order to the chamber with a gesture of quiet authority.
“Prior to the commencement of the principal business set forth for this emergency convocation,” he declared, “it is incumbent upon this Chair to deliver a formal notice concerning the political seating and lawful representation of this august body.”

The statement commanded immediate attention. A subtle tremor passed through the assembled members, as though a sudden draught had swept the hall. Harry observed that even Lucius Malfoy, seated prominently among the Dark faction, inclined his head with restrained surprise.

“Let it be entered into the official record,” Dumbledore continued, “that the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter is vested with three hereditary seats upon the Wizengamot, namely those of Potter, Peverell, and Gryffindor. Owing to the minority of Lord Potter, said seats have, until this juncture, remained unoccupied.”

Lucius Malfoy’s eyes gleamed momentarily, the faintest suggestion of satisfaction touching his lips, for the prolonged vacancy of those seats had served his interests well.

“Nevertheless,” Dumbledore proceeded, his measured tone causing the chamber to still, “be it known that, as of this day and hour, Lord Harry James Potter has duly executed and lodged a formal instrument appointing Madam Andromeda Tonks as his lawful proxy for the entirety of those three seats.”

The pronouncement fell upon the assembly with the force of a judicial thunderclap. Audible expressions of astonishment arose from every quarter; several scrolls slipped from startled hands, and the azure flames of the torches wavered as the murmuring swelled.

“Is it to be understood,” came a sharply whispered inquiry from the Light benches, “that the appointment encompasses all three seats?”

“By the authority of Merlin,” another voice breathed, “such an act must inevitably recalibrate the balance of this chamber—”

“That assertion cannot be sustained under precedent or propriety,” rang out a cutting objection from the Dark faction, abruptly curtailed as Dumbledore once more raised his hand.

Lucius Malfoy’s countenance hardened. His grip tightened upon the head of his cane, knuckles blanching as the significance of the announcement took hold. Three restored votes constituted a profound alteration of power; for the first time in more than a decade, numerical parity between Light and Dark had been achieved.

Madam Tonks, seated with composed gravity, inclined her head in formal acknowledgment toward the Chair, her unruffled bearing doing little to allay Malfoy’s evident displeasure.

“This appointment,” Dumbledore continued with serene finality, “has been duly examined, authenticated, and entered into record by Gringotts Wizarding Bank and the Office of Magical Records. Madam Andromeda Tonks is henceforth invested with all rights, duties, and obligations appertaining to the Potter seats, to be exercised in trust until such time as Lord Potter attains his majority or elects to revoke said proxy.”

He brought the gavel down once more, its reverberation restoring absolute silence.
“Let the record be amended forthwith to reflect this determination.”

Harry felt the weight of the moment even from the witnesses' section. Around him, Neville and Susan exchanged amazed looks. Daphne's eyes shone with a quiet satisfaction, clearly proud of how efficiently her father's plan had unfolded.

Ron leaned closer, whispering, "Harry, you've just turned wizarding politics upside down."

Harry gave a faint, incredulous smile. "Didn't mean to."

From across the benches, Lucius's cold gaze landed briefly on him, calculating and furious beneath its polished mask. Yet he said nothing. The law was ironclad, and Dumbledore had spoken it into record.

Dumbledore’s expression softened by a measured degree as he resumed.
“With the foregoing matter now duly resolved,” he intoned, “this Chair directs that the Wizengamot proceed to the principal cause for which this emergency convocation has been summoned: namely, the urgent judicial review of a criminal conviction, said review having been petitioned upon the submission of material evidence heretofore unavailable to this body.”

At this declaration, subdued murmurs once more coursed through the chamber, tinged with both apprehension and keen anticipation. Though no name had yet been formally entered into the record, the very atmosphere grew dense with expectation.

Within the witnesses’ enclosure, Harry felt his pulse quicken. Somewhere beneath the chamber, within the Ministry’s holding cells, Sirius Black remained in custody—unaware that the deliberations of the coming hours might yet determine his liberty.

The hall stirred with renewed political tension. Quills rasped across parchment, voices were exchanged in guarded whispers behind raised sleeves, and Lucius Malfoy’s pallid fingers tapped an impatient cadence upon the edge of his bench. Dumbledore lifted the gavel once more; yet before he could speak, a clear and resolute voice cut through the din.

“Chief Warlock,” Arthur Weasley declared, rising from the public benches below. His tone was steady, imbued with formal resolve. “With the leave of this Chair, I respectfully seek recognition to present a matter pertaining to lineage, standing, and lawful representation before the Wizengamot.”

Every gaze turned. Even Dumbledore’s brows rose slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his otherwise composed countenance.

Lucius Malfoy leaned forward, his voice cold and incisive as it pierced the silence.
“This convocation is convened as a closed emergency session, Weasley. You would do well to recall that this is not one of your so-called Muggle tribunals.”

Arthur met his stare without wavering.
“No misapprehension exists, Lord Malfoy,” he replied evenly. “I speak in my lawful capacity as Arthur Septimus Weasley, of the  Ancient and Noble House of Weasley. Together with my wife, Molly of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Prewett, I do hereby submit a formal petition for the reinstatement of our respective hereditary seats upon the Wizengamot.”

The chamber erupted in astonished reaction—sharp intakes of breath, murmured exclamations, and rippling disbelief reaching even the uppermost tiers.

“This is preposterous—” began a sharp protest from the Dark benches, but Arthur raised a parchment bearing the crimson-sealed sigil of Gringotts’ Lineage Office.

“It is neither preposterous nor without foundation,” Molly Weasley stated, rising beside her husband, her voice firm and unyielding. “The seats of our Houses were relinquished during the last war solely for reasons of security and preservation, not for cause or forfeiture. We now assert our lawful claim to that which was never renounced.”

Lucius Malfoy sprang to his feet.
“This is an affront to order and tradition,” he declared sharply. “You cannot simply appear unbidden and demand the revival of seats long deemed dormant and irrelevant.”

“On the contrary,” interposed Cyrus Greengrass, rising with composed deliberation, “such action is expressly permitted under Wizengamot statute, provided that lineage is proven and the body is moved to vote upon reinstatement. The Houses of Weasley and Prewett are indisputably of noble standing. The archival records attest to this fact.”

Dumbledore’s eyes glimmered faintly, though his tone remained solemn.
“Lord Malfoy, decorum shall be maintained. A lawful petition has been entered, and precedent compels this body to consider it. The Wizengamot shall therefore proceed to a vote.”

Lucius curled his lip in disdain.
“Very well. Let this assembly indulge the fiction that such paupers merit ancient privilege. I record my vote in opposition to reinstatement.”

As expected, the Dark benches voiced their concurrence in low, grim assent. From the Light faction, however, came an immediate response as Augusta Longbottom rose to her feet.

“The Houses of Weasley and Prewett have stood in service to the Light for generations beyond count,” she declared. “I cast my vote in favour of reinstatement.”

From the neutral benches, subdued consultation followed as members weighed statute against strategy. Gradually, attention shifted toward the proxy newly seated for the Potter holdings.

Andromeda Tonks rose with composed authority.
“In my capacity as duly appointed proxy for the Most Ancient and Most Noble Houses of Potter, Peverell, and Gryffindor,” she stated clearly, “I cast the full weight of those votes in favour of reinstatement.”

The consequence was immediate. The Light benches stirred with restrained approval, while Lucius Malfoy stiffened visibly, the colour draining from his features.

At length, Cyrus Greengrass rose once more.
“Chief Warlock, the neutral faction has concluded its deliberation. We record our collective vote in favour of restoring the hereditary seats of the Houses of Weasley and Prewett.”

A profound silence followed. Dumbledore surveyed the chamber before speaking, his voice calm, precise, and irrevocable.
“By the final count of this body—thirty-seven votes in favour, thirty-six opposed—the motion is carried. Let it be entered into the record that the House of Weasley and the House of Prewett are hereby restored to their rightful seats upon the Wizengamot, with all attendant rights and obligations.”

Gasps filled the air. Even those accustomed to the volatile nature of wizarding politics seemed momentarily speechless. Lucius's face twisted in disbelief. His composure faltered for the first time; fury burned behind his grey eyes like molten steel.

"Unbelievable," he hissed under his breath. "Two more votes to the Light... thanks to a madman's machinations."

Harry, from the witness section, couldn't stop a small grin. Sirius, you brilliant lunatic. He could almost hear his godfather's laughter echoing in his head. The plan had worked perfectly. By reinstating Arthur and Molly, the Light faction gained not only two seats but also the loyalty of two of the most morally upright families in Britain.

Even after Azkaban, Harry thought, awestruck, he still thinks sharper than any politician here. His heart swelled with pride. Sirius had played this game with the cunning of a true Black but for the cause of the Light.

Molly squeezed Arthur's hand, eyes shining with emotion as they ascended to their newly claimed benches. Arthur looked dazed but deeply grateful.

Lucius sat down sharply, the snap of his robes cutting through the murmurs. His jaw was tight enough to crack stone. "Enjoy your moment, Weasley," he muttered coldly, "for it will be brief."

Arthur's reply was steady and unyielding. "Moments built on truth tend to last, Lord Malfoy."

Laughter rippled softly through the Light benches, breaking the tension.

Dumbledore allowed himself the faintest smile before restoring order with a tap of his gavel. "Let the record show the reinstatement of the Houses Weasley and Prewett. Their representatives shall assume their seats immediately."

As parchment rustled and quills scribbled the decision into record, Harry leaned back, his eyes flicking toward Andromeda and Cyrus. Both gave subtle nods toward one another-a quiet acknowledgment that the board had shifted again.

The Light had risen. The balance had changed. And Lucius Malfoy's fury, barely contained beneath that polished mask, was proof enough that Sirius Black's masterstroke had just reshaped the game.

The tension in the Wizengamot chamber was nearly palpable when Chief Warlock Dumbledore finally nodded toward the center floor. Cyrus Greengrass, elegant in his charcoal robes, rose smoothly from his seat, his calm bearing commanding attention. The murmurs softened instantly. Even Lucius Malfoy's restless fingers stilled.

“Honoured Members of the Wizengamot,” Cyrus Greengrass began, his tone measured and authoritative, “prior to the continuation of the principal matter set before this emergency convocation, I am compelled to lay before this body a document formally received earlier this afternoon from Gringotts Wizarding Bank.” He raised a sealed parchment, the silver sigil of crossed keys catching the candlelight. “This correspondence pertains directly to the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter.”

Several members turned their attention toward the witness enclosure, where Lord Potter sat in composed silence. A faint stir followed among the younger witnesses, swiftly subdued.

Cyrus resumed, “For the sake of absolute clarity and proper record, I state my standing thus: I am Cyrus Greengrass, Head of the Noble House of Greengrass and duly appointed legal counsel to the House of Potter. This notice was delivered to my office under seal. Gringotts advises that upon Lord Potter’s formal assumption of his hereditary mantle, certain dormant ancestral magics were activated.”

A restrained murmur of interest passed through the chamber.

“Gringotts deferred public notification pending full arcane verification,” Cyrus continued. “That verification was completed this morning.” He allowed a deliberate pause. “The subject of this determination is the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black.”

An audible intake of breath swept the hall.

Lucius Malfoy turned sharply, his expression hardening as his eyes fixed upon Greengrass.

Cyrus unrolled the parchment. “Pursuant to the findings of Gringotts’ Legacy and Lineage Division, Lord Harry James Potter—Lord of the House of Potter and Heir to the Houses of Peverell and Gryffindor—is hereby recognised as heir presumptive to the House of Black, by lawful designation contained within the last will and testament of Sirius Orion Black.”

The chamber descended into uproar.

Lucius Malfoy rose so forcefully that his chair scraped against the marble. “This assertion is patently absurd,” he declared, striking his cane against the floor. “Narcissa Black-Malfoy is the lawful successor of her House, and by extension my son, Draco Malfoy, stands as its heir apparent. This child,” he said, gesturing sharply toward the witness stand, “has no standing whatsoever to claim the name of Black.”

Dumbledore regarded him calmly, fingers steepled. Cyrus inclined his head with formal courtesy.
“Lord Malfoy, your objection is duly noted. Nevertheless, the document before us bears the unambiguous seal of Gringotts’ Legacy Division. Should Sirius Black have designated an heir through a magically binding testament, such a designation would activate automatically upon his death and stands as legally valid unless overturned by competent authority.”

Lucius’ lip curled. “You would have us believe that Gringotts has accepted the testamentary authority of a convicted mass murderer. The notion is indefensible.”

Amelia Bones rose with deliberate composure.
“On that singular point, Lord Malfoy,” she stated evenly, “your conclusion is, in principle, correct.”

A ripple of astonishment followed.

“A wizard convicted of a capital offence is divested of lordship and attendant rights,” Amelia continued. “Such an individual cannot lawfully transmit inheritance or designate an heir through magical will. Accordingly, were Sirius Black so convicted, any such testament would be null and without force.”

Low whispers filled the chamber.

Cyrus raised a brow. “Indeed, Madam Bones. Which presents this body with a troubling contradiction. If Sirius Black stood lawfully convicted, then by what authority does the Black family vault recognise his signature, bloodmark, and magical seal as active and binding?”

The murmurs deepened. Lucius hesitated, his confidence faltering.
“That may be attributable to error,” he said tightly. “Or to interference. Goblin tampering is not beyond imagination.”

Lord  Boot rose from the neutral benches, his voice calm and grave.
“To accuse Gringotts of misattributing lineage and magical authority is a charge of considerable magnitude and dubious wisdom. A more plausible inference is that the individual in question was never formally stripped of his rights.” He turned to Amelia Bones. “Madam Director, the Ministry retains the records of Sirius Black’s trial, does it not?”

Amelia inclined her head.
“Indeed. The Department maintains the official transcript of proceedings dated November, 1981.”

“Then let it be produced,” Lucius demanded sharply. “That record will dispose of this fiction beyond dispute.”

Dumbledore nodded once.
“Let the record be brought before this Chair.”

A clerk hurried forward with a substantial file bearing the Ministry seal. Amelia received it and passed it onward without comment.

Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles and examined the contents. The chamber fell silent.

At length, his gaze hardened.
“This transcript bears the forged signature of Chief Warlock Tiberius Ogden,” he pronounced solemnly. “Furthermore, the seal of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement affixed herein is fraudulent.”

The chamber erupted once more, louder than before.

Lucius's face drained of all colour. "No-no, that cannot be-!"

Amelia Bones advanced a step, her expression composed yet resolute.
“Then the unavoidable conclusion, regrettable though it may be, is this: Sirius Orion Black was never afforded a lawful trial before this body or any competent tribunal.”

Cyrus Greengrass inclined his head in affirmation.
“Which necessarily entails that no valid conviction was ever entered against him. In consequence thereof, his titles, estates, and all attendant hereditary rights were never lawfully extinguished and must be deemed to have remained in full force.”

A wave of indignant protest erupted from the Dark benches, voices raised in vehement objection.

Dumbledore brought the gavel down with decisive force.
“ORDER! Order! Let this chamber return to order at once.”

As the noise subsided, Harry's mind whirled. Sirius... you brilliant man. The plan had worked flawlessly.

Lucius sat down, pale and fuming, lips pressed into a thin white line. Inwardly, he seethed. If that blood traitor still lives... I'll see him dead before the day ends.

Unaware that his enemy was already far beyond his reach, hidden under glamour and watching everything unfold.

The chamber had scarcely recovered from the preceding tumult when Augusta Longbottom rose with a gravity that compelled immediate attention. Her emerald robes whispered softly as she straightened, her gaze resolute and commanding.

“Chief Warlock,” she began, her voice firm and precisely measured, “pursuant to the Ancient Wizarding Code and in express reliance upon the Laws of Merlin, Article Seventy-Four, it is established beyond dispute that no witch or wizard may be adjudged guilty absent a formal hearing before the Wizengamot. Where such due process is denied, any sentence of imprisonment, magical restraint, or confinement imposed thereby is rendered null and void as a matter of law.”

A subdued murmur spread through the benches, marked by unease and dawning comprehension.

Augusta continued without falter.
“Accordingly, in the matter of Sirius Orion Black, this body is bound to convene a lawful trial to determine guilt or innocence. In the absence of such proceedings, any prior or prospective detention lacks legal foundation. Moreover, should the individual presently stand at liberty, no lawful apprehension may occur save through proper warrant and due process.”

A sharp intake of breath echoed through the hall. Robes were clutched; expressions tightened. Lucius Malfoy’s jaw worked visibly, while Cornelius Fudge paled, twisting his hat nervously beside the Chair.

“Madam Longbottom,” Dumbledore said, inclining his head in acknowledgment, “your submission is both procedurally sound and timely. You move that this body convene a full trial to adjudicate the validity—or absence—of any conviction against Sirius Orion Black. Is that your motion?”

“It is,” Augusta replied crisply. “The law commands it, independent of sentiment or convenience.”

“Very well,” Dumbledore intoned, raising his wand. “A motion for an emergency trial is duly before the Wizengamot. Those in favour—”

Before he could conclude, Andromeda Tonks rose from the benches to the right. Her black and silver robes, emblazoned with the sigil of the House of Black, drew every eye.

“Chief Warlock,” she stated with composed precision, “prior to the taking of this vote, I must formally enter an objection on grounds of conflict of interest.”

Lucius Malfoy turned sharply toward her.
“Upon what basis do you presume to object, Madam Tonks?”

Andromeda met his gaze evenly.
“Upon the basis that the House of Black is intrinsically and directly implicated in these proceedings. The subject of the proposed trial, Sirius Orion Black, is Lord of that House by blood and lawful lineage. To permit the Black seat to vote upon a motion directly affecting its own lord would constitute a clear breach of Section Nine of the Wizengamot Procedural Charter.”

The murmurs rose again, this time tinged with reluctant assent.

“That provision,” Andromeda continued, “exists to preclude undue influence and partiality where a House’s own interests are at stake. Accordingly, the seat of the House of Black must abstain from all votes pertaining to this matter until such time as the trial either confirms or extinguishes the lordship in question.”

Lucius’ mouth thinned.
“A most opportune interpretation,” he said coldly. “One might think you seek to silence the House’s rightful voice.”

“I seek only adherence to established law,” Andromeda replied without hesitation. “I trust that a lord so devoted to precedent and tradition as yourself, Lord Malfoy, would scarcely advocate its violation now.”

A restrained ripple of amusement passed through the benches. Lucius flushed darkly.

Dumbledore cleared his throat.
“Lady Tonks’ objection is well founded. The House of Black shall abstain from all votes bearing upon the legal standing of Sirius Orion Black until this court has rendered its determination. Let the record reflect this ruling.”

He surveyed the chamber.
“We shall now proceed. All members in favour of convening a full and immediate trial of Sirius Orion Black are directed to signify their assent.”

Wands rose across the Light and Neutral benches, releasing silver and gold sparks that shimmered through the air.

“Those opposed.”

A smaller cluster of crimson sparks answered from the Dark benches.

“The count is decisive,” Dumbledore pronounced, striking the gavel.
“By authority vested in this Wizengamot, the motion carries. An emergency trial of Sirius Orion Black shall commence forthwith.”

Harry felt his chest tighten with both awe and anticipation. He glanced around at the towering marble pillars, the swirling magical light above, and the stern faces of wizards whose votes would decide his godfather's fate. They did it, he thought. They actually did it.

Beside him, Hermione exhaled in relief. Ron muttered, "Blimey, your people really know how to make a scene."

Vernon Dursley, sitting stiffly a few rows back, leaned toward Ted Tonks. "Is it always this... dramatic?"

Ted chuckled quietly. "You've no idea."

In the stands above, Lucius fumed silently. His polished nails dug into the wood of the bench. This was slipping too far beyond his control. Every word spoken by the Light faction had been precise, lawful, and impossible to challenge without exposing his own hand.

He cast a cold glance at Andromeda, who sat serenely, one eyebrow arched, as if daring him to object again.

Cyrus, beside her, looked entirely pleased with himself, murmuring to Amelia, "Every move exactly as foreseen."

Amelia gave the faintest smirk, her blue eyes flashing. "Let's see how long the serpent can keep his composure."

Lucius forced his features into a mask of composure, though fury burned behind his eyes.

Dumbledore raised his hand for silence. "The Wizengamot shall recess for fifteen minutes to summon the accused to this chamber. All necessary preparations for the trial are to be completed immediately."

The gavel struck once more, echoing through the air like a promise. The chamber erupted in motion-robes swishing, quills scratching, the murmur of magic humming faintly through the marble.

And through it all, Harry watched, heart thundering in his chest, as the wheels of wizarding justice-long dormant and corrupted-finally began to turn.
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The courtroom of the Wizengamot returned from recess in a buzz of unease. Whispers echoed off marble walls, purple-robed witches and wizards murmuring about what had just transpired. Few realized that before the adjournment, Dumbledore had spoken a quiet phrase-"Summoning excused." Had anyone truly listened, they would have known what it meant. Sirius Black was not in Azkaban anymore.

When the great silver doors opened again, the collective chatter died as if smothered by a silencing charm. Sirius Black, thinner than most remembered but with fierce grey eyes ablaze, was escorted to the accused's chair by two aurors. The rattling of the enchanted chains drew every eye.

Lucius Malfoy's expression froze into stone, then cracked with barely contained fury. His pale hands clenched on his serpent-headed cane. "Impossible," he hissed under his breath. "He was supposed to rot there."

Harry, seated beside Amelia Bones in the gallery, felt a surge of satisfaction. So this was it-the plan. He could almost hear Sirius' mischievous drawl: 'A little surprise never hurts, eh pup?'

Cornelius Fudge was the first to recover, puffing up like an outraged toad. "Aurors! Arrest him at once! This man escaped Azkaban! He-"

Amelia's voice cut through the hall like a curse. "Sit down, Minister!" Her monocle flashed sharply in the torchlight. "You will not order my aurors about. The accused is under protection of the Wizengamot until judgment is passed. He cannot be attacked, restrained, or magically coerced unless declared guilty."

Umbridge's simpering voice followed, honeyed and poisonous. "Madam Bones, this-this creature is dangerous! Surely you do not suggest we allow a murderer to sit unbound-"

"The law," Amelia interrupted icily, "is clear, Madam Umbridge. He was never granted a trial. The Wizengamot cannot treat him as guilty when we ourselves denied him the chance to prove innocence. If you wish to challenge Merlin's Code, do so in your own time."

A few chuckles rippled across the chamber. Even some neutral members smirked behind their hands. Lucius' jaw tightened further.

Dumbledore rose from the Chair of the Chief Warlock, his bearing composed yet indisputably authoritative. His gaze travelled the breadth of the chamber before he spoke.

“Madam Bones, the court acknowledges your assistance. The Wizengamot shall now proceed in accordance with established law and decorum. Sirius Orion Black, you stand formally accused before this body of high treason against the wizarding realm, the unlawful taking of multiple lives, and the betrayal of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter. You are hereby advised that you are entitled to mount a full defence, to be represented by counsel of your choosing, and to submit, should you so elect, to examination under Veritaserum. The Chair therefore inquires: do you request administration of said serum?”

Sirius lifted his head, meeting the Chief Warlock’s gaze without evasion.

“I do so request,” he answered, his voice hoarse yet resolute. “I affirm that I conceal no truth, and I submit willingly to Veritaserum, that this court may discern the events as they truly transpired.”

A sharp intake of breath rippled through the chamber, for few accused would volunteer for such examination. From the Dark benches, Lucius Malfoy leaned toward his companion, his voice low and edged with contempt.

“An ostentatious display,” he murmured, “befitting a deranged man rather than a credible defence.”

Harry leaned forward, heart pounding. He's doing it. Merlin, he's actually doing it.

Amelia Bones inclined her head toward the court’s appointed apothecary, who advanced with due solemnity, bearing a crystal phial. The argent liquid within caught the light like captured moonbeams as the stopper was removed. Sirius Black accepted the draught and consumed it without pause or resistance.

For a brief interval, the chamber remained utterly still. Then the Chief Warlock spoke, his voice grave and exacting.

“For the purposes of the official record, state your full and lawful name.”

“Sirius Orion Black.”

“Do you affirm, under the binding influence of Veritaserum, that you did not betray James and Lily Potter to Tom Marvolo Riddle, styling himself Lord Voldemort?”

“I so affirm,” Sirius replied, the denial crisp and unmistakable. A low ripple of reaction passed through the benches.

“Do you further affirm that you did not cause the deaths of Peter Pettigrew and twelve non-magical persons in the year nineteen eighty-one?”

“I so affirm,” Sirius answered again, his gaze unfocused yet unwavering. “Peter Pettigrew was the perpetrator. He caused their deaths and engineered my implication. I sought to apprehend him and prevent the act.”

Cornelius Fudge rose halfway from his seat, his complexion visibly paling.
“This line of testimony is patently untenable. The court cannot be expected to accept—”

Dumbledore lifted his hand, halting him.
“Minister, you are reminded that testimony elicited under Veritaserum is compelled to truth and is not subject to conjecture. The court shall hear the witness in full.”

Harry's heart thudded painfully. It's working. They'll know. They'll all know.

Lucius' fury simmered visibly, his elegant mask fracturing. He exchanged a look with a few dark-aligned members, but none dared move. To attack now would mean political suicide.

Sirius continued under questioning, his voice steady as he detailed every moment of that fateful night-how Pettigrew escaped, how he had been imprisoned without trial, how no one ever questioned the evidence.

By the time he finished, even some of the hardened members looked uneasy. The truth had shattered years of false certainty.

Harry clenched his fists, emotion surging. They'll have to free him. They must.

Lucius' glare flicked toward Dumbledore, then Amelia, then Harry himself. "So this is your game," he whispered furiously, "adding another pawn to your side."

Across the chamber, Sirius caught Harry's eye and, despite the chains, managed a roguish grin. For the first time in a decade, the light in those grey eyes was not of madness-but defiance.

The truth had begun to unravel the lie, and the court could do nothing to stop it.
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A/n: I hope You like it. Please ignore grammatical and spelling errors.

Okay, so now Harry has met Ginny—and early sparks have already taken root. This time, I decided not to waste pages on endless drama and denial, and instead resolved all the issues surrounding Amelia and Sirius in one decisive sweep.

As for Harry and Ginny, this is, of course, a Hinny story. If you know me, you already knew it was going to be Hinny from the start. Romance has never really been my strongest suit, but I’ll do my best. It’s honestly a bit embarrassing that despite nearly all my stories being rooted in romance, I still struggle with writing it well.

And everything seems almost too easy… doesn’t it? Will Sirius finally be free, or will Lucius try something desperate to save his own arse? Stay tuned.

One more thing I wanted to mention: for the first time, I experimented with fully formal language during the court proceedings. I’m not sure how it’ll be received, but I wanted to try something different and see how it lands.

Hey for this story I wasn't able to decide Chapter names easily so for fun why don't you all comment what you think chapter name can be ? I will be waiting.

Thanks for reading. § Hinny Forever § Please Review!!!

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or its universe. All original elements belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This story is a work of fanfiction created purely for entertainment purposes - no copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made. Any original characters, events, or concepts beyond the established canon are the author's own creative additions to expand the magical world respectfully.

Title suggested by Kinan_vHB
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Lucius Malfoy rose with deliberate composure, his countenance a studied mask of disdain, though his eyes glittered with barely concealed malice.

“Honoured members of the Wizengamot,” he intoned, his voice carrying through the chamber, “the testimony thus presented may appear compelling on its surface. Yet in the absence of corroborating evidence confirming the existence and actions of one Peter Pettigrew, it remains little more than an unsubstantiated narrative. Conveniently, the sole individual capable of providing independent verification is—” he allowed a faint, sardonic smile to cross his lips—“deceased.”

A subdued murmur of assent ran along several of the darker benches. Lucius continued, his tone sharpened with unyielding self-assurance.

“A mere draught of Veritaserum administered to a single accused, regardless of the compelling nature of his statements, cannot supplant historical fact. Are we now to accept this as incontrovertible truth in the absence of corroboration? Such a proposition is manifestly untenable.”

Before he could proceed further, a clear, controlled feminine voice interjected. Lady Druella Zabini, Blaise Zabini’s mother leaned forward, her posture flawless, eyes glinting with measured amusement.

“Lord Malfoy,” she began, her tone deliberate and exact, “do you assert that the Ministry’s own Veritaserum has been adulterated or that Madam Bones would permit a fraudulent preparation to be presented before this assembly?”

Lucius’ mouth twitched, and his grip upon his cane tightened, his composure momentarily tested.

Before he could respond, another voice joined, sweet and seemingly innocuous, yet carrying a pointed sharpness.

“Certainly not,” Dolores Umbridge declared, her tone crisp, her smile tight and deliberate. “It is scarcely conceivable that the Ministry’s potion-makers would err so gravely.”

She paused, letting the chamber absorb her words. Then she continued, her cadence dipping into a falsely sympathetic register.

“Nonetheless, Mr. Black has been detained in Azkaban for a full decade—ten years under constant exposure to Dementor influence. It is reasonable to posit that such prolonged confinement may impair recollection, distort perception, or otherwise affect cognition. While he may sincerely believe in the version of events he recounts, sincerity alone does not constitute veracity.”

Murmurs surged once more, louder and more insistent.

“If this account were demonstrably accurate,” she added, “the administration of Veritaserum would, by its nature, confirm it. In the absence of Peter Pettigrew, living or deceased, there exists no independent corroboration—only assertions. Therefore, the rational and lawful course would be to maintain Mr. Black in custody until—”

A sharp scrape of a chair interrupted her. Cyrus Greengrass rose with deliberate authority. His movement was unhurried, precise, yet the effect on the assembly was immediate: a sudden hush fell upon the chamber.

“Minister,” he said, his voice resonant, deliberate, and free of agitation, “it appears that certain members of this assembly have allowed themselves to lose sight of the original object and legal purpose of today’s convocation.”

A subtle ripple passed through the benches. Whispers arose—some uncertain, others sharply attentive. The chamber’s attention was drawn fully to the senior Greengrass.

Harry straightened in his seat. He's playing the card, he realized. This is it.

Cyrus Greengrass maintained his composure, voice measured and deliberate.

“Members of the Wizengamot,” he began, “it must be emphasised that the emergency convocation presently before this body was not convened for the purpose of adjudicating the trial of Mr. Sirius Orion Black. Rather, its lawful summoning pertains to the attack perpetrated upon certain pure-blood heirs aboard the Hogwarts Express earlier this day.”

A collective intake of breath swept through the chamber. Witches inclined forward in their seats; wizards exchanged anxious glances. The mention of the morning’s assault seemed to awaken the assembly, many of whom had been consumed by the revelations regarding Lord Black and had overlooked the events preceding.

Even Dumbledore’s eyes brightened faintly, betraying anticipation at the line of argument.

Lucius Malfoy rose slightly, his voice tight with controlled agitation.
“And pray tell,” he demanded, “what relevance does this morning’s incident bear upon the matter now before this court?”

Cyrus fixed his gaze upon him, unwavering and precise.
“The connection is both direct and material,” he replied. “The individual who breached the Hogwarts Express, thereby endangering multiple students and heirs—including Lord Harry James Potter and several members of venerable Houses—has been positively identified and corroborated through eyewitness testimony, confirmation by academic authorities, and analysis of residual magical signatures.”

He allowed a deliberate pause, permitting the weight of his statement to settle. Then he delivered the conclusion with unwavering clarity.

“That individual,” he declared, “was none other than Peter Pettigrew.”

A profound silence followed, as though the chamber itself had been struck.

Lucius Malfoy’s mask of composure fractured; his eyes widened in unmistakable shock. Cornelius Fudge’s face drained of color as he stammered incoherently. Dolores Umbridge blinked rapidly, her expression betraying disbelief.

Several neutral members exchanged startled glances. Even the portraits along the high walls seemed to lean in, their painted inhabitants whispering animatedly.

Harry's breath caught. He did it. He tied it all together.

Cyrus' gaze swept the room, sharp and cold as polished steel. "So," he concluded, his voice echoing in the charged air, "before anyone dares to speak of re-arresting Sirius Black, perhaps the Wizengamot would like to reconsider what this revelation means for our understanding of guilt... and innocence."

The chamber erupted into a storm of whispers, gasps, and shouts. Some members stood, others argued. The balance of power shifted palpably-like a chessboard mid-turn.

Lucius sat frozen, jaw tight, fury and disbelief warring behind his eyes.

Amid the chaos, Harry's heart hammered with fierce pride. Masterstroke, he thought. Absolute masterstroke.

Cyrus Greengrass merely adjusted his robes, the faintest hint of a satisfied smile ghosting across his lips.

The tide had turned.

Harry sat in the witness section, heart pounding with a mixture of disbelief and admiration. It was a strange kind of theatre before him-Amelia Bones feigning shock at Cyrus Greengrass's revelation, her expression perfectly crafted, every flicker of surprise a masterpiece of political deception.

Hermione leaned slightly toward him, whispering under her breath, "They're so good at this. If I hadn't seen them together an hour ago, I'd believe she just heard it for the first time."

Tracey muffled a small laugh. "That's Bones for you. She could out-bluff a Slytherin."

Neville nodded absently, eyes wide. "And Cyrus too. He looks like he's quoting the law, but he's practically orchestrating a war."

Harry didn't reply. He couldn't. He was trying not to smirk at how perfectly it was unfolding-the calculated outrage, the controlled reactions, the carefully dropped revelation that left Lucius Malfoy looking like a fish out of water. If they give awards for political acting, he thought, Amelia Bones deserves a lifetime achievement one.

Then the heavy doors of the chamber creaked open.

A ripple of murmurs cut through the Wizengamot as Alastor Moody entered, his magical eye spinning madly, staff thumping on the marble floor. Behind him strode Nymphadora Tonks, her bubblegum-pink hair unusually subdued. Between them, bound by enchanted chains that pulsed with dull blue light, was a man-thin, trembling, his face sallow and rodent-like.

The entire chamber froze.

A few gasps broke out. Someone in the dark faction section muttered a stunned "Merlin's beard!" Another voice from the back whispered, "He's dead! He was supposed to be dead!"

Dumbledore raised his hand gently for silence, but the tension was electric. Pettigrew's watery eyes darted about wildly, his mouth twitching in panic as he was led toward the centre dais.

Lucius Malfoy's face was a portrait of fury and disbelief, his knuckles white on his serpent-headed cane. "Impossible," he hissed. "This cannot be real."

Cyrus's expression remained impassive, but there was a glint of quiet triumph in his eyes.

Amelia Bones rose with crisp authority, her posture straight and commanding.
“Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt,” she intoned, voice precise, “proceed with standard witness verification and collection of testimony. All statements shall be recorded in proper order and with full adherence to protocol.”

Kingsley inclined his head and spoke with measured resonance.
“First witness: Harry James Potter.”

Harry stepped forward, chest rising and falling as he sought to steady himself. A hundred pairs of eyes regarded him, some skeptical, others curious, as though the fate of the wizarding world rested upon his shoulders.

Harry spoke haltingly at first, his words earnest and unpolished.
“Um—sir, I mean—your honours, we were on the Hogwarts Express this morning, and, er… we were talking about the Gringotts letter naming me the Heir of the House of Black. And, well, that led to… questions about Sirius Black. And then—then Ron’s pet rat… it—it changed.” His voice grew steadier. “He turned into a man. Peter Pettigrew.”

A low murmur of disbelief passed through the chamber.

Harry pressed on, trying to maintain composure.
“He tried to—er—hex us, but we… we all helped each other. We disarmed him. When he tried to run, I… I expelled his wand.” He tightened his grip briefly on the railing. “There were no adults around, except some seventh years, so I called my house-elf, Pipkin. He got us all straight to Bones Manor.”

He looked toward Amelia Bones and Cyrus Greengrass, who both kept their expressions neutral, masks of professional consideration.

“Lady Bones and Lord Greengrass were already reviewing Sirius Black’s case,” Harry concluded, voice gaining authority. “We arrived just as they were examining whether there had been a mistake ten years ago.”

Dumbledore inclined his head slightly, a faint trace of pride in his eyes. Kingsley dismissed Harry courteously.

“Next witness: Hermione Granger,” Kingsley called.

Each of the young witnesses came forward in turn. Hermione, articulate and precise; Terry Boot, factual and measured; Daphne Greengrass, composed and keen-eyed; Blaise Zabini, smooth yet direct; Hannah Abbott, nervous yet honest; Lisa Turpin, thoughtful and deliberate; Tracey Davis, bold; Justin Finch-Fletchley, methodical; Rolf Scamander, earnest; Susan Bones, steadfast; and finally Neville Longbottom, quiet but firm.

Each corroborated the same sequence of events. Every affirmation added weight, gradually constraining even the most skeptical members of the Wizengamot into uneasy acknowledgment.

Kingsley then called, “Ronald Bilius Weasley.”

Ron’s ears reddened, yet he stepped forward, drawing a breath.
“Um—your honours… it was Scabbers. My pet rat. Had him for years, never suspected anything else. Then he turned into… that.” He gestured at Pettigrew, who recoiled under the scrutiny. “I swear I didn’t know. None of us did.”

With the young witnesses concluded, Kingsley addressed the upper gallery.
“Arthur and Molly Weasley.”

The couple rose in unison. Molly’s face was pale but her voice carried firm resolve.
“We attest that we were unaware our family pet was, in truth, a human in disguise. Now that we are aware, we stand in support of his lawful conviction.”

Arthur nodded solemnly at her side.
“Our family shall not shield a criminal from justice.”

Their words resonated through the chamber, reinforcing the veracity of the testimony as though sanctified by oath.

Pettigrew whimpered, shuddering beneath his bindings.

A profound silence settled over the Wizengamot. The weight of the assembled testimony, corroborated and consistent, left no remaining doubt: the truth of the events was irrefutable.

In the witness section, Harry glanced at his friends. Hermione's eyes gleamed with fierce satisfaction. Neville looked faintly ill. Blaise smirked.

Harry's mind buzzed. They did it. Everything's lining up perfectly.

Amelia Bones lifted her gavel and struck decisively; the sound rang sharply through the chamber.
“The testimonies have been duly recorded,” she pronounced with solemn authority. “We shall now proceed to the formal interrogation of the accused, Peter Antonio Pettigrew.”

The atmosphere in the Wizengamot chamber grew dense with tension. Pettigrew sat bound to the enchanted chair, trembling so violently that the chains clinked against the floor. Three drops of Veritaserum were poured onto a silver spoon, catching the candlelight, and administered with precision.

Immediately, Pettigrew’s eyes glazed, his posture slackened, and a profound silence descended.

Amelia’s voice, calm and deliberate, resonated through the chamber.
“State your full and lawful name for the record.”

“Peter Antonio… Pettigrew,” came the hollow, unsteady reply.

A ripple of audible astonishment passed through the assembly. Even the most skeptical members could not dispute the evident effect.

“Were you a member of the Order of the Phoenix?” Amelia continued.

“Yes.”

“Were you appointed Secret-Keeper for James and Lily Potter during the First War?”

“Yes.”

“Did you betray James and Lily Potter to Lord Voldemort?”

The chamber held its collective breath. In a cold, mechanical tone, Pettigrew answered,
“Yes.”

A collective gasp, followed by an uproar, swept the benches. Wands were raised instinctively; voices rose in shock. Even the Chief Warlock lifted his hand to restore order.

Lucius Malfoy’s countenance turned ashen; his eyes darted between Sirius Orion Black, seated quietly beside Cyrus Greengrass and Amelia Bones, and the crumpled figure of Pettigrew, who continued to incriminate himself with chilling candor.

“Did Sirius Orion Black betray the Potters?” Amelia pressed, her tone precise.

“No.”

“Did he cause the deaths of twelve Muggles and of Peter Pettigrew?”

“No. I did.”

The chamber erupted again, louder than before. Shock, outrage, and vindication collided, leaving even veteran members disoriented. Several grasped their robes, murmuring prayers under their breath.

Dumbledore rose, his expression grave but resolute.
“The truth has been spoken under the compulsion of Veritaserum. Let no witch or wizard within this chamber deny the veracity of this testimony.”

Cornelius Fudge remained speechless, while Dolores Umbridge’s expression paled to a faint green.

Lucius Malfoy rose, voice strained and quivering.
“This—this may be truth serum, but it cannot—surely it cannot—undo the consequences—”

Cyrus Greengrass’ tone, precise and cutting, interrupted him.
“Are you questioning the integrity of the Ministry’s own certified Veritaserum, Lord Malfoy?”

Lucius’ lips pressed into a thin line.
“Of course not,” he admitted reluctantly.

Dumbledore’s gaze swept the chamber, calm yet authoritative.
“Then, by order of this Wizengamot, we shall proceed to the vote.”

Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore rose slowly, the chamber settling into solemn stillness at his movement.
“Members of the Wizengamot,” he intoned, “the matter now before this court concerns sentencing. Peter Antonio Pettigrew stands lawfully convicted of high treason against wizarding Britain, the betrayal of Fidelius-protected wards, mass murder, and conspiracy with a Dark Lord. The court shall now deliberate upon the appropriate punishment.”

Amelia Bones struck her gavel once, sharply.
“There can be no mitigation,” she declared. “The crimes of the accused resulted in immeasurable loss of life and prolonged terror across our society. In accordance with both precedent and necessity, I submit that the Dementor’s Kiss is the only proportionate sentence. Continued existence, in any form, presents an unacceptable risk to wizarding law and security.”

Cyrus Greengrass inclined his head in concurrence.
“I formally second the motion,” he said. “No mortal confinement is sufficient for crimes of this magnitude. The Kiss alone guarantees finality and ensures that the accused may never again endanger this realm.”

Druella Zabini rose with composed precision.
“The Dementor’s Kiss is neither indulgent nor excessive,” she stated. “It is exacting, conclusive, and just. Anything less would constitute a failure of this court to honor those whose lives were forfeit through the accused’s betrayal.”

Augusta Longbottom stood, her posture rigid with resolve.
“While I do not dispute the gravity of the crimes,” she said, “I urge caution regarding the Kiss. Execution through the Veil of Death preserves both finality and procedural dignity. It affirms the authority of this court without delegating judgment to creatures beyond our governance.”

Andromeda Tonks followed, her voice measured.
“I echo Lady Longbottom’s position. Justice must be seen to proceed through wizarding means alone. The Veil of Death satisfies precedent, maintains order, and ensures that punishment is enacted by law, not outsourced to entities beyond moral accountability.”

Dumbledore inclined his head slightly.
“These concerns are not without merit,” he acknowledged. “The Dementor’s Kiss is irrevocable and profoundly severe. The Veil, by contrast, provides structure, ceremony, and unmistakable legal closure.”

Lucius Malfoy rose, smoothing his robes.
“Let us dispense with sentiment,” he said coolly. “Life imprisonment in Azkaban, under the strictest wards, satisfies both justice and restraint. Execution—by Kiss or Veil—risks undermining the Ministry’s image as a measured governing body.”

Crabbe followed with a curt nod.
“Azkaban is sufficient,” he said. “Let the accused endure the consequences of his actions without spectacle.”

Theodore Nott added, evenly,
“Endless confinement is punishment enough. Let law, not outrage, determine our response.”

After extended deliberation, Chief Warlock Dumbledore raised his hands for silence.
“The votes have been formally tallied,” he announced. “Seventy-four members of this Wizengamot have rendered judgment.”

He paused, the weight of the moment pressing upon the chamber.
“This court finds Peter Antonio Pettigrew guilty on all counts. By majority decision, the sentence imposed is the Dementor’s Kiss.”

A murmur swept the hall before subsiding.

“The sentence shall be carried out on the sixteenth day of September,” Dumbledore continued. “Life imprisonment in Azkaban has been ruled insufficient. Execution through the Veil of Death was duly considered and remains a conditional alternative, to be enacted only should extraordinary circumstances render the primary sentence unfeasible.”

The chamber fell into absolute silence as the verdict settled.
Amelia Bones inclined her head once, sharply.
“So ordered,” she said.

Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore rose once more, his expression solemn and exacting.
“The court will now render judgment in the matter of Sirius Orion Black.”

The spheres of verdict were raised in succession. Even those aligned with the darker benches, under the direction of Lord Malfoy, were compelled to cast their lights for acquittal, the evidence having rendered any contrary vote indefensible.

Dumbledore inclined his head as the final tally resolved.
“By unanimous and binding decision of the Wizengamot,” he declared, “Sirius Orion Black is hereby found innocent of all charges previously levied against him.”

A restrained murmur passed through the chamber.

“All criminal convictions are vacated,” Dumbledore continued. “All civil disabilities are nullified. All hereditary rights, properties, privileges, and titles attendant to the House of Black are restored in full, effective immediately.”

Sirius Black rose with measured deliberation, his posture rigid with reclaimed authority.
“By blood, by magic, and by lawful judgment of this court,” he said, his voice carrying clearly, “I reclaim the mantle and authority of Lord Black.”

The ancient ring of the House of Black manifested upon his hand in a flare of sanctioned magic, the wards of the chamber itself responding in formal acknowledgment.

“I further declare,” Sirius continued, his gaze fixing upon Lucius Malfoy, “that all proxy stewardship exercised in my absence is hereby terminated. The Black seat was held in trust alone. That trust is now revoked.”

He turned his gaze upon Lucius, whose jaw clenched as the Black family ring flashed into existence upon Sirius's hand. The magic of the chamber itself acknowledged the rightful heir, severing Lucius's temporary stewardship.

"You were holding the seat in proxy," Sirius said coolly. "It is no longer yours to guard."

Lucius said nothing, but his fury was unmistakable. His knuckles whitened around his cane, fury masked behind aristocratic restraint.

The tally of power shifted immediately. The Light faction, bolstered by the reinstated Black seat and the recent return of the Weasley and Prewett lines, now held a majority for the first time in over a decade. The Dark faction sat rigid, stunned.

Sirius turned toward Andromeda, his eyes softening. "Dromeda," he said quietly
“Andromeda Black,” he said formally, “by right of blood and by my authority as Lord of the House of Black, I hereby restore you to full standing within the House. You are recognized as Andromeda, daughter of Druella and Cygnus Black, with all attendant rights and protections henceforth reinstated.”

The chamber watched in silence as the Black family magic accepted the declaration. A faint golden glow surrounded Andromeda, and for the first time in years, the ancient sigil of her family burned whole again upon her wrist.

Tears glimmered in her eyes. "Thank you, Sirius," she whispered.

He smiled faintly. "You've always been the best of us."

Sirius Black inclined his head formally and addressed the bench.
“Until such time as I am certified fully recovered from the prolonged effects of Dementor exposure,” he said evenly, “I do hereby appoint Lady Andromeda Tonks as my lawful proxy, vested with full authority to act, vote, and speak on behalf of the House of Black within this body.”

A measured ripple of assent moved through the lighter benches. Augusta Longbottom acknowledged the declaration with a brief, approving inclination of her head.

Chief Warlock Dumbledore inclined his own in return.
“Let the record reflect,” he pronounced, “the lawful restoration of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Black under Lord Sirius Orion Black, and the duly witnessed appointment of Lady Andromeda Tonks as proxy, effective immediately.”

Cornelius Fudge rose with visible discomfort, smoothing his robes.
“In light of this profound failure of due process,” he said stiffly, “the Ministry of Magic recognizes its obligation to address matters of restitution and compensation.”

Cyrus Greengrass’s quill moved in a single, precise stroke.
“Ten full years of unlawful incarceration in Azkaban without charge or trial, Minister,” he stated calmly. “Pursuant to the Magical Rights of Sentients Act and established precedent, the statutory minimum stands at one hundred thousand galleons per annum, exclusive of additional reparations for documented physical, psychological, and magical harm.”

Fudge’s complexion blanched, but he straightened.
“The Ministry,” he said tightly, “accepts these terms and shall comply in full.”

The recordkeeper sealed the decree in blue fire.

As the murmurs swelled again, Sirius turned slightly toward Harry. Their eyes met across the chamber-one filled with quiet triumph, the other with awe. For a moment, Harry saw not a broken prisoner, but the proud, sharp-eyed Marauder his parents once trusted.

Sirius gave him a small smile. "Free at last, kiddo," he mouthed silently.

Harry's chest swelled with emotion. He could almost feel his parents' joy echoing in the air.

The gavel struck once more. "Justice," Dumbledore said solemnly, "has at long last been served."
______________________________

The courtroom was still buzzing with the echoes of Sirius Black's vindication when he stood once again, his posture tall but his expression unusually solemn. The murmurs fell into silence as

Sirius Black rose once more, his posture erect and his expression grave. As he raised his hand toward the bench, the residual murmurs subsided into attentive silence.
“Chief Warlock,” he said evenly, his voice controlled though worn, “I seek leave of this court to advance a formal claim pursuant to the Potter–Black testamentary instruments.”

Chief Warlock Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles and inclined his head.
“You are so authorized, Lord Black. Proceed.”

Sirius drew a measured breath.
“As duly recorded in the Last Will and Testament of James Charlus Potter and Lily Evans Potter,” he stated, “I was appointed godfather and designated magical guardian to their son, Harry James Potter.” His gaze shifted briefly toward Harry, then returned to the bench. “I now petition this body to recognize and restore that guardianship in full accordance with said will.”

He paused, then continued with deliberate clarity.
“However, I acknowledge that the minor has been raised within a Muggle household and has established bonds therein. Accordingly, I do not seek to disturb his current residence. My petition is limited to recognition as his magical guardian, with responsibility for his welfare within the wizarding world, oversight of his magical education, and stewardship of his estates and legal interests.”

A restrained murmur passed through the chamber as members conferred in low voices. Amelia Bones inclined her head slightly, her expression measured and professional.

Dumbledore regarded Sirius thoughtfully.
“This petition appears measured and consistent with both precedent and the child’s best interests,” he said. “Does the current non-magical guardian assent to this proposed arrangement?”

Vernon Dursley shifted stiffly, his face reddening under the collective gaze. He cleared his throat before speaking.
“Yes,” he said, somewhat awkwardly but with resolve. “I do so consent, Chief Warlock. Lord Black and I have previously discussed this matter, and I find the arrangement reasonable. Harry has obligations and a place in both the non-magical and magical communities.”

A ripple of surprise went through the chamber. Wizards rarely heard a Muggle speak with such conviction, especially one who looked like he'd swallowed a Bludger whole. Sirius gave Vernon a small nod of appreciation. "Thank you, Mr. Dursley," he said sincerely. "James would have liked that."

Harry blinked, heart thudding. So they had spoken already. At Bones Manor, perhaps, while he and the others were being debriefed. The idea startled him but didn't unsettle him. In fact, it made sense. Of course they talked. Sirius might be my godfather, but I don't even know him yet. And Uncle Vernon... he's changed a lot. He felt an unexpected warmth bloom in his chest. This arrangement, strange as it was, actually worked.

Chief Warlock Dumbledore rose, his presence commanding the chamber into complete silence.
“Be it so ordered,” he declared. “The Wizengamot hereby recognizes and affirms a dual guardianship arrangement: magical guardianship and custodial authority vested in Lord Sirius Orion Black, and non-magical guardianship and residential custody vested in Mr. Vernon Dursley of Surrey.”

He lifted his wand slightly, the air thrumming with record-binding magic.
“Let this determination be entered into the permanent rolls of the Wizengamot and deemed fully binding under wizarding law.”

Several quills began to scratch furiously over enchanted parchment. Sirius bowed his head slightly.

From the gallery, Harry's friends watched in fascination. Hermione whispered, "That's... unusually practical for wizarding law."

Daphne smirked. "That's because Amelia Bones is handling the paperwork."

Blaise leaned back with a faint grin. "Still, it's quite the moment. The Boy-Who-Lived now has both a Muggle and a wizard guardian. The Daily Prophet will have a field day."

"Merlin help us," muttered Hannah softly.

Meanwhile, Sirius turned again toward the bench. "If I may add one more matter, Chief Warlock?"

"Proceed," Dumbledore said, eyes glimmering.

"I would like this guardianship officially recognized as compliant with the Potter estate's magical protections," Sirius said. "That will allow me to oversee any magical contracts or oaths tied to Harry's inheritance until he reaches majority."

Griphook, standing in the corner as Gringotts' representative, nodded curtly. "The goblin nation acknowledges this transfer. The accounts shall reflect joint guardianship status."

Harry exhaled slowly, feeling the magnitude of it all. So much had changed in mere hours-Sirius was free, his innocence restored, and now this. For the first time in his life, there was no looming sense of uncertainty over who truly cared for him.

Sirius, noticing his expression, gave him a brief smile-a tired, haunted one, but genuine. "We'll take it slow, Harry," he said quietly. "You've got enough on your plate as it is."

Harry managed a smile back. "Thanks... Sirius." Saying the name aloud felt strange, but right.

From a few seats away, Amelia's lips curved faintly. "The court acknowledges the guardianship settled," she declared, her voice crisp. "The session concerning the matter of Sirius Black is hereby concluded."

As the gavel struck, the crowd erupted into conversation. Reporters surged forward, quills ready to fly, while clerks scrambled to finalize documents.

Vernon clapped Sirius on the shoulder rather awkwardly. "Well, Mr. Black," he said, "I suppose this makes us... partners of a sort."

Sirius chuckled softly. "Never thought I'd hear that from a Dursley. But yes, partners indeed."

Harry couldn't help the small laugh that escaped him. For once, the world didn't feel divided between magic and Muggle. For once, it all fit together just right.
______________________________

The grand chamber slowly emptied, yet Sirius lingered where he stood, his grey eyes fixed on Harry. For a moment neither spoke. Then, without hesitation, Harry crossed the distance between them and threw his arms around Sirius.

Sirius froze, clearly startled, but only for a second. Then he wrapped his arms tightly around the boy, his voice trembling as he murmured, "Merlin, Harry... I'm so sorry. I should've been there for you. I should've protected you."

Harry shook his head against Sirius's shoulder. "You couldn't have known. None of it was your fault." His voice wavered, though his words were firm. "You're here now. That's what matters."

Sirius gave a soft, broken laugh, ruffling Harry's hair like James once had. "You sound just like your father when he was being stubborn."

Harry smiled faintly. "Guess it runs in the family."

A gentle cough broke the moment. Amelia Bones stood nearby, her tone softened by rare warmth. "Lord Black, Mr. Potter, perhaps we continue this reunion somewhere less formal. The Manor is prepared."

Sirius nodded gratefully. "Of course, Amelia." He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Come on, pup. Let's get out of this blasted courtroom."

They stepped out into the cool air of the Atrium, the golden fireplaces flickering with emerald light. A small group awaited them-Arthur and Molly Weasley, with Ginny clinging shyly to her mother's arm.

Molly smiled at Harry, eyes shining with pride. "You've done quite enough heroics for one day, dear. We're all so proud of you."

Harry blushed lightly. "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley."

Arthur extended a hand to Sirius. "I'll admit, never thought I'd see the day you'd stand in this hall as a free man again. Well done, Black."

Sirius clasped his hand firmly. "Nor I, Arthur. Thank you-for standing by Harry."

Harry's gaze shifted to Ginny, who looked equally flustered. "Guess this isn't how I expected your first day of school to start," she said, trying for humour but turning crimson instead.

Harry grinned awkwardly. "Yeah... same here. But, um, about writing-still on?"

Ginny's blush deepened, but she nodded quickly. "Definitely. Don't think you're escaping that easily, Harry Potter."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he replied with a smile that made her cheeks pinker still.

Ginny knelt briefly to stroke Maple, who wagged her tail and licked the girl's hand affectionately. "Take care of her, okay?"

"I will," Harry promised.
______________________________

As the goodbyes settled into a chorus of warm farewells and half-suppressed smiles, Dumbledore approached, his robes swirling softly like drifting mist. "My dear children," he said, eyes twinkling with familiar mirth, "now that the tempest has calmed and justice has had its say... perhaps it is time to remember the true purpose of today."

Ron blinked. "Er-what purpose, Professor?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Why, the beginning of your education, of course. Hogwarts waits for no one, not even heroes and courtroom drama."

Hermione gasped suddenly. "Oh my goodness! It is still September first!"

"Indeed, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "By my estimate, the Hogwarts Express should have just arrived at Hogsmeade Station."

Neville glanced at the others, wide-eyed. "Blimey. We nearly missed our first day before it even started."

"Hardly the dullest start to a school year," Blaise muttered dryly, earning a snort from Daphne.

The Headmaster motioned them toward a large ornate fireplace near the exit. "Now, I suggest we make haste. The Floo Network has been directly linked to the station for your convenience."

The students gathered, exchanging glances that held both disbelief and excitement. Ron grinned broadly. "Wait till Fred and George hear about this! They'll never believe it."

Susan laughed softly. "I'm not sure anyone will."

Dumbledore turned to Sirius and Amelia. "Lord Black, Madam Bones, I trust you can handle the remaining formalities?"

Amelia inclined her head. "The paperwork will be complete by evening. You have my word."

"Then all is well," Dumbledore said, his smile returning. He gestured toward the hearth. "Now then, who will be first?"

"Ladies first," said Terry with a teasing grin. Lisa rolled her eyes but stepped forward nonetheless.

With a handful of Floo powder, she announced clearly, "Hogsmeade Station!" and vanished in a swirl of green flame.

One by one, the others followed-Hermione, Neville, Blaise, Daphne, Tracey, Hannah, Justin, Rolf, and Ron, who shouted "Hogsmeade!" before disappearing.

Finally, Harry stood before the fire. He turned back once more to Sirius. "See you soon?"

Sirius smiled. "Count on it. I'll be at Hogwarts before long. You've got a lot to learn, kiddo-and I plan to be around for it this time."

Harry grinned, then threw the powder into the flames. "Hogsmeade Station!"

With a rush of emerald fire, he vanished, leaving the Wizengamot's echoes far behind-off to where the true magic awaited.
______________________________

The Atrium was nearly deserted now, Amelia turned toward Sirius, her sharp eyes softening for the first time all evening.

"Well," she said quietly, "ten years late, but justice finally caught up."

Sirius chuckled, exhaustion lacing his voice. "About bloody time." He ran a hand through his tangled hair, glancing around the now-empty hall. "Can't believe I'm actually free."

Before another word could pass between them, Amelia stepped forward and pulled him close. Sirius barely had time to draw breath before her lips met his-fierce, unrestrained, and burning with ten years of pain, hope, and longing.

He responded without hesitation, wrapping his arms around her waist and deepening the kiss. The world, the Wizengamot, the years of torment-all vanished in that single moment. Only Amelia remained, warm and real, not a figment of his Azkaban-starved mind.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathless. Amelia's eyes shimmered with tears she refused to shed. "You're really here," she whispered, touching his cheek as if to confirm it. "Not a dream, not a ghost."

Sirius smirked softly. "Flesh and blood, love. A bit thinner, a bit madder, but alive."

She laughed-a sound caught between relief and disbelief. Then, with trembling fingers, Amelia reached beneath her robes and drew out a delicate silver chain. Hanging from it was a ring-simple yet unmistakably familiar.

"I've kept it all this time," she said, voice low but steady. "The ring you gave me before everything fell apart. I didn't take it off, not even when they called you a murderer. I just couldn't wear it."

Sirius stared, grey eyes widening slightly as he reached out to touch the ring. His throat tightened, and for a moment words eluded him.

Amelia slipped the chain over her head, the ring glinting faintly under the torchlight as it found its place on her finger once again. "Now," she said, her tone firm yet tender, "I can wear it properly."

Sirius's smile faltered for an instant. He looked down, jaw tightening.

Amelia caught the change immediately. Her heart sank, and a faint tremor entered her voice. "Oh. I see."

He looked up quickly, alarm flashing in his eyes. "No, Amelia, don't-don't think that. I meant what I said earlier. I don't blame you. I never did."

"Then why that look?" she pressed, stepping back half a pace, her composure cracking ever so slightly.

Sirius sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. "Because there's something Andromeda told me before we came here. Something about... side effects."

Amelia frowned. "Side effects?"

He hesitated, his usual reckless confidence dimming. "The dementors," he said finally. "They don't just feed on happiness. Long-term exposure does things to a wizard's body-drains magic, vitality. I'll recover most of it, but not all. According to Andromeda, one of the permanent effects is... well, I'll never be able to father a child."

Silence fell. Sirius forced a weak laugh, though it sounded brittle. "So, I suppose I had to ask-are you sure? You deserve better than a broken old dog, Amelia."

For a heartbeat she simply looked at him, then her lips curved into a smile equal parts tenderness and mischief. "Oh, Sirius. You foolish man."

She stepped close again, placing her hand against his chest. "That's no problem. I already have my niece, Susan. You have your godson, Harry. We hardly need more children to fill our lives."

Sirius blinked, clearly taken aback. "You mean that?"

"Of course I do," she replied with a soft chuckle. Then her voice dropped, her eyes glinting wickedly. "Besides, I'm far more interested in the act of making a baby than actually raising one."

Sirius froze, his eyes going wide in genuine shock. "Merlin's-Amelia!" He gaped, utterly scandalized. "Did you just-?"

She laughed openly now, her voice echoing through the empty Atrium. "You heard me perfectly, Lord Black."

Sirius blinked twice, his expression halfway between disbelief and admiration. "Ten years, and you've somehow become bolder."

Amelia tilted her head, her smirk growing sly. "You have no idea."

Sirius's grin finally returned, slow and roguish. "Oh, I think I'd like to."

Her hand slid into his, their fingers intertwining as they turned toward the Floo network once more.

"Well then," Amelia said smoothly, "we've both wasted a decade. Let's not waste tonight."

Sirius barked a laugh, the sound rich and alive. "Now that's the best idea I've heard all day."
______________________________

The green flames deposited them one by one inside the Hogsmeade Station, the world shifting from the grand marble of the Ministry to the gentle hum of rural magic. Harry steadied himself, brushing soot from his sleeve. Behind him, Ron stumbled out, followed by Hermione, then the rest of their odd little company.

Dumbledore stepped from the Floo last, brushing off his deep purple robes as though returning from an afternoon stroll rather than a full-scale political upheaval. His eyes twinkled faintly as he surveyed the station. "Ah," he mused, glancing toward the platform, "it appears my calculations have missed by a few minutes. The Hogwarts Express has yet to arrive."

Hermione blinked in surprise. "We beat the train here?"

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, his tone lightly amused. "A rare occurrence. Though, in this case, fortuitous. It shall allow you all to mingle freely when your peers disembark. I daresay questions will arise regarding your sudden disappearance mid-journey."

Daphne sighed softly, brushing imaginary dust off her travelling cloak. "That would be an understatement, Headmaster. Audrey will interrogate me the moment she steps off the train."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Ah yes, Miss Audrey Greengrass-Slytherin prefect, if I recall. I imagine she will demand answers with commendable efficiency."

Ron groaned. "And I've got Percy, plus Fred and George. Merlin help me, they'll never let me live this down."

Hannah smirked. "You? At least your family's used to chaos. Wait until my aunt reads the Prophet tomorrow."

"The Prophet will indeed have quite the morning headline," Dumbledore said serenely. "But worry not. Truth has a peculiar way of finding its footing, even when chaos leads the dance."

The students exchanged glances, not entirely sure whether to be comforted or more confused. Harry, however, couldn't help but smile faintly. Dumbledore's calm was contagious-like the eye of a storm.

"Now then," the old wizard continued, gesturing toward a corridor beside the waiting area. "I've arranged quarters here for you all to change into your school robes. Once the train arrives, you will blend seamlessly with the other first years. Mister Hagrid-our Keeper of Keys and Grounds-will be along to collect you shortly thereafter. Approach him at once; he will guide you to the castle."

"Rubeus Hagrid," Neville repeated thoughtfully. "The one who brought Harry to the Dursleys that night?"

"The very same," Dumbledore confirmed, his eyes softening briefly. "A kind-hearted man, if occasionally overfond of... unconventional pets."

Tracey laughed lightly. "Sounds like a fun professor already."

"Oh, he teaches as well?" Hannah asked curiously.

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied. "Care of Magical Creatures, among other duties. Now then, best change quickly. The train will arrive shortly, and punctuality-even magical punctuality-has its limits."

The group dispersed into the adjoining rooms, laughter and chatter echoing faintly. Harry tugged on his new school robes, the fabric feeling oddly heavy with meaning. He looked at the stitched Hogwarts crest-lion, eagle, badger, and serpent-and wondered where he would end up.

When they returned, Dumbledore was still standing near the platform, hands folded neatly on his staff. The twinkle in his eyes met Harry's for a brief moment. "You have done remarkably well today, all of you. Few could face the Wizengamot on their first day of schooling and still have appetite for adventure."

Ron grinned sheepishly. "Reckon it's not how most first years start."

"Quite right," Dumbledore said, smiling. "Nonetheless, remember this-courage is not measured by grand gestures alone. Sometimes it is as simple as standing by truth when no one else dares."

Hermione nodded earnestly. "We'll remember that, sir."

"Excellent," Dumbledore said softly. "Now, I must return to the castle to make final preparations. The Sorting Feast awaits, and I do believe the kitchen elves are quite insistent that I not delay it again."

"Headmaster?" Harry asked before he could vanish in a swirl of robes. "Will we... see you after sorting?"

"Without a doubt," Dumbledore assured, eyes warm. "And do not look so nervous, Mister Potter. Wherever the Hat places you, remember-Hogwarts is not merely a school. It is home."

With that, he gave a slight bow and disappeared into the emerald flare of the Floo.

The station grew quieter again. The twelve children stood together, gazing out through the old glass panes toward the empty tracks. For the first time since morning, the air felt still-no political schemes, no revelations of innocence or guilt-only the cool scent of night and the promise of something new.

Harry exhaled slowly, feeling an odd warmth in his chest. "You know," he said softly, "he's really not as distant as I thought."

Hermione smiled. "No. Not at all."

Neville nodded in agreement. "Most people say he's unapproachable, but... after today? He feels like someone you could actually talk to."

Daphne smirked faintly. "Perhaps that's the advantage of surviving a Ministry trial with him."

Their laughter filled the room, light and easy. Outside, the first distant whistle of the Hogwarts Express broke the silence. Steam began curling above the trees.

Harry turned toward the sound, his heart thudding with anticipation. Whatever else had happened today, this-finally-was the beginning.
______________________________

Steam drifted lazily through the platform rafters as the whistle of the approaching train echoed in the distance. Inside the waiting room, the thirteen first-years had gathered around a low wooden table that Daphne and Tracey had conjured from a storage trunk. Someone-most likely Ron-had suggested a round of Exploding Snap to pass the time.

"Right," Ron declared, dealing the cards with exaggerated flair. "Let's see if you lot can handle a proper wizarding game."

Justin leaned forward, eyes wide with curiosity. "Exploding... Snap? Sounds dangerous."

"It is," Blaise said dryly, leaning back with a smirk. "Hence the name."

Hermione adjusted her robes nervously. "Wait-does it actually explode?"

Neville nodded solemnly. "Sometimes the cards just smoke a bit. Sometimes they, er, set your eyebrows on fire."

"It's Wicked," Rolf muttered under his breath, already reaching for a card.

Harry chuckled as Maple padded over, tail wagging, sniffing curiously at the glowing deck. "No, Maple, this one's not for you," he said, gently scratching her head. The golden retriever gave an indignant bark and sat beside him anyway, tongue lolling as if daring him to say otherwise.

Tracey rolled her eyes. "Oh, let her play, Potter. What's the worst that could happen?"

"Knowing this dog," Daphne replied smoothly, "she'll probably win."

The game began with a crackling hum as each player threw down cards in quick succession. Ron, clearly in his element, narrated the chaos as if it were a professional sport. "See? You've got to match the symbols fast-wand, broom, cauldron-and if two match, slap the pile before it-"

BOOM!

The table shuddered, a puff of purple smoke rising into the air. Hermione yelped and ducked while Maple barked furiously at the cards.

"-explodes," Ron finished, coughing through the haze, grinning like a maniac.

Justin's eyes were wide. "That's brilliant! Muggles would never allow this at home."

Blaise smirked. "That's because Muggles don't know how to have fun."

"Hey!" Hermione protested, brushing ash off her sleeve. "We have plenty of fun. Just not the sort that tries to incinerate you mid-game."

Lisa giggled, fanning the smoke away. "You have to admit though, it's rather exhilarating."

"Speak for yourself," Neville muttered, examining the singed edge of his sleeve.

Harry laughed, the sound light and unrestrained. "Come on, Neville, you're fine. It's all part of the experience."

Maple, apparently deciding it was her turn, nosed a card toward the pile and gave a triumphant bark. The card immediately hissed, sparked, and went off with a golden flash.

"Blimey!" Ron shouted, half laughing, half ducking. "Your dog just scored a point!"

The room erupted in laughter. Even Hermione, despite her earlier protests, was smiling now. "I suppose Maple's got a better hand than I do," she admitted.

"Clearly," Blaise said with a mock bow toward the dog. "Lady Maple of Gryffindor, undefeated champion of Exploding Snap."

Tracey cackled. "Imagine the Prophet headline tomorrow. 'Hero's Dog Destroys Hogwarts Students in Fiery Card Duel.'"

Harry shook his head, still chuckling. "She'd probably love that."

The next few rounds were pure chaos. Cards whizzed across the table, minor explosions sent sparks dancing through the air, and the students' laughter echoed against the station walls. Even the more reserved ones-Daphne, Blaise, and Lisa-were smiling openly now.

Hermione, after a few hesitant rounds, caught on quickly. "Oh! I get it now! You have to anticipate the pattern-yes, like that!"

The cards gave another pop as she slapped the pile just in time. Ron blinked. "Oi! You're getting good at this."

"Observation and logic," she said smugly. "It's a game of rhythm and reaction, not chance."

"Sure, Granger," Blaise muttered. "Keep telling yourself that when it blows up again."

Moments later, the deck detonated in a glorious shower of sparks. Hermione's hair frizzed instantly, and everyone burst out laughing.

"I stand corrected," she said, coughing through smoke, trying to tame her curls.

Even Maple seemed to laugh, pawing at Harry's knee as if begging for another turn.

When the laughter died down, they leaned back, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. There was something comforting in the shared noise-the kind of easy camaraderie that only came from surviving both explosions and bureaucracy together in one day.

Harry looked around the circle, a faint smile tugging at his lips. These people-this odd collection of purebloods, half-bloods, and muggleborns-felt strangely like the beginning of something solid. He was just Harry-laughing with friends, soot on his face, dog at his feet.

Outside, a deep whistle pierced the air again, followed by the rhythmic clatter of wheels on tracks. The Hogwarts Express was finally arriving, steam curling past the platform windows like silver ghosts.

Ron looked up eagerly. "Finally! Took it long enough."

Daphne gathered her cards, smirking. "Well, gentlemen and ladies, I suppose our entertainment's over. Time to face the real adventure."

Harry smiled faintly, looking toward the billowing steam outside. His heart gave a small, excited flutter. "Yeah," he murmured. "Time to go home."
______________________________

Steam still lingered around the platform as the scarlet train hissed to a halt. Doors swung open, and a tide of students poured out, chattering excitedly. Prefects called out instructions, owls hooted, and trunks rolled across the cobblestones. The thirteen first-years joined the crowd, slipping into the sea of black robes and youthful voices.

"Looks like Dumbledore was right," Daphne murmured, straightening her robes. "Perfect chance to blend in."

Harry nodded, adjusting Maple's leash as the golden retriever trotted proudly beside him. "Just act normal. Whatever that means after today."

Before long, a familiar voice called across the platform. "Oi, where've you lot been?" Fred Weasley pushed through the crowd, George right behind him, grinning ear to ear. Percy followed, wearing his prefect badge like a medal, while Cedric Diggory and Audrey Greengrass stood nearby, both watching curiously.

Lee Jordan waved from behind the twins. "You vanished off the train halfway through the trip! Thought you'd fallen out or something!"

Harry exchanged a glance with Ron, then smiled faintly. "Something like that."

"Care to elaborate?" Audrey asked crisply, crossing her arms. "I was on prefect patrol when people started whispering. One moment you were there, next-gone."

Tracey smirked. "Oh, it's quite the tale. Bit too... classified, perhaps, for the platform."

"Classified?" Cedric repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You're first-years, not Unspeakables."

"Yet," Blaise added coolly, earning a laugh from the twins.

Percy frowned, clearly unamused. "Whatever this is, it had better not involve rule-breaking or-Merlin forbid-unauthorized magic."

Harry raised a hand, silencing the growing chatter. "All will be revealed in due time," he said calmly, voice carrying just enough weight to hush the group. "Let's just say... certain truths came to light. Big ones."

"Cryptic much?" George grinned. "You sound like Dumbledore already."

Hermione stepped forward, eyes twinkling mischievously. "Perhaps that's appropriate. After all, today involved quite a few... revelations."

Neville nodded solemnly. "Including one about a certain rat who wasn't quite what he seemed."

Terry adjusted his glasses. "And a trial that should've happened years ago."

Lisa added softly, "Justice has a strange way of surfacing, doesn't it?"

Rolf leaned on his trunk, smirking. "Especially when it involves creatures most thought extinct... like truth."

Daphne's tone turned coolly elegant. "Some prisoners aren't criminals, and some heroes wear chains."

Tracey crossed her arms dramatically. "And some rats... well, they belong in cages."

Blaise gave a slow nod. "Names will fill tomorrow's Prophet. People might choke on their pumpkin juice."

Susan glanced around with an almost eerie calm. "Innocence reclaimed. Darkness unmasked."

Hannah finished simply, "And justice done at last."

Justin, still wide-eyed, added, "Let's just say history got rewritten tonight."

The prefects blinked, processing the barrage of cryptic lines. Audrey looked from one to another, utterly unconvinced. "You're all enjoying this far too much."

Cedric chuckled, though his brows furrowed slightly. "You mean to tell me you uncovered some grand secret between Hogsmeade and Hogwarts? That's rich."

Percy sniffed, adjusting his glasses. "Honestly. Spreading rumors before term even starts isn't the best impression."

Fred, however, leaned closer, grinning like a Kneazle with cream. "Hang on. Rat ? Trial?

Lee slapped his forehead. "Wait-if that's true, then you lot were with Dumbledore? The Dumbledore?"

Harry's lips curved into a faint smile. "You'll see the truth soon enough. The Prophet will have the full story by morning. Front page."

"Front page?" Percy repeated skeptically. "You expect us to believe that the Headmaster personally involved himself with first-years and Azkaban prisoners?"

Ron grinned. "Believe what you want, Perce. You'll see."

Fred elbowed George. "I'm betting two galleons they're telling the truth."

George smirked. "Make it three and you're on."

Cedric shook his head with an amused sigh. "You're either completely mad or about to be very famous."

"Can't it be both?" Tracey quipped.

Harry chuckled softly. "Sometimes it has to be."

The whistle blew again as the last trunks were unloaded. Prefects began gathering students, calling for first-years to assemble. Maple gave a small bark, as if urging them forward.

Audrey, still unconvinced, muttered, "You're all strange. I'll believe it when I read it."

Harry met her gaze, eyes steady. "Then you'd better buy tomorrow's edition early."

She hesitated, then smirked slightly before turning away. Percy followed, shaking his head muttering about "attention-seeking dramatics," while Cedric laughed under his breath, clearly entertained.

Fred, George, and Lee stayed behind long enough to grin at the group. "If this turns out false," Fred said, "you're buying us Butterbeer."

"Deal," Harry said with a grin. "But if it's true, you're buying ours."

"Fair enough," George said cheerfully. "We'll know in a few hours anyway."

As they walked toward the waiting boats, the air filled with the quiet excitement of what was to come. Behind them, the prefects' skeptical murmurs faded, but the twins' laughter echoed across the platform.

Ron nudged Harry. "Reckon we'll be legends before even getting sorted?"

Harry smiled faintly, glancing toward the castle lights glowing across the lake. "If not already."
______________________________

The heavy crunch of boots echoed across the platform as a booming voice called, "Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here!" The crowd of new students parted instinctively, revealing a towering man with wild black hair and a beard like a thicket. His eyes, though small, gleamed with a warmth that cut through the night's chill.

Harry froze for a second, staring up at him in awe. So that's Hagrid, he thought. Professor Flitwick's cheerful words from Diagon Alley returned vividly to mind. "Gentle half-giant, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts," Flitwick had said. "A bit rough around the edges, but with a heart as big as the castle itself. If you're bringing Maple, Hagrid can watch over her when your studies keep you occupied."

Seeing him now, Harry understood exactly what the Charms Master meant. Hagrid was enormous, easily twice the height of any man present, but there was a kindness in his expression that softened the intimidating size.

Hagrid's eyes swept over the crowd of first-years until they landed on a small boy with untidy black hair and a familiar lightning scar. His jaw dropped. "Blimey," he breathed, blinking rapidly. "It can't be-Harry Potter?"

Harry smiled a little nervously. "Er-yes, sir."

"Merlin's beard!" Hagrid chuckled, face splitting into a grin. "Yeh look jus' like yer dad, but yeh got yer mum's eyes. Been waitin' fer this day fer years, I have."

Before Harry could respond, Maple barked once, tail wagging happily at the sight of the large man. Hagrid looked down, his grin widening even more. "An' who's this beautiful creature, eh?"

"This is Maple," Harry said proudly, scratching her ear. "She's my companion."

"Maple, is it? Lovely name! Oh, aren't yeh a good girl?" Hagrid crouched-well, half-crouched-and Maple immediately bounded forward, licking his beard enthusiastically. The giant roared with laughter. "She's got spirit, that one! Don't see many wizards bringin' dogs to Hogwarts, but if Flitwick said it's fine, then it's fine with me!"

Harry felt a surge of relief and affection. "Professor Flitwick said you might help take care of her when I'm busy with classes."

"Too right I will!" Hagrid boomed. "I'll build her a proper lil' kennel by me hut, near th' pumpkin patch. She'll get on great with Fang, my boarhound. Big soft lump he is, but good company."

Ron whispered from behind Harry, "Blimey, he's huge!"

Hermione elbowed him lightly. "Don't be rude. He seems nice."

Neville, holding Trevor tightly, nodded in agreement. "He's... very loud, though."

"C'mon now, everyone follow me!" Hagrid called, clapping his massive hands. "We'll be goin' down ter the boats. Jus' stick close, an' don't wander off-wouldn't want anyone fallin' in before term even starts."

The thirteen exchanged amused glances as they joined the line of students following Hagrid through the lantern-lit path leading down toward the Black Lake. Maple trotted beside Harry, tail swishing contentedly.

Daphne whispered to Tracey, "He's nothing like I imagined the Keeper of Keys to be."

Tracey grinned. "I think he's adorable, in a terrifying sort of way."

As they descended the slope, the castle came into view-tall towers shimmering with light, their reflections rippling in the dark waters. Gasps echoed through the group. Harry felt his breath catch. Hogwarts looked more magnificent than he had ever dreamed.

"Tha's it, kids," Hagrid said proudly, gesturing grandly. "Hogwarts School o' Witchcraft an' Wizardry. Finest school there is."

"Wow," Lisa whispered, eyes wide.

"Speechless?" Terry murmured beside her.

"Utterly," she replied.

They reached the boats waiting along the shore, bobbing gently. "Four ter a boat!" Hagrid instructed. "No more, no less! Maple, ye can ride with me, lass."

Maple barked happily, jumping into the giant's boat without hesitation. Harry grinned. "She likes you already."

"Course she does!" Hagrid said with a wink. "Animals got a good sense fer decent folks."

Hermione climbed into a boat with Harry, Ron, and Neville. "This is so exciting," she said, her tone trembling with anticipation.

Ron muttered, "Hope the boats don't tip over."

"They won't," Hagrid called, overhearing easily. "They're enchanted. Been usin' 'em since the Founders' days!"

The boats began to glide forward smoothly, cutting through the glassy surface of the lake. The castle loomed larger with every moment, its reflection glowing like liquid gold beneath the moonlight.

Harry sat silently for a while, gazing at the towers with wonder. Mum and Dad saw this too, he thought. From this same lake, on their first night. The idea filled him with a deep, wordless warmth.

"Yeh all right there, Harry?" Hagrid called softly from the next boat, his voice gentler now.

Harry nodded, smiling faintly. "I've never been better."

"Good lad," Hagrid said, eyes twinkling. "Wait till yeh see the Great Hall. Gonna be a sight ye'll never forget."

As the boats slipped beneath the ivy-covered arch leading to the hidden dock, the air filled with quiet awe. The first-years could feel it-the beginning of something extraordinary.

And as Maple barked once, her voice echoing through the cavernous tunnel, even the ripples on the lake seemed to shimmer with promise.
______________________________

A/n: I hope You like it. Please ignore grammatical and spelling errors.

All good—finally, everything is settled. The drama is over, and Sirius is free.

Dumbledore has officially become the kids’ new favourite, and I think it’s safe to say that fighting a man believed to be dead, uncovering the innocence of an accused prisoner, and surviving a full-blown trial together leaves a lasting mark on a group. After something like that, they can’t help but grow close—close enough to become best friends.

So, I’m calling them the Thirteen: Hermione, Neville, Ron, Blaise, Daphne, Tracey, Lisa, Rolf, Terry, Susan, Hannah, Justin, and Harry.

Hey for this story I wasn't able to decide Chapter names easily so for fun why don't you all comment what you think chapter name can be ? I will be waiting.

Thanks for reading. § Hinny Forever § Please Review!!!

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or its universe. All original elements belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This story is a work of fanfiction created purely for entertainment purposes - no copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made. Any original characters, events, or concepts beyond the established canon are the author's own creative additions to expand the magical world respectfully.
______________________________

The boats bumped gently against the stone landing beneath the castle. Hagrid's lantern swung high, casting warm light over the dripping walls as the first-years clambered out one by one. The air was thick with the scent of damp rock and lake water, and the sound of excitement buzzed among the children like a swarm of fairies.

"Mind yer step, everyone," Hagrid said, steadying a few of the smaller students as they climbed up the slick steps. "This way now, up the tunnel."

Harry walked beside him, Maple padding happily at his heel until Hagrid stopped near a tall oak door. "All right, Harry," he said with a kindly smile. "From here, Professor McGonagall'll take over. I'll be keepin' Maple with me for a bit-don't worry, I'll send her right up ter whichever house ye're sorted into."

Maple gave a small whine and nudged Harry's hand with her nose. Harry knelt quickly, ruffling her fur. "It's okay, girl. I'll see you soon."

"She'll be fine," Hagrid assured, scratching behind Maple's ear. "Ain't no one better at lookin' after magical beasts than me."

"I believe that," Harry said with a grin.

"Good lad. Now, go on with the others. Up those steps, an' mind yer manners-Professor McGonagall don't take kindly ter chatter durin' introductions."

At that exact moment, the great oak doors swung open with a quiet creak. A tall witch with an air of precision and quiet authority stood in the doorway. Her emerald-green robes fell in crisp folds, and her square spectacles gleamed in the torchlight. Her expression was firm but not unkind, and the faintest glint of humor flickered behind her sharp eyes.

The crowd fell instantly silent.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said clearly, her Scottish accent crisp as the mountain air. "I am Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of this school. I am also Head of Gryffindor House and the Transfiguration Mistress."

The students looked at her with rapt attention. Even the Patil twins whispered in awe somewhere in the back of the line.

McGonagall surveyed them for a moment, then continued, "In a few moments, you will be sorted into your Houses. The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. During your years here, your House will be like your family within Hogwarts."

Harry caught Hermione mouthing each name silently, as though committing them to memory. Ron looked tense.

"Your triumphs," McGonagall said, "will earn your House points. Any rule-breaking, however, will cost your House points. The House with the highest total at the end of the year is awarded the House Cup-a great honor indeed."

A few students exchanged eager glances.

She paused briefly, eyes scanning the line. "While at Hogwarts, you will follow the school rules strictly. Prefects and Professors alike will expect you to behave honorably. Now, please follow me."

She turned on her heel with a grace that spoke of decades of practiced authority. The first-years trailed behind her in hushed awe as they climbed a stone staircase and emerged into a vast entrance chamber lit by hundreds of floating candles. The ceiling stretched high above them, and the stone floor gleamed underfoot as though freshly polished.

Harry's heart pounded as they passed through the great hall doors, catching a glimpse of the immense room beyond-four long tables filled with older students, their chatter filling the air. Floating candles lit the space beneath an enchanted ceiling that mirrored the night sky. It was breathtaking.

Before they could step inside, McGonagall stopped and turned sharply. "Please wait here quietly," she instructed. "The Sorting Ceremony will begin shortly. I shall return when the Headmaster is ready for you."

As she disappeared through the door, whispers immediately erupted among the first-years.

"What d'you think the Sorting's like?" Ron muttered nervously.

Hermione straightened her robes. "It's probably an exam," she said quickly. "I've read all about Hogwarts, but they never mentioned how exactly they sort us-perhaps a test of magical aptitude!"

"An exam?" Neville squeaked. "I didn't know we were supposed to study!"

Harry bit back a grin. "Relax, Neville. I don't think they'll expect us to cast spells on our first night."

Daphne smirked slightly. "Maybe they just decide based on personality. My sister said the Hat looks into your mind."

"The Hat?" Justin asked, puzzled. "You mean there's an actual hat that decides?"

"Exactly that," Blaise said quietly, his tone oddly calm. "A relic of the Founders themselves. My mother told me it's never wrong."

Tracey added with mock seriousness, "Then I hope it's in a generous mood tonight."

Rolf chuckled. "As long as it doesn't put me in a House full of dragons, I'll be fine."

The group laughed softly, easing the tension that had built up. Harry glanced at the great double doors where McGonagall had gone and felt a strange mix of excitement and nervousness twist inside him.

He glanced down at his hands, rubbing his thumb over the edge of his wand. Whatever happens, he thought, this is where it really begins.

Hermione looked up at the enchanted ceiling visible through the open doors. "It's beautiful," she whispered.

"Yeah," Harry murmured, eyes shining. "It really is."

A hush fell again as footsteps echoed from the hall beyond. McGonagall's voice could be heard approaching. Every first-year straightened, robes adjusted, hearts pounding.
______________________________

A sudden chill swept through the stone corridor, followed by a ripple of silvery light. Gasps filled the air as a dozen translucent figures drifted through the far wall, their pale glow illuminating the waiting first-years. The air felt both cold and strangely alive.

"Merlin's beard!" Neville yelped, nearly jumping behind Harry.

One of the ghosts-a fat friar with an overly cheerful grin-waved kindly. "Oh, new students! How delightful! Hufflepuff House will be glad to have such promising faces!"

Tracey whispered, "Is it me or did he just recruit us?"

A tall, severe ghost in Elizabethan garb sighed dramatically. "Ignore the Friar. He's always trying to claim every child for Hufflepuff. Terribly undignified."

Hermione's eyes widened with fascination. "Incredible... sentient spiritual projections maintaining cognitive coherence!"

Ron gave her a bewildered look. "Er-what?"

"She means ghosts," Harry said with a grin.

"Indeed we are," said a silvery woman gliding closer. Her tone was regal but kind. "I am the Grey Lady. Do remember to be respectful within these halls."

"Lady Ravenclaw herself," Daphne whispered in awe.

Before anyone could respond, another ghost zoomed through the ceiling and shouted gleefully, "Heads up!" The first-years ducked instinctively as a headless spirit spun in circles above them. "Nearly Headless Nick, at your service!"

"Nearly?" Justin asked before he could stop himself.

Nick pulled at the hinge of his half-severed neck. "They didn't quite finish the job," he said proudly. Several students squealed.

Harry, though startled, couldn't help but smile. The ghosts seemed strange yet oddly comforting-like living fragments of history.

"Enough excitement, please," came McGonagall's firm voice from the archway. The ghosts immediately drifted aside, bowing to her respectfully. "We are ready for the Sorting. This way, students."

The double doors of the Great Hall swung open. The sight that met them stole every breath away. Thousands of floating candles illuminated the vast chamber. The ceiling shimmered with a perfect replica of the starlit night, the soft light catching on four long tables filled with whispering students.

"Bloody brilliant," Ron muttered under his breath.

"Language, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said automatically, not even looking back.

At the far end of the hall, an enormous staff table stretched across a raised dais. Gold goblets gleamed under the candlelight, and the air hummed faintly with enchantments.

"There are so many teachers," Susan whispered. "I counted twenty-four seats!"

"Not just teachers," Daphne replied quietly, eyes scanning the staff table with curiosity. "Some are auxiliary masters from abroad. The ICW reforms begin this year. Globalization of wizarding education-they'll teach special subjects and advanced fields."

Hermione's eyes brightened. "International cooperation in magical education? That's historic!"

"Trust me," Daphne said, smirking. "My father hasn't stopped talking about it all summer. It's the biggest reform since the founding of Hogwarts itself."

Harry's thoughts drifted briefly to Professor Vector's visit to Privet Drive weeks ago. She had sat in the Dursleys' living room explaining the very same change. 'Mister Potter,' she had said primly, 'Hogwarts now integrates select muggle disciplines-mathematics, physics, even technology. You'll find that your prodigious aptitude will not go to waste.'

That moment had been the deciding factor. The choice between advanced muggle institutions and Hogwarts had tilted toward magic the instant he realized this new system could merge both worlds. Now, standing here, he felt that decision settle in his chest like destiny.

Yet, he still wondered about the number of professors. Twenty-four seats seemed barely enough to teach the vast curriculum described in the Hogwarts brochure. He quickly reasoned that many must handle multiple subjects, perhaps even rotating across disciplines-especially with Dumbledore's rumored mastery of several rare arts.

Hermione nudged him. "Look at the table! That must be Professor Flitwick-he's even smaller than I imagined."

"And that's got to be Professor Sprout," Neville whispered, pointing at a cheerful witch with earth-stained gloves.

At the center sat Dumbledore himself, silver beard gleaming, his half-moon spectacles twinkling as though he already knew every one of them personally.

"Welcome, first-years," he called, voice warm and commanding. "Please, come forward and form a line before the staff table."

The murmurs across the Great Hall softened into silence. The weight of centuries seemed to settle over the children as they stepped further in.

Harry's eyes darted from the enchanted ceiling to the banners of the four Houses swaying gently along the walls. Red and gold lions, yellow and black badgers, blue and bronze eagles, green and silver serpents-all shimmered proudly.

He felt something stir deep within him-a strange pull of belonging and mystery all at once.

Ron leaned closer. "Can you believe we're actually here?"

Harry smiled faintly. "After the day we've had, I can believe anything."

"Quiet, please," McGonagall said as she placed a small, battered hat atop a stool at the center of the hall.

The hat twitched. Then a rip near its brim opened like a mouth, and it began to sing.

Every whisper in the hall vanished.

The Sorting had begun.

The rip near the brim of the ancient hat stretched wide, and a rich, resonant voice filled the Great Hall.

*"A thousand years and more have passed
Since founders four did meet at last,
To build a school of magic's might,
Where wand and will would both take flight.

In ages old, when Britain's wild,
Was home to mage and mystic child,
They gathered here, both brave and wise,
To shape the dream that never dies.

Bold Godric of the lion's roar,
With courage burning evermore,
He sought the hearts that stand and fight,
For justice, honor, truth, and right.

Fair Rowena, eagle-eyed and keen,
In wisdom's glow her mind would gleam,
She taught that wit and learning's flame,
Could lift the world and earn great fame.

Good Helga, kind and true of heart,
Would never see a friend depart,
She welcomed all, with open hand,
And built the bonds that ever stand.

And cunning Salazar, proud and sly,
Who spoke with serpents passing by,
He prized the heirs of magic blood,
And power's flow as strong as flood.

Together they did craft these walls,
Where every gift and talent calls,
And I, their servant, sit and see,
What sort of witch or wizard ye be.

So place me on your head, young soul,
No thought too deep to stay untold,
For I shall read your truest core,
And place you where you'll grow the more.

Will you seek the lion's might?
Or raven's wisdom, keen and bright?
The badger's heart that loves to learn?
Or serpent's fire where secrets burn?

Remember this, young ones, take heed,
Each House has worth, each fills a need,
The bravest heart may learn to plan,
The sharpest mind may aid their clan.

A thousand years have I stood fast,
Through triumph's joy and war's grim blast,
I sort you fair, both rich and poor,
For Hogwarts stands forevermore!"*

( To listen the song - https://suno.com/s/cpWs5B69u3Ug9T9p)

The last word echoed through the vaulted chamber like a spell. The Great Hall erupted into applause, the students cheering, stomping, and clapping as the hat gave a jaunty little bow. Candles flickered brighter, reacting to the wave of magic and enthusiasm that swept through the air.

Harry joined in the applause, though his eyes stayed fixed on the hat. His curiosity flared brighter than the enchanted candles above. How does it think? How can it see inside a person's mind after so many centuries?

His mind ticked rapidly, analyzing the magical possibilities. It was not a mere charm-charms faded, especially after a millennium. It had to be a matrix of enchantments-possibly bound by ancient runes and soul-linked essence. Perhaps each of the Founders had embedded a fragment of thought or magical signature, creating an artifact of collective consciousness. That could explain its sentience.

He recalled Septima Vector's words about "foundational enchantments of pre-ICW era"-magic woven so deeply into the very essence of an object that it outlived generations. This must be one of those. A thousand years... still intact, still intelligent. Extraordinary.

Hermione's whisper cut through his thoughts. "It's brilliant, isn't it? A hat that reads minds and souls!"

Harry nodded. "It's more than that. It's... alive, in a way. Sentient enchantment of the highest order. Imagine how much power it takes to sustain that for centuries without decay."

Ron made a face. "Blimey, mate, it's a hat. Don't make it sound creepy."

Harry smirked slightly but kept watching the hat, his mind spinning. The enchantment wasn't just surviving-it was evolving, adapting to each new generation. That implied an auto-renewal charm or perhaps self-sustaining runic loops. It could even be partially tied to Hogwarts itself, feeding on ambient magic that pulsed through the castle's wards.

Across the hall, older students were still murmuring about the song. Some clapped again for good measure. The ghosts floated overhead, smiling in fond nostalgia.

"Every year it sings something new," whispered Hannah, her voice full of awe. "Grandmum says it changes depending on the times."

"Adaptive enchantment," Harry murmured. "Then it's definitely linked to a consciousness field. The Founders must've anchored it through the ley lines beneath the castle."

Hermione's eyes gleamed. "You think Hogwarts itself keeps it alive?"

"Could be," he replied thoughtfully. "Living magic connected through a constant energy circuit. It might even evolve its verses based on what it senses in students-or threats."

Daphne, standing nearby, gave him an appraising look. "You think like a scholar already, Potter."

He shrugged modestly. "Just curious."

The hat remained motionless now, waiting patiently on the stool as if it had heard every word. Its patchwork brim twitched faintly, almost approvingly.

Harry felt an odd twinge, a whisper of energy brushing his thoughts-as if the hat itself had turned its unseen gaze toward him. For an instant, he thought he heard something faint within his mind.

A keen mind you have, young one. Curious hearts often change the world.

He blinked sharply. The voice faded before he could be sure he had heard it at all. Perhaps it was imagination-or perhaps the Hat truly was aware of his musings.

McGonagall cleared her throat, and the murmurs died down. "When I call your name, please step forward, place the Hat upon your head, and wait to be sorted."

The tension in the air grew electric. Every student seemed to straighten instinctively.

The Sorting had begun in earnest, and the Hat-ancient, living, and impossibly wise-waited once more to judge the hearts of another generation.

Professor McGonagall unrolled a long parchment and adjusted her spectacles. Her voice rang clearly across the Great Hall.

"Abbott, Hannah!"

The blonde girl with nervous eyes stepped forward, nearly tripping on her own robes as she went. A few Hufflepuffs at the far table gave her an encouraging wave. The Sorting Hat was lowered onto her head, slipping down to her eyebrows.

Harry leaned forward slightly, his mind already analyzing every movement. The Hat's brim twitched, and though its mouth did not move audibly, Hannah's lips did. She seemed to be whispering, her face scrunching up in nervous conversation. So it talks in their minds, Harry thought, eyes narrowing in fascination. Telepathic enchantment, likely bound through legilimency principles-impressive craftsmanship.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the Hat bellowed suddenly, and the table on the far left erupted into cheers. Hannah beamed, relief flooding her face as she handed the Hat back and practically skipped to her table.

"Right," whispered Ron beside Harry, "so it really shouts it out loud. Thought it might just, you know, whisper it to the professors or something."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That would be terribly inefficient, Ronald. Clearly the Hat's meant to declare it so everyone can hear."

Ron frowned. "No need to get all bookish about it."

Before they could bicker further, McGonagall's voice called out again.

"Bones, Susan!"

Susan straightened her back and stepped forward confidently, the faintest smile tugging her lips as she brushed her red hair behind her ear. Harry, watching her walk, felt a wave of quiet pride-she had been one of the calmest through the entire ordeal at Bones Manor.

The Hat barely touched her head before its mouth twitched, as though amused. It seemed to take a little longer with her than with Hannah, though, and Harry noticed the faint furrow of thought crossing Susan's brow. She whispered something inaudible, perhaps responding to the Hat's probing questions.

Then it shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

The same table roared again, louder this time, with Hannah clapping and waving her arms frantically for her best friend. Susan grinned, her composure softening as she joined the cheering Hufflepuffs.

Neville gave a relieved sigh. "At least they're together. Imagine if best friends got split up-would be dreadful."

Tracey smirked. "Unless they're Slytherins, then they'd call it strategy."

"Boot, Terry!" McGonagall called next.

The boy stepped up briskly, looking calm and collected, though Harry noticed his fingers twitch slightly at his sides. The Hat slipped over his head and stayed there for a few seconds longer than before. Terry sat absolutely still, but a faint smile crossed his face as though he were having an intellectual debate with the Hat itself.

"RAVENCLAW!"

The cheers this time came from the second table from the right. Terry shot a quick grin toward Harry and the rest of their group before heading to join his new Housemates.

"So it's true," Lisa murmured. "He's been reading spell theory books since he was six. Of course he'd end up there."

McGonagall continued, her parchment rustling softly.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy!"

A girl with neat braids stepped forward nervously, adjusting her sleeves before putting on the Hat. It seemed to barely settle on her head before shouting, "RAVENCLAW!"

Lisa clapped happily. "Oh good, another one for our side!"

Ron muttered something about "sides forming already" but didn't finish before McGonagall called again.

"Brown, Lavender!"

Lavender stepped forward, her blonde curls bouncing as she did a small wave to the crowd. The Hat sat on her head for a moment before shouting, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers and whoops, with Fred and George whistling obnoxiously loud. Lavender giggled and hurried off to join them.

"Bulstrode, Millicent!"

A large, broad-shouldered girl stomped forward, looking rather like she wanted to crush the Hat for daring to touch her hair. It sat there longer than expected, the Hat's mouth twitching as though thinking hard.

Then, in a decisive tone, it called, "SLYTHERIN!"

The green and silver table broke into polite but firm applause. Millicent smirked proudly and marched off to her new House.

"Corner, Michael!"

The boy-a quiet, dark-haired student-went next. His eyes darted briefly toward the Ravenclaw table, as though hoping for something. The Hat was placed on his head and seemed to hum thoughtfully before shouting, "RAVENCLAW!"

Rolf leaned over to Harry, whispering, "Well, Ravenclaw's getting a strong lineup this year."

Harry smiled faintly but kept his eyes on the Hat. It was interesting to watch the subtle differences-the way it lingered for some, the way it seemed to barely need a moment for others. It must be reading the magical resonance in their minds, their intent, and emotional disposition, he thought. It's not just about personality-it's alignment of magical energy.

McGonagall's voice carried again.

"Crabbe, Vincent!"

A stocky boy with a blank expression walked forward heavily. The Hat barely touched his head before roaring, "SLYTHERIN!"

Harry exchanged a knowing look with Daphne, who smirked slightly. "That one was predictable," she murmured.

"Quite," Harry agreed. "The Hat didn't even hesitate."

The Great Hall continued buzzing with whispers and excitement as yet more names waited to be called. The Sorting was only beginning, and the energy in the air felt charged with destiny.

"Davis, Tracey!"

Tracey gave Daphne a little smirk before striding forward, chin high and confidence practically radiating from her. The Hat slipped over her head, pausing only a few seconds before shouting, "SLYTHERIN!"

The Slytherin table burst into polite applause, though a few older students nodded approvingly. Tracey flashed a quick grin back toward her friends, then joined Millicent and Slytherin's table. Blaise, who had already been smirking, gave her a small, knowing nod.

"Figures," Ron whispered to Harry. "She's clever, but she's got that look-like she already knows all the secrets."

Harry shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Perhaps she does."

"Finnigan, Seamus!" McGonagall called.

A sandy-haired boy with a cheeky grin stepped forward, the sort who looked as if he could laugh even in the middle of a duel. The Hat barely touched his head before it yelled, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers again, joined by Fred and George clapping boisterously. Seamus gave a triumphant whoop and ran to join them, giving high-fives all the way down the bench.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

Harry perked up slightly, as did several others among their group. Justin adjusted his tie nervously before walking up to the stool. The Hat came down, slipping almost to his nose. He sat frozen, visibly whispering to it, and the Hall waited a few seconds longer than before.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the Hat bellowed at last.

Susan and Hannah both shouted in delight, pounding the table. Justin's face brightened immediately as he joined them, looking like he already belonged there.

Ron leaned over again. "Three of ours in Hufflepuff already, that's mad."

Neville gave him a small smile. "Hufflepuff isn't bad, Ron. Gran says they're the most loyal sort-work hard, never turn their back."

Ron muttered, "Yeah, well, we'll see where we land."

"Goldstein, Anthony!"

The boy who walked forward had a precise air about him, hair neatly parted and robes perfectly pressed. The Hat sat on his head for barely two breaths before shouting, "RAVENCLAW!"

Terry grinned, clapping the loudest among the blue-and-bronze table as Anthony joined.

Then came, "Goyle, Gregory!"

The boy trudged forward, large and dull-eyed, looking around as if searching for someone to tell him what to do. The Hat hardly needed to think. "SLYTHERIN!"

The green-and-silver table clapped again, and Blaise gave a lazy grin. "Predictable," Daphne murmured. "The Hat barely grazed his scalp."

Harry chuckled softly, though his eyes flicked to the line still waiting. He was mentally keeping count-four of their group sorted, nine still to go.

Then McGonagall called the next name, and several of their group straightened.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and marched forward with determined steps. Harry could tell she was both nervous and excited; she had probably read about this moment in every history book she could find.

The Hat slipped onto her head, and she froze. A few seconds passed. Then a minute. Then another.

Ron whispered, "Blimey, she's taking ages."

Harry's curiosity piqued. The Hat's mouth was moving slightly, and Hermione's lips twitched as though responding. Three minutes passed, and a low murmur began in the crowd.

Harry thought back to something he had read in Hogwarts: A History of Traditions. Hatstalls, the term was, when the Hat took over five minutes to decide. Rare, but recorded. Peter Pettigrew had been one, the book had said. Now that he knew the truth about Pettigrew, Harry could see why-the Hat must have sensed both cowardice and cunning, bravery and betrayal. The longest hatstall, however, belonged to Professor McGonagall herself: six and a half minutes between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.

He studied the professor now, wondering if she remembered that as she watched Hermione sit there. McGonagall's face gave nothing away, but there was a slight glint of nostalgia in her eyes.

At four minutes and some seconds, the Hat finally bellowed, "GRYFFINDOR!"

A wave of applause thundered through the Hall. Hermione looked both proud and relieved as she joined the red-and-gold table. Fred and George yelled, "Welcome, book queen!" earning a sharp glare from Percy and a giggle from Lavender.

Ron turned to Harry. "That's it then. No chance for Ravenclaw, eh?"

Harry smiled faintly. "She might have fit there, but courage counts too. Gryffindor will suit her well."

Neville nodded thoughtfully. "She was brave enough to speak up for everyone earlier. That counts."

Harry's gaze lingered on the stool, still holding the ancient Hat. He felt its presence, its sentience, as though it was quietly assessing them all in advance. The idea that a thousand-year-old enchantment could still hold such precision fascinated him. The craftsmanship, the magical stability-it defied time itself.

He wondered briefly what it would see in him when his turn came.

"Greengrass, Daphne!"

A hush fell over the hall again as the poised, platinum-blonde girl stepped forward, her expression calm yet calculating. Her eyes flicked briefly toward her sister at the Slytherin table, then to Harry, Susan, and Hermione who sat watching with quiet anticipation. The Sorting Hat slid over her head, and for the first minute, its brim did not so much as twitch.

Harry leaned a little forward, curious. The Hat's brim then moved ever so slightly as though it were murmuring to her. Daphne's lips curved faintly-half a smirk, half a thought. Seconds stretched on. Whispers rose across the hall.

"Two minutes already," muttered Tracey Davis from the Slytherin table, gripping the edge of the bench.

Then, after what seemed like an age and a half, the Hat bellowed, "SLYTHERIN!"

Applause erupted from the green-and-silver table. Daphne rose gracefully, handed back the Hat, and walked toward her house table with composed confidence. As she passed Harry, her gaze lingered on him for half a heartbeat-a silent acknowledgment between allies.

Harry felt the faintest smile tug at his mouth. Choice between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, he would learn later, and she picked the House that knew how to play the long game.

"Hopkins, Emma!"

A cheerful girl with a bouncing ponytail hurried forward, clearly excited rather than nervous. The Hat had barely touched her head when it shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

The applause was lighthearted and full of welcome. Emma grinned and waved at everyone before nearly skipping to her new table. The warmth from Hufflepuff's corner made Harry smile unconsciously.

"Li, Sue!"

The next girl walked with quiet composure, her dark eyes sharp behind round glasses. The Hat took only a few moments before calling out, "RAVENCLAW!"

The table in blue erupted in applause. Filius Flitwick stood on his stool, clapping enthusiastically and calling, "Splendid! Splendid choice!"

Harry glanced at Hermione, who was scribbling mental notes about each House's tendencies again. He shook his head with an amused sigh.

Then came the name that made several students sit up straighter.

"Longbottom, Neville!"

The boy froze for a heartbeat, nearly tripping over his own feet as he stumbled toward the stool. A nervous murmur spread across the hall. Harry's hands clenched on the edge of the bench, silently willing his friend courage.

Neville perched awkwardly, cheeks pink with embarrassment. The Hat dropped over his eyes, hiding his round face completely.

Minutes passed. One. Two. Three. The Hat did not speak.

Harry's brows furrowed. He could see Neville's lips moving faintly beneath the brim. "Gryffindor... Hufflepuff... Gran... parents..." he mouthed.

Harry's heart softened. He's trying to live up to them, he thought quietly.

At last, the Hat opened its mouth in a shout that made several jump. "GRYFFINDOR!"

Neville blinked in disbelief before grinning shyly. The Gryffindor table cheered wildly. Lee pounded the table, Fred and George whooped, and even Percy clapped with an approving smile.

"Brilliant, Neville!" Harry called across the room, and Neville beamed, cheeks glowing.

The tension in the Great Hall seemed to loosen after that.

"MacDougal, Sarah!"

A slim girl with freckled skin and sandy hair stepped forward. The Hat rested only briefly before declaring, "RAVENCLAW!"

Harry caught a glimpse of her  sister already sitting at the same table, waving eagerly for her to join.

"Macmillan, Ernie!"

A confident, broad-shouldered boy walked up with the air of someone who had read about the ceremony extensively. The Hat had barely finished its internal debate before it announced, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

Cheers rose again from the yellow-clad table. Ernie sat proudly among them, already shaking hands with fellow first years.

Harry exhaled softly, watching each face and crest burn itself into his growing map of Hogwarts. It struck him again how different everyone was-how choices, fears, and desires all seemed to shape their fates under that ancient Hat.

He rested his chin on his hand, eyes wandering briefly to the staff table. Dumbledore's twinkling gaze met his for a moment, and Harry could swear the man knew exactly what he was thinking.

"So," whispered Hermione beside him, "that's eight from our group sorted already."

Harry nodded, his gaze returning to the stool, where another name was being called. He could feel anticipation coil in his chest again. The night was far from over.

"Malfoy, Draco!"

The name cut through the murmuring hall like a blade. The boy with slicked-back platinum hair strutted forward, chin lifted, expression already smug with expectation. The Hat had not even settled properly on his head when it shouted, "SLYTHERIN!"

The Slytherin table burst into thunderous applause, some students actually standing to greet him. Yet Harry's sharp eyes caught something fleeting-Draco's lips had parted in faint surprise before curling back into composure. The flash was gone in an instant, replaced by practiced arrogance.

Interesting, Harry thought, narrowing his eyes. The Hat must have considered something else... The thought struck him like a Bludger. Gryffindor. Judging by that sour twist of Draco's mouth before he masked it, the possibility must have offended him deeply.

Across the table, Hermione whispered, "That was fast."

"Too fast," muttered Harry, still watching Draco's retreating back as the boy clasped hands with other purebloods. "The Hat barely touched him."

Susan leaned closer. "You think it thought about another house?"

Harry only hummed, eyes still following the blond's movements. "Oh, I'd bet a sack of Galleons it did."

The next name called was almost lost beneath the chatter.

"Maxwell, Kevin!"

A cheerful boy with curly brown hair nearly tripped on his robes on the way to the stool, face burning. The Hat took only a moment before announcing, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

The applause from the yellow table was warm and genuine, a gentle contrast to Slytherin's thunderous pride.

Then came, "Moon, Lily!"

A quiet girl with long black hair walked shyly toward the stool, barely glancing at anyone. The Hat rested for several seconds before declaring kindly, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

The same table cheered again, and the girl smiled in relief as she hurried to join.

"Nott, Theodore!"

The dark-haired boy who stepped forward was calm, collected, and clearly unbothered by the attention. His eyes, calculating and sharp, flicked once toward Draco before focusing ahead. The Hat dropped onto his head and paused-barely a breath-before shouting, "SLYTHERIN!"

The reaction was immediate. Theodore inclined his head slightly as if to say, as expected, then walked over to the Slytherin table without a smile. Harry noted how he and Draco exchanged a subtle nod-acknowledgment, not friendship.

"Parkinson, Pansy!"

A girl with glossy hair and a self-satisfied smirk sashayed to the stool. The Hat touched her curls and almost instantly cried, "SLYTHERIN!"

The table roared again. Pansy's grin widened as she took her seat beside Draco, her eyes darting to Harry and Hermione as though sizing up competition. Hermione muttered something unflattering under her breath, earning a small chuckle from Harry.

Then came two names that drew surprised murmurs.

"Patil, Padma!"

The girl-graceful and composed-sat elegantly as the Hat deliberated. After a short moment it shouted, "RAVENCLAW!"

A soft round of applause greeted her, and she smiled modestly before heading to the blue-and-bronze table.

"Patil, Parvati!"

The hall rippled with curiosity. The identical twin stepped forward with a confident gleam in her eyes. The Hat dropped down, waited briefly, and bellowed, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The Great Hall broke into delighted cheers. Even Dumbledore seemed faintly amused.

Harry blinked, then let out a short laugh. "Split twins, that's rare."

Ron grinned from beside him. "Wouldn't wanna imagine their parents' reaction."

"Opposite Houses," Hermione mused. "That'll be interesting."

Harry nodded, eyes glinting. "That's Hogwarts for you-never boring."

"Perks, Charlotte!"

A lively girl with bouncing curls marched up, almost tripping on the step in her excitement. The Hat had barely touched her hair before it shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor table erupted again. Fred and George were chanting her name already. Charlotte waved like she was at a parade, laughing the whole way to her seat.

The hall began to quiet once more. Harry's laughter faded as he realized how few names were left. His chest tightened with an odd mix of anticipation and dread. His pulse thudded in his ears.

Hermione whispered, "You're next any moment now."

Harry nodded mutely. His heart beat faster. He could almost hear the Hat's rasping voice in his mind already, wondering, judging.

He rubbed his palms together under the table. Calm down, Potter. You've faced worse... well, not really, but close enough.

The scroll rustled again so Professor McGonagall read could the next name. Harry swallowed hard. Every face at the Gryffindor table turned subtly toward him, expectant.

He took a deep breath. Any second now...

"Potter, Harry!"

The name rang across the Great Hall like a spell detonating. Instantly, the hum of conversation fell to stunned silence. Heads turned. Whispers burst like sparks, flashing down the tables in every direction.

"Did she say-Potter?"
"The Harry Potter?"
"Blimey, it's really him!"

Harry exhaled slowly, forcing his expression to remain neutral. Here we go again. He had expected this, of course-he was famous here, though fame was something he could have done without. Every eye in the hall followed him as he stepped forward, each stride measured, every muscle tensed beneath his robes.

At the staff table, Dumbledore's gaze was steady and bright, that same twinkle of anticipation Harry had seen at Hogsmeade Station. He looked almost proud, almost knowing. He must've been waiting for this moment, Harry thought. Well, let's hope I don't disappoint him-or myself.

As he approached the stool, his brain refused to quiet. Numbers rolled through his thoughts, steady as gears. Twenty-ninth to be sorted, he counted automatically. Among our group of thirteen, I'm ninth-still left are Rolf, Lisa, Ron, and Blaise. His eyes flicked briefly across the remaining first years, noting their nervous shifting. Total of thirty-six this year, he calculated, a small batch. Then again, most of us were born during the war. Fewer births, fewer children. Makes sense.

He drew a breath as he reached the dais. Professor Septima Vector caught his eye and offered a small, encouraging smile from her seat further down the table. Harry's lips twitched upward in reply. He had liked her immediately when she visited Privet Drive last month, explaining the wizarding world in clear, logical terms that made magic sound like physics with extra flair.

Then he saw Professor Flitwick, who grinned and gave a discreet thumbs up. Harry couldn't help returning it with a grin of his own. The tiny professor had been the one to escort him and the Dursleys through Diagon Alley, making sure they weren't overwhelmed. It had been a day of wonders-and disasters-he would never forget.

And there was Dumbledore again, catching his gaze and winking, his silver beard glimmering in the candlelight. The gesture steadied Harry more than anything else could have.

At the end of the table sat Hagrid, beaming as proudly as if Harry were his own son. The giant's massive hand waved subtly, and Harry's heart lightened. Good old Hagrid. He wondered briefly about Maple-his loyal golden retriever. Hagrid had promised to keep her until Harry was sorted. She wasn't here, which meant she must be waiting either in Hagrid's hut or near the common room Harry would soon call home.

Still, the thought made him curious. Strange that Hagrid doesn't live in the castle, he mused. Even as a professor, he stays by the grounds. I'll have to ask him why someday.

Professor McGonagall's firm yet fond voice broke his thoughts. "This way, Mr. Potter."

He met her gaze and saw, for a brief moment, something uncharacteristically soft-pride, perhaps, or nostalgia. Then her features smoothed into their usual composed elegance.

Harry stepped onto the small platform. The stool looked ancient, its legs wobbling slightly under the combined weight of generations of students' nerves. He sat, back straight, hands gripping the edges just enough to stay calm.

McGonagall lifted the Sorting Hat carefully, its patched brim twitching as if it sensed something interesting. The entire hall held its breath. Harry could feel the weight of the silence pressing down on him, the thousand candles flickering above throwing strange shadows across the enchanted ceiling.

For a fleeting second, he glanced once more toward the staff table-Septima's smile, Flitwick's encouragement, Dumbledore's calm gleam, Hagrid's warmth-and felt a quiet strength settle in his chest.

Then McGonagall, smiling briefly before regaining her usual composure, lowered the hat gently onto his head.

Everything went dark.
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A/n: I hope You like it. Please ignore grammatical and spelling errors.

As many of you already know from my previous stories, I have a habit—perhaps a very deliberate one—of showcasing the entire Sorting Ceremony, along with the reasons behind each placement. Well… err… let’s just call it one of my enduring quirks and move on.

A handful of the thirty-six first-years are original characters—namely Evelyn Scott, Charlotte Perks, and Kevin Maxwell—and they will each have their own part to play as the story unfolds.

And yes, there are twenty-four professors, which means there are going to be some very real—and very serious—implications stemming from the ICW education reforms I’ve been subtly hinting at over the past few chapters. Keep an eye on that thread; it’s about to matter a lot more than it first appeared.

So this is it—your last chance to take a guess.
Which House do you think Harry will end up in?

Hey for this story I wasn't able to decide Chapter names easily so for fun why don't you all comment what you think chapter name can be ? I will be waiting.

Thanks for reading. § Hinny Forever § Please Review!!!

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or its universe. All original elements belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This story is a work of fanfiction created purely for entertainment purposes - no copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made. Any original characters, events, or concepts beyond the established canon are the author's own creative additions to expand the magical world respectfully.

Title suggested by @ArianaSilver
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"Ah," came a voice in his head—old, deep, and curiously amused. "Harry Potter. I was wondering when I'd get to meet you."

Harry blinked. The Great Hall vanished from his senses, replaced by a curious, humming silence within his mind. "Er—hello?" he thought carefully, uncertain how to respond. "You can hear me, right?"

"Of course I can, my boy. I've been hearing thoughts for nearly a thousand years," the Hat chuckled. "Though not many start with polite greetings. You're one of the few who remember their manners."

Harry smiled faintly under the brim. "Thank you. How are you, er, doing... if that's even a question one can ask a hat?"

That earned a surprised laugh that echoed softly inside his skull. "How delightful! No one's asked that in decades. I'm doing quite well, I suppose—though I do get rather dusty in between sortings. Now tell me, Harry Potter, why so curious?"

"I like to understand how things work," Harry replied simply. "Even if that thing happens to be... well, an enchanted hat."

"Ha! A sharp mind indeed," said the Hat approvingly. "No wonder old Filius and Septima took to you. Now then, shall we begin?"

Harry felt a strange, ticklish sensation sweep across his thoughts, like invisible tendrils brushing through pages of a book. It wasn't painful—just... intimate. He's scanning my mind, Harry realized.

"So you do scan," he ventured aloud in his mind, eager to confirm his hypothesis. "You're scanning for traits, aren't you? Maybe even magical alignment or core resonance?"

"Well, well," the Hat mused, tone clearly amused. "You're half-right on all counts. Some of your deductions are accurate, others... not quite."

"So you do read minds to decide," Harry pressed on, ever curious. "You probably examine how our traits align with the Founders' philosophies, right?"

"In essence, yes," replied the Hat. "But it's not merely reading thoughts. I examine the core—your personality, potential, values, and the direction your magic flows. The final choice depends most on your dominant traits and how they harmonize with each Founder's legacy."

Harry's mind whirred faster. "How many traits do you even consider? Surely one person could have qualities from more than one House. How do you decide which dominates?"

The Hat chuckled again, the sound warm and rich with nostalgia. "A splendid question. It's been centuries since someone asked that so plainly."

"See, young man," it continued, "I was once the hat of Godric Gryffindor himself. When the Founders decided to build Hogwarts, they realized they couldn't live forever. So they placed a fragment of their wisdom—magic, intellect, and essence—within me. I was enchanted with the combined magic of all four Founders."

Harry interrupted, eyes widening under the brim. "Then—how come the enchantments never faded? That kind of magic should've deteriorated by now."

The Hat gave a pleased hum. "Ah, a mind for magical theory, I see. The reason, my dear boy, is Hogwarts itself. The castle was built upon intersecting ley lines—four of the most powerful in existence. When such energies converge, enchantments bound to this place become... self-sustaining. Eternal, in a sense. That is why my consciousness still thrives, why ancient wards still pulse strong, and why the forest teems with extraordinary creatures. Magic here is alive."

Harry's eyes widened in awe. "So that's why the castle changes—expands, moves staircases, even grows new rooms?"

"Precisely!" the Hat declared with clear pride. "Hogwarts has a sentience born of its foundations. Do you think the Founders built such vast grounds in one go? No, no. The castle grew of its own accord, adapting with the ages, much like those it shelters."

"That's... brilliant," Harry whispered mentally, his heart pounding with wonder. "A living fortress. The greatest magical creation in history."

"Indeed. Now," said the Hat, its tone shifting back to patient instruction, "to answer your earlier question—each Founder identified twenty-four core traits of human nature: eight positive, eight neutral, and eight negative. They acknowledged that every witch and wizard possesses a blend of all. No one is purely brave, cunning, wise, or loyal. They were wise enough to understand nuance."

Harry listened intently as the Hat continued. "When I examine a student, I sense anywhere between twenty to seventy traits, depending on how self-aware or magically developed they are. Then I evaluate which traits burn brightest—the ones most likely to shape destiny. From there, I converse, as we are now, and together we determine where they truly belong."

Harry leaned into the thought, captivated. "So, in a way, every sorting is... personalized. A decision born from conversation, not decree."

"Exactly so," the Hat said, sounding pleased. "A mind like yours rarely comes along, Harry Potter. Most tremble or plead for a House. You ask the why behind it all. How very interesting..."

Harry felt a quiet thrill in his chest. The Hat seemed genuinely intrigued.

"Now then," the Hat said softly, its tone lowering to a hum. "Let us see which of those traits blaze the brightest in you."

Harry felt the world fall completely silent as the ancient magic began to read him, layer by layer.

A ripple of restless murmurs ran through the Great Hall. Four minutes stretched like a slow spell; heads tilted, eyes narrowed. Students nudged one another; a few teachers exchanged amused glances. The Sorting Hat had been quiet far longer than usual.

Under the brim, Harry felt the Hat pause, as if savoring a discovery. Then the voice—old, amused, and surprisingly warm—resumed.

"How very interesting," the Hat said. "You are... remarkable, Harry Potter. A curious weave."

Harry swallowed. "How curious?"

The Hat's thoughts unfurled like a map. "Out of the ninety-six core traits the Founders catalogued, you hold fifty—an astonishing majority. Of those, thirteen align with Gryffindor, twelve with Hufflepuff, thirteen with Ravenclaw, and twelve with Slytherin." It apparently said that part aloud.

Gasps fluttered around the hall like startled birds. Seated friends glanced at one another. Daphne's jaw tightened; Ron's eyes widened until they were nearly comical. McGonagall's pencil paused mid-note.

The Hat continued but now in Harry's mind again, almost proudly. "What is rarer still: among your fifty traits, thirty-two are positive—the very qualities the Founders prized. It is not often in a thousand years that I've found one so balanced and, frankly, so luminous."

Harry felt a wave of mixed pride and anxiety. "Can you tell me what they are?" he asked, voice small under the brim.

"Of course," the Hat replied. "You asked, and I shall show you what I found."

"From Gryffindor," it began, "the positive eight: courageous, chivalrous, determined, possessing strong morals, loyal to allies, protective of others, showing the seeds of inspiring leadership, and prone to self-sacrifice. Neutral Gryffindor tendencies—risk tolerance and a certain thriving in conflict. A few negatives: stubbornness, a budding hero complex, and a streak of disregard for authority."

Harry's cheeks warmed. The Hat's assessment struck too close to truths he had felt but rarely named.

"From Hufflepuff," it continued, "you hold the full eight positive traits: steadfast loyalty, an exceptional work ethic, fair-mindedness, patience, kindness and supportiveness, steadiness under pressure, ethical integrity, and a cooperative spirit. One neutral trait—routine-orientation; and negatives—an inclination to tolerate exploitation, underestimating your own worth, and sacrificing yourself to a fault."

Harry thought of nights in the cupboard, of quiet chores, and of the relief he'd felt when neighbors praised him. Each line felt like a small unlocking.

"Ravenclaw next," the Hat said. "Your Ravenclaw positives are all present: intellectual curiosity, an appreciation for truth, logical decision-making, outstanding problem solving, academic discipline, independent thinking, creative insight, and innovation. Neutral traits include perfectionist tendencies, efficiency, abstract reasoning, and a tendency to prioritize knowledge. Your solitary Ravenclaw negative is a tendency to overthink."

Harry's mind flared—books, experiments, the thrill of figuring things out. The Hat's voice creased with a kind of delighted approval as it spoke of the Ravenclaw traits.

"And Slytherin," the Hat added, its tone growing serious. "You possess the Slytherin positives as well: ambition, strategic thinking, resourcefulness, strong leadership capacities, adaptability, discipline, loyalty to those you choose, and an unyielding determination to excel. Neutral Slytherin traits: privacy, pragmatism, and careful emotional expression. The Slytherin shadow you carry is an occasional over-suspicion."

A hush settled. The Hat's catalogue read like a portrait drawn in precise lines—an impossible portrait that somehow fit. Across the hall, whispers threaded together into a single astonished chorus.

"The Founders," the Hat observed softly, again aloud "would have argued—no, fought—for you. Each would have claimed you as their own."

Harry's pulse thudded, then steadied. He imagined Godric, Helga, Rowena, and Salazar in their old debates, each convinced he belonged to them. The Hat's amusement softened into a respectful murmur.

"It will be difficult indeed," it admitted in his mind again. "Such balance poses a choice not of labels but of destiny. I must go deeper; mere surface traits will not suffice. I shall examine your priorities, the tendencies that steer your choices under pressure, the warmth of your loyalties when parted, the calculation you make when both heart and head demand different paths."

Harry felt the Hat's attention narrow, sharpen to a pinpoint. Beneath the ancient brim, the world outside receded; the Great Hall's candlelight dimmed to a distant glow. He sensed the Hat pressing into subtler things now—memory-scent, decision-spark, the pattern of his breath when afraid and the shape of his hope when alone.

"Deeper now," the Hat said, almost reverently. "Where will your heart push against your mind? Which voice will you follow when everything you love is at stake? I will listen—and you shall answer, if you wish."

Around them, the hall held its collective breath. On the staff table, Dumbledore's eyes gleamed with the unspoken knowledge of thresholds about to be crossed. McGonagall's brow furrowed in that particular way which meant she was keeping both hope and order within her chest.

Harry's mind steadied. He had sought understanding, and the Hat had obliged. Now the choice—if choice there would be—felt less like fate imposed and more like a counsel sought.

"Very well," he thought into the quiet between breaths, "then listen. I will answer."

The Hat settled, and the deeper scanning began.

The Hat was silent for a long moment, and Harry could feel a curious warmth humming against his temples. It was as though the ancient fabric was breathing with him. Then, in that wise, echoing voice, it murmured, "Alright, young Mr. Potter... I have taken a deeper look now."

Harry's heart thudded hard. "And?" he asked in his mind, bracing himself.

"Well," said the Hat, sounding rather amused, "Slytherin and Ravenclaw are out. Not by much, mind you. By tally, you score one hundred and three points for Slytherin—quite impressive—and one hundred and four for Ravenclaw. Both houses would have been proud to claim you."

Harry frowned slightly. "So they're out?"

"For now," replied the Hat. "That leaves us with Gryffindor and Hufflepuff... and here lies the problem. Both stand exactly equal—one hundred and fourteen points each. No matter how deep I delve, I cannot break the tie."

Harry's eyes widened slightly beneath the brim. "A tie? You mean... you don't know?"

"Oh, I know a great deal," the Hat said with dry humor, "but this—this is exceedingly rare. It has not happened in centuries."

Harry's thoughts were racing. Gryffindor or Hufflepuff... courage or loyalty, fire or earth, daring or devotion. He wasn't even sure which felt more like him. Is it even possible to be both?

The Hat chuckled softly in his mind. "You would be surprised how many are close to two houses, but a perfect tie? That, my boy, is a marvel. You see, both your heart and your moral compass are balanced. You have courage without recklessness, loyalty without blindness. Hufflepuff would call you one of their finest... Gryffindor would claim you as one of their greatest."

Harry swallowed, unsure whether to feel honored or terrified. "So what happens now?"

"That," the Hat said cryptically, "remains to be seen."
______________________________

Meanwhile, the Great Hall was steeped in stunned silence. The enchanted ceiling flickered faintly as the minutes dragged on. The students had long stopped whispering; even the teachers exchanged bewildered glances. The Boy Who Lived had now been under the Sorting Hat for nearly thirteen minutes.

"Merlin's beard," whispered a Ravenclaw prefect. "Is it broken?"

"Broken? That Hat's never wrong!" hissed a Slytherin.

At the staff table, Professor McGonagall's lips were drawn thin, though her eyes betrayed fascination. "Thirteen minutes," she muttered under her breath. "He's broken my record..."

Professor Flitwick stood on his chair, squinting. "Remarkable! A true Hatstall! The last was you, Minerva, wasn't it?"

She gave a small nod. "Six and a half minutes. And I thought that was long."

Whispers rippled through the hall like wind over parchment. "Thirteen minutes!" "He's talking to it!" "Maybe it can't decide where to put him!"

Even Dumbledore looked intrigued, fingers steepled beneath his chin, eyes twinkling with the kind of curiosity that meant he was already writing a dozen theories in his mind.

Near the Gryffindor table, Ron leaned forward. "Blimey, what's taking so long?" he muttered.

Hermione bit her lip. "There must be something special about him," she whispered, half in awe.

At the Hufflepuff table, Lily moon exchanged a nervous glance with Hannah Abbott. "Do you think it means he's dangerous?" she asked quietly.

"Dangerous?" Hannah frowned. "He's Harry Potter. He saved the world as a baby."

Across the hall, Draco Malfoy drummed his fingers against the table impatiently. "Honestly," he sneered softly, "how long does it take to decide he's not a Slytherin?"

Even the Hat had spoken aloud once, just loud enough for the hall to hear: "Fascinating! All four founders would be fighting for this one if they were here!"

Gasps had followed that statement, echoing through the Great Hall. Students turned to one another, eyes wide, murmuring in disbelief. A few professors even looked as though they doubted their own ears.
______________________________

Back under the brim, Harry's  pulse thrummed as he thought rapidly. "You said both Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are tied," he repeated slowly, "and you can't break it. What happens if you don't choose?"

The Hat gave a low, amused hum. "That would be quite the conundrum, wouldn't it? It has never occurred in my existence to leave someone unplaced. But you, Harry Potter... you might just be the exception."

Harry's lips twitched despite the tension. "That doesn't sound very reassuring."

The Hat chuckled again. "Patience, young one. The founders themselves must be grinning in their portraits this very moment."

Harry could almost feel the hall's gaze pressing upon him like a physical weight. Every second stretched, his heartbeat loud in his ears, the Hat muttering faintly to itself in thought.

Outside his awareness, the murmurs grew louder. The Boy Who Lived had now become the Longest Hatstall in Hogwarts history.

The Sorting Hat shifted slightly on Harry's head, its brim curling as though deep in thought. Then, in a booming voice that carried across the Great Hall, it declared, "If it were possible, I would sort this boy into all four Houses at once!"

A stunned silence fell. Forks clattered against plates, whispers died mid-sentence, and even the enchanted ceiling flickered for a heartbeat.

The Hat continued, voice rich with amusement, "Or at the very least, both Gryffindor and Hufflepuff... but alas, that is impossible."

A wave of murmurs rippled through the students like wind through reeds.

Then, in Harry's mind, the Hat's tone grew quieter, almost conspiratorial. "So, my boy, it seems the decision must come from you. You must choose—Gryffindor or Hufflepuff."

Harry's breath hitched. "Me? Choose myself?"

"Indeed," said the Hat with a soft chuckle. "You are balanced between courage and loyalty, between daring and devotion. The tie will not break on its own. It must be your will that decides."

Harry's mind whirled. Choose? I'm supposed to choose?

In the hall, tension had turned into a sort of electric excitement. All four House tables leaned forward, whispering feverishly.

At the Gryffindor table, Neville's eyes were wide. "He can be in all four?" he whispered to Hermione.

"That's... that's never happened before," Hermione replied, voice trembling with awe.

Across the hall, Susan Bones was grinning nervously. "He could end up with us!" she whispered to Hannah.

Hufflepuff's table was practically buzzing with hope. Sprout's cheeks were flushed with delight, her eyes shining.

"Imagine," she murmured to Flitwick, "Harry Potter, a Hufflepuff!"

Flitwick, standing on his chair for a better view, clapped his hands gleefully. "Or a Ravenclaw, Professor, though it seems that option's gone!"

McGonagall, however, sat upright, composed yet visibly tense. Her  eyes flicked toward the Hat, and then to Harry. She was hoping, quietly but fiercely, that he would choose Gryffindor.

Snape's expression was unreadable. His black eyes narrowed slightly, but there was a flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps even reluctant respect. He leaned toward Dumbledore and muttered, "All four Houses, Headmaster? That is... unprecedented."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled more brightly than ever. "Indeed, Severus. Hogwarts has not seen such balance in a thousand years."

Back under the Hat, Harry's thoughts tangled in a web of possibilities. Gryffindor... or Hufflepuff...

He took a slow breath, trying to steady his racing heart. Alright, let's think.

Gryffindor had been his parents' house. That alone carried weight. His father had been a Gryffindor, brave and bold, and his mother too, brilliant and kind. There was a legacy there—a history. Wouldn't it be right to follow them?

Yet Hufflepuff tugged at him differently. It was the house of fairness and loyalty, of quiet strength and unwavering kindness. People often overlooked Hufflepuffs, calling them soft, but Harry had seen in the books he read that they produced the most Healers, and some of the finest wizards in magical history. That's what I want—to heal, to protect.

He frowned slightly. Gryffindor's more about glory, Hufflepuff about growth.

His thoughts churned faster. Gryffindor would bring expectations. Everyone already assumed he'd go there—the famous Harry Potter, son of James and Lily. It would be the easy choice, the expected one. But was it really him? Do I want to be what people expect, or what I am meant to be?

The Hat hummed thoughtfully in his mind. "Your reasoning is sound, young one. Gryffindor is a noble choice—courageous, fiery, and strong. Yet Hufflepuff would nurture the healer's heart that beats within you. Both would shape you, but in different ways."

Harry grimaced. "That doesn't make it easier."

The Hat chuckled. "It never does. Destiny rarely gives simple roads."

In the hall, the suspense was unbearable. Even the ghosts leaned forward curiously. Nearly Headless Nick floated just above the Gryffindor table, wringing his translucent hands.

"Come now, young Potter," he murmured, as though Harry could hear him, "don't keep us waiting!"

The Fat Friar, hovering near Hufflepuff's table, beamed cheerfully. "No rush, my boy! Take all the time you need—Hufflepuff's doors are always open!"

Harry almost laughed internally at that. Kindness even in competition. Typical Hufflepuff.

He pressed his lips together, deep in thought. On one hand, Gryffindor would mean legacy, bravery, and honor. On the other, Hufflepuff meant warmth, loyalty, and a chance to grow beyond fame. And he was descendant to Godric Gryffindor too.

My parents were Gryffindors, he thought, but they'd want me to choose where I belong, not where I'm expected to go.

Still, the idea of turning away from his family's house made his stomach twist.

He took a deep breath. "How do I even know what's right?" he whispered to the Hat in his thoughts.

"That," said the Hat gently, "is something only you can decide."

The Great Hall waited, silent and spellbound, as Harry's mind turned over the choice that might define his entire future.

However minutes passed and the Great Hall was restless now. Murmurs rolled like low thunder under the enchanted ceiling, and every pair of eyes remained locked on the boy beneath the Sorting Hat. Seventeen minutes had nearly passed—sixteen and a half to be precise—and the ancient hat still sat motionless atop Harry's head.

Students leaned forward in suspense. "Merlin's beard," whispered someone from the Ravenclaw table. "It's still deciding?"

"Longest hatstall ever," breathed another.

At the staff table, McGonagall's lips were pressed so tightly they had gone white. "Seventeen minutes, Albus," she said quietly, her Scottish brogue clipped with disbelief. "This is unprecedented."

Dumbledore, twinkle bright behind his half-moon glasses, replied softly, "Patience, Minerva. Greatness often takes time to be placed."

Meanwhile, Harry's thoughts churned inside his head. I can't decide... both feel right.

In his mind, he said to the Hat, "I can't do it. They both make sense. I don't know which one fits me better. Gryffindor or Hufflepuff—it's equal. There's got to be something I'm missing."

The Hat chuckled, its voice deep and amused. "Ah, young mind, ever analytical. You see balance as a problem, not as a gift. Yet perhaps knowledge of their founders may offer clarity."

Harry perked up internally. "Yes! Tell me about them. What were Godric and Helga like—before Hogwarts?"

The Hat hummed, as though diving through ancient memories. "Godric Gryffindor was a warrior. A champion of justice. He roamed the wild lands, fighting dark sorcerers and freeing villages from tyranny. His sword was his oath, his courage his creed. He valued bravery above all, though he understood that courage without compassion is but reckless pride."

Harry imagined a noble figure, fierce and fiery. That certainly sounded admirable, though it reminded him too much of the world of duels and battles.

"And Helga?" he asked softly.

The Hat's voice softened, reverent almost. "Helga Hufflepuff was a healer, lad. A legendary one. She travelled far and wide—tended to wounded soldiers after battles, mended cursed wounds, and healed creatures that others feared to touch. She was known for her fairness, her open heart, and her unshakable patience. When the four founders united, it was Helga who insisted Hogwarts welcome all who sought knowledge, not just the gifted or the brave. Her kindness was strength, not softness."

Something in Harry stirred at that—deep, instinctive.

A healer.

His thoughts raced back to his earliest wish—to become a doctor before he even knew he was a wizard. His dream had never been about fame or glory; it had always been about helping, mending, saving lives.

The Hat seemed to sense it. "Ah," it murmured, voice warm with approval. "Now you understand."

"Yes," Harry whispered in his mind, firm and clear. "I've made my choice."

The Hat chuckled once more, delighted. "Very well then. Best be sure, Mr. Potter, because this choice shapes destinies."

"I'm sure," Harry said simply. "Hufflepuff."

For a moment, there was silence—then the Hat's brim split wide, and its voice rang through the Great Hall, loud and triumphant.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"
______________________________

The hall froze, stunned for a second before erupting into chaos. Gasps, cheers, and a few shouts of disbelief filled the vast chamber.

The Hufflepuff table exploded in jubilation. Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones shrieked in delight, nearly knocking over their goblets. Ernie Macmillan whooped so loudly that the Fat Friar clapped his ghostly hands together in pure joy.

"He's one of us!" Ernie shouted. "Harry Potter—HUFFLEPUFF!"

From the Gryffindor table came a collective sigh of surprise. Ron looked absolutely gobsmacked. "Blimey," he muttered. "Hufflepuff?" Hermione, still shocked, gave a small but approving smile. "It makes sense, actually," she murmured. "He's... kind."

Across the hall, Draco Malfoy sat frozen, pale eyebrows lifted in disbelief. "Potter? In Hufflepuff?" He looked like someone had transfigured his broom into a toad. Crabbe and Goyle looked equally confused.

At the Slytherin table, a low murmur of conversation broke out. Theodre Nott smirked faintly. "Unexpected," he said. "Very unexpected."

Ravenclaws, though surprised, broke into polite applause. Terry Boot grinned. "Well, that's something for the history books."

At the staff table, Professor Sprout had tears in her eyes, beaming so hard her cheeks glowed. "Oh, wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!"

McGonagall's composure wavered for a heartbeat before she sighed, smiling faintly. "Helga's house will be stronger for it."

Snape, meanwhile, arched a brow. "Hufflepuff," he said quietly, tone unreadable. "How... unexpected."

Dumbledore's smile deepened, eyes twinkling like stars. "Ah, but fitting," he murmured. "Very fitting indeed."

Harry lifted the hat from his head, heart pounding. As he made his way toward the roaring Hufflepuff table, students reached to clap his shoulders, cheering his name. The Fat Friar floated overhead, blessing him with joyful laughter.

Harry smiled, feeling warmth spread through his chest. For the first time that day, the whispers of fame didn't matter, nor the eyes that followed him. He was exactly where he was meant to be.

He was home.
______________________________

Harry slid into his new seat at the Hufflepuff table, still half-stunned by the echo of the Hat's shout. The hall was alive with murmurs and cheers. The Hufflepuffs were on their feet, clapping and pounding the table in excitement. Susan and Hannah made space immediately, bright smiles on their faces, while Justin leaned over from the other side with a grin so wide it nearly split his face.

"Blimey, Harry! That was brilliant!" Justin said. "Seventeen and a half minutes—you nearly set a record!"

Harry chuckled weakly, brushing his fringe aside. "Didn't feel brilliant. Felt like I was about to grow cobwebs under that hat."

Susan leaned in, her blue eyes gleaming. "You had the whole hall holding its breath. Hufflepuff hasn't had a Hatstall that long in centuries!"

"Suppose the Hat just wanted to make absolutely certain," Harry said, trying to sound casual though his heart still thudded from the intensity of the decision.

Hannah giggled. "Or maybe it couldn't believe the Boy-Who-Lived was coming here!"

He felt his cheeks warm. "It's just Harry," he muttered.

Across the hall, the Gryffindor table erupted in exaggerated wails. Fred Weasley clutched his chest dramatically. "No! The Chosen One of Chaos is lost to us!"

George threw an arm over his twin's shoulder. "We'll light a candle in mourning, brother. A candle and a stolen pudding."

Several students snickered, and even Percy seemed to fight a smile. Harry caught Ron's amused wave and returned it with a sheepish grin. He noticed Hermione, seated at the same table, whispering something to Neville, who looked rather proud.

Cedric Diggory, the third-year boy, made his way down the Hufflepuff table.  "Welcome to the best House in Hogwarts, Harry," he said warmly, offering a handshake.

"Thanks," Harry replied, shaking it firmly.

Cedric smiled. "Ah, right. Good to see you again. You'll fit right in. We've got a solid first-year group this year—bright lot too."

Justin straightened proudly. "We're practically legends already."

Cedric laughed, clapping him on the shoulder before moving on to greet a few of the new arrivals farther down the table.

Harry exhaled slowly, glancing around the Hufflepuff table. The gold and black banners shimmered gently in the candlelight. The warmth in the room seemed different here—solid, comforting, almost tangible.

Helga Hufflepuff was a Healer, he recalled, the thought blooming like sunlight in his mind. Maybe this was always meant to be.
______________________________

The Great Hall still hummed with quiet astonishment. Conversations carried from table to table—curious glances, whispers of "Potter's in Hufflepuff!"—but most faces looked more intrigued than judgmental. Even at the staff table, a few professors exchanged approving nods.

Professor Sprout was positively glowing. "Oh, wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

Professor McGonagall hid a faint smile behind her hand, while Snape's expression could have curdled milk. Dumbledore, meanwhile, seemed utterly delighted, eyes twinkling like twin stars.

"Now that's a turn of fate," murmured the Fat Friar, hovering nearby. "Helga herself would be proud, she would."

The Sorting continued as the last few students approached the stool. Dumbledore raised his hands slightly to restore order, his voice gentle yet commanding. "Settle down, please. We've still a few bright young minds to go."

McGonagall lifted the parchment once more. "Scamander, Rolf."

The hall watched the sandy-haired boy stride forward. Harry perked up; Rolf was another of their little group. The Sorting Hat slipped onto Rolf's head and, after a long moment of murmuring thought, the brim twisted open.

"RAVENCLAW!"

The blue and bronze table broke into cheers as Rolf made his way toward them, grinning sheepishly. It had taken nearly three minutes, yet compared to Harry's marathon, it felt brisk.

Harry applauded with the others, sharing a quick look with Justin. "That's ten of us sorted now," Justin murmured, counting under his breath. "Rolf's the clever one, no surprise he's in Ravenclaw."

Hannah nodded, "Still three left—Lisa, Ron, and Blaise, right?"

Susan smirked. "Reckon Ron's going to Gryffindor for sure."

Harry leaned back slightly, smiling faintly as the next name was called. The air buzzed again with energy, but within him, the storm had calmed. He was where he belonged.

"Scott, Evelyn!"

A red-haired girl with a determined chin strode to the stool. The Hat had barely brushed her curls when it shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor table roared again, waving their arms in welcome. Fred and George Weasley stood and gave theatrical bows, as if she were joining a royal court. Evelyn laughed and hurried over, cheeks pink.

McGonagall's quill hovered again. "Smith, Zacharias!"

A boy with slicked-back sandy hair swaggered forward, adjusting his collar like he already belonged. The Hat took its time—just under a minute—before bellowing, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

The table beside Harry erupted in delight once more. Justin clapped his hands so hard it made the plates rattle. "Aha! Another for our side!" he cheered.

Zacharias smirked and plopped down on the bench opposite Harry. "Seems the Hat knows talent when it sees it."

Hannah rolled her eyes. "Merlin's beard, he's barely sat down."

Next, McGonagall called, "Thomas, Dean!"

A tall boy with dark skin and an easy smile stepped up. The Hat slipped on, muttered briefly, then declared, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindors shouted their approval again, banging their goblets. Dean grinned and waved as he joined the swelling ranks of red and gold.

"Turpin, Lisa!" McGonagall's voice rang clearly.

Harry straightened a little. Lisa was one of their group—bright, quick-tongued, and endlessly curious. She walked to the stool with steady grace, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The Hat seemed thoughtful for a moment, its brim twitching slightly, before calling out, "RAVENCLAW!"

The Ravenclaw table erupted into a refined but enthusiastic cheer. Tiny blue and bronze fireworks burst over their heads. Rolf, who was already seated there, grinned broadly and waved her over.

"Smart choice," Susan murmured with a smile. "Lisa always did have a head full of questions."

Harry chuckled softly, watching Lisa beam as she sat down among the Ravenclaws.

Then McGonagall's eyes moved to the next name, and the Great Hall seemed to hold its breath.

"Weasley, Ronald!"

Ron's ears flushed crimson as he stumbled forward. The Hat had barely settled when it shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor table exploded once more, the twins howling triumphantly. "Knew it!" Fred shouted. "The streak continues!"

"Would've been scandalous otherwise," George added. "Imagine a Weasley anywhere else!"

Ron looked half-relieved, half-embarrassed as he sat down beside Dean and Evelyn. Harry grinned at him from across the hall, giving a subtle thumbs-up.

As the cheering died down, Harry's mind drifted, unbidden, to Ginny Weasley. The memory of the chaotic day surged up vividly—the moment Pettigrew had tried to scuttle away in his rat form, the flash of spellfire, the shock on everyone's faces when Pipkin had popped them straight to Bones Manor.

The room in Bones Manor had smelled faintly of oak and parchment. Amelia Bones had stood tall beside Dumbledore and Cyrus Greengrass.  And then Ginny had appeared beside her mother, eyes wide and cheeks flushed pink.

He could still see that exact moment  and his heart giving a strange, almost painful flutter. She had blushed furiously when he smiled, and though they had spoken only briefly, something had clicked between them—something quiet, certain, and new.

After Sirius's trial, as the adults spoke in relief and exhaustion, Ginny had tugged shyly at his sleeve.

Now, watching Ron join the Gryffindor table, Harry couldn't help smiling at the thought of her. Next year, he mused. Just one year.

A loud clap of McGonagall's hands broke his reverie. "Zabini, Blaise!"

The last student of the night—the tall boy with olive skin and dark, unreadable eyes—approached the stool with measured steps. The Hall fell silent, all eyes following him.

The Sorting Hat settled on his head and remained still for nearly a minute. Then, with a smooth drawl of finality, it cried, "SLYTHERIN!"

The table at the far end of the hall erupted in composed applause—polite but self-assured. Blaise inclined his head slightly, walking to join them with easy confidence.

"That's it then," Justin murmured, counting quickly. "All thirty-six sorted."

"Thirteen of us in our little circle," Susan said softly. "Spread across four Houses."

Hannah smiled. "Guess we'll make Hogwarts interesting this year."

Harry nodded absently, eyes sweeping the hall. The long golden banners shimmered in candlelight, plates gleamed, and the buzz of conversation returned in waves. The Sorting was done. The Great Hall seemed to hum with new beginnings, full of faces, futures, and the promise of seven extraordinary years.

Harry leaned back slightly, letting his gaze drift over the four House tables. The excitement of the Sorting was beginning to fade into a hum of chatter and laughter, but his mind was still busy tallying faces and names. So that's it, he thought. All twelve of them—every single friend I made on the Express—scattered across the castle.

He glanced toward the Gryffindor table where Ron was already laughing with the twins, while Hermione and Neville sat nearby, deep in conversation. Hermione looked animated, waving her hands as she spoke, probably correcting Ron about something again. Neville, however, was listening with the same cautious politeness he had shown all day, though his toad Trevor had apparently escaped again, much to Seamus's amusement.

At the far end, the Slytherin table gleamed with green and silver. Tracey Davis leaned in to whisper something to Daphne Greengrass, both giggling softly while Blaise Zabini maintained his calm, unreadable expression. Harry could already tell that Blaise was the type who noticed everything and spoke little—dangerously observant, in a quiet way.

His eyes shifted upward toward the Ravenclaw table. Rolf Scamander was already in a long discussion with Lisa Turpin, both gesturing excitedly about something Harry suspected had to do with magical creatures. Terry Boot, meanwhile, seemed to be taking everything in with quiet curiosity, his quill already scratching on parchment, perhaps noting observations about the evening.

Finally, he turned back to his own table—the gold-and-black banner of Hufflepuff glowing warmly in the candlelight. Justin was chattering beside him about how impressive the Great Hall was, while Hannah nodded enthusiastically, already halfway through a pumpkin pasty she must have nicked from somewhere. Susan Bones smiled across at Harry, calm and composed as ever, her gentle eyes reflecting the flicker of the candles.

He felt a sense of warmth spread through him. It was strange—only a day ago, they had all been strangers. Then came the chaos on the train, the chase after Pettigrew, the shock of finding Sirius innocent, and the whirlwind at Bones Manor. Yet somehow, in the middle of all that madness, they had formed a bond that felt more solid than anything else he'd known. Thirteen of us, Harry thought, counting silently. Spread across four Houses, but still together.
______________________________

The sound of a chair scraping drew his attention back to the front. Dumbledore had stood, arms open, his eyes twinkling beneath the candlelight like twin blue stars. The entire hall fell silent instantly.

"Welcome, welcome to a new year at Hogwarts!" Dumbledore's voice carried easily through the hall, rich and calm. "Before we begin our feast, I have a few words—just a few."

Harry noticed McGonagall's mouth tighten slightly. She had probably heard that before.

"As many of you must have already heard," Dumbledore continued, "this year marks the beginning of an era of change. Following the International Confederation of Wizards' declaration earlier this year, the Globalisation of Wizarding Education will begin—right here at Hogwarts."

There was a ripple of whispers throughout the hall. Even some of the older students turned to one another in surprise.

Dumbledore raised his hand with a small smile. "Yes, yes, I can see your curiosity. Do not worry, all shall be explained in due time. But for now, let it be known that our world is opening wider than ever before. Students will have opportunities to study not only the traditional magical arts, but also subjects from beyond—mathematics, science, languages, history—bridging the divide between the wizarding and the Muggle worlds."

Harry felt a flicker of excitement. So it's really happening. Professor Vector had mentioned it briefly when she came with Septima to deliver his letter, saying the initiative would allow magical children to understand Muggle sciences, and Muggle-borns to adjust faster to magical learning. Harry had devoured every article about it afterward, fascinated by the possibilities.

It meant he could continue his Muggle education while learning magic. It meant he would not have to choose between one world and the other.

Dumbledore clapped his hands lightly, eyes twinkling even brighter. "But before all that, there is a matter far more urgent. You are hungry, are you not?"

A wave of laughter swept through the hall.

"Well then," he said cheerfully, "let the feast begin!"

Golden platters and silver bowls filled themselves in an instant. Roast beef, shepherd's pie, mashed potatoes, glazed carrots, and steaming puddings appeared all at once. The aroma hit Harry like a spell, and his stomach gave an audible growl that made Susan giggle.

"Dig in, Harry," Cedric said, already piling food onto his plate. "Trust me, Hogwarts feasts are legendary."

"Yeah, I can see that," Harry replied, helping himself to a bit of everything.

For a while, the Great Hall was filled only with the clatter of cutlery, laughter, and conversation. Harry found himself relaxing, listening to the stories around him, feeling for the first time that he truly belonged here.

As he bit into a flaky treacle tart, his gaze wandered once again around the hall—to Gryffindor's bold reds, Slytherin's gleaming greens, Ravenclaw's deep blues, and his own house's warm golds.

Different houses, yes. Different tables, yes. But tonight, under the enchanted ceiling that mirrored the starlit sky, they were all part of something greater.
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Harry looked around the Hufflepuff table, feeling the warm hum of chatter and laughter ripple through it. The House already felt welcoming, like a gentle hearth fire after a long day in the cold. Beside him, Justin was enthusiastically discussing Quidditch with Cedric, who listened with patient amusement. Susan and Hannah were debating which pudding was better—treacle tart or chocolate gateau.

Harry decided it was time to meet the others in his new House. After all, he was a Hufflepuff now, and Helga's words in the Hogwarts history books he'd read still echoed in his mind: "I'll teach the lot, and treat them just the same."

Across from him sat a boy with neatly combed sandy hair and a rather skeptical expression. Harry remembered McGonagall calling him Smith, Zacharias.

"Hey, Zacharias," Harry said politely. "I'm Harry. Good to meet you."

Zacharias arched an eyebrow. "Oh, I know who you are," he said, in a tone that wasn't exactly unfriendly, but not warm either. "Everyone does. Hard not to, really."

Harry gave a small, awkward smile. "Right. Well, I suppose that's true."

Zacharias leaned back, folding his arms. "Still, can't believe the Boy Who Lived ended up in Hufflepuff. Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course," he added quickly, "just... surprising."

Cedric chuckled from down the table. "You'll learn quickly that surprises are a common occurrence around Harry," he said with a grin. "He's had quite a day already."

"Don't remind me," Harry muttered, shaking his head. The others laughed.

Next to Zacharias sat a girl with black curls and kind, curious eyes—Lily Moon. She had been one of the quieter first years during the Sorting. Harry smiled at her. "Hi, Lily. I don't think we've spoken yet."

Lily brightened instantly. "Oh, hello! Yes, I was just too nervous earlier. You looked so calm when you went up—how did you do it?"

Harry laughed softly. "Calm? Merlin, no. My heart was hammering the entire time."

"Really?" she asked, surprised. "You didn't show it. The Hat talked to you forever!"

"That's putting it mildly," Justin said with a grin. "Seventeen and a half minutes! I thought the Hat had fallen asleep."

The table erupted into laughter again. Harry rubbed the back of his neck, blushing slightly. "Yeah, well, it wasn't exactly an easy decision."

Next along the table was a cheerful-looking boy with tousled brown hair and a mischievous twinkle in his eye—Kevin Maxwell. He gave Harry a wide grin. "I was sure you'd be a Gryffindor, you know," he said between bites of shepherd's pie. "I even whispered a galleon bet to Ernie that the Hat would shout it in ten seconds flat."

"Did you lose?" Harry asked innocently.

"Spectacularly," Kevin said. "Ernie's already claimed victory and a chocolate frog tax."

Ernie Macmillan, sitting beside Kevin, puffed out his chest slightly. "A fair bet, honestly. I had faith in Helga's sense of justice. Harry's one of ours. He's got the loyalty and fairness for it."

"Thanks, Ernie," Harry said with a genuine smile.

"Of course," Ernie replied, nodding earnestly. "Hufflepuff values those who are steadfast, hardworking, and kind. You'll fit right in, Potter."

Harry found himself liking Ernie immediately. There was something solid about him—like someone you could trust to keep his word no matter what.

On Ernie's other side sat Emma Hopkins, who had been chatting quietly with Hannah. She had black hair tied with a yellow ribbon and an easygoing air. When Harry greeted her, she smiled warmly. "Hi, Harry. Welcome to the den of badgers. We might not be flashy, but we're steady."

"That sounds about right for me," Harry said. "I've had enough excitement for one day, anyway."

"Give it a week," Justin said teasingly. "With your luck, excitement will come knocking again before breakfast."

Harry groaned good-naturedly. "Don't jinx it."

Cedric raised his goblet. "To our newest badger, then! Longest hatstall in history, future legend of Hufflepuff!"

Everyone cheered, and Harry flushed again, though he couldn't stop the grin spreading across his face. Even Zacharias joined in the clapping, though he still looked mildly skeptical.

As the feast continued, Harry found himself talking more easily with each of them. Kevin was full of jokes, Lily was curious about nearly everything, Emma had a quiet sense of humor, and Ernie was already planning how to organize the first-year study schedules.

He thought about what the Sorting Hat had said—about loyalty, hard work, patience, and kindness—and felt a sense of rightness settle over him. This was his house. His new home.

He lifted his goblet of pumpkin juice slightly, looking toward Susan, Hannah, and Justin, who all smiled back knowingly.

"Hufflepuff," he murmured quietly to himself. "Yeah... this feels right."
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A/n: I hope You like it. Please ignore grammatical and spelling errors. 

Okay, so this is definitely a surprise, right? I honestly had to think long and hard before deciding which house to place him in. One thing was clear from the start—I didn't want Gryffindor, because I really wanted the chance to explore the other houses properly.

So I came up with a method. I carefully listed ninety-six traits and divided them into positive, neutral, and negative categories. After that, I distributed them evenly among all four houses. The process itself was simple in concept, just very lengthy in execution. From there, I selected which traits would count as the major ones and somehow ended up with fifty, as already explained in the chapter.

To make the final decision, I scored each trait out of ten and then totaled the points for each house. And that's how I arrived at the result you see here.

Now, I know the general consensus was that Harry would end up in Ravenclaw. But that assumption is usually based on the positive traits of the House. To clear things up, Harry actually has the positive qualities of all four Houses, which is why the decision came down to his neutral and negative traits instead. And if you look at it that way, his Hufflepuff traits were the ones that ultimately hit the benchmark.

Hey for this story I wasn't able to decide Chapter names easily so for fun why don't you all comment what you think chapter name can be ? I will be waiting.

Thanks for reading. § Hinny Forever § Please Review!!!

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or its universe. All original elements belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This story is a work of fanfiction created purely for entertainment purposes - no copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made. Any original characters, events, or concepts beyond the established canon are the author's own creative additions to expand the magical world respectfully.
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In later part of this chapter it contains introduction of staff which is skippable if needed, though not conventional.

If your are not interested in knowing the qualifications of teachers you can just skim over the parts just to know which teacher teaches which subject !!

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As the golden plates began to clear themselves and the last bits of treacle tart vanished from view, Harry leaned back in his seat, sighing softly. His stomach was full, his eyes felt heavy, and his mind buzzed faintly with everything that had happened that day. The Hall shimmered with candlelight, the enchanted ceiling now a soft indigo scattered with stars. The chatter slowly dulled as Dumbledore stood once again, his tall figure instantly commanding attention.

Harry glanced down at his wristwatch. The hands pointed close to a quarter to ten. “Merlin’s beard,” he murmured under his breath. He had forgotten how long the Sorting and the feast could last. He knew, though, that it was far from over. The Headmaster had promised several announcements—and given how monumental this day had been already, Harry doubted it would be anything simple.

Still, as his eyelids drooped, Harry’s thoughts drifted. It had been, without question, the longest day of his life. It began with his farewell at Privet Drive. He could still picture Aunt Petunia standing at the doorway, pretending not to sniffle, and Dudley awkwardly patting his shoulder before mumbling, “Don’t forget to write, yeah?” Even Uncle Vernon, for all his gruffness, had managed a stiff nod, muttering something about “making them proud.”

Then there had been the Hogwarts Express—an entire world crammed into one scarlet train. He smiled faintly, recalling the moment he’d stumbled into the compartment that changed everything. Twelve new friends. Twelve people who had, in the space of mere hours, become something like family.

He looked around the Great Hall now, eyes finding them easily among the tables. Ron, Hermione, and Neville were laughing softly at the Gryffindor table, Ron already covered in crumbs while the twins exaggerated their mock despair at his absence from their House. Across the room, the Slytherin table was buzzing with its usual poise, yet Harry could see Tracey grinning at something Blaise said, while Daphne gave a restrained but unmistakable smile. The Ravenclaws looked serene as ever—Terry deep in conversation with Rolf, while Lisa was scribbling something down, probably notes already. And of course, his own Housemates—Susan and Hannah on either side of him, Justin across, all three yawning in unison.

“So much for resting early,” Justin muttered, rubbing his eyes.

“Think he’ll talk for long?” Hannah asked, stifling a yawn.

Susan giggled softly. “It’s Professor Dumbledore. He could talk for hours about the meaning of socks if he wanted.”

Harry chuckled faintly but didn’t reply. His gaze had returned to the Headmaster, who stood patiently waiting for silence. Yet his mind refused to stay still.

He thought of the afternoon again—Bones Manor. The chaos, the fear, and the relief that followed. He could still hear Pettigrew’s pitiful whimper as the Aurors bound him. The look of stunned disbelief on Sirius’ face when Harry had called him “Padfoot.” The warm, fierce embrace that followed—it still lingered like a comforting spell over his heart.

Then there was Ginny. His stomach did a peculiar twist at the thought of her fiery hair and shy smile. She had been so quiet at first, peeking at him from behind Molly, but when their eyes met—it had been like a spark igniting. He had barely managed to keep his composure when she blushed. “Next year,” she had said softly when they parted, “you’ll have to show me everything about Hogwarts.”

Harry grinned absently. He had promised to write, and he would keep that promise, no matter what.

He rubbed at his temples, feeling exhaustion sweep through him again. From bidding goodbye to family, meeting friends, fighting Pettigrew, witnessing Sirius’ trial, seeing Dumbledore’s kindness, and enduring the Sorting Hat’s endless deliberation—it was no wonder his head felt full.

A deep yawn escaped him before he could stop it. Susan noticed. “Long day, huh?” she whispered kindly.

“The longest,” Harry murmured, managing a weak smile. “Feels like I’ve lived a whole year in one day.”

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” Cedric joked. “It only gets stranger from here.”

Harry laughed softly. He couldn’t argue with that.

As he turned back toward the front, he saw Dumbledore raise both hands. Instantly, the hall fell silent. Even the candles seemed to pause their flickering. The old wizard’s eyes twinkled brightly, though his expression carried gravity.

“Now that we have all been suitably fed and, I hope, not yet fallen asleep on our plates,” Dumbledore began, his voice carrying easily across the hall, “I must ask your patience for just a few more moments. There are... quite a number of matters to discuss before we retire.”

Harry straightened slightly, forcing his tired eyes to stay open. He had the feeling that whatever came next was going to matter greatly.

All around, his friends looked equally weary yet alert. Even the ghosts seemed to lean in, curious. The hum of anticipation filled the air once more as Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles and surveyed the crowd.

Harry blinked rapidly, trying to stay awake, but to his surprise, Dumbledore’s voice had that curious energy that made it impossible to drift off. The old wizard wasn’t droning like most headmasters might after a long feast—he spoke with warmth, wit, and just the right measure of sparkle. It was almost as if he understood that most students were only half-awake, and he was determined not to lose them to sleep before his announcements were through.

“Welcome again, one and all, to another year at Hogwarts,” Dumbledore began, smiling broadly, his eyes twinkling beneath the candlelight. “And to our new first-years—welcome home. I do hope the Sorting Hat did not scare any of you too much.”

A few chuckles rippled through the Hall. Harry smiled faintly. Even from this distance, he could see the ease that Dumbledore carried—a natural calm that softened the fatigue blanketing the room.

“As I mentioned earlier,” the Headmaster continued, raising a hand, “the International Confederation of Wizards has officially implemented the Globalisation of Magical Education. This is a landmark step forward, and Hogwarts will be one of the first institutions to adopt its framework.”

He paused, allowing the words to sink in. The older students murmured amongst themselves, clearly intrigued. Harry’s thoughts flickered back to what Professor Vector had told him weeks ago—about how the ICW plan would merge magical and non-magical curricula, giving witches and wizards a broader understanding of both worlds.

“So,” Dumbledore said with a genial grin, “without wasting more time with my ramblings, let us proceed as per the new protocol. I must introduce every member of our esteemed faculty, starting with myself.”

That earned a ripple of amusement through the hall. A few older students whispered jokes, and someone at the Gryffindor table snickered, “Does he really need to introduce himself?”

Dumbledore chuckled lightly, clearly having heard. “Yes, yes, I assure you I am aware most of you already know who I am. But rules are rules, and we must all learn to live with them.”

He straightened slightly, his expression shifting to one of mock solemnity. “My name, as you all know, is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. I serve as Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in addition to being Chief Warlock of Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of ICW. This year, however, I shall also be taking up teaching responsibilities.”

That statement caused a visible ripple across the Hall. Harry noticed several of the older students exchange astonished looks. Even the prefects seemed caught off guard.

“Yes,” Dumbledore continued with a chuckle, clearly amused by their reactions, “I will indeed be teaching Alchemy this year, along with a few other subjects that fall under the category of what the ICW now classifies as ‘Rare Arts.’ Specifically, I shall handle Elemental Magic, Sub-Elemental Magic, Wandless Magic, and Aura Magic.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. So Dumbledore wasn’t just Headmaster—he was going to teach too? The thought was oddly thrilling.

The Headmaster lifted a parchment from the lectern and, to everyone’s further surprise, began reading out formal credentials in a measured voice. “As per the new global protocol, I am to state my qualifications. I am a Master of Alchemy under Nicolas Flamel, with triple mastery in Transmutation, Defence and Spiritual Metallurgy. I hold a Doctorate of Elemental Studies from the Academia Arcanum Europaea in Geneva, a Grand Certification in Wandless and Aura Magic from the Himalayan Sanctum of the Seven Circles, and I have served as a Research Fellow at the Arcane Institute of Prague, where I specialized in sub-elemental harmonics.”

The entire hall was silent for a moment. Even the portraits seemed to be paying attention. Then a few students let out low whistles.

Harry couldn’t help but feel impressed. He had always known Dumbledore was powerful, but hearing all that made it sound as if the man had studied every possible branch of high wizardry.

Dumbledore, apparently sensing their awe, waved his hand modestly. “I fear that sounds much grander than it truly is,” he said with a soft chuckle. “I am merely very old and very curious.”

That drew laughter from the tables, easing the tension once again.

“Now,” Dumbledore continued, tone turning practical, “before anyone gets too excited, these subjects are available only to sixth- and seventh-year students. However, even then, they are considered extra subjects—completely optional. Sixth years who choose to pursue them will have the option to sit for N.E.W.T.s in the following year once the international examination boards establish their criteria.”

A collective groan escaped the older students, though some looked excited. Harry noticed a few seventh-years muttering in mild disappointment.

“Do not worry,” Dumbledore added kindly, “seventh years will not have to suffer the trials of an experimental N.E.W.T. this year. You are safe—for now.”

Laughter broke out again, sleepy yet genuine.

Harry grinned faintly. He had to admit, Dumbledore knew exactly how to keep everyone’s attention. It was not the monotonous list of names and rules he had feared; rather, the man had a knack for turning even the most formal announcements into something oddly engaging.
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“Now then,” Dumbledore said, adjusting his spectacles once more, “let us continue down the list, for we have many remarkable professors among us.”

Harry leaned forward slightly, fatigue momentarily forgotten. He found himself eager to hear who else taught what. Something told him Hogwarts was about to feel even larger, richer, and more mysterious than ever before.

Dumbledore’s voice carried easily through the enchanted ceiling, smooth and rich as honey, the flickering candlelight from the floating candles glinting in his spectacles. “Now,” he said cheerfully, “our next introduction should be quite familiar to most of you—particularly our first-years who had the honor of being guided by her to this very Hall not long ago.”

Harry looked toward the staff table where Professor McGonagall sat, back perfectly straight, lips pursed in her usual stern fashion. Despite her rigid demeanor, her eyes shone warmly behind her square spectacles.

“Professor Minerva McGonagall,” Dumbledore continued with clear fondness, “serves as Deputy Headmistress, Head of Gryffindor House, and Professor of Transfiguration. She is, without question, one of the most formidable witches of our age—and one of my dearest colleagues.”

McGonagall inclined her head slightly, though her expression softened, betraying the faintest smile. The Gryffindor table erupted into enthusiastic applause, joined by polite clapping from the rest of the hall.

“As per ICW protocol,” Dumbledore said, tone now turning formal, “her qualifications are as follows. Professor McGonagall holds a Mastery in Transfiguration from the University of Edinburgh for Magical Arts. She earned Advanced Certification in Human-to-Animal Transfiguration and Animagus Control from the Scottish Academy of Metamorphic Studies, and she graduated from Hogwarts itself, Class of 1954, with Distinction in Magical Theory, Spell Construction, and Precision Charms.”

Harry whistled softly under his breath. The list sounded both elegant and terrifying. It made perfect sense, he thought, that she could transform a matchstick into a needle in less than a blink.

“Furthermore,” Dumbledore added with a twinkle in his eye, “she is a registered Animagus—one of the very few in Britain—able to transform into a tabby cat with markings around her eyes that resemble her spectacles.”

A ripple of laughter passed through the first years, while older students nodded knowingly. Susan leaned toward Harry and whispered, “She’s brilliant, isn’t she?”

“Brilliant and slightly scary,” Harry whispered back with a grin.

McGonagall gave the two of them a pointed look from across the hall as though she had somehow heard, which promptly silenced them both.

Dumbledore chuckled lightly. “A word of caution,” he said, his gaze sweeping the room, “do not let her calm demeanor fool you. If you ever find yourself late to class or caught in the corridors after curfew, you will soon learn that Professor McGonagall’s patience is formidable—but not infinite.”

The Gryffindors laughed loudly at that, while several Hufflepuffs exchanged nervous glances.
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“Now,” Dumbledore continued, “moving on to another of our long-standing masters of magic, and someone whose energy and kindness light up these ancient halls—Professor Filius Flitwick.”

A cheer rose from the Ravenclaw table, where several students banged their goblets in applause. The small, cheerful Charms Master stood and bowed deeply, his silver hair glimmering under the candlelight.

Dumbledore smiled warmly at him. “Professor Flitwick is, of course, the Head of Ravenclaw House and our esteemed Professor of Charms. However, under the ICW’s global education initiative, he will also be introducing a new optional subject this year—Duelling. This course will be available to third years and above, and while no O.W.L. or N.E.W.T. exams will be offered this year, they will be included in next year’s academic framework.”

Excited murmurs broke out across the hall, particularly among the older students. Even Harry felt a flicker of intrigue. He remembered vividly the stories Flitwick had shared during their brief encounter in Diagon Alley—the tales of grand tournaments, wand duels that flashed like lightning, and the discipline required to master spell precision.

“Duelling?” Justin whispered beside him, eyes alight. “That sounds brilliant!”

“Flitwick’s teaching it too,” Susan added. “We’re in good hands.”

Dumbledore raised a hand for calm before continuing. “Professor Flitwick’s qualifications, for the record, are quite impressive. He is a Grandmaster of Charms from the Continental College of Spellcraft and Enchantment in Bruges. He is also a Master Duelist, accredited by the International Wizarding Duelling Federation—an undefeated European Champion for seven consecutive years.”

The Hall buzzed in astonishment. Harry blinked. “Seven years?” he muttered. “That’s… mental.”

“Oh, it gets better,” Dumbledore said with that same knowing glint in his eyes. “Professor Flitwick is a Certified Instructor in Advanced Wandwork and Spell Precision from the London Academy of Magical Combat, and he holds multiple Mastery Seals in Enchantment Theory and Defensive Spellcraft.”

The applause that followed was thunderous. Flitwick gave a humble wave of his tiny hand, looking quite overwhelmed by the enthusiasm.

Harry couldn’t help but smile. Flitwick had always seemed cheerful, but now Harry realized there was real power beneath that friendly exterior—a kind of grace that only came from mastery.

As the clapping died down, Dumbledore looked around the Hall, his eyes twinkling again. “I do hope all of you, especially our ambitious young students, are taking notes,” he said lightly. “These are the witches and wizards who will shape your future. If their accomplishments seem extraordinary, it is because they have spent a lifetime in pursuit of knowledge. You, too, may find such greatness within your reach—provided you do not fall asleep in class.”

A ripple of laughter swept the room. Harry leaned back slightly, exhaustion giving way to admiration. Hogwarts, he realized, wasn’t just a school of magic. It was a place where legends taught lessons.
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Professor Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles and gave that peculiar twinkle of satisfaction that always seemed to precede something fascinating. “Now then,” he began, clasping his hands lightly, “let us move from charms and dueling to something rather more... grounded.” His gaze turned to the rows of students, lingering briefly on the Hufflepuff table where Harry sat upright, eager. “Professor Pomona Sprout.”

A round of polite applause followed as Professor Sprout stood up from her seat, her face framed by a wide, earthy grin. Her robes bore faint smudges of soil, and a cluster of tiny luminescent vines wound lazily around her left wrist, glowing like sleepy fairies. “Evening, everyone!” she said cheerfully, her voice bright and warm like sunlight after rain. “I’ll be seeing most of you in the greenhouses before long, and I do hope none of you mind getting a bit of dirt under your nails.”

Harry grinned. There was something wonderfully genuine about her—no grandeur, no stiffness, just kindness and curiosity wrapped in a gardener’s coat.

Dumbledore nodded with approval. “Professor Sprout,” he said with a fond smile, “is the Head of Hufflepuff House, and has served Hogwarts with loyalty and diligence for nearly two decades. Those of you fortunate enough to call Hufflepuff your home”—his eyes flicked to Harry, Susan, and the others—“will find her door always open, provided you wipe your feet before entering.”

A ripple of laughter moved through the Hall. Professor Sprout chuckled, shaking her head. “He’s quite right, you know! My poor carpets have survived far too many muddy boots to count.”

Harry leaned slightly toward Susan. “She seems... exactly like what I imagined Hufflepuff would be,” he whispered.

Cedric smiled knowingly. “Wait until you see her in the greenhouses. She can make Devil’s Snare behave like a puppy.”

Professor Sprout straightened her hat, then addressed the students herself. “Now, my main field is Herbology. We’ll study everything from Flutterby bushes to the rare Himalayan Frostleaf. You’ll learn to grow, harvest, and use magical plants safely—though safety is relative when a plant can bite.”

Justin snorted quietly. “Wonderful. Plants that bite back.”

“Better than cauldrons that explode,” Hannah muttered, smirking.

Dumbledore raised a hand. “However, Professor Sprout will also be introducing a subject long absent from Hogwarts curriculum—an ancient branch of practical and restorative art, recognized as one of the Rare Arts.” He paused meaningfully, letting murmurs of curiosity spread. “Culinary Magic.”

Even the Ravenclaws perked up. Someone from the Gryffindor table whispered, “Cooking spells?”

Professor Sprout’s eyes sparkled. “Not quite, dears. Culinary Magic isn’t about conjuring pies from thin air. It’s about healing and nourishing through magical foodcraft—herbal alchemy through taste, if you will. It blends Herbology, Charms, and Healing Magic. The meals themselves can carry enchantments for vitality, energy, or even mild resistance to curses.”

Harry’s mind reeled. Healing through food? That was brilliant. “Like... magical nutrition?” he murmured.

“Precisely,” Sprout said, overhearing him. “You’ve got a quick mind, Mr. Potter. It’s the closest branch of magic to the heart, they say. You’ll learn how herbs, roots, and even runic cooking methods can influence the body’s magical balance.”

Dumbledore’s eyes gleamed again. “A rare and beautiful art indeed. Unfortunately,” he continued, “as with all subfields of the Rare Arts, Culinary Magic will only be open to students in their sixth and seventh years. Its study demands not just patience but an advanced understanding of Herbology and Healing.”

Groans echoed across the tables. A Gryffindor near Seamus muttered, “Figures. Always the best stuff for the older years.”

Professor Sprout gave an amused smile. “Worry not. The foundations you learn in Herbology will serve you well. By the time you reach sixth year, you’ll have green fingers and steady wands.”

Harry sat back, processing every word. To think that his Head of House was both a master gardener and a magical chef of sorts—it fit perfectly. A Healer could learn much from such a woman. “That’s... actually incredible,” he thought to himself. “Healing through what we eat—it’s like nurturing life from the inside out.”

Dumbledore cleared his throat, tone once again gentle but commanding. “Professor Sprout’s qualifications speak for themselves,” he said. “Mastery in Herbology from the Devonshire Institute of Magical Botany, an Advanced Diploma in Alchemical Plant Studies and Magical Ecology from the Continental Greenward Academy in Switzerland, and certification as a Magi-Culinary Practitioner from the Guild of Culinary Magi in Florence.”

There was a soft gasp from the students—Florence was well-known even among wizardkind for its ancient Guilds.

“Furthermore,” Dumbledore continued, “she apprenticed under Elladora Fennelby, the foremost expert in hybrid magical flora. It was Fennelby who once cultivated the Silverleaf Basilisk Fern—a plant thought impossible.”

Professor Sprout gave a modest wave of her hand. “Oh, I merely helped prune it a little before it tried to eat the greenhouse cat.”

The laughter this time was louder, and even Dumbledore chuckled. “Yes, quite. You will find Professor Sprout’s classes both enlightening and, occasionally, adventurous.”

Harry felt warmth settle in his chest. This, he thought, was what belonging felt like. A house that cared, a teacher who embodied kindness and life, and a branch of magic that aligned with his deepest wish—to heal.

He smiled faintly to himself as Dumbledore moved to introduce the next professor. “Fortis et Fidelis,” he thought, recalling his family’s motto. Strong and faithful—like Hufflepuff’s roots in the soil.
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The Great Hall quieted again as Dumbledore’s voice flowed smoothly across the air, calm yet carrying weight. “Now,” he began, “we move from the nurturing world of herbs to something far more... temperamental.” His eyes glimmered as though he knew what reaction would come next. “Professor Severus Snape.”

The name seemed to ripple through the students like a cold breeze. Conversation faltered, and the air took on a tense stillness. From the staff table, a tall, dark figure rose. His black robes swished sharply, and the light from the floating candles reflected off his pale face like moonlight on obsidian.

Harry felt the change immediately—the atmosphere tightened, as if the room itself drew a wary breath. Snape’s expression was unreadable, lips pressed thin, eyes sharp and calculating. Harry couldn’t tell if the man was angry or simply born that way.

“Merlin’s beard,” Justin muttered quietly, “he looks like he’d expel someone for breathing too loud.”

Susan elbowed him. “Shh! He might hear you.”

Snape’s voice, when it came, was low and silken, with an edge that sliced through the hall. “I am Professor Severus Snape,” he said. “Head of Slytherin House. Those of you who value discipline, intellect, and precision will find that my expectations are high. Those who do not—will find my patience limited.”

Harry could swear that Snape’s eyes lingered a second longer on the Hufflepuff table. He stiffened, unsure why.

Dumbledore inclined his head politely. “Professor Snape, as most of you already know, has long served as our Potions Master, and will continue to do so. However, beginning this year, he will also take on another subject under the new curriculum adjustments introduced by the International Confederation of Wizards.”

Whispers erupted again. Harry turned to Hannah, who frowned. “Another?” she whispered.

Dumbledore raised his hand for silence. “As part of the ICW’s global education initiative, the discipline of Defense Against the Dark Arts has been formally divided into two specialized branches. One remains the traditional ‘Defensive Magic,’ which emphasizes protection and defense against hostile forces. The other, newly introduced at Hogwarts, focuses on ‘Dark Arts and Offensive Magic.’”

The murmur that followed was not of curiosity this time—it was of unease. Several students visibly flinched at the words Dark Arts. Harry noticed even the Ravenclaws looked uncertain, while the Gryffindors exchanged nervous glances.

Snape stood perfectly still, his expression calm but his eyes gleaming with an unfathomable light.

Dumbledore, anticipating the reaction, smiled reassuringly. “Now, now, I assure you it is not as dreadful as it sounds. The Dark Arts component is entirely theoretical. It is essential that witches and wizards understand the mechanics of such spells, not to use them, but to better defend against them. Knowledge, after all, is our first and most potent shield.”

A collective exhale passed through the hall.

“As for the Offensive Magic aspect,” Dumbledore continued, “it will include advanced work on counter-curses, tactical dueling, and spells of controlled power such as Reducto, Expulso, and Confringo. Professor Snape is more than qualified for this post.”

Harry leaned forward, fascinated despite himself. “So… they’re separating attack and defense,” he thought. “Makes sense. You can’t heal what you don’t understand.”

Beside him, Ernie whispered, “Still sounds like something from Durmstrang.”

Harry’s eyes widened slightly. “Wait, didn’t Dumbledore just say ICW? Durmstrang probably already teaches that…”

His thoughts were confirmed when Dumbledore began listing Snape’s credentials, each more impressive than the last.

“Professor Snape,” he said, “holds a Triple Mastery in Potions, Dark Arts, and Defensive Spellcraft from the Durmstrang Institute of Magical Excellence. He is also a Certified Spellwright in Offensive and Counter-Curse Design from the European College of Magical Warfare.”

Gasps and whispers fluttered through the crowd. Even some older students looked impressed despite their apprehension.

“Furthermore,” Dumbledore continued, “he has completed an Advanced Research Fellowship in Magical Toxicology and Alchemical Reversal at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. And he apprenticed under none other than Damocles Belby, the inventor of the Wolfsbane Potion.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “That’s… actually remarkable,” he thought. “Wolfsbane—the one that helps werewolves stay human during the full moon. So he’s a genius… just a scary one.”

Snape inclined his head slightly, the faintest acknowledgment of the murmurs his qualifications provoked. “I expect diligence,” he said, his voice slicing through the air again. “Those who enter my classroom will treat the subject with seriousness. Curiosity without restraint can be dangerous. Foolishness—fatal.”

A few first-years swallowed hard. Harry caught Susan biting her lip nervously.

Dumbledore chuckled softly. “Professor Snape’s lessons may seem demanding, but rest assured, they serve a noble purpose. Understanding the darkness is not surrendering to it. It is learning to master fear through knowledge.”

Snape gave a brief, curt nod, then seated himself with a sweep of his robes that sounded almost like thunder.

Harry exhaled. “Strict? Definitely. Unpopular? Probably. Brilliant? Undoubtedly.” He wasn’t sure whether to be intimidated or intrigued. “Still,” he thought, watching the black silhouette at the staff table, “anyone who can brew Wolfsbane can’t be just ordinary. There’s more to him than meets the eye.”
______________________________

The Great Hall remained hushed for a few moments, the flickering candles reflecting in Snape’s dark eyes. Then, as if sensing the tension had lingered long enough, Dumbledore’s smile returned—soft, bright, and completely unfazed by the shadows beside him.

Dumbledore’s twinkling gaze drifted further down the staff table. “And now,” he said, his tone deliberately lighter, “we come to one of Hogwarts’ most… enduring members of staff.”

A faint ripple of curiosity spread among the students. Then, as a misty figure floated up from his seat, a collective gasp filled the Great Hall.

Harry blinked once, then twice. “No way,” he muttered under his breath. “He’s… a ghost.”

Indeed, the professor’s form shimmered faintly in the candlelight. His edges flickered like smoke caught in a breeze, and a faint trail of mist lingered where his sleeves should have been. His expression, however, was entirely indifferent, as though floating at a dinner table among the living was the most ordinary thing in the world.

“Merlin’s saggy socks,” whispered Ron in disbelief, gaping at the apparition. “A ghost professor?”

Across the table, Hermione whispered, “That must be Professor Binns! The History of Magic teacher!”

Harry could tell even the older students were staring, whispering among themselves. Clearly, this was not a common sight. Perhaps, Harry thought, the ghost didn’t usually show up at feasts.

Dumbledore, for his part, seemed entirely at ease, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Allow me to introduce Professor Cuthbert Binns,” he said warmly. “He has taught at Hogwarts for… quite some time now.”

A few Ravenclaws chuckled quietly.

Dumbledore clasped his hands behind his back, his voice lilting with fond humor. “In fact, Professor Binns has been teaching here since long before most of your grandparents were born. He was already a professor when I was a mere student—why, I still recall dozing off during one of his lectures on the Goblin Rebellions of 1612. Truly unforgettable, though perhaps not for the right reasons.”

A ripple of laughter coursed through the hall, and even some of the teachers exchanged amused looks. Only Binns himself appeared entirely unbothered. His translucent face remained impassive, his eyes gazing somewhere past the ceiling, as if deep in thought about events several centuries ago.

Harry couldn’t help but grin a little. “So even Dumbledore fell asleep in his class. That’s saying something.”

The Headmaster continued smoothly, though his grin widened. “I am happy to announce that Professor Binns will, mercifully for our time tables, not be taking on any new subjects under the ICW reforms. One History of Magic is quite enough to keep the past alive—quite literally, in this case.”

That earned a louder laugh from the students. A few claps even echoed from the Hufflepuff table.

Beside him, Susan whispered with a giggle, “I bet he teaches without noticing the bell too.”

Harry snorted softly. “Bet he doesn’t even notice if students leave halfway.”

Dumbledore chuckled as though reading their thoughts. “Professor Binns, as some of you may know, has been a cornerstone of this institution for centuries. Before joining Hogwarts, he was the Master Historian of the Oxford Collegium Arcanum—in the eighteenth century, if I recall correctly.”

That provoked several surprised murmurs. Even the Slytherin table looked intrigued.

“He earned multiple doctorates in Magical History, Ancient Civilizations, and Wizarding Law Codices during his lifetime,” Dumbledore went on, his tone both reverent and teasing. “He also authored the once-definitive text ‘Chronicles of Magical Britain: From Merlin to the Statute of Secrecy’, though I believe it was written on parchment so fragile that a sneeze could turn it to dust.”

Laughter broke out again. A faint smile—barely perceptible—seemed to flicker across Binns’s misty face, though it might just have been a trick of the candlelight.

“He also served,” Dumbledore added, “as the Chief Archivist for the Ministry’s Department of Magical Records before joining Hogwarts. His expertise remains unparalleled, even by the living.”

That last line was met with another chuckle.

Professor Binns floated a little higher, looking faintly pleased. “I am gratified to see that the spirit of learning has not diminished,” he began in a slow, monotone drawl, “as it had during the reign of—”

“Thank you, Professor Binns,” Dumbledore interrupted gently, raising one hand before the ghost could continue. “We would not wish to begin the new term with an unabridged lecture on the historical fluctuations of wizarding bureaucracy.”

The hall erupted in laughter again, louder this time.

Harry could see a few of the teachers trying to stifle their amusement. Professor Flitwick nearly disappeared behind his goblet, and even stern Professor McGonagall’s lips twitched.

Unfazed, Binns inclined his spectral head. “Very well, Headmaster. We shall… continue… in class.”

A collective groan rose from the students, and Dumbledore’s smile turned knowingly mischievous.

“Indeed,” he said with a twinkle, “that will be something for you all to look forward to.”

Harry leaned back in his seat, still smiling faintly. “I think I’ll need a potion to stay awake in his class,” he murmured to Hannah.

She grinned. “Maybe Snape can brew one.”

The laughter that followed their exchange faded into the general hum of the hall, but Harry’s eyes lingered on the ghostly professor. Despite the humor, there was something strangely fascinating about a man who had died and simply… continued teaching.

As Dumbledore gestured lightly and moved on, the ghost drifted back into his seat. The faint shimmer of his form faded slightly as he folded his misty hands and returned to staring ahead, looking for all the world as if history itself sat quietly among them.
______________________________

Dumbledore’s eyes gleamed as his gaze shifted toward the far end of the staff table where a poised witch with deep brown skin and sharp, intelligent eyes sat gracefully beneath the star-flecked ceiling. “Our next professor,” Dumbledore announced with that easy charm that seemed to flow as naturally as magic itself, “is one whose work quite literally reaches for the stars. Professor Aurora Sinistra.”

Polite applause filled the hall as Professor Sinistra inclined her head, her expression calm yet dignified. Her silver earrings, shaped like crescent moons, glinted under the floating candles, and the constellation-patterned robes she wore shimmered faintly, as though enchanted by the night sky itself.

“Professor Sinistra,” Dumbledore continued, “will as always be teaching Astronomy, one of our core subjects. However, in line with the International Confederation of Wizards’ globalisation reforms, she will also be instructing in another one of the subdisciplines of the Rare Arts — Ritualistic Magic.”

That caught immediate attention. The hall seemed to hum with interest, whispers darting across the tables. Harry noticed a few older students sit straighter, their curiosity piqued.

“Ritualistic Magic,” Dumbledore elaborated, “is a delicate, complex branch that intertwines celestial energy, enchantment theory, and runic harmonics. It shall, however, be limited to sixth and seventh years, as with the other Rare Arts. Those of you hoping for NEWTs in it will have to wait until the following academic year. And she will also be teaching another new subject Enchanting, which will be open for 3rd years and above. Enchanting is rather self explanatory. ”

Harry’s eyes followed Professor Sinistra as she offered a polite nod in acknowledgment. “She brings an exceptional range of qualifications to our school,” Dumbledore went on.

His tone warmed as he listed them, clearly delighted by her scholarship.
“• Mastery in Astronomical Magic and Celestial Phenomena from the University of Alexandria for Arcane Sciences.
• Advanced Certification in Enchanting and Stellar Binding from the Lunar College of Ritual Arts, Prague.
• Doctorate in Theoretical Astromancy and Ritual Energetics from the European Wizarding Institute of Arcana.
• And a former researcher at the Observatoire de Magie Céleste in France, where her studies quite literally pushed the limits of magical cosmology.”

The students murmured in admiration. Even Hermione, seated over at the Gryffindor table, appeared utterly captivated.

Harry leaned toward Justin and whispered, “She sounds like she could charm the stars themselves.”

Justin chuckled. “Wouldn’t put it past her. She looks like she already has.”

Laughter bubbled softly between them before Dumbledore spoke again. “We are truly fortunate to have Professor Sinistra guide us through both the heavens and the mysteries of the arcane beneath them.”
______________________________

There was a moment of genuine applause before Dumbledore, with barely a pause, shifted to the next introduction. “Now, our next professor is one whose intellect and precision make her as formidable as she is brilliant — Professor Septima Vector.”

Harry’s heart gave a small jump of recognition. He remembered her visit vividly — the sharp quill, her efficient tone, and how she had been the first to explain the ICW globalisation directly to him.

Professor Vector stood, her auburn hair tied neatly, spectacles perched low on her nose. Her expression was composed, her eyes gleaming with that distinct Ravenclaw sharpness.

“As many of you know,” Dumbledore said, “Professor Vector teaches Arithmancy, the ancient art of magical numerology and predictive mathematics — a subject that has challenged and, at times, confounded many bright minds.”

Laughter rippled lightly through the hall. Professor Vector inclined her head, smiling thinly.

“However,” Dumbledore continued, “this year she will also be teaching a new subject as part of the ICW globalisation initiative — Mind Arts.”

That announcement caused a stir. Conversations broke out immediately across the tables — whispers, startled glances, and even a few uneasy frowns.

Harry leaned forward slightly, intrigued. “Mind Arts?” he murmured. “Like, mind reading?”

“More like mind defense,” Susan whispered back knowingly. “Aunt Amelia told me ICW wanted to make that mandatory soon for higher-level schools.”

Dumbledore allowed the chatter for a moment before raising a hand. The hall quieted. “Mind Arts,” he explained, “is a delicate field concerning magical cognition, perception, and mental fortitude. It will cover two subdisciplines: Occlumency — the art of protecting one’s mind — and Legilimency — the art of perceiving thoughts or emotions.”

A visible shiver ran through several students.

“Rest assured,” Dumbledore added quickly, “these subjects will be taught with utmost care and ethical structure. They are open to third years and above, elective in nature, and, as with all new subjects, OWLs and NEWTs will not yet apply until next year.”

His twinkle turned mischievous as he added, “Some of you might wonder why Professor Snape is not handling this subject. Though quite capable, he has, ah… declined the opportunity.”

A ripple of laughter passed through the students, though Harry caught the tightening of Snape’s jaw and the flicker of annoyance in his eyes. Declined, my foot, Harry thought silently. Looks more like ICW didn’t trust him with it.

Dumbledore, as if aware of that silent conclusion, smoothly continued. “Professor Vector’s credentials, of course, speak for themselves.”

He read them clearly, each line punctuated with quiet awe from the students.
“• Mastery in Arithmantic Theory and Predictive Magic from the European Academy of Numeromancy, Vienna.
• Doctorate in Magical Cognition and Thought Dynamics from the Oxford Institute of Psychic Studies.
• Certified Practitioner of Mind Fortification and Legilimency Defense from St. Mungo’s Department of Mental Integrity.
• Former research mathematician at the Department of Mysteries, specializing in applied magical probability.”

“Merlin’s beard,” Justin whispered in awe. “She sounds terrifyingly smart.”

Harry smirked. “Explains why ICW wanted her for the Mind Arts. Bet she could do arithmetic inside your head without you even noticing.”

The tables chuckled again softly, while Dumbledore clapped his hands once, beaming at both professors. “Two minds that touch the stars and the self — may Hogwarts grow wiser under their guidance.”

Harry leaned back, letting Dumbledore’s words echo in his mind. The hall still shimmered faintly under the starry ceiling, and he couldn’t help thinking that with teachers like these, Hogwarts felt like the very heart of the magical world.
______________________________

“Now,” said Dumbledore, his tone slipping into that familiar blend of charm and whimsy that seemed to command attention without effort, “our next distinguished professor hardly needs an introduction—though I shall give her one nonetheless, in the spirit of fairness.” His eyes twinkled as he gestured toward a small, misty-eyed woman seated halfway down the table. Her robes were made of gauzy layers of silvery fabric that shimmered like fog, and her spectacles were so large they magnified her eyes to an almost comical degree.

Professor Sybill Trelawney blinked owlishly behind her lenses, her expression distant as though she were gazing through the veil of reality itself. A faint scent of incense drifted down from where she sat, mixing curiously with the aroma of roast beef and treacle tart.

Harry could not help noticing that many of the teachers looked politely disinterested, or in some cases, outright uncomfortable. Professor McGonagall’s lips were pressed into the thinnest line imaginable. Snape’s usual sneer deepened slightly, while Professor Flitwick seemed to be studying the edge of his goblet rather intently. Even Hagrid looked uncertain, though he gave Trelawney a hearty wave when she caught his eye.

Dumbledore went on, his voice rich with humor. “Professor Sybill Trelawney will once again be teaching Divination. Those who have taken her class before know it is a subject that—how shall we put it—requires a touch of faith.” A few upper-year students chuckled softly, and the twinkle in Dumbledore’s eyes brightened. “Indeed, it is one of the older branches of magic taught here at Hogwarts, and I daresay one of the most… mysterious.”

Trelawney inclined her head gracefully, her many bracelets clinking softly. “The Inner Eye is not given to all,” she said airily, her voice dreamy and faraway. “Only to those who open themselves to the whispers of destiny.”

Ron muttered under his breath, “Sounds like Mum when she’s talking to the clock.” Harry bit back a laugh, though he noticed Hermione rolling her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall out.

For some reason, when Harry looked up again, he found Professor Trelawney staring directly at him. Her magnified eyes seemed to glimmer strangely in the candlelight. A chill prickled down his neck.

“Ah,” she breathed, in a voice so soft it barely carried beyond her own seat, “the shadow of two paths lies heavy upon that boy…”

A murmur rippled down the table. Dumbledore, ever graceful, cleared his throat delicately. “Thank you, Sybill. Your… insight is, as always, both impressive and timely.” His tone was light, yet firm enough to draw her back to the present. Trelawney blinked rapidly, then nodded and turned her gaze back toward her teacup.

Harry exchanged glances with Susan and Hermione. “Did she just—?”

“Don’t mind her,” whispered Susan. “She’s been making strange predictions since the seventies. Ninety percent of them never come true.”

“Yeah,” said Ernie, smirking, “but what about the other ten?”

Harry shrugged, trying to shake off the odd feeling. Something about the way she had said it—two paths—lingered uncomfortably in his mind.

Dumbledore, unbothered by the whispers, continued in his genial manner. “Divination, as always, is an elective course beginning in the third year. Those who wish to gaze into crystal balls or interpret the tangled patterns of fate may do so under Professor Trelawney’s most capable supervision.”

“Capable,” muttered McGonagall so quietly that only Flitwick beside her could have heard.

“As for Professor Trelawney’s credentials,” Dumbledore went on, his eyes glinting mischievously, “she graduated with distinction from the Seer’s Academy of Inner Eye Studies in Cornwall, specializing in Prophetic Dream Interpretation and Crystal Channeling. She is also a certified practitioner of Tea-Leaf Reading, Crystalomancy, and Astrological Divination, all accredited by the British Guild of Seers.”

There was a polite round of applause, though Harry noticed it was noticeably lighter than before. Even Dumbledore’s tone, though warm, carried a subtle undercurrent—as though he too recognized that her qualifications, compared to the astonishing resumes of earlier professors, seemed rather modest.

Still, the headmaster’s twinkle never dimmed. “Some of you may wonder why Professor Trelawney is not often seen at our feasts,” he added lightly. “The answer is simple—our castle’s kitchens, while abundant in delights, do not cater well to incense and etheric vapors. Tonight, however, she has graciously joined us in the mortal realm.”

Laughter rippled through the hall, even among the teachers. Professor Trelawney gave a vague smile, clearly uncertain whether to be flattered or offended.

Harry leaned toward Susan and whispered, “So she’s like Binns then—barely shows up?”

“Apparently,” she whispered back, grinning. “Except Binns is literally dead.”

Harry stifled another laugh, shaking his head. Still, when his eyes drifted once more to Trelawney, she seemed to be staring dreamily at the ceiling, mouthing something under her breath. The faintest glimmer of starlight reflected off her spectacles, and Harry could have sworn, just for a heartbeat, that she smiled at him knowingly—as though she had seen something after all.
______________________________

“Now then,” said Dumbledore, once again clapping his hands softly, his voice filled with that same sparkle of wit and warmth, “before any of you begin nodding off into your pudding, allow me to introduce a man whose company is quite impossible to sleep through.”

A ripple of laughter spread through the Hall. Harry blinked, surprised to realize that his drowsiness had completely disappeared. It was as if Dumbledore’s presence alone carried some sort of gentle wakefulness charm.

“Professor Silvanus Kettleburn,” Dumbledore declared, sweeping a hand toward the end of the staff table, “will be continuing his long and illustrious service to Hogwarts. Many of you older students will already know him as our resident expert on the care and—ah—occasional chaos of magical creatures.”

The man Dumbledore indicated was an odd sight indeed. He looked to be somewhere near Dumbledore’s age, with wild tufts of grey hair sprouting in every direction and a face lined deeply with age and enthusiasm rather than weariness. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing an assortment of scars and what looked suspiciously like a prosthetic wooden hand.

“Evenin’, everyone!” boomed Kettleburn cheerfully, raising the wooden hand as if to wave. “Still got this one left—well, mostly!”

A burst of laughter filled the hall. Even Professor Sprout chuckled softly. Dumbledore smiled with unmistakable fondness.

“As lively as ever, Silvanus,” he said. “Now, many of you will recall that Professor Kettleburn has taught Care of Magical Creatures for decades. What some of you may not yet know is that, under the International Confederation of Wizards’ new academic reforms, several long-standing subjects have been revised and expanded.”

He paused, letting the murmurs settle. “In this case, Care of Magical Creatures has been divided into two specialized fields, rather like our Defense Against the Dark Arts department.”

Harry noticed several older students exchange startled looks. “Divided?” whispered Susan beside him. “That’s new.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “Indeed. Professor Kettleburn will now focus on the theoretical branch, Magizoology, which concerns itself with the physiology, anatomy, biochemistry, habitat, ecology, and behavioral patterns of magical creatures. A field of great importance, and,” he added dryly, “slightly less likely to involve being singed, bitten, or devoured before tea.”

Kettleburn gave a hearty laugh. “No promises, Headmaster! The nifflers in the north wing have been awfully restless lately!”

Dumbledore chuckled along, the amusement between the two men genuine. There was a kind of old camaraderie there—respect wrapped in humor. Harry watched them and felt sure that the two must have been classmates once, or at least contemporaries. The way Dumbledore spoke to him—half teasing, half admiring—felt far too personal for mere colleagues.

“Professor Kettleburn,” Dumbledore continued, “has devoted his life to the study and understanding of magical fauna. He holds a Mastery in Magizoology and Creature Care from the University of Wyrmwood in Wales, and an Advanced Certification in Creature Magic and Cross-Species Communication from the Nordic Collegium of Elemental Beasts in Norway.”

Kettleburn grinned, his remaining hand rubbing the back of his neck. “That was the year I nearly froze my tail off studying frost trolls!”

Even Snape’s lips twitched slightly at that.

Dumbledore went on, “He also earned a Doctorate in Magical Ecology and Environmental Balance from the International Magizoological Society, and served for many years as a Field Researcher and Creature Liaison for the Ministry. In short, there are few alive who know more about the living wonders of our world than Professor Kettleburn.”

The Great Hall broke into warm applause. The older students, especially those from Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, cheered loudly—Harry noticed that several seemed genuinely fond of him.

“Blimey,” Ron whispered. “He’s still teaching? Fred and George said he lost a leg to a manticore or something.”

“More like three fingers, two toes, and part of an eyebrow,” murmured Lisa absently, her eyes fixed on Kettleburn. “He’s practically a legend.”

Harry smiled faintly. Legend or not, what struck him most was how happy the man looked. He radiated enthusiasm like a sunbeam. It was clear that his love for magical creatures burned brighter than any fear of injury or age.

Dumbledore, ever the orator, concluded, “It is a testament to his dedication that, despite certain... encounters of an occupational nature”—the hall chuckled again—“Professor Kettleburn has chosen not to retire, but to adapt, shifting from fieldwork to the realm of theory. Hogwarts is honored to retain both his wisdom and his stories—though I must remind him that the latter are best kept under ten minutes apiece.”

Kettleburn barked a laugh loud enough to startle a few first years. “No promises there either, Headmaster!”

Harry found himself grinning, he felt something warm and familiar—a spark of admiration that reminded him of reading about great healers and scientists. This, he thought, was what he wanted to be: someone who loved their craft so deeply they never stopped learning.

Dumbledore gave a final nod to his colleague. “Welcome back, Silvanus. May your nifflers remain tame and your lectures flame-free.”

That earned one more round of laughter, and the applause that followed had genuine affection behind it. Even the ghosts were smiling—Nearly Headless Nick gave a small clap of approval.

As the noise settled, Harry leaned back, his mind alive and alert. Sleep was the last thing on his mind now. Each introduction made him realize that Hogwarts was not merely a school—it was a gathering of brilliant, extraordinary people, each with a story carved deep into the very stones of the castle.
______________________________

Harry was still grinning faintly when Dumbledore leaned toward Professor McGonagall, who whispered something into his ear. Whatever she said made the old wizard blink, his expression shifting into one of mild sheepishness.

“Oh, dear me,” Dumbledore said, straightening his half-moon spectacles and looking out at the students with a twinkle of self-mockery. “It seems even headmasters are not immune to forgetfulness. Thank you, Minerva, most observant as always.”

McGonagall gave a thin, knowing smile that spoke volumes.

“Ah, yes,” Dumbledore continued, his tone regaining its usual musical rhythm. “Before we proceed, I must correct a small oversight. Professor Kettleburn will also be teaching one of the subdisciplines under the newly revived field of Rare Arts, specifically Creature Magic. Much like the others, this subject shall be offered to sixth and seventh-year students only.”

Kettleburn beamed, his wooden hand thumping the table with enthusiasm. “Splendid! A chance to study the bond between creature and caster! I daresay the nifflers will behave better than most students, eh?”

The hall burst into laughter once again. Harry couldn’t help but chuckle too. Dumbledore’s expression softened with fond amusement before he turned toward the other end of the staff table.

“And now,” he said, his voice regaining its lilting brilliance, “to a scholar whose mastery of ancient wisdoms could make even a sphinx blush. Please join me in welcoming Professor Bathsheda Babbling.”

A tall witch with warm bronze-brown skin and a halo of curly hair inclined her head graciously. Her spectacles glimmered faintly in the candlelight, and her long silver earrings shaped like runes jingled softly as she moved.

“She will, of course,” Dumbledore said, “continue to guide our students in the art of Ancient Runes, a subject that, I assure you, remains every bit as vital as it is misunderstood.”

At this, a few older students chuckled knowingly.

“However,” he went on, “under the International Confederation of Wizards’ academic restructuring, Professor Babbling will also introduce a new subdiscipline within the Rare Arts—Architectural Magic. This field concerns the integration of runic arrays, enchantment frameworks, and structural warding within magical architecture. And another new subject Warding which unlike Rare Arts will be open from Year 3 onwards.”

Hermione leaned forward, eyes shining with interest. “Architectural Magic! That’s brilliant—like magical engineering!”

Ron muttered, “Sounds like a headache waiting to happen,” earning a soft elbow from her.

Harry listened intently. He had always been fascinated by how runes seemed to bind magic into form—symbols giving shape to power. Architectural magic sounded like the kind of thing that could build hospitals or magical sanctums—something useful for healers.

“Now,” Dumbledore continued, his tone growing a touch more formal, “as per the ICW Globalisation Decree, certain modifications have been made to the structure and syllabus of Ancient Runes. These are not minor changes, I must warn you.”

Several students whispered in concern.

“Rest assured,” said Dumbledore, raising a calming hand, “Professor Babbling will explain the details during her first lessons. They are particularly important for those preparing for their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. Knowledge, as always, evolves—and our curriculum must evolve with it.”

Professor Babbling inclined her head again, her voice carrying a lyrical accent when she spoke. “Thank you, Headmaster. I look forward to helping students see that runes are not mere symbols carved into stone, but the very language through which the world’s magic hums.”

“Beautifully said,” murmured Dumbledore approvingly, before his voice rose once more for the hall to hear. “As to her credentials—Professor Babbling has achieved a Mastery in Ancient Runes and Sigil Theory from the Runic Conservatory of Uppsala, Sweden. She later earned her Doctorate in Magical Architecture and Structural Warding from the Continental Institute of Arcane Engineering in Heidelberg.”

Harry noticed several Ravenclaws straightened up proudly at that.

“She also holds an Advanced Certification in Symbolic Linguistics and Rune Integration from the Nordic Guild,” Dumbledore went on, “and before joining us at Hogwarts, she served as Senior Enchantress for the Ministry of Magic’s Department of Magical Infrastructure.”

The room erupted into polite applause. Professor Babbling smiled softly, looking both humbled and proud.

“She’s a genius,” whispered Ernie Macmillan from beside Harry. “Mum said the Ministry still uses her runic stabilization matrix in vault construction.”

Harry raised his brows. “So she’s one of those people—makes the world work and no one knows their name.”

Justin grinned. “Exactly.”

Dumbledore let the applause fade before he added with characteristic charm, “Professor Babbling’s expertise ensures that our castle will not crumble under the weight of so much learning. Should anyone find themselves lost in a runic labyrinth, I assure you, she’s the one to ask.”

A few chuckles rippled across the hall again. Even the usually stoic Snape seemed faintly amused.

Harry leaned forward slightly, fascinated by how Dumbledore kept the entire room attentive. Each professor he introduced felt not like a dull announcement but a story unfolding—a living portrait of magic itself.

He glanced at Professor Babbling again. Her calm, scholarly air reminded him of those healers he’d seen at St. Mungo’s who could perform miracles simply by understanding structure and symbol.

“Architectural Magic,” he murmured under his breath. “Maybe one day I could learn that too.”

Cedric, seated across the table, caught his words and grinned. “Looks like someone’s already thinking ahead to seventh year.”

Harry smiled faintly. “Maybe. Just seems like there’s so much to learn… and every subject sounds better than the last.”

Cedric nodded. “That’s Hogwarts for you.”

As Dumbledore moved to speak again, the light in the enchanted ceiling shimmered with soft, silvery hues, as though the castle itself approved of what it had heard. The room seemed alive with the pulse of new possibilities, and Harry could feel it—magic was not just wands and spells. It was knowledge, depth, and wonder.
______________________________

Dumbledore’s voice carried across the Great Hall with that unhurried calm that somehow drew every ear closer. “Now,” he said, eyes twinkling over his half-moon spectacles, “let us welcome back one who is already well known to many of you. Rubeus Hagrid will be resuming his duties as Keeper of Keys and Grounds.”

A loud cheer rose from the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. Hagrid, towering beside the staff table, gave a bashful wave, his shaggy beard hiding the blush spreading beneath it. Harry grinned up at him. He had only met the man once—briefly, the evening before—but already liked him immensely. There was something warm and genuine about Hagrid’s rumbling laugh and his enormous, calloused hands that treated Maple as if she were a newborn kitten.

Harry’s thoughts briefly drifted to his golden retriever. Maple must be in Hagrid’s hut now, he mused, probably chewing on something she shouldn’t. Hagrid had promised to send her to the Hufflepuff common room later that evening.

Dumbledore’s tone softened, though his words carried an undeniable authority. “As I mentioned earlier during Professor Kettleburn’s introduction, Care of Magical Creatures has now been divided into two complementary courses. Professor Kettleburn shall continue to teach Magizoology—the theoretical and research aspects of our magical fauna—while Professor Hagrid shall instruct you in the practical branch, titled Care and Grooming of Magical Creatures.”

Whispers rippled through the hall. Some approving, some uncertain. Harry noticed that many Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs looked delighted—Fred and George Weasley were already grinning ear to ear, whispering something mischievous to Lee Jordan. The Slytherin table, however, had a few tight faces and turned lips. Several older students exchanged disdainful looks. Among them, Harry spotted a sneer from a dark-haired boy two seats away from Daphne.

Still, Daphne, Tracey, and Blaise seemed genuinely pleased, their smiles subtle but sincere. Across the room, most Ravenclaws appeared contemplative rather than disapproving, their brows furrowed as though weighing an argument.

Harry leaned toward Susan. “Why’s everyone reacting so differently?” he whispered. “He seems nice enough.”

Susan gave a thoughtful look. “It’s a bit complicated,” she murmured. “My aunt told me that Hagrid was expelled from Hogwarts about fifty years ago—something to do with a dangerous creature. But Dumbledore hired him afterward as Groundskeeper. The Ravenclaws aren’t sure if someone expelled could be a good teacher, and some Slytherins…” she hesitated, glancing at the table in question, “…well, they’re prejudiced because there are rumors he’s half-giant.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose slightly. He had read about giants—massive, powerful beings often feared for their aggression. He also remembered reading about how the wizarding world treated them: with suspicion and discrimination. So that’s it, he thought, his jaw tightening. Prejudice. Same old rot.

Dumbledore’s voice, calm yet commanding, cut through the murmurs. “I am aware,” he began, “that there are many tales about Rubeus’s past. Allow me to state plainly that his expulsion was unjust. The matter has long since been rectified. Not only was he cleared of all false charges, but the International Confederation of Wizards restored his wand rights in full.”

That silenced even the most skeptical whispers. Dumbledore’s eyes glimmered as he continued. “Furthermore, Professor Hagrid is no mere caretaker. He completed the Magizoological Field Training Program under Professor Kettleburn himself, focusing on the ethical treatment and handling of magical beasts. He holds a license from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and”—his tone brightened with a hint of pride—“he apprenticed under none other than Newt Scamander for practical field experience in creature management and welfare.”

Gasps and murmurs rose again—this time, mostly impressed. Rolf Scamander, seated at the Ravenclaw table, leaned toward Lisa and called out cheerfully, “That’s true, sir! Grandpa mentioned him once—said Hagrid had a natural way with beasts, even the cranky ones.”

Hagrid’s face went crimson. “Ah, well, ol’ Newt’s too kind,” he mumbled, ducking his head.

Dumbledore gave a satisfied nod. “Indeed. I trust that all of you will show Professor Hagrid the same respect as any member of this faculty. His lessons may involve mud, feathers, and the occasional singed eyebrow, but they will teach you more about compassion and courage than you can imagine.”

Harry grinned wider. Beside him, Justin whispered, “Singed eyebrows? Merlin’s beard, what’s he planning to teach us—fire-breathing chickens?”

Susan giggled softly. “You’ll see. Auntie once said his creatures are… memorable.”

As laughter rippled through the younger students, Harry’s gaze drifted back to Hagrid, who was now smiling sheepishly under Dumbledore’s praise. Falsely accused, but still standing proud, Harry thought. That’s real strength.
______________________________

Dumbledore’s voice flowed smoothly into the next introduction, the light from the candles flickering against his silver beard. “Now,” he said, his tone warm, “we come to someone who has long tended to your scraped knees, bruised egos, and far more dangerous injuries—Madam Poppy Pomfrey.”

Polite applause echoed through the hall as the mediwitch stood, her crisp white robes gleaming under the floating candles. Her expression, as ever, was brisk yet kind, the sort of look that could silence a room or soothe a frightened child.

Harry leaned forward a little, eyes bright. Finally, he thought, the Healer I’ve been waiting for.

Dumbledore smiled at her, his eyes twinkling. “Madam Pomfrey shall, of course, continue in her role as Mediwitch. However, the International Confederation of Wizards has approved a new academic expansion under her expertise. Beginning this year, she will also teach a new subject: Healing.”

A buzz went through the hall instantly. Some of the students looked intrigued, others confused. Harry felt his pulse quicken. “Healing!” he whispered excitedly to Susan. “Finally something that actually deals with medical magic!”

Hannah chuckled at his enthusiasm. “You really do sound like my aunt sometimes,” she said.

Dumbledore continued, “This course will be available to students beginning in their third year. It will be optional, though I suspect many of you will find it rewarding.”

Harry’s face fell slightly. “Third year?” he muttered in dismay. “That’s two years away!”

Across from him, Justin smirked. “Patience, mate. You’ll live to see it.”

Harry rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless. Still, at least it exists, he told himself, and I’ll be ready.

Dumbledore raised a hand to quiet the low murmur. “Healing,” he said thoughtfully, “requires precision, compassion, and an exceptional grasp of core magical disciplines. Only those proficient in Potions, Charms, Herbology, and Transfiguration may pursue it. Each of these subjects is essential to a Healer’s craft.”

There were a few groans from around the hall. “That’s half the syllabus already!” someone complained from the Ravenclaw table.

“Half the syllabus,” Dumbledore agreed mildly, “but a full measure of wisdom.”

A light laugh rippled through the Great Hall. Harry, however, looked determined. “Potions, Charms, Herbology, and Transfiguration,” he murmured under his breath, committing them to memory. Fine then. I’ll master all four if it means becoming a Healer.

Dumbledore’s tone shifted slightly, a faint glimmer of mystery entering it. “Madam Pomfrey will also teach another subject—a subfield of the Rare Arts, in fact—called Soul Magic. Like other Rare Arts, it will be reserved for sixth and seventh years. This discipline explores the essence of life and consciousness, and it is not a path for the faint-hearted.”

Gasps rose from the older students. Even some professors exchanged glances. Harry could feel the subtle weight in the room, the kind that came whenever something profound was spoken. Soul Magic, he thought, the words resonating in his mind. Healing the spirit itself.

Dumbledore gave a satisfied nod. “Those who aspire to become Healers may take Healing at their O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. levels. Doing so shall exempt them from the entrance examinations of medical institutions. However, those who choose later to pursue Healing may still apply after N.E.W.T.s, provided they hold strong results in Potions, Herbology, Charms, and Transfiguration, along with Defense Against the Dark Arts—or, as our new curriculum defines, its dual divisions: Defensive Magic, and Dark Arts with Offensive Magic. Naturally, they must still pass their entrance examinations.”

Harry’s mind was already racing ahead. So there’s a direct path, he thought eagerly. Healing at Hogwarts, and no entrance exam later. That’s brilliant!

“Merlin’s beard,” Justin whispered. “Sounds like a load of hard work.”

“It’s worth it,” Harry said simply. “Healing people… that’s what really matters.”

Susan looked at him with quiet admiration. “You’d be a great Healer, Harry.”

Before he could reply, Dumbledore spoke again, his tone formal now. “For those who may wish to know Madam Pomfrey’s credentials, allow me to list them—though her record speaks for itself.”

He gestured toward her as he read. “Mastery in Magical Healing and Restorative Medicine from St. Mungo’s Academy of Medical Magic. Advanced Certification in Soul Restoration and Vital Essence Theory from the Aetheric Healing Sanctum, Avalon. Certified Mediwitch by the British Guild of Magical Healers.”

A round of applause broke out across the hall, this time much stronger. Even the skeptical Ravenclaws seemed suitably impressed. Hagrid clapped so hard his massive hands echoed off the walls.

Pomfrey inclined her head modestly, though Harry could see a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Dumbledore added lightly, “So, students, if you find yourself in the Hospital Wing, try not to faint at the sight of Madam Pomfrey’s needlework—it may soon become your homework.”

Laughter swept through the hall. Pomfrey huffed, though her eyes gleamed with amusement. “Headmaster,” she said crisply, “I prefer my patients conscious, thank you.”

Harry chuckled quietly. As the laughter faded, his thoughts lingered on the words Healing and Soul Magic. There was something powerful, almost sacred about them. A flicker of excitement and resolve kindled in his chest. One day, he vowed silently, I’ll study both. I’ll become a true Healer—not just of bodies, but of souls.

The candles shimmered, casting golden halos above the enchanted ceiling, as Dumbledore moved gracefully to the next name. Harry sat back, still smiling faintly, heart alight with purpose.
______________________________

Harry’s mind was still swirling with thoughts of Healing and Soul Magic when Dumbledore’s genial voice once again filled the Great Hall. “Now,” he announced cheerfully, “let us glide—quite literally—to our next esteemed instructor. Madam Rolanda Hooch!”

There was an immediate buzz among the students, especially the older ones who already knew her. The sharp-eyed witch stood, her short silver hair gleaming under the candlelight, yellow hawk-like eyes glinting with energy.

Dumbledore smiled fondly. “Madam Hooch will, of course, be returning as our Flying Instructor and Quidditch referee. However,” his voice grew animated, “under the new ICW globalisation system, she shall also teach two additional subjects—both inspired by the Muggle educational framework.”

Several heads turned at once, and a few murmurs ran through the hall. Muggle subjects being taught at Hogwarts was a rare sight indeed.

“The first,” Dumbledore continued, “is Physical Education. This course shall be optional yet open to all years. It will include physical exercise, athletics, yoga, swimming, endurance training, and more. I highly recommend participation to everyone. Even a wizard’s body benefits from movement!”

There was laughter among the students. The old man’s tone, humorous yet persuasive, made the idea sound oddly exciting.

“Besides,” he added with a mischievous glint in his eye, “it is said that regular exercise not only strengthens your body but also makes it… aesthetically pleasing.”

That caused an eruption of giggles and cheers from every table. The older Gryffindor boys whistled, the Ravenclaws chuckled, and even some Slytherins smirked.

Harry grinned. Now that sounds fun, he thought. Finally, something familiar.

Dumbledore allowed the amusement to settle before continuing. “The second new subject shall be Sports and Games. Hogwarts will now host far more than Quidditch alone. Under Madam Hooch’s supervision, you shall have access to a range of athletic pursuits. There will be wizarding sports such as quadpot, broom racing, and flying obstacle courses, as well as Muggle sports—badminton, football, cricket, and several others. In addition, the curriculum shall include both Muggle and magical games, from chess and gobstones to carrom and similar diversions.”

The entire hall seemed to come alive with chatter. The idea of organized sports other than Quidditch was entirely new to most of them.

Harry, meanwhile, felt a surge of warmth rise in his chest. Badminton! he thought in delight. I can play again! Memories flooded him—his primary school gymnasium, the wooden rackets, the smell of chalk and polish, and the face of Mr. Turner, his first P.E. teacher.

It had been badminton, he recalled, that had changed everything. He had won the state-level championship at ten, and for the first time, Uncle Vernon had looked at him not with disgust, but with pride. That victory had melted years of silence between them, and their home had begun to feel like a family’s rather than a battlefield. If it weren’t for badminton, Harry mused fondly, things might never have changed.

“Oi, Harry,” whispered Justin beside him, grinning. “You play badminton?”

Harry nodded, smiling. “Yeah. Used to compete back in primary school. Guess I’ll get to play again now.”

“Brilliant!” Justin said. “I’ll sign up just to see if I can beat you.”

“Good luck,” Harry replied, smirking. “I’ve got a mean smash.”

At the head table, Dumbledore’s voice rose once again, cheerful and confident. “Like Physical Education, Sports and Games will be optional and available to all years. It shall include practical examinations, but rest assured—they will test your performance, not parch your brain. Moreover, achievements in this subject will be formally recognized and recorded in your academic resume. Such records are valued by both the Ministry and the Muggle world for those considering professional athletic careers.”

Neville, from the Gryffindor table, looked doubtful. “Physical exams? That means running, doesn’t it?”

Seamus laughed. “You’ll live, mate. Maybe.”

Harry chuckled quietly. The atmosphere felt light and lively, a refreshing change after the heavier introductions earlier.

Dumbledore’s tone softened slightly, his words now carrying the elegant rhythm that always captivated the hall. “Madam Hooch’s experience speaks for itself. She holds a distinguished record both in magical and Muggle sport. Allow me to recount her qualifications for your admiration.”

He adjusted his glasses and read with deliberate pride, “Graduate of Appleby School of Athletic Magery with a focus on Applied Flight and Aerial Dynamics. Former Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies’ Reserve Team, 1960 to 1966. Certified Quidditch Referee by the International Quidditch Association. And—most remarkably—she holds dual qualifications in Muggle Sports Education and Kinetic Conditioning from Loughborough University’s Department of Physical Education.”

The applause this time was genuine and enthusiastic. Even some Slytherins clapped politely.

Hooch gave a curt nod, her grin sharp and fierce. “Thank you, Headmaster,” she said. “Rest assured, students, by the end of this term, every one of you will learn the art of balance, agility, and coordination. Whether on the ground or broom, laziness will be exiled from this castle!”

A collective groan rose from the hall, followed by laughter.

Harry smiled again, excitement bubbling in his chest. Hogwarts wasn’t merely a school of spells and potions anymore—it was growing into something far broader, bridging both worlds he belonged to.

As Dumbledore moved on to the next introduction, Harry thought with a soft grin, Magic and badminton in the same timetable? Maybe this place really is perfect.
______________________________

“Now,” Dumbledore declared, his voice resonant and warm, “we arrive at the next member of our esteemed faculty. A familiar face to some of our older students—Professor Charity Burbage.”

Polite applause followed as a slender witch with light brown hair and kind eyes rose from her seat. Her smile was warm, almost motherly, though there was a touch of nervousness in her expression. Harry noted the faint ink stains on her fingers and thought she looked like someone who spent hours with parchment and quills.

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “Professor Burbage,” he said with gentle fondness, “has long served as our instructor for Muggle Studies. In its former incarnation, the course was, shall we say, somewhat narrow in scope. It was recommended primarily for pure-blood students, so they might better understand the non-magical world.”

There was a ripple of laughter around the hall. A few pure-blood students shifted awkwardly in their seats.

Dumbledore continued smoothly, “Of course, many muggle-born students also enrolled, often hoping for an easy O in their OWLs and NEWTs. Yet, our dear Charity fought valiantly for years to reform the syllabus—to modernize it, to make it meaningful. Alas, the Board of Governors, in their infinite wisdom, repeatedly declined her proposals.”

His tone was playfully dry, and several professors chuckled knowingly.

Harry could not help but grin. It sounded like the Board had been as stubborn as Vernon when he refused to buy a microwave.

“However,” Dumbledore said, his voice now bright with satisfaction, “thanks to the ICW Globalisation Initiative, change has at last arrived. The old Muggle Studies subject shall now retire with dignity, replaced by a far more structured—and expansive—curriculum.”

Every head in the room lifted with renewed attention. Even the ghosts looked intrigued.

Dumbledore raised a hand dramatically. “Henceforth, what was once a single elective has now been divided into nine academic disciplines—each mirroring a field of Muggle education. These are full subjects in their own right, taught at the intellectual standard of prestigious Muggle institutions. Best of all,” he added with a gleam in his eye, “their qualifications can be officially recognized and converted by the Ministry, should any witch or wizard wish to pursue a career in the Muggle world.”

A stunned murmur spread across the hall. Hermione Granger’s eyes lit up like twin candles. “That’s brilliant,” she whispered to Harry, almost vibrating with excitement.

Harry smiled faintly. He had to admit, the idea of Hogwarts students earning Muggle-equivalent degrees was nothing short of astonishing. Finally, he thought, something that connects both worlds properly.

Dumbledore went on with his typical flair, “Out of these nine new disciplines, Professor Burbage will teach three. The first—‘Muggle Studies: Basics’—will function as an introductory course, particularly recommended for pure-blood students wishing to understand the Muggle world. It will replace the old version entirely.”

A few Slytherins groaned softly. Harry caught Blaise Zabini smirking. “Bet Malfoy’s thrilled,” he muttered under his breath.

“The second,” Dumbledore continued, “will be English Literature. This subject shall explore the written works of the non-magical world—their poetry, their plays, their prose. Some of you,” he added with a wink, “might even learn that Shakespeare was, in fact, a Squib… or perhaps not.”

The hall erupted in laughter. Harry chuckled too, though part of him wondered whether Dumbledore was serious.

“And finally,” the Headmaster said, his tone returning to its stately rhythm, “Professor Burbage will also instruct History of the Muggle World. This shall be the study of non-magical civilizations—their wars, revolutions, inventions, and progress—without magical interference. After all, to truly understand coexistence, one must first understand the other side’s journey.”

There was something almost profound in the way Dumbledore said it. Even the rowdy Gryffindor table had gone quiet for a moment.

Harry thought about it deeply. Growing up in the Muggle world, he had studied history in primary school—Romans, World Wars, kings, and queens. Yet here, he realised, wizards might see it as foreign knowledge. Strange, he thought, how divided the two worlds have been all this time.

Dumbledore’s eyes softened as he turned to Professor Burbage. “Charity has been one of the quiet champions of unity between our worlds. Her academic work has opened doors even the Ministry once preferred closed.”

He then read out her qualifications with admiration. “She earned a Doctorate in Comparative Cultures from Oxford University—under a Muggle alias, of course. She completed Advanced Certification in Interdisciplinary Education from the Witchwood Institute, and she contributed to the renowned research paper ‘Bridging the Divide: Societal Constructs in Magical and Non-Magical Civilisations.’”

A round of applause followed, sincere and warm. Hermione clapped enthusiastically, while several Muggle-born students looked genuinely impressed.

Professor Burbage bowed modestly, her cheeks slightly pink. “Thank you, Headmaster,” she said softly. “I do hope my lessons will help every student—pure-blood or otherwise—appreciate that knowledge knows no boundaries.”

Dumbledore’s smile widened. “A noble goal indeed, my dear Charity. If we are to walk in both worlds, we must first learn to see through both sets of eyes.”

“Beautifully said,” murmured Professor Sprout from the  table.

Harry nodded to himself, feeling a flicker of pride.

Across the hall, Dumbledore lifted his goblet slightly, his eyes twinkling once again. “Let us toast,” he said lightly, “to Professor Burbage—and to the notion that understanding one another is, in itself, a form of magic.”

Golden goblets rose, laughter rang again, and Harry felt the warm certainty that Hogwarts was slowly becoming something greater than a school—it was becoming a bridge.

Harry felt a quiet wave of relief wash over him. The tension he had not even realised he was carrying seemed to melt away. When Professor Septima Vector had first mentioned the ICW Globalisation reforms, she had told him Hogwarts would soon integrate Muggle academics. That promise had been one of the key reasons he had decided to attend the school at all. Leaving his muggle education—where he had been a prodigy—had felt like walking away from half of himself. Still, despite everything he had heard, a lingering fear had stayed with him: that somehow it would not happen, that Hogwarts would remain bound by its old ways.

Now, hearing Dumbledore confirm it in front of the entire school, that weight vanished completely. “Finally,” Harry thought with a grin. “No more worrying about forgetting maths or physics while learning charms and potions.”

Dumbledore’s voice rang through the hall once again, calm and gleaming with amusement. “Now, as much as I would have wished these subjects to begin immediately from the first year,” he said, his eyes twinkling, “I am afraid the ICW transition policy states that Muggle Studies and its nine new disciplines shall begin formally from the third year onward.”

Several students groaned softly, mostly muggleborns. Harry could not help but chuckle.

Dumbledore raised a hand, smiling. “However,” he added, “should a student request informal lessons before third year, our professors may, at their discretion, grant them early tutelage.”

That earned murmurs of interest. Beside Harry, Hermione’s eyes sparkled like Christmas lights. “I’ll ask for them tomorrow!” she whispered.

Harry’s mind briefly wandered to the farewell gifts he had received from the Dursleys—a rare memory that made him smile with affection. Vernon and Petunia had presented him with boxes full of top-level Muggle educational video and audio cassettes.

Harry thought it was rather touching that they had been thinking ahead for him. “Well,” he thought, “between those tapes and these new subjects, I’ll stay sharp as a tack.”
______________________________

Dumbledore continued, his tone brightening again. “Now, allow me to introduce our next member of staff—our sixteenth, if anyone is counting.” He winked, and the students laughed softly. “Please welcome Dr. Mirabel Hawthorne.”

A woman in her mid-thirties rose gracefully from her seat, dressed in deep emerald robes stitched with silver geometric patterns. Her posture was perfect, her expression calm yet confident. She gave a modest nod to the hall.

“She,” Dumbledore said, “is our first new appointment this year. Dr. Hawthorne shall be teaching two of the nine new Muggle Studies disciplines—Physics and Mathematics.”

There was a faint buzz of confusion among many purebloods. Dumbledore chuckled, clearly expecting it. “Physics,” he explained kindly, “is the study of the laws governing nature—motion, energy, and forces. Mathematics, of course, is the language of numbers and patterns which underlie nearly all sciences, both magical and non-magical.”

A few students looked impressed, others utterly lost. Ron Weasley muttered, “Blimey, sounds like a nightmare already.”

Hermione gasped. “Oh, it’s wonderful!”

Harry grinned. “You’ll love it,” he whispered.

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled again. “To the purebloods and half-bloods unfamiliar with these fields, do not fret. Dr. Hawthorne has a gift for making the abstract simple. And to our muggleborns—well, you shall find her lessons delightfully familiar.”

He then lifted a parchment from the lectern. “Now, aside from these, Dr. Hawthorne will also be teaching one of the subdisciplines of the Rare Arts.” A ripple of laughter spread through the Great Hall as he added with mock weariness, “Yes, there are still a few of those left to reveal.”

Professor Flitwick chuckled from the Ravenclaw table. “You do like to keep them guessing, Albus.”

Dumbledore gave a dramatic bow. “It is the spice of pedagogy, Filius. Dr. Hawthorne will be instructing the field known as Technomagic—a study of how magical and muggle technologies can interact, harmonise, and at times, fuse. Like other Rare Arts, it shall be optional and reserved for sixth and seventh years only.”

Harry blinked in fascination. “Technomagic,” he thought. “Magic and machines working together? That’s brilliant.”

From the Hufflepuff table, Susan whispered, “Sounds like something straight out of a sci-fi novel.”

“Or a dream come true,” Harry replied with a grin.

Dr. Hawthorne inclined her head gracefully as Dumbledore continued, “Her credentials are as stellar as they come. She holds a Doctorate in Magical Physics from the Arcane Institute of Theoretical Sciences in Geneva, and dual degrees in Muggle Physics and Applied Mathematics from Cambridge. She also served as Senior Researcher at the International Centre for Magical-Technological Integration.”

A few murmurs of admiration echoed through the hall.

“She’s brilliant,” whispered Terry Boot. “I read her paper on magnetic fields interacting with ley lines!”

“Bloody hell,” said Ron. “What kind of bedtime reading is that?”

Harry chuckled quietly. His earlier worries had completely faded. Hogwarts was not just a school of spellbooks and cauldrons anymore; it was becoming something far greater—a bridge between worlds. He could learn to heal, to fly, to build, and even to mix science with sorcery.

As Dumbledore finished with a twinkle, “Dr. Hawthorne’s arrival marks a union of intellect and imagination. May we all learn from her, whether we wield wands or wires,” the Great Hall erupted in applause. Harry clapped enthusiastically, his heart full.
______________________________

Dumbledore, still glowing with enthusiasm, adjusted his half-moon spectacles and beamed at the students. “Now,” he said warmly, “I have the pleasure of introducing another new member of our staff—Dr. Elias Vance.”

A tall, lean wizard with sandy blond hair and sharp green eyes rose from the staff table. His robes were simple, though his presence radiated the quiet composure of someone both intellectual and confident. He offered a courteous bow before sitting again, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

“Dr. Vance,” Dumbledore continued, “shall be teaching three of our nine new Muggle Studies disciplines—General Science, Chemistry, and Biology.”

A ripple of whispers passed through the Great Hall. Many of the purebloods looked uncertain. Crabbe frowned at Goyle and muttered, “What in Merlin’s beard is ‘Chemmisstry’?”

Harry stifled a laugh. He had expected that reaction. Dumbledore raised a hand, his blue eyes twinkling as always. “I realise,” he said gently, “that these terms may be unfamiliar to some of you. Allow me to elucidate.”

He turned slightly toward the tables. “General Science,” he began, “is an introductory discipline that explores the natural laws of the physical world—energy, matter, and life. Chemistry is the study of substances, how they combine, and how they transform—something not entirely different from potion-making, I might add.”

There was a soft hum of understanding from the Slytherin table, though Draco Malfoy still looked skeptical.

“Biology,” Dumbledore continued, “concerns itself with living things—their structure, function, and growth. In short, it is the science of life. Some of you who adore magical creatures might find this subject quite fascinating.”

A few Hufflepuffs perked up at that, including Hannah and Ernie.

Harry, meanwhile, could not help grinning broadly. Science, Chemistry, Biology… they had always been his top subjects back at his primary school. He could still recall long afternoons with  his science teacher, who had encouraged him to explore the human body’s intricacies and the wonders of reactions and compounds. To think that Hogwarts now offered those same subjects—merged with magic, no less—was enough to make his heart race with excitement.

“Brilliant,” he murmured to Susan beside him. “Just brilliant.”

She smiled at his enthusiasm. “You really like that sort of thing, don’t you?”

“Love it,” he said. “I used to top every science fair.”

From across the table, Justin leaned in with an interested look. “So you’ll help me when I get lost in all that chemistry stuff, right?”

Harry grinned. “Deal.”

At the podium, Dumbledore gestured toward Dr. Vance once more. “Now, to do justice to his background—Dr. Vance’s qualifications are, quite frankly, extraordinary.”

The Headmaster unfurled a small scroll. “He holds a Doctorate in Biochemistry from Imperial College London and a Mastery in Magical Physiology from St. Mungo’s Academy of Medical Magic. He also completed postdoctoral research at the International Alchemical Foundation, where he focused on the biochemical nature of potion–cell interactions. Furthermore, he is a Certified Magibiologist by the European Academy of Magical Sciences.”

The hall filled with quiet awe. Even the skeptical Ravenclaws murmured in appreciation.

“Potion–cell interactions?” Hermione whispered in amazement. “That means he’s studying how potions affect the body’s cells—how molecular magic works!”

Harry nodded. “That’s… next-level stuff.”

“Indeed,” said Terry Boot from the Ravenclaw table. “That’s practically merging alchemy with molecular biology. Extraordinary!”

Dumbledore smiled at their reactions, clearly delighted. “Dr. Vance’s work bridges two worlds: the scientific precision of Muggle knowledge and the intuitive artistry of magic. I daresay that, with his guidance, you shall all come to appreciate just how closely magic and science dance together in the grand scheme of creation.”

At that, a few students chuckled softly. Ron leaned toward Harry and muttered, “Dance together, eh? I hope they don’t step on each other’s toes.”

Harry laughed under his breath.

Dr. Vance rose once more, his tone calm and articulate as he addressed the students for the first time. “It is an honour to teach here,” he said. “Magic and science have always been portrayed as opposites, but in truth, they share the same purpose—to understand the universe and improve lives. My lessons will not only explain how things work, but why. Whether it is a potion, a spell, or a scientific principle, all knowledge—magical or mundane—flows from curiosity.”

Applause rippled across the hall. Harry joined in, feeling a thrill of admiration.

Dumbledore clapped his hands, smiling proudly. “Well said, Elias. I could not have put it better myself. May curiosity continue to light our way.”

As the cheers faded, Harry leaned back, his thoughts buzzing with possibility. Imagine combining biology with healing… chemistry with potions… science with spellcraft. The ideas fluttered in his mind like sparks. For someone who had dreamed of becoming a doctor before discovering magic, it was as though fate itself had written him a bridge between both worlds.
______________________________

From the staff table, Dumbledore’s voice carried once more, still full of mirth. “Now then,” he said, “before anyone asks, yes, there are still more professors left—and perhaps even a few surprises yet to come.”

The students laughed lightly, and Harry could not help thinking, Merlin’s beard, this school never ceases to amaze me.

“Now,” Dumbledore began, “before we move forward, I must introduce another new member of our distinguished staff. As eight of the nine Muggle Studies subjects have already been introduced, the ninth remains — Geography.” His gaze swept across the four tables. “Thankfully, pure-bloods may already be somewhat familiar with the concept, though here it shall include both magical and non-magical geoscience.”

Several students exchanged curious looks. A few pure-bloods at the Slytherin table frowned in confusion, while a couple of muggle-borns perked up, whispering excitedly.

Dumbledore smiled softly and gestured toward the staff table. “Please welcome Professor Octavia Flintcroft.”

A tall, composed witch rose from her seat. She looked to be in her thirties, with rich auburn hair bound neatly in a twist and eyes the color of storm clouds — sharp and observant. Her robes were cut in an elegant blend of traditional wizarding fashion and modern tailoring, a faint silver trim catching the light.

“Professor Flintcroft,” Dumbledore continued, “will not only be teaching Geography but also two new elective subjects being introduced under the International Confederation of Wizards’ globalisation initiative — both for third years and above. The first shall be Politics and Law, covering wizarding and muggle systems alike. The second, Business and Economics, similarly bridging both worlds.”

Harry heard Justin Finch-Fletchley whisper to Susan Bones, “Politics at Hogwarts? Merlin’s beard, that’ll be… interesting.” Susan giggled softly.

The Headmaster raised a hand for attention. “As for Professor Flintcroft’s qualifications — she holds dual Masteries in Wizarding Political Studies from the Sorbonne Institute of Magical Governance in Paris, and in Muggle Economics and Global Systems from the London School of Economics.” A murmur of impressed sounds rippled through the hall.

“Furthermore,” Dumbledore went on, “she earned a Doctorate in Comparative Law from Magische Universität Berlin, and served as a consultant for both the Department of International Magical Cooperation and the Wizengamot Council of Economic Affairs.”

“Blimey,” Ernie Macmillan muttered under his breath near Harry. “She sounds like the sort of person who could out-argue the Minister himself.”

“Or fine him for poor budgeting,” Hannah Abbott quipped, grinning.

Flintcroft inclined her head respectfully toward the students before speaking in a calm, resonant voice. “It is a privilege to stand before you all. The world is changing — the magical and non-magical spheres grow closer every decade. Those who understand both will be the ones who lead. I expect much curiosity, much effort, and a willingness to think beyond borders.”

Her tone carried a blend of grace and authority that immediately drew attention. Even Zacharias Smith, who often looked unimpressed, seemed intrigued.

After a brief pause, Dumbledore resumed. “Before I conclude, I wish to remind everyone that results obtained in Muggle Studies subjects may be converted into Muggle certifications and degrees. For example, your Ordinary Wizarding Levels will correspond to GCSEs, while your NEWTs may be recognised as A-Levels.”

This time, the hall erupted with chatter. Some students looked thrilled, others bewildered.

“Wait,” Kevin Maxwell exclaimed, eyes wide. “Does that mean we can apply to Muggle universities with them?”

“Exactly so,” replied Dumbledore warmly. “Such recognition will allow those of magical birth to navigate both worlds should they so wish.”

“That’s brilliant,” Susan said, leaning toward Harry. “Imagine, we could get a Muggle degree without ever leaving Hogwarts!”

Harry nodded, half-distracted by the possibilities. That could open doors for Healers too, he thought. Especially if I ever wanted to study medicine the Muggle way as well.

Nearby, Ernie  whispered to Emma Hopkins , “I wonder if she’ll teach about magical trade laws too. My dad once mentioned how complex they are between countries.”

“Probably,” Emma replied. “With her record, she might make even taxes sound thrilling.”

“Unlikely,” Zacharias muttered. “Nothing makes taxes thrilling.”

A few students laughed quietly, the tension easing. Dumbledore, ever serene, allowed the amusement to run its course before speaking again.

“I trust you will all give Professor Flintcroft the same courtesy and enthusiasm you have shown the rest of our staff. Her lessons promise to challenge and enlighten.”

He inclined his head to the new professor, who responded with a poised smile. “Thank you, Headmaster. I look forward to shaping bright minds — and perhaps, future leaders.”

Her gaze swept across the students, pausing briefly on the Hufflepuff table. Harry could feel a flicker of expectation in that look — as though she already sensed which students might grasp the importance of bridging both worlds.

As the applause filled the hall, Harry leaned toward Hannah and whispered, “Something tells me she’ll be the type who assigns essays before we even meet her.”

Hannah snorted softly. “Probably three scrolls long, comparing goblin banking to muggle capitalism.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Justin said with a grin.
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“Now,” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling over his half-moon spectacles, “let us welcome a familiar face returning to our faculty. I daresay some of you have already felt her stern yet scholarly presence within the library walls. Madam Irma Pince.”

There was a light ripple of polite applause from the tables. Irma Pince stood, tall and spare, her sharp features framed by a tight bun that looked like it could pierce parchment. Her robes were an austere shade of ink-black, and her eyes, keen as a hawk’s, seemed to assess the entire hall in one sweep.

“Merlin’s quill,” muttered Ernie under his breath, “she still looks like she could detect a dog-eared book from a mile off.”

Hannah snorted. “Better hide your Chocolate Frogs before she starts confiscating them again.”

Dumbledore smiled benignly. “Madam Pince shall, of course, continue in her long-standing role as our Librarian. Yet, under the International Confederation of Wizards’ new Globalisation Curriculum, she will also be taking on the instruction of two fascinating new subjects.”

He paused, letting the students murmur curiously before continuing. “The first of these is Human Languages. The course shall be open to all years, though optional. Students will have the chance to study from a broad range of tongues, both magical and mundane, and are encouraged to select two or three languages to specialise in.”

“Languages?” whispered Susan with interest. “That actually sounds useful.”

Harry felt a flicker of excitement. He already knew French and Spanish, picked up from his muggle schooling, but the idea of learning others—like Latin or Greek—sounded thrilling. “Brilliant,” he murmured. “Maybe I’ll finally get to read ancient spell texts without translations, just  like I do  French.”

Justin raised a brow. “You speak French? Since when?”

Harry shrugged modestly. “Primary school. Aunt Petunia thought it would make me ‘civilised.’”

Dumbledore’s voice carried on, smooth and deliberate. “Madam Pince’s second subject will be Non-Human Languages—a course available from the third year onward. Students will have the opportunity to learn Gobbledegook, Elvian, Troll, and many others. Understanding the communication of magical beings is not merely academic but an act of respect and unity.”

“Gobbledegook?” Cedric said with a grin. “Maybe now we can finally figure out what the goblins at Gringotts are muttering about us.”

“Assuming they want us to,” Harry said dryly.

There were chuckles across the tables. Even some Slytherins looked intrigued.

“Examinations for both of these courses,” Dumbledore went on, “will follow a unique format, which Madam Pince will explain to those who enrol in her classes.”

Pince inclined her head slightly. “Indeed,” she said crisply. “Linguistics cannot be evaluated merely by parchment and quill. True comprehension must be heard and spoken. Students who think to breeze through by memorisation will find themselves tongue-tied—quite literally.”

A few students snickered nervously.

Dumbledore chuckled softly. “You have been warned.” Then, with his characteristic flair, he gestured toward Pince again. “Now, allow me to share her qualifications, which are nothing short of extraordinary. Madam Pince earned her Mastery in Linguistic Enchantments and Comparative Philology from Durmstrang Academy of Advanced Arts.”

Several murmurs rippled—Durmstrang’s reputation for rigorous magical theory was legendary.

“She is also a Certified Lexomancer, an elite title granted by the International Guild of Linguists and Translators for mastery over spellbound tongues,” Dumbledore continued. “Moreover, she is the author of the published guide ‘The Resonance of Words: Magic in Language and Language in Magic.’”

Harry’s eyes widened slightly. That sounded fascinating—a book that combined spellcraft and speech.

“She is fluent,” Dumbledore concluded, “in sixty human languages and all twenty-four known non-human ones.”

“Sixty?” gasped Hannah. “How does anyone even remember that many?”

“Probably shelves her thoughts alphabetically,” murmured Ernie, earning a stifled laugh from Susan.

Professor Pince’s sharp gaze swept the Hufflepuff table. “Language,” she said, her tone cutting through the air like a well-honed quill, “is not memorisation, but understanding the soul of communication. Each word carries a spell of its own. Mispronounce it, and you might well conjure something unintended.”

A hush followed. Then Justin whispered, “I’m starting to think I’ll stick with English.”

Harry smirked. “I don’t know. Elvian sounds elegant. Maybe I’ll give it a go.”

“Figures you’d pick the hardest one,” said Cedric with an amused shake of his head.

Pince continued, her voice now softer but full of conviction. “Language binds all worlds together—human, magical, and otherwise. Without understanding, there is no peace. Without words, there is no magic.”

The Hall seemed to absorb her words like ink into parchment. Even Dumbledore nodded approvingly.

“Well spoken, Madam Pince,” he said warmly. “I daresay Hogwarts’ library has never been more alive—nor its keeper more learned.”

Harry leaned toward Susan as applause filled the air. “So that’s number 19,” he murmured. “Five more to go.”

“Think he’s saving the best for last?” she asked.

“Knowing Dumbledore,” Harry said thoughtfully, “probably the strangest.”

Above them, the enchanted candles flickered brighter for a moment, and the whisper of parchment seemed to echo through the Hall as though the castle itself approved of Irma Pince’s return. The faint scent of old books and ink seemed to drift from the staff table, and Harry found himself smiling. For once, the idea of lessons about words—and the worlds they shaped—felt like genuine magic.
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“Now,” Dumbledore announced with his usual serene authority, “our next introduction brings us someone entirely new to Hogwarts, though his experience and discipline are rooted in ancient magical and non-magical traditions alike. Please welcome Professor Kenrik MacTavish.”

The man who rose from the staff table was powerfully built, tall, and broad-shouldered, his hair tied neatly at the back in a dark braid streaked with silver. His robes were trimmed with tartan patterns, but beneath them could be glimpsed something like a training gi—a strange blend of wizarding and martial aesthetics. His eyes gleamed with calm precision, yet there was a quiet intensity about him, like a blade that never rusts.

“Merlin’s beard,” muttered Seamus from somewhere in the Gryffindor table, “he looks like he could punch a troll into next week.”

Dumbledore smiled faintly, clearly amused. “Professor MacTavish,” he continued, “will be teaching one of the new subjects under the ICW Globalisation Curriculum—Martial Arts and Weaponry. This course will include the study of magical and non-magical combat forms, the discipline of movement, and the crafting and handling of both conventional and enchanted weapons.”

That caused a stir. Students exchanged glances, some nervous, some positively thrilled.

Harry leaned forward eagerly. “Weaponry?” he whispered. “That’s brilliant! Maybe I can finally learn Kung Fu—or something like that.”

Cedric chuckled. “You want to fight dark wizards with a roundhouse kick, do you?”

“Why not?” Harry grinned. “Might catch them off guard.”

Across the Hall, MacTavish gave a respectful nod toward the students. “Discipline is not learned by wand alone,” he said in a low, commanding voice. “The body is also a channel of magic. To master one’s movement is to master one’s spellcraft.”

Susan looked impressed. “That actually sounds rather deep.”

“Sounds rather painful,” muttered Ernie, rubbing his shoulder as if preemptively sore.

Dumbledore chuckled softly, letting the murmurs fade before continuing. “This subject shall be open to all years and will, like the other new global courses, remain optional. Nevertheless, those who take it will find the experience… invigorating, both mentally and physically.”

Harry imagined dueling practice that included actual combat techniques, perhaps even swordplay. He had once thought of joining a local dojo before the Hogwarts letter arrived. The idea that he could now learn both magic and martial arts felt almost poetic.

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled again. “In addition to this, Professor MacTavish will also teach another discipline, one belonging to the category of Rare Arts.”

Groans and chuckles echoed from some students. Dumbledore raised his hand dramatically. “Yes, yes, I know. One more. But I promise this is the final subsubject of the Rare Arts. You may all breathe again.”

Laughter rippled through the Hall. Even McGonagall’s stern lips twitched slightly.

“This particular art,” Dumbledore continued, “is known as Regional Magic. It focuses on the study of diverse magical traditions and combat philosophies from around the world—magic shaped by geography, culture, and belief. Like all Rare Arts, it will be optional and reserved for sixth- and seventh-year students.”

Hermione, sitting near the front, looked utterly enthralled. “Regional magic—imagine comparing leyline patterns or ritual variants across continents!”

Ron gave her a baffled look. “I’ll just stick to waving my wand, thanks.”

Harry smiled faintly. He liked the idea of learning how wizards in other parts of the world used magic—it made the world feel bigger, richer, alive.

Dumbledore continued, “Professor MacTavish’s credentials are formidable. He holds a Mastery in Defensive Magic and Physical Combat from Mahoutokoro Academy in Japan.”

A low whistle came from one of the Ravenclaws. Everyone had heard Mahoutokoro was nearly impossible to graduate from with a Mastery.

“He has trained extensively in Eastern Magical Disciplines, Tactical Duelling, and Runic Weapon Enchantment under masters from Japan, India, Tibet, and several other nations,” Dumbledore went on. “Furthermore, he is a Certified Grandmaster of the Doctrina Arcanum Physica—a rare recognition blending magical focus with physical prowess.”

The students seemed awestruck. Even the usually smug Slytherins appeared intrigued.

MacTavish gave a small bow. “Magic without discipline is mere accident,” he said in his deep Scottish accent. “Power must be earned through balance—mind, body, and will united.”

“Sounds like something out of a martial scroll,” whispered Justin.

“Maybe it is,” Harry murmured back, eyes bright. “But it makes sense. Magic’s not just about wand movement—it’s about control.”

Dumbledore beamed. “Precisely. Professor MacTavish embodies the fusion of ancient discipline and modern understanding—a perfect example of the global wizarding education we aspire to build.”

As applause swept the Hall, Harry’s mind was already racing. He imagined himself practicing forms in a training hall, balancing between muggle martial technique and wizarding duelling, spells flowing through motion like an extension of the self.

“I’m signing up for that,” he said with quiet determination.

Cedric raised an eyebrow. “Planning to become a martial Healer now?”

Harry chuckled. “Why not? Can’t heal others if you can’t defend them.”

Dumbledore, with a knowing smile, gestured for silence once more. “And that, my dear students, concludes our introductions to the Rare Arts. The remaining four professors, while no less extraordinary, may allow you to relax your minds from talk of enchantments and combat. Though,” his eyes gleamed, “perhaps not too much.”

The students laughed again, but Harry remained thoughtful. Every new subject opened another door, another way to understand both the magical and non-magical worlds. Hogwarts was far more than he had ever imagined—it was becoming a place where all his worlds could finally meet.
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Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled again as he stepped forward, spreading his arms in a grand, almost theatrical gesture. “Now, dear students,” he said warmly, “it is time to introduce someone whose presence shall bring melody, colour, and rhythm to our castle’s ancient halls. Please welcome Professor Lyra Fontaine.”

A graceful witch rose from her seat. She was tall and poised, her dark curls cascading like ink down her back. Her robes shimmered faintly with enchanted hues that seemed to change with the light — one moment deep violet, the next soft gold. When she smiled, it was the kind of smile that carried both mystery and kindness, and even the portraits seemed to hush as she inclined her head to the crowd.

“Professor Fontaine,” Dumbledore continued, “shall be teaching a new subject under our ICW Globalisation initiative — Fine Arts.”

The Great Hall buzzed instantly. A few students exchanged surprised looks, while others whispered excitedly.

“Yes,” Dumbledore went on with his trademark mirth. “This course shall encompass the full spectrum of artistic expression — musical instruments, singing, musical composition, dance, painting, and drawing — all in both magical and mundane forms. Art, after all, is the soul’s truest magic.”

Harry’s eyes lit up. He loved music — he had once played a little on the piano back in primary school, and Mrs. Figg’s old gramophone had filled his summers with Beethoven and the Beatles alike. Then there was his guitar too. The thought of magic-infused music fascinated him.

Fontaine spoke in a lilting French accent, her tone both gentle and precise. “Art speaks where words falter,” she said. “Whether you draw with a brush or cast with a wand, creation is creation. My class welcomes all who wish to express what their hearts cannot contain.”

“Bloody brilliant,” whispered Seamus. “Maybe I’ll paint a self-portrait of me scoring a hundred on the Quidditch pitch.”

“Self-portrait?” muttered Ernie, amused. “You’ll need a lot of red paint for that nose.”

Dumbledore smiled, allowing laughter to roll through the Hall. “Professor Fontaine’s course will be open to all years, though it remains optional. I would, however, strongly recommend it. A sense of artistry, my dear students, often looks most impressive on a professional résumé.”

Harry chuckled quietly at that. Trust Dumbledore to make even painting sound like a career move.

The Headmaster then continued in a more formal tone. “Professor Fontaine’s qualifications are, as expected, exceptional. She is a graduate of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, Class of 1978, and recipient of the Prix d’Excellence in Artistic Magic. She holds dual Masteries in Enchanting Performance and Aesthetic Charms from the Paris Conservatoire.”

Several Ravenclaws clapped approvingly. Dumbledore added, “In addition, she has studied Muggle Fine Arts, Classical Music Theory, and Choreography at the Royal Academy of Arts in London. Her performances once graced the halls of both the wizarding and non-magical elite. She was also the Principal Enchanter for the Celestina Warbeck Orchestra.”

A few gasps followed that announcement. Even the traditionalists knew Celestina Warbeck — the “Singing Sorceress” — whose concerts were broadcast across the wizarding world.

Fontaine gave a modest nod. “I believe,” she said softly, “that creativity is the bridge between worlds — magical and Muggle alike. I hope to help you all cross it.”

Thunderous applause filled the room. Harry felt that quiet thrill again — Hogwarts wasn’t just about spells and hexes anymore. It was about possibility.

When the cheers faded, Dumbledore’s tone grew lively again. “Now then,” he said, “let us move from art to craft. Our next new member of staff brings hands that shape magic into form — Professor Tobin Fletcher!”

A broad-shouldered man rose, his robes flecked with tiny metallic glimmers. His sleeves were rolled up, showing arms dusted with traces of what looked suspiciously like silver polish. His hair was streaked with bronze and ash, and his eyes carried the calm focus of one who could make beauty from the simplest piece of raw material.

“Professor Fletcher,” said Dumbledore, “will be introducing another new subject under the ICW Globalisation initiative — Craftsmanship.”

Several Hufflepuffs leaned forward eagerly. Fletcher gave them a nod and a genial grin.

“This subject,” Dumbledore explained, “will merge both magical and Muggle craftwork. Students shall learn pottery, sculpting, glassblowing, woodworking, metallurgy, and even advanced disciplines such as wand-making, broom-crafting, jewellery design, fashion design, and the creation of stained glass.”

“Wow,” whispered Justin. “That sounds… massive.”

“Purely practical, of course,” Dumbledore continued. “Creativity takes many shapes, and Professor Fletcher’s class will ensure you understand magic as a medium of craft as much as a tool of power. It will be open to all years and, as with the others, entirely optional.”

Harry imagined forging a wand handle or crafting enchanted jewellery — perhaps even designing something of his own someday. It felt like learning how to give magic form.

Dumbledore’s expression softened as he read from a parchment. “Professor Fletcher is a Master Craftsman, certified by the International Artisans’ Guild of Magical Britain. He apprenticed under Garrick Ollivander for seven years and later trained with Gregorovitch himself.”

The murmurs that followed were awed. Those two names alone spoke volumes.

“He holds Masteries in Magical Metallurgy, Enchanted Design, and Thaumic Material Studies from the Vienna Academy of Applied Enchantments,” Dumbledore went on. “He is also the founder of Fletcher & Sons Magical Artisans — a company known for its enchanted craftsmanship across Europe.”

Fletcher inclined his head humbly. “It is my hope,” he said, his voice low and firm, “that you learn the patience of creation. For every great spell begins not with power — but precision.”

Harry nodded quietly. The words struck something in him. Creation and healing, both, required patience and care.

As the applause filled the Hall once again, Dumbledore beamed, his voice ringing with quiet pride. “Two more paths for those who would express, build, and beautify the world around them. Magic, after all, is not only about destruction or defense. It is also about creation.”

Harry smiled faintly, feeling something stir within him — hope, curiosity, and the growing sense that Hogwarts was slowly transforming into a place where every dream, magical or not, could take shape.
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Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled again as he turned toward the remaining staff table. “Now, my dear students,” he began in his calm, genial tone, “let us welcome back a familiar face. Some of you may remember him from a few years ago, when he taught our original course on Muggle Studies before Professor Burbage so ably expanded the department.” He gestured toward a man seated near Snape—a thin, pale wizard with a nervous air and a faintly twitching smile.

“This,” Dumbledore continued, “is Professor Quirnis Quirell. Professor Quirell will be teaching Defensive Magic—one of the two branches of Defence Against the Dark Arts under the ICW Globalisation curriculum. The second branch, Dark Arts and Offensive Magic, shall continue to be instructed by Professor Snape.”

A low murmur swept through the students at the reminder. No one looked particularly thrilled about the latter. Ron Weasley whispered under his breath, “Blimey, that’s not fair—Snape teaching Dark Arts? He’ll have us brewing curses instead of potions!”

Meanwhile, Dumbledore went on smoothly, “Professor Quirell brings with him a wealth of academic and field experience. He earned his Mastery in Magical Theory and Defensive Enchantments from the University of Tirane for Arcane Studies. Following that, he journeyed across Eastern Europe and Northern Africa, studying magical folklore, Dark artefacts, and ancient hex defences.”

The Headmaster paused, his voice taking on a subtle note of intrigue. “Rumour has it,” he said lightly, “that those travels left him… shall we say, deeply changed. Perhaps he will share a story or two, provided the tales are less likely to terrify first-years before bedtime.”

Laughter rippled through the hall. Quirrell rose slightly from his seat, inclining his head with an awkward smile. His hands fidgeted with the edge of his robes. “Th-thank you, Headmaster,” he stammered. “It—it’s a p-pleasure to be back. I look f-forward to teaching everyone the art of self-defence—without, er, losing any limbs.”

A few chuckles followed his remark. Harry watched him curiously. Something about Quirrell’s voice made his skin prickle. It trembled, yes, but there was an undercurrent beneath the nervousness—a fleeting note of control, too deliberate to be genuine fear.

As the hall settled again, Harry found his eyes drawn to Quirrell’s face. The professor was no longer smiling; he had turned slightly in Harry’s direction. For the briefest moment, their gazes locked. A strange sensation rippled through Harry’s chest—cold and sharp, like ice water pouring through his veins.

He blinked and looked away quickly. What was that?

Beside him, Susan Bones nudged his arm. “You okay, Harry? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Yeah… just felt weird for a second,” Harry muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. The chill hadn’t quite left him.

When he glanced back up, Quirrell was speaking quietly with Snape, though his head tilted just enough for one more brief glance in Harry’s direction. There was nothing overtly hostile in it, yet something in that look made Harry’s stomach twist.

Dumbledore continued, entirely unaware of the silent exchange. “Before joining us once more, Professor Quirell also served briefly as an advisor to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement on curse detection and preventative defence measures. His expertise in counter-hexing and field protection will, I am certain, be invaluable to our new curriculum.”

Harry tried to shake the unease off. Perhaps it was just his imagination, or nerves after such a long day. Still, that cold feeling wouldn’t fade.

Across the table, Emms whispered, “He seems nervous, doesn’t he?”

Justin shrugged. “Looks like he’d faint if you sneezed too loud. How’s that bloke going to teach us to defend ourselves?”

Harry didn’t answer. His eyes drifted back to Quirrell, who had once again bowed his head politely as Dumbledore finished the introduction. For a moment, the flicker of torchlight revealed something almost imperceptible in his expression—a fleeting smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Something’s off about him, Harry thought. Something’s really off.

Dumbledore raised his goblet, his voice bright once again. “Now that concludes our introductions for the evening of teaching staff —or nearly does. Let us extend our gratitude to all our professors, old and new, whose wisdom continues to make Hogwarts a place of endless learning.”

The Great Hall burst into applause. Quirrell clapped along, his movements stiff, his gaze once again sweeping the crowd—pausing, as before, for a second too long on Harry Potter.
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A/n: I hope You like it. Please ignore grammatical and spelling errors. 

Okay, so that’s a huge list!! I really hope I didn’t bore you!!

Still, I did what I had to, because I felt it was better to introduce all the characters sooner rather than later. It just made things easier to write and smoother to handle going forward.

And I really hope Harry being in Hufflepuff isn’t too shocking for you. I know Ravenclaw was the most popular guess in the comments, but I had already decided to make him a Hufflepuff long before I even published the first chapter of the story.

Hey for this story I wasn't able to decide Chapter names easily so for fun why don't you all comment what you think chapter name can be ? I will be waiting.

Thanks for reading. § Hinny Forever § Please Review!!!

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or its universe. All original elements belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This story is a work of fanfiction created purely for entertainment purposes - no copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made. Any original characters, events, or concepts beyond the established canon are the author's own creative additions to expand the magical world respectfully.
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“Now, before we conclude,” Dumbledore’s voice resonated once more through the Great Hall, “I must not forget our ever-diligent caretaker—Mr. Argus Filch.”

The man in question gave a stiff nod from his usual corner, clutching his ring of keys as if it were a scepter. His expression remained as sour as stale pumpkin juice. “As most of you know,” Dumbledore continued with that twinkling calm, “Mr. Filch keeps this castle running as smoothly as possible. He may not possess magic, but his devotion to Hogwarts is, indeed, nothing short of magical.”

A few chuckles rolled through the students’ tables, though Harry noticed Filch’s frown deepen. “He is now,” Dumbledore went on, “the only non-teaching staff member, as Madam Pomfrey, Madam Hooch, Madam Pince and Professor Hagrid have taken up instructional duties as well. Let us show Mr. Filch our appreciation.”

There was a polite smattering of applause. Filch’s scowl twitched into what might, in another lifetime, have been mistaken for a smile.

Dumbledore raised a hand, his expression turning once more to that brilliant, thoughtful serenity that demanded silence. “Now, my young witches and wizards, there are several announcements before we move on to the welcoming feast.”

Harry leaned forward, curious. His quill, which he had been using to jot mental notes into the air with a tiny charm Flitwick had shown him during the Sorting wait, hovered expectantly.

“This year,” said Dumbledore, “the fifth and seventh-year students will be the first to sit for their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s under the International Confederation of Wizards’ Global Curriculum Initiative. That means—” he paused for effect, “—the same examinations shall be held across all member nations simultaneously. Yes, my dear students, a unified academic standard. Remarkable progress, is it not?”

The upper years exchanged murmurs of disbelief and mild panic. “Does that mean we’ll be compared to Durmstrang and Beauxbatons?” a Ravenclaw asked aloud.

Dumbledore chuckled. “Indeed, in a way. However, Hogwarts has never been a school to fear such comparisons.” His gaze sparkled as he surveyed the sea of faces. “For you first-years, do not worry. By the time you reach those levels, Hogwarts shall ensure you are more than prepared.”

Harry caught Hermione’s whisper from across the table, “Global exams? Oh, this is brilliant! A unified magical education!” Susan Bones beside Harry giggled. “You sound like you’re about to hug the parchment already.”

Dumbledore let the soft laughter settle before he clapped his hands once. “Next, I am delighted to announce the clubs for this academic year. Many of the traditional clubs remain, but several new ones have joined our roster.”

A faint ripple of excitement spread through the hall.

“The Charms Club,” Dumbledore began, “continues under Professor Flitwick’s sponsorship. Transfiguration Club will again be under Professor McGonagall, and the Arithmancy Society will remain guided by Professor Vector. The Hogwarts Choir, also under Professor Flitwick, will meet twice weekly for practice.”

“Typical,” muttered Ron from the Gryffindor table, “Flitwick’s cornering all the fun clubs.”

“The Herbology Grounds Union shall meet under Professor Sprout,” Dumbledore continued serenely, “while the Gobstones Club will continue under student sponsorship. Our Chess League—still as fiercely competitive as ever—will remain under Professor Babbling’s supervision.”

Harry smiled faintly. He liked the idea of clubs. It reminded him of the afterschool groups back in his Muggle school, where he had joined the science team, badminton club, and even a small debate circle once.

“This year,” Dumbledore said, his eyes gleaming with renewed energy, “we are pleased to add several new clubs inspired by the Globalisation Initiative.”

“Runes Circle,” he read from a hovering scroll, “sponsored by Professor Babbling. The Potioneers’ Guild—an independent student-led society for those of a bubbling inclination.” A few students chuckled. “The Astronomy Observation Guild under Professor Sinistra, and the Dueling Society, once again under independent student sponsorship.”

“Dueling Society?” Harry perked up immediately. Neville, beside him, paled a little. “Please tell me it’s non-lethal.”

“Mostly,” Hannah whispered teasingly.

“Furthermore,” Dumbledore went on, “we shall also host a Muggle Sports Club—yes, you heard that correctly—under independent student sponsorship. The Drama and Theatre Society will meet under my supervision—do not fear, there will be no enforced singing—” The hall erupted into laughter. “Madam Pince will sponsor a Literature Club, Professor Sprout a Debate Club, and Professor Hagrid the Beast Friends Society for all lovers of magical creatures.”

Harry clapped with enthusiasm at that last one; Hagrid caught his eye and winked proudly.

“Additionally,” Dumbledore added, “three new societies will make their debut this year: the Muggle Ethics Club, the Wizarding Etiquette Club, and finally, the Enchantment and Crafting Atelier, sponsored by Professor Vector.”

As whispers buzzed like a thousand bees, Dumbledore raised his hands again. “I highly encourage each of you to participate in at least one club. Not only do these pursuits foster camaraderie and character, but as part of the ICW initiative, club participation shall now appear as extra credit on your O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. transcripts.”

A wave of impressed murmurs spread. Emma nearly glowed. “This is absolutely perfect! It’ll make Hogwarts just like a proper academy!”

Ron groaned. “Yeah, proper torture.”

Harry laughed quietly, eyes still fixed on the Headmaster. The world of magic was turning out to be far broader—and more thrilling—than he had ever imagined.

Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles and surveyed the Hall once more, eyes twinkling over the sea of faces. “Before we conclude this evening,” he said, voice carrying clearly across the vast chamber, “a few final announcements remain.”

A ripple of whispers died down as he continued, “Firstly, the Forbidden Forest is, as its name rather plainly suggests, forbidden. Any student caught venturing into it without permission shall find themselves most gravely reprimanded. It is not called ‘forbidden’ merely for dramatic flair.” His tone lightened at the end, earning a few nervous chuckles.

“Secondly,” he went on, clasping his hands together, “our caretaker, Mr. Argus Filch, has updated the list of banned objects and activities. It is, I am told, quite extensive. Students may peruse it at their own peril—outside Mr. Filch’s office. Do note that ignorance of the rules will not serve as a defense should he catch you breaking them.”

Harry caught sight of the cantankerous old man glaring smugly from the corner. “Blimey,” Ron whispered, “bet that list’s longer than a Hippogriff’s wingspan.” Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled faintly.

Dumbledore’s voice rose again, gentler now. “And lastly, though perhaps most importantly, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is strictly out of bounds to all students who do not wish to suffer a most painful—ah—accident.” His eyes gleamed as he said it, the faint trace of a smile playing on his lips.

A few students exchanged puzzled looks. “Third floor?” whispered Susan Bones, brow furrowed. “Why would they keep something dangerous inside the school?”

Tracey Davis whispered back, “It’s Hogwarts. Danger’s probably part of the décor.”

Laughter rippled softly through the Hufflepuff table, and even Harry cracked a faint grin, though his eyelids had grown heavier by the minute. The day’s weight was pressing down on him like a thick blanket.

He stifled a yawn as Dumbledore concluded, “Now, off you go. Prefects, lead your Houses to their dormitories. May your dreams be pleasant, your hearts brave, and your spirits bright.” With that, he clapped his hands, and the golden plates cleared themselves in a shimmering swirl of magic.

As the benches scraped and students began to rise, Harry leaned back slightly, feeling the warmth of the Great Hall fading into drowsy haze. What a day indeed. From sunrise to feast, everything had been a whirlwind.

He thought back to that emotional farewell with the Dursleys. He could still see Aunt Petunia’s teary eyes and hear Dudley’s awkward “Take care, mate.” Even Vernon had given a gruff nod—though Harry suspected it had been his version of approval. “I’ll miss them,” he thought quietly. “Didn’t think I’d ever say that.”

Then came the train ride, where friendships bloomed faster than he could process. Daphne’s calm wit, Tracey’s sharp humor, Blaise’s quiet observation—all so different, yet oddly comforting. Susan’s kindness, Hannah’s laugh, Justin’s curiosity, Lisa and Terry’s boundless enthusiasm, Rolf’s fascination with magical creatures, Hermione’s brilliance, Neville’s quiet loyalty, and Ron’s open, clumsy warmth—it felt… right.

He smiled faintly, remembering the chaos that followed. The political debate that somehow turned into proof of Sirius’ innocence, Pettigrew’s reveal, the wild scuffle, the sudden rush to Bones Manor. “Merlin’s beard,” he thought, “it was like living three years’ worth of adventure in a single day.”

At the Manor, everything had changed again. He’d met Ginny—bright-eyed, fiery-haired Ginny—who had smiled at him as though she’d known him forever. He could still hear her laugh echoing in his mind, and the way she had said softly, “Promise you’ll write?” He’d promised, of course. A flutter stirred in his chest again, strange yet warm.

And then came Sirius—free at last. The memory of that moment filled him with a deep, aching joy. The way Sirius had hugged him, tears glistening behind that roguish grin, as Amelia Bones stood nearby, her eyes shining with hope. “They deserve each other,” Harry mused, half-asleep.

He could still picture Dumbledore leading the thirteen of them—his newfound circle of friends—to Hogsmeade Station, the old man’s robes billowing like ancient wind. The sorting, the applause, the taste of pumpkin pasties and treacle tart. The enchanted ceiling still shimmered faintly above him, stars twinkling in the velvet night sky.

“‘Fortis et Fidelis,’” he murmured under his breath, recalling his family motto. Strong and faithful. The words felt heavier now, like a promise to live up to.

He remembered Septima Vector visiting him and Vernon during the summer—how she had explained the ICW globalisation initiative, merging magical and muggle curricula so that students could continue both worlds of learning. That conversation had been the turning point. “If Hogwarts can let me study both,” he had said then, “then it’s home.”
______________________________

As the feast drew to an end and the last echoes of laughter faded, the great doors of the Hall opened slightly. The tall, broad-shouldered figure of Professor Sprout rose from the staff table, gesturing to the Hufflepuff first years. Beside her stood two older students wearing bright prefect badges, smiling warmly.

"First years, over here please," called the girl with kind hazel eyes and short, curly hair. "I’m Miranda Hopkirk, one of your prefects. Fifth year."

The boy next to her, taller and broad-faced, gave an enthusiastic nod. "Ronson Dipple, also fifth year. Welcome to Hufflepuff! Sorry we didn’t get to you earlier—what with the feast, Dumbledore’s long announcements, and all the introductions, it’s been a whirlwind."

Miranda laughed lightly. "Indeed. The staff list seemed endless this year. Though, honestly, we’re delighted you’re with us, Harry. The whole House is."

Harry smiled modestly, cheeks a bit warm. "Thank you. I’m glad to be here."

Ronson clapped him on the shoulder. "You’ll fit right in. Hufflepuff’s the best kind of home—no nonsense, full of heart, and loyal to the core. You’ll see soon enough."

Harry nodded, the warmth of the moment sinking in. He turned to see Susan, Justin, and Hannah grinning beside him. Together, they waved toward the Gryffindor line, where Ron, Hermione, and Neville waved back cheerfully. Ron mimed a thumbs-up, mouthing something about “saving him some pudding.” Harry snorted softly.

On the Ravenclaw side, Terry, Lisa, and Rolf waved enthusiastically. Lisa called, “Don’t forget us in all that honey and loyalty, Potter!”

Harry laughed. “Wouldn’t dream of it!”

The Slytherin group passed by next. Daphne’s refined smirk softened into a friendly smile. “Sleep well, Harry. First night at Hogwarts—you’ll remember it forever.”

Tracey winked playfully. “Don’t let the badgers tire you out with too much friendliness.”

Blaise raised an amused brow. “And do remind your new dorm mates not to challenge Slytherins to duels before breakfast.”

Harry grinned. “No promises.”

As their groups began to part, the corridor filled with chatter. Miranda motioned them forward. “Come along, Hufflepuffs. Keep close; it’s easy to get lost on the first night.”

They followed her and Ronson out of the Great Hall, the grand torches casting a golden glow across the stone corridors. The air smelled faintly of fresh wax and roasted food. The rhythmic tapping of shoes echoed softly as they walked, mingled with the occasional yawn from the younger students.

Harry felt a tug at his sleeve. “Can you believe we’re actually here?” Hannah whispered, eyes shining.

“Feels surreal,” Justin murmured. “I keep expecting to wake up and find my acceptance letter was a prank.”

Susan chuckled. “Not likely. Though, given our day, I’d call it quite the opposite.”

Harry smiled faintly. “You can say that again. What a day it’s been.”

As they turned a corner, a familiar booming voice reached them. “There yeh are, Hufflepuffs! Knew I’d catch yeh before yeh went down ter the cellars!”

“Hagrid!” Harry called, brightening instantly.

The giant of a man stood there, smiling under his wild beard. Beside him sat Maple—Harry’s loyal golden retriever, tail wagging furiously. Her sleek coat glistened under the torchlight, and she barked happily the moment she saw him.

“There’s my girl!” Harry knelt, wrapping his arms around her neck. Maple licked his face, whining softly in excitement.

“Been waitin’ for yeh,” said Hagrid warmly. “She’s been an angel, she has. Had a nap by the fire at me hut, and even Fang took a likin’ to her.”

Harry laughed. “That’s saying something.”

Hagrid chuckled. “Well, she’s got good manners, she does. Must be them Dursleys raisin’ her right.”

Harry smiled at that, his heart tightening a little. “Yeah. They’ll miss her tonight.”

Behind him, the other Hufflepuffs murmured in awe. Maple had already trotted to them, sniffing hands and wagging her tail with clear delight.

“She’s gorgeous,” said Emma Hopkins, crouching to pat her head.

Ernie nodded. “Properly trained too. Look at that posture!”

Zacharias, less sentimental but clearly impressed, remarked, “That’s not an ordinary pet. She’s... almost regal.”

“Thank you,” Harry said proudly. “She’s family.”

Cedric Diggory, who had joined the prefects near the front, smiled. “She’ll be the House mascot at this rate. Maple the Magnificent.”

Ronson laughed. “Wouldn’t put it past her.”

“Come along now,” Miranda said gently. “You can bring her along, Harry. Hufflepuff welcomes loyalty in all forms.”

Maple barked once as if in agreement, tail wagging like a banner.

As they descended toward the basement corridors, the air grew warmer and softer. The torches flickered low, reflecting golden on the polished stones. Harry walked beside Susan, with Maple trotting faithfully at his heel, her collar jingling faintly.

He could hear the distant laughter of the other houses echoing up the staircases. The castle itself seemed alive—breathing, watching, welcoming. He glanced at Maple, who looked back with bright, trusting eyes.

The exhaustion from the day caught up with him fully. Yet it was a peaceful weariness, one that came not from loneliness but belonging. As they neared the entrance to their new common room, Harry thought quietly, I think I’ve found my place at last.
______________________________

The Hufflepuff group descended deeper into the castle, the torches flickering lower and warmer with each step. The air turned thicker, pleasantly earthy, and smelled faintly of toasted bread and honey. The walls here were softer in tone—rounded corners, burnished bricks, and carved vines that seemed to dance in the torchlight. Harry noticed that the corridor floors were carpeted in rich amber hues, with golden threads woven like curling roots. The atmosphere felt… alive.

Miranda stopped before a row of large barrels stacked neatly against the wall. They looked entirely ordinary, though one of them had a faintly gleaming rim. “Here we are,” she said, smiling proudly. “The entrance to the Hufflepuff common room.”

Zacharias frowned. “Barrels? That’s… not exactly what I pictured.”

Ronson chuckled. “That’s the point, mate. Can’t have everyone waltzing in, can we?”

Miranda gestured gracefully. “The trick is simple. Tap the second barrel from the bottom, middle row, to the rhythm of ‘Helga Hufflepuff.’” She demonstrated, rapping softly: tap-tap, tap-tap-tap.

With a cheerful pop! the lid sprang open, revealing a round, golden-lit passageway large enough for two people to walk side by side.

“Try getting it wrong,” Ronson warned with a mischievous grin. “The lid’ll douse you in vinegar. Teaches humility, that one.”

The first-years laughed nervously.

Justin muttered, “I think I’ll take your word for it.”

Harry smiled faintly. The warm glow spilling from the entrance looked inviting, like sunlight captured underground.

Before leading them through, Ronson gestured to another archway nearby, covered by a curtain of hanging ivy. “Now, if any of you feel peckish between meals, listen close. Through that way lies the kitchens—our pride and joy. Best location in the castle.”

“Really?” asked Ernie, eyes wide.

“Absolutely,” Ronson said with mock seriousness. “Tickle the pear in the painting, door handle appears, and the house-elves’ll feed you anything under the sun—except maybe dragon steak. I asked once. Bad idea.”

The group broke into laughter. Even Maple wagged her tail as though she understood the joke.

Miranda rolled her eyes fondly. “Ignore him when he tries to turn you into pranksters. The kitchens are for emergencies, not midnight feasts.”

“Define emergency,” murmured Hannah, earning a playful nudge from Susan.

Miranda’s lips twitched, but she sighed good-naturedly. “Come along now.”

They ducked through the barrel entrance one by one. Harry followed last, Maple trotting close behind.

The tunnel beyond was low-ceilinged, circular, and glowed with a mellow golden light. The walls were lined with polished wooden panels, engraved with symbols of wheat, flowers, and badgers. The air grew warmer still, perfumed with the scent of vanilla and beeswax.

“Feels like walking into sunshine,” Lily whispered from ahead, her voice echoing softly.

Harry smiled, the words fitting perfectly.

The tunnel widened suddenly, and they stepped into a vast, round chamber that took everyone’s breath away. The Hufflepuff common room was nothing short of enchanting.

Soft golden lanterns hung from the ceiling like glowing fruit. The walls were covered with lush tapestries depicting gardens, fields, and Helga Hufflepuff herself raising her cup in welcome. Low, circular windows looked out onto waving grass and wildflowers, giving the illusion of a cozy underground meadow. The furniture was plump and comfortable, made of polished oak and carved into rounded shapes. Warm rugs in shades of gold, cream, and brown covered the floors.

“Merlin’s beard,” breathed Ernie. “It’s beautiful.”

“Feels like home,” whispered Susan, eyes wide.

“It smells like biscuits,” Justin added dreamily.

Ronson grinned proudly. “Told you we’re the best-kept secret in Hogwarts. Even the castle loves us.”

“Everything’s so round,” Hannah giggled. “No corners to bump into. How thoughtful.”

Miranda smiled. “Helga believed comfort and kindness are the foundations of strength. You’ll find nothing cold or sharp in Hufflepuff.”

Harry turned slowly, taking in every detail—the vines creeping up the walls, the soft hum of the enchanted fireplace, the badger crest gleaming above it all. Maple padded ahead and sniffed cautiously, her nose twitching as she approached a group of curious second-years. They reached out to pet her, murmuring gentle hellos.

“Easy, girl,” Harry said softly. “It’s all right.”

Maple whined quietly, ears flicking. She sat down near Harry’s legs, looking around the circular room with wary fascination. The glow of the lanterns reflected in her deep brown eyes.

“She’s probably overwhelmed,” Miranda said kindly. “The castle’s got its own magic—takes some getting used to.”

Harry nodded, crouching beside Maple to scratch her ear. “You’ll get used to it, won’t you, girl?”

Maple’s tail thumped once, a quiet whump on the rug.

Cedric appeared beside them, smiling. “You’ll find she’ll have fans in every year by morning. Nothing warms a Hufflepuff faster than loyalty—and fur.”

Harry chuckled. “I think she already knows that.”

The prefects began showing the students around: the notice board, the door leading to dormitories, and the corner nook where fresh honey cakes always appeared.

Ronson added in a whisper, “And if you ever need cheering up, the fireplace tells stories if you listen close enough. Don’t ask how—castle secret.”

Harry grinned faintly at that. Hogwarts was indeed full of marvels. Yet, standing there in that golden-lit chamber, surrounded by warmth, laughter, and the soft thump of Maple’s tail, it didn’t feel strange at all.

It felt like belonging.
______________________________

Miranda clapped her hands softly, drawing the group’s attention as the laughter and chatter faded into a comfortable hush. The golden glow of the common room flickered over her warm expression. “All right, everyone,” she said kindly, “before we head to bed, there are a few last things we should go over.”

Ronson leaned against the back of a cushioned chair, arms folded, nodding in agreement. “Aye, nothing scary. Just the usual Hufflepuff way of doing things.”

Miranda smiled. “First and foremost—Hufflepuff House is a family. That means we look out for one another. We share, we help, we defend each other if need be.”

Hannah smiled sleepily. “Sounds a bit like home.”

“Exactly,” Miranda said warmly. “If there’s ever a disagreement—and there will be, even among the best of friends—try to solve it here, in the common room, calmly and kindly. We don’t carry grudges in Hufflepuff.”

Ronson’s tone lightened. “And if it’s something bigger, or someone’s hurt, or anything’s gone wrong—don’t try to deal with it alone. Come to one of us prefects or to Professor Sprout. She’s the kindest person you’ll ever meet, and she takes care of every Hufflepuff like her own cub.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. The atmosphere truly did feel like one of trust—gentle, open, and safe.

Miranda continued, glancing at the fireplace that cast dancing shadows on the walls. “Now, as for the common room itself, you’ve only seen part of it tonight. There are a few more features that you’ll get to explore tomorrow. The feast ran quite long this year—understandably so, with all the new staff and Dumbledore introducing everyone so thoroughly.”

Ronson grinned. “Normally, we just get names and subjects, not their life stories and accomplishments. That was quite the marathon.”

A few of the first-years chuckled, though yawns quickly followed.

“It was interesting, though,” said Justin, rubbing his eyes. “Didn’t expect half those subjects even existed.”

“Nor did anyone until this globalisation thing,” Ronson said with mock weariness. “Half of us are still trying to pronounce some of them.”

Miranda chuckled softly. “Well, tonight’s for rest. You’ll learn everything in due time. For now, all you need to know is that Professor Sprout will meet everyone here at nine o’clock sharp tomorrow morning, after breakfast. It’s the annual first-year welcome meeting, but this year she’s especially eager to greet all of you properly.”

Harry smiled faintly. “Dumbledore did mention her quite a bit already.”

“He did,” Miranda agreed. “Still, there’s nothing like hearing from her yourself. She’ll explain how things work—our traditions, the greenhouses, and the way Hufflepuff helps everyone grow.”

Ronson yawned dramatically. “Which means you’ll want to be awake enough to listen, not half-asleep and drooling on your sleeves. So—early breakfast, everyone.”

He pointed toward the round passage leading out. “Breakfast runs from seven to nine in the Great Hall. Most people come between seven-thirty and eight-twenty because classes start at eight-thirty. Don’t worry about finding the way tomorrow—we’ll take you ourselves.”

Hannah stretched her arms. “So… no chance of getting lost on the first day?”

“Not while we’re around,” Ronson said cheerfully. “Besides, if you do get lost, just ask a painting. The badger one near the kitchens loves helping out first-years.”

Miranda gave him a look of mock exasperation. “Do not encourage them to wander about at night, Ronson.”

“Oh, speaking of that,” he said, snapping his fingers, “curfew’s started already. Eleven p.m. to five a.m.—no exceptions unless you’ve got a teacher’s permission.”

Harry glanced down at his wristwatch. “It’s eleven twelve,” he murmured.

“Right on time, then,” Ronson said with a grin. “See? You’re already keeping the schedule.”

Miranda’s voice softened again, filled with that unmistakable Hufflepuff warmth. “So, before we all collapse, remember this—no matter what house your friends are in, no matter how strange Hogwarts feels now, you always have a place here. That’s what makes Hufflepuff special.”

Harry felt a pleasant swell in his chest at her words. Around him, the others nodded—some smiling, some barely managing to stay awake. Maple gave a low, contented woof, curling near the hearth as if she, too, understood the sentiment.

“Now,” Miranda said, clapping her hands lightly again, “girls, with me. Boys, with Ronson. Dormitories are through those tunnels—don’t worry, you won’t mix them up. Each has a little golden badger on the door.”

Ronson motioned for the boys to follow him. “Come on, lads. Beds are waiting. You’ll sleep like hibernating bears down here.”

Justin snorted. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

The girls giggled softly as they followed Miranda toward their staircase, and the boys trailed Ronson through another rounded tunnel glowing softly with candlelight. The gentle hum of magic filled the air, like the castle itself was humming a lullaby.

Harry took one last glance back at Maple, who was already dozing peacefully on a soft rug near the fire. The golden light shimmered on her fur. He whispered, “Night, girl,” before stepping into the dormitory passage.

Behind him, the common room door closed with a quiet click, sealing them safely inside the heart of Hufflepuff warmth.

The tunnel leading to the boys’ dormitories was dimly lit, the stone walls curving gently as they descended. Warm yellow sconces flickered along the way, casting soft shadows that danced across the earthen floor. The scent of soil and something faintly floral lingered in the air, reminding Harry of a peaceful greenhouse after rainfall. Ronson walked ahead with his usual spring in step, his prefect badge glinting faintly in the torchlight.

“Now, this way, lads,” he called, his voice echoing slightly. “Mind your step there, Smith, the slope’s a bit tricky.”

Zacharias grumbled something under his breath, while Justin chuckled. Harry smiled faintly, clutching his bag as he followed, feeling both exhausted and exhilarated.

They passed several round doors along the tunnel, each marked with brass plates carved neatly with numbers. “That’s the second-year dorm,” Ronson explained, pointing toward a door to their left. “And that one ahead’s for the seventh years. Ours—well, yours—is right here.” He stopped before a wooden door framed with ivy-like carvings and a polished number 4 gleaming above the handle.

“This will be your dorm for the next seven years,” Ronson said proudly, placing his hand on the door. “Now, before you ask, yes—each year your dorm number changes, but the room itself stays the same. See, the castle just shifts the enchantments around. Clever bit of ancient Hufflepuff magic, that. Last year, this was the seventh year dorm. Next year it’ll be second-year, and so on. Keeps things tidy.”

He turned the handle, and the door swung open with a soft hum. Warm golden light spilled out.

The room inside was circular, much like the common room, but smaller and cozier. The walls were smooth, tinted with a faint honey glow, and small vines crept gently around the edges of arched alcoves. Five beds stood arranged evenly around the room, each neatly made with yellow duvets and deep brown covers.

Harry’s eyes widened. “It’s brilliant,” he murmured.

“Merlin’s beard,” said Justin, running a hand over one of the oak bedposts. “It’s like we’re living in a Hobbit hole.”

Ronson laughed. “You could say that, Finch-Fletchley. Though I doubt Hobbits had enchanted windows like these.” He gestured to the rounded panes beside each study table.

Harry stepped closer. The window displayed a view of the night sky, sprinkled with stars shimmering faintly. A soft breeze brushed his cheek when he unlatched it slightly. “Feels like real air,” he said, surprised.

“It is,” Ronson explained with a grin. “The enchantments mimic outside weather. Rain, sunshine, even wind. Professor Sprout says it helps us stay grounded—pun intended.”

They all laughed softly. Harry’s heart felt lighter.

Beside each bed stood a tidy study table, a bookshelf, and a space for stationery and books. The craftsmanship was elegant—rounded edges, warm hues, and faint etchings of vines and badgers. On the other side, tall wardrobes stood ready, their brass handles gleaming.

Harry noticed a cozy dogbed near the wall, large enough for Maple. The fabric looked soft, patterned with tiny paw prints. “She’ll love that,” he murmured fondly, imagining Maple curled up after exploring the castle. Above the dogbed, a small white perch waited for Hedwig. The enchantments shimmered faintly around it, perhaps keeping it fresh and clean for owls.

“Under your beds,” Ronson said, crouching to demonstrate, “you’ll find an enchanted button.” He pressed one, and a soft whir echoed as the mattress rose slightly, revealing a compartment below. “Perfect spot for trunks. Keeps the place neat.”

“That’s clever,” said Ernie, impressed.

“Wait till you see the bathrooms,” Ronson added with mock grandeur, pushing open another wooden door inside the room.

Steam drifted out. The bathroom was lined with smooth amber tiles, each faintly glowing. Four separate basins stood along the wall, each framed by a small mirror etched with the Hufflepuff crest. The showers were separated by pale curtains embroidered with subtle vines, and even the air smelled faintly of herbs and soap.

“Sweet Circe, this is better than home,” said Zacharias with a whistle.

Ronson grinned. “Well, we like comfort down here. You’ll get used to it.”

Harry leaned against the doorframe, smiling softly. His body ached, and his eyes felt heavy, but there was something warm in his chest—belonging. The earthy scent, the soft hum of magic, the laughter of his dormmates—it all felt right.

Ronson clapped his hands. “All right, lads. Get changed and settle in. Tomorrow’s a busy day. Professor Sprout will meet everyone at nine sharp in the common room after breakfast. Curfew’s already in effect, so no wandering off. And before you ask—yes, the kitchens are just nearby, but if you get caught sneaking snacks after hours, even Helga herself won’t save you.”

The boys chuckled, half-tired, half-amused.

Harry sat on his bed, feeling it sink comfortably beneath him. As he pulled off his shoes, he thought, So this is home. The enchanted window shimmered faintly, showing the moonlight above. Somewhere beyond, the castle whispered softly in its ancient language, and Maple’s faint bark echoed from the common room.

Harry smiled, whispered a quiet “Home, a new one.”
______________________________

While the rest of the boys had already fallen asleep—Justin snoring softly, Ernie mumbling in his dreams, Kevin curled beneath his duvet, and Zacharias sprawled out like a Kneazle in sunshine—Harry remained awake. The castle was silent except for the faint hum of magic and the whisper of wind from his enchanted window. Sleep tugged at him, but habit and curiosity overrode fatigue.

He produced his enchanted glow light gently. “Lumos.” The soft golden glow filled his corner. With quiet care, Harry opened his trunk and began arranging his things.

First came the clothes—robes, shirts, trousers, socks—all neatly folded into the wardrobe. “A place for everything,” he murmured, echoing Aunt Petunia’s mantra. Despite being in a dungeon, the air felt fresh, almost like a garden at dawn. He smiled faintly, remembering how she used to fuss over folding. Maybe that part of her rubbed off on him after all.

Next, he placed his books on the small shelf beside his study desk. The volumes from Flourish and Blotts sat side by side with his old Muggle textbooks. “Maths, English, and Chemistry… you’ve got new company now,” he said quietly. Between them went the newer magical tomes—One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, Magical Theory, A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration. Then, on the top corner, he arranged a few extra titles he had picked up out of sheer curiosity: A Brief Introduction to Wizarding Society and Etiquette, A Muggleborn’s Guide to Wizarding Britain, and The Healer’s Path: Foundations of Magical Medicine.

He placed his quills and ink neatly on the desk, followed by his parchment stack and a few self-writing quills he had found amusing but slightly temperamental. From a leather folder, he drew out the bundle of parchment he had filled since that day in Diagon Alley—a month of notes, sketches, and spells. “So much to learn still,” he thought, thumbing through them.

Then, settling down, he took out fresh parchment and his favorite quill. “All right,” he muttered, “three letters tonight.”

He dipped the quill and began the first.

Dear Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon,
I hope you both are well. Hogwarts is everything I imagined and far more. I got sorted into Hufflepuff! There was something called a Hatstall—the Sorting Hat took ages deciding because it said I had traits from all four houses. Eventually, I chose Hufflepuff, like Helga herself, because Healers come from here.
I wanted to thank you again, Uncle Vernon, for keeping my guardianship, even though you could have passed it fully to Sirius. It means a lot. Dudley, I hope Smeltings treats you well. Remember what we talked about—be kind, even when others aren’t. Remind Dudley that Maple misses him.
Your nephew,
Harry

He set it aside, reading it once more with a fond smile. His chest warmed.

Next came the second letter. He hesitated a little before dipping his quill again. “Right then, godfather or not, better start somewhere,” he said quietly. He hesitated a moment before writing “Sirius Black” at the top. The name still felt strange—so much meaning, so much history attached.

Dear Sirius,

I know we haven’t had much chance to talk today, what with the trial and everything, but I wanted to write anyway. It feels strange calling you “Godfather,” but I’m glad we finally met properly. Hogwarts seems incredible so far—so many subjects, and Dumbledore himself introduced each teacher. The common room is warm and cozy, and my dormmates seem nice too.

Please tell Amelia that I said thank you for being so kind during everything. I’m sure you both have a lot to celebrate right now, but try not to overdo it, yeah? Hedwig’s still young—I’d rather not give her the trauma of barging in on anything she shouldn’t see!

Your godson,
Harry

Harry couldn’t help a small laugh at his own line, shaking his head. “That’ll make him grin, at least,” he whispered.

The third letter he drafted more slowly, his hand pausing often as he searched for the right words. The thought of red hair and that bright smile at Bones Manor sent a soft flutter through his chest.

Dear Ginny,

I promised I’d write, so here it is! I got sorted into Hufflepuff—it took ages, though, something called a Hatstall. The Hat said I’d do well anywhere, but I thought Helga Hufflepuff’s ideals fit me best. The castle is enormous, and the feast was unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I even waved at Ron and the others during the Sorting—it’s still hard to believe I’m really here.

I hope you and your mum are doing well at the Burrow. Your brothers are all fine here, though Fred and George nearly caused a pudding explosion at dessert. I’ll tell you more once classes start. You’ll love it next year when you come!

Your friend,
Harry

He read it twice, smiled, then folded it carefully and stacked it with the others. The parchment pile looked oddly satisfying in the lamplight—three letters, three pieces of his heart heading to three very different places.

Yawning, he placed them in the drawer of his desk, whispering, “Tomorrow, Hedwig. You can fly them out after breakfast.”

He glanced around the room once more, feeling a deep contentment. The faint sound of Maple breathing below drifted through the floor, probably fast asleep  by the common room fire.

Harry changed into his nightclothes and climbed into bed, pressing the small button that tucked his trunk beneath. As the enchantment hummed faintly, he looked toward the enchanted window, where the illusion of a starry sky shimmered gently.
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A/n: I hope You like it. Please ignore grammatical and spelling errors. 

Okay, so the introduction is done!! I know the story is moving at a slow pace right now, but that’s intentional—I really want to properly establish the world I’ve altered here. I hope you’re enjoying all the changes so far!!

I also hope you like Miranda and Ronson as the new Hufflepuff prefects.

And about the common room and dorms being Hobbit-style—that’s just my headcanon for Hufflepuffs.

Hey for this story I wasn't able to decide Chapter names easily so for fun why don't you all comment what you think chapter name can be ? I will be waiting.

Thanks for reading. § Hinny Forever § Please Review!!!

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or its universe. All original elements belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This story is a work of fanfiction created purely for entertainment purposes - no copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made. Any original characters, events, or concepts beyond the established canon are the author's own creative additions to expand the magical world respectfully.
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Harry stirred, blinking against the dim amber light filtering through the enchanted window. For a moment, he thought he was still dreaming—the faint scent of soil and clover lingering in the air made the dormitory feel like some hidden meadow underground. When his eyes adjusted, he turned slightly toward the small dog bed beside him and smiled.

"Morning, Maple," he whispered.

The Golden Retriever lifted her head, tail thumping lazily against the stone floor. She gave a low, contented huff before settling again, clearly still half-asleep. Harry chuckled softly. "You snuck in from the common room, didn't you?" he murmured. "Couldn't resist the new bed, huh?"

He glanced at the clock hanging above the wardrobe—6:48. Later than usual. Normally, he would have been up by five, his body still accustomed to the routine he had built over the last three years while preparing for badminton tournaments back in Surrey. But after the long night—sorting, feasting, introductions, and unpacking—sleeping in seemed perfectly fair.

Across the room, a rustle broke the silence. Ernie Macmillan sat up, yawning loudly and rubbing his eyes. His  hair stuck out in every direction.

"Morning, Ernie," Harry said with a small grin.

Ernie blinked, squinting toward him. "Blimey, you're up early," he mumbled. "What time is it?"

"Almost seven," Harry replied. "You're the only other one awake."

Ernie gave a tired nod. "Guess the feast did us in, eh? Never thought magic could be this exhausting."

Harry laughed under his breath, reaching for his neatly folded clothes. "You'll get used to it."

"Used to magic or lack of sleep?" Ernie asked dryly, still half under his blanket.

"Both, probably."

Harry padded softly to the bathroom door, his bare feet sinking into the warm rug enchanted to adjust to the temperature. Inside, the air smelled faintly of lavender and soap. Four basins gleamed under soft golden sconces, and the mirrors shimmered faintly with charm-light. He turned on one of the taps, watching the stream of water swirl perfectly at just the right warmth. The castle, for all its age, seemed alive and oddly attentive—like it cared for its inhabitants.

As he brushed his teeth, his mind wandered back to yesterday—the Sorting Hat's voice echoing in his mind, the cheers from the Hufflepuff table, Dumbledore's endless announcements, and the sight of his friends across the hall waving goodnight. Then there was Maple—faithful Maple—waiting by the fire in the common room before slipping in quietly sometime in the night to sleep beside him.

He took a quick shower, the warm water chasing away the last remnants of fatigue. When he stepped out, wrapped in his towel, he caught his reflection in the mirror and gave a faint smile. "First morning at Hogwarts," he said quietly. "Let's make it count."

By the time he returned to the dormitory, the faint murmur of voices filled the room. Kevin Maxwell was sitting up, yawning dramatically. "Morning already? I swear I just closed my eyes."

"Good morning," Harry greeted, buttoning up his shirt. "You'll want to hurry if you want a warm shower."

Zacharias groaned from his bed, pulling his pillow over his head. "What's the rush? Breakfast isn't till seven, right?"

"Yeah, but we're supposed to meet the prefects before then," Ernie reminded him, standing beside his bed now and rummaging for his tie. "Miranda said something about showing us the way so we don't get lost."

"That's thoughtful," Justin mumbled sleepily as he sat up, hair sticking out wildly. "But honestly, how lost can one get in a castle?"

Harry raised a brow, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You'll find out soon enough," he said.

Kevin laughed. "You sound like you've already memorized the place."

Harry shrugged. "No, but I've read enough to know Hogwarts likes to... shift."

That made them all pause.

"Shift?" Zacharias repeated cautiously.

"The staircases move, the corridors sometimes change paths," Harry explained while straightening his tie. "Even some doors aren't doors unless you know how to open them."

Kevin let out a low whistle. "Good Lord. Guess we better stick close to the prefects, then."

"Wise plan," Ernie said, grinning.

By then, Maple had fully woken up. She stretched lazily, tail swishing, and padded toward Harry. He leaned down and scratched behind her ears. "You ready for your first morning in Hogwarts, girl?"

Maple barked softly, then sat beside his leg as if answering proudly. The sound earned a few smiles from the others.

"She's brilliant," Justin said, bending to pat her. "Did you train her yourself?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Had her since I was six. She's been with me through everything."

Ernie chuckled, pulling on his robes. "Looks like she's as loyal as her owner, eh? Very Hufflepuff."

Harry laughed softly, glancing down at Maple who tilted her head curiously. "Guess so."

By the time everyone was dressed, the dormitory was buzzing with low chatter and excitement. The scent of breakfast—toast, eggs, and something sweet—seemed to drift faintly even this deep underground. Harry gave one last glance at his neatly arranged desk before heading toward the door, Maple padding loyally behind him.

The start of their first full day at Hogwarts had begun.

The dorm tunnel glowed softly, sunlight weaving through enchanted sconces that shifted hue with each step. What had seemed shadowy and mysterious the night before now looked warmly alive, as if the walls themselves hummed with cheer. The stone was honey-colored, lined with living ivy that fluttered faintly, though there was no wind. Harry grinned. "This place really feels like a home under the hill," he murmured, running a hand along the curved wall.

Ernie yawned beside him, "Best bit, mate—no draughts, no squeaky floors. Helga Hufflepuff knew how to make comfort into an art."

They reached a wider section of the tunnel where several other boys were emerging from their dorms. The corridor was full of sleepy chatter, laughter, and the faint sound of a kettle whistling from the direction of the common room. Harry spotted Cedric Diggory leaning casually against a doorframe, speaking with a tall, sandy-haired boy who was gesturing animatedly.

"Morning, Cedric," Ernie greeted.

Cedric smiled. "Morning, lads. Slept well, I hope?"

"Like a log," said Justin, stretching. "Though Maple nearly climbed onto my bed in the middle of the night."

Harry chuckled. "She's still getting used to the castle. It's a bit different from Privet Drive."

Cedric's companion stepped forward, offering a hand. "Oliver Stebbins, fourth year. You're the new lot then—welcome to the Hive!"

"The Hive?" Kevin echoed, raising an eyebrow.

Oliver grinned. "You'll see. You'll feel it too, soon enough. We Hufflepuffs move together like a colony—stronger for it."

"Merlin's beard, that's poetic for a morning greeting," Ernie teased, and everyone laughed softly as they moved along.

When they reached the common room, the sight made Harry pause. The morning light poured through the round windows, dancing across polished wooden floors and glinting off the brass fittings. The hearth was already roaring cheerily, filling the room with warmth and the faint scent of cinnamon. The first-year girls were already gathered near the fire with Miranda, their prefect, chatting over a pot of tea.

"Morning, boys," Miranda called. "You're slower than Kneazles in winter!"

"Had to make sure Ernie didn't trip over his pride," Zacharias quipped, earning a round of chuckles.

Before long, Ronson appeared from the opposite tunnel, his robes slightly rumpled and his hair an untamed mess. "Ah, good, everyone's up. Breakfast awaits, young badgers. Follow me, and try not to get distracted by the smell of pancakes halfway there."

Hannah grinned. "You're joking, right?"

"Not at all," Ronson replied with mock solemnity. "The kitchens are right next to our entrance. Handy for late-night snacks—though don't let the elves catch you trying to sneak treacle tart, or they'll glare you into guilt."

Justin leaned toward Harry, whispering, "That's a dangerous temptation."

"Oh, I'll manage," Harry said with a small laugh.

They followed Ronson through the tunnel that curved gently upward. As they climbed, the air grew fresher, tinged with something floral and faintly buttery. The walls slowly transitioned from the earthy tones of Hufflepuff to smooth grey stone, signaling their approach to the main corridors.

Just as they emerged near a stairwell, a sudden whoosh of cold air swept over them. Maple whined softly, ears twitching. A burst of cackling laughter echoed down the hall.

"PEEVES!" Miranda groaned.

Harry blinked. "That's Peeves? The poltergeist?"

A floating figure in a mismatched jester's outfit swooped into view, grinning from ear to ear, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Firsties! Oh, sweet, fresh little firsties! New badgers for me to play with!"

Ernie instinctively stepped in front of the group. "Peeves, don't even think about it!"

"Oh, but thinking's my specialty, young Earnest Ernie," Peeves cooed. "How about a sprinkle of inky rain to bless your first morning?" He upturned a bottle that materialized from thin air, black droplets threatening to fall.

"Peeves!" Ronson bellowed. "Professor Sprout said if you bother the first years again, she'll banish you from the greenhouses!"

Peeves pouted dramatically. "Oh, spoil my fun, will you? Fine, fine!" He turned to Harry, giving a mock bow. "And you, the famous Potter! Enjoy your stay, little hero." Then, with a raspberry and a gust of air that flipped Ernie's hair, Peeves vanished through a wall.

The group stood in stunned silence for a moment before Justin muttered, "Well, that was... educational."

"Educational? That was mental," Kevin said, shaking his head.

Ronson chuckled. "Welcome to Hogwarts. Peeves comes free with the architecture."

Harry laughed quietly, the corners of his mouth curving into genuine amusement. The castle was strange, unpredictable, and alive in a way no building in the Muggle world could be. Yet, somehow, amidst the chaos and laughter, it already felt like home.

As they resumed their walk toward the Great Hall, Maple padded close to Harry's side, tail wagging faintly, her brown eyes wide and alert. Harry smiled down at her. "Don't worry, girl. We'll get used to it. Both of us."

Susan joined them midway down the corridor, her red hair still slightly mussed from sleep. She rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn. "Morning, everyone," she mumbled, then straightened her robes quickly when Miranda gave her a mildly amused look. "Sorry, long night. Couldn't stop thinking about everything."

Ernie grinned. "You mean you were too excited to sleep, eh?"

Susan made a face. "Excited, nervous, both. The ceiling in the dorm is shaped like a burrow tunnel—kept thinking it was going to collapse!"

"Helga wouldn't have that," Justin said cheerfully. "She'd haunt the walls herself before she let them crack."

As they approached the main staircase, sunlight poured through the tall arched windows, casting warm gold across the flagstones. The scent of baking bread and roasted tomatoes drifted up from the Great Hall below. Harry's stomach growled softly, and Maple's ears perked up at the smell.

"Breakfast time," Ronson announced. "Brace yourselves, badgers. Hogwarts breakfasts are legendary."

The moment they stepped into the Great Hall, the sound of chatter, clinking cutlery, and fluttering wings filled the air. The enchanted ceiling mirrored a brilliant blue morning sky streaked with wisps of white cloud. Long tables stretched across the hall, gleaming with polished goblets and platters piled high with food.

Susan suddenly waved. "There! Daphne and the others are already here!"

Harry followed her gaze. At the Slytherin table, Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis were seated beside Blaise Zabini, chatting quietly. Nearby, at the Ravenclaw table, Terry Boot and Lisa Turpin were laughing with Rolf Scamander over something in Magical Fauna Weekly.

"Oi!" Justin called, waving enthusiastically. "Morning, you lot!"

Daphne smirked and raised her hand in greeting. Tracey called, "Try not to get lost on your way to your seat, Finch-Fletchley!"

"Oh, ha-ha," Justin said, rolling his eyes but grinning.

Further up, Percy Weasley was guiding the new Gryffindor first-years through the doors. Ron spotted Harry at once and grinned broadly, waving an arm. Hermione waved too, looking just as bright-eyed as ever, while Neville gave an awkward but warm smile.

Harry waved back, feeling a familiar comfort settle over him. Their circle might belong to four different houses, but that morning, it still felt like one group—a strange, tightly-knit cluster of students who somehow already fit together.

"Alright, firsties," Miranda said, gesturing toward the Hufflepuff table. "Find a spot and eat before Peeves decides breakfast needs to fly."

They laughed and slid into seats halfway down the table. Platters of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, buttered toast, and porridge appeared almost instantly, along with pitchers of pumpkin juice and tea.

"Blimey," Kevin muttered, eyes wide. "I've never seen so much food in one place."

Harry reached for toast and smiled faintly. "You'll get used to it. Still beats my old  meals."

Susan gave him a sympathetic look but didn't pry. Instead, she filled his plate with more eggs, saying lightly, "You'll need strength for your first classes."

As they ate, Maple sat obediently beside Harry's chair, tail swishing softly on the floor. A few nearby students leaned to get a better look.

"Is that a dog?" a second-year whispered from further down.

"Sure is," Justin replied proudly. "Meet Maple—the first Hufflepuff retriever in history!"

Laughter bubbled up around them. Some of the older students bent to greet Maple, who wagged her tail happily and accepted a few bits of toast crust. Even one of the prefects from Ravenclaw came over to coo at her.

"She's gorgeous," the girl said. "Is she allowed in the Great Hall?"

Ronson shrugged. "As long as she doesn't knock over the pumpkin juice again, probably."

Harry flushed. "That was an accident," he muttered, recalling the spill last night in the common room.

Breakfast passed in cheerful chatter. Harry felt a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the tea. There was something magical about this place beyond the spells and enchantments—it was the laughter, the clinking of goblets, the hum of hundreds of voices united by shared wonder.

The flutter of wings broke through the noise, and hundreds of owls streamed through the open windows. They swooped gracefully between the floating candles, delivering letters and newspapers. Maple barked softly in surprise, tail wagging as she watched the spectacle.

Harry looked up just in time to see a snowy shape glide toward him. "Hedwig!" he greeted warmly as she landed beside his plate. Her golden eyes gleamed as she dropped a rolled copy of The Daily Prophet in front of him, then nipped affectionately at his fingers.

"Good girl," Harry murmured, offering her a strip of bacon. She took it delicately, feathers fluffing in contentment.

Miranda leaned over. "She's beautiful. So that's the famous Hedwig."

"Yeah," Harry said fondly, stroking her chest. "She's the best there is."

After scanning the headlines briefly—something about Sirius's acquittal and Ministry reforms—Harry reached into his satchel. He pulled out the three letters he had written the previous night: one for the Dursleys, one for Sirius, and one for Ginny. Each was neatly folded and sealed.

"Got deliveries, have you?" Justin asked.

Harry nodded. "I'll send them off now. The owlery's a bit far, but she knows what to do."

He tied the three letters carefully to Hedwig's leg, whispering, "To Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon first, then Sirius, then Ginny, alright?"

Hedwig hooted softly, understanding clear in her gaze. She nuzzled his cheek once before taking off in a blur of white feathers that shimmered in the candlelight.

Harry watched her vanish through the enchanted ceiling, feeling an odd mixture of peace and anticipation. The day was just beginning, yet it already felt full—full of friendship, wonder, and a strange, comforting sense of belonging.

Understood.

"SIRIUS BLACK INNOCENT – PETER PETTIGREW ALIVE – LORD POTTER TESTIFIES IN HISTORIC TRIAL!"

A stunned silence rippled across the hall. Even the clinking of cutlery died. Harry could feel hundreds of eyes darting toward the Hufflepuff table.

Susan leaned close, whispering, "Well... there goes subtlety."

Harry winced. "I was hoping they'd bury it somewhere in the middle pages."

Justin snorted. "Mate, we exposed one of the biggest legal scandals in wizarding Britain. Front page was guaranteed."

Across the hall, Cedric Diggory had frozen mid-bite of toast, eyes wide. Percy Weasley nearly dropped his prefect badge into his porridge. Further along, Fred and George were holding the paper between them, mouths open. "No way," Fred muttered. "He wasn't lying yesterday!"

Audrey Greengrass, seated among the Slytherins, leaned toward her sister Daphne, voice low. "You and your friends were not lying, weren't you?"

Daphne lifted her chin with composed pride. "We were not. It was chaos — Pettigrew tried to flee, but he didn't stand a chance."

Tracey smirked beside her. "Best first day of school ever."

At the Ravenclaw table, Terry and Lisa were whispering animatedly with Rolf. "ICW must be having a field day," Terry murmured. Rolf nodded, scanning the smaller print. "They're listing Harry's Wizengamot seats... Merlin, he's heir to four houses now?" said someone.

Meanwhile, whispers were breaking out everywhere. Students craned their necks, passing the Prophet like a chain of gossip.

"Peter Pettigrew alive? I thought he was dead!"
"Sirius Black a lord now?"
"And Potter—Lord Potter-Gryffindor-Peverell-Black? Blimey, try fitting that on a nameplate."

Professor McGonagall was already reading the article over Dumbledore's shoulder at the staff table, her lips thin but eyes gleaming with restrained pride. Snape's expression, however, was unreadable — his gaze flicking between the headline and Harry, assessing, wary.

Harry sighed and picked up the paper again, scanning the bold paragraphs.

"Lord Sirius Orion Black was exonerated yesterday in a historic emergency trial after the revelation that Peter Pettigrew, long presumed dead, was discovered alive aboard the Hogwarts Express by Lord Harry James Potter and his companions..."

He grimaced slightly at the term Lord Potter. It sounded far too pompous for his liking.

The article continued:

"Potter, already the Lord of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, Gryffindor, and Peverell, has also been declared Heir to House Black, with Lord Black appointed as his magical guardian. The boy's Muggle guardians, Mr. and Mrs. Vernon and Petunia Dursley, were described as 'remarkably protective and steadfast' during the trial proceedings."

Harry almost laughed. "Protective and steadfast, huh? Aunt Petunia will frame that line."

Hannah giggled. "And your uncle'll probably read it aloud at every dinner."

"Knowing him," Harry said, grinning, "he might have it laminated."

Maple barked once, tail thumping against the floor, sensing his good mood. A few Hufflepuffs nearby startled at the sound.

Ron, across the hall at the Gryffindor table, caught Harry's eye and gave him an exaggerated thumbs-up, while Hermione beamed proudly. Neville, sitting beside them, mouthed, Told you it'd go public!

Harry mouthed back, Unfortunately.

The professors had begun whispering among themselves. Professor Sprout was practically glowing, pride clear on her round face. Flitwick appeared to be debating with Sinistra about the ICW's likely involvement. Dumbledore alone looked serene, his twinkling eyes meeting Harry's with a faint nod — approval and reassurance in equal measure.

By then, Fred Weasley had finally recovered enough to shout across the hall, "Oi, Potter! Next time you vanish mid-journey, warn us first before the newspapers do!"

Laughter broke the tension. Even Percy's stern face cracked a reluctant smile.

Harry raised his goblet in mock toast. "Noted, Fred. Next time we'll send a press release!"

The laughter spread, softening the room's edge. Still, the undercurrent of awe remained. The Thirteen exchanged quiet, knowing glances — the shared memory of the train, Pettigrew's transformation, Sirius's tears of freedom.

Justin whispered, "It feels strange, doesn't it? Seeing it all written down."

Harry nodded, folding the Prophet neatly. "Yeah. Like it happened to someone else."

Susan smiled faintly. "No, Harry. It happened because of us."

He looked at her, startled, but before he could respond, Maple's tail thudded again under the table, scattering a few crumbs. The sound earned a chorus of amused chuckles, breaking the heavy air for good.

Across the hall, whispers turned to chatter again, but for Harry, the noise dimmed into a calm hum. His world — the wizarding world — was finally righting itself.

______________________________

As the last crumbs of toast disappeared from plates and chatter began to swell again, a single clink echoed through the Great Hall as Albus Dumbledore rose from his seat. His eyes twinkled over his half-moon spectacles as he lifted a hand for silence. Within seconds, even Peeves hovering high above froze mid-air.

"Good morning, my dear students," Dumbledore began, his voice warm yet commanding. "I suspect many of you have already read the Daily Prophet." A murmur rippled through the hall; papers rustled nervously. "Yes," he continued, his tone softening, "the news is true. Sirius Orion Black is innocent. Peter Pettigrew lives, and he has confessed his crimes before the Wizengamot."

Gasps, whispers, and the occasional Merlin's beard! filled the air. Harry felt dozens of eyes darting toward him. He kept his head level, hands folded calmly on the table, Maple sitting loyally at his feet.

Dumbledore's eyes flickered toward him briefly, then back to the students. "I must also confirm that young Lord Harry James Potter did indeed testify, along with several of his companions, leading to Lord Black's exoneration. Furthermore, as Chief Warlock, I hereby affirm that Sirius Black has been reinstated as Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. Lord Potter, already heir to the Houses Potter, Gryffindor, and Peverell, is now recognised as heir to the Black family as well."

The hall erupted in astonishment. Even Cedric dropped his goblet. Percy's quill snapped in half, and Fred and George exchanged looks that clearly screamed, Blimey, it's all true! Audrey Greengrass's eyes darted to her younger sister at the Slytherin table, whose smirk was almost imperceptible.

Dumbledore raised a hand once more, a faint smile tugging his beard. "I must insist, however, that none of you turn this into an inquisition. These brave young witches and wizards—" his gaze softened toward the group of thirteen across the tables, "—are first-years. I trust you all wish them a pleasant beginning to their Hogwarts education, not an interrogation worthy of the Wizengamot."

A low laugh rippled through the hall. Ron grinned from the Gryffindor table. "Too late for that, huh?" he muttered to Hermione, who only rolled her eyes but smiled all the same.

Dumbledore's tone brightened. "Now, before you all lose your heads entirely, I have a few more announcements." He paused, feigning seriousness. "I refrained from sharing these last night because, frankly, I suspected your poor minds could only handle one world-shaking revelation at a time."

Laughter broke out across all four tables, even from the staff dais where Professor McGonagall's lips twitched.

"Firstly," Dumbledore continued with a conspiratorial grin, "there will be no classes today."

For half a second there was stunned silence—then the Great Hall exploded with cheers. Plates clattered, hats flew, and several third-years actually stood on benches. "No classes!" someone shouted from Ravenclaw. "Bloody brilliant!" said another from Gryffindor. Even the usually reserved Hufflepuffs thumped the table in delight.

Harry chuckled as Maple barked once, tail wagging wildly. Susan leaned over, grinning. "Well, that's one way to start our Hogwarts life," she said.

Hannah laughed. "Helga would've approved."

Justin looked relieved. "No classes means no cauldrons exploding in my face—yet."

Dumbledore chuckled softly, waiting for the noise to die down. "Yes, yes, quite. Now, before you begin prematurely planning picnics or duelling tournaments, let me explain. As I have already introduced to you the globalised education reforms and our new, expanded curriculum, your Heads of House will require time to prepare schedules. They must also record which optional and new subjects each of you intend to pursue."

Professor McGonagall gave a crisp nod from her seat. Snape looked mildly annoyed, while Professor Sprout clapped once with evident enthusiasm.

"Therefore," Dumbledore said, "your day shall instead be devoted to orientation. Prefects will guide you to your Heads of House after breakfast. You shall discuss electives, extracurriculars, and any questions you have about the term ahead. Feel free to explore—but please, refrain from testing the durability of castle ceilings or your peers' patience."

A wave of chuckles followed. Peeves made a face, clearly offended. "Spoil all the fun, he does!" the poltergeist shouted, tossing a bread roll toward the staff table before zooming off through a wall.

Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head fondly. "Ah, Peeves. Proof that chaos, too, has tenure at Hogwarts."

Harry couldn't help but laugh with the rest. For the first time since arriving, the tension around him felt lighter. Across the tables, Daphne, Tracey, and Blaise grinned back at him knowingly, while Lisa and Terry raised mock toasts from Ravenclaw.

As breakfast resumed in full cheer, Percy muttered something about "educational anarchy," and Fred shouted, "Three cheers for no homework!" to general applause.

Harry leaned back slightly, petting Maple's head. The hall buzzed around him—voices, laughter, the clatter of plates—but beneath it all was the steady hum of belonging. He felt it in the air, warm and bright like morning sunlight streaming through the enchanted ceiling. Hogwarts, for all its madness, was already starting to feel like home.

The Great Hall had only just begun to calm when Dumbledore raised his hand once more. His eyes twinkled with that unmistakable hint of mischief which often preceded either brilliance or bedlam. "Ah, one more matter before you dash off to your adventures," he said cheerfully. The chatter died instantly; even Peeves poked his head back through a wall to listen.

Dumbledore clasped his hands. "It concerns Quidditch."

A low hum swept across the hall. Every student from second year upward turned attentive at once, while even the first years straightened, sensing something momentous.

"All Hogwarts Quidditch teams," Dumbledore said lightly, "are hereby disbanded."

The words fell like a Stunning Spell. For three seconds there was complete silence. Then the Great Hall erupted in pandemonium.

"What?!" yelled a Gryffindor fifth-year.
"You can't be serious!" shouted someone from Ravenclaw.
"Our brooms! Our practices!" cried a distraught Hufflepuff fourth-year, clutching his butter knife like a wand.

The Weasley twins both leapt up simultaneously. "You can't do that, Professor!" Fred shouted, eyes wide in mock horror. "It's sacrilege!" George added dramatically.

Even Professor McGonagall looked thunderstruck, her lips thinning so sharply they might have cut parchment. Madam Hooch, by contrast, was watching Dumbledore with a knowing expression, arms crossed and a faint smirk tugging at her mouth.

Dumbledore merely waited, smiling serenely as the uproar peaked and slowly began to ebb. When the noise lessened enough for him to be heard, he lifted a hand again. "Temporarily," he said clearly.

A collective sigh rippled through the hall like a gust of wind.

"That," he continued, eyes twinkling, "had the desired effect. Always good to ensure your audience is awake before revealing the finer details."

Several students laughed nervously. Harry smirked faintly; even he had felt his stomach drop for a second. Maple gave a confused bark from beneath the Hufflepuff table, tail thumping.

Dumbledore resumed, his tone now more measured. "The truth is, we have decided to reform the Quidditch structure at Hogwarts. Madam Hooch will be conducting a capability test for all students who wish to fly—returning players included. Only those who pass will be eligible to play for their Houses."

A buzz of conversation filled the air again, though this time less furious and more curious.

"That's fair, I suppose," Susan whispered.
"Fair?" muttered Justin. "I've never even been on a broom before!"
Harry grinned. "Then you'd best learn fast. Seems like Hooch is in no mood to go easy."

From the staff table, McGonagall still looked far from amused. "Headmaster," she said crisply, "surely there was no need for such... dramatics."

Dumbledore's beard twitched. "Ah, Minerva, sometimes a touch of drama keeps the young hearts inspired. You know how dull mornings can be after breakfast."

A few giggles spread through the hall, quickly stifled when McGonagall's glare swept the room.

Dumbledore continued, his tone firm but kindly. "I have no doubt our seasoned players will pass with ease. This measure is merely to ensure safety and competence, given the... expanded diversity of skill levels now entering Hogwarts under the new globalised education system."

Professor Hooch gave a curt nod. "That's correct. The test will cover take-off control, altitude stability, steering precision, and emergency landing. No show-offs, no dives from the Astronomy Tower, and no midair duels. I'll be watching closely."

The hall collectively winced. Fred whispered to George, "That last bit was aimed at you."
George grinned. "Us? Never. Maybe Lee."
Lee Jordan, seated beside them, snorted. "Oi!"

Dumbledore raised his voice slightly to be heard over the renewed murmurs. "One final addition," he said, pausing deliberately. "From this year onward, any first-year who passes Madam Hooch's capability test shall also be eligible to try out for their House teams."

That statement hit like a Firebolt through the Great Hall. Students gasped. Fred nearly choked on his pumpkin juice.

"First years?!" Percy spluttered, looking scandalised.
"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed, grinning toward Harry. "You'll be on the pitch before you even finish unpacking!"
Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled. "As if he needs more attention."
"Oi, you never know," Hannah said brightly, nudging Harry. "You might be the next Hufflepuff Seeker."

Harry laughed quietly. "Let's first see if I can stay on the broom."

Cedric, further down the table, turned in his seat. "If you fly anything like you handled that rat in the Express, Potter, we'll have no worries."

That drew several raised brows, but Harry only gave a small grin, his cheeks coloring faintly.

Dumbledore, clearly delighted by the renewed buzz of excitement, clapped his hands once. "Excellent! Now, finish your breakfast, my young flyers and scholars. Heads of House will be meeting you shortly. And do remember—no sneaking off to the Quidditch pitch before Madam Hooch gives the word. She has an excellent Bludger aim when provoked."

Laughter filled the hall again as Dumbledore sat, content. McGonagall exhaled sharply, muttering something about "reckless leniency," while Sprout clapped approvingly. Snape's expression remained unreadable, though the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth suggested amusement.

As students resumed talking, the hall felt charged with energy. The gloom of yesterday had lifted completely, replaced by fresh anticipation and laughter. Harry reached down to scratch Maple's ear, smiling faintly.

"Looks like things at Hogwarts," he murmured, "are going to be far from ordinary."

______________________________

The journey back to the Hufflepuff common room was far livelier than last night. The corridors hummed with conversation, laughter echoing off the stone walls as prefects led their Houses through the castle. Miranda Hopkirk and Ronson Dipple once again took charge of the first-year Hufflepuffs, their yellow-trimmed cloaks swishing as they navigated the familiar tunnels.

"Stick close, badgers," Miranda called over her shoulder, her tone warm yet authoritative. "Wouldn't want anyone wandering into a broom cupboard by mistake. They've got a habit of locking themselves for days."

That earned a few nervous chuckles from the first-years. Harry grinned at Susan, who rolled her eyes but smiled all the same. Ronson, walking at the rear, added cheerfully, "Happened to me in second year. I was stuck in one for three hours. Missed pudding. Worst day of my life."

The group reached the stacks of barrels again, the earthy smell of mead and wood filling the air. This time, Miranda turned to face them with a grin. "All right, first-years, who remembers the rhythm?"

Several looked uncertain, but Susan's hand shot up. Miranda gestured to her encouragingly. "Go on, Bones. Show us your memory's as sharp as your aunt's reputation."

Susan blushed faintly, then bent down and tapped the correct barrel rhythm for Helga Hufflepuff. The lid sprang open smoothly, revealing the familiar warm glow of the tunnel within. The prefects clapped softly, Ronson beaming. "Perfect. Looks like we've got our official doorkeeper for the week."

Inside, the common room was brighter than before. The ceiling lamps were lit to mimic daylight, reflecting off the polished stone and soft earthen hues of the chamber. The fire crackled merrily, and the scent of baked bread drifted faintly from the kitchen tunnels. Older students were already filtering in from dorms and hallways, chatting animatedly about Dumbledore's shocking announcements.

"Merlin's beard," someone said, "first-years in Quidditch? Next they'll be teaching Flobberworms ballet."
"Wouldn't surprise me," another replied dryly.

Miranda guided the first-years toward the front sitting area, where several plush armchairs had been arranged in semicircles. "Sit tight here," she said kindly. "Professor Sprout will be along soon. She's usually right on time, unless she's caught rescuing mandrakes again."

They didn't have to wait long. A few minutes later, the barrel door opened, and Professor Pomona Sprout entered, her patched hat slightly askew and a wide, sunlit smile on her face. The room immediately brightened, as if responding to her presence.

"Ah, my Hufflepuffs!" she exclaimed warmly, clapping her hands together. "How wonderful it is to see all of you again!"

A wave of cheers and applause followed. Even the older students looked genuinely pleased. Harry couldn't help but notice how Sprout's presence radiated comfort—the kind that reminded him faintly of Mrs. Alder's hugs or Aunt Petunia's tea on calmer mornings.

Sprout's eyes crinkled as she looked around, spotting the newcomers. "And you must be our bright new first-years," she said, her tone full of affection. "Welcome, welcome, welcome! I hope the feast didn't overwhelm you too much last night. I heard poor Anthony Goldstein nearly dropped his plate when the pudding refilled itself."

Soft laughter rippled through the room. Sprout winked. "Not to worry. Hogwarts has that effect on everyone the first week."

She moved toward the front, resting her gardening gloves on a nearby table. "Now, it's been my tradition for years to hold a house meeting on the first morning after the feast. Though, as you've heard from our dear Headmaster, it seems this year my tradition has become a rule."

A few chuckles followed. Sprout continued, her voice gentle but firm. "Hufflepuff House is, above all, a family. We work hard, we remain loyal, and we stand together. We do not gossip about each other's troubles, nor do we carry our disputes into the corridors. If something bothers you, you resolve it here, as a house. If the issue proves too much, your prefects or I will help. Understood?"

The first-years nodded solemnly. Harry noticed how even the older students were listening respectfully.

"Excellent," Sprout said, satisfied. "Now, to make sure you know who to turn to, let me properly introduce our prefect team."

She gestured toward Miranda and Ronson, who both stood proudly. "You've already met Miranda Hopkirk and Ronson Dipple—our wonderful fifth-year prefects. Miranda is a fine duelist and top of her class in Herbology, and Ronson has the record for fastest time in last year's cross-Hogwarts obstacle race."

Ronson gave an exaggerated bow, earning laughter.

Sprout smiled fondly. "Now, our sixth-year prefects—Melinda Bobbin and Marcus Fleet. Both are steady as stone and very good at keeping secrets, which is a rare virtue these days."

The two sixth-years waved. Melinda, a tall girl with auburn curls, added kindly, "If you ever need potions advice, come to me. Or snacks. I hoard Honeydukes sweets like a dragon."

Marcus grinned. "And if you ever break a broom, I can fix it. Usually."

The laughter grew. Sprout nodded approvingly, then turned toward two older students sitting near the fire. "And last but not least, our seventh-year prefects, Beatrice Cresswell and Steve Whitlock—our anchors of the House. You'll find them excellent at solving problems and even better at keeping the peace."

Beatrice raised her teacup in greeting, and Steve gave a small salute.

"There now," Sprout said warmly. "Those are the people you go to before letting any problem fester. Remember, no issue is too small. A stitch in time, as they say, saves nine—or in our case, nine barrels of headache."

The entire common room laughed softly, the atmosphere glowing with unity and warmth. Even Harry found himself smiling.

Professor Sprout waited for the laughter to subside before continuing. She adjusted her patched hat and gestured toward the wide fireplace at the center of the common room. The flames danced lazily, glowing gold rather than red.

"Now, one very important thing," she began, her voice steady but kind. "In case of any emergency—medical, magical, or otherwise—this fireplace can be activated into a Floo connection. It will automatically link to either my office or the infirmary, depending on what sort of emergency it is."

A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd. Harry leaned forward slightly, intrigued.

"However," Sprout said with a raised finger, "it works only for emergencies. Don't go thinking you can use it to visit your cousin in Diagon Alley or to escape a Transfiguration essay. It's warded quite smartly against misuse."

Ronson snickered softly beside Harry, whispering, "Someone tried that in fourth year. Spent the night with their feet sprouting mushrooms."

Sprout caught the whisper but only smiled. "Indeed. I believe Mr. Fleet learned a valuable lesson about timing and toadstools that day." Marcus, the sixth-year prefect, turned bright red, eliciting a wave of chuckles.

The professor clapped her hands once, and several thin rolls of parchment floated through the air, landing neatly in the hands of every first-year and then the older students. Harry unrolled his curiously and saw it was a detailed map of Hogwarts.

"These are not magical maps," Sprout clarified. "I crafted them myself to help you navigate until you know the castle's mood. Hogwarts likes to move her staircases and corridors, but this should serve for basic orientation—at least until your sense of direction improves."

The older students grinned knowingly at that.

Sprout turned toward the senior Hufflepuffs. "And for you, my dears, new maps as well. Since the Headmaster's latest expansions, new subjects mean new classrooms, wings, and corridors. Even the ghosts got lost twice last week."

"Twice?" Miranda asked playfully.
"Thrice, if you count the Fat Friar," Sprout replied with mock sternness, to laughter all around.

Then she motioned for everyone to follow her. "Now, there's something special I want to show our newest badgers before breakfast turns into lunch."

The crowd shuffled closer as she led them toward one of the far walls of the common room. Harry realized they were approaching the large tapestry he had noticed the night before—the one depicting Helga Hufflepuff herself, seated serenely, sipping tea from a golden goblet.

At first glance, it looked like any other medieval tapestry: thick, woven fabric, gentle colors, and exquisite stitching. Yet as they gathered, the air around it seemed to hum faintly.

Sprout stopped a few feet away and turned toward the group, her eyes twinkling. "This tapestry is one of Hufflepuff's most closely guarded secrets. Few outside our house know of it. What you see here is not just decoration—it's a legacy."

Ernie raised his hand hesitantly. "You mean it's enchanted, Professor?"

"Precisely," Sprout replied. "Though it isn't a portrait in the traditional sense, the tapestry is enchanted with a fragment of Helga Hufflepuff's essence. It allows her to speak, guide, and—on occasion—offer some... rather blunt wisdom."

There was a collective gasp of astonishment. Hannah whispered, "Helga Hufflepuff herself?"

The tapestry shimmered softly, the threads of gold in the goblet catching the light. Then, to everyone's amazement, Helga Hufflepuff's embroidered eyes blinked. The woven lips curved into a serene smile.

"Good morning, my badgers," came a warm, echoing voice, gentle yet commanding.

Half the first-years jumped back. Harry blinked in awe, his heart leaping. The tapestry had spoken.

Helga's voice continued, almost like a soft melody. "Pomona, my dear, you've brought me fresh hearts again, have you?"

Sprout chuckled affectionately. "Indeed I have, Helga. Our newest first-years, ready to begin their journey."

The tapestry's smile deepened. "Ah, then welcome, little ones. You carry loyalty in your souls and warmth in your hearts—that is enough for me."

Justin stammered, "B-blimey, she's real."

Helga turned her head slightly, the threads shimmering as if moved by unseen wind. "Real enough to hear that, young man," she said mildly, causing a wave of nervous laughter.

Sprout smiled approvingly. "Helga here watches over the common room. If you ever need guidance, you may speak to her. She won't always answer, but when she does, pay attention. She tends to know things before anyone else."

Harry stared at the tapestry, feeling an inexplicable sense of calm. There was something motherly about Helga's tone, something timeless.

"Do take care of each other," the tapestry murmured softly, her eyes glinting like polished amber. "Hufflepuffs thrive not in rivalry, but in unity. That is your greatest magic."

A reverent silence filled the room. Even the older students bowed their heads slightly, as though in respect.

Sprout finally clapped her hands gently. "Well said, Helga. I think that's enough inspiration after breakfast."

The tapestry chuckled lightly, its voice fading into stillness as the woven Helga returned to her quiet tea.

Sprout turned back to her students, smiling warmly. "Now then, you've met the founder herself—or as close as anyone alive can. Keep her words in your heart. They'll serve you far longer than any spell in your textbooks."

The entire room seemed to glow with newfound pride, the first-years standing a little taller, and Harry felt a distinct certainty settle in his chest—he was exactly where he was meant to be.

The room quieted when Professor Sprout's cheerful yet commanding voice filled the air. "Now then, my badgers," she said warmly, clasping her hands together. "Let us continue." Her tone carried both pride and motherly affection that seemed to match the room's earthy comfort.

Kevin raised his hand hesitantly. "Professor, if it's alright to ask... why's it a secret? About the tapestry, I mean."

Sprout smiled approvingly. "Excellent question, Mr. Maxwell. The answer is quite simple. Were this known beyond our House, the tapestry would be treated as an artifact rather than what it truly is — a guardian presence. Scholars would beg to study it, historians would demand to move it, and you can imagine what chaos the Ministry might cause. We prefer to keep Helga's spirit safe here, where she belongs."

A few students nodded in awe. Harry glanced again at the tapestry; Helga Hufflepuff's embroidered smile seemed almost to twinkle. It gave him an odd sense of calm, as if she truly was watching over them.

"Only Hufflepuffs, their alumni, and Hogwarts Headmasters are aware of this," Sprout continued. "And even then, non-Hufflepuff Headmasters only learn of it once they assume command of the castle. That secrecy has preserved our House's heart for nearly a millennium."

Miranda whispered softly to Hannah, "Imagine, Helga herself right there. No other House has that." Hannah nodded reverently, her eyes wide.

Sprout clapped her hands once. "Now then, come along. There's still much of our domain for you to see."

The students followed her through a side passage branching off the main lounge. The tunnel curved gently, lit by low amber lamps that made the air feel cozy rather than dim. It opened into a smaller chamber lined with sturdy oak shelves — their very own library.

"This," said Sprout with evident pride, "is the Hufflepuff Library. It is not as vast as the Hogwarts Library, of course, but you will find enough here to support your coursework and a few extra curiosities besides. Many older students leave notes or study guides for the younger years. Treat them well, and they shall do the same for you."

Harry ran his fingers lightly over the spines of a few books. The scent of parchment, mixed with faint chamomile, filled the air. It felt far more personal than the grand library upstairs.

Next, Sprout led them to a door on the opposite side. "Here," she said, "are your study rooms. They are meant for quiet collaboration. If you wish to do your homework or prepare for exams, this is where you come. The main common room is for conversation and laughter, not parchment and quills. Hufflepuffs thrive on balance — work hard, rest well."

Ernie smirked. "So, basically, no cramming near the fireplace?"

Sprout chuckled. "Precisely, Mr. Macmillan. The warmth there is for your hearts, not your essays."

Further down, another archway revealed a broader chamber filled with comfortable couches, enchanted music stands, and a few polished instruments glinting in candlelight.

"This," she said, "is our entertainment room. A place for music, games, or just friendly chatter. It keeps the spirit of the House light and bright."

Hannah grinned. "It's like home already."

Finally, Sprout opened the last door, leading into a wide space with mirrored walls and a soft wooden floor. "And here we have something special — our adaptable room. This chamber responds to need. You may use it for dance, for exercise, for training, or practice of certain subjects requiring movement or focus. Although now that the International Confederation of Wizards has introduced formal classes for arts and physical studies, this room may see even more use than before."

Justin whistled softly. "You really thought of everything, Professor."

Sprout's eyes twinkled. "Helga did, dear boy. We merely keep her ways alive."

Harry felt warmth rise in his chest. Every room, every brick seemed to hum faintly with kindness and diligence — traits that mirrored what Helga Hufflepuff herself had stood for. He exchanged a look with Susan, who smiled knowingly; they both felt it too.

Sprout glanced around once more, ensuring everyone was listening. "Remember this, my Hufflepuffs — this House will always stand for loyalty, fairness, and hard work. You represent more than a colour or a name; you represent the founder who believed everyone deserves a chance to belong."

The first years nodded in solemn understanding. The tapestry of Helga shimmered faintly once again, as if in approval.
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A/n: I hope You like it. Please ignore grammatical and spelling errors. 

So Hogwarts life has officially started!! Now, I hope everyone here knows that the main theme of my story is education, so please don’t complain when you see a lot of that. There is drama and all the usual stuff, but the core of the story is how the ICW’s reforms allowed Harry to become the best Healer he could possibly be. Everything else is basically a side quest.

Next, I think Maple is going to be very well liked in the Hufflepuff dorms. Honestly, I feel like the golden retriever is one breed of dog that almost no one can dislike.

Now, making Harry a Hufflepuff sounded like a great writing choice—and it is—but writing it turned out to be both a boon and a curse. A curse because almost nothing is really known about this house. For some reason, J.K. never focused on Hufflepuff much. The only real highlights were Cedric and Nymphadora Tonks, and even Pomona as a teacher isn’t explored in depth. That meant I had to invent a lot of original characters and details. Like, I know my version of the Hufflepuff common room might not be “canon,” but I wanted it that way. And that’s also where the boon comes in—because of the lack of information, I can pretty much do whatever I want with it.

So far, I’ve made it very cozy. Hobbit-style, no sharp corners, enchanted windows despite being in the dungeons, warm and welcoming, with its own library and entertainment rooms—and Helga’s tapestry. A fun thought I had is that each house probably has some form of the founder’s portrait that they keep secret.

Anyway, I genuinely think the most simple and passive people are often the most underrated, and the same thing happens with Hufflepuff. Despite being one of the best house communities ever, they don’t get enough credit. They have strong unity, are generally peaceful, do their work, stay calm, and avoid unnecessary drama. Though, with Harry now in the house, that might not stay true for long. I mean, getting Harry Potter is going to be part of Hufflepuff’s history forever.

And Pomona is a really good Head of House, in my opinion. She’s kind, sweet, attentive, and always trying to mingle and make her students comfortable enough that they feel safe sharing their problems with her.

Hey for this story I wasn't able to decide Chapter names easily so for fun why don't you all comment what you think chapter name can be ? I will be waiting.

Thanks for reading. § Hinny Forever § Please Review!!!

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or its universe. All original elements belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This story is a work of fanfiction created purely for entertainment purposes - no copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made. Any original characters, events, or concepts beyond the established canon are the author's own creative additions to expand the magical world respectfully.
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Sprout led the first years back into the main common room, the air filled with the chatter of older students already gathered in clusters. The younger ones looked around curiously as she called out, "Alright, my badgers, gather by your year level, please. We shall begin assigning your subjects and schedules."

The older Hufflepuffs immediately formed neat groups. The seventh years stepped forward first, their expressions composed but slightly weary. "Now, the rest of you, please wait patiently," said Sprout, waving her wand to conjure a comfortable armchair near the hearth for each student who would be called in turn. "I will meet each of you privately to discuss your timetables and electives."

She began with the seventh years, and the process proved painstakingly detailed. The privacy wards flickered around her and each student she spoke with, shimmering faintly gold before fading once the consultation ended. The younger students passed the time chatting, playing with Maple, or reading the simple maps Sprout had given them earlier. The morning sunlight from the enchanted windows shifted slowly across the stone floor as time stretched on.

By the time the wards around the fourth-year group faded, it was already close to noon. Ernie groaned quietly, "Blimey, it's nearly lunch and we're not even halfway."

Hannah yawned beside him. "She's thorough. That's good, I suppose."

Finally, at a little past one forty-five, Sprout's warm voice called across the room, "Miss Abbott, your turn, dear."

Hannah gave her friends a nervous smile. "Wish me luck," she whispered, smoothing her robes before disappearing behind the golden veil of privacy wards.

Harry leaned back in his seat, absently scratching Maple's head. She wagged her tail lazily, half-asleep by his feet. The gentle hum of conversation around the room felt almost comforting. Ten minutes later, the wards shimmered out again, and Hannah emerged, smiling. "She's really kind," she whispered to Harry as she sat down. "You'll be fine."

"Mr. Potter," came Sprout's call next, after a while.

Harry stood, taking a steady breath, and approached. As soon as he stepped within the circle, the familiar warmth of protective magic sealed them off from the rest of the world. The golden shimmer surrounded the two chairs and desk, muffling all sound beyond.

"Good afternoon, Professor," Harry greeted politely.

Sprout's kind eyes crinkled. "Good afternoon indeed, Mr. Potter. Do sit down." She waited until he settled before speaking again. "I must tell you, I'm truly glad to have you in Hufflepuff. When the Sorting Hat announced your name, I daresay I felt quite emotional."

Harry smiled softly, remembering the faint tears in her eyes last night. "I noticed, Professor. Honestly, I'm glad too. It... feels right."

"Helga would be proud," she said warmly. "Now, before we discuss your timetable, there are a few administrative matters." She reached for a slim folder embossed with his name. "First, congratulations on your godfather's acquittal. I imagine this morning's paper caused quite the stir."

Harry gave a short laugh. "Yes, it did. Everyone's been talking about it. I barely know Sirius yet, though. Met him properly only yesterday."

Sprout nodded understandingly. "It will take time, dear boy. Still, it's a blessing to have family again." She paused, then added, "Now, I will need the formal addresses of both your guardians. The Headmaster requires them for official correspondence."

Harry pulled a small parchment from his pocket. "Here, Professor. This is Sirius's London address-Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. And this one's for the Dursleys-Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging."

She scanned the parchment and beamed. "Very good. I am pleased to see your Muggle guardians are so cooperative. Albus told me they even had a Floo connection installed."

Harry nodded. "Yes. Uncle Vernon thought it was best for emergencies. Aunt wasn't thrilled, but she came around."

"That was wise of them," Sprout said approvingly. She placed the parchment neatly inside the folder before opening another document. "Now, about your records." She adjusted her spectacles and smiled. "I see your birth certificate here-St. Mungo's Hospital, correct?"

"Yes, Professor," Harry confirmed.

"Everything appears in order. As for your health record, your Muggle inoculations are fully up to date." She tapped the paper with her wand, frowning slightly. "However, I see you have not yet received your Tenth-Year Magical Immunisation."

Harry looked puzzled. "Magical immunisation?"

"It's a potion-based inoculation given to all wizarding children at the age of ten," she explained. "Protects against a few minor arcane ailments-mana flux fever, residual hex sensitivity, and the like. Perfectly safe, of course. Since you only learned about our world last month, we can make arrangements for you to receive it now."

"Alright," Harry said, relieved. "I don't want to miss anything important."

"Good lad. I shall ask Madam Pomfrey to schedule it for tomorrow afternoon," Sprout replied, jotting a neat note on her parchment. "Muggle-borns often need the same, so you'll hardly be alone."

She looked up again with a kindly smile. "You've adjusted remarkably well, Mr. Potter. I'm proud already."

Harry blushed faintly. "Thank you, Professor. I'm just trying my best."

Sprout nodded, eyes shining. "That is precisely the Hufflepuff spirit."

The wards hummed quietly around them, sealing in the calm rhythm of her voice. For a moment, Harry thought that this - quiet competence, kindness, and order - was exactly what he had always wanted from a home.

Professor Sprout smiled warmly as she looked through Harry's file, her quill hovering just above the parchment. "Now then, Mr. Potter," she began, her tone brisk but kind, "as for your schedule-there are, of course, the seven core subjects that every first-year must take. Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology, Defence Against the Dark Arts-which, as you already know, has now been divided into two parts: Defensive Magic and Dark Arts & Offensive Magic-Astronomy, and History of Magic."

Harry nodded quickly, already knowing most of that from his reading and from yesterday's announcements. Still, hearing it said aloud felt more official, like Hogwarts was now truly his world.

Sprout continued, "Now, as for the additional subjects introduced this year, there are quite a few, though first-years are eligible for only a handful. These include Fine Arts, Craftsmanship, Human Languages, Sports and Games, Physical Education, and finally, Martial Arts and Weaponry. Each of these will have one class per week, and participation is entirely voluntary. So, which of these do you wish to take?"

Harry thought for only a moment. "All of them," he said with a small grin. "I think I'd like to learn a bit of everything."

Sprout raised her eyebrows, clearly impressed. "All of them? That is quite ambitious, dear boy. Though I suppose if anyone can manage, it would be you. I see that work ethic suits you well already." Her smile softened. "It's rather Hufflepuff of you to be so earnest in your efforts."

Harry chuckled faintly. "I just want to understand as much as I can. It feels like I missed out on a lot before, Professor."

Her expression turned gentle. "Yes, I can imagine you did. But rest assured, you are in the right place now. Hogwarts has a way of balancing everything-if one learns how to walk the rhythm of its halls." She tapped her quill lightly against the parchment and wrote down his selections with neat, looping strokes.

"Now then," she said, flipping to another page, "Professor Dumbledore also announced several clubs yesterday. Nineteen in total, if I recall. Have you decided whether you'd like to join any this year?"

Harry hesitated. He had looked over the list last night while chatting with Susan and Hannah. There were so many fascinating ones, but he did not want to overload himself right away.

"I think for this year," he said carefully, "I'll join  two-Wizarding Etiquette Club and Charms Club."

Sprout's eyes twinkled with approval. "Very wise choices. Etiquette will help you with inter-house and inter-ministry interactions later on, and Charms Club is always useful-Professor Flitwick oversees that one himself, you know. He's an excellent duelist and a fair mentor."

Harry's curiosity sparked. "He seems kind," he said. "He greeted me after the Sorting and said I had 'marvellous control for a first-year. Also he was the one to escort me and my family to Diagon Alley. "

"That's Flitwick for you," Sprout said fondly. "Always quick to notice potential. He was a dueling champion in his youth, though you'd never guess it from his height."

Harry grinned. "That's what Ron said too."

Sprout laughed lightly. "I see you've made friends quickly. That's good. You'll need good company in this castle-it helps more than most spells, you'll see."

She glanced again at her parchment and added up the hours. "Now, with all your subjects and club commitments, that brings your weekly total to approximately twenty-eight hours. That's rather a full plate, Mr. Potter, at least for a first year. Are you certain you're comfortable with that load?"

Harry nodded without hesitation. "Yes, Professor. I like keeping busy."

"Excellent," she said, clearly pleased. "Then your finalized timetable will be ready by tomorrow morning. You'll receive it with your breakfast owls. Make sure you review it carefully before heading to your first class. The castle tends to shift pathways on the first week of term, and we wouldn't want you getting lost on the way to Professor Snape's dungeon."

Harry chuckled nervously. "I'll try not to."

Sprout winked. "Wise lad. No one likes to be late for Snape's lessons. Now, before we finish, I should remind you-our house values loyalty, diligence, and patience. You've already shown plenty of the first two, but patience will test you the most. Hogwarts has a habit of throwing surprises when least expected."

Harry gave a small smile. "I'll remember that, Professor."

"Good." She waved her wand, and the faint shimmer of privacy wards dissolved around them. The soft hum of voices from the rest of the common room returned. "That's all for now, Mr. Potter. You may head back to your friends. Tell Hannah she's free to return as well."

Harry stood, gathering his file as Sprout handed it back. "Thank you, Professor. For... everything."

"Anytime, dear boy," she said warmly. "Now off you go-before the pumpkin pasties vanish from the snack trays again."

Harry laughed softly as he left the room, already feeling a strange mixture of belonging and excitement. Hogwarts, he thought, truly was full of magic-and Hufflepuff felt exactly like home.

After Harry stepped out from the small study room, he saw Hannah waiting near the fireplace, swinging her legs from the arm of a chair. She brightened when she spotted him.

"Well?" she asked eagerly. "How did it go?"

Harry smiled, sinking into the seat beside her. "Pretty good. Professor Sprout said I could take all six extra subjects. I thought I might as well."

Hannah grinned widely. "Same here! I told her I wanted to try everything too. She said she wasn't surprised, that it's a 'proper Hufflepuff attitude.'"

Harry chuckled softly. "She said that to me as well. Guess she'll be saying that a lot today."

"Probably," Hannah said with a giggle. "I think Susan's going to choose all too. She said last night she wanted to learn everything Hogwarts could teach."

Just then, Sprout's voice floated through the air, calling, "Susan Bones." Susan gave them both a wave and walked briskly toward the study room, her robes swishing behind her.

Harry leaned back, relaxing into the cushions. "I wonder if everyone's going to do that," he mused.

"Not everyone," Hannah said thoughtfully. "Ernie said he might skip Fine Arts. He doesn't think painting or music will help him become Minister for Magic someday."

Harry snorted. "He said that?"

"Word for word."

They both laughed quietly. The warm scent of earth and cinnamon filled the air-Sprout must have conjured fresh tea somewhere nearby.

After about ten minutes, Susan emerged with a satisfied expression. "Well, that's that," she said, rejoining them. "All six, obviously."

Harry grinned. "Knew it."

"Of course," Susan said, mock-offended. "What kind of Bones would I be if I didn't give my best? Auntie Amelia always says, 'Knowledge is your armour in a duel of wits.'"

Hannah rolled her eyes affectionately. "You sound exactly like her when you say that."

Susan smirked. "That's the point."

Just then, Justin Finch-Fletchley approached, his hair a bit tousled as if he had been running from his dorm. "They're calling  us now, right?" he asked.

"Almost," Harry said. "You'll be soon. We've all picked everything so far."

Justin's eyes widened. "All six? Really? Then I'll do the same. Wouldn't want to fall behind you lot."

Susan laughed. "That's the spirit."

Soon enough, Sprout's voice echoed again, "Justin Finch-Fletchley."

He grinned nervously. "Wish me luck."

"You'll be fine," Hannah said. "Just say yes to everything."

After he disappeared into the study room, the three friends sat chatting idly. Harry felt a deep warmth spreading through him. It was strange-yesterday, he hadn't even known what it meant to belong to a House, and now here he was, part of a group that already felt like family.

When Justin came out, his grin confirmed it. "All six chosen," he said proudly. "We're all in this together then."

"Good on you," Susan said approvingly. "Looks like we'll have busy weeks ahead."

Harry nodded, thoughtful. "Yeah, but not too bad. I was reading the handbook earlier-maximum allowed hours for any year is sixty hours a week, clubs and other non-academics included. We've only got twenty-eight a week. That's not bad at all."

"Merlin's beard, fifty-two?" Justin said in disbelief. "That sounds dreadful. Who would even try that?"

"Ravenclaws," Susan and Hannah said in unison, then burst out laughing.

Harry laughed with them, imagining Terry Boot taking fifteen subjects and thriving.

Before they could continue, Professor Sprout stepped out again, glancing around the room. "Mr. Potter?"

Harry blinked. "Yes, Professor?"

"Could you come here for a moment, dear? I realised I forgot to mention something important earlier."

Harry followed her back inside, curiosity piqued. She re-cast the privacy wards, the faint golden shimmer surrounding them again.

"I'm terribly sorry to call you back, Harry," she began, looking a touch flustered. "It quite slipped my mind earlier. Now, as you probably recall, the Muggle Studies department and all its nine subfields are reserved for third years and above. However, due to the Headmaster's directive that Muggle-borns and those raised in the Muggle world not lose track of their non-magical education, our staff have agreed to hold unofficial sessions for anyone interested."

Harry tilted his head. "Unofficial classes?"

"Yes. They won't appear on your transcript, but you could attend them voluntarily to keep pace with Muggle education-mathematics, science, languages, and so on. I wanted to ask if you'd like to participate."

Harry smiled and shook his head. "Thank you, Professor, but that won't be necessary. My aunt and uncle already arranged something before I left for Hogwarts. They gave me audio cassettes from some of the best Muggle institutions for my level. I can listen to them whenever I have time."

Sprout blinked in pleasant surprise. "Oh, that's excellent! Very forward-thinking of them. It seems they've made peace with the magical world quite well."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, they're proud of me. They might not understand everything about magic yet, but they want me to do my best-both in the wizarding and Muggle sides."

Sprout's expression softened, genuine warmth shining in her eyes. "That's wonderful to hear, Harry. A bridge between both worlds-Helga would have adored that kind of harmony."

Harry smiled faintly at the thought. "Thanks, Professor."

"Well then," she said, straightening the papers on her desk. "That's all I needed to confirm. You may return to your friends now."

Harry stepped out, feeling lighter somehow. Susan, Hannah, and Justin looked up expectantly.

"All sorted," he said with a grin. "No more surprises."

"Good," Susan said, smirking. "Because I'm starving. If we miss lunch, I'm hexing whoever's responsible."

Harry laughed. "Then let's not keep the Great Hall waiting."

Together, the four of them headed out, the warmth of the common room fading behind as their chatter echoed through the Hufflepuff corridor.
______________________________

The Great Hall buzzed with mid-day chatter when Harry, Susan, Hannah, and Justin entered for lunch. The four Hufflepuffs paused near the doors, taking in the gleam of golden plates refilling with roast chicken and steaming potatoes.

"There they are," Hannah said, pointing toward the entrance. Daphne, Tracey, Blaise, Rolf, Terry, and Lisa were coming from the opposite side, laughing about something. Moments later, Ron, Hermione, and Neville hurried in from the Gryffindor corridor.

"Perfect timing," Susan said cheerfully. "Now we're all here."

Neville looked uncertainly between the long tables. "Er-can't we all sit together? Even though we're from different Houses?"

Harry grinned. "We can. There's no rule against it. Dumbledore said yesterday Hogwarts will be more united this year, remember?"

"That's true," Lisa said brightly. "Then let's do it."

So they all made for the Hufflepuff table, drawing surprised glances from every direction. The upper-year students whispered among themselves as the group of thirteen squeezed together, mixing yellow, red, green, and blue ties into one colorful line.

"Feels odd," Blaise murmured, glancing at the Ravenclaws beside him. "But oddly right."

Tracey laughed. "Wait until the gossip column hears about this. They'll say we're forming an inter-house alliance or something."

"Well," Daphne said with a small smirk, "they wouldn't be wrong."

They began serving themselves, the clinking of cutlery and low laughter filling the air. Neville looked delighted to find roast beef, while Terry tried to charm a fork to butter bread from across the table, earning a stern look from Hermione.

"Honestly, Terry," she said. "You're going to spill gravy all over the tablecloth."

"I was testing precision," he protested, though the fork dropped neatly back into his hand.

Everything seemed cheerful-until a cold, silky voice cut through the hum.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Professor Snape had arrived silently behind them, his dark robes billowing like storm clouds. His eyes glinted with disdain as he surveyed the mismatched group.

"Students from four different Houses," he said icily. "Breaking centuries of tradition to indulge in... what? Friendship experiments?"

Harry turned in his seat, heart quickening. "Sir, there's no rule that says we can't sit together. The tables are only divided by choice."

Snape's lip curled. "Answering back, Potter? Ten points from Hufflepuff for arrogance."

Harry blinked. "Arrogance? I just-"

"Another five for insolence," Snape snapped before he could finish.

Blaise frowned. "Professor, that's unfair-"

"Silence, Mr. Zabini, unless you wish Slytherin to share Hufflepuff's loss."

The entire table went quiet, though Hermione's hands were clenched, and Ron muttered something unprintable under his breath. Harry felt heat rising to his face. This wasn't just unfair-it was ridiculous.

He tried again, more controlled. "Sir, if you check the school charter, there's nothing wrong with inter-house seating-"

Snape's eyes gleamed. "Fifteen more points, Potter. And a word of advice-your father's arrogance did not serve him well either. Perhaps you should learn from that."

That jab stung like a slap. The words hit deeper than any insult could. Before Harry could react, a firm but gentle voice interrupted.

"Severus," Professor Sprout said from the doorway, hands on her hips. "What precisely are you doing deducting points from my House during lunch?"

The tension in the air snapped. Snape turned sharply, scowl deepening. "Your students were disregarding order-"

"They were sitting together, that's all," Sprout interrupted crisply. "I heard what you said as I entered. There's no rule against students from different Houses sharing a table. In fact, the Headmaster encourages cooperation this year."

Snape's jaw tightened. "You would excuse insubordination?"

"I would excuse common sense," she replied evenly, her expression cool. "And I'd also appreciate if you stopped bullying eleven-year-olds. Points returned. Also Five points to Hufflepuff, and another five to Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Slytherin each for... initiative."

The Hall erupted in laughter. Snape's eyes flashed dangerously, but Sprout's tone left no room for argument. He swept his cloak around and stalked toward the staff table, every footstep sharp with indignation.

"Merlin's beard," Ron whispered, wide-eyed. "She  told him off."

Susan grinned broadly. "Professor Sprout is the best."

"Did you see his face?" Tracey said between giggles. "He looked ready to vanish into his robes."

"Serves him right," Blaise muttered. "He's been glowering at us Slytherins too since morning."

Harry tried to hide a small smile, though his hands still trembled slightly. He wasn't sure what bothered him more-Snape's clear hatred or that cruel remark about his father.

Sprout turned to them, her expression softening. "Eat up, children. You've had quite a morning. And do remember, inter-house cooperation is encouraged-but try not to provoke staff unnecessarily."

"Yes, Professor," they chorused.

As she left, the tension slowly melted. Hermione leaned toward Harry. "You handled that well. Most people would've shouted."

Harry gave a small shrug. "Didn't want to give him another reason to take points."

"Smart move," Neville said, spooning mashed potatoes. "Still, Sprout was brilliant. I thought she'd hex him."

"She probably wanted to," Susan said with a laugh.

Soon, laughter replaced discomfort again. The Thirteen ate heartily, the earlier scene already turning into legend among the watching students. By dessert, half the Hall was whispering about the first-year group who'd dared sit together and stood their ground against Professor Snape.

Harry only smiled faintly, pushing a slice of treacle tart around his plate. If this was how his first full day at Hogwarts had begun, it was going to be quite a year indeed.

Harry was halfway through his treacle tart when a sudden commotion broke out behind him. The sound of clapping and exaggerated cheers drew every eye in the Great Hall. Fred and George Weasley, followed closely by Lee Jordan, were making their way toward the Hufflepuff table with identical grins plastered on their faces.

"Make way, make way for the hero of the hour!" Fred declared dramatically, waving his arm like an announcer.

George added, "The boy who dared talk back to the greasy bat himself-Professor Snape!"

They stopped right in front of Harry and, in perfect unison, bowed low. "We salute you, noble Lord of Logic, Savior of House Unity, and Scourge of Slytherin Shadows!"

Laughter erupted across the Hufflepuff table. Hannah nearly snorted pumpkin juice, and even Daphne and Blaise couldn't suppress their grins.

Harry turned a shade of red that matched Ron's hair. "Oi! Get up, both of you. You'll make a scene!"

Fred winked. "Too late, mate, the scene's already made."

George straightened and whispered conspiratorially, "You've done what no Weasley dared. You faced Snape and lived."

"Barely," Harry muttered, still embarrassed.

Lee Jordan laughed. "Fred's right, Harry. You're officially our hero. If you ever need us to prank Snape's classroom, just give the word."

Harry groaned. "No, thanks. I've had enough trouble for one day."

Ron grinned from across the table. "Told you, mate. You're famous again-and not for surviving You-Know-Who this time."

"Yeah," Harry said dryly. "Now it's for surviving Snape."

"Arguably more difficult," Daphne murmured, pretending to shiver.

Susan giggled. "Well, Harry did handle him pretty well. Sprout certainly thought so."

George flopped onto the bench beside her, ignoring the astonished looks from nearby students. "Speaking of Sprout, we were this close to bowing to her too," he said, holding his thumb and forefinger a fraction apart.

Fred nodded solemnly. "But then we saw Snape sitting beside her and realized we rather like being alive."

That earned another round of laughter. Even Hermione couldn't hide her smile. "You three are unbelievable."

"Why, thank you, dear lady," Lee said, giving her an exaggerated bow that nearly made him tip over a platter of roast potatoes.

Sprout, sitting only a few seats away at the staff table, turned slightly as if she sensed their antics. Her sharp gaze made both twins freeze mid-laugh.

"Abort mission," Fred whispered quickly.

"Retreat!" George agreed, and they both scrambled to their feet, giving Harry another theatrical salute before marching off toward the Gryffindor table, trailed by Lee.

Ron watched them go, shaking his head. "Sometimes I wonder how Mum hasn't gone mad yet."

"She probably has," Hermione replied, smirking. "She just hides it better than they do."

Maple, lying under the table by Harry's feet, wagged her tail as if amused by the laughter above. Harry reached down to give her a pat, smiling faintly. The air around the Hufflepuff table had turned bright and warm again, all tension forgotten.

Neville leaned toward him. "You handled that perfectly, you know. I'd have frozen if Snape glared at me like that."

Harry shrugged modestly. "I just spoke the truth. Didn't expect him to take it so personally."

"Oh, he always does," Terry said knowingly. "Snape's allergic to being wrong."

"That explains his attitude," Tracey teased. "Must be constant agony."

Ron nearly choked on his drink from laughing too hard, while Hermione rolled her eyes, muttering, "You're all incorrigible."

Across the hall, Fred raised his goblet toward Harry in mock salute. George followed suit, both grinning wickedly. Harry groaned again but raised his own glass in return. The twins cheered loud enough for McGonagall to give them an icy glare from the staff table.

"Those two will get detention by dinner," Susan said fondly.

"They'll probably consider it a victory," Blaise replied, smirking.

As the laughter died down, the chatter in the Hall returned to its usual buzz. Plates refilled themselves with steaming puddings and fruit, and sunlight filtered through the enchanted ceiling, painting golden streaks across the table.

"Not a bad first day, huh?" Hannah said contentedly.

Harry nodded, relaxing at last. "Yeah. Definitely memorable."

"Understatement of the year," Justin said. "You've already caused two school-wide whispers before lunch."

"Three," Terry corrected. "Don't forget the Prophet headline this morning."

Harry chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't cause that. That one just... followed us."

"Like a very dramatic shadow," Daphne teased.

He looked up and grinned at her. "Well, let's hope tomorrow's quieter."

"Not a chance," Blaise said, his smirk knowing. "This is Hogwarts, Potter. Quiet doesn't exist here."

As the bells began to chime noon, signalling the end of lunch, the Thirteen gathered their things. Students from other tables still shot curious glances their way-half admiring, half incredulous. The Weasley twins waved grandly as they left, earning another glare from Sprout, who muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Mischievous nuisances."

Harry smiled to himself as they walked out together. Hogwarts was already feeling like home-chaotic, loud, unpredictable, but home nonetheless.
______________________________

The Hufflepuff common room glowed warmly in the soft evening light, the fire crackling lazily in the hearth. Most students lounged about reading or playing wizard chess, while a few studied for the next day's lessons. Harry sat cross-legged on a thick rug, explaining to Susan and Hannah how Muggle pens worked when the barrel entrance creaked open.

Professor Sprout stepped in, brushing off a bit of dirt from her robes. "Evening, my little badgers," she said cheerfully, her eyes sweeping the room before landing on Harry. "Messrs Potter, Finch-Fletchley, Maxwell and Miss Hopkins-come along, please."

Justin blinked in surprise. "Professor? Did we do something wrong already?"

Sprout chuckled. "No, no, Mr. Finch-Fletchley. Quite the opposite. Unexpectedly, Madam Pomfrey has found herself free this evening, so she'll be giving your wizarding inoculations tonight instead of tomorrow."

Kevin made a face. "Shots? Tonight?"

"Indeed," Sprout said briskly. "No reason to delay. Best to get it done before supper. Come along."

As the four exchanged uncertain glances, Harry was already on his feet, a spark of excitement flickering in his green eyes.

Susan raised an eyebrow. "You look way too happy about this, Harry."

Harry grinned. "Not about the shots! I just... want to see the infirmary. Properly. And meet Madam Pomfrey. She's one of the best Healers in Britain! Imagine what she knows!"

Justin laughed. "Only you could be excited about getting jabbed with something magical."

"Better than the Muggle ones," Kevin muttered, rubbing his arm. "At least here it might come with sparkles."

Sprout smiled at their chatter. "Let's move, children. Madam Pomfrey doesn't like to be kept waiting."

They followed her out of the cozy warmth of the common room and through the softly lit corridors. Harry's heart thudded faster the closer they got. This wasn't just about the inoculations-this was his first real look at Healing magic, the very field he wanted to master one day.

As they stepped into the Hospital Wing, Harry's breath caught. It was pristine and bright, filled with the faint scent of antiseptic herbs and polished brass. Crystal vials glowed faintly along the walls, labeled in neat handwriting: Essence of Dittany, Wiggenweld Concentrate, Purified Mandrake Extract. Each bed was draped with crisp white sheets, and soft charms hummed in the air, keeping everything clean and sterile.

"Merlin's beard..." Harry whispered, eyes wide.

A kindly but firm voice interrupted his awe. "Professor Sprout, you've brought them, good." Madam Pomfrey appeared from behind a partition, her apron spotless, her wand tucked neatly in a side pocket. Her sharp gaze assessed the four students in one sweep. "These must be the muggleborns and muggle-raised, I take it?"

"Yes, Poppy," Sprout replied. "I thought it best to get it over with this evening."

Pomfrey nodded. "Efficient as always. Now, dears, nothing to worry about. It's a simple magical inoculation-prevents spell contamination, potion intolerance, and minor curse susceptibility. No pain, just a slight tingle."

Justin exhaled with relief. "No needles?"

Pomfrey smiled faintly. "This type of vaccination don't need that. Not unless you want one, Mr. Finch-Fletchley. "

"Definitely not," Justin said quickly.

Harry stepped forward, eager. "Madam Pomfrey, what kind of magic is it? Healing Charm, Potion infusion, or both?"

The mediwitch blinked at him, surprised by the question. "Both, actually. A hybrid enchantment and potion vapor infusion. Very advanced for your level, young man."

Sprout chuckled softly. "Harry here has quite the interest in Healing already."

Pomfrey's stern expression softened. "Is that so? Well, perhaps I'll let you observe for a bit before your turn, hmm?"

Harry's face lit up. "Really?"

She gave a small, indulgent smile. "Yes, but no touching anything. These wards are delicate."

Harry nodded eagerly and watched as she began preparing the charm. Pomfrey waved her wand over a shallow bowl filled with silver liquid, murmuring incantations too fast for him to catch. The surface shimmered, rising in soft misty tendrils.

Emma gasped. "It's beautiful."

Pomfrey gestured for her to step closer. "Breathe in gently, dear. That's all it takes."

The silvery vapor curled around Emma, and she giggled as it sparkled briefly before sinking into her skin. "It tingles!"

"Perfect," Pomfrey said approvingly. "You're done."

Harry's heart thudded as he watched the others take their turns. Kevin flinched at first, then laughed when the mist tickled his nose. Justin tried to look serious but kept sneezing from the sparkling vapor.

Finally, Pomfrey turned to him. "Your turn, Mr. Potter."

Harry stood straight. "Ready."

The mist enveloped him in a cool wave. It felt like warmth spreading through every vein, leaving behind a faint humming sensation in his chest. For a brief moment, he thought he saw faint golden threads of magic weaving through the air before fading away.

Pomfrey's eyebrows lifted. "Interesting reaction. Your core is... unusually receptive."

Sprout smiled knowingly. "He does have quite the affinity for Healing, doesn't he?"

Pomfrey nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed. Perhaps when he's of age, I'll have him as an apprentice."

Harry could barely contain his grin. "I'd like that very much, Madam Pomfrey."

The mediwitch's eyes softened. "We'll see, dear. For now, keep your magic steady and drink plenty of water. You'll all feel slightly warm tonight."

As they left the infirmary, Harry glanced back once more, eyes shining with quiet resolve. One day, he promised himself, he'd stand in that ward not as a patient-but as a Healer.
______________________________

As the four returned toward the Hufflepuff common room, Harry lagged behind, lost in thought. His mind still buzzed from the golden shimmer he had seen during the inoculation-so vivid, so alive. It felt like magic had whispered to him. He hesitated for a moment, then spoke quickly, "Professor Sprout, may I go back to Madam Pomfrey for a bit? I... need to ask her a few questions."

Sprout stopped, studying him with a small, knowing smile. "About Healing, I presume?"

Harry nodded earnestly. "Yes, Professor. Just a few minutes."

"Very well," she said kindly. "Tell her I sent you. Be quick about it, supper is in an hour."

"Thank you, Professor!" Harry said, already turning back toward the infirmary, his robes flaring behind him as he ran through the corridor.

When he arrived, Madam Pomfrey looked up from her desk, clearly surprised. "Mr. Potter? Are you feeling unwell already?"

Harry shook his head quickly. "No, ma'am! I'm perfectly fine. I just-well, I wanted to talk to you."

Her brows arched slightly. "Talk to me?"

"Yes," Harry said, stepping forward, eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. "About Healing. I... I wanted to be a doctor once, before I knew about magic. But now-now I want to be a Healer."

The mediwitch blinked, her surprise deepening. "A Healer? At your age?"

Harry nodded, almost bouncing in place. "I've already read about it, ma'am! I know one can apply to the Healer Institutes after seventh year, provided they have the right NEWTs-Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, and Healing if it's available at school. Then there's a four-year program covering forty-four core subjects. After that, you can specialize in one of twenty-five divisions, and there are eighty-eight super-specialties across those divisions."

Pomfrey's eyes widened. "Merlin's beard, where did you learn all that?"

"I looked it up in Magical Career Paths of the Modern Era and Healing Through Ages and Realms," Harry replied proudly. "I borrowed them from Flourish and Blotts. I also know that Healing is the most scientifically advanced magical field, the only one that keeps pace with Muggle progress. It's constantly evolving-new charms, hybrid spells, potion refinements, even bio-arcane infusions. It's fascinating!"

Pomfrey leaned back, frankly astonished. "Most first-years don't even know what NEWTs stand for, and you've memorized the post-graduate structure of Healer training."

Harry smiled modestly. "I just... like learning about the human body. In Muggle school, I was considered something of a prodigy. I didn't skip grades, but I finished all the advanced science courses early. Biology was my favourite-especially anatomy and medicine. It's strange, many of the Muggle terms are almost identical in Healing theory: cardiac, pulmonary, neural, hepatic..."

Pomfrey couldn't help but smile. "You know, I haven't heard a student talk like this in years. You remind me of Healer Montgomery when she was an apprentice-curious, relentless, never afraid to ask questions."

Harry blushed slightly. "Really? That's an honour, ma'am."

Pomfrey chuckled softly. "Tell me, Mr. Potter, why Healing? There are far more glamorous paths in magic-Auror work, Curse-Breaking, Alchemy..."

Harry hesitated, his voice turning thoughtful. "Because... Healing is about life, not power. It's about restoring what's broken. Everyone in the magical world talks about defeating curses or conquering darkness, but I'd rather help someone stand again after the darkness is gone."

For a moment, Pomfrey said nothing. The sincerity in his voice seemed to strike something deep within her. "That," she said quietly, "is the heart of a true Healer."

Harry's expression brightened again. "And someday, I want to become an Arcane Healer-the highest level. The one who can treat all twenty-five divisions and their eighty-eight specialties. I read that it takes about fifteen years after mastery, but it's worth it."

Pomfrey let out a soft laugh, equal parts admiration and disbelief. "Ambitious, aren't you?"

"Maybe," Harry admitted with a grin. "But I like challenges. My aunt says I'm stubborn as a mule."

"Well, that's a trait every Healer needs," she said warmly. "Patients test your patience more than anything else."

Harry nodded eagerly. "I believe that, ma'am. I'm willing to work hard for it-learn everything, from diagnostic spells to magical anatomy. Even now, I try to understand how healing charms interface with body systems. I think the connection is energetic-sort of like Muggle neurology and bioelectric signals."

Pomfrey tilted her head, visibly impressed. "You've been thinking about magical physiology already? At eleven?"

Harry shrugged modestly. "Just a little. I'm still guessing, really. But I want to learn the real thing from experts-like you."

The mediwitch smiled gently, touched by the boy's enthusiasm. "You certainly have the spirit for it. Perhaps I'll invite you here from time to time to observe a few basic treatments-nothing too advanced yet, of course."

Harry's eyes widened. "Truly, ma'am? You mean it?"

Pomfrey nodded. "Yes, but on one condition: your studies come first. Healing demands discipline and knowledge, not just excitement."

Harry's grin widened from ear to ear. "Deal, ma'am! I won't let you down."

"Good," Pomfrey said fondly. "Now, off you go before your Head of House worries I've kidnapped you for an apprenticeship already."

Harry laughed, bowing slightly in thanks. "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. I'll be back when it's proper."

As he left the infirmary, his heart felt light as air. The scent of potions and herbs lingered behind him, a promise of the path he was meant to walk. For the first time, he didn't just dream of Healing-he could feel it calling to him.

He nearly skipped down the corridor, his robes swishing as he passed the torches that flickered along the stone walls. His mind was still swirling with Madam Pomfrey's words-her praise, her promise, her smile of approval. He reached the familiar stack of barrels that guarded the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room and grinned from ear to ear.

He tapped the second barrel from the bottom, second row from the top, in rhythm to "Helga Hufflepuff." The lid sprang open with a soft pop, and Harry ducked inside cheerfully.

"Good evening, barrels!" he said under his breath, laughing at his own excitement as the passage sealed behind him.

Inside, the warmth of the common room wrapped around him like a blanket. The scent of honey and wood smoke lingered in the air, and the sound of quiet chatter filled the space. Susan, Hannah, and Justin were seated by the fire, while Maple dozed comfortably on the rug, tail twitching lazily.

"Harry!" Hannah called as she spotted him. "Where were you? Professor Sprout said you'd gone back to the infirmary."

Harry dropped into a chair beside them, barely able to contain himself. "I did! I went to see Madam Pomfrey again-I just had to talk to her!"

Justin raised an eyebrow. "You went back voluntarily? After getting shots? You must be mental, mate."

Harry laughed, shaking his head. "Not for another jab, you silly badger! I went to talk about Healing-about becoming a Healer."

Susan leaned forward curiously. "You already know about Healers? We only learned the basics from the school pamphlet!"

"Know about them?" Harry said, eyes gleaming. "I want to become one! I told Madam Pomfrey how I used to want to be a doctor before I knew about magic. And she said I have the spirit of a true Healer!"

Hannah's eyes widened. "She said that? Oh, Harry, that's brilliant!"

Maple lifted her head from the rug, ears perked up as though sharing in her master's pride. Harry leaned down to give her a fond scratch behind the ears. "You hear that, girl? Madam Pomfrey herself said I've got the right heart for it!"

The retriever gave a soft bark, tail thumping against the floor.

Justin chuckled. "You're over the moon, mate. I've never seen anyone so happy about homework and hospitals."

Harry grinned unabashedly. "It's not about that! Healing is the most advanced magical field-did you know it has twenty-five divisions and eighty-eight super-specialties? It takes fifteen years after mastery to become an Arcane Healer. Pomfrey said maybe one day I could watch her work, even learn some basics."

Susan blinked in surprise. "Wait, she invited you to observe? Already? That's amazing!"

"Yeah," Harry said, his voice softening in awe. "I couldn't believe it. She said I remind her of some great Healer named Montgomery who was an apprentice once."

Hannah clasped her hands together, beaming. "That's so sweet, Harry! You really must've impressed her."

Harry shrugged modestly, though the grin refused to leave his face. "I just told her the truth. Healing's about helping people live-not power or glory. I think that's why it's beautiful."

Justin laughed good-naturedly. "You sound like a proper Hufflepuff already. Professor Sprout would be proud."

"She already is," Susan said warmly. "Remember how she looked during Sorting? She was almost crying when the Hat called his name."

Harry blushed faintly. "Yeah... I noticed."

He leaned back in the chair, gazing at the golden glow of the fire. The room felt even cozier than usual, the chatter of students around them blurring into a hum. He could hardly wait for dinner, when he would see the others-Ron, Hermione, Neville, Terry, Lisa, Rolf, Daphne, Tracey, and Blaise.

"They'll never believe it," Harry said dreamily. "Ron will say I've gone mad. Hermione will want to quiz me on magical anatomy. Terry'll bring up the theory of soul-magic, and Daphne-well, she'll probably call it 'an efficient ambition.'"

Hannah giggled. "And Tracey will just tease you about your 'career plans at eleven.'"

"Exactly," Harry said with a grin. "And Blaise will probably roll his eyes and call me dramatic."

Susan smiled softly. "Still, they'll be proud of you. We all are."

Harry looked at her, then at the fire again, heart swelling with quiet warmth. "Thanks, Susan. I just... I feel like I finally know where I belong. Like everything makes sense now."

Justin gave a mock groan. "All right, all right, before you start hugging us, let's get ready for dinner. I'm starving."

Hannah smirked. "You're always starving, Justin."

"True," he said cheerfully. "But talking about twenty-five divisions of Healing made me hungrier."

As laughter rippled through the group, Maple barked again, tail wagging furiously. Harry patted her head with a grin. "Come on then, girl. Time to tell everyone."

The four gathered their things, heading for the barrel entrance once more. As Harry tapped the rhythm again, he caught himself humming the tune of Helga Hufflepuff's name under his breath.

His heart felt impossibly light. Every step toward the Great Hall was another step toward the future he had chosen-a future as bright as the enchanted torches that lit his path.
______________________________

A/n: I hope You like it. Please ignore grammatical and spelling errors.

Okay, so that was it. Oh my, it was genuinely exciting to write this chapter. I’ve always felt that a Head of House plays a huge role in a student’s life—something J.K. either didn’t really think about, didn’t want to focus on, or maybe just didn’t have the space to show properly on the page. Anyway, that’s exactly what fanfiction is for.

I really like Sprout as a character. Since so little is known about her, I get the freedom to shape her personality the way I want, and so far I’m quite satisfied with how she’s turned out. She was motivating and supportive throughout the counseling process and will always try to be approachable and welcoming to her badgers.

Now, I know Harry selecting all those subjects might seem overwhelming, but trust me, it really isn’t. I’ve designed the timetables in such a way that the maximum possible workload is 60 hours a week, including everything—academic and non-academic subjects, clubs, Quidditch, and other co-curricular activities combined. Right now, Harry only has 28 hours a week. Across all seven years, his maximum workload will be 54 hours a week during his OWL years, while his lightest load is what he has right now. During his NEWT years, he’ll have a 44-hour weekly schedule. Nothing too extreme. On top of that, special arrangements will be made for students who have schedules exceeding 40 hours a week. The ICW definitely had a plan when they introduced these subjects—just wait and read.

Anyway, I really hope you liked how Sprout protected the students from Snape’s unfairness. He was being genuinely unreasonable there. I do hope his mood stabilizes over the year, especially now that he’s finally gotten his dream job.

And then the moment finally came—Harry meeting Madam Pomfrey. That was especially fun and sweet to write, showing an excited, very giddy Harry instead of his usual self. At least he managed to impress Madam Pomfrey quite thoroughly.

Now, I’ll admit one thing. As someone who tends to overthink a lot, when I decided to create a story centered around Healing, I went all in. I’ve built an entire setting and made detailed notes for it. That means I actually have a proper outline for how one becomes a Healer, including all twenty-five divisions and their super-specialties. I’m not kidding—I have around 300 pages of notes, and they’re still growing.

Anyway, I’ve introduced the Arcane Healer (or Arch-Healer) position, which is the highest level one can reach in the field, and that’s Harry’s ultimate dream. To get there, he’ll need seven years at Hogwarts with an excellent academic record, followed by four years of a Bachelor’s Healing course, then at least two years for a Master’s degree, followed by one year of super-specialization, and finally fifteen years of Arch-Healing training. That adds up to seven years at Hogwarts plus twenty-two years of Healing education—twenty-nine years in total. So by the time Harry reaches that goal, he’ll be around forty years old.

Hey for this story I wasn't able to decide Chapter names easily so for fun why don't you all comment what you think chapter name can be ? I will be waiting.

Thanks for reading. § Hinny Forever § Please Review!!!

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or its universe. All original elements belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This story is a work of fanfiction created purely for entertainment purposes - no copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made. Any original characters, events, or concepts beyond the established canon are the author's own creative additions to expand the magical world respectfully.
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The first golden rays of dawn spilled softly through the enchanted windows of the Hufflepuff common room. The air was cool and faintly sweet, the underground chambers humming gently with quiet life. Harry stirred before the others, his eyes fluttering open to the faint ticking of his pocket watch on the nightstand. It was five o’clock.

He sat up, stretching with a grin. “First real day,” he murmured to himself, feeling that fizz of excitement in his chest. With careful movements, so as not to wake his dormmates, he slipped out of bed. Maple lay curled beside the foot of the bed, tail twitching in dreams. Harry bent down and gave her head a soft pat. “Sleep in, girl. You earned it,” he whispered.

A quick shower later, he emerged in neatly pressed robes, hair still slightly damp, and his tie hanging askew as he adjusted it in the mirror. The crest of Hufflepuff gleamed golden in the lamplight. He couldn’t help but smile at it—he was a Hogwarts student now.

The boys’ dorm tunnel opened into the main common room, empty and still, save for the soft bubbling of the cauldron fire and the faint rustle of vines along the walls. The scent of honey and fresh earth filled the air. He walked to the couch, sat down, and let himself just be. “Merlin’s beard,” he breathed, “I’m really here.”

A flutter broke the silence. Harry looked up. Through the enchanted window above the fireplace swooped a familiar white owl, graceful as moonlight. “Hedwig!” he exclaimed softly, rising at once. She landed on the armrest, hooting with unmistakable pride.

“Got something for me, have you?” Harry asked with a laugh. Hedwig clicked her beak and extended her leg. Three letters—neatly tied with different colored ribbons.

Harry untied them and smiled. “From Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon… from Sirius… and Ginny.” His voice carried a trace of wonder. He settled by the fire, the parchment crackling softly as he opened the first.

Dear Harry,
Your letter was quite the surprise, though a pleasant one. We are relieved you arrived safely. Hogwarts sounds… rather extraordinary. Your choice of Hufflepuff suits you perfectly; your mother always said that house produced the kindest hearts. Your uncle is still learning to accept certain things, but he was actually proud when I read your letter aloud. Dudley says Smeltings is “fine, just fine,” and his boxing lessons begin next week. Maple’s bed is still near the kitchen—she’ll have it ready when you return for Christmas. Do behave, and write when you can.
With love,
Aunt Petunia

P.S. Vernon says, “Keep your head down and don’t blow anything up.”

Harry chuckled aloud. “I’ll take that as affection in Dursley language,” he said, shaking his head.

He opened Sirius’s next. The handwriting was bold and slanted, bursting with energy.

Dear Harry,
You’ve no idea how happy your letter made me. Godson! Feels right saying that, doesn’t it? Amelia and I toasted to you last night—well, to you and justice finally being done. Dumbledore sent a message saying you handled the whole Sorting like a proper wizard. Hufflepuff, eh? Your dad would’ve teased you, but he’d also be proud. The Hatstall thing—seventeen and a half minutes? That’s a record! Don’t let anyone make you think Hufflepuffs are soft. They’re loyal, steady, and that’s rarer than gold. Keep studying those healing arts you told me about. One day, you’ll outshine them all.
Stay brilliant, kiddo.
Your Godfather, Sirius

P.S. Hedwig barged in mid-toast. No “trauma,” though she did steal my bacon.

Harry laughed so hard he nearly fell back into the couch. “Of course she did,” he said, scratching Hedwig’s head affectionately. She gave a proud hoot as if confirming every word.

Finally, he turned to the third envelope—cream parchment with a neat, flowing hand and a faint scent of wildflowers. Ginny’s. His chest warmed instantly.

Dear Harry,
Mum nearly cried when I told her you wrote! She says congratulations on Hufflepuff and that she’ll be sending you some treacle tart soon. I’m so happy for you—it sounds amazing there. Ron told us all about the feast (and the pudding explosion—I knew it was the twins). I can’t wait to see Hogwarts myself next year. Maybe we’ll get to study together someday! Also, tell Maple she’s a brave dog for guarding a wizard.
Stay safe and don’t forget to write again!
Your friend, Ginny

P.S. I’m keeping your letter safe. Fred and George somehow found out you wrote to me—probably from Ron’s letter home—and they sent me a teasing owl about it. I nearly hexed their reply parchment into ashes.

Harry beamed, feeling his heart practically floating. “Brilliant, Ginny. You’re going to fit right in next year,” he murmured.

He leaned back, holding all three letters in his lap, the morning light washing over his face. The warmth that filled him wasn’t just happiness—it was belonging. Real, undeniable belonging.

He gazed at the common room around him, the gentle hum of Hufflepuff magic thrumming through the stones. For the first time in his life, he had people—family, friends, even a godfather—who cared.

“Fortis et Fidelis,” he whispered, tracing the crest on his chest. “Strong and faithful. I’ll make you proud, Mum and Dad.”

Hedwig hooted softly, as if agreeing. The enchanted clock on the wall chimed six. The day had begun.

Harry rose, folding the letters neatly into his satchel. “All right, Hedwig,” he said cheerfully. “Breakfast!”

He laughed to himself as he headed toward the passageway. It was only the beginning of his first true day at Hogwarts, and the world already felt brighter.

The clock on the common room wall had just chimed six when soft footsteps echoed from the girls’ dorm tunnel. Harry looked up from arranging his satchel to see Susan and Hannah emerging, both wrapped in warm dressing gowns, their hair still tousled from sleep.

Susan blinked at him in disbelief. “Harry? You’re awake already? You look like you’ve been up for hours!”

Hannah yawned behind her hand, her voice muffled. “Please tell me you didn’t actually sleep in that uniform. You look far too fresh for this hour.”

Harry grinned sheepishly. “No, I woke up at five. Couldn’t sleep much—too excited, I suppose. And I’ve been waking up early for years now. Old habit.”

“Years?” Susan repeated, rubbing her eyes. “Why on earth would you wake up this early on purpose?”

Harry chuckled. “Because of badminton. Used to play competitively in the Muggle world. Had to train before school.”

The two girls exchanged puzzled glances. “Bad—what now?” asked Hannah, frowning slightly.

“Badminton,” Harry repeated, gesturing with his hands. “It’s a sport. You’ve got rackets, and there’s this feathered thing called a shuttlecock—sort of like a tiny, enchanted Snitch without magic—and you have to hit it back and forth over a net.”

Susan tilted her head. “Wait, is that the same game Professor Dumbledore mentioned during the feast? Something about Muggles chasing birds indoors?”

Harry laughed aloud. “He wasn’t wrong, but it’s not quite that ridiculous. It’s more like dueling with precision and stamina instead of spells.”

“Oh!” Hannah brightened. “So… like a non-magical version of a reflex charm test!”

“Exactly!” said Harry, pleased that she caught on. “Except you don’t get hit with anything glowing—well, unless someone’s terrible at aiming.”

Susan chuckled, shaking her head. “You really are something, Harry. Most of us would rather sleep till the bells ring, and here you are ready for class before breakfast.”

He shrugged modestly. “Guess I’m just used to early mornings. Feels wrong to waste good hours.”

“Merlin help us,” Hannah muttered, pouring herself a cup of pumpkin juice from the self-refilling pitcher on the side table. “You’ll have us all exercising before dawn at this rate.”

Harry smirked. “Don’t tempt me.”

The girls laughed softly, the sound mingling with the crackle of the fire. The warmth of the common room, the earth-scented air, and the golden glow from the lanterns made the early hour feel almost sacred.

After a few more minutes of cheerful chatter, Harry glanced at the clock again. “Breakfast won’t start till seven,” he said. “I might read a bit till then.”

“Read?” Susan groaned playfully. “At this hour?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “What, you thought I’d sit around counting barrels?”

She grinned. “No, but I thought you’d at least let the rest of us wake up properly first.”

He waved off her teasing. “I’ll be quiet. Promise.”

With that, he crossed the room toward a rounded archway lined with ivy. It opened into a small side chamber—the Hufflepuff library. Compared to the main Hogwarts library, it was tiny, but it held shelves of well-loved books: herbology guides, family histories, story collections, and a few rather battered spell manuals.

The air smelled faintly of parchment and honey. A few floating candles lit up as he entered, recognizing a student’s presence. Harry ran his fingers over the spines, reading titles softly. “The Buried Wand and Other Tales, Helga’s Hearth, Fables of the Founders…”

He chose a thin, leather-bound volume titled The Weaver of Wishes and sat down on a plush armchair near the window.

The story told of a wizard who spun dreams into fabric, weaving tapestries that granted one true desire—but only for those who asked selflessly. It was gentle, wistful, and carried that same moral warmth Helga Hufflepuff herself was said to value.

Harry smiled as he read, imagining the flickering loom, the soft hum of magic, and the wizard’s quiet devotion. “Feels like something Mum might’ve read,” he thought wistfully.

Time slipped by. He didn’t notice the light brightening across the stone walls or the faint rustling of movement as the rest of the house began to stir. The clock chimed half-past six before he finally looked up.

Susan peeked through the doorway. “There you are! Hannah thought you’d vanished into some secret tunnel.”

Harry grinned, closing the book carefully. “Just found something worth reading. It’s a story about a wizard who weaves dreams into cloth.”

“Oooh,” Hannah said, stepping inside. “That sounds so Hufflepuff.”

“Exactly my thought,” Harry replied, sliding the book back into place. “Kindness rewarded, greed punished, hope stitched into every spell.”

Susan nodded approvingly. “Good choice. Come on, bookworm, breakfast will be served soon, and I’m starving.”

Harry chuckled, standing to follow them. “Lead the way, then. I’m starving too. Reading about dream-looms doesn’t exactly fill your stomach.”

Hannah laughed as they exited into the common room again. “Well, it’s better than listening to Ernie snore.”

Harry grinned at that, feeling the glow of contentment rise again. The morning had unfolded perfectly—quiet, peaceful, and filled with laughter. The first full day at Hogwarts had barely begun, but Harry already knew it was going to be one worth remembering.

The corridors of Hogwarts glowed softly under enchanted torches as Harry, Susan, Hannah, and Justin - who had joined just now- made their way through the winding paths toward the Great Hall. The stone walls carried faint echoes of moving portraits and the occasional distant laugh of early risers. Justin unfolded the parchment map Professor Sprout had given them the day before, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Left here, right?” he asked, turning the map upside down as if that might help.

“No, other left,” Susan corrected, suppressing a laugh. “Honestly, Justin, even the map looks lost in your hands.”

“Hey, give me credit,” Justin protested good-naturedly. “At least I didn’t lead us into that broom cupboard again.”

“That was once,” Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “And technically, the cupboard was very educational. I now know what thirty-seven brooms look like stacked vertically.”

Hannah giggled. “We’re improving. Just a few misturns this time.”

By the time they reached the marble staircase that descended to the Entrance Hall, the smell of toast and bacon was already wafting from the Great Hall beyond. Morning chatter rose like a soft hum.

The four of them stepped through the grand doors, just as several familiar voices echoed from another corridor. Daphne, Tracey, and Blaise appeared from the direction of the dungeons, all immaculate as ever despite the early hour. Rolf and Terry followed from the side staircase, Lisa trailing behind with a book tucked under her arm and half her hair still in sleep-tangled curls.

Behind them came Ron, Hermione, and Neville from the Gryffindor corridor, Ron yawning widely enough to rival a Hippogriff.

“Blimey,” Ron muttered, rubbing his eyes. “How are you lot so awake? I swear the sun isn’t even trying yet.”

Lisa groaned in agreement. “If anyone asks me to read before breakfast, I’ll hex myself back to bed.”

Harry laughed. “You two sound like you were dragged out of bed by Peeves.”

“Close enough,” Terry said, smirking. “Ron tripped over his own trunk on the way out.”

“That trunk attacked me,” Ron grumbled. “I’m telling you, Fred and George must’ve charmed it.”

Tracey snorted. “You Weasleys and your chaos. I’d pay to see that.”

“Pay?” Blaise said smoothly. “You could just follow them for a week. I’m certain you’d get your money’s worth.”

Everyone laughed as they entered the Great Hall together. The four house tables gleamed with polished silverware and floating platters filled with steaming breakfast. The enchanted ceiling mirrored the morning sky—a soft wash of gold and lavender clouds drifting lazily overhead.

“Gryffindor table today?” Harry asked, glancing around.

“Definitely,” Susan said firmly. “After yesterday, there’s no way Snape’s trying that again.”

“Agreed,” Daphne added, a small, mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “Let him glare all he wants. Professor Sprout made him look like a fool yesterday.”

Tracey giggled. “I thought she was going to throw a mandrake at him.”

Harry grinned. “She’s brilliant, isn’t she? I almost felt sorry for him.”

“Almost,” Blaise echoed with mock solemnity.

As they took their seats at the Gryffindor table, nearby students gave them curious glances. A mix of robes—yellow and black beside green, blue, and scarlet—wasn’t something Hogwarts saw often. Whispers rippled through the crowd, but The Thirteen paid them no mind.

Hermione was already filling her plate, speaking between bites. “You know, it’s technically within the school charter. There’s no rule saying students must sit with their house. It’s just… tradition.”

Harry nodded, buttering his toast. “Exactly. So long as no one’s breaking rules, it shouldn’t matter. Besides, it’s more fun together.”

Neville smiled, though a little nervously. “You’re brave, sitting here after crossing Snape like that yesterday. He looked like he’d swallowed a lemon.”

“Or a Blast-Ended Skrewt,” Ron added through a mouthful of eggs.

“Ew, Ronald,” Hermione scolded. “Swallow before you talk!”

Ron rolled his eyes but obeyed, grinning at Harry. “Still, mate, standing up to Snape? Brilliant. Fred and George wouldn’t stop talking about it last night.”

“Yeah,” Terry said with a smirk. “They’re calling you the ‘Hufflepuff Hero’ already.”

Harry groaned, half amused and half exasperated. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me they’re spreading that around.”

“Too late,” Blaise drawled. “They were bowing dramatically in the corridor this morning. I think they’ve made it their new morning ritual.”

Tracey burst out laughing. “Can we make that mandatory?”

“Absolutely not,” Harry said, but his grin betrayed his amusement.

Their laughter mingled with the hum of the Great Hall, the clatter of dishes, and the fluttering of owls overhead delivering morning mail. It felt warm, lively, and oddly unified—different houses sharing one table, chatting like they’d been friends forever.

As sunlight spilled through the enchanted ceiling, Harry took a sip of pumpkin juice and glanced around the group, feeling an unexpected swell of gratitude.
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The Great Hall buzzed with chatter, clinking cutlery, and the flutter of owls still dropping late letters. Breakfast was winding down, though the air still smelled of toast and syrup. Harry leaned back slightly, his plate empty, watching the crowd. Students still cast glances at their group—The Thirteen—though the looks were fewer than yesterday. Curiosity had replaced the initial disbelief. A few whispered, others nudged their friends, but no one dared to approach after the Snape incident.

“Feels like we’re part of some great Hogwarts legend already,” Justin muttered, half amused.

Susan smirked. “Give it a week, and they’ll move on to something else.”

“Like Peeves setting fire to the tapestries again,” Hannah added cheerfully, earning a snort from Terry.

Harry smiled, though inwardly he was just relieved the attention had toned down. He sipped his pumpkin juice, glancing at the staff table. Professors were speaking quietly amongst themselves, their heads bent in conversation. Professor Sprout caught his eye and offered a warm smile.

Just then, Professor McGonagall stood, her presence immediately commanding the entire hall’s attention. “Students,” she began crisply, her Scottish lilt echoing through the chamber, “before you depart for your classes, please take your seats at your respective house tables. Your Heads of House will now distribute your timetables.”

There was a collective groan from the older students, a few muttered, “Back to work already,” floating through the air.

Harry and his friends exchanged glances. “Guess that’s our cue,” he said, standing.

“Right,” said Rolf, stretching. “Back to our corners.”

Daphne smirked. “Don’t make it sound like exile, Scamander.”

Tracey chuckled. “At least we get to meet again at lunch.”

Blaise adjusted his green-trimmed robe. “Assuming we survive whatever Snape throws at us this morning.”

Ron laughed. “Good luck, mate,” he said to Harry, clapping his shoulder. “Snape’s going to be in rare form.”

Harry grimaced good-naturedly. “Thanks for the encouragement.”

The group split up, heading toward their own house tables. The Great Hall rearranged subtly with movement and chatter, plates vanishing as the staff waved wands to clear breakfast. Harry joined the Hufflepuffs, sliding into the bench beside Justin as Professor Sprout approached, carrying a neat stack of parchment.

“Good morning, my little seedlings,” Sprout said warmly, eyes twinkling. “I hope you all slept well and are ready for your first full day of classes.”

Several murmured “Good morning, Professor,” in return.

“Now then,” she continued, sorting through the parchments. “These are your schedules. Keep them safe. Any lost one means a trip to my office for a new copy—and I’ll know who’s been careless.”

There were a few chuckles as she began distributing them one by one. When she reached Harry, she gave him an approving nod. “Here you are, Mr. Potter. Busy day ahead, I’m afraid.”

Harry took his parchment eagerly. “Thank you, Professor.”

He unfolded it, scanning the day’s timetable. The neat handwriting listed his subjects in order:

Tuesday:

Herbology – with Gryffindor

History of Magic – with Slytherin

Dark Arts and Offensive Magic (Double Period) – with Slytherin

Lunch

Transfiguration (Double) – with Slytherin

Free Period

“Whoa,” Justin said, peering over his shoulder. “That’s a packed morning.”

“Tell me about it,” Harry replied, rubbing his neck. “Three classes with Slytherins and two of them under Snape. We’re doomed.”

Hannah laughed softly. “Maybe he’ll go easy on us. It’s only the first day.”

“Right,” said Harry wryly. “And maybe Filch will start handing out sweets.”

Susan smirked. “At least we start with Herbology. That’ll soften the blow.”

Sprout smiled fondly at the group as she continued handing out parchments. “Now, everyone, do take note. Your schedules repeat weekly unless a professor specifies otherwise. You are expected to arrive promptly. No shortcuts through staff-only corridors, understood?”

“Yes, Professor,” they chorused.

Harry studied the rest of the timetable for the week. Tuesday seemed the most tightly packed, with back-to-back lessons. Wednesday looked lighter, with a free morning. He folded the parchment carefully and tucked it into his bag.

Justin leaned closer. “So, Herbology first. Any idea what we’ll do?”

“Probably introductions,” Hannah said. “Maybe a greenhouse tour.”

“I hope no venomous plants,” Susan added.

Harry grinned. “After what Professor Kettleburn said about magizoology, I’m not ruling anything out. Hogwarts seems to love starting with surprises.”

A few seats away, Kevin and Emma were comparing schedules too, muttering something about overlapping classes. The atmosphere had shifted; there was a new kind of excitement buzzing around the table. The first real day of Hogwarts had begun.

As Harry looked around at his housemates, he couldn’t help but feel a rush of anticipation. Classes, professors, spells—all of it was finally real. He glanced toward the staff table again, where Sprout now joined the other heads, her earthy robes rustling softly.

Beside her, Snape was speaking in his usual low, biting tone to Professor McGonagall. Harry frowned slightly, his mind wandering to the upcoming double period with him.

“Let’s hope he doesn’t start counting off points before class even begins,” Harry muttered under his breath.

Justin chuckled. “Knowing your luck, he might.”

Harry smirked, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Then I’d better make sure he doesn’t have the chance.”
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As the Great Hall began to empty, Harry stood with his fellow Hufflepuffs, ready to face the first day’s lessons, his mind buzzing with both nerves and excitement.

The Hufflepuff first years had barely left the Great Hall when Hannah stopped abruptly. “Oh no!” she gasped, slapping her forehead. “We forgot our schoolbags!”

Justin groaned. “Brilliant. First proper day and we’re already proving the badger stereotype about comfort over preparation.”

Susan sighed but smiled. “Let’s hurry before Professor Sprout sees us wandering without them.”

Harry chuckled under his breath. “Merlin help us if she does. She’d probably make us weed the entire greenhouse as penance.”

They turned back toward the Hufflepuff common room, retracing their path through the corridors. The castle was beginning to stir properly now, full of chatter and laughter echoing off the ancient stone. Pipkin would have scolded Harry for such forgetfulness, he thought ruefully. At least the route wasn’t confusing anymore thanks to Sprout’s neatly drawn map. A few wrong turns, one talking portrait that tried to quiz them about Hufflepuff history, and they finally reached the cozy warmth of their common room.

Kevin was muttering about “too many staircases and not enough labels” while Ernie fussed over polishing his wand holster. Susan quickly gathered her books, quills, and potions kit. “Herbology’s first,” she reminded them. “Don’t forget gloves—Sprout mentioned we’d need them.”

“Already packed,” Harry said, though he double-checked anyway. Maple’s little paw prints on his satchel made him grin before he slung it over his shoulder.

“Alright,” Hannah said, “let’s make sure we actually get to class this time.”

Back out they went, maps in hand. The morning sun streamed through the high windows as they crossed the entrance hall. Outside, a crisp autumn breeze carried the earthy scent of grass and damp soil. Following Sprout’s map, they wound around the castle toward the greenhouses. Rows upon rows of them stood gleaming with morning dew, the glass walls catching sunlight like crystal.

By the time they arrived, the Gryffindors were already gathered outside the first greenhouse. Neville Longbottom looked like he was in absolute paradise, staring longingly through the glass at exotic plants inside. “Morning!” Harry called as the Hufflepuffs approached.

Ron yawned widely. “Morning, mate. Barely awake but at least I made it here.”

Hermione grinned at him, already holding a parchment and inkpot. “You mean I made sure you made it here.”

Harry laughed. “That sounds about right.”

Neville turned to them, eyes bright. “Wait until you see the greenhouse from inside—it’s beautiful. I saw some Flutterby bushes through the window!”

“Of course you did,” Susan said fondly. “You’ll probably be Sprout’s favorite before the week’s out.”

The group shared a laugh before Harry turned his attention to the rest of the Gryffindor first-years he hadn’t met yet. Charlotte Perks, a freckled girl with a mischievous smile, waved. “Hey, you’re the famous Harry Potter, right? You sat with Ron yesterday?”

“Guilty,” Harry said, slightly embarrassed.

Lavender Brown, hair gleaming gold in the light, chimed in. “You’ve got to tell us about that thing with Professor Snape—Parvati said he looked ready to explode.”

Harry grimaced. “Let’s just say Professor Sprout was... very firm about house unity.”

Dean Thomas extended a friendly hand. “Dean. Good to finally meet you.”

Harry shook it. “Likewise.”

Evelyn Scott, who had a calm, quiet demeanor, offered a polite nod. “It’s nice that the houses are mixing. It feels… friendlier than I expected.”

“Agreed,” said Justin. “Less rivalry, more cooperation—that’s how it should be.”

Before anyone could respond, the greenhouse door opened and a waft of warm, humid air drifted out. Professor Sprout bustled in, cheeks flushed from the morning air and her wide-brimmed hat slightly askew. “Good morning, everyone! In you go, quickly now, no dawdling!”

The class filed in eagerly. The greenhouse was magnificent—sunlight poured through enchanted glass that filtered just the right amount of heat. Rows of peculiar plants lined the benches, some softly glowing, others twitching at the slightest movement. The air was rich with the scent of earth and magic.

Neville inhaled deeply, sighing like he’d reached heaven. “Smells like home,” he murmured.

“Home?” Ron whispered, raising a brow.

“Gran’s garden,” Neville replied, almost dreamily. “She grows Dirigible plums and Fanged geraniums.”

Ron blinked. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Sprout clapped her hands, snapping everyone’s attention. “Right then! Welcome to your very first Herbology class! Today, we’ll start with something harmless—well, mostly harmless—the Puffapod.”

Harry exchanged amused looks with Susan. “Mostly harmless,” he whispered. “Comforting.”

Hannah chuckled. “It’s Sprout’s way of saying ‘wear gloves or risk sprouting daisies on your nose.’”

The students gathered around as the professor began her lively explanation, her voice carrying over the soft hum of enchanted leaves. The lesson had begun, and for the first time that morning, the Thirteen’s scattered halves felt completely at ease again.

The greenhouse filled with the soft rustle of parchment, the hum of Sprout’s cheerful instructions, and the earthy fragrance of freshly turned soil. The lesson was already in full swing, and everyone seemed engrossed.

Harry found himself enjoying it far more than he expected. The Puffapods really were harmless—mostly. When one of the seedpods slipped from Ron’s grasp and burst open, spilling hundreds of tiny pink flowers that grew in seconds, the Gryffindors erupted in laughter.

“Mr. Weasley,” Professor Sprout said sternly, though her eyes twinkled. “I did say gently. Puffapods respond to sudden motion.”

Ron muttered, “Didn’t think they’d respond that fast,” earning another round of chuckles.

Harry, meanwhile, handled his pod with utmost care. He loosened the soil, sprinkled the powder Sprout had given them, and murmured a soft stabilizing charm. The pod glowed faintly and sprouted evenly—nothing too flashy, but perfectly balanced.

Sprout came by and beamed. “Excellent control, Mr. Potter! Five points to Hufflepuff!”

Harry blinked. “Oh—thank you, Professor.”

Susan leaned over, whispering with a grin. “First points of the term. You’ve set the bar high, Harry.”

He tried not to look too pleased, but inside, warmth spread through him. His first points. His first class. And it had gone right.

He knew he had to like Herbology, of course—it was one of the foundational subjects for Healing. Without mastery over magical flora and potion ingredients, no Healer could advance beyond basic training. Still, it was one thing to study the subject, and quite another to see it bloom, quite literally, under his own hands.

Across the table, Neville worked as though born to the greenhouse. His Puffapods didn’t just sprout—they grew in perfect spirals, each flower opening in unison like a coordinated ballet. Even Professor Sprout paused mid-explanation to admire the display.

“My word, Mr. Longbottom,” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Ten points to Gryffindor! You’ve a natural gift!”

Neville’s ears turned crimson. “Th-thank you, Professor,” he stammered.

Harry couldn’t help smiling. “You’re brilliant at this, Neville.”

Neville glanced at him shyly. “Granalways said I had a knack for plants… She says it’s the only thing I can’t break.”

Harry chuckled. “You’re selling yourself short. You’ve got better hands than half the healers in the St. Mungo’s trainee files I’ve read about.”

Neville blinked. “You’ve read about Healer trainees?”

“Er—yes,” Harry said, scratching his neck. “I… did a bit of reading before school.”

Ron overheard and snorted. “A bit? He means he memorized every book in Flourish and Blotts, I swear.”

Hermione’s head snapped up. “Really?” she asked eagerly. “You’ve finished Magical Flora: A Compendium of Healing Roots already?”

Harry shrugged modestly. “Thrice, actually.”

That earned him a chorus of incredulous looks. Even Professor Sprout, who was pruning a Venomous Tentacula nearby, chuckled. “Well, Mr. Potter, it certainly shows. Excellent grasp of botanical interaction.”

Susan leaned in, smirking. “And Dudley thought you were overdoing it.”

Harry grinned at the memory. “He told Aunt Petunia I’d grow roots myself if I didn’t stop reading. Uncle Vernon said I was making him proud by ‘showing proper business discipline’—whatever that means.”

“Sounds about right,” Justin said with a laugh. “Guess it paid off, though.”

The class continued with Sprout explaining fertilizing spells and root-stimulation charms. Hermione took notes so furiously her quill nearly smoked. Ron somehow managed to splatter half his parchment with dirt.

By the end, every table was covered in rows of small, healthy Puffapods. The air shimmered faintly with the residue of gentle magic. Sprout looked delighted. “Excellent work, everyone! For a first class, I am very proud. Remember—patience and attention make all the difference. Magic respects care.”

As they cleaned their tools, Neville whispered to Harry, “You’re aiming to be a Healer, right?”

Harry nodded. “That’s the plan. Arcane Healing, actually—if I can manage it.”

Neville’s expression turned admiring. “That’s… wow. You’ll be brilliant. You’ve got the mind for it.”

Harry smiled faintly. “And you’ve got the heart for Herbology. I’ll probably end up buying all my healing herbs from you one day.”

Neville laughed softly, and for a moment, both boys shared a quiet understanding—the kind of unspoken friendship that begins not with loud promises, but shared soil and growing light.

When the bell chimed, the two houses packed up together, chatting cheerfully. The Hufflepuffs congratulated Harry for earning their first points, while the Gryffindors teased Neville about becoming Sprout’s assistant by the end of term.

As they stepped back into the sunlight, Harry glanced toward the next item on his schedule: History of Magic with the Slytherins. He couldn’t help but sigh. “From living plants to a ghost professor,” he murmured. “Talk about contrast.”

Susan smirked. “Brace yourself, Potter. If Sprout’s warmth was sunlight, Binns is fog.”

Harry groaned softly. “Lovely. Let’s hope the Puffapods’ energy keeps me awake.”

Neville grinned. “Or at least you can dream of plants while he drones on.”

The group laughed as they made their way back toward the castle, the greenhouse door closing behind them with a soft hum of enchantment and the faint, lingering scent of blooming magic.

The path to the History of Magic classroom was quieter than the bright, earthy bustle of the greenhouses. The stone corridors were cool and echoing, lined with torch sconces and ancient portraits that muttered sleepily as the first years passed.

The Hufflepuffs were in high spirits after their successful Herbology lesson. Harry, Susan, Justin, and Hannah chatted animatedly as they followed Sprout’s map toward the east wing.

Justin yawned. “If the next subject’s anything like that, I’ll actually enjoy school.”

“Don’t count on it,” Susan said dryly. “Binns is a ghost. My aunt says he’s legendary—for putting students to sleep faster than a Sleeping Draught.”

Harry chuckled. “A ghost teaching history. I suppose he would know it firsthand.”

They were still laughing when a group of Slytherins rounded the corner from the lower staircase. Leading them were Daphne, Tracey, and Blaise, chatting quietly among themselves. Draco Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson, was a few paces behind.

Daphne brightened when she spotted Harry. “Potter! I was wondering when we’d cross paths. You’re heading to Binns, I take it?”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a grin. “Ready to die of boredom together?”

Tracey laughed. “Merlin help us if he starts another century-long war before breakfast’s settled.”

Blaise smirked lazily. “I hear his lectures could raise the dead. Or rather, they don’t—since he’s still the only one awake during them.”

Harry snorted, nearly tripping on the uneven flagstone. “Fair warning accepted.”

Behind them, Draco frowned deeply, his pale brows knitting together. “Honestly, Daphne,” he drawled, “you’re really going to sit with them? Hufflepuffs?”

Daphne didn’t even glance back. “Yes, Draco. They’re decent company—something you might try experiencing for once.”

Tracey added sweetly, “Besides, the last time you tried to insult Potter, you nearly fell flat on your face. Don’t fancy a repeat, do you?”

Blaise chuckled softly under his breath, eyes glinting with amusement.

Draco’s lips thinned, but he said nothing, instead muttering something to Pansy, who scowled in Harry’s direction. Crabbe and Goyle followed dumbly, the pair’s heavy footsteps echoing off the walls.

“Friendly as ever,” Justin murmured once the groups had merged and continued toward the classroom.

Harry shrugged. “Let him stew. I’ve got better things to worry about than Malfoy’s attitude.”

Susan smirked. “Like surviving History of Magic.”

The classroom loomed ahead—an arched chamber lined with tall windows that let in the morning light. Dust motes danced in the air like floating stars. Rows of heavy wooden desks filled the room, all facing a floating figure behind the teacher’s desk: Professor Cuthbert Binns.

The ghost’s translucent form drifted lazily above a pile of scrolls. His face, pale and formless, wore the most vacant expression imaginable. He didn’t seem to notice the students entering at all.

“Er… Professor?” Hannah asked timidly as they took seats.

Without any sign of acknowledgement, Binns began speaking in a monotone so flat it could flatten mountains.

“…In the year 1634, the Goblin uprisings reached their third peak, instigated by the continued oppression from wizards refusing fair trade and equal wand rights…”

Susan leaned toward Harry, whispering, “And there it is. The famous sleep spell.”

Harry tried not to laugh. “You weren’t exaggerating.”

Binns droned on, quill floating midair to scribble notes on the board without rhythm or legibility. Half the class had glazed eyes within minutes. Even the usually energetic Justin was drooping forward, blinking furiously.

Harry forced himself to focus, scratching notes furiously across his parchment. No subject is useless, he reminded himself. Healing demanded understanding of magical law and history—especially curses born from old conflicts.

Still, it was difficult. His eyes drifted to Daphne, who was doodling a dragon in her margins, and Tracey, who had begun playing tic-tac-toe with Blaise on the corner of a spare parchment. Susan was half reading, half doodling little Puffapods.

Binns floated closer to the front row, his voice unchanged in tone. “It was during this period that the Wizard Council decreed the second Wand Ban, though it proved ineffective as goblin smiths discovered alternative channelling methods…”

Harry’s quill hesitated. “Alternative channelling methods…” he whispered under his breath, intrigued. “Runic-based focus points, perhaps…”

Susan nudged him. “You’re actually thinking about this?”

He smiled faintly. “Well, maybe. It ties to wandlore. And wandlore’s tied to healing energy transfer. Everything connects, in a way.”

Daphne overheard and turned her head slightly. “You really never switch off, do you?”

Harry shrugged modestly. “Old habits.”

Tracey leaned forward with a grin. “Remind me to sit beside you during exams.”

Their quiet laughter drew a faint scowl from Binns—perhaps the only sign of awareness he’d shown all period. Then, as suddenly as he had begun, he stopped mid-sentence, blinked slowly, and floated through the wall—straight into the corridor.

For a moment, there was stunned silence.

Justin blinked. “Did… did he just leave?”

“Looks like it,” Blaise said, gathering his quills. “Class dismissed by default.”

Harry laughed quietly. “Guess we survived our first Binns lesson.”

As they left the classroom, Draco’s group brushed past them again. Draco’s expression was sour, but he didn’t say a word.

Susan stretched her arms. “Next is Snape’s double Defence class, right?”

Harry nodded grimly. “Dark Arts and Offensive Magic. With Slytherins.”

Daphne smirked. “Well, at least you’re used to us now.”

Harry chuckled. “After Binns, even Snape’s temper will feel like excitement.”

Tracey laughed. “You’ll regret saying that in ten minutes.”
______________________________

The group turned toward the stairwell, the corridor buzzing faintly with voices and footsteps as sunlight streamed through the high windows, marking the slow rhythm of their first true day at Hogwarts.

The corridors were beginning to hum with the sound of shifting classes, the rhythmic echo of shoes and chatter filling the air. Harry walked alongside Susan, Hannah, and Justin as the nine Hufflepuffs followed the path toward the Defense wing. The Slytherins trailed just beside them, their green-lined robes glinting faintly under torchlight.

Harry had tucked his History parchment under his arm, shaking his head in disbelief. “You know, if Binns droned for five more minutes, I’d have started reciting antidote ingredients just to stay awake.”

Susan laughed softly. “Oh, we’d have all thanked you for that. Though now, you’re officially our messiah for History notes.”

Tracey smirked from the Slytherin side. “Agreed. I don’t think my quill even touched the parchment. You write neat enough for all of us, Potter.”

Blaise arched a brow lazily. “Just make sure to share with the Ravenclaws too, or they’ll stage a parchment revolt.”

Harry chuckled. “Honestly, I don’t think I’d survive without Hermione’s notes either. Or Terry, Lisa, and Rolf. Between the lot of us, we might actually remember what Binns said about the Goblin Rebellion before falling asleep.”

Hannah grinned. “I think Hermione’s probably taking notes even now.”

Harry smiled faintly, picturing her and Ron somewhere high in the Astronomy Tower classroom with Neville, all wide-eyed at telescopes and star charts. “Yeah… she’d be writing everything. Ron might be pretending to listen. Neville’s probably trying to explain constellations. I wonder what Terry, Lisa, and Rolf are studying right now—something clever, no doubt.”

Justin nudged him. “Rolf’s probably chatting about magical beasts instead of paying attention.”

The group laughed as they descended a spiral staircase that led to the Defense corridor. The air grew cooler, faintly tinged with the scent of iron and chalk. The classroom they approached was far larger than Harry expected—vaulted ceiling, torch sconces shaped like serpents, and thick stone walls etched with faintly glowing defensive runes.

“Merlin’s beard,” Susan murmured. “This place looks like a dungeon and a battlefield had a baby.”

“Snape’s aesthetic,” Tracey said lightly. “Dark, broody, and probably allergic to sunlight.”

Blaise smirked. “At least we’ll be awake this time.”

Harry smiled faintly but felt a flicker of nerves. Snape’s classroom had a heavy atmosphere, as though the air itself disapproved of him. Still, he pushed it aside, reminding himself he wanted to understand these subjects—especially Dark Arts theory. Healing required knowledge of curses and counter-curses, after all.

As they found seats, two figures detached themselves from the quieter corner of the Slytherin group. A tall, sharp-eyed boy with brown hair and an elegant posture, and beside him, a large girl with thick plaits and broad shoulders. They seemed separate from both Draco’s sneering cluster and Daphne’s easy circle.

The boy inclined his head politely. “Theodore Nott,” he said in a calm, measured tone. “I thought it proper to introduce myself, Mr. Potter.”

Harry blinked, pleasantly surprised. Straightening a little, he gave a small, graceful bow—the kind he had memorized from the Pureblood Etiquette Primer he studied at the Dursleys out of curiosity. “An honor, Mr. Nott. Harry James Potter, of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter.”

Theodore’s eyebrows rose slightly, and he returned the bow with a faint smile. “Well-versed. You’ve done your homework, clearly.”

Harry smiled modestly. “Good manners don’t hurt anyone.”

The girl beside Nott offered her hand stiffly but not unkindly. “Millicent Bulstrode,” she said in a low, no-nonsense voice. “I don’t do the curtsey nonsense, but it’s good to meet you.”

Harry shook her hand firmly. “Likewise, Miss Bulstrode. I appreciate the honesty.”

Tracey chuckled under her breath. “Millicent honest? That’s putting it lightly.”

Millicent shrugged, amused. “Better than being two-faced like some people in our house.” Her eyes flicked toward where Draco sat sulking in the back row.

Theodore’s lips quirked. “Indeed. You’ll find not all Slytherins bite, Potter.”

Harry grinned. “Good to know. I prefer allies over house rivalries.”

Blaise gave a low hum of approval. “See? Told you he’s more serpent than he looks.”

Harry laughed softly, shaking his head. “Let’s just say I’m flexible.”

Before anyone could add more, the heavy oak door swung open with a sharp creak. The air seemed to chill instantly. Professor Snape glided inside, black robes billowing behind him like smoke. His expression was unreadable, dark eyes sweeping the class.

He spoke in a silken, dangerous tone. “Defense Against the Dark Arts. Or rather, Dark Arts and Offensive Magic, as the Headmaster insists I teach it properly. You will address me as Professor Snape. You will not speak unless spoken to. You will take notes precisely as I instruct. If you think this class will be about waving wands and shouting incantations like children in a duel—think again.”

Harry felt his stomach tighten. He kept his gaze steady, refusing to flinch as Snape’s cold eyes landed on him for a fraction longer than anyone else’s.

Snape’s lips curved faintly. “Ah. Our celebrity.”

Harry didn’t reply. He could almost feel Susan tense beside him.

Snape continued. “Let us see if fame equals knowledge. Tell me, Potter—what is the primary difference between a jinx and a hex?”

Harry took a breath, recalling the passages he had read at the Dursleys. “A jinx is minor and often causes inconvenience or discomfort. A hex is more harmful, designed to cause pain or disorientation. The intent and magical potency distinguish them, sir.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Textbook. But correct.” He turned away with a sweep of his robes. “Five points to Hufflepuff.”

Susan’s jaw dropped. “He actually gave you points.”

Harry whispered, “I think the apocalypse just started.”

Tracey muffled a laugh while Daphne covered her mouth, smirking.

Snape ignored them, flicking his wand. The blackboard filled with glowing script. “Now, take notes. The difference between defense and counter-offense may one day save your life.”

Harry leaned forward, quill poised, eager despite himself. Even under Snape’s shadow, the subject thrummed with a strange energy—dangerous, yes, but fascinating.

He didn’t miss how Theodore gave him a slight approving nod, or how Blaise looked quietly impressed. Perhaps this day wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
______________________________

A/n: I hope You like it. Please ignore grammatical and spelling errors. 

Okay, so the first day is going great!! Harry is trying to look at every subject from the perspective of a Healer. He’s analysing which subjects he absolutely needs to master and which ones are optional if he truly wants to become a Healer.

Someone also wisely suggested that I make Snape neutral. He’s going to be negative at times and positive at others, as you’ve already seen. Besides, Snape finally gets to teach his dream subject, so he’s bound to be happy—at least for the first few weeks.

I really hope I’ve managed to portray everything properly. And I’ll say it again: the main theme of my story is healing and education, so don’t blame me for showing classes in detail. I need to make them detailed, at least during the introduction, otherwise how would you all understand my plans for the new subjects I’ve introduced here?

Anyway, Harry and the Thirteen will play a major role in reducing house rivalry. On top of that, the professors themselves have to make Hogwarts more united, because from this year onward every school will be compared at an international level. I highly doubt they’d enjoy seeing Hogwarts get humiliated globally just because of petty rivalries.

And for your information—once again, thanks to my overworking habit—I ended up making a list of all wizarding schools in the world, bringing the total to 1,033 wizarding schools worldwide.

Hey for this story I wasn't able to decide Chapter names easily so for fun why don't you all comment what you think chapter name can be ? I will be waiting.

Thanks for reading. § Hinny Forever § Please Review!!!

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or its universe. All original elements belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This story is a work of fanfiction created purely for entertainment purposes - no copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made. Any original characters, events, or concepts beyond the established canon are the author's own creative additions to expand the magical world respectfully.
______________________________

Snape continued pacing slowly, his robes whispering across the flagstones as his sharp gaze swept the room. "The comprehension of darkness," he said, "is not an endorsement of it. Ignorance leads to foolish heroics. Knowledge breeds control."

Harry noted every word. Despite Snape's clear bias, there was no denying that the man's grasp on the subject was brilliant. The way he spoke about magical resonance and energy currents almost sounded like advanced alchemy.

When Snape raised his wand, the candles flared slightly. "Darkness is not an element. It is intent - the manipulation of will, pain, and corruption. To counter it, you must understand how it thinks."

Susan whispered, "That's... rather grim."

Hannah murmured, "Or poetic."

Snape's voice sliced through their exchange. "Abbott, Bones-since you are so engaged-explain why intention stabilizers are used before learning countercurses."

Susan went pale, but Harry gave her a reassuring glance.

"They prevent emotional corruption during incantations," Susan said quickly. "They anchor the caster's intent in purity."

Snape's dark eyes narrowed slightly, then he nodded. "Acceptable."

As the lesson unfolded, Snape began linking theory to combat posture, occasionally flicking his wand to draw diagrams in midair-runes glowing pale blue before fading. Harry's mind connected each concept to his understanding of neural pathways and psychological triggers. The parallels were uncanny.

When Snape abruptly turned again, everyone stiffened. "Potter. What principle governs why counter-resonant spells must be cast with opposite hand orientation?"

Harry's reply came calmly. "Because energy polarity reverses in dark-structured magic. If cast with the same alignment, it amplifies the curse instead of diffusing it."

Snape's lips thinned into something that almost resembled approval. "Indeed."

Daphne smirked slightly. "Honestly, Potter, you're making the rest of us look bad."

"Not true," Harry muttered back. "He's trying to make me slip."

Tracey snorted softly. "You're not giving him much luck."

Snape continued lecturing about the distinctions between defensive and offensive applications, occasionally demonstrating short bursts of energy spells-small shockwaves that shimmered against the protective wards of the classroom. When Blaise was asked to identify a miscast offensive hex, his calm response earned him a curt nod from the professor.

The class grew absorbed. Even the Slytherins not fond of Hufflepuffs couldn't help watching in fascination as the topics unfolded.

By the time Snape set his quill down and announced, "You have survived your first double period," everyone exhaled in relief.

"Read chapters one through three of A History of the Dark Spectrum," he said flatly. "Prepare notes. I expect precision, not prattle. Dismissed."

The collective scrape of chairs followed. Harry stretched slightly, his shoulders stiff.

"Blimey," Justin muttered, "I felt like I'd been dueling mentally for two hours."

Hannah sighed. "Still, it wasn't dreadful. More... intense."

Susan grinned. "You mean terrifying."

Daphne chuckled. "He likes to test boundaries. Slytherins are used to it."

Tracey added teasingly, "Though I think Potter just made Snape's list of eternal grudges."

Harry smirked. "Wouldn't be Hogwarts without that."

As they stepped into the corridor, conversation bubbled around them-half relief, half excitement. By the time they reached the marble staircase, the noise of students moving to lunch filled the air.

"I still can't believe," Blaise said, "you matched Snape question for question."

"Luck," Harry said lightly.

"Three readings of the syllabus isn't luck," Susan corrected, bumping his arm.

They laughed, turning toward the Great Hall. Midway down, they spotted familiar figures waiting - Ron waving energetically, Hermione standing beside Neville, with Terry, Lisa, and Rolf chatting near the doors.

"There you are!" Ron called as they approached. "We were about to start without you lot."

"Snape's class ran long," Blaise said dryly. "Interrogation format."

Hermione leaned forward, eyes bright. "How was it?"

Susan's grin widened. "Let's just say, Snape tried to corner Harry at least six times."

"Seven," Hannah corrected.

Tracey nodded solemnly. "And failed all seven."

Ron blinked. "Bloody hell."

"Ronald!" Hermione hissed automatically.

Neville laughed. "So, he didn't take points?"

"Nope," Susan said proudly. "Actually gave some. Though he looked like he regretted it the moment he said it."

Rolf chuckled. "That's historic."

Harry shrugged modestly. "He's... complicated. Brilliant, but complicated."

Lisa handed him a small parchment. "We had Astronomy theory. Boring as the inside of a cauldron. You'd have dozed off."

"Probably," Harry admitted, grinning.

As they entered the Great Hall together, the smell of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding hit them like a wave. They slid into seats at the Gryffindor table, as usual defying House lines.

"Here's to surviving Snape," Blaise said, raising his goblet.

Susan smirked. "And to Potter's first academic victory."

"May it be one of many," Daphne added with a sly smile.

Ron grinned. "Mate, at this rate, you'll be top of the year."

Harry laughed softly, clinking his goblet with theirs. "Let's hope it lasts till Potions."

That earned a chorus of groans and laughter, echoing under the enchanted ceiling, where golden sunlight streamed over a table filled not by four Houses-but by friends who had begun to bridge them.
______________________________

After lunch, the air in the Great Hall buzzed with chatter, but Harry and the others from Hufflepuff and Slytherin knew there was no time to linger. Double Transfiguration awaited them. Their last class of the day-finally.

"Here we go again," Justin muttered, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

Tracey grinned. "At least this time we don't have Snape breathing down our necks."

"Oh, Professor McGonagall's stricter," Daphne replied smoothly. "Snape makes you feel like a mistake. She makes you feel like you disappointed Scotland."

That drew laughter from the group as they followed the map Sprout had given them through winding corridors and up a flight of stairs. The air grew cooler, the sunlight sharper through the tall windows. When they finally reached the Transfiguration classroom, a small tabby cat sat neatly on the teacher's desk, tail flicking with faint irritation.

The students exchanged uncertain glances.

"Think that's her?" Susan whispered.

"Obviously," Blaise said under his breath. "Same markings Dumbledore mentioned during the feast."

Harry chuckled softly. "She's not pleased she can't surprise anyone this year."

The cat's green eyes narrowed, as if she heard him. Then, with a sudden leap, the tabby turned mid-air-and Professor McGonagall landed gracefully in her human form. Her tartan robes swept behind her as she straightened her spectacles.

A round of applause broke out despite everyone already knowing. Even a few Slytherins clapped with reluctant admiration. McGonagall's expression softened, just a fraction.

"Thank you," she said crisply. "Though I suppose the Headmaster's new 'transparency policy' has robbed me of my dramatic entrance."

A ripple of laughter went through the room. Her lips twitched before she turned brisk again. "Transfiguration," she began, "is one of the most complex and dangerous branches of magic you will study at Hogwarts. Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not return. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Professor," the class chorused.

"Excellent. Now, let us begin with theory."

Harry leaned forward, quill poised. To his quiet amazement, what she explained made perfect sense when viewed through the lens of physics. Matter conversion, energy stability, conservation of mass-all with magical modulation.

"The difference," McGonagall said sharply, "between Transfiguration and Charms is the permanence of change. Charms alter properties. Transfiguration redefines essence."

She conjured a diagram midair-particles swirling, shifting, and then reassembling. "Every object has a magical signature. You must understand both the base and the target before attempting transformation. Recklessness results in half-formed results... or worse."

Hannah whispered, "Like a needle with cat fur?"

Susan elbowed her, snickering quietly.

McGonagall's gaze snapped toward them. "Miss Abbott, Miss Bones-perhaps you'd prefer to explain the conservation constant aloud?"

Both turned scarlet. "No, Professor," they said in unison.

Harry hid a grin. He was enjoying himself far more than expected. McGonagall's teaching carried rhythm and clarity. She occasionally directed a question to the class, and Harry found himself answering several, linking magical terminology to concepts he already understood from Muggle science.

"An impressive analogy, Mr. Potter," McGonagall remarked once. "You have a knack for logical structuring. Keep it up."

By the time the first half of the double period ended, everyone felt both awed and daunted. Then McGonagall clapped her hands once.

"Now that we understand the theory, it is time for your first practical attempt-turning a matchstick into a needle."

The room erupted with whispers of excitement.

"Oh, this'll be brilliant," Justin said, eyes gleaming.

"Or disastrous," Blaise muttered.

"Wands out," McGonagall instructed. "Concentrate on your target object, its material structure, its intended form. Visualize the transformation as complete. Precision of thought is key."

Harry's heart pounded. He studied the tiny matchstick on his desk, trying to recall every formula, every principle she had mentioned. He took a deep breath, raised his wand, and said clearly, "Transfigura Mutatio!"

The matchstick shivered, its wood glinting faintly before turning silvery halfway. Not perfect, but promising.

Susan tried next. Her matchstick turned to a dull gray color, still retaining its shape. "Oh drat," she sighed.

Daphne's result was better-a short, stubby metal rod that glittered faintly. Tracey groaned as hers caught fire instead.

"Keep at it," McGonagall urged. "Do not be discouraged. Your magical cores are not yet used to precise channeling. This exercise will refine that flow."

Harry exhaled slowly and tried again. This time, the matchstick trembled, then smoothly elongated and hardened. The wood vanished completely, replaced by polished silver with a pointed tip that gleamed under the sunlight.

McGonagall appeared beside him silently. "Excellent control, Mr. Potter. Nearly flawless. Only the density remains slightly inconsistent."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said, cheeks faintly warm.

"Not bad at all for your first day."

By the time the bell rang, only Harry's was fully needle-like, though Susan's and Daphne's were close. Most others had managed either discolored sticks or warped lumps of metal. Still, spirits were high.

"That was wicked," Tracey said as they packed up. "Even if mine looked like a melted spoon."

"You did fine," Daphne replied lightly. "I think we'll all get it in a few weeks."

Harry smiled, pocketing his imperfect needle. "This one's going to be a keepsake."

Blaise chuckled. "Proof you survived McGonagall's debut."

As they filed out, McGonagall's voice followed them, firm yet warm. "Good progress today. Remember-discipline before ambition. Magic is obedient only to focus."

Outside, sunlight gilded the castle corridors. Harry felt an odd mixture of exhaustion and pride. The first day at Hogwarts had ended, and he had learned more in one day than in all his Muggle schooling, though comparing them was unfair.

"Tomorrow," Susan said with a grin, "we start all over again."

Harry laughed softly. "Can't wait."
______________________________

The afternoon air was crisp and golden as the Thirteen gathered near the Entrance Hall. The sun filtered through the tall windows, spilling honeyed light across the floor. It was the first free stretch of time they had all day, and after hours of lectures, quills, and controlled magic, the idea of exploring outside felt like bliss.

"Four whole hours," Ron said, stretching his arms. "Merlin's beard, that's freedom."

"Freedom before dinner," Hermione corrected. "We should use it wisely."

"Wisely?" Blaise smirked. "We're not revising already, Granger."

Harry grinned. "We're going to Hagrid's, actually. I need to pick up Maple."

At once, half of them brightened.

"Oh, good!" Hannah said. "I missed her wagging tail this morning."

"Same here," Neville agreed. "She's practically the unofficial Hufflepuff mascot already."

"Unofficial Hogwarts mascot, more like," Tracey added. "I swear, even the portraits talk about her."

They laughed as they walked out into the courtyard. The September breeze carried the scent of grass and earth. The sky stretched wide and blue, a few clouds drifting lazily above the towers. The castle loomed behind them, magnificent and alive, every window glowing faintly in the sun.

They followed the path sloping down toward the greenhouses and then the edge of the forest. Harry walked at the front, his robes fluttering slightly. He had tucked his wand into his sleeve as he always did-habit from too much reading about dueling etiquette.

Rolf sniffed the air. "Smells like puffapods down this way. Professor Sprout must have opened Greenhouse Two."

"Or Neville already found his way in again," Terry teased.

Neville flushed. "It was one time! I was curious!"

"Sure, mate," Ron said, chuckling.

As they reached the slope that led to Hagrid's hut, the wooden house came into view, surrounded by pumpkin patches nearly the size of cauldrons. Smoke rose gently from the chimney.

"There it is," Lisa said softly. "Looks cozy, doesn't it?"

"Very much," Daphne murmured. "Though a bit... rustic."

"Rustic is polite for terrifying," Blaise whispered, earning a shove from Tracey.

Harry knocked on the heavy oak door. A deep bark answered almost immediately, followed by Hagrid's booming voice.

"Hold on, hold on, I'm comin'!"

The door swung open, revealing Hagrid beaming down at them, his beard full of crumbs. "Ah, the lot o' yeh! Thought I heard familiar voices. Come in, come in!"

The hut smelled of tea, woodsmoke, and something slightly burnt. Maple bounded from behind Hagrid, tail wagging furiously, barking in delight when she saw Harry.

"Maple!" Harry knelt, hugging her as she licked his face enthusiastically. "I missed you too, girl."

"She's been a good guest," Hagrid said proudly. "Gets along with Fang, she does. Two of 'em been runnin' 'round together all mornin'. Ain't that right, Fang?"

From the back of the hut came a low, slobbery woof. Fang, the massive boarhound, ambled out, drooling as he approached the students.

"Oh sweet Circe," Daphne whispered, taking a step back. "That's a dog?"

"Looks like a bear," Justin muttered.

Fang sniffed them curiously, then leaned heavily against Ron, who stumbled.

"Oi! Easy there, mate!" Ron exclaimed, laughing as Fang's tongue swiped across his cheek. "Blimey, he's affectionate."

"He likes yeh," Hagrid said with a grin. "That's a good sign. Fang don't take to everyone."

They sat around Hagrid's rough wooden table as he poured mugs of tea the size of small cauldrons. Harry gently rubbed Maple's head while she rested against his leg.

"So how was your first day?" Hagrid asked, eyes twinkling.

"Busy," Hermione replied, "but fascinating. Transfiguration was incredible."

"An' Professor McGonagall? Best in her field, she is. Used to scare the robes off James when he was a first year," Hagrid said fondly.

"She's brilliant," Harry agreed. "Strict, but fair."

Hagrid chuckled. "Fair's the word. Jus' don't try changin' somethin' ye shouldn't, or ye'll be a teapot before yeh can blink."

"Noted," Tracey said dryly.

After half an hour of chatting and petting both dogs, the group decided to wander further along the edge of the forest. The afternoon sun painted the trees in gold and green. Birds flitted between the branches, and the lake shimmered in the distance.

"Merlin, this place is perfect," Hannah said dreamily.

"Feels alive," Rolf murmured, sketching something in his small notebook.

Lisa tilted her head. "Is that a niffler burrow?"

Rolf crouched. "No, bowtruckle tracks-tiny claw prints. Hagrid must have a colony nearby."

The conversation flowed easily, laughter mingling with the rustle of leaves. Harry walked beside Daphne and Neville, with Maple trotting happily ahead, occasionally darting toward a butterfly or sniffing at the grass.

"She's really something," Daphne said, watching Maple. "I've never seen a dog so clever."

"She is," Harry said softly. "She understands more than she should, honestly."

"Maybe she's part Kneazle," Tracey joked.

Harry smiled. "Wouldn't surprise me."

They wandered back toward the castle as the sun began to dip. The stone walls glowed amber in the light. The sound of laughter drifted from the Quidditch Pitch, where a few older students were practicing.

Ron nudged Harry. "Next year, we're trying out, or if we pass that test then this year itself, yeah?"

Harry grinned. "Definitely."

As they climbed the steps to the Entrance Hall, Maple trotting proudly beside him, Harry felt utterly content. He had friends, a home, and a dream to chase.

"Dinner soon," Susan said cheerfully. "And tomorrow, new adventures."

Harry nodded, eyes glinting. "At Hogwarts? Always."
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Next day, Harry woke before dawn, as his internal clock demanded. The dormitory was still silent except for Maple's gentle breathing in her dog bed beside him. Her golden fur shimmered faintly in the dim torchlight. It was his fourth day at Hogwarts-September 4th, 1991-and routine already whispered to him like an old friend.

He stretched quietly, then sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Time to get back into rhythm," he murmured to himself, glancing at Maple. "Can't let all that training go soft, can we?"

Padding softly across the room, he brushed his teeth and washed up. As he looked at his reflection, an idle thought struck him. "If Hogwarts has Physical Education now," he mused, "surely there must be a gym somewhere. Perhaps Madam Hooch will know."

He pulled on a dark grey tracksuit-comfortable, Muggle-style clothing meant for exercise-and laced up his shoes. Maple stirred and blinked sleepily. "Stay, Maple," he whispered. "You can join later for a run." She gave a soft woof before curling back up.

The common room was silent as he stepped out, his footsteps muffled on the Hufflepuff basement floor. The corridors were still and cool, bathed in faint silver light from the enchanted torches. When he reached the main staircase, he could already sense the faint chill of morning air drifting in through the open doors.

Outside, the grounds lay in tranquil beauty. The horizon was painted with hues of deep violet and pale orange. Harry inhaled deeply, the crisp scent of dew and earth waking his senses. He began a slow jog across the lawn, heading toward the Quidditch pitch, where he suspected Madam Hooch might be.

Near the pitch, he spotted movement-a tall figure stretching and balancing a broom in hand. As Harry drew closer, the figure turned, revealing a boy with short brown hair and a determined expression.

"Morning!" the boy called out, noticing him. "You're Potter, right? Hufflepuff first-year?"

Harry nodded, a friendly smile forming. "That's right. You must be Oliver Wood, Gryffindor Quidditch captain."

Wood's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You've done your reading, then. Most first-years barely know what a Quaffle is."

Harry chuckled softly. "I do like to be prepared. My friend Ron's obsessed with Quidditch, so I've heard quite a bit."

Oliver grinned. "Then you'll fit right in here. I come out early to train every morning. Want to join in? It's a good way to start the day."

"I'd love to," Harry replied, "but I was actually looking for Madam Hooch. I wanted to ask if Hogwarts has a gym."

Wood looked intrigued. "A gym? Yeah, there's one near the Quidditch pitch, mostly used by players for endurance and muscle work. But with this new curriculum adding Physical Education, maybe they'll open it to all students."

Harry's eyes lit up. "That's perfect. I've been meaning to resume proper training. Running's fine, but I want to build strength too."

Oliver nodded approvingly. "Good mindset. Magical stamina's not all about magic-it's physical too. Madam Hooch usually checks equipment early morning in her office by the stands. Come on, I'll take you there."

The two walked toward the wooden tower beside the pitch. The rising sun cast golden light over the castle and glimmered on the grass. Harry glanced at the massive goal hoops towering in the distance.

"So, you train daily?" Harry asked as they walked.

"Every day," Oliver said with conviction. "If I want to make the Puddlemere United roster one day, I can't afford to slack off. It's not just about flying-it's reflexes, control, balance. You've got to treat your body like it's part of your broom."

Harry smiled. "Sounds just like Healing in a way. Precision and balance matter there too."

They reached Madam Hooch's small office-a circular room built into the side of the pitch's lower stand. The door stood slightly ajar, and the faint scent of broom polish drifted out.

Oliver knocked lightly. "Madam Hooch? It's Oliver Wood and Harry Potter."

From inside came a brisk voice. "Enter!"

Madam Hooch looked up from where she was examining a broom handle. Her yellow eyes glinted in the morning light. "Mr. Wood, up early as always. And Potter, isn't it? What brings you here so early, dear boy?"

Harry stepped forward respectfully. "Good morning, Madam Hooch. I was wondering-since Physical Education is now part of the Hogwarts curriculum, is the gym open to students outside Quidditch teams?"

Her sharp features softened with approval. "A rare question for a first-year at this hour. Yes, Mr. Potter, the gym is being reorganized for shared use. I expect it will be officially opened by tomorrow. Until then, you may use the running tracks and the open yard behind the pitch."

Harry inclined his head slightly. "Thank you, Madam. That's excellent news."

She smiled faintly. "Discipline and fitness go hand in hand with good flying and good spellwork. Keep that attitude, and you'll do well here."

Oliver shot Harry an approving glance. "Told you she'd say yes."

Harry laughed quietly. "Seems I owe you one, then."

They stepped back outside as the sun broke fully over the hills, flooding the grounds with gold. Harry stretched his arms and looked toward the castle's silhouette. "A run before breakfast, then," he said.

Wood nodded, mounting his broom. "And I'll get a few laps in the air. Good luck, Potter!"

Harry grinned, setting off down the track as the crisp morning wind brushed his face. Hogwarts was waking, and the day promised energy, rhythm, and purpose.
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Half an hour later, Harry slowed to a stop near the Quidditch pitch, panting lightly. The sun was higher now, turning the grass golden. Sweat clung to his forehead as he leaned forward, hands on knees, catching his breath. After a few moments, he began stretching his arms and legs, feeling the pleasant ache of exertion.

The sound of a broom descending drew his attention. Oliver Wood landed nearby with a smooth swoosh, his red-and-gold robes flaring slightly. He dismounted with the easy confidence of someone who had spent years in the air.

"Good pace, Potter," Oliver called, smiling. "You've got stamina. You'd make a solid Seeker's build, lean and sharp."

Harry chuckled between breaths. "Thanks. Though, truthfully, I've never even flown before."

Oliver blinked. "Never flown? Not even once?"

Harry shook his head, a little sheepishly. "No. I've read about Quidditch and broom physics, but that's about it."

Oliver gaped for a moment, then let out a low whistle. "Merlin's beard, you're in for a treat. There's nothing like the feeling of flying. Tell you what, want to try it? Just a little lift-off. My broom's steady and perfectly balanced." He patted his Cleansweep Seven proudly.

Harry looked uncertain. "I don't know... first-years aren't allowed to have brooms, right?"

Oliver grinned. "True, though this year they're changing things. Madam Hooch mentioned that those who pass her test might be allowed personal brooms, maybe even join teams early. The test isn't announced yet, but it will be soon. You're safe to try as long as I'm here to supervise."

Harry hesitated, glancing at the broom. "Still, what if I mess up and crash? I'd rather not start my Hogwarts life by breaking a limb."

Oliver laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Relax, Potter. You won't. I'll guide you through it. Just follow my instructions. Trust me, once you're off the ground, it'll feel like second nature."

Harry looked at the broom again, torn between caution and curiosity. Then Oliver added with a knowing smile, "Your father was one of the best flyers Hogwarts ever saw. James Potter-played Chaser for Gryffindor. Brilliant on a broom, natural-born talent."

That sealed it. Something inside Harry stirred-a quiet connection, almost like an invisible thread linking him to a memory he'd never lived. "All right," he said softly, taking the broom. "Let's do this."

Oliver grinned broadly. "Atta boy! Now, step to the left, hold your hand over the broom, and say 'Up.' Strong voice, clear intent."

Harry nodded, extending his hand over the broom. "Up!"

To his surprise, the broom leapt instantly into his hand, smacking against his palm as if eager to obey.

Oliver's eyebrows shot up. "Whoa. That's rare on a first try. Most people need a few attempts. The broom likes you already."

Harry smiled, gripping the handle. It felt alive beneath his fingers, humming faintly with energy. "Now what?"

"Mount it gently," Oliver said, stepping closer. "Feet flat, knees slightly bent. Don't grip too tight or you'll throw off your balance. When you're ready, push off from the ground-but not too hard. Just a few feet up."

Harry did exactly as told. The broom rose smoothly, lifting him several feet into the air. The sensation was unlike anything he had ever experienced-the wind brushing his face, the soft sway beneath him, the weightlessness of freedom.

"Brilliant!" Oliver called up, beaming. "Now, ease forward by leaning slightly, like you're willing the broom to move. Keep your back straight!"

Harry leaned, and the broom responded instantly. He shot forward a few meters before instinctively pulling back. His heart raced-not from fear, but from exhilaration.

"This is... incredible!" he shouted, laughter breaking free.

Oliver's grin widened. "Told you! You've got the feel for it already. Try a turn-slowly now!"

Harry twisted the handle slightly, and the broom curved gracefully through the air. The motion was smooth, controlled-almost as if he and the broom shared a single thought.

Oliver whistled. "Sweet Circe, you really are a natural! You've been flying for less than two minutes, and you're smoother than half my team."

Harry descended slowly, landing with a soft thud. He dismounted and stared at the broom in his hands, breathing hard from excitement. "That was-bloody brilliant!"

Oliver laughed. "Welcome to the skies, Potter. You're wasted in Hufflepuff, you know. If you'd been sorted into Gryffindor, I'd have drafted you for Seeker by sunset."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "Guess you'll have to stay envious, then."

"Envious?" Oliver said with mock offense. "Try green with it! McGonagall would've gone mad for another Potter on her team. Hufflepuff doesn't know how lucky they are."

Harry smiled faintly, glancing back toward the castle where the morning light danced on the windows. "Maybe," he said softly. "But I think I'm exactly where I need to be."

Oliver clapped him on the shoulder again. "Keep that attitude, and you'll do wonders here. Mark my words, Potter-there's something special about you."

Then, the two walked back toward the castle, the broom resting lightly against Oliver's shoulder, the golden morning air shimmered around them. Harry felt lighter than he had in years-like the world itself had just opened a new sky just for him.

As they neared Madam Hooch's office, the corridor smelled faintly of polish and broom bristles. Oliver walked ahead with his Cleansweep on one shoulder, still grinning like a Cheshire Kneazle. Harry followed, feeling light on his feet, still half-lost in the memory of the air rushing past his face.

"Merlin's beard, Potter," Oliver said with a laugh. "That was one for the books! You're sure you've never touched a broom before?"

Harry smiled sheepishly. "Never. Though I might've read a bit too much about aerodynamics and balance."

Oliver shook his head in mock despair. "Figures. You read your way into flying. Only you, Potter."

Just as they turned the corner near the entrance to Hooch's office, both of them froze. Madam Hooch herself was standing there, arms folded, her sharp yellow eyes fixed directly on Harry. Her short silver hair glinted in the light, and she looked every bit as formidable as her reputation suggested.

Harry's heart sank. "Oh no," he muttered under his breath. "We're in for it."

Oliver winced slightly, whispering, "She saw you, didn't she?"

"Judging by that look," Harry murmured, "I think she saw everything."

Hooch stepped forward, her boots clicking crisply on the stone. "Flying before term authorisation, Mr. Potter?" she asked, her tone controlled but not cold. "I must say, I did not expect that from one of Sprout's."

Harry swallowed, glancing at Oliver. "Professor, it was my fault. Oliver offered to let me try, but I agreed. I just... wanted to see what it felt like."

Oliver raised his hands defensively. "All on me, Madam Hooch. I supervised him the whole time. He didn't go more than twenty feet up, and he's a natural-"

Her stern expression flickered into something between amusement and appraisal. "A natural, you say?"

Harry looked at her uncertainly. "I didn't mean to break rules, Professor. I just-"

Hooch interrupted, the corners of her lips twitching upward. "Relax, Mr. Potter. If anything, you impressed me. For a first flight, that was extraordinary control and balance. I saw the entire thing from my office window."

Harry blinked, startled. "You... were watching?"

"Of course," she replied. "I make it my business to know when someone's in the air on my pitch. You handled that broom as if you were born to it. James would've been proud."

At the mention of his father, something warm and quiet stirred in Harry's chest. "Thank you, Professor."

Oliver grinned, triumphant. "See? Told you he was good!"

Hooch arched a brow at Oliver. "Good, yes. Reckless, absolutely. You both should've had the sense to ask permission first."

Harry's smile faltered. "Sorry, ma'am."

Her tone softened slightly. "No harm done this time, Potter. Though next time, you wait for the proper session. Fortunately for you, that won't be long."

Oliver frowned slightly. "Wait-what session?"

Hooch turned to Harry, her eyes gleaming. "I was going to announce it later today, but since you seem so eager, you may as well know early. Hufflepuff first years will be taking their broom control and safety test today during the second and third periods."

Harry blinked. "Really? Today?"

"Indeed," she said. "Your schedule lists those as free, doesn't it?"

Harry nodded quickly. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good," she continued. "Then I expect you at the pitch right after your first class. We will evaluate each of you. If you pass, you'll be permitted personal flight privileges during practice sessions and optional weekend drills."

Oliver let out a low whistle. "Lucky lot. We didn't get to do that until second year."

Harry's mind raced. He could barely contain the excitement bubbling up in him. "Thank you, Professor. I'll be there."

Hooch's expression softened just a bit. "I'm sure you will, Mr. Potter. Judging by what I saw, I expect you'll pass without much trouble." Then she shot him a pointed look. "Still, I suggest you don't make a habit of breaking into lessons early. Even natural flyers must respect the rules."

Harry grinned. "Understood, ma'am."

Oliver chuckled, glancing at Harry. "Well, looks like you'll be joining us in the skies officially sooner than you thought."

"Seems that way," Harry said, still buzzing from the news. "Maybe I should start practicing my balance again before the test."

"Not before breakfast," Hooch said, stepping aside to unlock her office door. "Go on, both of you. Wood, if you're here for the Quaffle set, they're in the storage chest. And Potter-eat properly. Flying on an empty stomach is a terrible idea."

"Yes, Professor," Harry replied with a small salute.

As Oliver ducked into the office to collect his gear, Hooch gave Harry a last assessing look. "You'll make an excellent flyer," she said quietly. "You've got your father's poise in the air... and something of your own too."

Harry blinked, caught off guard. "Something of my own?"

"Focus," she replied simply. "That will take you far, if you let it."

When Oliver emerged with the Quaffle tucked under his arm, Harry fell into step beside him. The air outside felt even fresher now, the sunlight stronger, the grounds shimmering with early morning magic.

Oliver smirked. "Well, Potter, looks like destiny's giving you a nudge."

Harry laughed softly. "Feels more like a broom pushing from underneath."

Oliver grinned. "Either way, mate, you're flying now."

Harry parted ways with Oliver near the edge of the Quidditch pitch, waving as the older boy jogged back toward the practice hoops with his broom slung over his shoulder. "Good luck, Wood!" Harry called out.

"Luck?" Oliver laughed. "Mate, with that flight of yours, I might need luck to keep up!"

Harry chuckled, shaking his head as he turned back toward the castle. The morning air was crisp and bright, the rising sun casting long golden streaks across the lawns. He felt light, his nerves buzzing from exhilaration and the lingering rush of flight.
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By the time he slipped through the barrels into the Hufflepuff common room, the clock on the wall read a little past six forty-five. The place was alive with motion now-students were bustling about, half-dressed, hair in every possible direction, laughter echoing off the warm, honey-colored stone.

Harry climbed the short tunnel to the boys' dormitory, where a muffled groan came from one of the beds. Ernie Macmillan sat up, hair sticking out like a startled puffskein. "Blimey, Harry! You're up already? Don't tell me you've been awake for hours again."

Harry smiled faintly, grabbing his towel. "Since five, actually. Had a bit of a morning run."

Ernie groaned and buried his face back in the pillow. "You sound like my mum."

Laughing quietly, Harry made for the showers. The steam was soothing after the chill of dawn. When he stepped out, dressed neatly in his uniform, the dorm was in full swing. Justin was rummaging through his trunk muttering about missing socks, while Kevin and Zacharias were arguing over who had used whose comb.

"Morning, everyone," Harry greeted.

Justin turned and grinned. "Morning, mate! You look fresh enough to have brewed sunshine."

Harry chuckled. "Just exercise. Habit, I guess."

He bent down to where Maple lay curled in her dog bed, stretching lazily. "Come on, girl," he whispered, scratching behind her ears. "Time for a walk before I drop you off with Hagrid."

Maple's tail wagged instantly, and soon the two of them were heading through the castle's lower corridors, out the front doors, and across the dew-drenched lawns. The smell of grass filled the air as Maple trotted beside him, occasionally bounding after a butterfly.

At the edge of the pumpkin patch, Hagrid was already outside, wearing his enormous moleskin coat. "Mornin', Harry!" the gamekeeper boomed, waving cheerfully. "An' there's Maple! Look at yeh, girl-yeh been behavin', have yeh?"

"She's been great," Harry said with a grin, as Maple barked happily and jumped around Hagrid's knees. "Just thought I'd bring her by before classes."

"Tha's a good lad," Hagrid said warmly, bending down to scratch Maple's chin. "She an' Fang've been gettin' on real well, they have. Bit of a handful, the pair o' them, but nothin' I can't handle."

Harry smiled. "I'll pick her up after classes."

"Anytime, Harry. Anytime."

With a final pat, Harry left Maple in Hagrid's care and headed back toward the castle. The sun had fully risen now, bathing the grounds in soft gold.

When he re-entered the Hufflepuff common room, Susan, Hannah, and Justin were already waiting by the exit, looking fresh and ready. Susan smiled as soon as she saw him. "There you are! We were wondering where you vanished to."

"Had to take Maple to Hagrid," Harry said, adjusting his bag. "She loves it there."

Justin grinned. "Bet she does. So-breakfast?"

They started walking through the corridors, the faint smell of toast and sausages drifting from the Great Hall. Harry decided to share the news. "Oh, by the way, we're having a flying test today. Second and third period."

Hannah blinked. "Wait-what? A flying test?"

"Yeah," Harry said, trying to sound casual but failing to hide his excitement. "Madam Hooch told me this morning. It's to see who's qualified for broom practice and weekend sessions."

Susan's eyes widened. "That's brilliant! But-how'd you find out before everyone else?"

Justin snorted. "Yeah, you've only been awake since the crack of dawn again. Don't tell me you went flying before breakfast."

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. "Actually... yes. Oliver Wood asked me to try his broom. Madam Hooch saw."

Hannah gasped. "You flew? Before term allowance?"

"Before I even realised I shouldn't," Harry admitted. "But she wasn't mad, not really. She said I'm a natural and that I'd pass easily. Still called it reckless, though."

Justin groaned in half envy, half excitement. "Lucky you! I've been dying to try flying since we got here. A test, though... guess that means goodbye to our free morning."

Susan nudged him teasingly. "Oh, come on, Justin. You'll love it. You're always bragging about your balance from skateboarding."

"Flying isn't skateboarding!" Justin protested, but he was grinning all the same. "Still-Hooch better not make us do loop-the-loops."

Harry laughed. "Doubt it. It's mostly balance and control. Just don't panic if the broom twitches."

As they stepped into the Great Hall, the noise of morning chatter surrounded them. The Great Hall shimmered with the golden morning light streaming through the enchanted ceiling. The scent of toast, eggs, and treacle tart filled the air. Harry, Susan, Justin, and Hannah made their way toward the Ravenclaw table, spotting Terry, Lisa, Rolf, and Luna waving them over. A few heads turned as the Hufflepuffs joined them, but the looks were curious now, not hostile.

Terry grinned as Harry slid into the seat beside him. "Morning, Healer Potter. You seem unusually bright-eyed for someone who's been up since dawn."

Harry chuckled. "Just had an early flight, that's all."

Lisa raised a brow, setting down her pumpkin juice. "You and flying-it's barely breakfast and you're already breaking records."

Before Harry could reply, Daphne, Tracey, and Blaise appeared from the Slytherin table, followed closely by Ron, Hermione, and Neville from Gryffindor. Together, the remaining members of the Thirteen filled the long bench, laughter spilling among them as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

A Ravenclaw fourth-year sitting nearby blinked in surprise. "You lot are... from four different houses?"

"Yep," said Ron cheerfully, spearing a sausage. "We call it unity breakfast."

Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled. "It's not official, but it should be."

Harry noticed that they weren't the only mixed group today. Down the hall, a couple of Gryffindors were sitting with Slytherins, and a cluster of Hufflepuffs were laughing with Ravenclaws. The sight warmed him deeply. Small steps, he thought. Maybe this is how it changes.

Justin leaned back, gesturing around. "Blimey, look at that. Two days ago, everyone was acting like sitting with another House was a crime, and now they're all doing it."

"People just need someone to go first," Susan said softly, buttering her toast. "We did that."

Before anyone could answer, the doors at the far end of the hall swung open. Madam Hooch strode in, her silver hair glinting like steel. The chatter died quickly.

"Attention, first years!" Her voice carried with that no-nonsense tone that demanded obedience. "As mentioned in our opening assembly, today will mark the beginning of your basic flight evaluation."

Justin sat up straighter, eyes wide. "Here we go," he muttered under his breath.

Hooch continued, pacing in front of the staff table. "Hufflepuff first years will have their flight tests in the second and third periods. Gryffindors, yours will take place in the seventh and eighth. Ravenclaws and Slytherins, tomorrow will be your turn."

A few excited whispers rippled through the hall. Terry leaned over to Lisa, whispering, "Lucky Hufflepuffs get to go first. I'd trade an Astronomy period for that."

Hooch raised a gloved hand, silencing the murmurs. "Those who pass will be permitted to try out for your House teams. In addition"-her sharp eyes gleamed-"Headmaster Dumbledore has approved the privilege for successful students to possess personal brooms. A rule that, I should remind you, was not previously announced."

That drew an audible gasp. Hannah turned to Harry, whispering, "Personal brooms? Merlin's beard, that's amazing!"

Harry smiled, trying to hide his thrill. "Looks like we've got a bit more motivation to pass, huh?"

Hooch nodded crisply before finishing. "Those not on House teams will still have access to the Quidditch pitch on weekends, provided no team practices are scheduled. Equal opportunity for all to fly. Understood?"

"Yes, Madam Hooch!" the students chorused, a mix of excitement and nerves buzzing through the hall.

As she left, chatter erupted again. Blaise smirked. "Well, well. Potter, looks like your early morning escapades paid off. Bet Hooch was impressed enough to make this announcement."

Harry laughed lightly. "I doubt she'd bend school rules for me. Though she might've gotten the idea watching me not crash into a tree."

Tracey giggled. "That's improvement, at least."

Ron's voice came through between bites of bacon. "Wish ours was now. Seventh and eighth periods feel like an eternity away."

"You'll survive," Hermione said dryly. "Maybe use the wait to actually read the rules of flying instead of winging it."

Ron groaned. "Hermione, it's flying, not an exam in theory of broom mechanics."

Susan looked thoughtful. "Still, it's kind of brilliant what Dumbledore and Hooch are doing. Letting everyone have fair access-it'll stop all that elitist nonsense about 'only Quidditch families' being good flyers."

Lisa nodded. "And maybe even stop Slytherins and Gryffindors from glaring at each other every time someone mentions a match."

Neville chuckled nervously. "I'll just try not to fall off. That'll be achievement enough."

"Don't worry, Neville," Harry said reassuringly. "Hooch won't let anyone get hurt. Just focus on balance and trust the broom."

"Easy for you to say," Justin muttered, though his grin betrayed excitement. "You probably dream in midair."

The laughter that followed drew a few more curious stares, but they no longer carried malice. In fact, a group of second-years nearby smiled at the sight-four Houses eating together as if it had always been that way.

As breakfast wound down, plates cleared themselves and the hum of conversation lingered like a pleasant charm. The Thirteen rose together, heading toward their morning lessons. For the first time since the term began, Harry felt the castle itself seemed brighter-like even Hogwarts approved of what was quietly happening between its tables.
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A/n: I hope You like it. Please ignore grammatical and spelling errors.

Okay, so Snape is actually impressed with Harry-no matter how hard he tries to hide it.

Oliver still ends up being the one to introduce Harry to Quidditch!! I honestly can't help but remember that movie scene where Oliver teaches Harry how to fly. It just keeps playing in my head every time this happens!

And the flying rules are very different this year!! So who do you think will make it through, other than Harry of course?

Hey for this story I wasn't able to decide Chapter names easily so for fun why don't you all comment what you think chapter name can be ? I will be waiting.

Thanks for reading. § Hinny Forever § Please Review!!!

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or its universe. All original elements belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This story is a work of fanfiction created purely for entertainment purposes - no copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made. Any original characters, events, or concepts beyond the established canon are the author's own creative additions to expand the magical world respectfully.
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The corridors bustled with morning energy as students filed out of the Great Hall, robes fluttering and chatter echoing through the stone hallways. Harry walked alongside Susan, Hannah, Justin, Daphne, Tracey, and Blaise toward the Transfiguration classroom. The air was filled with that peculiar blend of nerves and excitement—today's lesson promised actual magic instead of lectures about safety regulations.

"Do you reckon Professor McGonagall will turn into a cat again?" Justin whispered as they entered the room.

Tracey smirked. "Wouldn't surprise me if she did. I heard she once turned an entire class's desks into pigs because they wouldn't stop talking."

Harry grinned. "That sounds about right."

The classroom smelled faintly of parchment and transfigured wood. Professor McGonagall stood by her desk, lips pursed in her usual no-nonsense manner. "Good morning, class. I trust you have all reviewed yesterday's notes on the fundamental principles of Transfiguration."

"Yes, Professor," the class echoed in unison, though a few voices wavered.

"Excellent. Today, we shall see how theory translates into practice," she said, tapping her wand lightly against the desk. A small stack of matchsticks appeared before each student. "You will attempt once more to transform these into needles. Remember, Transfiguration is precise magic. Concentration and willpower are key."

A ripple of determination went through the room. The Slytherins and Hufflepuffs leaned over their desks, eyes gleaming with focus.

Harry drew a slow breath, gripping his wand. Steady now, he thought. He visualized the needle—its sleek metallic gleam, the sharp tip, the cold feel of polished steel. Then he flicked his wand and whispered the spell.

A faint shimmer enveloped the matchstick. It quivered, stretching, twisting—then solidified into a long, thin needle. Not perfect, but close enough to glint under the light. The head was slightly uneven, and the color wasn't uniform, but it gleamed proudly nonetheless.

"Well done, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said, walking past his desk with a small approving nod. "Five points to Hufflepuff. A commendable improvement."

Harry felt warmth rise to his cheeks. Across the aisle, Susan's matchstick had also turned silvery, though hers looked a bit bent. Hannah's had a wooden streak still running through it, while Justin's was wobbling halfway between matchstick and metal. Daphne and Blaise, both looking smug, had perfectly formed needles gleaming on their desks.

"Show-offs," Tracey muttered with a playful roll of her eyes as her own attempt turned into something resembling a metallic twig.

McGonagall's eyes flicked toward her. "Miss Davis, I would recommend a bit more precision in your visualization."

"Yes, Professor," Tracey replied meekly.

The rest of the period passed with focused silence, broken only by the occasional hum of magic and soft exclamations of success—or failure. When McGonagall finally dismissed them, there was an unmistakable air of satisfaction in the room.

"Before you go," she called as everyone began packing up, "you will write a twelve-inch essay on the three fundamental principles of Transfiguration and the reasons spontaneous mutations occur during object-to-object conversions. Due tomorrow morning."

A collective groan echoed through the classroom.

"Our first homework," Justin muttered glumly as they stepped into the corridor. "Couldn't she have waited until Friday?"

Hannah laughed softly. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Justin. The professors here don't wait for anything."

"Especially not Transfiguration professors," Daphne added, walking alongside them. "She's strict, but fair. At least she didn't turn anyone into a pincushion."

Harry chuckled. "That's probably reserved for next week."

The group descended the marble staircase, sunlight spilling through the high windows. Outside, the crisp morning air was inviting. The grounds looked golden under the rising sun, the lake shimmering in the distance.

"Well," Susan said, adjusting her bag, "looks like it's time for our flying test."

Justin gave a mock groan. "Goodbye, free periods. I hardly knew ye."

Hannah nudged him lightly. "Oh, come off it. You've been dying to get on a broom since the first day."

"True," he admitted, grinning. "Still feels weird that this counts as classwork."

Daphne smiled faintly. "You'll be fine. Just don't fall off and make a crater."

Tracey snickered. "Or worse—land in the lake. The squid's been known to be curious."

Harry laughed, shaking his head. "You lot are terrible. Come on, we'd better get going before Madam Hooch thinks we chickened out."

The Slytherins split off toward their next class, waving goodbye. "Good luck, Hufflepuffs," Blaise called over his shoulder. "Try not to crash into anything!"

Harry rolled his eyes but smiled. "No promises."

The Hufflepuff group continued across the grounds, their shoes crunching lightly on the dewy grass. The Quidditch pitch loomed ahead, vast and open under the morning sky. The thought of flying again sent a thrill through Harry.

Let's see what the day brings, he mused as the breeze lifted his hair and the faint scent of broom polish drifted through the air.
______________________________

The Hufflepuffs crossed the broad expanse of grass toward the Quidditch pitch, the morning air crisp and fragrant with dew. The distant stands shimmered faintly in the sunlight, and the faint echo of wind whistling through the goal hoops lent an air of anticipation. Madam Hooch stood near the entrance, her sharp eyes scanning the approaching first-years with an expression that was equal parts pride and expectation.

"Good morning, Hufflepuffs!" she called, her voice carrying across the open field. "Right on time. Excellent."

"Morning, Madam Hooch," the nine first-years chorused, though Justin's greeting came out half-yawned.

Hooch folded her arms, her hawk-like gaze sweeping over them. "Now, before we begin, let me make something clear. In previous years, first flying lessons were held right here on the central grounds, in front of the pitch. But this year, due to the introduction of Physical Education as part of the curriculum, the school governors have approved a new area specifically for instruction."

Harry raised an eyebrow as murmurs of curiosity rippled through the group.

Hooch gave a small smirk and gestured for them to follow. "Come along. You'll see soon enough."

They followed her around the left side of the Quidditch pitch. The massive shadow of the stands loomed over them for a moment before sunlight spilled across a new, open area beyond. The space stretched wide, covered with perfectly level grass that sparkled faintly, likely enchanted to cushion falls. Several polished broom racks stood to the side, each holding neatly lined rows of Comet Two-Sixties.

Gasps of awe escaped several mouths. "Merlin's beard," Susan murmured.

"Blimey, this looks brilliant," Justin said, stepping forward eagerly.

Hooch's lips curved into a rare, approving smile. "Quite right, Mr. Finch-Fletchley. This, my young Hufflepuffs, is the new Flight Training Arena. Built for practice, assessment, and aerial conditioning. You will notice the open airspace above, free from magical interference, and to your left—" she gestured grandly "—the obstacle course."

The students turned as one. What they saw made even Harry blink. Floating hoops of varying sizes were suspended in the air, weaving upward in spiraling patterns. Below, soft blue markers formed paths that curved and twisted like rivers. Hovering targets shimmered faintly near the far end, while several tall poles stood with enchanted banners flapping in the wind.

"Bloody hell," Hannah whispered under her breath.

Hooch's sharp eyes flicked toward her. "Language, Miss Abbott."

"Sorry, Madam," Hannah squeaked, blushing furiously.

A few snickers followed, quickly silenced when Hooch clapped her hands once. "Now, before any of you even think of mounting a broom, we begin with fundamentals. Flying may look easy—some of you might think it's as simple as holding on and kicking off. That is the sort of thinking that leads to broken arms."

Justin paled slightly, though Susan elbowed him with a grin.

"Let's start with the mechanics of flight," Hooch continued, pacing slowly before them. "A broom is not a mindless object. Each is infused with both magical stabilization and directional enchantments. Your magic, when in contact with it, merges subtly with its own core—usually wood enchanted with a controlled levitation charm and balancing runes. That connection determines how smooth your flight is."

Harry listened intently, remembering his brief time flying with Oliver that morning. What she said made perfect sense—the broom really had responded like it was alive.

"The angle of elevation," Hooch went on, "is controlled by your posture. Lean forward too much, and you dive. Lean back too far, and you stall. Magic flows with intent, not force. The moment you panic, the broom mirrors it. Confidence, control, and focus—those are the three cornerstones of flying."

She tapped her broom meaningfully. "You do not force it to move. You will it to move."

A hush settled as her words sank in. The soft breeze carried the smell of grass and polish.

"Each of you will soon experience that bond for yourselves," she said, her tone softening slightly. "Today's test will determine your eligibility for personal broom use and Quidditch training clearance. But first, you must understand why flying works."

She paused, letting her gaze rest momentarily on Harry, perhaps recalling his early morning performance. He shifted slightly under her attention, though her expression betrayed no judgment.

"Magic does not defy nature," she continued, "it enhances it. The air currents, the gravitational flow—your magic bends these, not breaks them. Flying is balance in motion, the union of magic, instinct, and will. Remember that before your feet ever leave the ground."

Emma leaned toward Lily and whispered, "She's giving me goosebumps."

"Better goosebumps than a broken leg," Lily replied dryly.

Harry's lips twitched at the exchange. He found himself looking at the obstacle course again, wondering how it would feel to fly through it—wind against his face, magic humming in the air.

Hooch's whistle glinted as she raised it. "Now, everyone, line up by the broom racks. We begin shortly."

The students hurried to obey, excitement and nerves rippling through them like sparks before a storm. The sound of brooms being lifted echoed faintly, and the morning sun blazed golden across the new training field as the test prepared to begin.

The nine Hufflepuff first-years stood in a neat row, each facing a broom laid carefully on the soft grass before them. The morning sunlight gleamed off the polished wood, and a soft breeze carried the scent of cut grass and magic. Madam Hooch's whistle hung loosely around her neck as she surveyed them with sharp, proud eyes.

"All right," she barked, her tone brisk but not unkind. "Let's see how well you can channel your will. Stretch your hand over your broom and say, 'Up!' Clearly. Firmly. Mean it."

Nine voices echoed across the training ground. "Up!"

Harry's broom snapped into his hand instantly, smooth and obedient. Beside him, Susan's quivered for a moment before rising neatly. Justin's wobbled uncertainly but lifted halfway, while Hannah's broom shot up and smacked her in the nose.

"Ouch!" she yelped, clutching her face as the others stifled laughter.

"Control, Miss Abbott," Hooch said, lips twitching slightly. "Confidence without panic."

Within another minute, all nine had managed to get their brooms airborne, more or less successfully. The professor gave a satisfied nod.

"Excellent. Now, mount your brooms—left foot over, steady posture, eyes forward. Keep your back straight, knees relaxed. Do not grip too tightly or you'll wobble like frightened pixies."

Harry swung his leg over easily, recalling how Oliver had shown him earlier that morning. He adjusted his grip lightly and felt the faint vibration of magic flowing between him and the broom handle.

"Good, Mr. Potter," Hooch noted, passing by. "That's the posture of a natural flier. Others, take note."

A few nervous giggles rippled through the line.

Once everyone was ready, she stepped back and raised her whistle. "On my mark, push off gently and rise no higher than six feet. Glide forward slowly. Keep formation. Three... two... one—go!"

With a rush of air and a few startled yelps, nine brooms lifted into the air. The sudden weightlessness took some by surprise, but within seconds they were gliding smoothly, sunlight flashing across eager faces.

Susan's laughter rang out as she steadied herself. "This is amazing!"

"Wicked!" Justin exclaimed, his eyes wide with excitement as he leaned slightly forward and began circling lazily.

Hannah, now more careful, kept perfect balance, her blonde hair whipping around in the wind.

Harry felt a familiar thrill course through him—the same instinctive harmony he'd felt while flying with Oliver earlier. The broom obeyed every subtle thought, every flicker of intent. He could almost feel the magic breathing with him.

Madam Hooch watched them closely, her sharp eyes tracing every motion. For the first time that morning, her expression softened into quiet satisfaction. The new single-house testing system was working beautifully.

Inwardly, she mused, Thank Merlin for this change. The previous years had been chaos. Pairing two rival houses—especially Gryffindor and Slytherin—had been a recipe for disaster. Fights mid-air, collisions, broom sabotage—it had been endless. Even when accidents were unintentional, the sheer number of students had made it impossible to manage alone.

Now, watching the nine Hufflepuffs glide calmly across the training grounds, she finally felt a semblance of order return. Each broom responded well, no one was shrieking, and there wasn't a single sign of recklessness.

"Excellent, everyone!" she called, her whistle slicing through the air. "Bring it down gently!"

They descended in a neat line, landing with surprising grace for their first attempt. Susan beamed proudly; Justin whooped under his breath, and even shy Lily looked smug.

"Good landing, all of you," Hooch said approvingly. "Now that I'm confident you can handle basic gliding, we move to assessment."

She clasped her hands behind her back and began pacing. "There will be three outcome levels for this test. Listen carefully."

The group straightened instantly.

"First," she said, her tone formal and precise, "those of you who meet the minimum control standards will be classified as Level One. That means you will be allowed to use school brooms during weekends or your free periods for leisure flights or casual games. However, you must always be supervised by a senior flyer."

A few nods followed, though Justin groaned softly, "So no freedom yet."

Hooch gave him a pointed look. "Supervision keeps limbs intact, Mr. Finch-Fletchley."

A ripple of chuckles spread through the group.

"Second," she continued, "those who demonstrate advanced control and balance will be classified as Level Two. These students will be granted permission to own and use personal brooms. They may fly without supervision, provided they follow school safety rules."

Gasps of excitement followed that announcement. Susan's eyes widened in delight. "Personal brooms? That means—!"

"Yes," Hooch interrupted with a faint smirk. "It means you can bring your own broom to Hogwarts if you wish."

Harry smiled faintly. So, if I pass that level, I could actually own one...

"Finally," she said, raising her voice slightly, "Level Three. This level is awarded only to students who display exceptional talent and absolute control. Those who earn it will be allowed to try out for their House Quidditch teams immediately. Although rare, if one of you manages to achieve that level and clear the tryouts, you could very well become the youngest recognized Quidditch player in over a century."

The air practically crackled with excitement. Hannah's jaw dropped, Justin looked as if he had just swallowed lightning, and even calm Susan's eyes gleamed.

"Sweet Circe," Justin breathed. "Youngest in a century?"

"Imagine if one of us actually makes it," Hannah whispered, awestruck.

Harry felt a strange flutter of determination stir in his chest. Flying came naturally to him; he knew it now. The idea of actually joining the Hufflepuff team—perhaps even contributing to it—sparked something deep within.

Madam Hooch watched their eager faces with a rare, approving smile. "All right, Hufflepuffs," she said firmly. "Let's see what you can do."

The sunlight glinted off the broom handles once more as nine young witches and wizards straightened, hearts thudding with anticipation, ready for the tests that would decide their place in the skies.

Madam Hooch consulted her clipboard and blew her whistle once. "All right, first up—Miss Hannah Abbott. Let's see what you can do."

Hannah gulped audibly, stepping forward with her broom in a shaky grip. Her freckles stood out against her pale face. "Yes, Madam Hooch."

"Mount your broom," the instructor said crisply. "You'll attempt the first-level trial. That means a straight-line flight, a few controlled turns, and gradual elevation. Nothing fancy yet. I'll be watching your posture and steadiness."

Hannah nodded, clearly trying to breathe steadily. "Right. Straight, turns, and up. Got it."

Harry whispered from the line, "You'll do great, Hannah."

She flashed him a nervous smile before mounting. Hooch flicked her wand in a smooth arc, casting several Padding and Cushioning charms along the ground and around the girl. "Safety first," she declared. "All right, Miss Abbott—off you go."

Hannah kicked off the ground, her broom wobbling uncertainly before rising in an uneven climb. "Merlin's beard!" she gasped, gripping the handle tightly.

"Relax your shoulders!" Hooch shouted. "Let the broom flow with you, not against you!"

Hannah inhaled deeply and steadied herself, flying in a jerky line across the pitch. She managed her first turn—wide but safe—and another. The third one tilted too sharply, and the broom dipped dangerously low before she corrected it.

Harry winced, whispering, "Blimey, that was close."

"Keep balance!" Hooch barked. "Now increase height—slowly!"

Hannah's knuckles turned white, but she rose a few extra feet. Her hair whipped in the wind, yet she managed a weak smile when she leveled out again.

"Now, pick up speed slightly. Not much!"

The broom responded sluggishly, darting forward a bit faster. She circled back to the ground and landed hard with a thump, staggering as she dismounted.

"Not bad for your first flight," said Hooch, noting something on her parchment. "You've passed Level One, Miss Abbott. You may fly school brooms under supervision."

Hannah exhaled in relief. "Oh, thank goodness. I think I'll stop there for now."

"Quite all right," Hooch replied, nodding approvingly. "You're welcome to attempt higher levels any time this year. The test remains open for all students."

That statement made Lily and Kevin, who were both visibly tense, relax slightly. Lily murmured, "So we can try again later if we muck it up?"

"Exactly," Harry whispered to her. "Makes sense, really. Some of us are new to all this." He thought briefly about muggleborns who might never have touched a broom before. It seemed only fair.

"Next, Miss Susan Bones!"

Susan stepped forward confidently, tying her red hair back. "Ready, Madam."

"Good. Level One first, same as Abbott's. Then, if you pass, we'll move to Level Two."

Susan's broom shot up cleanly as she mounted, and her takeoff was smooth as silk. She glided across the pitch, turned sharply, and accelerated with practiced ease. Her landings were firm and steady.

"Very nice control," Hooch said, pleased. "Level One passed. Now for Level Two—obstacle course."

At her signal, a row of floating hoops shimmered into existence along with a few charmed gusts of wind.

Susan tightened her grip. "All right then." She took off again, weaving through the hoops with agility that made even Hooch raise an eyebrow. She dipped low to avoid a swirling gust, shot up through the last ring, and descended gracefully.

"Excellent!" Hooch clapped once. "Level Two, passed. You're eligible for personal broom rights. Well done, Miss Bones."

"Thank you, Madam Hooch!" Susan beamed, cheeks flushed.

Next came Emma Hopkins. She gave a quick grin to her friends. "Let's see if I can manage not to crash."

She kicked off and flew confidently enough to clear the first test. Her turns were tidy though a bit hesitant. "Good," Hooch said. "Now, Level Two—through the hoops."

Emma took a deep breath and shot forward. Halfway through, however, a gust knocked her off course. She yelped, spinning sideways, but managed to recover before falling.

"Keep your head, Miss Hopkins!" Hooch called, wand flicking to steady the air.

Emma grit her teeth and tried again, but her second loop went wide and missed a hoop entirely. She landed moments later, a little flushed.

"I suppose that's a fail, isn't it?" she muttered sheepishly.

"Level One passed, Level Two not yet," said Hooch. "Still, you showed decent control under pressure. That counts for something."

Emma managed a smile and rejoined her friends.

"Next, Miss Lily Moon," Hooch announced.

Lily stepped forward hesitantly, clutching her broom as though it might bite. Her voice trembled. "Madam Hooch, I—I don't think I can."

"Afraid of heights, are you?" Hooch asked gently, her tone softer now.

Lily nodded, eyes wide. "Yes, Madam. I tried last time at home, and I—well, I froze."

"Understood. You'll never overcome fear by force. We'll start slow." She cast several extra cushioning charms and stepped back. "Just lift off a few feet, hover, and land. Nothing more."

Lily's lip trembled, but she tried. Her broom twitched, rose barely a foot off the ground—and she squeaked, jerking it back down instantly.

"I can't," she whispered, shaking her head.

"No shame in that," Hooch said firmly. "We'll try again when you're ready. Fear is conquered through familiarity, not haste."

Lily gave a small, grateful nod, cheeks pink with embarrassment.

Harry and Susan offered her reassuring smiles as she rejoined the line. "You'll manage next time," Susan said softly.

"I hope so," Lily murmured.

Hooch marked something on her parchment and looked up at the remaining students. The air still buzzed faintly with nervous excitement as sunlight flickered across the field.

"Right then," she said briskly. "Who's next?"

"Next, Mr. Ernie Macmillan," Madam Hooch announced, scanning her list.

Ernie stepped forward with composed confidence, broom already balanced perfectly in his hand. "Ready, Madam."

"Level One, same as the others. Straight flight, turns, climb, descent," she ordered crisply.

Ernie mounted, kicked off cleanly, and rose with effortless steadiness. The broom obeyed him as if they had been old friends. He executed his turns neatly, keeping his balance precise and movements deliberate.

"Good form," Hooch noted, one eyebrow raised. "Very steady, Mr. Macmillan. You've clearly handled a broom before."

"Yes, Madam," Ernie replied with modest pride. "My mother taught me when I was seven. We do a bit of family broom racing during holidays."

"That explains it," she said, marking her parchment. "Level One cleared. Proceed to Level Two—obstacle course."

Ernie smiled faintly and leaned forward. The broom shot ahead, weaving through the hoops and charms with confident skill. A crosswind buffeted him once, but he corrected without panic, finishing the course with a clean loop before landing lightly.

"Well done," Hooch said approvingly. "A bit of stiffness on your final turn, but you're steady. Level Two, passed."

She looked at him for a long moment, tapping her quill thoughtfully. "I believe you're capable of attempting Level Three, Mr. Macmillan. Care to try for it?"

Ernie blinked, surprised. "Level Three? Oh, I—thank you, Madam, but no. I think I'll stop here."

"Not interested?"

"Not really," he said earnestly, resting his broom upright. "I enjoy flying for fun, maybe a bit of racing, but Quidditch isn't my thing. Too much tackling and bruising. I prefer staying in one piece, thank you very much."

Several of his classmates chuckled, and even Hooch's mouth twitched. "Fair enough, Mr. Macmillan. Sensible attitude. You've done quite well today."

"Thank you, Madam." Ernie bowed slightly and stepped back, smiling.

Harry leaned toward Susan, whispering, "Can't blame him. The Bludgers alone are enough to scare half of us off."

Susan grinned. "Still, he made that look easy."

"Next—Mr. Kevin Maxwell," Hooch called.

Kevin hesitated, gripping his broom awkwardly. "Y-yes, Madam." His expression revealed unease.

"Never flown before?" she asked, noting his stiff posture.

"No, Madam. Muggleborn. Closest thing I've been on is a bicycle," he admitted.

"Understood. Keep calm, listen carefully. Just lift off a few feet, hover, and take a gentle lap."

Kevin swallowed, nodded, and whispered, "Up." His broom jerked slightly before rising a few feet off the ground. "Oh, Merlin," he gasped, wobbling.

"Relax your grip!" Hooch commanded. "You're strangling the handle! Ease into the balance—yes, that's better."

He took a shaky lap around, his feet dangling stiffly, but managed to stay steady. "Well done," she said after he landed, his face pale but triumphant.

"Level One passed, Mr. Maxwell. Not bad for a first flight. Keep practicing; confidence comes with time."

Kevin managed a nervous laugh. "Thank you, Madam. I didn't crash—that's something!"

The others clapped lightly, Harry calling out, "Brilliant first go, Kevin!"

Kevin grinned, cheeks flushed. "Thanks! My heart's still racing though."

"Next, Mr. Zacharias Smith," Hooch's voice rang across the course.

Zacharias strutted forward, wearing an expression of smug assurance. "Finally," he said, adjusting his collar.

"Mount and begin when ready," Hooch said evenly.

He swung onto his broom with exaggerated flair, adopting a posture that looked more like lounging than riding.

Hooch's eyes narrowed. "Posture, Mr. Smith."

"This is comfortable," he replied coolly. "Every flier has a different style."

"Indeed," she said, voice suddenly sharp, "but not every style prevents you from damaging your spine or losing control midair. What you're doing is one of the few positions explicitly discouraged by professional teams—unless you're trying to impress a Healer later with back strain."

A few students snickered. Zacharias flushed but straightened slightly. "Fine," he muttered.

"Good. Proceed."

He kicked off sharply and flew the straight course with confidence, though his turns were somewhat too wide. His descent was fast but controlled enough to qualify.

"Level One, passed," Hooch said curtly. "Now, obstacle course."

Zacharias smirked, as if determined to prove himself. He darted forward through the hoops, leaning too far each time but managing to recover. A gust of wind nearly sent him spinning, but he regained balance and pushed through.

Landing, he gave her a smug grin. "There. Not bad, eh?"

"Level Two, passed," Hooch acknowledged, marking her clipboard. "Though you'd do better to lose the arrogance and focus on precision rather than dramatics."

Zacharias' grin faltered slightly. "So... Level Three then?" he asked hopefully.

"Not yet," she said firmly. "You lack consistency. Quidditch requires control, teamwork, and humility. You're not ready."

The smugness vanished completely, replaced by a sulky scowl. "But I completed Level Two perfectly!"

"Perfection is more than completion, Mr. Smith," Hooch replied, tone sharp as a whip. "Return to practice. You may request a retest later if you improve."

Harry bit back a laugh. Serves him right, he thought, exchanging a glance with Susan, who looked equally amused.

"Merlin's pants," Justin whispered from the back. "That was a proper roasting."

Susan whispered back, "He needed it. His ego could fill the Great Hall."

Zacharias stomped off to the side, muttering something under his breath, but no one paid attention. The next name on Hooch's list shimmered faintly under the sun, and she straightened once more, blowing her whistle.

"Very well," she said briskly, scanning the parchment. "Mr. Justin Flinch-Fletchley—you're next."

Justin stepped forward with eager energy, his grin broad and eyes alight with excitement. "Finally! Been waiting all morning for this," he said, almost bouncing on the spot.

Hooch eyed him with mild amusement. "Very well, Mr. Finch-Fletchley. Level One. Straight flight, controlled turn, steady climb, and descent. Let's see what enthusiasm looks like when gravity is involved."

The class chuckled. Justin mounted his broom and, with a confident "Up!", the broom shot neatly into his hand. He swung his leg over, gripped the handle, and kicked off.

The moment he rose into the air, Justin's face lit up. "This is brilliant!" he shouted, voice carrying across the pitch. He soared straight ahead, turned cleanly, and rose a little higher, wind whipping through his hair.

"Careful, not too steep!" Hooch called.

"Yes, Madam!" Justin replied, correcting instantly. He made his descent smooth, landing with just a bit of a bounce but steady enough to earn an approving nod.

"Excellent control for a first-timer," Hooch said. "Level One, passed. Proceed to obstacle course for Level Two."

Justin's eyes widened. "Right away, Madam!"

He shot forward again, weaving between the floating rings and shimmering charmed barriers. His turns were quick, if slightly sharp, but his reactions were precise. A small charm burst near him to simulate wind pressure, and he adjusted swiftly, ducking and gliding past another obstacle before looping back for a clean finish.

The class clapped. Susan smiled broadly, whispering to Harry, "He's really good for someone who's never flown before."

"Indeed," Hooch said, marking her clipboard. "Level Two, passed cleanly. Very good, Mr. Finch-Fletchley."

Justin landed, breathing fast but glowing with exhilaration. "That was the best thing ever! I can't believe I've actually flown!"

"Would you care to attempt Level Three?" Hooch asked with a half-smile.

Justin blinked, startled. "Wait—Level Three? Me?"

"Yes. You demonstrated sufficient control and reaction time," she said evenly. "Same as Mr. Macmillan."

That announcement drew a loud groan from Zacharias Smith, who muttered under his breath, "Unbelievable. He's a Muggleborn, and I'm not even—"

"Mr. Smith!" Hooch's tone snapped like a whip. "Ten points from Hufflepuff for disrespect."

The class fell silent. Zacharias's mouth opened and closed uselessly, face turning crimson. Harry winced inwardly. First deduction of the term, he thought grimly.

"Let that be a lesson," Hooch continued coldly. "Skill is measured by merit, not bloodline. Continue, Mr. Finch-Fletchley."

Justin nodded quickly, trying to look serious despite the triumph flickering in his eyes. "Yes, Madam."

Hooch waved her wand, and several large contraptions began to hum and rise from the far end of the course. Gears turned, and faint magical whirs filled the air.

Harry blinked in awe. "Blimey," he muttered. "Those are... machines."

Indeed, the devices gleamed with runes and brass inlays, each shaped like a massive launcher. Hooch floated closer to the class. "These were donated to Hogwarts by a two year passout  Gwen Jones, captain  of the Holyhead Harpies," she explained. "A proud Hufflepuff and a  Beater. She wanted to ensure future generations trained with proper precision."

Harry frowned slightly, whispering, "Machines that run on magic? Must've cost a fortune."

Susan whispered back, "Probably did. I heard enchanted devices need continuous charm maintenance."

"Correct," Hooch said, having overheard. "Such mechanisms are rare because of the magical cost. Consider this a privilege, not a toy."

She gestured, and the devices rumbled to life. "These machines will now simulate a full basic field challenge. Quaffles for Chasers, Bludgers for Beaters, and one Snitch for Seekers. I will monitor your control and adaptability."

Justin's eyes widened. "So I've got to do all of that?"

"Not quite," Hooch said, lips twitching. "To pass Level Three, one must display proficiency in at least two of the four major roles—Seeker, Chaser, Beater, or Keeper. No need for perfection in both; few ever do that. Even professionals specialize in one but train for all, particularly during off-season sessions."

"That's... wicked," Justin said, both nervous and thrilled.

"Indeed. Remember, the goal is not speed but decision-making. Stay calm, read the pitch, and think like a team."

Harry could feel the others' anticipation growing. Even Zacharias's sulking seemed to fade as the magical pitch transformed—rings rising higher, enchanted winds sweeping across, and glowing spheres circling lazily in the air.

"Ready, Mr. Finch-Fletchley?" Hooch called.

"Ready as I'll ever be, Madam!"

"Good. Begin on my whistle. Don't let the adrenaline blind you—control wins matches, not chaos."

The whistle blew sharply. The nearest launcher fired a bright red quaffle straight toward him. Justin darted forward, leaning into the wind, catching it with surprising grace before tossing it through a distant hoop. A flash of light signified a goal.

Then came the bludgers—two dark iron spheres zooming toward him. Justin yelped, veering aside. "Merlin's beard!" he cried, ducking just in time.

Hooch's expression remained calm but attentive. "Keep moving, Finch-Fletchley! Predict the pattern!"

He tightened his grip and began weaving again, avoiding one, then the other, using the quaffle as a decoy before throwing it through another ring. His movements were jerky at first, but soon became fluid.

Harry watched intently. "He's actually keeping up," he said softly.

Susan nodded, beaming. "He's a natural."

Hooch's quill moved swiftly across her clipboard, her eyes gleaming with quiet satisfaction. "Very well," she said at last, raising her wand. The machines powered down.

Justin hovered midair, panting and exhilarated. "So—did I pass?"

Hooch smiled faintly. "Level Three, passed. Solid performance, good reaction speed, strong potential as a Chaser. You've earned it, Mr. Finch-Fletchley."

Justin whooped. "Yes!" He pumped his fist in the air before landing, grinning from ear to ear.

Harry clapped him on the back. "Brilliant flying, mate! You might make team one day."

Justin laughed breathlessly. "Blimey, I hope so. That was amazing."

Hooch nodded approvingly, noting the next name on her list. "Very well," she said briskly. "Next... Mr. Potter."

Harry's name was called next, and a few heads turned instantly. He rose, brushed his robe, and stepped forward with calm confidence.

Hooch's sharp eyes glinted. "Mr. Potter, since I saw you fly this morning, you already know the basics. Let's begin with the formal test. Mount your broom."

Harry nodded, gripping the school broom — an old but sturdy Oakshaft model. The handle felt slightly rough, the bristles uneven, but it vibrated faintly with magic, waiting for his touch.

He kicked off smoothly, rising with controlled ease. "Level one—straight flight, turns, acceleration, and descent!" Hooch called.

Harry darted forward, the wind cool against his face. His turns were smooth, his speed changes sharp, and his landing was clean. A faint smile touched Hooch's lips. "Level one—passed. Level two next. Obstacle course, same as before."

The enchanted hoops floated up again, spinning lazily at first before picking up speed. Harry inhaled, leaned forward, and raced through. He bent low to slip under a hovering charm barrier, twisted through a narrow ring, then dived and climbed sharply in one fluid motion. A few first-years gasped when he looped at the end to land neatly.

"Excellent control, Potter," Hooch said crisply. "Level two—passed. You are eligible for level three. Do you wish to attempt it?"

Harry grinned. "Yes, Professor."

Before she could begin, Zacharias muttered from the side, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Of course he passes. Boy Who Lived gets special treatment, doesn't he? Typical half-blood favor."

A sharp silence followed.

Hooch's golden eyes snapped toward him. "Mr. Smith," she said with a voice colder than a December wind, "you've just earned detention with Mr. Filch for a week. Five points from Hufflepuff for disrespect."

Zacharias paled. Harry simply ignored him and refocused on Hooch.

She waved her wand, and the enchanted machines whirred to life. The sound of spinning gears filled the air as metallic arms began loading bludgers and quaffles. "Now, Level Three tests adaptability. Each candidate will face four trials: Keeping, Beating, Chasing, and Seeking. You must pass at least two to qualify. Ready, Potter?"

"Ready," he replied, tightening his grip.

"Begin with Keeping!"

Harry soared upward, hovering before three large hoops. A quaffle shot toward him with tremendous speed. He darted left and caught it just before it could pass through. Another came low; he dived fast but missed by a breath. Then a third came from above, and he twisted midair, blocking it with his hand.

Hooch blew her whistle. "Fair. Good reflexes, though you tend to overcompensate on vertical dives. Next, Beating."

A bludger launched, zooming straight for his chest. Harry swerved, snatched the bat provided by a charm, and swung. The iron ball ricocheted off the edge and zipped away into the sky.

A second bludger came faster. He hit it perfectly, sending it curving into one of the dummy targets that represented enemy players. A few students clapped.

"Ha! He's got good aim!" Justin whispered to Susan, who nodded, grinning.

"Better than mine at least," Ernie admitted.

"Enough chatter!" Hooch barked, though she was clearly pleased. "Next, Chasing!"

Harry gripped the quaffle that appeared beside him and sped through the aerial course. He tossed it between hoops conjured in sequence, each smaller than the last. His accuracy was strong, his throws controlled, though his passes could have been swifter.

When he finished, Hooch's quill scribbled briskly on her parchment. "Now, the final trial—Seeking."

A golden blur flashed as the enchanted snitch launched itself into the air. Harry narrowed his eyes. The glimmer zipped between beams, hiding behind hoops, weaving through sunlight.

"Let's see, Potter," Hooch murmured.

Harry dived low, then pulled sharply upward, sensing a faint shimmer near the top of the pitch. He leaned forward, pushing the old broom to its limit. The bristles quivered as the wind roared in his ears. Then, with a clean snap, his fingers closed around the snitch.

Gasps and applause erupted.

Harry landed lightly, holding the small golden sphere before releasing it again with a satisfied grin.

Hooch nodded approvingly. "Excellent. You may lack polish, but your instincts are remarkable. Level Three—passed. You show aptitude for Seeker, perhaps Beater too."

Harry bowed his head slightly, grateful but humble. "Thank you, Professor."

Behind him, Zacharias scowled, muttering, "Pure luck."

"Luck?" Ernie smirked. "Looks more like talent to me."

Justin grinned broadly. "Knew he'd do it. The bloke's a natural."
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The field quieted once more, the air alive with energy. Harry returned to the line, his heart still racing. He did not crave glory — but something about the way the wind carried him made him feel alive, freer than any spell could grant.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle once, the sharp sound echoing across the pitch. All nine first-years touched down, forming a small semi-circle before her. The enchanted machines vanished with a flick of her wand, leaving only the breeze and faint whispers of awe.

Hooch clasped her hands behind her back. "Well then, that concludes your first flying assessment. I must say, this was one of the best first-year groups I've seen in years." Her eyes swept over them with rare warmth before turning businesslike again. "Let's review your results."

She unrolled her parchment, her quill floating beside her as it recorded names. "Starting with the only one who did not pass Level One—Miss Lily Moon." Lily lowered her head slightly, cheeks pink.

Hooch's tone softened. "Miss Moon, there's no shame in it. You only need confidence. Fear of height can be trained away. Practice with a school broom under supervision when you're ready, and when you feel confident enough, retake the test. It will remain open all year."

Lily gave a shy nod. "Yes, Professor."

Harry offered her an encouraging smile. "You'll manage next time, Lily. No rush."

She smiled weakly in return, visibly relieved.

Hooch continued crisply, "Now, Level One certificates—Miss Hannah Abbott, Miss Emma Hopkins, and Mr. Kevin Maxwell."

The three beamed proudly, Hannah whispering to Emma, "We did it!" while Kevin gave a small triumphant punch in the air.

"Good control, steady hands, and improving confidence," Hooch said approvingly. "Keep practicing, and you'll move up soon enough."

She moved her quill again. "Level Two—Miss Susan Bones, Mr. Ernie Macmillan, and Mr. Zacharias Smith."

Susan grinned and straightened proudly. Ernie nodded with satisfaction, while Zacharias looked like he was about to smirk but wisely held back under Hooch's gaze.

"All three of you displayed solid awareness and control," she continued. "Level Two students may request permission from Professor Sprout for personal brooms. Once approved by your guardians, deliveries can be made directly through the school's broom registry."

Zacharias immediately perked up. "So that means we can have our own brooms at school?"

Hooch nodded curtly. "Yes, Mr. Smith. With permission. But remember—no unsupervised stunts unless granted Level Three clearance. And misuse will result in confiscation."

Zacharias deflated a little but muttered, "Understood."

Harry caught Justin's quiet grin beside him. "Bet he's already picturing himself showing off on the lawn," Justin whispered.

Harry chuckled softly.

Finally, Hooch's tone gained a touch of pride. "Now for Level Three—Mr. Justin Finch-Fletchley and Mr. Harry Potter."

The group erupted in delighted murmurs. Susan clapped enthusiastically, while Hannah said, "That's brilliant! Both of you!"

Justin's cheeks flushed with excitement. "Thank you, Professor!"

Harry nodded politely. "I appreciate it, ma'am."

Hooch looked at the two of them with something like satisfaction. "Both of you demonstrated genuine instinct and control beyond your age. It is rare for first-years to reach this level, rarer still for two in the same house."

Zacharias's jaw tightened again, but he said nothing this time.

Hooch continued, pacing before them with military precision. "Level Two and Level Three flyers may apply for personal brooms through Professor Sprout. Do not order them yourselves. Guardians' approval is mandatory. The school will verify quality and safety enchantments before delivery."

Her eyes flicked toward Harry and Justin again. "Additionally, Level Three flyers are eligible for Quidditch consideration. I will be listing both your names to Professor Sprout and to Hufflepuff Captain Alan Kirke, seventh-year, Chaser. He will notify you when team tryouts are scheduled."

Justin's jaw dropped. "You mean—we could actually try out?"

Hooch smirked faintly. "If you wish to, yes. Though I advise patience. The team rarely accepts first-years. Still, miracles have happened before."

"Merlin's beard," Justin whispered, still dazed.

Ernie nudged him lightly. "You better not forget us when you're famous."

Harry laughed under his breath. "No pressure, right?"

Madam Hooch snapped her parchment shut. "All of you did splendidly. Remember, broom safety comes before pride. No high stunts, no unsupervised duels, and no nighttime flights. Hogwarts airspace isn't a toy field. Anyone caught breaking these rules will lose flying privileges immediately."

"Understood, Professor!" came a chorus of voices.

She nodded, satisfied. "Good. Dismissed. You may return to the castle. I'll forward the results to Professor Sprout tonight."

The students began dispersing, chatting excitedly. Hannah skipped a little as she walked. "That was brilliant! I can't believe we'll get to fly again!"

Susan smiled. "And imagine—Harry and Justin might actually play for the team someday!"

"Yeah," Justin said, still stunned, "if my heart doesn't explode first."

Harry laughed quietly, looking back once at the empty pitch. The wind stirred his hair as sunlight reflected off the faint shimmer of the wards above. The feeling of flight still lingered — that perfect, weightless freedom that no wand could ever recreate.

Madam Hooch watched them go with a rare, approving smile. "A fine crop this year," she murmured to herself. "Hufflepuff might just rise higher than expected."

Then, with a flick of her wand, the pitch cleared, and the golden snitch zipped back into its case, glinting softly as the afternoon sun began to wane.
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A/n: I hope You like it. Please ignore grammatical and spelling errors. 

Okay so I knew one thing that Harry  hated special treatment  and this Harry is even more grounded so it's clear he would have hated the way he made the team in canon, hence I have to invent this assessment    which actually   makes sense !!  Infact I think it is better as it would allow only the best of best.

Hey for this story I wasn't able to decide Chapter names easily so for fun why don't you all comment what you think chapter name can be ? I will be waiting.

Thanks for reading. § Hinny Forever § Please Review!!!

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or its universe. All original elements belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This story is a work of fanfiction created purely for entertainment purposes - no copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made. Any original characters, events, or concepts beyond the established canon are the author's own creative additions to expand the magical world respectfully.
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The nine Hufflepuffs trudged back toward the castle, chatting excitedly despite the soreness from flying. The early autumn sun shimmered over the grass, and a few of them were still flushed with adrenaline. Hannah stretched her arms above her head. “Merlin, that was tiring but so worth it!”

“Yeah,” Justin laughed, “I can’t believe we actually flew properly! Not gliding, not wobbling—real flying!”

Susan grinned at him. “You and Harry are practically ready for team tryouts already.”

Harry chuckled, brushing wind-tangled hair from his forehead. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Hooch said she’ll send word to Sprout. That could take days.”

Ernie patted his shoulder. “Still, well done, mate. You and Finch-Fletchley made Hufflepuff proud today.”

They entered the Hufflepuff basement, the warmth from the fire wrapping around them like a blanket. Most immediately darted to the dormitories to change out of sweaty robes. Harry and Justin grabbed quick showers, emerging minutes later refreshed and ready for their next lesson.

By the time they all gathered in the common room again, it was nearly time for Charms. Hannah adjusted her tie in the mirror, muttering, “Flitwick’s class. I heard he’s half-goblin, half-genius.”

Susan laughed. “That sounds about right.”

Together, the nine made their way through the bright corridors, joining the flow of students heading toward the Charms corridor on the fifth floor. The air buzzed with conversation, especially about the flying assessments.

When they entered the classroom, they spotted the Ravenclaws already settling in. Lisa Turpin waved them over eagerly. “Harry! Susan! How’d it go? We’ve been dying to know!”

Rolf Scamander leaned forward over his desk, curious. “Did Madam Hooch really use the enchanted launchers this year?”

“She did,” Justin replied, eyes gleaming. “Bludgers, quaffles, even the snitch! It was wild.”

Terry Boot raised his eyebrows. “Blimey. Sounds intense. So who passed what?”

Harry grinned modestly. “Most of us did really well. Lily’s going to try again later, but everyone else managed. Justin and I made Level Three.”

Lisa’s jaw dropped. “Level Three? That means you can try out for the team!”

Susan nodded proudly. “They impressed even Madam Hooch.”

Rolf whistled. “Hufflepuffs breaking records already. I better start practicing tonight.”

Before more chatter could follow, the classroom door opened and Professor Flitwick entered, his stack of books nearly as tall as he was. “Good morning, everyone!” he squeaked in a bright, cheerful tone that instantly warmed the room. He placed the books neatly on his desk and hopped atop a small stack of cushions so he could see the entire class.

“Welcome to Charms! One of the most delightful and practical branches of magic you will ever study,” he said, beaming. “Now, before we begin, I’d like to know all your names. Roll call time!”

He went through the list with care, smiling each time a student responded. “Ah, Mr. Potter—yes, yes, good to see you! Miss Bones, Miss Abbott, excellent.”

When he reached the end, he clapped his hands lightly. “Wonderful! Now, Charms is the art of giving purpose to magic. A transfiguration alters what something is, while a charm alters what something does. For example—”

He flicked his wand and muttered, “Lumos Maxima!”

The room flooded with dazzling white light. Gasps of awe filled the air as Flitwick’s wand shone like a miniature sun. With another flick, the light dimmed back to normal.

“See? Simple, elegant, and remarkably useful,” he said, twinkling. “Charms build discipline, creativity, and precision—skills every witch and wizard should possess.”

Justin whispered to Harry, “He’s nothing like Snape, thank Merlin.”

Harry smiled faintly. “Yeah. Actual teaching.”

Flitwick looked around with genuine curiosity. “Now, how many of you have read a bit about charms before arriving at Hogwarts?”

Almost every Ravenclaw hand shot up immediately. Among the Hufflepuffs, Susan, Hannah, and Harry raised theirs. Flitwick’s eyes twinkled. “Ah, splendid! Always a pleasure to see eager minds.”

Harry couldn’t help thinking how much he liked this class already. Charms felt organized—systematic. And it was essential for Healing, one of the key subjects for his future. He had read all the standard texts and a few advanced ones from the Potter library too.

Flitwick went on, pacing lightly. “Charms require balance. Too little intent, and the spell fizzles. Too much, and you risk misfire. Intent, focus, pronunciation—these are your best friends.”

He started asking questions, easy ones at first. “Who can tell me what the Wand-Lighting Charm is called?”

Half the class answered together, “Lumos!”

“Correct!” he said with delight. “Now, what counteracts it?”

Harry raised his hand. “Nox, Professor.”

“Excellent, Mr. Potter, five points to Hufflepuff!” Flitwick said proudly, jotting it down in his register.

He moved smoothly to more questions, gauging each student’s understanding. “What happens if you mispronounce a levitation charm?”

Lisa replied promptly, “It might only lift part of the object or cause it to spin out of control, sir.”

“Indeed! Splendid answer, five points to Ravenclaw.”

Harry noticed that with every response, Flitwick’s quill scribbled notes in his floating register. The man seemed to have a perfect grasp of organization—efficient, encouraging, and precise.

As the lesson continued, the atmosphere remained bright and focused. The students leaned forward eagerly with every demonstration. Harry couldn’t help but think that this—this kind of learning—was exactly what Hogwarts was meant to feel like.

Professor Flitwick’s squeaky voice echoed across the Charms classroom as he stood on his stack of books, surveying the first years. “Now, remember, everyone must be able to handle the basics before we proceed to advanced spellwork. A foundation is only strong when every brick is solid!” His wand flicked lightly, causing a feather to rise and settle again. “Theoretical precision precedes practical mastery. That will do for today.”

Harry shared a faint smile with Susan as they packed their things. This had been their second class of the day that was mostly theoretical, following the pattern Snape had set yesterday with Dark Arts and Offensive Magic—strict instruction, but little wand work. Hannah sighed beside him. “At least he’s nicer than Snape,” she muttered.

“True,” Harry replied, tightening his satchel. “Though I’d rather try levitating something than hearing about why I’ll fail to do it.”

As the class dispersed, Lisa Turpin waved from the Ravenclaw side of the room. “Harry! Susan! Come on, we’ll introduce you lot to the rest of our dorm.”

The Hufflepuffs followed her out, still buzzing about the lesson. Terry Boot and Rolf Scamander joined them, and soon Lisa began pointing out the others waiting near the corridor arch. “This is Padma Patil, Mandy Brocklehurst, Anthony Goldstein, Sue Li, Sarah MacDougal, and Michael Corner,” she said proudly.

Harry offered a polite nod. “Nice to meet you all. I’ve heard Ravenclaws are supposed to be brilliant, so I suppose we’ll be relying on you lot for homework help.”

Padma laughed softly. “Only if you Hufflepuffs share your snacks in return.”

“Deal,” Hannah said immediately, earning a few chuckles.

Together, the group made their way toward the Great Hall, their footsteps blending with hundreds of others. The hum of conversation grew louder as they entered, sunlight streaming through the enchanted ceiling. Harry paused to take in the sight—four tables brimming with students, laughter, and food. It felt alive in a way Privet Drive never had.

“Let’s sit over there,” Lisa said, but before she could move toward the Ravenclaw table, Susan caught sight of Ron and Hermione waving from the Gryffindor end. Blaise, Daphne, and Tracey were already approaching from the Slytherin side. Within moments, The Thirteen gathered near the center of the hall, exchanging greetings.

“Why don’t we all sit together?” Blaise suggested slyly, glancing at the Slytherin table. “Plenty of room, and it’ll drive Malfoy absolutely mental.”

Ron grinned. “Brilliant idea. Lead the way.”

As the mixed group sat down, conversation at the surrounding end of the table faltered. Draco Malfoy’s pale face twisted as he saw Harry, Hermione, and Ron settle comfortably beside Daphne and Tracey. “You can’t just—this is the Slytherin table!” he protested.

Daphne rolled her eyes. “Oh, do stop whining, Draco. There’s no rule against sharing seats.”

Harry leaned back, utterly calm. “If you’ve got a problem, take it up with the Headmaster.”

Draco sputtered but fell silent when Blaise gave him a warning glance. Around them, a few older Slytherins watched in curious silence before returning to their meals.

Hermione leaned forward. “So, how did your flying tests go?” she asked eagerly. “Professor Hooch said you lot were up first this morning.”

Susan brightened. “It was amazing! We had a full obstacle course near the pitch. I made it to Level Two!”

Hannah grinned sheepishly. “I only did Level One. Barely. I’m not much for flying fast.”

“Level Two is nothing to scoff at,” Daphne said approvingly. “Means you can have your own broom with permission. That’s impressive.”

“Who got Level Three?” Ron asked, shoveling mashed potatoes onto his plate.

Justin grinned proudly. “Me and Harry.”

Ron nearly dropped his fork. “Blimey! Level Three already? That’s supposed to be Quidditch tryout level!”

Harry shrugged modestly. “Guess all that running and reflex work helped. Hooch said we handled the advanced drills well.”

Blaise raised a brow. “Even the seeker test?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. She had those enchanted machines that launched the quaffles and bludgers. Said we were both quick on reaction.”

Neville looked awed. “You’re gonna make the team, aren’t you?”

Harry chuckled. “Maybe. Hooch said she’ll tell Professor Sprout and the captain, Alan Kirke. Tryouts haven’t been announced yet, though.”

Tracey smirked. “So, the Boy-Who-Lived might be the Boy-Who-Flies-Too-Fast.”

“Merlin’s beard,” Ron muttered, half envious, half impressed. “First week and you’re already up there.”

“Not up there yet,” Harry said quickly. “Just cleared the level. That’s all.”

Susan nudged him. “You’re being modest again.”

Across the table, Hermione had already started scribbling notes about the levels. “Level One means supervised flying, right? And Two is unsupervised with permission, Three means team tryouts?”

“Exactly,” Justin replied. “Though Hooch did say we could retake the tests anytime through the year.”

Neville sighed. “Wish I were in your group. Gryffindors have their test later today.”

“Seventh and eighth period,” Daphne confirmed. “Ours is tomorrow. Slytherins and Ravenclaws together. Can’t wait.”

Harry smirked slightly. “You’ll all do fine. Just keep steady and don’t let the broom boss you around.”

“Easy for you to say,” Rolf teased. “You’ve got balance like a snitch.”

They laughed, the tension between houses dissolving into chatter about classes, meals, and the upcoming tests. Students from different houses sat mixed together, laughing over pumpkin juice and pudding.

Harry leaned back, smiling faintly. Hogwarts truly felt united, if only in small steps—and that was a kind of magic on its own.
______________________________

After lunch, the chatter in the Great Hall slowly faded as students dispersed toward their next classes. For the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, it was a free period—a rare moment of leisure in the busy first week. Harry stretched his arms and glanced around. “So, Hermione,” he said with a half-smile, “since we finally have some time off, want to check out the library?”

Hermione’s eyes brightened instantly. “I was about to suggest the same thing! I’ve been dying to see the cataloging system here. I read Hogwarts’ library is organized by magical discipline and runic correlation rather than the Muggle decimal index.”

Harry chuckled softly. “Only you would be excited about cataloging.”

“Knowledge needs order,” she replied primly, though her lips twitched in amusement. “Besides, Madam Pince is said to have spells layered into the very shelves. Fascinating, isn’t it?”

The pair made their way through the quiet corridors toward the upper levels, sunlight streaming through high-arched windows and catching the faint shimmer of floating dust motes. The castle seemed almost alive—whispers of portraits, flickering torches, the faint hum of enchantments woven through the air.

When they reached the library, the moment they stepped past the carved oak doors, a cool hush enveloped them. Thousands of books lined towering shelves that seemed to stretch endlessly upward, illuminated by warm, hovering orbs of light. The scent of parchment and ink hung thickly in the air.

Madam Pince was behind her large, oak desk, quill scratching briskly across parchment as she copied what looked like lesson notes. Her expression was sharp and focused, her spectacles perched halfway down her nose. She barely glanced up when they entered.

Harry whispered, “She looks like she’d hex anyone who dog-ears a page.”

Hermione nodded, whispering back, “That’s because she probably would.”

“Students,” Madam Pince said without looking up, her voice soft yet somehow slicing through the quiet. “No loud conversation, no idle wandering. You touch what you seek, you read, and you return. You do not defile my shelves with fingerprints or careless magic. Clear?”

“Yes, Madam Pince,” Hermione said quickly, almost standing at attention.

The librarian finally looked up, her eyes sharp as phoenix fire. “Ah, new ones. Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, I see. Miss Granger, Mister Potter, is it?”

Harry blinked. “Er—yes, ma’am. How did you—”

“I know every name that crosses that door,” she interrupted, returning to her writing. “I expect your conduct to honor your Houses and your professors.”

Hermione whispered, “See? Intimidating, but magnificent.”

Harry grinned slightly. “Reminds me of Snape, minus the scowling robes.”

They moved between the shelves, marveling at the sheer breadth of topics. There were entire sections devoted to Healing, Elemental Theory, Wandlore, Enchantments, and even obscure branches like Soul Transference and Celestial Alchemy.

Hermione’s fingers trailed reverently along the spines. “These are first editions of Ars Arithmantica and Advanced Magical Constructs. Oh, this one—The Etymology of Spells!—I’ve only heard of it.”

Harry was drawn instead toward the Healing division, where an entire row of texts glowed faintly in soft hues of green and gold. He pulled one free: The Principles of Restorative Flow by Ætherion Hale. His heart stirred—something about the book’s energy felt familiar, almost alive.

“Harry?” Hermione asked quietly, noticing the distant look in his eyes.

He smiled faintly. “Just… feels right, you know? Healing. It’s like it calls to me.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. “That’s not odd at all. Magic resonates with purpose. Maybe that’s why Madam Pomfrey’s been allowing you to observe treatments.”

He closed the book gently, resolving to borrow it later once they were permitted to check out texts beyond the first-year limit.

Madam Pince’s quill paused mid-scratch. “If you intend to study Healing,” she said without lifting her gaze, “the restricted section holds what you seek most—but such access is not granted lightly.”

Harry met her eyes. “Understood, ma’am. Someday, maybe.”

Her lips twitched—almost, but not quite, a smile. “Ambition is fine, Mister Potter. Recklessness, however, is not.”

Hermione leaned closer to him as they exited the aisle. “You realize she probably just hinted there’s something incredible down there.”

Harry chuckled. “I got the same impression.”

As they walked toward the reading tables, a group of older Ravenclaws sat nearby, parchment floating above them as quills scribbled on their own accord. The air shimmered faintly—charms for automated note-taking. Harry and Hermione exchanged awed glances.

“Third-years,” Hermione whispered. “Enchantment elective.”

Harry laughed softly. “Looks like we’ve got a lot to look forward to.”

They spent the rest of the hour exploring different sections—Harry skimming Healing texts and Hermione buried in linguistic spell theory. By the time the clock chimed, both looked reluctant to leave.

“Come on,” Harry said as they stepped out. “We should head back before dinner. Don’t want to risk Pince’s wrath.”

Hermione nodded, hugging her borrowed notes. “Still, this place… it feels like the heart of Hogwarts.”

Harry smiled, glancing back at the towering doors. “Yeah. And I’ve got a feeling I’ll be spending a lot of time here.”
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When Harry and Hermione left the library, the corridors had grown louder again with the chatter of students between classes. By the time they reached the Great Hall, the rest of The Thirteen were already lounging near the Hufflepuff side—Ron and Neville arguing over chess, Daphne and Tracey playing Gobstones with Blaise, and Susan laughing at one of Terry’s sarcastic remarks.

Harry dropped down beside Susan, smiling. “Looks like we’ve missed the fun.”

“Not really,” said Tracey, rolling her eyes as one of Blaise’s stones squirted green slime across the table. “Unless you count this mess as fun.”

Hermione leaned forward curiously. “I still don’t understand why Gobstones was ever popular. It’s like marbles that punish you for winning.”

Ron grinned. “Exactly why it’s great. Bit of danger keeps it exciting.”

Harry chuckled and reached for a biscuit from the plate between them. “You can keep your excitement, thanks. Especially after Snape.”

“Don’t remind me,” groaned Susan.

They lingered there, laughing and talking about the morning classes until the bell rang faintly through the hallways, signalling the next period. The group broke apart reluctantly, heading toward their respective classrooms.

Harry, Susan, Hannah, Justin, Daphne, Tracey, and Blaise trailed down the corridor together for History of Magic. When they entered, Professor Binns was already floating through the blackboard, mumbling about “Goblin Subcommittees of 1342” in a tone that could put a banshee to sleep.

“Not again,” muttered Tracey, slumping into her chair.

Harry smiled faintly, pulling out a thick brown book instead of his class text. “Already learnt my lesson yesterday,” he whispered. “If I’ve got to sit through this, might as well make it useful.”

“What’s that?” asked Susan curiously.

“The Chronicles of Magical Civilizations. Way more interesting than Binns’ droning. Covers the early healing guilds and pre-founders’ magic systems,” he said, opening the book.

Daphne raised a brow. “Only you’d call history interesting, Potter.”

Harry grinned. “Someone has to, otherwise we’d all be asleep.”

As Binns continued his monotonous lecture, several students indeed began nodding off. Harry, however, was busy jotting down notes—dates, lineage of magical healers, and snippets of lost techniques. Hermione would have been proud of the way his handwriting looked precise and ordered. Occasionally, Susan leaned over to glance at his notes, her eyes widening.

“You actually understand all this?” she whispered.

Harry shrugged lightly. “Trying to. It connects to a lot of what I read about diagnostic spells. History tells how they developed.”

Justin muttered sleepily, “Mate, I envy your motivation. I’m barely awake.”

Hannah giggled softly. “If you snore again like yesterday, we’ll hex you gently.”

The class dragged on, Binns never once pausing for questions or even noticing the students’ state. When the ghost finally drifted out through the wall mid-sentence, everyone exhaled in relief.

“Merlin’s beard,” Tracey said, rubbing her eyes. “I thought time had stopped.”

“Feels like it,” Blaise murmured. “We survived though.”

“Barely,” Susan added with a grin. “Let’s get out before he comes back.”

The bell rang, releasing them into the corridor once more. That was their final class of the day, and Harry sighed in satisfaction. “Finally done. Seventh and eighth period free.”

Hannah stretched her arms. “Best words I’ve heard all week.”

They split off as the Slytherins headed toward their dungeon common room, while the Hufflepuffs turned for the lower tunnels. The cozy warmth of their common room greeted them, the circular door opening into the hobbit-like comfort of soft yellow lighting, round windows, and earth-toned furniture. The air smelled faintly of honey and clover.

Harry made his way to the small study room tucked near the corner—a circular space with curved desks built into the walls, low ceilings, and shelves filled with reference guides. It was quiet, with just a few older students already working. He set down his bag, pulling out parchment, quill, and his Transfiguration assignment.

“Three fundamental principles of Transfiguration,” he murmured, recalling Professor McGonagall’s stern tone. “Intent, Will, and Focus.”

Before beginning, he remembered Melinda Bobbin’s suggestion from earlier in the day. The sixth-year prefect had told him, “If you want McGonagall to take you seriously, read the essay framing guide in the second shelf. Helps structure your argument properly.”

He fetched the small guide, skimming through the elegant handwritten notes about thesis formation and magical logic. Once he grasped the format, he began writing, carefully structuring his essay.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open and Susan peeked in, smiling. “Knew I’d find you here.”

“Homework waits for no one,” Harry said, chuckling.

Hannah followed her in, dragging a chair. “Justin said he’d come too, though reluctantly.”

“Figures,” Susan said with a smirk.

Sure enough, Justin arrived a few minutes later, muttering, “You three are bad influences. I was going to nap.”

“Work first, nap later,” said Harry, dipping his quill. “Or McGonagall will turn you into a teapot.”

That earned a collective laugh before silence fell again. The four of them worked quietly under the soft glow of enchanted lamps. Quills scratched gently across parchment, and the faint hum of the underground river outside echoed through the walls.

By the time Harry signed his name at the bottom of his finished essay, he leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “First ever homework—done.”

Susan smiled proudly. “Looks like we’re real Hogwarts students now.”

“Real and exhausted,” Justin muttered, yawning.

Harry laughed quietly, glancing at his parchment. “Still, not a bad start to the week.”

Hannah grinned. “Let’s just hope tomorrow doesn’t include another history lecture.”

“Agreed,” Harry said, stretching. “That’s one class even Pepper-Up Potion can’t save.”

When the four of them finally stepped back into the main Hufflepuff common room, the cozy warmth of the place greeted them once more. To their surprise, Professor Sprout stood near the fireplace, her wide-brimmed hat slightly askew, beaming with pride.

“Ah, there you are, my dears!” she said cheerfully, clapping her hands together. “I’ve just received the final reports from Madam Hooch about the flying evaluations.” Her eyes twinkled as she looked at Harry and Justin. “Congratulations, both of you, on earning Level Three clearance. That’s no small feat for first-years!”

Harry smiled modestly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thank you, Professor.”

Justin grinned widely. “Didn’t think I’d manage it, honestly. Nearly missed the last hoop.”

“Nonsense,” Sprout said warmly. “You both showed excellent control. Madam Hooch was very impressed.” She turned toward the others now trickling into the room—Hannah, Susan, Ernie, and the rest. “Now, all of you who cleared Level Two and Level Three, I’ll need signed notes for broom requests. Those who passed Level One should continue practice on the school brooms until you feel ready.”

There was a flurry of parchment and quills as students dug through their bags. Susan wrote her note neatly, while Hannah took longer, muttering about how her handwriting always went crooked when nervous.

Sprout went around collecting each letter, giving an encouraging word to everyone. When she reached Harry, she paused as he hadn’t written one. “Harry, dear? You’re not requesting your broom?”

He shook his head politely. “Not yet, Professor. I don’t have one at the moment.”

“Oh,” she said with mild surprise. “Would you like one ordered through the school? We can arrange a standard model.”

Harry thought for a moment, then said carefully, “I think I should ask my guardians first. Sirius might want to help me choose, or even join me for shopping. It would be… fun, I think.”

“I’ll have to ask Sirius or Uncle Vernon about it,” Harry said thoughtfully. “Sirius would probably understand better, though maybe both could come along. Sirius would pick something fast, and Uncle Vernon would make sure it’s sturdy.”

Susan laughed softly. “That sounds like a perfect balance—speed and safety.”

Sprout’s eyes twinkled. “A sensible plan. Do let me know once you have permission, Harry. I’ll have the requisition sent to Hooch.”

Harry nodded, already wondering what kind of broom Sirius might suggest. Knowing him, probably something that could give a Nimbus a run for its money.

As the letters were gathered, Sprout clapped her hands lightly, turning toward the arched entrance that led deeper into the Hufflepuff quarters. “Before you all scatter off, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

A tall, broad-shouldered seventh-year stepped into view, his hair sandy blond and his expression open and confident. He wore his Quidditch robes, the Hufflepuff crest gleaming faintly in the dim light.

“Everyone, this is Alan Kirke—our Quidditch Captain,” Sprout introduced proudly. “Chaser and one of the finest players Hogwarts has seen in years.”

Alan smiled easily. “You’re too kind, Professor. Hello, everyone.” He turned to the gathered first-years. “Heard we’ve got some promising flyers among you already.” His gaze landed on Harry and Justin. “Level Three on your first day? That’s impressive.”

Ernie straightened a little, grinning. “Guess all those backyard games paid off.”

Harry shrugged modestly. “Just glad I didn’t crash.”

Alan laughed. “You’ll fit right in then. Confidence without arrogance—that’s the Hufflepuff way.”

He looked at Sprout, who gave a small nod. “I’ve already arranged for pitch time tomorrow evening,” he said to the group. “So, we’ll be holding tryouts then. You don’t need to worry if you haven’t got your own broom yet; we’ll have spares ready.”

A soft murmur rippled through the students. Hannah whispered to Susan excitedly, “We’re actually going to see a real tryout!”

Susan smiled. “And maybe we’ll have Harry on the team before week’s end.”

Alan caught the comment and grinned at Harry. “I’d say it’s possible. Seekers with your reflexes are rare. You and Finch-Fletchley both have potential.”

Harry blinked, surprised by the direct praise. “Thank you, sir. I’ll try not to disappoint.”

“Don’t call me ‘sir,’” Alan chuckled. “Just Alan. I’m not that old.”

Sprout smiled fondly at the exchange. “Well, I’ll leave you all in Alan’s capable hands. He’ll answer any questions about the team, training schedules, or the Quidditch Code.”

Alan nodded. “Right. First thing you should know: we focus on teamwork above all. Hufflepuff may not always have the flashiest flyers, but we’ve got loyalty, precision, and grit. That’s what wins games.”

“Sounds like my kind of sport,” said Harry quietly, and Justin nodded in agreement.

Alan’s eyes gleamed. “That’s the spirit. Tomorrow’s session will be mostly drills—speed runs, handling tests, and a mock chase. Don’t stress; it’s about learning how you fly, not just how fast. Bring your enthusiasm.”

Susan giggled. “Enthusiasm won’t be the problem.”

Sprout clapped her hands again. “Excellent. Then that’s settled. Tryouts tomorrow evening at the Quidditch Pitch. Level Two and Level Three flyers will receive the final notice by breakfast. I expect everyone to represent Hufflepuff with pride.”

“Yes, Professor,” the group chorused.

As Sprout departed with a satisfied hum, the students crowded around Alan with questions about team positions, broom preferences, and match dates. Harry found himself smiling faintly, the warm hum of excitement spreading through the cozy common room.

Hogwarts was starting to feel less like a dream and more like home.
______________________________

After the evening chatter in the Hufflepuff common room quieted, Harry decided it was time to visit Hagrid. Maple would be waiting for him, and he had promised the golden retriever a long walk by the edge of the forest. He wrapped his cloak around himself, tucked his parchment and quill under one arm, and slipped out through the round doorway.

The castle corridors were dim and echoing as he made his way down toward the grounds. The torches flickered, and the cool September breeze brushed through the open courtyard. He spotted Hagrid’s hut glowing warmly in the distance, smoke curling from the chimney.

“’Evenin’, Harry!” Hagrid boomed the moment he opened the door. “Maple’s been itchin’ to see yeh. She’s been watchin’ the door like a hawk since supper!”

Harry grinned as Maple bounded toward him, tail wagging furiously, nearly knocking him off balance. “Missed you too, girl,” he laughed, rubbing behind her ears. The retriever barked happily, leaning against him as though she would never let him leave again.

“She’s a clever one, that dog,” Hagrid said proudly. “Knows when it’s flyin’ lessons day. I reckon she can smell the wind on yeh.”

Harry chuckled, crouching down to check the new collar Hagrid had crafted. “You’re right, Hagrid. She probably does.”

“Had a good flyin’ class, did yeh?”

Harry’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, brilliant! I passed Level Three. Madam Hooch said I could try out for the team.”

“Level Three!” Hagrid’s beard split into a massive grin. “Tha’s my lad! Youngest first-year ter get that in ages, I’d wager. James’d be proud, yeh know. An’ Lily too.”

Harry’s chest warmed at that. “Thanks, Hagrid.”

After a pleasant chat and a cup of tea that tasted faintly of honey and bark, Harry and Maple walked back toward the castle. The grounds were painted silver by the moonlight, and the stillness of the lake made it seem like a mirror. Maple trotted ahead, occasionally glancing back to make sure Harry was still following.

When he reached the common room, it was nearly empty. Most students had gone to bed or were finishing homework. Harry settled himself at one of the study tables, unrolled his parchment, dipped his quill in ink, and began writing his first letter.

Dear Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley,

Today was my first real flying lesson. Madam Hooch said I did so well that she cleared me for Level Three—the highest one for first years! It means I can even try out for the Quidditch team. You’d have laughed if you saw some of the faces when I managed a dive without wobbling.

I wanted to thank you again for everything before I left. Dudley, I hope boxing practice is going well. Aunt Petunia, the biscuits you packed didn’t last past the second day—they were too good. Uncle Vernon, I’ll need your advice soon about buying a broom. Sirius might come along too. Maybe both of you could help me pick one—it’ll be fun to see what you think of wizarding sports gear!

Love,
Harry

He smiled faintly as he sealed the letter. Writing to them felt warm, natural—nothing like the distant, cold exchanges of his early childhood. They had changed, truly changed.

Next, he pulled a fresh parchment for Sirius.

Dear Padfoot,

You won’t believe this—I passed Level Three in my flying test! Madam Hooch said I could go for team tryouts. Can you imagine? I might end up on the Quidditch team before the month’s over.

I’ll need to buy a broom, though. Something reliable and balanced for practice. I thought maybe you and Uncle Vernon could help me pick one out together—might make for a good laugh. He’ll probably insist on checking if it has “proper safety enchantments.”

How are things with Amelia? Tell her Professor Sprout says hello; she mentioned the Auror office in Herbology the other day.

Love from your godson,
Harry

The final parchment made him pause. His heart fluttered slightly as he picked up the quill again, this time taking a little longer to start. He could still picture Ginny’s neat handwriting from her last letter, how she had written that the Burrow felt empty without her brothers and that she wished Hogwarts started a year earlier.

Dear Ginny,

How’s life at the Burrow? I bet Mrs. Weasley’s keeping you busy helping her around the house. I hope you haven’t exploded another cauldron trying those potion experiments you mentioned—it sounded like one of Fred and George’s pranks waiting to happen!

I had my first real flying test today. Guess what? I passed Level Three! Madam Hooch said I can try out for the Hufflepuff team. I wish you could’ve seen it. The feeling when the wind hits your face—it’s like freedom itself. You’d love it.

How’s Arnold? Still climbing curtains? Tell him Maple sends her regards. Speaking of Maple, she’s doing great—Hagrid’s been spoiling her with treats again.

I’ll write again after the tryouts. Maybe one day we’ll both be at Hogwarts together, and I can show you the view from above the lake. It’s beautiful, Ginny. Like something out of a dream.

Yours,
Harry

When he finished, he leaned back in his chair, a small smile tugging at his lips. His chest felt light and strange, a fluttery warmth he couldn’t quite name.

Maple padded over and rested her head on his knee. “Yeah, girl,” Harry murmured softly. “I think she’ll like that one.”

He tied the letters neatly for Hedwig, who would deliver them in the morning. As the candles burned low, Harry stroked Maple’s golden fur, feeling an odd mix of excitement and contentment. For once, everything seemed perfectly in place.
______________________________

The early morning air was crisp, scented faintly of dew and woodsmoke from the castle’s waking fires. Harry stepped softly through the dim corridors, Hedwig perched proudly on his arm, her feathers gleaming like moonlight. At the Owlery, the pale light of dawn filtered through narrow windows as the owls stirred.

"Off you go, girl," he murmured, tying three letters carefully to her leg — one addressed to The Dursley Residence, Surrey, one to Sirius Black, 12 Grimmauld Place (or wherever you may be, Padfoot), and one to Miss G. Weasley, The Burrow, Devon. Hedwig gave an affectionate nip to his finger, then soared out into the brightening sky, her white wings vanishing against the gold of the rising sun.

Harry leaned against the stone sill, watching her disappear. "Hope Uncle Vernon doesn't faint at the thought of buying a broom," he muttered, chuckling. Then, quieter, his thoughts drifted to Ginny’s last letter — her neat handwriting, full of warmth and laughter. She’ll love hearing about the test... wonder if she’ll tease me again about the Hufflepuff colours. His heart fluttered slightly, and he smiled before straightening his robes.

He made his way down toward the Quidditch pitch, the grounds drenched in silver mist. The wide stretch of green felt serene at this hour, empty except for the faint rustle of wind through the stands. As he approached, a familiar voice called out from the other end.

"Potter! Up before the sun again?" Oliver Wood jogged over, looking as energetic as ever, broom slung over his shoulder. His grin was wide, though there was a glint of genuine envy in his eyes.

Harry laughed. "Old habits, I guess. Can’t let the day catch me sleeping."

Wood gave a low whistle. "I heard about your flying test, mate. Level three clearance on your first week? Merlin’s beard, that’s wicked. Hufflepuff’s lucked out big time."

"Thanks," Harry said modestly, rubbing the back of his neck. "You make it sound like I’ve joined the Cannons."

Wood smirked. "Give it a few years, Potter, and you might. Still—" he sighed dramatically— "it hurts that you’re not in Gryffindor. McGonagall nearly fainted when she heard Hufflepuff nabbed you."

Harry chuckled. "Maybe it was Helga’s charm."

"Or Sprout’s persistence," Oliver shot back, grinning. He slapped Harry on the shoulder before turning to the pitch. "Well, get on with your warm-up, eh? I’m here early for a reason too. Quidditch waits for no one."

Harry nodded and began his stretches, feeling his muscles loosen under the cool air. He ran laps around the edge of the field, breathing in rhythm, the mist swirling around his ankles. His thoughts drifted again — of the letter to Sirius, of the broom he didn’t yet own, of Maple probably still asleep in the dormitory.

After several circuits, he slowed, exhaling deeply. "Blimey," he muttered between breaths, "this place wakes you up better than coffee."

Wood laughed from across the field, mid-stretch. "Aye, that it does! The pitch has magic of its own. You’ll feel it soon enough when you’re training for real."

By the time the sun fully breached the horizon, the Quidditch pitch was bathed in gold. Harry took a seat near the goalpost, watching the light play on the hoops. A few upper-year students appeared in the distance, yawning and talking quietly.

Just then, a familiar whistle cut through the air. Madam Hooch, sharp-eyed as ever, strode across the grass in her flying robes. "Morning, Mr. Potter, Mr. Wood," she called briskly. "Nice to see commitment at dawn. As promised," she added, pointing toward the adjoining building, "the gymnasium is now open for all students, not just the teams. About time someone made use of it."

"Thank you, Madam!" Wood said, his tone almost reverent.

Hooch gave a curt nod, then turned her gaze to Harry. "And you, Potter — word of advice. Keep that discipline. Talent is fine, but routine wins matches and saves lives."

"Yes, ma’am," Harry said earnestly.

She smirked. "Good. I expect to see you in the air soon."

After she left, Wood muttered, "She scares me more than Snape sometimes."

Harry laughed softly. "At least she doesn’t take points."

The rest of the morning passed quietly. Harry jogged once more, then entered the newly opened gymnasium. It was airy and warm, lined with training mats, enchanted weights, and broom-balancing rigs. A few curious students peeked in, whispering excitedly.

Harry tried a few balance drills and spell reflex exercises he had read about. It felt good — grounding, focused. As he cooled down, he could not help thinking how far things had come in just a week. He had friends, a place that felt like home, professors who noticed him, and letters flying toward the people who cared.

He smiled faintly, gazing out the window toward the sky where Hedwig had gone. Maybe today really is a lucky day.
______________________________

Later for first period, The dungeon was cool and dim, lit by flickering torches that cast long shadows across the stone walls. Rows of black-topped desks gleamed faintly in the half-light. Cauldrons sat neatly on the shelves behind Professor Snape’s desk, each one polished to mirror-like perfection. The faint tang of ingredients — wormwood, asphodel, and something acrid — filled the air.

The Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw first-years filed in quietly, the shuffle of shoes echoing softly. Harry took a seat beside Susan, with Hannah and Justin just behind him. Across the room, Terry Boot and Lisa Turpin from Ravenclaw unpacked their books with the caution of soldiers preparing for battle.

No one spoke above a whisper.

The door slammed open, making several students jump. Professor Snape swept in, robes billowing like black smoke, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever. His voice sliced through the silence.

“Settle down.”

The scraping of chairs ceased instantly. Snape’s black eyes scanned the room as though hunting for weakness. “Potions,” he began slowly, his tone rich with contempt and superiority, “is an art — not for those who blunder or chatter. You will learn to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper in death… if,” he paused pointedly, “you have the aptitude.”

Harry, recalling this same speech from books he had read, kept his gaze steady. He’s testing us already, he thought, quill poised over parchment.

Snape flicked open his roll sheet. “Abbott, Hannah.”

“Here, sir.”

“Bones, Susan.”

“Here.”

Names went on, Snape’s tone unchanged until he reached, “Potter, Harry.”

His voice lingered, dripping with disdain. “Our celebrity.”

Harry met his gaze evenly. “Here, sir.”

Snape’s lip curled slightly before moving on. “Turpin, Lisa. Boot, Terry.”

When the roll ended, Snape clasped his hands behind his back. “Now, since it would be far too easy to allow your mediocrity to hide behind the cauldron, let us test your knowledge.” His gaze snapped toward Harry. “Potter — tell me, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

“None, sir,” Harry answered calmly. “They’re the same plant, also known as aconite.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Correct. A lucky guess, no doubt.”

Harry said nothing, only lifted an eyebrow slightly.

Snape turned sharply. “Let us see if luck holds. Where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?”

“In the stomach of a goat, sir.”

The professor’s lips twitched into something almost like a sneer. “And tell me, Potter, what is the main ingredient of the Draught of Living Death?”

“Powdered root of asphodel infused with an infusion of wormwood,” Harry replied, tone steady, his quill hovering over parchment ready to note any correction — though none came.

A quiet murmur spread among the students.

Snape’s eyes darkened. “So… our celebrity reads.”

Harry blinked, then said mildly, “Yes, sir. I rather like Potions.”

A few Ravenclaws stifled laughter. Snape’s nostrils flared. “We shall see if that fondness survives today’s lesson.”

He turned sharply, robes flaring. “Open your texts to page twenty-two. We will begin with the Boil-Cure Potion. Follow the instructions precisely. Any mistakes will be… unpleasant.”

At once, the room filled with the sound of bubbling liquids, chopping ingredients, and the occasional nervous sigh. Harry worked methodically, his movements precise. Years of practice with home chemistry sets — Vernon’s attempt to encourage ‘useful’ hobbies — had paid off.

Beside him, Susan whispered, “How are you so calm? He’s glaring daggers.”

Harry smiled faintly. “You get used to it. He reminds me of one of Vernon’s business rivals.”

Snape swept past their table, eyes darting over Harry’s cauldron. “Stir counterclockwise, Potter — unless you wish to poison yourself.”

Harry obeyed smoothly. “Already was, sir. Three turns clockwise, then two counter, to neutralize the flux.”

Snape’s expression didn’t change, but there was the faintest pause — the kind only a careful observer would notice — before he moved on.

Hannah whispered to Susan, “He’s fuming.”

“Let him,” Susan replied with a grin.

By the time Snape ordered them to bottle a sample, Harry’s potion shimmered a clean, pearly green — exactly as the book described. Others were less fortunate; Terry’s had turned a worrying shade of violet.

Snape inspected each vial with clinical precision. When he reached Harry’s, his expression hardened further. “Acceptable,” he muttered curtly.

Harry kept his face neutral, though his heart thrummed with quiet triumph.

When the bell finally rang, the students exhaled in relief. Snape’s voice cut through the noise like a whip. “Dismissed.”

As they filed out, Susan leaned toward Harry. “You really have a death wish, you know that?”

Harry chuckled softly. “Maybe. Or maybe I just enjoy proving him wrong.”

Behind them, Snape’s cold voice echoed faintly, “We shall see how long that confidence lasts, Mr. Potter.”

Harry only smiled as they stepped into the corridor, sunlight from the upper floors spilling across the stones — a welcome warmth after the chill of the dungeons.
______________________________

The day moved swiftly, as if time itself shared Harry’s excitement for the evening tryouts. Each class passed in a pleasant blur. After the tension of Snape’s dungeon, Astronomy theory with the Ravenclaws was a gentle reprieve. Professor Sinistra’s clear, melodic voice carried across the domed classroom as she spoke of celestial alignments and magical resonance. Harry found it fascinating — the thought that the stars could influence spellcasting precision and potion potency stirred his curiosity.

Justin, sitting beside him, scribbled furiously. “Never thought stars had so much to do with magic,” he whispered.

Harry grinned. “Makes sense though, doesn’t it? Healing charms rely on energy balance — maybe starlight affects that.”

By the end of the lecture, Harry had already filled two pages of his notebook, ideas weaving between astronomy and arcanic medicine.

Then came History of Magic with the Slytherins, a test of endurance rather than intellect. Professor Binns, the only ghost teacher, droned through the conquest of Grindelwald’s allies with all the enthusiasm of a dying candle. Even the quills seemed to scratch slower.

Blaise Zabini yawned, his head propped up by his hand. “If he repeats the word ‘treaty’ one more time, I’ll hex myself into unconsciousness,” he muttered.

Harry chuckled softly. “Just copy from yesterday’s notes. It’s the same speech.”

When the bell finally rang, the collective sigh of relief nearly echoed.

Lunch in the Great Hall followed, and the buzz was entirely about the evening’s tryouts. Alan Kirke had stopped by the Hufflepuff table earlier, telling Harry and Justin to be ready by six. Even the Ravenclaws wished them luck. Harry barely touched his shepherd’s pie, his mind drifting to the pitch.

After lunch, another free period allowed time to relax before Double Herbology. Harry spent part of it in the Hufflepuff common room with Susan and Hannah, going over Professor Sprout’s previous notes. Hannah had her nose buried in “Practical Herbological Remedies,” while Susan hummed as she drew neat diagrams of mandrake roots.

“Think she’ll make us work with Dittany today?” Hannah asked, glancing up.

“Probably,” Susan replied. “She said we’d start medicinal plants soon. Perfect for you, Healer Potter.”

Harry smiled sheepishly. “One can hope. Dittany’s a base for a hundred healing draughts.”

Herbology proved every bit as delightful as Harry expected. The greenhouses glistened under the afternoon sun, rich with earthy scent and the faint hum of magical flora. Gryffindors joined them.  Sprout introduced them to Venomous Tentacula from behind protective wards, reminding everyone never to underestimate a plant’s intelligence.

“Plants can feel intent,” she said firmly. “Treat them kindly, and they’ll cooperate. Threaten them, and they’ll bite.”

Harry nodded, fascinated. He carefully sketched the vine structure while Hermione scribbled notes at record pace.

When the final bell signaled the day’s end, the air was thick with excitement. The last class — Physical Education — brought together all four houses for the first time that week. The pitch-side field near the Quidditch grounds was bright under the lowering sun.

Harry noticed immediately that most first-years were present, though a few familiar faces were missing — Rolf, Ron, Lisa, Draco, Goyle, Crabbe, Pansy, and Zacharias had not chosen it. The rest stood in rows, dressed in simple school-issued athletic robes trimmed with house colors.

Madam Hooch strode onto the field, whistle hanging from her neck, eyes sharp as ever. “All right, first-years, listen up!” Her voice carried effortlessly over the crowd. “Physical Education is not a subject to be dismissed as unimportant. Whether you intend to duel, fly, or heal, your body is your first tool. Keep it fit, and you’ll find your magic stronger and your reflexes quicker.”

She began pacing before them. “In the Muggle world, this is compulsory. They call it physical training — exercises that strengthen endurance and discipline. You’ll find it very relevant in magical life too. Witches and wizards who cannot last through a long spell duel or resist magical exhaustion are a danger to themselves and their allies.”

Hermione raised her hand. “Madam Hooch, does magical stamina depend on physical stamina too?”

Hooch nodded approvingly. “Indeed, Miss Granger. Magic flows through the body. The more resilient your body, the steadier your channeling. There’s a reason Aurors train like soldiers and Healers must endure long shifts.”

Justin muttered, “Sounds like she’s reading Harry’s future.”

Harry grinned. “I’ll take it.”

“Today,” Hooch continued, “we start with basics. No wands, no brooms, only yourselves. We’ll begin with stretches, then a light jog around the pitch, followed by coordination drills. Once I’m satisfied you can handle that, we’ll move on to magical reflex work later in the term.”

Her whistle blew sharply. “Positions!”

Students hurried to form lines. The first lap began, laughter and panting filling the air. Blaise complained theatrically halfway through. “If this is light, I dread to know her idea of heavy!”

Tracey giggled. “Oh hush, Zabini, you’ll survive. Think of it as leg day — wizard edition.”

Harry, already accustomed to morning runs, found the pace easy. He enjoyed the rhythm, the unity of seeing every house — Hufflepuff gold, Slytherin green, Ravenclaw blue, and Gryffindor red — moving in sync under the fading light.

When Hooch finally blew the whistle to stop, she looked impressed. “Not bad for your first go. Most of you didn’t collapse, which is promising. Remember — magical prowess means nothing without control, and control begins here.”

As they caught their breath, she added briskly, “Next time, we’ll introduce obstacle charms. Bring determination — and a towel.”

The students groaned good-naturedly. Harry chuckled, stretching his arms. The day’s classes had flown by, and now the air buzzed with a mix of fatigue and anticipation — because in just an hour, it would be time for Quidditch tryouts.
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A/n: I hope You like it. Please ignore grammatical and spelling errors.

Okay so tryout is going to be soon. Snape is bearable in potions too but less than of dark arts and  offensive magic. Justin clearing the level  3 was a surprise to me to. It was a spontaneous decision.

What's your opinion on all this, do tell me !!

Hey for this story I wasn't able to decide Chapter names easily so for fun why don't you all comment what you think chapter name can be ? I will be waiting.

Thanks for reading. § Hinny Forever § Please Review!!!

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or its universe. All original elements belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This story is a work of fanfiction created purely for entertainment purposes - no copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made. Any original characters, events, or concepts beyond the established canon are the author's own creative additions to expand the magical world respectfully.
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By five in the evening, the sun hung low, casting long golden streaks across the Quidditch pitch. The stands shimmered faintly under the charms that kept the wind steady. A cluster of students—mostly Hufflepuffs of various years—stood gathered near the equipment shed, chatting in a hum of excitement and nerves. The tryouts were moments away.

Harry tightened his gloves, the soft leather creaking slightly. His heart raced, not from fear but anticipation. Justin stood beside him, bouncing lightly on his feet. “Can you believe this?” he muttered. “Our first week here and already Quidditch tryouts.”

Harry grinned. “Yeah, feels unreal. I just hope I don’t make a fool of myself.”

Justin chuckled. “If you do, I’ll make sure I’m worse. That way you’ll look brilliant by comparison.”

Harry laughed quietly, shaking his head. “Deal.”

A familiar voice called out, “Harry!”

He turned and saw Cedric Diggory jogging toward them, broom slung casually over his shoulder. His face glowed with the easy confidence of a seasoned flyer. The third-year Seeker smiled warmly. “Didn’t expect to see you both here so early.”

Harry smiled back. “Couldn’t wait to get started.”

Cedric nodded approvingly. “That’s the spirit. So, what’re you trying out for?”

“Seeker,” Harry said immediately, “though Beater if that doesn’t work out. Preferably Seeker.”

Cedric’s brows rose slightly, impressed. “Seeker, eh? Ambitious. Not many first-years even dare go for that. It’s tough, real tough. Fast reflexes, sharp eyes—no second chances once that Snitch’s out.”

Harry met his gaze with quiet determination. “I’ve always had good eyes and quick reflexes. Madam Hooch said as much during the test.”

Cedric smiled, clearly pleased. “Well, that’s saying something. Hooch doesn’t hand out compliments lightly.”

Justin stepped in, his voice enthusiastic but steady. “I’m trying out for Chaser. It looked fun during the flying test, and I think I’ve got decent aim.”

Cedric blinked, then laughed softly. “Chaser? You, are Muggleborn? Brilliant! Not many with your background even give it a shot so early. Most don’t know what a Quaffle is till second year.”

Justin shrugged modestly, though he was clearly pleased. “I read about it in Quidditch Through the Ages. Harry lent me his copy.”

“That’s the right way to start,” Cedric said encouragingly. “Knowledge and practice. Hufflepuff could use more Chasers. We lost one last term to graduation.”

Harry glanced around, noticing more students filtering in—third- and fourth-years mostly, all clutching their brooms. Alan Kirke, the team captain, stood near the center of the field, clipboard in hand. His tall, broad-shouldered frame and steady eyes gave him an air of authority. “All right, everyone!” he called. “Gather up, team hopefuls on the left, current members on the right!”

Harry, Justin, and Cedric joined the group of hopefuls. Harry felt the faint tremor of excitement ripple through the air as brooms began to lift off the ground.

Cedric leaned slightly toward him and whispered, “You nervous?”

Harry exhaled slowly. “A little. Mostly excited though. Feels right, you know?”

Cedric nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a good sign. You’ll do fine. Flying’s all instinct once you’re up there.”

“Thanks, Cedric,” Harry said with genuine gratitude.

Justin elbowed Harry gently. “You two sound like old pros already. Save some advice for me, yeah?”

Cedric laughed. “Don’t worry, Justin. The first rule of Chasing—keep your eyes on the Quaffle, not on who’s watching. If you can do that, you’re halfway there.”

Alan’s whistle cut sharply through the chatter. “All right! We’ll start with flight assessment drills. Then speed runs, passing formations for Chasers, precision strikes for Beaters, and finally, Snitch chase for Seekers.”

Harry’s pulse quickened. His hand automatically brushed the handle of his school broom, polished earlier in anticipation.

Cedric leaned closer, lowering his voice. “We’ll be going head-to-head then, you and me. Seeker versus Seeker.”

Harry smiled faintly, a spark of excitement flaring in his chest. “Guess so. May the best one win.”

Cedric grinned. “That’s the spirit. Though between us—Hufflepuff could use two of us up there.”

Alan raised his whistle again, shouting, “Positions!”

The hopefuls mounted their brooms, the field alive with motion as they rose into the air. The cool wind whipped through Harry’s hair, the world below shrinking as he climbed higher.

Cedric hovered beside him, offering one last grin. “Eyes open, Potter. Let’s show them what we can do.”

Harry’s grip tightened, his heart steady and sure. “Let’s.”

As the whistle blew and the first test began, the two Hufflepuffs shot forward into the golden evening sky, brooms slicing the air like streaks of promise.
______________________________

Alan Kirke’s voice carried clearly across the field as he finished jotting down notes on his clipboard. The  sun gleamed against the polished brooms lined neatly on the grass. "Alright, everyone," he called, blowing his whistle. "Good first round. Those of you whose names I call—stay. Others, thank you for trying."

A few groans and sighs followed, but the atmosphere remained charged with excitement. Harry, Justin, and Cedric exchanged glances, brooms still in hand.

"Potter, Diggory, Finch-Fletchley, Vane, Dipple, Fleet, Stebbins, Branstone," Alan announced crisply, "you’re staying."

A thrill of triumph rushed through Harry’s chest. He caught Justin’s wide grin and Cedric’s approving nod.

Alan continued, scribbling something on his parchment. "For Chaser trials, Cedric Diggory, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Diana Vane. Team already has two—me and Samuel Holding—so only one slot and one reserve. Clear?"

"Yes, Captain!" the three called in unison, their voices mingling with the whistle of wind that swept over the pitch.

Alan smiled slightly. "Good. For Keeper, Ronson Dipple and Marcus Fleet—you two. One of you will guard the hoops for the next test. Both of you, up in the air in five minutes."

The two older boys, both Prefects, nodded with confident ease. Dipple adjusted his gloves while Fleet twirled his broom as if bored, though his eyes gleamed with calculation.

Alan flipped another page. "Beaters—one opening. Eleanor Branstone, you already know your part. You’ll fly with the new contenders. Oliver Stebbins and Harry Potter—you two are shortlisted. You’ll show coordination, accuracy, and awareness. I’ll be watching closely."

Harry’s fingers tightened around his broom handle. He could feel Eleanor’s sharp eyes assessing him already; the older girl had a reputation for being both fierce and unflinchingly precise.

"Seekers," Alan said at last, glancing at the two standing nearest. "Cedric Diggory and Harry Potter. The Seeker position’s open this year since Evelyn Cresswell graduated. This will be the most crucial evaluation. Patience, focus, and reflex—those are the deciding factors."

Harry met Cedric’s gaze. The older boy smiled good-naturedly, but there was a spark of competition in his eyes.

Alan nodded once, then turned to his fellow Chaser. "Samuel, take charge of the Chaser tests. I’ll check on the Keepers first. When I’m done, we’ll run Beater and Seeker evaluations together."

"Got it," said Samuel Holding, his tall frame and easy smile contrasting Alan’s stern composure. He clapped his hands together. "Alright, Chasers—grab your brooms and quaffles. Let’s see if you can score past Dipple and Fleet."

Justin gulped audibly. "Merlin’s beard, they’re both Prefects," he muttered to Harry.

Harry grinned. "Better aim well then. They’ll make you work for it."

"Tell me about it," Justin groaned, mounting his broom.

Diana Vane tossed her hair and smirked. "Hope you don’t mind losing to an upper-year, boys."

Cedric chuckled lightly. "Confidence suits you, Vane. Let’s see if your aim matches your words."

"Positions!" Samuel barked.

As they rose into the air, Alan strode toward the goalposts where the Keepers were hovering. His sharp eyes missed nothing—the angle of their dives, their grip on the broom, the steadiness under pressure. Meanwhile, Harry and the rest of the Beaters and Seekers waited at midfield, watching the Chasers zip back and forth in tight formations.

The Quaffle shot through the air like a red comet. Cedric caught it, weaving effortlessly around Diana before passing to Justin, who—despite being new—reacted instinctively, dodging Dipple’s sweeping block and shooting toward the center hoop. Fleet lunged, barely managing to knock it aside.

Alan’s approving nod did not escape Harry.

"Finch-Fletchley’s got potential," muttered Eleanor beside him.

Harry glanced at her. "You think so too?"

"Good instincts," she said, eyes following the action. "Raw, but promising."

Alan returned a few minutes later, jotting briskly. "Alright, Keepers, good work. Samuel, rotate Chasers; I’ve seen enough from this round. Beaters, mount up."

Harry’s pulse quickened. Eleanor shot him a look that said, keep up, rookie.

Oliver Stebbins grinned and gave Harry a thumbs-up. "Let’s give them something to remember."

Alan released two bludgers with a flick of his wand. The black iron balls shot into the air like cannon fire, and chaos erupted instantly. Harry ducked as one whistled past his ear, swung, and connected with a loud crack! The bludger arced away toward a distant hoop.

"Nice hit, Potter!" Alan shouted from below.

Harry couldn’t suppress a grin. His body moved instinctively—fast, fluid, alert. The game’s rhythm was intoxicating.

Eleanor barked an order. "Left flank, incoming!"

Harry reacted instantly, intercepting another bludger and smashing it clean toward the target dummy hovering fifty feet away. It struck squarely, sending the dummy spinning.

When Alan blew his whistle, the air rang with excitement. Even Cedric applauded from above.

"Excellent control, Potter. Stebbins too," Alan said. "Seekers—you’re up next."

Harry’s heartbeat steadied, mind sharpening like a blade. Across from him, Cedric looked composed yet eager.

Alan conjured a tiny golden Snitch, holding it briefly between his fingers before releasing it into the air. Its wings shimmered under the fading sun.

"Catch it if you can," Alan said, voice calm but carrying authority.

Harry smiled faintly, eyes narrowing as the Snitch darted away in a burst of gold. The competition had just begun.

The Snitch darted into the sky like a streak of molten gold, vanishing into the late afternoon light. A murmur of excitement rippled across the stands as both Harry and Cedric kicked off from the ground, brooms surging upward in perfect synchronization. The wind roared in Harry’s ears, and his heart thundered in rhythm with the broom’s vibration beneath him. It was an old Cleansweep Seven—steady but slower than Cedric’s sleek Comet Two Sixty.

"Eyes open, Potter!" Cedric called, flashing him a grin as they looped around a passing bludger.

Harry grinned back, determination hardening his expression. He narrowed his gaze, scanning every shimmer of light around the pitch. The Snitch was small, fast, and mercilessly deceptive. It could be anywhere—above the stands, near the hoops, behind the Keeper posts.

Alan Kirke stood on the grass below, arms crossed, eyes tracking every movement. "Let’s see what you’ve got, Potter," he murmured under his breath.

The wind whipped against Harry’s face as he banked sharply left, eyes flicking toward a glint by the stands. A flicker of gold—no, just a trick of sunlight. He cursed softly under his breath. Cedric, a few meters above, seemed to have spotted the same flicker and dove, broom slicing through the air.

Harry followed instantly, leaning low to gain speed. His Cleansweep trembled under the strain, but he pressed harder, knuckles white around the handle. The crowd gasped as both Seekers shot downward, robes snapping behind them.

"Come on, come on—don’t you dare give up now," Harry muttered through clenched teeth.

Cedric’s faster broom began to pull ahead. He reached forward, eyes fixed intently on the target. The golden glint darted suddenly upward, right between them. Both boys swerved violently, brooms nearly colliding midair.

"Merlin’s beard!" Cedric gasped, jerking his broom upright just in time.

Harry steadied himself, adrenaline surging. The Snitch zipped toward the far end of the pitch, weaving erratically around the goal hoops.

"After it!" Alan shouted, unable to contain his excitement.

They both gave chase again. Cedric had the advantage in speed, his Comet slicing the air like a razor, but Harry had sharper instincts. Every shift of the Snitch’s wings, every subtle change of its flight pattern seemed to pulse in his awareness. He leaned with the motion, reading its erratic rhythm.

The Snitch suddenly dipped, skimming close to the ground. Cedric dived first, confident. Harry dived right after, the Cleansweep straining to keep up. The crowd collectively held its breath.

"Diggory’s got it!" someone shouted.

Not yet.

Harry flattened himself completely along the broom handle, body almost horizontal. The ground rushed up to meet him, and he could see the reflection of his own face in the metal of the Snitch’s wings. His fingertips brushed the air behind it.

A jarring gust from Cedric’s broom jolted him slightly off course, but Harry didn’t hesitate. He cut diagonally, guessing the Snitch’s next move. His instincts were right—the tiny golden sphere veered left to avoid Cedric’s shadow.

Harry lunged, stretching his arm until his shoulder screamed in protest. For a fraction of a second, his fingers grazed nothing. Then—contact.

He closed his hand around something small and thrumming with furious life. The Snitch struggled against his palm, its wings beating frantically before going still.

Alan’s whistle split the air.

"Potter’s got the Snitch!" he roared, his voice carrying across the pitch.

The stands erupted with cheers and applause. Even a few Ravenclaws, who had stayed to watch, joined in. Cedric slowed his broom and hovered nearby, his expression one of surprise quickly melting into a broad grin.

"Well flown, Harry!" Cedric called out, flying over and clapping him on the shoulder. "Didn’t expect anyone on a Cleansweep to pull that off!"

Harry laughed breathlessly, still holding the Snitch aloft. "Guess it’s not the broom, it’s the flyer."

Alan approached as they landed, jotting a note on his parchment before speaking. "Impressive flying, both of you," he said, tone even but approving. "Diggory, you’ve got skill and discipline. Potter—your reaction time and instincts are exceptional. You flew beyond the broom’s limits."

Harry blinked, unsure what to say. "Thank you, sir."

Cedric chuckled. "Looks like I’ve got competition now."

"Healthy competition," Alan remarked, smirking faintly. "That’s how champions are made."

The light had begun to fade, casting a golden hue over the field. The Snitch gave one last feeble twitch in Harry’s palm before he released it. It rose again into the sky, disappearing among the clouds.

As the rest of the team gathered, Alan blew his whistle once more. "Good work, everyone. Results will be announced later in evening. Dismissed."

Harry turned toward Justin, who had been waiting near the benches. Justin’s grin was wide enough to rival the moon.

"That was brilliant, Harry! You actually beat Cedric Diggory!"

Harry smiled, panting softly. "He made me earn it, that’s for sure."

"Blimey, wait till Hufflepuff hears," Justin said, laughing.

Harry looked up toward the fading horizon, the last rays of sunlight dancing off the Quidditch hoops. His heart still raced, and his hands trembled slightly, but his mind was clear. For the first time, he truly felt he belonged in the air.

______________________________

The morning light had barely begun to creep through the round windows of the Hufflepuff common room when Harry stirred awake. His clock read five sharp. The dorm was still cloaked in darkness, broken only by the faint golden shimmer from the enchanted lanterns embedded in the walls. He stretched, rubbing his eyes, and smiled to himself. Something urged him to check the notice board. Maybe—just maybe—the results were up.

The tunnel leading from the dormitory to the common room was quiet, the air cool and earthy, like the burrowed warmth of a Hobbit hole. As he stepped into the main chamber, the fire was burning low, flickering lazily in the hearth. The room smelled faintly of cinnamon and parchment.

Then he saw it.

Pinned neatly to the oak bulletin board beside the entrance to Professor Sprout’s office door was a large parchment with the heading: HUFFLEPUFF QUIDDITCH TEAM – 1991-92 SEASON.

Harry’s pulse quickened. He approached quietly, almost reverently, and leaned closer to read the names.

Captain & Chaser: Alan Kirke (7th Year)
Chaser: Samuel Golding (6th Year)
Chaser & Reserve Seeker: Cedric Diggory (3rd Year)
Beater: Eleanor Branstone (5th Year)
Beater: Oliver Stebbins (4th Year)
Keeper: Ronson Dipple (5th Year)
Seeker & Reserve Beater: Harry Potter (1st Year)
Reserve Chaser & Reserve Keeper: Justin Finch-Fletchley (1st Year)

For a heartbeat, Harry simply stood frozen, staring. Then his mouth curved into a wide grin. “Merlin’s beard,” he whispered, breathless. “I made it.”

He ran a hand through his messy hair, half disbelieving, half elated. His name—Harry Potter—was right there among the team. His chest swelled with pride, warmth flooding through him like liquid sunlight.

The word Seeker seemed to glow on the parchment. It was real. He wasn’t dreaming. He had actually done it.

A laugh escaped him, quiet but bright, echoing off the stone walls. “Wait till Justin sees this,” he murmured, eyes sparkling. “He’s going to flip.”

He turned and hurried back toward the dorm tunnels. The earthen passage twisted and rounded, its walls carved with gentle curves and lined with ivy that glowed faintly in the dark. He passed the entrance arch marked “First-Year Boys” and slipped inside.

The dorm was dim, lit only by the enchanted mushrooms that grew softly around the corners of the room. Justin lay sprawled under his covers, snoring lightly, one arm dangling off the side of his bed.

Harry grinned and approached, nudging his shoulder. “Justin. Wake up, mate.”

Justin groaned, turning over. “Wha—what time is it?” he mumbled sleepily.

“Five past five,” Harry said, unable to hide his excitement. “Come on, you’ve got to see this!”

Justin peeked one eye open. “Harry… unless someone’s set the dorm on fire, this can wait till breakfast.”

Harry laughed. “No, you don’t get it—I checked the board. The Quidditch list’s up!”

That got Justin’s attention. He sat up abruptly, rubbing his face. “It’s up? What—what does it say? Did you—?”

Harry grinned from ear to ear. “I made it. Seeker and reserve beater.”

Justin blinked, his sleepiness vanishing instantly. “You—no way! That’s incredible!”

Harry nodded eagerly. “And that’s not all. You made it too, Justin. Reserve chaser and keeper.”

Justin froze for a moment, mouth slightly open. “You’re serious?”

“As a Hippogriff,” Harry replied, beaming.

Justin suddenly jumped up, throwing his blanket aside. “Bloody brilliant! I can’t believe it!”

“Believe it,” Harry said, laughing. “Your name’s right there on the parchment.”

Justin rubbed his eyes, pacing in disbelief. “Mum’s going to faint when she hears this! Two first-years on the team—unbelievable!”

“Yeah,” Harry said softly, sitting on the edge of his bed. The realization still hadn’t fully sunk in. “I thought maybe reserve at best for me, but Seeker… I didn’t think Alan would actually pick me.”

Justin grinned. “You caught the Snitch against Cedric Diggory, Harry. You earned it.”

Harry chuckled, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. “Cedric made me work for it though.”

“Oh, he’s going to be such a good teammate,” Justin said, flopping back onto his pillow. “Friendly rivalries make the team strong, right?”

“Exactly,” Harry agreed. His mind wandered briefly to the Quidditch pitch, the feel of the wind, the shimmer of the Snitch against the sunlight. A thrill of anticipation stirred in his stomach. “I can’t wait for practice.”

Justin grinned drowsily, lying back again. “Best news to wake up to.”

Harry smiled, looking around the cozy dormitory—round doors, honey-colored wood, warm light trickling in through small windows. The world suddenly felt brighter, fuller.

He whispered softly to himself, “First-year Seeker of Hufflepuff. Not bad for a start.”

Then he glanced at Justin, who was still muttering sleepily about glory and brooms. Laughing quietly, Harry pulled his robes over his head and headed back toward the common room. He wanted one more look at that parchment—just to be sure it wasn’t a dream.

Harry was still grinning when he reached the common room again, and this time Justin was right beside him, his hair sticking up wildly from the rushed wake-up. They practically ran through the tunnel, their footsteps echoing softly off the rounded stone floor. The torches flickered as they passed, lighting their path in the cozy, earthen passage.

“Come on, it’s right there!” Harry urged, turning the final bend into the main chamber.

The room glowed warmly in the golden lamplight, the familiar scent of roasted herbs and old wood lingering in the air. Justin’s eyes darted immediately to the large parchment pinned on the board. His mouth dropped open as he saw their names written in neat, enchanted ink that shimmered faintly.

“By Merlin’s bright beard,” Justin breathed. “It’s really there! My name’s actually there!”

Harry chuckled. “Told you.”

Justin read the list again, tracing his finger down to the bottom. “Reserve chaser and keeper. Both! This is unreal.”

He turned to Harry with a wide grin. “And you—Seeker. The youngest Seeker in Hogwarts right now, maybe even the youngest ever!”

Harry shook his head, laughing. “Don’t start that, Justin. People will think I’m bragging.”

“Well, you should brag a little,” Justin replied, eyes still shining. “We’re on the team!”

Before Harry could reply, a sudden joyful bark interrupted them. A blur of golden fur bounded into the common room through the archway. “Maple!” Harry exclaimed as his Golden Retriever leapt up to greet him, tail wagging furiously.

Justin bent to scratch behind the dog’s ears. “She always knows when something good’s happened, doesn’t she?”

Harry laughed. “I think she just smelled my excitement.” Maple barked again, almost as if agreeing, before nudging Harry’s hand for more attention.

The next thing they knew, a few other early risers began trickling out of the dorm tunnels, drawn by the commotion. Susan and Hannah appeared first, both still in their pajamas. “What’s all this racket?” Hannah mumbled, yawning.

“Check the board!” Justin said excitedly.

Susan squinted at the parchment, and when she saw Harry’s and Justin’s names, she squealed. “You both made it! That’s brilliant!”

Hannah clapped her hands, smiling broadly. “Oh, this calls for a celebration. Maybe breakfast will have treacle tart!”

Justin laughed. “If it doesn’t, I’ll write a complaint to the kitchens myself.”

The laughter spread around the room, bright and echoing through the cozy chamber. Maple wagged her tail faster, prancing between them as if she understood every word.

The noise, however, was loud enough to draw attention. A moment later, the door behind the notice board creaked open, and Professor Sprout stepped out, tying her hat in place. She blinked in surprise at the crowd of students and the golden dog in the middle of it all.

“What’s this delightful chaos so early in the morning?” she asked kindly, though her tone carried mild amusement.

Harry straightened quickly. “Sorry, Professor. We were just—well—the Quidditch team list was posted.”

“Ah,” she said, eyes twinkling. “So I hear the Hufflepuff team has a few new names this year.”

“Yes, Professor!” Justin said proudly. “Harry’s Seeker and reserve Beater, and I’m reserve Chaser and Keeper!”

Sprout’s face lit up with genuine pride. “Excellent! Two first-years making it onto the team—that’s not something that happens every decade. You’ve both made Hufflepuff proud already.”

Harry felt a warmth in his chest. “Thank you, Professor.”

Sprout looked between them and Maple, who was sitting obediently now, tail sweeping across the rug. “And you brought your good-luck charm along, I see,” she said with a chuckle. “Well done, Maple. Perhaps we should consider you honorary team mascot.”

Justin laughed, and Maple barked as though she approved the idea.

Sprout smiled fondly at the dog before turning back to the boys. “Now, do keep in mind, being part of the team means responsibility as well as fun. Practices, teamwork, and keeping up with your studies. I expect both of you to balance your duties properly.”

“Yes, Professor,” they chorused.

“Good,” she said, her tone softening. “Now, since you’ve already woken half the house, you might as well help set up for breakfast. I’ll ask the elves to send in some fruit and muffins early. Celebrations are best shared.”

Susan clapped happily. “I’ll get the plates!”

Hannah added, “And I’ll charm the mugs!”

As the students scattered about in cheerful motion, Harry leaned against the armrest of one of the round couches, smiling quietly to himself. Maple rested her head on his knee, her warm eyes watching him.

He looked down at her. “We did it, girl,” he whispered. “First-year Seeker. Can you believe it?”

Maple gave a soft huff, as if she did.

Justin came over holding two steaming mugs. “Butter tea,” he said, handing one to Harry. “To the new Quidditch team.”

Harry raised his mug. “To Hufflepuff.”

Their mugs clinked softly, and for that moment, in the heart of the sunlit, earth-scented common room, everything felt perfect.
______________________________

Alan Kirke stood near the Hufflepuff fireplace, the soft glow of the embers reflecting off his golden badge. The entire team gathered around him, still riding the high of the announcement earlier that morning. Harry and Justin sat side by side, both still smiling like they had swallowed a bottle of Felix Felicis.

Alan clapped his hands once, sharp and commanding. “Alright, listen up, everyone. We’ve got the official Quidditch practice schedule from Madam Hooch.” He raised a parchment that fluttered slightly from the heat. “All captains agreed—this year’s timings are fixed. Only emergencies can change them. So here’s how we’ll fly.”

He cleared his throat and read, “Monday morning, six to seven-thirty. Thursday evening, five to seven. Friday morning, six to seven-thirty again.”

Justin groaned audibly. “Six in the morning? You’ve got to be joking, Alan!”

Eleanor chuckled. “Welcome to Quidditch, Finch-Fletchley. The early bird catches the Snitch.”

“More like freezes before catching anything,” Justin muttered, rubbing his eyes dramatically.

Alan grinned. “Good attitude, Justin. You’ll get used to it—or the pitch will wake you up faster than any coffee potion.” His eyes swept across the team. “Also, start doing regular exercises. Stretches, sprints, endurance flying if you can manage it. Fitness is everything in the air. Hufflepuff may not have flash, but we’ve got stamina.”

Harry nodded firmly. “I already do morning runs, so that won’t be a problem.”

Alan raised a brow, impressed. “Excellent, Potter. Keep that up. The rest of you might want to follow his example.”

Justin groaned again, slumping against the armrest. “If I survive the mornings, it’ll be a miracle.”

Cedric laughed. “That’s the spirit! You’ll fit right in.”

When Alan dismissed them, Harry felt a spark of energy still racing through him. The idea of real practices, strategy sessions, flying drills—it all felt so thrillingly real now. As they left the common room tunnel, he glanced at Justin, who was yawning mid-step.

“You’ll see,” Harry said with a grin. “Once we’re up there, you won’t even feel sleepy.”

Justin gave a half-smile. “If I fall off the broom, you’d better catch me, Seeker.”

“Deal,” Harry said, laughing.

Later that morning, the Great Hall was alive with chatter and clinking cutlery. Sunlight streamed through the enchanted ceiling, dappling the tables in warm gold. The smell of pumpkin toast and roasted nuts hung pleasantly in the air.

Harry, Justin, Hannah, and Susan slipped into their usual spots at the Hufflepuff table, plates filling themselves with breakfast as if sharing their excitement.

“We should tell them,” Hannah whispered, glancing toward the cluster of their friends from other houses.

Susan nodded eagerly. “Oh, definitely. They’ll want to know.”

Across the hall, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Terry, Lisa, Rolf, Daphne, Tracey, and Blaise gathered at their own tables, talking animatedly. Harry caught Ron’s eye, and the redhead immediately perked up.

“Oi, Potter!” Ron called out as Harry approached with Justin beside him. “So? Who made the team?”

Harry grinned, unable to hide it. “Both of us. I’m Seeker and reserve Beater, and Justin’s reserve Chaser and Keeper.”

The words landed like a spark—cheers and laughter burst around the group.

“Bloody brilliant!” Ron exclaimed, slapping the table so hard that his pumpkin juice sloshed over. “You actually made it, mate!”

Hermione beamed. “That’s amazing, Harry. And you too, Justin! It’s quite an achievement for first-years.”

Neville nodded, smiling shyly. “First-year Seekers are rare, right?”

“Very,” Terry replied, pushing his spectacles up. “Usually only prodigies get picked that early.”

“Prodigy, huh?” Blaise drawled, smirking at Harry. “Guess we’ll be seeing golden boy Potter on the pitch now.”

Tracey elbowed him lightly. “Oh, don’t act like you’re not impressed.”

Blaise chuckled. “Fine. I’m impressed. Just slightly envious.”

Ron groaned good-naturedly. “Slightly? I’m massively envious! I wanted to try out, but I couldn’t even get a Level Three pass in Hooch’s drills.”

Hermione frowned. “That’s because you didn’t practice your balance charm properly.”

Ron looked defensive. “Well, excuse me for nearly falling off a school broom!”

Everyone burst into laughter, even Daphne, who sipped her pumpkin juice with an amused smirk. “Apparently, only three first-years reached Level Three passing this year,” she said. “Potter, Finch-Fletchley, and Malfoy.”

At that, Rolf raised a brow. “Malfoy? But he wasn’t at tryouts.”

Harry nodded. “His mother didn’t allow him. Said he can only join next year.”

Tracey sighed dramatically. “Ah, the tragedy of parental control. Poor Draco.”

Lisa giggled. “He’ll live. His ego will just have to wait a year.”

The laughter spread again, warm and infectious. Maple, who had followed Harry in quietly and was sitting under the table, gave a soft bark, wagging her tail as if to join the celebration.

Justin reached down to scratch her ears. “Even Maple’s proud, see?”

Harry grinned. “She’s our unofficial mascot.”

Neville smiled. “Then Hufflepuff’s luck just doubled.”

As the chatter filled the air and breakfast carried on, Harry’s chest swelled with quiet pride. The path ahead would be hard—early practices, cold mornings, fierce matches—but it was all worth it. He had made it.
______________________________

The transition from the bustling Great Hall to the cold, echoing corridors was brisk. Harry, Susan, Hannah, Justin, and the rest of the Hufflepuff first-years walked alongside Ron, Hermione, and Neville, their Gryffindor counterparts, chatting nervously about what to expect. Harry’s mind was alive with anticipation. “I really hope Quirrell’s class is at least a bit like Snape’s DADA,” he muttered under his breath, adjusting his robes. “Snape’s lectures are… strict, yes, but fascinating. At least you learn something.”

Justin flinched slightly. “I just want to avoid being turned into a frog,” he whispered, eyes wide. “Last time Snape asked questions I nearly had a heart attack.” Hannah rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. “At least you’ll survive Quirrell,” she said, “he’s… well, let’s see.”

When they reached the classroom, the 18 first-years filed in, the mixture of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor faces bright with anticipation. Harry noted their nervous excitement mirrored his own. Quirrell stood at the front, his hands fidgeting with the long folds of his cloak. His eyes darted between students with a peculiar energy, and his voice came out in a rapid, stuttering introduction.

“G-g-good morning, students,” he began, bowing awkwardly. “T-t-today, w-we… uh… we will learn Defensive Magic. Yes, very d-d-d-defensive, not offensive, mind you… very important…” His stutter was persistent, and Harry suppressed a small groan.

As Quirrell continued, the class realized he had no real plan beyond introducing a few basic spells with endless repetition. “R-r-r-right,” he stammered, “so, uh, d-d-deflecting simple, uh… curses. You will, uh, practice… but not much… yes… just gestures mostly, we… uh… we don’t need incidents.”

Harry’s excitement drained as he watched him fumble with his wand to demonstrate what should have been a simple shielding charm. “Oh… this is… not what I expected,” he muttered quietly to Susan, who gave a faint nod, her expression tight with suppressed irritation.

Justin whispered, almost panicked, “Is he… is he going to let us actually try spells?” His voice trembled slightly. “Because I think I’d rather watch than attempt under his… guidance.”

Hannah leaned over, whispering, “I think he’s more interested in not tripping over his own feet than teaching us anything useful.”

Quirrell’s hands fluttered nervously. “N-n-now, everyone, p-p-please, u-uh… imagine a curse, and… uh, deflect it with… uh… imagination… yes… no need to actually…” His stammer grew faster, and several Gryffindors exchanged bewildered glances, some suppressing snickers.

Harry tried to follow along, practicing gestures in the air, feeling the familiar thrill of defensive magic in his fingers. “At least practicing the movements… that’s something,” he thought, but his optimism was quickly dimmed as Quirrell’s explanations became increasingly convoluted and circular.

Ron muttered under his breath, “This is ridiculous. I could learn more from a book than him.” Hermione’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Exactly,” she whispered. “It’s supposed to be first-year defensive training, but I don’t think anyone’s learning anything practical.”

Neville nervously clutched his wand. “I-I thought it’d be like Snape… scary, yes, but helpful,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Even Justin, usually jumpy with magic, was glaring at the ceiling, frustrated at the lack of concrete instruction. “I… I don’t know what he wants,” he said, finally. “Do we pretend to cast? Do we imagine? Are we supposed to… what?”

For the remainder of the period, Quirrell stuttered, fumbled, and rambled, never quite managing to demonstrate a single working defensive charm beyond basic gestures. The first-years quietly mimicked his awkward movements, hoping to at least get the motions correct. Harry’s mind wandered, noting the difference between this and Snape’s sharp, precise instruction. Even so, he tried to pay attention, mentally cataloging the errors and inconsistencies, as he often did.

When the bell finally rang, relief swept over all 18 students. Harry exhaled sharply. “Well… that was… something,” he said, trying to sound upbeat. “I suppose at least we know what not to do.”

Ron groaned audibly. “Something? That was a joke. I’ve seen trolls more intimidating than that lesson.” Hermione shook her head, her brow furrowed. “Disappointing doesn’t even cover it. We’ll have to practice on our own if we want to survive.”

Susan, Hannah, and Justin trailed behind Harry as they left the classroom, Maple—well, not Maple, but the memory of yesterday’s flight—flickering in Harry’s mind. “At least Quirrell can’t ruin flying,” Susan said, trying to lighten the mood. Harry smiled faintly, thinking, if only all magic were that simple… and that entertaining.

By the time they reached the corridor, their excitement had shifted from anticipation to quiet determination. All agreed silently: Defensive Magic under Quirrell was far from what they had hoped, but it would not deter them. They had skills to hone, and level-three flying to think about, and Harry felt a quiet thrill at the challenge ahead, ready to turn disappointment into opportunity.
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The corridors were quiet as Harry walked toward the castle exit, his thoughts still lingering on Quirrell’s fumbling DADA class. He had tried to make sense of it, tried to focus on the stances and wand movements, but the stuttering and odd instructions had left him more frustrated than anything. Still, the rest of the day had gone smoothly enough. Transfiguration, double Potions, Herbology, and Charms had all passed without incident. Nothing extraordinary, but nothing disastrous either. Harry felt a small sigh of relief.

As he rounded the corner toward the main entrance, Maple bounded up, tail wagging energetically. Harry bent down to scratch behind her ears. “Good girl, Maple. Ready to head out?” he murmured. Her tongue lolled happily, as if she already understood.

It was then that Professor Sprout appeared from the corridor, clipboard in hand. “Harry! Justin!” she called, beckoning them over. Justin, who had been waiting nearby, looked up nervously. “H-hello, Professor,” he stuttered, straightening his robes.

Sprout’s eyes twinkled. “Come with me, both of you. Your guardians are here, and they’ve come to take you shopping for your brooms. I’ve already contacted them, and everything’s ready.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. So that’s why Sirius and Vernon hadn’t replied to my letters these past two days… His excitement bubbled, and he could barely keep his composure. “W-what? Really? We’re… going today?” he stuttered, almost tripping over his words.

“Indeed,” Sprout said kindly, her tone firm but warm. “You two have passed your level three tests, and it’s time to make sure you get suitable brooms. Come along; we’ll make the arrangements from my office.”

Inside Sprout’s office, the air smelled faintly of herbs and parchment. Harry’s eyes widened as he took in the organized chaos: stacks of books on magical botany, a few jars of strange powders, and plants creeping along the windowsill. Waiting there were their guardians.

Justin’s parents, Beatrice and Henry Finch-Fletchley, were seated, looking a bit nervous but smiling. Beatrice whispered softly to Henry, “I can’t believe he’s actually going to get a broom… our little boy.”

Justin’s eyes flicked between his parents and Harry, a mix of pride and anxiety written across his face. “I… I guess this is really happening,” he stammered.

Then Harry noticed Padfoot—Sirius—leaning casually against the wall, dark eyes glinting with quiet amusement. He hadn’t yet become close to Harry, and the young wizard felt a flutter of awkwardness. Sirius gave him a nod. “Ready for your first proper broom, Harry?”

And then, there was Vernon. The man was seated stiffly, back straight, eyes bright with pride yet slightly jumpy. Harry couldn’t help but notice the way Vernon’s hands twitched nervously as he glanced around the office. No hostility, none at all—just pride and a hint of unease, probably because he’d never been inside Hogwarts. Harry felt a small, warm bubble of affection for him. “I suppose this is what he means by ‘Proud uncle who doesn’t trust magic fully’,” Harry thought, smiling faintly.

Sprout cleared her throat. “Now, everyone is here. We’ll make sure each of you is fitted properly, and the shop has been notified to provide the best brooms suitable for your abilities.” She paused, glancing at both Harry and Justin. “We’ll take you in shifts if needed, but it’s important to make sure you are comfortable. Level three clearance comes with responsibilities, after all.”

Harry could barely contain his excitement. Thoughts raced through his mind: which broom to choose, how it would feel under him as he soared through the sky, and imagining future practice sessions on the pitch. He looked over at Maple, who wagged her tail as if sharing in his anticipation.

Justin shifted nervously, glancing between his parents and Harry. “I… I hope I choose the right one,” he murmured. Beatrice smiled warmly, squeezing his hand. “You’ll know, dear. Just follow your instincts.”

Sirius pushed off from the wall, a half-smile on his face. “Relax, kid. You’ll find the broom that works for you. It’s like magic; it chooses you too, sometimes.”

Vernon gave a stiff but approving nod. “Yes. We’ll see that it’s done properly,” he added, voice calm but firm.

Harry’s thoughts swirled, half-excitement, half-nervousness. So this is it… today I finally get a broom of my own. And they’re all here… Maple, Sirius, Uncle Vernon, Justin… this is going to be brilliant.

Sprout gestured toward the door. “Shall we go then? The shop awaits, and there’s no time to waste for new wizards with ambition.”

Harry grinned, glancing at Justin, then back at Maple. “Yes, Professor. Let’s go.”

The group prepared to leave Sprout’s office, and Harry felt a thrill run through him. The adventure, the flight, the speed, the freedom… all of it was just a few steps away.

The green flames of the Floo Network roared as Harry, Vernon, Maple, Sirius, and the others stepped into the fireplace at Sprout’s office. Harry swallowed a gasp as the heat tickled his face, and with a sudden whoosh, they were transported in a swirl of fire and smoke. The familiar interior of the Leaky Cauldron appeared around them, warm and bustling with midday patrons.

Harry blinked in surprise. “Uncle Vernon… you didn’t—fall?” he exclaimed, eyes wide.

Vernon straightened, hands clasped behind his back, a faint gleam of pride in his eyes. “Practiced, Harry. Several trips to Gringotts and the Greengrasses for your account have made me quite adept at this. Not one stumble, mind you.” His tone was firm but carried a hint of satisfaction, as though proving he could manage magic just like any wizard.

Sirius chuckled, leaning slightly on Maple’s leash. “I didn’t think I’d see the day when Vernon Dursley could handle Floo like a pro,” he said, grinning.

Vernon allowed a brief smirk. “Well, don’t get used to it, Padfoot. This is one exception.”

Justin’s family, Beatrice and Henry, had already begun heading toward the side street that led to Gringotts, discussing the conversion of their Muggle money into Galleons. Justin, slightly overwhelmed, stuck close to his mother. “I… I hope it’s not too complicated,” he murmured.

Beatrice smiled gently. “Just follow Father’s lead, Justin. It’s straightforward once you see the process.”

Harry, Sirius, Vernon, and Maple lingered near the Cauldron’s entrance. Harry practically vibrated with excitement. “I can’t believe it, Uncle Vernon! I’m actually on the Hufflepuff team—reserve Seeker and Beater! Level three clearance! It’s unbelievable!” He leaned forward, gesturing animatedly as Maple’s tail wagged in sync with his energy.

Vernon’s face softened, eyes alight with pride. “Of course we’re proud, Harry. Petunia and I have been talking about it since the news reached us. You’ve worked hard, and it shows.” He chuckled lightly, then added with mock sternness, “Although your aunt almost refused to let you play. She was convinced you’d fall from the sky and break every bone in your body.”

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “I have to assure her I wouldn’t! Maple will watch out for me too, of course.”

Sirius rolled his eyes with amusement. “You’re lucky she didn’t ground you preemptively for wanting to play on a broomstick.”

Vernon folded his arms, nodding. “Indeed. But I must admit… she finally saw the reason. And you know, Harry, I can see why. Seeing you excited and determined—it’s… good.” His voice had a warmth Harry rarely heard.

As they stepped onto the cobblestone street, the Quidditch supplies shop came into view. Harry’s pulse quickened again. “This is it! I can finally see the brooms up close. I wonder which will be best for me,” he said, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Sirius gave him a teasing glance. “Patience, Harry. You’re not going to pick the first broom that shines at you.”

Vernon adjusted his tie, straightening his jacket. “Now, let’s see what’s suitable. You’ll need one that balances speed and control. We can’t have you flying off course on your very first practice.” His tone was half-joking, half-practical.

Harry grinned, gripping Maple’s leash. “I know, Uncle. I’ve thought about it all. Length, flexibility, core… I want something precise, not just flashy.”

Sirius shook his head, smiling faintly. “Always the planner, eh Harry? Just like your mother, I suppose.”

Vernon gave a small, self-satisfied nod. “Well, it helps to plan. That’s what kept me ahead at Gringotts. Speaking of which, we should make sure Justin’s family finishes at the bank first—Muggle money conversion isn’t instantaneous.”

Harry laughed, the excitement coursing through him too strong to contain. “I can’t wait to try it out on the pitch. Alan said practices start tomorrow. I’m going to… I’m going to fly like I never have before!”

Sirius leaned down to ruffle Harry’s hair. “And I’ll be there to watch, make sure you don’t get yourself flattened by a bludger.”

Vernon gave a short laugh, hands on hips. “I suppose I’ll be watching too. Don’t disappoint us, Harry.” He straightened again, a glint of pride in his eyes. “Petunia and I will be expecting reports.”

Harry’s grin widened. “Oh, you’ll get plenty. And don’t worry—I’ll make you proud!”

They moved toward the shop, Maple trotting happily alongside, Vernon stepping carefully but confidently, Sirius relaxed but watchful, and Harry’s mind spinning with anticipation, planning every flick and push of his first broom ride.
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A/n: I hope You like it. Please ignore grammatical and spelling errors. 

Okay, so Quirell has finally made an appearance. And Harry is not impressed.

I do hope the tryouts were impressive. I know it's a surprise that Harry is a beater too. I have seen many fics where he is a chaser but rarely a one with him  being a Beater!! 

Hey for this story I wasn't able to decide Chapter names easily so for fun why don't you all comment on what you think the chapter name can be ? I will be waiting.

Thanks for reading. § Hinny Forever § Please Review!!!

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or its universe. All original elements belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This story is a work of fanfiction created purely for entertainment purposes - no copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made. Any original characters, events, or concepts beyond the established canon are the author's own creative additions to expand the magical world respectfully.
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The bell above the door jingled as the Finch-Fletchleys arrived, Beatrice and Henry both smiling nervously, Justin dragging his feet a little in awe. “There you are!” Harry exclaimed, practically bouncing on the cobbles outside the shop. Maple barked lightly, sensing the excitement.

Beatrice chuckled. “Sorry we took a bit longer, Harry. We had to get everything in order before coming.”

Henry gave a small wave. “All set now. Justin is ready, I think.”

Inside, the warm, polished wood of the shop glowed under the enchanted lamps. Brooms of every shape, color, and size leaned against walls and racks, some humming faintly as they waited to be tested. The shopkeeper, a tall man with spectacles that seemed too large for his face, came forward immediately. “Ah, you must be our youngest Quidditch hopefuls!” he said, voice brimming with excitement. “Congratulations on making history. It’s rare to see first-years reach level three clearance at such an early age. A century, if you’ll believe it!”

Justin’s jaw dropped, and Beatrice whispered something in his ear. He nodded, blushing. Vernon, standing slightly back, made careful notes on a small pad, his pen scratching quickly as if recording the details for later. Sirius leaned casually against a display shelf, eyes twinkling. “Looks like our Hufflepuff prodigies are going to make quite the entrance,” he said, nodding toward Harry and Justin.

The shopkeeper motioned toward the first display. “Justin, why don’t we begin with you? Let’s see what suits your height, flexibility, and natural balance.”

Justin stepped forward nervously. The shopkeeper gently lifted a broom from the rack—a sleek, polished thing with a slightly curved handle. “Try this one. See how it feels under your feet.”

Justin swung onto the broom, awkwardly at first. “Oh—oh, okay! Not too bad,” he stuttered, gripping tightly. Maple barked softly, as if offering encouragement.

“Steady, Justin,” Beatrice murmured. Henry nodded beside her, silently urging his son on. Sirius and the shopkeeper exchanged a look and offered tips on posture, bracing, and subtle weight shifts. Vernon jotted every word down meticulously. “Good… good… balance is key,” he muttered to himself.

Several more brooms were tried, each slightly faster, lighter, or heavier. Justin’s confidence grew with each one. The shopkeeper nodded approvingly. “Yes, yes—this one will suit your style best. You’ve got a natural eye for balance, which is rare for a first-year.”

Justin beamed, stepping down carefully. “I—I think I’m ready for this one,” he stammered.

“Excellent choice!” the shopkeeper exclaimed. “We’ll make some slight adjustments for your grip, and it should serve you well for years.”

Vernon jotted the details again, nodding to himself. “All proper notes taken. Excellent.”

Then it was Harry’s turn. His chest practically ached with excitement. Maple wagged her tail eagerly as he strode toward the first row of brooms. “I—uh—should probably try them all,” he stammered, eyes wide at the variety.

The shopkeeper handed him several options, starting with the classic Nimbus line. Harry swung on, tested each, and then they brought out the prototype Fireboltt, still marked with a “launch next year” tag. “This one is—oh wow—fast!” Harry exclaimed, leaning forward, letting the broom respond to his weight perfectly.

Vernon was at his side, jotting furiously. “Control, acceleration… balance… excellent,” he muttered. “You’ll manage this better than most adults.”

Sirius grinned. “Looks like someone knows what he wants.”

Several tests later, they finally settled on the Fireboltt Rider. It felt just right under Harry’s feet, responsive but stable, and light enough to maneuver with precision. “This is it! I—I can feel it already!” he stammered, barely able to contain his excitement. Maple barked, prancing in circles around him.

The shopkeeper clapped his hands together. “Fireboltt Rider, then. You’ll make quite the Seeker with this under your belt. Adjustments and polishing will be done, and it’ll be ready for your first official practice.”

Harry turned to Vernon and Sirius, eyes shining. “Thank you… both of you. This is amazing!”

Vernon’s lips twitched into a rare smile. “I have to admit, Harry, it does suit you. Just… don’t let it go too fast, eh?”

Sirius laughed. “I’d say that’s impossible, given your talent.”

Maple barked happily again as the broom was lifted from the display, ready to be customized for Harry’s first proper flight.

The shopkeeper’s eyes gleamed as he held Harry’s Fireboltt Rider carefully. “This model, young man, is one of the finest Fireboltts ever crafted. Weight is balanced for maximum speed and maneuverability, with reinforced bracing along the handle to reduce vibration during sharp turns. Acceleration is unparalleled; a Seeker could easily reach top speed within seconds.”

Harry’s mouth dropped slightly. “I—I didn’t realize it was so… precise,” he stammered, running his fingers along the polished wood. Maple barked, circling near his legs, as if approving.

“Ah, yes,” the shopkeeper continued, “and see here—this tailpiece allows smoother pivoting in sudden dives, while the bristles are made of enchanted Yew-Elm blend for durability. It’s not just fast; it’s exceptionally responsive. A first-year Seeker at Hogwarts? You’ll have the advantage of a lifetime with this.”

Vernon, who had been silently observing, leaned in, peering at the broom with a critical eye. “That’s a substantial price, of course. But given the… features,” he said, adjusting his tie, “I suppose it’s justified. Let’s see if we can make it… slightly more reasonable.”

The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow, curious but unshaken. “For such a fine broom, my prices are fair. But perhaps, with two young Quidditch hopefuls, we could consider a small concession.”

Sirius chuckled, standing beside Vernon. “You two seem to be negotiating like seasoned goblins.”

Vernon waved him off, a rare smirk on his face. “I’ve handled far trickier accounts at Gringotts, Padfoot. Trust me, it’s all about knowing your leverage.”

Harry, still holding the Fireboltt Rider, felt a flutter of nervous excitement. “I—I can’t believe this is mine…” he stammered. Maple wagged her tail enthusiastically, jumping slightly against his legs.

The shopkeeper explained Justin’s broom next, a sleek, fast model suited for chasers. “This model is lighter, easier to handle in team maneuvers, yet stable enough for sudden evasive actions. Your grip and posture will benefit from its balance, young man.”

Justin’s eyes widened, and he grinned nervously. “Wow… it’s… perfect!”

Beatrice and Henry nodded approvingly. “It’s an investment in his skills,” Henry said quietly. Beatrice added, “Just imagine him on the pitch, Justin. You’ve worked hard to get here.” Harry wondered what Mrs. Finch-Fetchley will think when she actually sees & realises how  dangerous this sport is.

Vernon and Sirius pooled their contributions for Harry’s broom. Vernon muttered while scribbling notes, “I’ll cover a portion, and Sirius can handle the rest. That should balance it without issues.”

Sirius grinned. “Think of it as a joint investment in Hogwarts history. First-year Seeker with a broom like this? Worth every galleon.”

Harry looked between the two of them, stammering, “Th-thank you… both of you. Really. I—I don’t know what to say.” Maple nuzzled his leg, tail wagging frantically.

Justin’s parents paid for his broom, handing over the necessary Galleons to the shopkeeper. “We’re so proud of you, Justin,” Beatrice said, smiling. “Remember, this is just the beginning. Any sport is about teamwork as much as skill.”

Justin nodded eagerly, eyes still on his broom. “I—I can’t wait to start training!”

The shopkeeper finally began the final adjustments, inspecting the brooms carefully, smoothing bristles and testing balance. “Everything is set, young gentlemen. You will both find these brooms responsive, durable, and suited to your respective roles. Training can begin immediately, but remember, control and respect for the broom are as important as raw skill.”

Harry held the Fireboltt Rider reverently. “I—I promise I’ll take care of it. I’ll… I’ll practice every day!”

Vernon made a note, nodding. “Good. That’s the discipline I expect. Hogwarts or not, quality tools are only as good as the care you give them.”

Sirius patted Harry on the shoulder. “You’ve got the right mindset, Harry. Firebolt Rider and all—it’s going to be a thrilling year on the pitch.”

Maple barked again, tail wagging as Harry carefully lifted the broom, feeling its perfect balance beneath his hands. He knew this was the beginning of something extraordinary, and with Vernon and Sirius backing him, nothing seemed impossible.

Justin, gripping his own broom, looked at Harry and smiled nervously. “I—I can’t believe we’re actually doing this… first-year Quidditch players!”

Harry laughed, a little stammer in his excitement. “Yeah… it’s… it’s unbelievable! Maple, ready for your first flight, huh?”

The shopkeeper nodded approvingly, Maple’s paws barely making a sound on the polished floor. “A century of Quidditch has not seen such enthusiasm in first-years. Take care, both of you. You’re setting a new bar.”

Harry, Maple, and Justin exchanged wide-eyed glances. The brooms felt alive in their hands, their first real taste of Hogwarts Quidditch glory ready to be unleashed.

The shopkeeper then  led Harry and Justin, along with their families, down the aisles, showing them the various Quidditch gear: gloves, padded suits, goggles, and quaffle bags. Harry’s eyes lingered on the finely stitched Hufflepuff robes with reinforced shoulder pads. “These… these will actually help with Bludger hits?” he stammered.

“Exactly,” the shopkeeper replied, “protection is key. And don’t forget gloves and boots—they improve grip and balance. You’ll want the best fit possible, especially for a Seeker.”

Vernon, who had been taking notes meticulously, glanced at Harry’s selections. “I’ll need the price breakdown for these as well,” he muttered, in that neat, practical voice that Harry had grown accustomed to over the years. Sirius chuckled at him from across the aisle. “You’d give a goblin a run for his money, Vernon. I’ll cover the parts we agreed on, you handle the rest.”

Meanwhile, Justin’s parents examined the same sections with curiosity and amazement. “I had no idea there were so many options for a broomstick game,” Beatrice whispered, her eyes wide. “And the quality, it’s… astounding.”

Henry Finch-Fletchley nodded, adjusting his muggle coat. “It’s… quite a world. I’ve read about wizards, but seeing it… touching it… I had no idea it was so detailed. The craftsmanship alone…” He trailed off, looking at the precise engraving on one of the quaffle bags.

Vernon and Henry fell into a conversation near the broom service kits. “So, let me get this straight,” Vernon asked, squinting at the assortment of polishing brushes, oil, and polish. “This kit can essentially maintain the broom’s performance? You oil the handle, polish the bristles, and check the balance periodically?”

“Yes, exactly,” Henry said, impressed. “You’ll also want to inspect the tailpiece and bristles before any competitive flight. Wizards take broom care very seriously.”

Vernon nodded slowly, tapping his chin. “I suppose it’s not unlike taking care of a car in the muggle world. Only… considerably more alive-looking.”

“Alive is right,” Sirius added with a grin. “And when a broom misbehaves mid-flight, you’ll wish you knew all the maintenance tricks.”

Harry and Justin, meanwhile, had been trying on gloves, boots, and helmets, occasionally stumbling over each other. “Careful, Justin!” Harry laughed as Justin nearly tripped over a broom display. “You’ll knock a Nimbus off the shelf!”

“I—I can handle it!” Justin stammered, cheeks flushing. “It’s just… heavier than I thought.”

Maple padded carefully around Harry, sniffing at the various broom handles. She barked once when a Fireboltt prototype caught the light, and Harry chuckled nervously. “Don’t worry, girl, that one’s not ours yet!”

After everything was finalized and packed, the group decided to take a small break. “There’s a place just down the street,” Sirius said, motioning to the corner of Diagon Alley. “Fortesque. Best ice cream in the area. You’ve earned it.”

Harry’s eyes lit up. “I—I can’t wait! Maple can come too?”

“Of course,” Beatrice said, smiling. Maple wagged her tail excitedly, circling the group.

The families found a small corner table outside Fortesque, and soon bowls of ice cream arrived. Harry clumsily tried to balance Maple nearby while holding his spoon. “Chocolate and pumpkin, huh? Never thought I’d try pumpkin ice cream…”

Justin laughed nervously, still adjusting to the magical surroundings. “It’s… really good. Better than any ice cream back home.”

Vernon, with a rare grin, watched Harry take a careful bite. “I suppose there are worse ways to spend a morning than wandering a wizarding street and eating ice cream with your dog and… magic people.”

Henry Finch-Fletchley nodded in agreement. “It’s been fascinating. And honestly, seeing all of this, I understand why these children are so enthusiastic about Hogwarts. The opportunities… it’s incredible.”

Sirius, balancing his own bowl, nudged Harry gently. “Just remember, kiddo, the real fun starts when you get this broom out on the pitch.”

Maple barked as if in agreement, wagging her tail against Harry’s boots. He giggled, giving her a quick scratch behind the ears.

After finishing their ice cream, Sprout’s voice called them through the shop’s window. “Time to head back, children! Floo network won’t wait all day!”

“Already?” Harry stammered, finishing the last bite of chocolate. He looked at Maple. “Ready, girl? Let’s go back to Sprout!”

The families gathered quickly, and with a swirl of green flames, Harry, Maple, Justin, and both families disappeared through the Floo, leaving Fortesque quiet again, the smell of melted chocolate and pumpkin lingering faintly in the alley.
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Harry and Justin stepped into Hagrid’s hut, brooms in hand, grinning like madmen. “Look at this beauty!” Harry exclaimed, holding the Fireboltt Rider upright. The polished wood gleamed in the evening light, the bristles perfectly aligned.

Justin, equally thrilled, lifted his newly bought broom. “I can’t believe this is actually mine,” he stuttered, still catching his breath. “I mean… a Level Three muggleborn on a broom from day one! I… I never thought…” He trailed off, unable to articulate the full excitement.

Susan leaned forward, examining Harry’s broom. “It’s… massive! I mean, it looks like it could outrun a Hippogriff!” she said, eyes wide. Hannah nodded enthusiastically. “And it’s red! No, crimson! Absolutely perfect for a Seeker.”

Maple wagged her tail and sniffed at the brooms, giving them a tentative paw before settling near Harry’s feet. “I think she approves,” Harry said with a chuckle, patting her head.

Daphne whistled, leaning over Justin’s broom. “Not bad for your first proper broom, Flinch-Fletchley. I mean, it’s like something out of a professional player’s collection!” Tracey grinned. “You’re going to leave the other Chasers in the dust.”

Blaise smirked. “I have to admit, Potter, your Fireboltt looks… sleek. Not that I’m jealous or anything.” Harry rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smirk creeping across his face.

Ron and Hermione peeked in, Hermione raising an eyebrow. “Quite the investment,” Hermione noted. “I imagine the Fireboltt isn’t cheap, Harry.” Harry shrugged, cheeks warming. “Let’s just say Uncle Vernon and Sirius made sure I wouldn’t be flying on a broom that creaks.”

Harry, setting his broom carefully against the wall, laughed. “Surreal is one word for it. I just… can’t wait to try it out.” Maple barked once, as if echoing his excitement.

Later that night, Harry returned to his dormitory and pulled out the small parchment envelope from his robe. He slit it open eagerly. The handwriting inside was unmistakable—Ginny. He began reading, his heart thrumming faster with every line.

"Dear Harry," Ginny’s neat handwriting danced across the page.

"I can’t believe you passed Level Three! That is amazing—I knew you would. Hurray for the Hufflepuff team!"

Harry’s lips curved into a smile as he read on.

"I’ve been helping Mum with some chores, but I promise I saved time to read your letters. Maple sounds adorable, and I’m glad you’re spoiling her rotten!"

"I can’t wait to hear all about the tryouts. I bet the view from up there is incredible. I’m so happy for you, Harry. Make sure you take care of yourself while flying—you’re precious, you know?"

Ginny’s words made Harry’s chest feel warm, a fluttering he could barely contain.

"Write soon, and tell me every detail, especially the first time you actually hold the broom in your hands. I’m cheering for you from here at the Burrow."

"Yours, Ginny"

Harry’s cheeks flamed as he read the letter. He felt a flutter in his chest, a warmth that wasn’t just from excitement over the broom. “She’s… she’s so sweet,”

He leaned back against his bed, Maple curling at his feet, and let himself smile, heart still hammering. The Burrow, Ginny’s words, the broom—all of it felt like the start of something new, something thrilling, and utterly magical.

Justin, half-asleep in the next bed, mumbled, “You’re smiling like a lovesick fool, Potter.”

Harry only grinned, thinking about the letters, the broom, and the rush of flying waiting for tomorrow. “Maybe I am,” he whispered, quietly, to no one in particular.
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The morning sun had barely begun to cast its golden light across the Hogwarts grounds when Harry rolled out of bed, excitement prickling at his nerves. “Today’s the first proper Sports and Games period,” he murmured to Maple, who wagged her tail in response, as if sharing his anticipation.

By the time the first-years gathered outside the new gymnasium beside the Quidditch pitch, the air buzzed with chatter. All houses were represented, and for the first time every first-year had opted in—no one was sitting out. Even Hermione and Draco had not shied away from trying the subject, their curiosity matched only by Harry’s own.

Inside, the gymnasium gleamed, polished wood floors reflecting the sunlight streaming through tall windows. Hooch stood at the front, clipboard in hand, her voice carrying over the murmurs. “Good morning, everyone! Welcome to your first Sports and Games period. This subject is vital—not just for keeping your bodies fit, but for understanding both wizarding and non-wizarding physical activities.”

Harry felt a flicker of excitement. Finally, a class that might mix his love for flying with the muggle sports he had always enjoyed.

Hooch paced slowly. “This subject is taught under slightly different OWL and NEWT rules. For your OWL, each candidate must complete tests in one wizarding sport, one muggle sport, and one game of your choice. If desired, you may swap one to do two wizarding sports and a game, or two muggle sports and a game. Flexibility is key, but you must attempt all three components for the OWL.”

Justin’s eyes brightened. “That’s perfect! Mum and Dad always had me playing soccer and tennis. This isn’t as strange as I thought it would be.”

Hermione nodded earnestly. “Yes, it actually makes sense. I’ve read about how combining different physical disciplines improves overall coordination and strategy.”

Dean and Evelyn exchanged a glance, smirking. “Finally, a class we can actually use our Muggle skills,” Dean muttered.

Charlotte and Emma, who had also opted in, whispered excitedly. “I can’t wait for the tennis part! And maybe I’ll try some wizarding sport for a change.”

Kevin raised his hand, brow furrowed. “So, does this mean we can choose which muggle sports we do? Because I’ve only ever played cricket and badminton.”

Hooch smiled, walking closer to the group. “Exactly. You’ll have the chance to show proficiency in your familiar muggle sports, but I’ll also guide you through wizarding games. For example, you may try broom polo, gobstones relay, or even magical dodgeball. Your scores will reflect adaptability and skill.”

Harry’s mind raced. Broom polo sounded interesting, but the thought of combining his muggle badminton experience with a wizarding sport was thrilling. “Maybe I can use my badminton agility for broom control,” he muttered to himself, a small grin spreading across his face.

Hooch raised a hand, calling the students to attention. “Remember, the aim is not just to compete, but to understand rules, strategy, and teamwork across worlds. Physical excellence and critical thinking go hand in hand.”

Susan leaned over to Hannah, whispering, “I bet Harry’s going to ace the muggle sports part. You’ve seen him with a racquet.”

Hannah chuckled, nodding. “And he’ll probably pick up broom-based games faster than any of us.”

Blaise, standing nearby, scowled slightly but muttered to Tracey, “Guess it’s going to be interesting to see the muggleborns show off. They’re not used to broomsticks, but some of them seem to catch on quickly.”

Justin nudged Harry. “Ready for this? First lesson in wizarding dodgeball could be chaotic, I bet.”

Harry laughed quietly, feeling Maple at his feet, tail wagging in anticipation as if she, too, understood the gravity of their first Sports and Games class. “Let’s just hope Hooch doesn’t make us run laps first,” he said, glancing around at the eager faces of his classmates.

Hooch clapped her hands sharply, drawing everyone’s attention back. “Now, form up into pairs. We’ll begin with basic coordination exercises—both for wizarding agility and muggle reflexes. Then we’ll move to demonstrations of each sport so you understand the rules before the OWL exercises begin. Pay attention, and no fooling around!”

The room erupted into subdued excitement, students pairing off and whispering strategies. Harry found himself next to Justin, Maple curling nearby, and grinned. “Let’s see if my badminton footwork can survive magical dodgeball,” he murmured.

The first period had only begun, yet the promise of combining muggle skills with wizarding challenges already sent a thrill through Harry.

The air in the new gymnasium thrummed with energy as Hooch guided the first-years through warm-up exercises. Students stretched, ran short sprints, and practiced hand-eye coordination with small balls. Maple lay calmly near Harry’s feet, her tail wagging in quiet amusement at the chaos around.

A few pompous Purebloods, their noses high in the air, started snickering. “Pathetic,” sneered a boy in a green-and-silver tie, his voice dripping with disdain. “This is supposed to be a wizarding sport? Practicing muggle games?”

Draco Malfoy, standing beside him, gave a smirk that barely concealed his jealousy. “Level Three, are we, Potter? Seems even your muggle reflexes can’t save you from humiliation.”

Harry clenched his fists inside his gloves but kept his voice calm. “It’s not about humiliation, Malfoy. It’s about skill, in every world.”

Hooch’s eyes swept the room, narrowing at the murmurs. “Silence!” she barked. Her sharp tone caused even the murmuring first-years to straighten. “This is not trivial. These exercises are used by professional Quidditch players to improve reflexes, agility, and strategic thinking. Any attempt to belittle them will result in immediate removal from the activity. I do not tolerate disrespect in my classes!”

The Purebloods muttered under their breath, but even they fell silent as Hooch turned back to the exercises.

Draco, however, wasn’t finished. As Harry went to fetch a ball, Draco deliberately nudged him with his elbow, voice loud enough for a few students to hear. “Careful, Potter. Don’t trip over your own feet. That’s what happens when the Chosen One doesn’t actually practice wizarding sports.”

Harry’s jaw tightened. “You’re just jealous, Malfoy,” he said, voice steady but low. “I passed the flying test and made the team fair and square. You? Your mother won’t let you try.”

Draco’s sneer twisted into something sharper. “Watch it, Potter! At least I don’t need to rely on muggle tricks to look impressive. And don’t think your little broom or flying test makes you better than me.”

Justin, sensing the rising tension, placed a hand lightly on Harry’s arm. “Ignore him, Harry. He’s just sore because his mom blocked him from the team.”

Harry took a deep breath, trying to control the simmering anger. “It’s not about being better than anyone, Malfoy. If you practiced instead of whining, you’d know that.”

Draco stepped closer, his voice dripping with venom. “Careful what you say, Potter. Even a first-year thinks they can lecture a Malfoy?”

Hooch’s whistle pierced the air, sharp and shrill. “Enough!” she snapped, striding over with arms crossed. “Malfoy! Potter! Step aside and continue your exercises, or you leave my class. This is a lesson in sportsmanship and agility, not insults!”

Draco scowled but obeyed, muttering under his breath. Harry’s fists unclenched as he returned to his ball, shooting a glare that could have frozen water. He murmured to Justin, “Some people really have no sense of humility.”

Justin shrugged, shaking his head. “Let him stew. We’ve got bigger things to worry about—like surviving Hooch’s drills.”

Harry glanced around the gym. Susan, Hannah, and the other Hufflepuffs were all focused, though some were glancing at Draco with quiet disapproval. Ron and Hermione from the Gryffindor side muttered encouragements, Hermione whispering, “Don’t let him get under your skin, Harry. You’re doing perfectly fine.”

The exercises resumed, but now a subtle undercurrent of tension lingered. Harry threw himself into the hand-eye coordination drill with renewed determination, dodging and catching small balls, imagining himself controlling a broomstick in a tight maneuver around opponents. Maple sat attentively, as if cheering him silently.

Hooch clapped her hands, signaling the next round. “Now, everyone, pick a partner and attempt the dual-coordination drill. This will test reflexes under pressure—just like a professional Quidditch match.”

Harry caught Justin’s eye and grinned. “Ready for this? Let’s show Malfoy how muggle-born reflexes and wizarding agility combine.”

Justin smirked. “Let’s do it, Harry. And remember—he’s just jealous.”

Draco, across the gym, scowled but didn’t dare interrupt as Hooch blew her whistle again. The drills continued, tension and skill interweaving in a lively, competitive rhythm that filled the new gymnasium.
_______________________

Later, the clatter of chairs and low murmur of voices filled the new Human Language classroom as Harry, Justin, Susan, Hannah, Hermione, Rolf, Terry, Lisa, Daphne, Blaise, Draco, Theodore, Padma, Parvati, Emma, and Ernie filed in. The desks were arranged in neat semi-circles, facing a polished blackboard covered in runes and magical symbols. The room had large windows letting in a soft golden light, and a faint scent of parchment and ink lingered in the air.

Harry settled at a desk beside Justin and Susan, glancing around at the others. “Well, at least it’s optional,” he whispered to Justin. “Fewer people means fewer distractions, I guess.”

Justin shrugged, still adjusting his satchel. “I’m just curious how this class will be. Magic and languages… that’s new to me.”

Madam Pince entered quietly, her robes swishing, her eyes sharp as ever. “Good morning,” she said, her voice slightly softened for the first-years. “This classroom is newly built beside the library, designed for practical use as well as theory. Today, we will begin with an introduction to the wizarding way of learning languages.”

The students leaned forward, intrigued. Madam Pince continued, “In the wizarding world, the method of acquiring language is… rather unique. There exists a magical device and an accompanying spell capable of transferring the grammar, alphabet, and syllabic structure of any language directly into the mind of the learner.”

Harry’s eyes widened slightly. Direct transfer? That’s insane… He thought about his own muggle primary school experience, where he had learned French and Spanish through hours of repetition and rote memorization. If this works, I’d be done in a day… but I suppose mastery will still take practice.

Madam Pince’s voice cut through his thoughts. “However, this spell is not instantaneous fluency. Even after the transfer, a minimum of six months of practice in speaking, writing, and reading is necessary. Texts, literature, and conversation will consolidate knowledge into true proficiency.”

Harry’s mind raced. Six months… that’s nothing compared to what it took in muggle school, and I already know French and Spanish. I might be able to apply the spell to other languages and… wow, this is incredible.

Hannah leaned over, whispering, “Does that mean we could actually become fluent in like ten languages if we keep at it?”

“Technically, yes,” Madam Pince interjected, her eyes scanning the room. “But remember, mastery requires dedication. Learning a language is as much about nuance, culture, and usage as it is about grammar and vocabulary.”

Justin nudged Harry quietly. “So basically, if we use this spell, we could breeze through some OWL requirements?”

Harry nodded, thinking fast. “I mean, I already know French and Spanish. That’s two languages down for one OWL. One OWL in Human Language would basically be mine if I keep practicing.”

Madam Pince continued, “For the purposes of OWLs, fluency in two languages is required for a pass in this subject. Additional languages can be used for higher grades or for specialized examinations. There are numerous certifications available at this school, depending on how many languages a student chooses to study.”

Harry’s fingers tapped the desk in excitement. So many options… I could combine this with my muggle knowledge and potentially ace the OWLs without much struggle. This is perfect for Healing studies too—communication with magical creatures or international wizards would be easier.

Rolf leaned over to Terry, whispering, “Did you hear that? The magical spell thing sounds… borderline cheating.”

Terry chuckled. “It’s not cheating if it’s allowed. Think of it as a shortcut muggles don’t have.”

Madam Pince glanced at the group, catching some of their murmurs. “Learning languages in a wizarding way requires discipline, even with magical assistance. The exams—OWLs and later NEWTs—will test true fluency, comprehension, and usage, not mere memorization.”

Harry thought about the sheer number of exams. Languages, flying, Quidditch, Herbology, Potions… and now Human Language. There’s so much to choose from, and I can see myself excelling at this one easily. I just need to plan carefully.

Hannah whispered, “Harry, you’re already ahead of half the class just with your muggle languages.”

He grinned, feeling a familiar flutter of confidence. “Yeah… it’s like being prepped for one OWL before the class even started.”

The bell chimed softly, signaling the transition to practice exercises. Madam Pince gestured toward a set of magical devices arranged neatly on a side table. “Today, we will begin with theory and discussion. Next time, the devices will be demonstrated for practical use.”

Harry leaned back slightly, looking at the devices, already imagining how much faster he could advance with his prior knowledge.

The class buzzed with quiet excitement, whispers of possibilities, and the sense that wizarding language learning was nothing like what any of them had experienced before.

Harry’s hand trembled slightly as he scribbled his name on the signup sheet for Gaelic, Latin, Greek, and German. “Six languages in one year…” he muttered under his breath, feeling a flutter of excitement. “Three OWLs for language alone, if I manage to stay on track. That’s… insane.”

Justin, who had been peering over the sheet, blinked. “You’re… you’re actually doing six languages? That’s… wow. I thought I’d be ambitious with two.”

Harry grinned, cheeks warming. “Well, we I already know French and Spanish from muggle school. That’s two down before the year even began. These four are… well, a challenge, but Pince seemed impressed when she tested me. She said my foundation’s solid enough to handle it.”

Susan, sitting nearby, raised an eyebrow. “Impressed? You mean she didn’t just glare at you like usual?”

Harry chuckled. “No glare this time. She asked me some basic grammar questions in French and Spanish, and I answered them. Apparently, I didn’t make her regret giving me a little test.”

Hannah nudged him. “So, theoretically, if you ace all six languages, that’s three OWLs already? That’s… insane.”

“Exactly,” Harry said, feeling a thrill. Three OWLs just for languages. That’s… almost unbelievable. His mind raced ahead, imagining the paperwork, the certificates, and the sheer respect that would come with excelling so early. “I just have to remember… pace myself. Six languages isn’t just about copying spells into your head. It’s about practice, literature, conversation… all of it.”

Madam Pince approached, her sharp gaze sweeping over the students. “Mr. Potter, I see you have chosen an ambitious schedule,” she said, her voice calm but carrying authority. “Gaelic, Latin, Greek, and German… a wise choice if you wish to achieve true mastery of Human Languages. With French and Spanish already under your belt, you are well-prepared. But remember, theory alone will not suffice.”

Harry nodded eagerly. “Yes, Madam Pince. I’ll make sure to practice each language properly.”

She allowed a small, approving nod before moving to check on another student. Harry’s heart thumped. This is actually happening. Six languages. Three OWLs. Just… wow.

Justin leaned closer, whispering, “Do you think you can actually handle it? I mean, six languages in one year?”

Harry shrugged, a grin tugging at his lips. “I have to. Think of it this way—each language is like a puzzle. I already know the patterns for two. The magical transfer spells will help with grammar and alphabet for the new ones. The rest is just practice and reading. Besides, I have to master them before OWLs not just in one year. So technically I have 5 years. I can handle it. ”

Susan smirked. “You always say that, and you always do.”

Hannah laughed softly. “Don’t forget, Harry—just because you can do it doesn’t mean it’ll be easy. Pince is strict, even when she seems… well, less terrifying than usual.”

Harry’s mind flickered to the implications. Three OWLs before I even start trying for other subjects. Healing, Quidditch, flying… if I manage languages this year, it sets a pace for everything else. And… it would make me stand out, even among The Thirteen.

He glanced at Justin and the others. “I mean, just think of it—if I ace these, I’ll have a huge head start. Languages are going to be… fun, actually.”

Justin shook his head, a mix of admiration and disbelief. “You’re completely insane, Potter. Six languages… I’ll be happy with two, maybe three.”

Harry laughed quietly. “It’s not insanity if it’s planned. Besides… it’s for OWLs. It’s worth it.”

Madam Pince’s voice cut through the room again, firm and sharp. “Begin familiarizing yourselves with the alphabets and texts provided on the tables. The devices will be introduced next time for practical use. Any questions?”

Harry’s hand shot up before he even realized. “Madam Pince, will the magical transfer spell help with pronunciation as well, or only grammar and alphabet?”

She regarded him for a moment. “It transfers understanding of structure, syntax, and pronunciation rules. Actual fluency will still require spoken practice. You may find it advantageous that you already have experience speaking two languages, Mr. Potter.”

Harry’s grin widened. Exactly. Advantage locked in. He glanced at the books before him: Gaelic runes, Latin scripts, Greek letters, German phonetics. Three OWLs… just imagine the certificates, the notation… this is going to be incredible.

Justin groaned softly beside him. “You’re going to crush this year.”

Harry laughed, the thrill of possibility settling deep in his chest. “I hope so, Justin. I really hope so.”
______________

The transition from Human Language class to Fine Arts was smooth, the castle corridors buzzing with students who had opted for the weekend sessions. Harry walked alongside Justin, Susan, Hannah, and the rest of The Thirteen—Ron, Hermione, Neville, Terry, Lisa, Rolf, Daphne, Tracey, and Blaise—towards the newly designated Fine Arts classroom. Even the Slytherins like Draco, Theodore were present, their usual airs slightly softened by curiosity.

As they entered, the room immediately struck Harry. Easels lined the walls, music stands were set in neat rows, and a section of the room was cleared for dancing. “Ah, welcome, students,” came a melodic voice. Professor Lyra Fontaine stepped forward, her robes flowing like water and her eyes twinkling with subtle mischief. “Fine Arts is not just about aesthetic pleasure. It is about expression, discipline, and connection to both self and world. And yes, it is indeed optional, but I see nearly everyone here has made the correct choice.”

Harry exchanged a grin with Susan. “Looks like everyone wants some culture today,” he whispered.

Fontaine clapped her hands lightly. “Now, let us discuss the structure. There are six key areas in Fine Arts: Painting, Drawing, Playing a Musical Instrument, Composing Music, Singing, and Dancing. For an OWL or NEWT in this subject, students need to demonstrate skill in at least one area to pass. Excellence, of course, can come from multiple areas.”

Harry felt a flutter of excitement. Drawing and music? That’s perfect. He had always enjoyed sketching diagrams in Muggle biology and other subjects, and with a bit of guidance, he could turn that into true artistry. And the guitar he had received for his eighth birthday? That could be his musical expression, something unique that could give him a real edge.

“I already have some experience in drawing,” Harry whispered to Justin. “I think I’ll focus on that and maybe the guitar. I just need to make my style… my own.”

Justin grinned. “You’ll crush it, Harry.”

Susan raised her hand. “Professor Fontaine, may we choose more than one area? I’d like to try Drawing and Singing, if possible.”

“Of course,” Fontaine replied warmly. “Exploration is encouraged, though your OWL or NEWT requirements will be based on the area where you demonstrate true proficiency. You have time to practice and refine over the year. Remember, expression matters as much as technical skill.”

Hannah piped up next. “I’m going for Painting, definitely. Maybe Drawing too. I’ve done a bit of both back home.”

“Excellent,” Fontaine nodded. “And for music?”

Blaise raised his hand lazily. “Composing. I’ve dabbled in writing tunes. Might as well formalize it.”

“Good,” Fontaine replied, then turned her gaze to the Hufflepuff table. “Harry Potter?”

Harry straightened. “Drawing, Professor. And I play guitar, so… music as well.”

“Wonderful,” she said, smiling. “Make your art reflect your inner voice. That is the first rule of Fine Arts.”

Ron muttered to Hermione, “I’ll just stick to Drawing. I can’t sing to save my life.”

Hermione whispered back, “I’ll try Drawing and Composing. It might be fun.”

Neville, always hesitant, looked at the list of areas nervously. “Uh… maybe Painting? I like Herbology diagrams, maybe I can…?”

“You may, Mr. Longbottom,” Fontaine said encouragingly. “Your botanical studies may serve you well.”

Lisa and Terry, both Ravenclaws, exchanged glances. “Drawing for me,” Lisa said. “I like illustrating spells and magical creatures.”

“I’ll try Music,” said Rolf. “Playing is easier than writing spells today.”

Daphne and Tracey decided on Singing, while Justin confirmed he’d attempt Drawing and maybe experiment with Playing a Musical Instrument, curious to see if his fingers could handle it. Padma raised her hand for Drawing, Parvati for Singing, Emma for Painting, and Ernie hesitated before finally choosing Composing Music.

Professor Fontaine clapped her hands. “Excellent! You all have made wise choices. Now, begin by familiarizing yourselves with the tools and materials in your respective areas. Let the exercise awaken both skill and imagination.”

Harry’s heart pounded with excitement as he picked up pencils and sketch pads, his guitar safely stowed in his bag. Five years before OWLs… that’s plenty of time to refine both drawing and music. This could be one of the most enjoyable subjects yet.

Justin leaned over. “Think you’ll become famous for your art, Potter?”

Harry laughed quietly. “Famous? Maybe. But for now… I just want to see what I can create.”

As the students spread across the classroom, Fontaine began demonstrating techniques for drawing and shading, and the gentle hum of pencil on paper mixed with the soft strum of instruments as everyone began their first tentative steps into Fine Arts.
_______________

The transition from Fine Arts to the last period of the day was leisurely, the castle corridors humming with the shuffle of half the first years who had opted for Craftsmanship. Harry walked beside Justin, Susan, and Hannah, while Ron, Daphne, Tracey, Lisa, Rolf, Neville, Padma, Parvati, Dean, Emma, Sue, Anthony, Michael, and Pansy followed behind. Only eighteen first years had taken this class, a much smaller group than Fine Arts or Sports, which gave it a more intimate and hands-on feeling.

The classroom smelled faintly of wood shavings, metal polish, and clay, with benches lined neatly along the walls and tools of every imaginable craft laid out. Professor Tobin Fletcher, a tall, lean man with a constant glint of amusement in his eyes, greeted the students. “Welcome, young artisans,” he said, sweeping a hand across the room. “Craftsmanship is a subject where imagination meets technique. You may opt for one area for your OWL or NEWT, or choose more if ambition drives you.”

Harry’s eyes scanned the room. Pottery wheels were set up near the windows, sculpting tools in one corner, metalwork benches in another, and a small section with glassblowing apparatus. There were also workstations for woodworking, wand-making, broom-making, jewelry crafting, and even fashion design. “Ten major areas,” Fletcher continued. “Pottery, Sculpting, Blow Glass, Stained Glass, Woodworking, Metallurgy, Wand-making, Broom-making, Fashion Designing, and Jewelry Design.”

Harry’s mind raced. I don’t really know any of these… except I might be able to try metallurgy. And wand-making… I have that book Ollivander gave me, though it’s very technical. He glanced at the broom-making section and imagined flying broom replicas and fine tuning handles. Pottery seemed dull. Jewelry and woodworking required a precision he knew he didn’t yet possess. Glass felt fragile, far too tricky. Five years before OWLs gave him time. I can experiment. Learn slowly.

He murmured to Justin, “I think metallurgy… maybe wand-making eventually, but I’ll start small.”

Justin nodded. “I was thinking wand-making too. But maybe I’ll try sculpting first. Seems fun.”

Susan raised her hand. “I want to do pottery and sculpting. I love shapes.”

Hannah piped up, “I’ll try jewelry design. It looks intricate, but I think I can manage with practice.”

Ron, looking uncertain, muttered, “Woodworking… maybe broom-making. Could be… interesting.”

Daphne whispered to Tracey, “Fashion design. We can make robes look… fabulous.” Tracey nodded eagerly.

Lisa chose blow glass, Rolf stained glass. Neville, cautious as always, opted for pottery. Padma and Parvati split between jewelry and metalwork. Dean picked broom-making with a grin. Emma wanted sculpting. Sue chose pottery, Anthony metallurgy and blow glass , Michael wand-making, and Pansy, predictably, went for jewelry design.

Professor Fletcher moved among them, watching closely, a small smile playing on his lips. “Each of you has remarkable potential. Over the next five years, I will guide your technique, ensure your skills develop, and help you discover your strengths.” He paused, letting the students absorb his words. “Craftsmanship is patience, precision, and creativity. What you begin here may become your life’s work, or at the very least, a lifelong passion.”

Harry studied the metallurgy bench, tracing his fingers along the smooth metal tools. I can do this. Just have to focus. And with the book… maybe wand-making later. Five years is plenty of time.

Justin was already bending over a sculpting piece, chipping gently at a clay model. Susan and Hannah were quietly discussing patterns for pottery wheels. Ron fidgeted with wood shavings, glancing nervously at the broom-making section.

Fletcher moved to Harry’s side, peering at his thoughtful expression. “Metallurgy, Potter? A fine choice. Precision, patience, and understanding the properties of each metal are key. Start simple, and over time, we will advance to forging magical instruments.”

Harry’s heart skipped. “Yes, Professor. I’ll try my best.”

Fletcher nodded approvingly, then moved on, already offering guidance to another student at a jewelry bench. “Remember, each of you will have tailored challenges. I’ve selected these students carefully—your talent is evident. Let’s make the most of this first session.”

Harry set to work cautiously, examining the metal pieces before him, imagining small intricate shapes he could forge. He glanced around at his friends, each absorbed in their chosen craft, the room buzzing with the quiet hum of focused effort, the scent of wood, metal, and clay filling the air.
______________________________

A/n: I hope You like it. Please ignore grammatical and spelling errors. 

Okay, so Harry’s horizon is expanding!! This chapter was packed with new subjects, and I really hope you liked the approach I took with them. I believe that since Hogwarts is an elite school, it should be difficult and demanding, just like other schools of that caliber. It’s not a specialized academy, so it has to offer every possible domain, giving students the freedom to choose their interests over time—experimenting with new things and eventually finding the true voice of their heart!!

As the story goes on, we’re going to explore these subjects in much more detail, and I’ll try to make them even more fun. For now, this was just the introduction.

Anyway, I’ll admit that I took the language-transfer idea from the White Angel of Auralon fanfictions. He’s an amazing fanfic writer, and I really admire his work.

Hey for this story I wasn't able to decide Chapter names easily so for fun why don't you all comment what you think chapter name can be ? I will be waiting.

Thanks for reading. § Hinny Forever § Please Review!!!

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or its universe. All original elements belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This story is a work of fanfiction created purely for entertainment purposes - no copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made. Any original characters, events, or concepts beyond the established canon are the author's own creative additions to expand the magical world respectfully.
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Harry was hunched over his small metal piece, the smooth edges catching the flickering light of the Hufflepuff common room fire. He tapped gently with his tiny hammer, shaping it with careful precision. The rhythmic clang of metal was oddly soothing after a week packed with classes, flying tests, and broom shopping.

"Potter," came a voice from the dorm tunnel. Harry looked up to see Ronson Dipple approaching, his expression businesslike. "Sprout said she'll be here in a few minutes for the weekly house meeting. Better wrap up or put your tools away."

Harry wiped his hands on a rag and nodded, letting Maple trot over to curl up at his feet. "Thanks, Ronson. I almost lost track of time. This metal piece can wait a little."

Within minutes, Pomona Sprout swept into the common room, her presence immediately commanding attention. "Good afternoon, Hufflepuffs," she began, her voice warm but firm. "We'll keep this week's house meeting focused and efficient. First years, I want to hear about your initial impressions and how you've been settling in."

Harry glanced at Justin, Susan, and Hannah. All three were sitting cross-legged on the floor, eager yet slightly nervous. "I can start," Harry said, standing. "Everything's been... well, a bit overwhelming, but exciting. Classes, flying, and even the optional subjects-they're all really interesting."

Sprout nodded encouragingly. "Very good. And flying, Potter? I saw your performance earlier this week. You and Finch-Fletchley both did exceptionally well."

Justin gave a small wave, slightly embarrassed by the praise. "Thank you, Madam Sprout."

Susan chimed in, "Herbology is amazing. I never imagined plants could have so many magical applications."

Hannah nodded. "And the Quidditch tryouts were intense, but it's inspiring seeing older students so skilled."

Sprout's eyes twinkled. "I'm glad the first years are adjusting well. But let's also review the house's overall performance." She pulled a small ledger from her bag and flipped it open. "This week, Hufflepuff has earned a total of one ninety-four points and lost only twenty-four. That's a very healthy ratio. Keep up the good work."

A murmur of approval rippled through the room. Several older students nodded, some exchanging quiet congratulations.

"Now, for discipline," Sprout continued, scanning her notes. "Only one student has received detention this week-Zacharias Smith. The detention was issued by Madam Hooch due to inappropriate remarks toward other students during flying lessons." She looked directly at the first years, her tone serious but fair. "Remember, Hufflepuff values loyalty, fairness, and courage. Any attempts to belittle others, for whatever reason-blood status, fame, or skill-will not be tolerated."

Harry felt a small surge of satisfaction. Zacharias' behavior had been irritating, especially the comments about Justin being muggleborn and Harry being the Boy Who Lived, but it seemed the staff were handling it appropriately.

Sprout adjusted her moonstone spectacles and flipped to the next page of her enormous sunflower-yellow ledger. The common room had gone unusually quiet-no crackling fire, no whispering badgers-just the faint rustling of parchment and Maple's tail thumping against the carpet.

"Now," Sprout said, tapping the page with her quill, "before we move on, I want to address a few matters regarding dorm cleanliness." A few groans rose instantly. "Yes, yes, I hear you," she chuckled. "But when three potted Puffbloom seedlings go missing and turn up under someone's pillow-fully sprouted-I must intervene."

Hannah flushed pink. "Professor... they were cold in the greenhouse. I just wanted them to be cozy."

"They grew vines down the staircase," Justin whispered loudly. "Nearly tripped me!"

Sprout raised a hand. "The sentiment is admirable, Miss Abbott, but please refrain from smuggling plants into dormitories. No matter how nurturing you are." The Hufflepuffs snickered.

Harry sat cross-legged near the front, Maple curled loyally against his boots. He glanced around the room, feeling that same familiar hum of warmth. Merlin, this feels like home, he thought. Not even the occasional argument or prank seemed to break the golden calm of the house.

Sprout flipped another page. "That brings us to club sign-ups. Hufflepuff currently has the highest volunteering rate for Greenhouse Duty-very proud of you all-but I'd like more of you to consider Magical First Aid Club as well. Mister Potter has already shown excellent initiative."

Harry startled a bit at the attention. "Er-just wanted to learn more, Professor."

"You'll learn plenty," she said warmly. "Healing requires patience, empathy, and focus... all of which you have in spades."

A few second-years nudged one another. "Told you he's going to be some legendary Healer."

"Probably will save the entire school one day."

Harry pretended not to hear, cheeks warming.

Sprout continued, "Now, regarding inter-house relations. I'm pleased to see so many of you studying with Ravenclaws, Slytherins and Gryffindors. The library reported a record low of hexed books this week-progress!" She clapped once. "However, I must insist that we stop trading biscuits for completed essays. It's unethical... and quite fattening."

Ernie raised his hand stiffly. "Professor, hypothetically speaking, if someone were to help a classmate with corrections-"

"No, Mister Macmillan," Sprout interrupted with a knowing smile, "you may not charge two Chocolate Cauldrons per paragraph."

More laughter rippled across the room.

Maple shifted at Harry's feet, giving a soft whine as if deeply offended by the lack of attention. Harry leaned down to rub behind her ears. Maple melted instantly, tail sweeping the rug. "Good girl, Maple," he murmured. "Looks like we've got a good start to the year."

Susan raised her hand. "Professor, may I ask about the schedule for next week's greenhouse session? I heard we're working with Venom-caps?"

"Oh yes," Sprout beamed. "They're perfectly safe as long as you don't touch them, breathe too near them, or insult their color." The students blinked. "I jest... mostly."

A ripple of nervous muttering spread.

Sprout flipped another page yet again. "I've also noted exceptional contributions to class participation and teamwork. Potter, Finch-Fletchley, and several others have demonstrated diligence in flying and herbology. Well done."

Justin puffed his chest. "Hear that, Harry? We're officially diligent."

"I'll put it on my résumé," Harry whispered back.

Sprout closed her ledger with a decisive snap. "That concludes this week's meeting. Continue to work hard, support your housemates, and remember-Hufflepuff's strength lies in unity and effort."

She stood, staff in hand. "Dismissed."

The room burst back into its usual cozy chaos-students gathering chocolate frogs, Maple trotting eagerly toward the treat bowl, Cedric chatting about Quidditch practice, and Harry feeling, more than ever, that belonging was something real and solid.

Warm. Steady. Safe.

Home.

As the students began chatting quietly and settling back into corners of the common room, Harry glanced at Justin, Susan, and Hannah. "Looks like we survived our first week," he said, a grin spreading across his face.

"Barely," Justin muttered with a smirk, "but we made it-and made it onto the team, no less."

Susan laughed softly, "And no new detentions for us, thankfully."

Hannah added, "Let's hope next week is just as smooth-though, I doubt it will be boring."

Harry tapped lightly at his metal piece again, thinking. First week down. Flying test passed, broom bought, team positions secured... and we're keeping Hufflepuff on the winning side of the ledger. Not bad at all.

Maple wagged her tail at the sound, and Harry leaned back, enjoying the warmth of the common room and the sense of accomplishment that had settled over the first week of Hogwarts.
______________________________

Next day, September 8, Sunday, Harry woke at precisely five in the morning, his body already used to the rhythm despite only a week at Hogwarts. The dormitory was silent, save for the soft breathing of his roommates. He slipped out of bed, dressed quietly, and tied his trainers before heading out of the Hufflepuff basement.

The early dawn air was cold enough to nip at his cheeks, but Harry welcomed it. The castle grounds were almost eerily peaceful at that hour. He crossed the lawns toward the new gymnasium and running track beside the Quidditch pitch, mist still clinging to the edges of the grass.

Harry began with warm-ups, rolling his shoulders and stretching his legs. After that he ran laps, breathing steadily, pushing his stride longer and cleaner. "Come on, Harry, one more," he muttered to himself, speeding up. After twenty minutes of running, he moved to strength exercises, then practiced the flexibility routine Madam Hooch had shown them in Sports and Games. It was a strict regimen, but Harry loved the burn in his muscles, the clarity it brought to his mind.

By the time he finished, sunlight had begun creeping up the hills. Harry returned to the castle, showered, put on fresh robes, and then headed to breakfast where the rest of the Thirteen were already gathering. As always, they chose to sit together, and today they settled at the Gryffindor table. No one questioned it anymore; the sight of all thirteen clustered like their own miniature army had become familiar.

Ron waved him over. "Finally! Blimey, Harry, did you run a marathon?"

Harry smiled and dropped into the seat beside Susan. "Just the usual. You lot look half-dead."

"Because it is Sunday," Hermione said pointedly, stabbing her toast. "Sunday. As in a day normal students use for rest."

Tracey snorted. "Normal students also do not sign up for ten optional subjects."

Hermione glared. "It is not ten."

"Feels like it," Blaise commented lazily.

Justin rubbed his eyes. "Tell me again why we have class today?"

Neville answered with a groan. "Because Hogwarts hates us."

Susan shook her head. "No. Because Professor Mac Tavish teaches only on weekends."

"Which is even worse," Ron muttered. "Weekend classes should be a crime."

Harry laughed. "You four should not have opted out even if Martial Arts and Weaponry is optional."

Hermione lifted her chin. "Some people prefer studying things that will not break their bones."

Rolf shrugged. "I chose enough already. No need to add punching and stabbing to my list."

Lisa raised her hand. "Same. I'd rather learn eight languages than get kicked in the stomach."

Daphne rested her elbows on the table. "You four will regret it when the rest of us become elite duelists with perfect reflexes."

"Or broken noses," Ron countered.

Tracey smirked. "Draco will have one of those soon enough even without the class."

That earned a round of snickers.

Harry poured himself pumpkin juice, feeling a warm buzz of anticipation. "Honestly, I'm excited. Martial arts, weapon forms, stance work-it all sounds brilliant. Plus Mac Tavish reportedly teaches regional magical combat styles. That could be incredibly useful."

Blaise nodded. "Mother said he is one of the toughest instructors Hogwarts has. Apparently he used to train Aurors before becoming a professor."

Hannah leaned forward. "Do you think he will actually teach us how to use swords?"

Justin grinned. "I hope so. Imagine dueling with one."

Neville made a horrified squeak. "Why would you want a sword? A wand is terrifying enough!"

Hermione patted his shoulder. "Exactly. That is why we chose not to take the class."

Terry stretched his arms. "Well, at least it is just one period today. Then we have the whole Sunday free."

Harry nodded. "True. One tough class and then the entire afternoon. Maybe we can study later. Or fly."

Ron brightened. "Flying. Yes. Studying can wait."

Hermione's fork paused. "Ronald Weasley."

Ron froze. "I mean... both are important?"

Laughter echoed across the table. The Thirteen ate, teased, and chatted while the Great Hall filled slowly with students stumbling in for breakfast. Harry felt a familiar warmth settle in his chest. Friends, food, a new class to try, and a Sunday full of possibilities.

Ambitious or not, he thought, this is exactly the Hogwarts I always dreamed of.

After breakfast, the Thirteen drifted out of the Great Hall and made their way toward the Astronomy Tower, the early morning light spilling across the staircases. Sunday lessons meant a strange, relaxed pace in the castle, and students lounged in corridors with an ease absent on weekdays.

Terry stretched as they climbed. "Two full hours before class. Perfect. Enough time to actually unwind."

Hannah agreed. "Last week was intense. A break is long overdue."

When they reached the tower, the crisp altitude breeze greeted them. The group settled in a loose circle on the stone floor, backs against pillars, conversations intertwining in soft threads. Justin pulled a sleek deck of Muggle playing cards from his pocket.

"Right," he said, shuffling them with practiced ease. "Who here has never played Muggle cards before?"

Daphne, Tracey, Neville, Blaise, and Susan all raised their hands hesitantly.

Harry grinned. "You lot are in for a treat. Justin, Hermione, and I will teach."

Hermione adjusted her sleeves primly. "We will start simple. No need to terrify them with strategy-heavy games yet."

Tracey narrowed her eyes. "Hermione, any game becomes terrifying the moment you explain it."

Hermione sniffed. "Accuracy is not terrifying."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "It is when you provide a lecture instead of rules."

Justin laughed. "Alright, alright. Let us start with something basic. Snap."

Daphne tilted her head. "That sounds violent."

Harry snorted. "Only if you're slow."

Justin placed the deck between them and began explaining. "The goal is simple. Match two cards in succession and slap the pile first."

Neville gulped. "Slap? As in hit it?"

"Lightly," Harry said, demonstrating with a tap. "Unless you are Ron. He nearly broke Harry's hand once," Hermione added dryly.

Ron puffed up. "I was enthusiastic!"

Soon the game began. Cards flicked down rapidly, and reactions were a blend of confusion, excitement, and chaos.

"Wait-was that a match?" Susan asked.

"No!" Tracey shouted, slapping anyway.

"Oy!" Blaise yelped as her hand collided with his. "Tracey, your reflexes are criminal."

Daphne made a clean, elegant slap when two sevens aligned. "I believe that is my win."

Justin let out a low whistle. "Natural talent. Someone get her on a Quidditch team."

Neville finally slapped a correct match, eyes wide, as if surprised he actually succeeded. "I did it!"

Harry grinned. "See? Muggle games are just as fun."

Padma, Parvati, and Emma drifted over from the far railing, intrigued by the noise, and joined, turning the game into full-fledged bedlam. Hermione eventually switched them to Go Fish, then to Rummy, explaining rules with precision while the group teased and bickered.

By ten fifteen, laughter had softened into conversation, and bags were packed again.

"We should head out," Harry said, glancing at his watch. "Mac Tavish does not seem like someone who tolerates tardiness."

Lisa rose and brushed dust from her robe. "Hermione and I are going to the library. We want to review next week's Transfiguration reading."

Hermione nodded. "Yes. Also I need to return the Latin dictionary Madam Pince recommended."

Ron clapped Harry's shoulder. "Rolf and I are checking on Hagrid. Maple can stay with us. She loves visiting him."

Maple, trotting beside Harry, barked once in agreement before nuzzling Ron's hand.

"Take care of her," Harry said.

Ron placed a hand over his heart. "With my life."

Rolf chuckled. "He means it. Probably too much."

The group split smoothly, in the way only long-standing routines allow. Hermione and Lisa descended toward the library. Ron, Maple, and Rolf veered toward the sloping grounds where Hagrid's hut sat like a squat, friendly giant and Neville to greenhouses.

The remaining 9-Harry, Justin, Susan, Hannah, Daphne, Neville, Tracey, Blaise, and Terry-began heading down the spiral tower steps toward the new Training Classroom that had been constructed specifically for Martial Arts and Weaponry.

The atmosphere shifted as they descended through the castle; excitement hummed faintly beneath their conversations.

Hannah walked beside Harry. "Do you think this class will be very intense?"

Harry nodded. "Mac Tavish trained Aurors. He will not hold back."

Terry smirked. "Good. About time we learned something that might actually save our skins."

Daphne swept her hair over her shoulder. "I expect discipline. And challenge. Both are preferable to idleness."

Behind them, Justin nudged Blaise. "Bet five sickles Tracey trips before class even starts."

Tracey glared. "Bet ten you eat those words in front of Mac Tavish."

"Merlin's pants, you two never stop," Susan muttered, laughing anyway.

The stairs ended, and they stepped into the corridor leading to the reinforced double doors of the Training Room. A faint scent of polished wood, metal, and enchanted chalk hung in the air, already hinting at the rigorous training to come.

Harry inhaled deeply, a subtle thrill sparking in his chest.

Whatever waited behind those doors, he was ready for it.

The long corridor outside the Training Classroom hummed with a low current of anticipation as the group filed in. Harry stepped through the wide double doors and immediately took stock of the students already present. The room was spacious, lined with reinforced stone, padded sections, and tall racks draped with practice staves.

He paused when he noticed the attendance.
Other than Lisa, Hermione, Ron, and Rolf, several more first-years were nowhere to be seen. Draco Malfoy's pale hair was absent from the crowd. Goyle and Crabbe were missing as well, along with Pansy Parkinson.

Harry exhaled softly.
"Twenty-eight left," he muttered, counting quickly.
Susan leaned close. "Makes sense those four opted out. They never looked enthusiastic at the Feast."

Justin smirked. "Malfoy probably thinks physical training is something his father's galleons should do for him."

Tracey huffed a laugh. "Merlin's beard, that sounds exactly right."

The buzz around the room quieted when the doors at the front swung open. Professor Kenrik MacTavish strode in with a gait that made his heavy boots echo like drumbeats. His long braided beard swung slightly as his keen grey eyes swept across the assembled students.

"All right, lads and lasses," he barked, voice carrying easily. "Locker rooms to the right for boys, left for girls. Change into the training attire placed in your cubbies. Move sharp."

Everyone scattered. Harry and the boys entered a stone room fitted with small wooden lockers. Inside each cubby lay a neatly folded set of plain black training robes, softer and more fitted than regular school ones. Harry changed quickly, tied the loose belt around his waist, and stepped back out with Terry, Blaise, and Justin.

When the class reassembled, Professor MacTavish stood with arms folded, looking them over with a critical, almost craftsman-like eye.

"Good. Now that you look less likely to trip on your own robes, we begin."

His tone settled into something instructional but firm.

"My name is Kenrik MacTavish, though you already heard Headmaster Dumbledore introduce me at the Feast last week." He gave a dry smile. "Formality demands the introduction again. I am your instructor for Martial Arts and Weaponry."

The students stood straighter.

"This class is structured into two principal domains: Weapons and Martial Arts." He tapped the board, where titles appeared in neat block letters. "Weapons has two subfields: Weapon Making and Weapon Combat." He shifted to the next column. "Martial Arts has Magical Combat and Hand-to-Hand Combat."

A few students whispered excitedly.

MacTavish snapped his fingers, and small pamphlets floated into the air before descending neatly into each student's hands. The parchment unfolded into four densely packed columns listing everything from daggers to staves to gladii, as well as martial disciplines ranging from Taekwondo to Silat to Wushu.

Blaise whistled quietly. "That is a lot."

Harry scanned his pamphlet. Sword forms occupied nearly a full page. Kungfu styles stretched even longer.

MacTavish addressed the room again.
"Each of you will select one discipline from Weapons and one discipline from Martial Arts. Your training this year will revolve around mastering the fundamentals of both. Choose with thought. Your discipline will shape your reflexes, your form, your magical flow, and your duelcraft."

He paused, letting the weight of the decision settle.
"You will not change choices later unless injury or exceptional circumstances require it."

Harry considered the list.
Weapon making did not appeal; forging tools required patience and craftsmanship he doubted he possessed. Magical Combat seemed redundant, since hundreds of spells existed for magical confrontation and he was already studying those through Flitwick and others.

His eyes drifted back to the simpler categories.

Sword fighting.
Kungfu.

A quick spark of recognition fluttered in his chest. Swordsmanship required precision, balance, and focus. Kungfu demanded discipline and adaptability. Both aligned with the healer's mindset he aspired to cultivate: control, grace, and responsibility.

"Yes," he thought. "Those suit me."

Susan nudged him. "Chosen already?"
Harry nodded. "Kungfu and sword fighting."
Justin raised a brow. "Going classic, mate."
"Feels right," Harry replied.

Around them, other students murmured their selections.
Daphne tilted her head while studying the polearm section. "Spears look elegant."
Tracey groaned. "Merlin's pants, choose whatever keeps you from poking my eye out."
Neville whispered, "Maybe staff fighting... Gran always said discipline starts with stance."

MacTavish watched the shifting expressions and growing determination with a small approving nod.

"Once you have decided," he called, "stand ready. Your choices will be collected magically."

One by one, parchments began to glow faintly as students committed to their disciplines, and the room settled into focused anticipation for whatever MacTavish intended next.

The final glow faded from the selection parchments, signalling that all twenty-eight students had committed to their chosen disciplines. A low murmur settled in the room while MacTavish surveyed them with his arms folded, expression unreadable.

A Ravenclaw boy near the front hesitated before raising his hand.
"Professor, how will you manage this many students learning completely different disciplines? We only have one class per week. There are too many combinations."

The question spread instant tension. Several students shifted uneasily. Harry himself wondered the same thing. Weapon making alone looked like a year's work for a full class, let alone integrating weapon combat and martial arts in parallel.

MacTavish's stern face broke into a surprisingly amused grin.
"Ah. That question always arrives. Good. Means you are thinking."

Tracey whispered, "Sweet Circe, that smile is terrifying."
Daphne nudged her. "Hush before he decides to demonstrate something on us."

MacTavish clasped his hands behind his back.
"I trust most of you know that I teach a branch of the Rare Arts. Specifically, Regional Magic to sixth and seventh years."

Many nodded. A few students straightened with pride at recognising the subject.

"Excellent," he continued. "Regional Magic involves studying the unique magical cultures of different regions. Some of those regions developed arts that demand extraordinary discipline and multitasking."

He paused and tapped a finger against his temple.
"One such region is India."

Harry felt a brief flicker of interest. Justin mouthed "Oho" under his breath.

"In several Indian magical traditions," MacTavish said, "multitasking is not simply a skill. It is a basic expectation. They developed a rare magical method to increase efficiency. A potion that enables the drinker to split into multiple clones for a designated interval."

A wave of gasps rolled across the room.

Susan stared. "You mean actual clones? Not illusions?"
MacTavish nodded. "Actual corporeal duplicates. Fully autonomous. Each clone retains your memories, personality, and abilities. They operate independently until the effect ends. When the timer concludes, they merge back into one body, combining memories."

Blaise blinked rapidly. "Merlin's saggy socks. That sounds like something that could go catastrophically wrong."

"It can," MacTavish agreed without hesitation. "The potion is exceptionally advanced. Its brewing process requires precision beyond N.E.W.T. level Potions. Its usage demands mental discipline so that merging does not overwhelm your mind."

He smirked slightly.
"Fortunately, I know how to brew it. Learned it directly as part of my Regional Magic mastery in my younger years."

Hermione would have been squealing with academic joy if she were here, Harry thought absently.

MacTavish lifted a small wooden chest from behind his desk and placed it on the table with a thud.
"This potion is brewed once every term. I consume it before each class. I split into four or more clones. Each clone teaches one subgroup of students. That allows me to run four or more classes simultaneously every time we meet."

Terry raised a cautious hand. "Professor... does it not feel strange to merge back afterward?"

MacTavish laughed, an unexpectedly hearty sound.
"Strange? Aye. Like waking up from four different dreams at once. Takes a minute to orient, but nothing dangerous if brewed correctly."

Neville shivered. "That sounds exhausting."

"Efficiency often requires discomfort," MacTavish replied. "However, the result is worth it. You will all receive specialised instruction without sacrificing breadth."

Harry exchanged glances with Justin.
"So four MacTavishes running around," Justin muttered. "Brilliant, but also mildly terrifying."

Harry whispered, "Hope they are all equally strict."

Susan grimaced. "Imagine getting the clone that never smiles."

MacTavish clapped loudly once.
"Enough murmuring. You will be split into subgroups for the lesson. For today, fundamentals begin. Since you have chosen your paths, I will assess your base reflexes, stances, and body-magic alignment."

He beckoned them forward.
"Form a line. We start with movement analysis. I need to evaluate your natural footwork before determining training intensity."

The students straightened, excitement and nerves mingling in the air as they prepared for the first demonstration under the looming presence of a man who could, at any moment, become four.

MacTavish surveyed the assembled groups with sharp efficiency while the students straightened into a rough formation. His gaze swept over the parchment listing their chosen disciplines.
"In the first half of this period," he announced crisply, "we will focus on weapons. Martial arts will be handled afterward."

He tapped the parchment twice, activating a hovering copy that followed his line of sight.
"Only two of you selected weapon making. Both of you chose sword making. That is ambitious. Forging a sword requires patience, precision, and a willingness to respect the metal."
Two nervous Ravenclaws- Michael Corner and Anthony Goldstein- lifted their hands. MacTavish gestured for them to step aside.
"You two will form Group Alpha for this session."

His eyes moved down the parchment again.
"For weapon combat, the overwhelming majority of you have chosen sword fighting." He nodded approvingly. "Good choice. Swords cultivate balance, discipline, and strategic vision."

The students included Harry, Daphne, Tracey, Neville, Lavander, Parvati, Padma, Evelyn Scott, Lily Moon, Justin, Ernie Macmillan, Kevin Maxwell, Zacharias, Sue Li, Sarah Macdougal, Mandy Brocklehust.

Harry instinctively tightened his grip on the strap of his training bag. Sword fighting had always felt like a distant dream, something from stories rather than real life. Yet here he was.

MacTavish continued reading.
"A few of you have chosen staffs." Two Hufflepuffs- Susan & Hannah -stepped aside.
"Daggers." Three Gryffindors, Charlotte Perks, Dean and Seamus, moved.
"Twin blades." A Slytherin girl, Millicent Bulstrode, lifted her chin proudly.
"Longbow." A single Ravenclaw boy - Terry, raised his hand.
"Shields." One Hufflepuff, Emma Hopkins and one Slytherin - Theodre Nott, shifted together.
"And one of you chose the chain whip." A hush fell, and Blaise cleared his throat while raising his hand half-heartedly.
Tracey whispered, "You madman."
Blaise replied, "It looked cool on the pamphlet."

MacTavish's lips twitched. "Groupings will follow your choices. Weapon practitioners must learn directly from a specialist instructor. Fortunately..."
He pressed his palm against his chest. A faint glow pulsed outward.
"...I can provide several."

His form shimmered violently for a heartbeat. Then, with a flash like splitting light, he fractured into multiple identical selves. Gasps filled the room as five fully corporeal MacTavishes stood in a semicircle, each adjusting his robe like nothing unusual had occurred.

One MacTavish addressed them all.
"I am Group Omega's instructor. Sword fighters, with me."
Harry and the largest cohort stepped toward him, forming a disciplined cluster.
The other clones turned, each calling their respective groups:
"Group Alpha, forge station."
"Group Beta, staff formation."
"Group Delta, daggers."
"Group Gamma, specialised weapons."

The Omega MacTavish faced Harry's group with a contemplative expression.
"You wish to wield a sword. That is commendable. Yet before any of you touch a blade, you must understand movement, balance, breath, and posture. A sword magnifies your strengths, but it magnifies your flaws even more."

Daphne muttered, "Great. He is going philosophical already."
Tracey elbowed her. "Better philosophical than terrifying."

MacTavish paced before them.
"Lesson one. No weapon should create reliance. A sword is an extension of will, not a substitute for it. If your stance is weak, the sword becomes heavy. If your core collapses, the sword becomes clumsy. If your mind wavers, the sword becomes dangerous."

He pointed to the wooden floor.
"Spread out. Feet shoulder-width apart."

Harry mirrored the professor's demonstration. MacTavish moved with fluid danger, like a coiled serpent who knew exactly how frightening he looked.

"Good. Now bend your knees. Lower your center of gravity. Keep your spine straight. Harry, rotate your shoulders back slightly."
Harry complied. The adjustment grounded him more firmly.

"Before striking with a sword," MacTavish continued, "you must know how to move like a swordsman. So we begin with footwork. If your feet betray you, every technique you ever learn becomes worthless."

He demonstrated a quick forward lunge.
"Step forward. Heel touches first. Do not stomp. Do not drag. Flow."

They copied. Harry felt the unfamiliar weight distribution challenge his balance, but after a few repetitions, the rhythm began settling into his muscles.

MacTavish nodded once.
"Backward step. Do not lean. Never surrender your posture. Retreat with purpose, not panic."

They followed. Harry nearly leaned before catching himself.
Tracey whispered, "Feels like dancing."
Daphne replied, "Deadly dancing."

MacTavish gestured sharply.
"Side steps. Left. Right. Pivot on the ball of your foot. Again. Faster."

The group moved, stumbling at first, then gradually stabilising as their bodies learned the subtle harmonics of the motions. Sweat dotted Harry's brow. His muscles warmed with effort, but none of it felt tedious. Every movement carried intention.

MacTavish folded his arms.
"Good. Footwork is the root of every sword technique. Only after mastering flow can you wield a blade safely."

He stepped backward, conjuring a row of weighted wooden poles from the floor.
"These poles simulate sword heft. You will practice controlled movements. No swinging above the shoulder. No thrusts. Only hold and align."

He handed the first to Harry.
"Grip with respect. Not fear. Not arrogance."

Harry wrapped his hands around the wooden hilt.
Heavy. Solid. Real.

His heart thrummed with excitement. This was only the beginning. After a few tries it was almost time.

MacTavish clapped his hands once, producing a sharp crack that echoed across the vast training hall.
"Weapon training concludes for this period's first half," he announced. "Set down your practice poles. Hydrate. Stretch your shoulders. The second half will focus on martial arts."

Harry exhaled with relief as he lowered the weighted pole. His arms trembled, but the trembling felt satisfying. Susan dropped onto the nearest bench dramatically.
"Merlin's saggy stockings," she groaned. "My arms are noodles."
Hannah flopped beside her. "If noodles burned."

Justin, panting, nudged Harry. "Kungfu better be less brutal."
Harry snorted. "Doubt it."

MacTavish conjured a roll of parchment into his palm.
"These," he said, "are the martial arts choices you submitted. There are twenty-eight of you. You have divided yourselves into eight disciplines."

He read them aloud in steady cadence.
"Kungfu: ten students.
Taekwondo: four students.
Boxing: three students.
Judo: three students.
Karate: three students.
Taichi: two students.
Natural Flux Manipulation: One student Several students murmured at the unfamiliar term.
Arcane Kinetic Redirection: 2 Students."

Tracey whispered, "Those sound painfully complicated."
Daphne replied, "Which probably means effective."

Harry had selected Kungfu, along with Susan, Hannah, Neville, Terry, Blaise, Anthony, Padma, Emma, and Dean. A large, eager and slightly chaotic cluster.

MacTavish lowered the parchment and continued,
"For the second half, we will use a new grouping system. You will sort yourselves by the names of trees. Martial arts require groundedness, so this symbolism fits."

He drew his wand and tapped the floor. Circular emblems shimmered into existence across the room, each bearing the shape of a tree.

"Group Willow: Kungfu.
Group Oak: Taekwondo.
Group Cedar: Boxing.
Group Maple: Judo."
Neville brightened at that. "Finally a group named after my favourite tree."
Susan smirked. "Typical herbologist."

"Group Pine: Karate.
Group Birch: Taichi.
Group Yew: Natural Flux Manipulation.
Group Rowan: Arcane Kinetic Redirection."

Mandy Brocklehust, standing near the Magical Combat students, whispered nervously, "Rowan? That is a protective tree. Should we be worried?"
Terry answered dryly, "Probably."

MacTavish gestured for students to move.
"Find your group's sigil. Stand in formation. Your instructor will approach."

Harry moved toward the Willow circle. His group assembled quickly, still flushed from weapon drills. Emma bounced on her toes.
"This is brilliant. Two disciplines in one day."
Blaise muttered, "This is torture disguised as brilliance."

As soon as they formed up, light shimmered beside them. Another MacTavish clone stepped forward, distinct from the one who had instructed their sword group but equally sharp-eyed.

"Willow Group," he greeted. "Kungfu cultivates fluid strength, discipline of breath, and responsive motion. You will learn not merely to strike, but to perceive, interpret, and redirect."

Dean raised a hand. "Professor, are we going to break boards?"
MacTavish arched a brow. "Eventually. After you master movement. Boards do not matter. Your stance does."

He turned toward the center of the circle.
"Before technique, form. Before form, breath. Stand in horse stance."

Harry dropped into the position. His thighs screamed in protest.
Susan hissed, "Why does every class today try to kill our legs?"
Padma answered, "Because apparently wizards do not use them enough."

MacTavish paced between them, adjusting posture with swift taps.
"Neville, lower your hips. Blaise, keep your spine straight. Harry, excellent alignment, maintain it."

Harry felt a warm surge of pride. His morning workouts clearly helped.

Across the room, the Oak group launched into high kicks under another clone's stern supervision. The Cedar boxers practiced controlled jabs. The Maple judo students practiced rolls and soft falls. The Pine karate group repeated sharp, precise strikes. The Birch Taichi group moved like drifting water. Yew and Rowan groups in the far corner practiced magical channeling manoeuvres, runic footwork, and controlled bursts of energy that fizzled like contained fireworks.

A measuring hum filled the chamber. Such synchronized training felt almost ritualistic.

MacTavish's clone snapped his fingers.
"Rise. Shoulder rotations. Controlled. Do not rush."

The group followed.
"Kungfu," he continued, "is not about aggression. It is about awareness. It is about choosing the right moment to move and the exact shape of that movement."

Harry absorbed every word. His heart pounded with exhilaration. He sensed how this discipline could strengthen more than muscles. It sharpened focus, balance, and the mind's edge.

"Now," MacTavish said, stepping to the center again, "we begin the first sequence. Observe."

His movements flowed like liquid steel. A transition from low stance to sweeping guard to poised strike. Every motion controlled. Every shift measured. Every breath timed.

"Your turn," he commanded.

Harry moved. Not perfectly, but with intention. The pattern felt natural, almost instinctive. His body warmed to it.

"Again."
"Again."
"Again."

By the fifth repetition, Harry felt sweat drip down his temple. By the tenth, he began sensing the elegance beneath the strain.

MacTavish walked by and said,
"Well done, Willow Group. You show promise."

Harry straightened, breath steady but strong.
Kungfu resonated with him. Sword fighting complemented it. Both demanded discipline. Both required patience.

He found himself smiling. This was exactly where he wanted to be.

The period concluded with a sharp blast from MacTavish's whistle. The entire room fell still, twenty-eight exhausted students breathing like they had sprinted up every staircase in Hogwarts.

MacTavish's many clones strode toward the center of the hall in perfect synchronicity. With a muted ripple of magic, they folded together like reflections collapsing into a single body. The final fusion produced a faint crack, and the professor staggered a half-step.

"Blasted convergence lag," he muttered before regaining composure. He straightened his posture and addressed the class.
"Period concluded. You have performed commendably for first-years. Martial discipline requires continuous repetition. You receive only one class per week, so improvement depends entirely upon your willingness to practice independently. Work in pairs or alone, but work consistently."

He gestured toward the changing rooms.
"Return to your robes. Dismissed."

Students groaned, stretched, and filed toward the changing chambers with the gait of overly stiff puppets. Inside, Harry loosened his shoulders and rubbed feeling back into his forearms. Neville struggled with a stubborn knot in his laces.
"This class is brilliant," Neville said, "but my legs officially hate me."
Harry chuckled. "Your legs will thank you in a month."

Once changed, Harry, Neville, Tracey, Terry, Blaise, Daphne, Hannah, Justin, and Susan drifted toward the benches rather than the corridor. They lingered like the other clusters of students, unwilling to rush out while sweat still clung to their brows.

Tracey stretched her arms behind her head.
"Merlin's beard, sword drills and judo falls in one morning. Who invented this timetable?"
Daphne replied, "Someone sadistic. Possibly Dumbledore."

Harry leaned against the wall, contemplative.
"Sword forms will take time. We barely held practice poles, let alone actual blades."
Neville nodded vigorously. "Omega group needs twice the stamina. I nearly toppled over during stance training."
Tracey smirked. "You did, actually. Three times."

Across the benches, Susan massaged her wrists.
"Beta group felt tiny. Just Hannah and me with staff fighting."
Hannah grinned. "At least we did not have chain whips."
Blaise shot her a dry look. "Laugh now. When I accidentally decapitate a statue, you will be the first to panic."
Terry adjusted his glasses. "Better statues than students."

Justin, still serene from his Tai Chi sequence, exhaled.
"Birch group was calming. Slow, controlled. Felt like meditation."
Blaise muttered, "Wish my training involved meditation."
Tracey answered, "Chain whip users do not meditate; they survive."

Hannah nudged Harry.
"You enjoyed Kungfu."
Harry nodded. "It fits. Movements feel natural. Not easy, but natural."

The group sat for several long minutes in shared fatigue, letting the burn in their muscles settle. The other students had begun filing out, but these nine remained until the room felt less overwhelming.

Eventually Hannah groaned, "If we do not move now, we never will."
Susan pushed herself upright. "Lunch is waiting. No enchantment in the castle is stronger than hunger."

They finally rose, still sore but invigorated, and exited the training hall together.
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The Great Hall buzzed with midday chatter. At the Hufflepuff table, Lisa, Hermione, Ron, and Rolf had already gathered, leaving a generous stretch of seats open for the remaining members of the Thirteen. Maple lay under Ron's bench, tail thumping lazily.

Ron waved them over. "Oi. Took you long enough. Did MacTavish throw you off the battlements?"
Harry dropped into his seat. "Feels like it."

Hermione leaned forward impatiently.
"Well? Details. Everything. I want a full account."
Her eyes shone with academic hunger.

Tracey groaned. "Give us five minutes to breathe." Then she proceeded to tell about the clones.

Hermione replied, "Five minutes is four minutes too many when clones were involved. Clones, Harry. Clones. Actual macroscopic self-duplication."

Tracey laughed. "Told you she would explode at that part."

Harry took a sip of pumpkin juice, then recounted.
"He used a regional magic potion to split into eight identical clones. Full autonomy. They taught groups separately, each with personality intact."
Hermione clasped her hands. "That is extraordinary. Splitting consciousness while maintaining instructional coherence is near-impossible. The theoretical implications are marvellous."

Ron whispered loudly to Rolf, "She is off again."
Rolf sniggered. "She will write a thesis before dessert."

Neville added, "Kungfu was exhausting but satisfying. Maple of Judo looked intense too."
Daphne nodded. "Tracey and I were thrown on the mat more times than I wish to count."

Blaise tapped his fork against his plate.
"Chain whip training is going to be complicated. Terry, your longbow looked manageable."
Terry shrugged. "Feet positioning alone nearly twisted my spine. Archery is not gentle."

Justin smiled serenely.
"Tai Chi was calming. Perhaps after class ends you should all join me next time."
Tracey shot him a glare. "No thank you. I like my sanity."

Hermione finally managed,
"Harry, you have to describe the potion. Ingredients, effects, duration."
Harry shook his head. "He did not explain it in class."
Hermione groaned as if the universe had betrayed her.

Susan nudged her.
"He will explain when you take that Rare Arts elective in sixth year."
Hermione brightened instantly. "True. That is something to look forward to."

The group fell into comfortable chatter, mixing complaints, excitement, and the pleasant exhaustion of a productive Sunday morning. It felt like the perfect balance of ambition and camaraderie, the very essence of Hogwarts' first years learning who they were becoming.
______________________________

Harry changed out of his robes quickly and headed out with Ron, Justin, Susan, Terry, the Weasley twins, and Lee Jordan. The evening sky over the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch shimmered in soft gold and violet, the perfect backdrop for a casual match. Fred called dibs on one of the school brooms before George could snatch it.

"Oi, Harry, you are Seeker for both teams!" Fred announced with a wicked grin.

"That makes no sense," Harry replied, laughing.

"It does if the goal is chaos," George added.

Lee floated upward and shouted, "Blimey, let us just fly before Filch comes to chase us off."

They took to the air. Harry felt that familiar rush, the wind stroking past his ears like a wild spirit. Ron hovered near the hoops on an old Cleansweep, wobbling each time he turned. Justin tried to look confident, though his grip on the broom resembled someone clinging to life.

Fred tossed a makeshift Snitch, a golden-coloured rubber ball charmed to dart in random directions.

"There it goes!" Susan shrieked.

Harry dove after it, streaking past Ron so fast that Ron yelped, "Mate, you are trying to kill me!"

Terry attempted a loop but ended up hanging upside down, shouting, "Why is gravity so opinionated today?"

Fred hit a Bludger substitute that George had transfigured from a pillow. It bounced into Justin, who squeaked, spun twice, and nearly fell before Harry grabbed his cloak.

"Merlin's saggy socks, Justin, keep your center of balance," Harry said.

"I am a Tai Chi practitioner," Justin argued while spinning midair. "We value flow. The broom does not flow."

"It flows you right off if you keep doing that," Susan called out.

The pitch erupted with laughter as they continued their chaotic, exhilarating game. Harry finally caught the rubber Snitch after a spiraling chase that left everyone breathless. They drifted down to the grass, flushed and panting.

Ron fell flat on his back. "Best evening ever."

"Second best," Fred corrected. "First will be when Peeves finally learns respect."

"Impossible dream," Terry muttered.

Harry landed and banked the broom in a long, low sweep that made his stomach flip in the best possible way. The rubber Snitch winked away as Fred whooped and George whooped louder. "Nice one, Potter!" Fred sang.

"You nearly took my head off," Ron called from below, wobbling on his Cleansweep and trying to look stern rather than impressed.

"Right, that's enough theatrics," Oliver said, eyes bright. "Good practice, everyone."

The group broke up politely at the edge of the pitch. Gryffindors drifted toward their common room entrance; Fred and George lingered to grumble about tactical errors; Lee offered a running commentary that drew a chuckle from the crowd. Harry walked back toward the grounds' path with Justin and Susan, Maple trotting happily at his side.

"Good game," Justin said, still buzzing. "I can't believe I didn't fall off."

"You would have if Harry hadn't hung on to your robe," Susan replied. "He's got good reflexes."

Maple sniffed everyone in turn and chose to sit down and wag her tail, as if declaring the matter settled. Hagrid's hut was visible in the distance, lights warm in the dimming sky.

They all hugged in a loose, friendly knot of Hufflepuffs at the entrance to their tunnel. "Same time tomorrow?" Ernie asked.

"Depends on how much studying I get done," Harry said, grinning.

"Studying?" Justin made a face that was half shock and half admiration. "You, the broom-fiend, want to study?"

Harry shrugged. "If you want to improve, you prepare."

Susan ruffled Maple's ears. "Come on - showers first. Sprout said no muddy boots in the common room."

They ducked through the Hufflepuff entrance and down the familiar stair. The hobbit-scale common room smelled of wood polish and warm toast. Miranda and Ronson's contingent, the older prefects' quiet clusters, and several returning students doing their evening tasks.

"Did you take note of that dive?" Hannah asked as they peeled off damp cloaks and hung them near the hearth. "You went right under Fred's-"

"-and nearly took his eyebrows off," Ernie supplied.

Harry laughed and went straight for the small table in the corner where his textbooks had been waiting. He pulled out parchment and quill; his notes from Transfiguration and Herbology were already arranged in neat stacks. The common room's round windows showed only the twilight beyond; the murmured conversation and the occasional crackle from the fire made a congenial study space.

Justin collapsed into an armchair with a dramatic sigh. "You'll study now? After all that? The audacity."

"If I want to make the most of this year, I study," Harry said simply, sorting through his notes.

"Do you have to do two hours?" Justin moaned, though his tone betrayed curiosity more than scorn.

"Maybe less," Harry allowed. "But I want to start a habit. Tomorrow's practice and that will be tougher if I slack."

Susan spread a plate of lemon cakes on the table without fanfare. "Fuel first, lecture later," she said. "You're allowed food while you study in the common room."

Hannah tugged a lamp closer to Harry and peered at his handwriting. "Your diagrams are vey neat," she said. "Show me the part where you compared flora cell structure to potion stabilisers?"

Harry sketched a quick cross-section, linking a herb's vascular bundle to potion infusion channels. "It's the same idea in principle," he said. "If you control flow, you control reaction speed."

"Of course you'd phrase it like that," Justin muttered, but he reached for a cake and read over Harry's shoulder.

The evening settled into a comfortable rhythm: Miranda hovered by the fire, noting that the first years should tidy their study spaces before lights-out; Ronson checked the door once more and nodded; Ernie and Kevin reviewed a set of Herbology flashcards in low voices. Hufflepuff privacy was respected; there was no one from other houses lounging or intruding. The thirteen's cross-house friendship remained intact, but social boundaries - the common-room rule - were observed.

After half an hour of focused note-taking, Harry paused and leaned back. Maple nosed his knee and whined, reminding him of the walk to Hagrid's hut he had promised. He stretched and turned to the others.

"Maple needs to go to Hagrid," he said. "I'll be right back."

"Take your notes," Susan advised. "Flashcards work even when you walk."

"Noted," Harry agreed, pocketing a few cards. He clipped his cloak on, patted Maple, and stepped out into the evening air. The path toward the hut was quiet; Hagrid's warm light beckoned. Harry felt contentment settle in his chest: flight, friendship, and the sturdiness of a study routine all stitched into one day.

When he returned, the common room was quieter; the fire cast a muted glow, and the older students had begun drifting toward beds. Harry sat down again and opened his book for another half hour of review. The minutes passed productively, punctuated only by the soft shuffle of feet and the occasional murmur from a prefect checking the house ledger.
______________________________

The last traces of dinner candles shimmered above the Great Hall as Harry, Daphne, Hermione, and Lisa exchanged a quick look. Hermione clapped her hands once, eyes shining. "Charms Club. First meeting of the year. Oh, this is going to be brilliant."

Daphne adjusted her ponytail with a regal flick. "At least Professor Flitwick runs this. He is respectable. None of the chaos Snape encourages in Dueling Club."

Harry chuckled. "Flitwick's energy might outmatch all of us. He practically bounced when he asked us to join."

Lisa hugged her notebook to her chest. "He said this year the club would be more... experimental." She lowered her voice. "I want to see what that means."

They departed the Hufflepuff table and slipped into the steady stream of students heading toward the Charms corridor. The castle felt unusually lively; voices from older students echoed with excitement, shoes clicked sharply on stone, and torches crackled as if aware that charms practice would soon spark the air.

The second floor corridor outside the Charms classroom was already bustling. A crowd of second years through seventh years had gathered, forming small clusters around the doorway. Some held practice wands, others gripped thick charm manuals. A few seventh years had conjured tiny floating wisps of multicolored light, letting them dance lazily over their palms.

A tall sixth-year Ravenclaw spotted the incoming group of first years. "New recruits!" she exclaimed. "Welcome to Charms Club."

A boy beside her, a Hufflepuff fifth year, added cheerfully, "Professor Flitwick will love this batch. We almost never get four first years."

Hermione flushed with pride. "We have been practicing," she said. "Well, most of us."

Daphne gave her a sideways look. "If you mean Harry blowing quills across the dorm with that wind-burst charm, yes, plenty of practice."

"That was controlled," Harry insisted, though even Lisa snorted.

The corridor continued to fill with members until nearly fifty students had gathered. Floating parchment banners formed overhead, spelling out Charms Club: Mastery Through Precision. Sparks twirled out of the words like celebratory glitter.

Hermione pointed upward. "That animation requires extremely delicate rune-sequence casting."

A seventh-year near her nodded approvingly. "Correct. That is Flitwick's work."

At precisely eight o'clock, the classroom door clicked open and Professor Filius Flitwick stepped out, robes spotless, wand resting behind his ear. He beamed at the assembled crowd. "Good evening, everyone! A delightful turnout. Welcome back, returning members, and warm greetings to our newest charm enthusiasts."

His voice, though high, carried authority. He gestured them inward. "Inside, inside. Plenty of room. We begin promptly."

The group filtered into the expanded classroom. The space had been magically widened, ceiling raised high enough for practice constructs. Long tables held charm-infused materials: feathers, metal slivers, clay tags, and tiny enchanted runestones. A cylindrical shield ward shimmered faintly in the corner.

Flitwick clapped his hands once. "Tonight's objective is simple. We will ease our newcomers into the environment and refresh fundamentals for returning members. Charms Club is not like classroom study. Here we explore beyond the syllabus. We test theoretical boundaries. We create. Sometimes we even blow things up, intentionally of course."

Hermione let out a small squeak of joy. Daphne muttered, "Merlin help us."

Lisa whispered, "This is better than I imagined."

Flitwick summoned three floating chalkboards. "To begin, each year group will be paired with two upper-year mentors. First years, over here please."

Harry, Daphne, Hermione, and Lisa stepped forward. A seventh-year Gryffindor named Claudia and a sixth-year Ravenclaw named Pierce approached them.

Claudia smiled warmly. "Our job is to make sure none of you accidentally set your eyebrows aflame."

Pierce added, "Or explode a teacup. That happened last year. Very messy."

Harry suppressed a nervous laugh. "We can handle basic levitation and light spells. Maybe a minor gust charm."

Hermione corrected immediately, "Harry's gust charm is technically an overpowered directional wind displacement."

Pierce's eyebrows shot up. "Already experimenting with directional force magic? Not bad for week one."

Flitwick summoned the club's attention again. "For our first practical of the year, we will focus on charm-control refinement. A caster who can lift a feather can levitate a stone. A caster who can rotate a pebble can redirect an incoming curse. Precision is the mother of mastery."

Feathers floated out to every workstation. "Right," Claudia said. "Show us what you can do."

Harry took a slow breath and raised his wand. "Wingardium Leviosa."

The feather floated up smoothly, steadier than last week's lesson. Hermione's feather spun like a controlled gear. Daphne's rose elegantly with minimal wand movement, her expression cool and disciplined. Lisa grinned as hers tilted in a neat semicircle.

Claudia gave a satisfied nod. "Excellent control. Now we push further."

They advanced to rotation exercises, multitarget levitation patterns, charm-strength modulation, and directional corrections. Sparks flitted across the room each time someone overpowered a charm or lost focus. Flitwick moved rapidly between groups, offering corrections, praise, and the occasional demonstration spell that left half the room applauding.

At one point Flitwick conjured a tiny orchestra of floating bells and made them harmonize. "That is the goal," he said. "Charmwork should feel like conducting a symphony."

Hermione practically vibrated.

Two hours passed in concentrated magic. The first years managed controlled rotations, synchronized levitating patterns, and small color-shift charms under Pierce's guidance. Daphne surprisingly excelled at charm-fine-tuning. Lisa mastered multi-object manipulation. Hermione absorbed instructions faster than Claudia could provide them. Harry found joy in directional force spells, pushing and pulling feather-clusters without breaking formation.

By the time Flitwick dismissed them, the room glowed with soft light and lingering charm-resonance.

"Splendid work, everyone," Flitwick declared. "Our new recruits show tremendous promise. I expect grand things this year."

As they left the corridor, Harry felt a pleasant magical buzz through his fingertips. Hermione said breathlessly, "If the club is like this every week, I might faint."

Daphne lifted her chin. "This was productive. More so than I expected."

Lisa looked thrilled. "Can we practice together tomorrow?"

Harry smiled. "Absolutely."

The four of them walked back toward their respective house corridors, the air humming faintly with leftover spell-energy, already eager for the next meeting.
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A/n: I hope You like it. Please ignore grammatical and spelling errors.

Now, you see, I felt that weekly house meetings are kind of a must-have. I mean, how else would Sprout keep her students in check? The meetings can be short or long, depending on what's been happening that week.

I also went pretty deep during the Martial Arts and Weaponry class. Well, I was going to have to do that someday anyway, wasn't I? When I first made the timetable with all these extra subjects, I was confident I had everything under control. That illusion disappeared very quickly once I actually started writing this lesson, and I suddenly realised just how on earth a single teacher is supposed to teach so many different things at the same time. That's when I came up with the potion-Prati Chaya Ras-which creates fully autonomous clones of the teacher. I really hope it doesn't feel too unbelievable.

I also got to show the very first club meeting of the Charms Club. In case anyone forgot, Harry has joined two clubs-the Charms Club, which is led by Professor Flitwick, and the Wizarding Etiquette Club. The latter is student-led and is currently headed by Audrey Greengrass, Daphne's older sister.

Hey for this story I wasn't able to decide Chapter names easily so for fun why don't you all comment what you think chapter name can be ? I will be waiting.

Thanks for reading. § Hinny Forever § Please Review!!!

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or its universe. All original elements belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This story is a work of fanfiction created purely for entertainment purposes - no copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made. Any original characters, events, or concepts beyond the established canon are the author's own creative additions to expand the magical world respectfully.
______________________________

The next day was a dull Monday morning, the sky a flat sheet of gray pressing over the castle. The cold seeped through the windowpanes of the Hufflepuff dormitory, but the atmosphere inside was anything but sluggish. At five-thirty, Harry tightened the straps of his training gloves while Justin finished lacing his shoes, both of them already wide awake.

Justin yawned dramatically. "No sane person should be conscious at this hour. Quidditch better be worth it."

Harry smirked. "It will be. First official Hufflepuff practice. Captain Kirke will probably make us wish we were unconscious though."

Justin groaned. "That sounds accurate."

They headed down to the common room, where the rest of the team was already gathering. Cedric Diggory leaned against the fireplace, broom balanced over his shoulder. Eleanor Branstone tapped her Beater bat lightly on her palm. Ronson Dipple, the Keeper, was adjusting his gloves with the precision of a professional. Samuel Golding and Oliver Stebbins exchanged sleepy nods.

Alan Kirke clapped his hands sharply. "Good. Everyone is here. Move. We do not waste morning light, even if the sun refuses to show up."

The team filed out of the Hufflepuff barrel entrance and crossed the dew-coated grounds. The Quidditch pitch loomed ahead, its tall towers shrouded in mist. The air smelled of wet grass and cool wind. Harry inhaled deeply. "Perfect flying weather," he murmured.

Cedric grinned. "Only you would say that."

Upon reaching the pitch, Alan turned to face them, posture strict. "We have ninety minutes. Today is fundamentals. No full scrimmage yet. Drop your brooms for now."

The team obeyed. Alan strode to the center. "First, the obstacle course warm-up. Standard formation. Flyers, follow my lead."

He gestured, and the moment he mounted his broom, his voice boomed, "Up!"

The team kicked off in perfect sync, streaking behind him. The obstacle course consisted of floating hoops, sudden levitation pads, narrow turns between hovering poles, and short vertical climbs. Harry darted through the hoops easily, his Fireboltt Rider reacting with flawless precision. The breeze clipped his ears, sharp and cold, but the thrill pumped through his veins.

Justin, though slightly less nimble, managed to maintain balance. "Bloody brilliant," he shouted from behind, nearly colliding with a rotating pole. "Bloody terrifying too!"

Two circuits later, Alan raised a hand. "Down!"

The team landed. Alan immediately ordered, "Drop brooms. One lap around the pitch. Full speed. Go."

Ronson muttered, "He tries to kill us every year," but he ran anyway.

Harry and Cedric broke into a steady rhythm, feet pounding over slightly damp grass. Eleanor and Oliver trailed behind, arguing about who had the better endurance. Justin wheezed but pushed on.

After the lap, Alan ordered stretching drills. "Shoulders, wrists, ankles. Loosen everything you use for flying. Yes, Stebbins, even your neck. A stiff neck loses matches."

Once everyone finished, Alan nodded. "Good. Now one warm-up flying lap. Slow, steady, controlled."

Harry shot a glance at Cedric. "Race you."

Cedric smirked. "You are on."

They took off, flying smoothly along the perimeter. Cedric kept a clean line, but Harry cut tighter corners, the Fireboltt humming beneath him. Cedric called, "Show-off!" while Harry laughed.

They landed again, breath visible in the morning chill.

Alan paced in front of them. "Warm-up completed. Now the real work."

He pulled a parchment from his robe. "I have evaluated last week's forms. Based on your roles, each of you has a tailored training regiment."

He pointed to Harry first. "Seeker training. Three parts. First, reflex sharpening with aerial snitch shadow drills. Second, vertical burst and deceleration control. Third, evasive pattern sequences."

Harry nodded, excited. "Understood."

"Cedric," Alan continued, "Chaser drills with Samuel. Long-range coordination passes and tactical formation weaving."

Cedric pumped his fist. "Finally."

"Justin," Alan said, scanning the parchment, "You will shadow Ronson for Keeper basics and participate in controlled interception drills. You may have potential as a substitute Keeper someday."

Justin blinked. "Wait, me? Keeper things? Merlin's beard."

Ronson patted him on the back. "Do not worry. It is mostly about catching things. You know how to catch."

"Not when they are trying to kill me," Justin muttered.

Eleanor and Oliver stepped forward as Alan addressed them. "Beaters. Accuracy training. Rotating target boards. Also, coordination drills. You two must learn to anticipate each other without shouting."

Oliver winced. "We can try."

"You will try," Alan corrected.

Alan continued assigning. "Ronson, Keeper reflex grid. Build muscle memory. Use defensive light wards to help prevent impact fatigue. Staff will reset them for you."

Finally, Alan rolled the parchment and tucked it away. "Spread out. Begin."

Harry mounted his broom again, heart pounding with anticipation. Cedric shot upward for his first Chaser drill, Eleanor and Oliver jogged toward the Beater lane, and Justin dragged himself reluctantly toward Ronson.

While Harry rose into the sky, Alan released a training snitch made of light and shadow. It darted erratically, impossible to predict. Alan shouted, "Track it. Not with your eyes. With intuition."

Harry leaned forward, breath catching with adrenaline. "Here we go."

The chilly air stung his cheeks, but the rush made everything sharp, electric. His morning, though dull outside, had transformed into pure exhilaration.

Below him, the rest of the team worked fiercely through their regiments, the pitch finally awake with motion, magic, and purpose as the practice officially began.
______________________________

Alan's whistle cut sharply across the pitch. Short, clipped, and unmistakably authoritative. The Hufflepuff team coasted to a halt as he raised one hand.
"Time out!" he called. "Hydrate, breathe, and listen up."

Harry hovered beside his Fireboltt Rider, chest heaving in quick pulls of cold evening air. The sky had deepened into a warm indigo wash, and the pitch lights flickered to life one by one. Cedric glided in beside him, loosening his gloves. Justin zoomed down moments later, wobbling slightly before landing.

Alan paced in front of them with the calm precision of someone who had run many squads through this exact drill.
"Right. Rotations," he announced. "Cedric, you take Seeker regiment for twenty minutes. Justin, Chaser regiment. Harry, Beater regiment. You three are reserves for those positions, so you train them." He looked at each of them in turn. "No slacking. No excuses. Move."

Cedric blinked. "Seeker drills already? I just finished Chaser rotations."
Alan shot him a look. "You will thank me later."

Justin groaned theatrically. "Cho's going to laugh at me if she sees me doing basic Chaser footwork."
"Then do it properly so she won't," Alan replied.

Harry swallowed, gripping the handle of his broom. Beater regiment. He had watched Eleanor and Oliver work enough to understand that Beaters needed precision, power, and uncanny timing. "Alright then," he muttered to himself. "Try not to get knocked off your broom, Potter."

He flew to the far end where the Bludger cage lay enchanted with runes glimmering faintly gold. Oliver unlocked it, giving Harry a grin.
"Ready, Potter? These things bite."
Harry raised his borrowed Beater bat. "So do I."

The Bludger shot out with a crack like a spell detonation. Harry jerked sideways, swung, and sent it spiraling toward the dummy targets. The impact thrummed through his arm.

"Not bad for a first smack," Oliver called. "Again."

Harry repeated the drill. Swing. Brace. Spin. Swing. By the tenth strike his shoulders burned like Fiendfyre heat, but his timing sharpened. Each hit felt more controlled.

Across the pitch, Cedric darted through intricate Seeker patterns: spiral dives, blind-angle sharp turns, fingertip snitch simulations. Justin practiced Chaser passing arcs with Samuel and Alan, repeating specific aerial geometry until he stopped fumbling.

By 7:20 Alan blew the whistle again.

The team gathered in a loose semicircle, breathing hard and sweating through robes. Alan surveyed them, nodding once with quiet pride.
"Good. Very good. That is the level Hufflepuff needs this year."

Eleanor stretched her shoulders while muttering, "Merlin's saggy socks, I can feel every bone."
Oliver added, "My arms are going to mutiny."

Alan rolled his eyes and pulled a small satchel from the equipment chest. "You lot complain like first years. Hold still."
He uncorked a tin of greenish ointment and began distributing fingertip portions to each of them.

Harry raised a curious eyebrow. "You carry healing salves?"
Alan smirked. "Of course. Madam Pomfrey insists every Captain learn at least basic musculoskeletal relief. She says it reduces unnecessary hospital wing visits."
Eleanor sniffed her tin. "Peppermint and willowbark? This is strong."
"Rub it into the sore areas. Not on your face unless you want to cry for fifteen minutes," Alan warned.

Harry massaged the ointment into his forearms. A cool wave spread through the muscle, followed by warmth that sank deep into the tissue, unraveling tight knots. His pain eased almost instantly.
"This is brilliant," he said, genuinely impressed. "Healing magic never stops being fascinating."

Alan chuckled. "Talk to Pomfrey if you like this sort of thing. She has an entire cupboard of nightmare brews and miracle gels."

Harry froze for a heartbeat. Pomfrey.

Her invitation flickered back into his thoughts.
She had promised to let him observe healing cases whenever possible. Yet a week of school had already passed, and she had not sent him any message or schedule.

He frowned slightly. "Strange," he thought. "She said she would call me when things started. Maybe there have been no injuries yet. Impossible, but maybe."

He imagined the empty infirmary, spotless and quiet. "Or she is waiting until I complete enough theory before letting me watch." That seemed more plausible. Pomfrey was meticulous.

Justin nudged him. "Earth to Harry. Did the salve knock you unconscious?"
Harry blinked and forced a smile. "Just thinking."

Cedric sat on the grass beside them, leaning back on his palms. "About what?"
"Pomfrey's lessons," Harry replied. "She invited me to observe treatments, but she has not told me when to come yet. I expected at least one bruise case by now."

Cedric laughed quietly. "It is only week two. Students have not started launching cauldrons or setting curtains on fire yet."
Alan muttered, "Give first years until October."

The joke earned a round of chuckles.

Harry rubbed the remaining salve into his wrist. The warmth soothed him, yet his mind whirled. Healing mattered to him more than any subject. The desire to learn made his chest tighten with impatience.

"Soon," he told himself. "She will call me soon."

Alan clapped his hands, rising. "Right. Good work today. Go shower, eat, and sleep like proper humans. Tomorrow we fly again."

They grabbed their gear and drifted toward the changing rooms, tired but satisfied, smelling faintly of mint, willowbark, and victory-in-progress. The sky above them lightening into day, and Harry could not help thinking, "Soon the real healing will begin."
______________________________

Harry and Justin reached the Great Hall still smelling faintly of willowbark and mint, their muscles pleasantly loose after Alan's salve. The morning chatter rolled through the air like soft thunder. When they approached the Hufflepuff table, they found it surprisingly empty of their usual group.

Justin blinked. "Where are they?"
Harry followed his gaze and nearly snorted. The Thirteen had commandeered a long stretch of the Slytherin table.

Ron waved them over vigorously. Hermione shifted aside to make space. Blaise and Daphne carried the bland expression of Slytherins pretending not to enjoy the chaos. Tracey grinned openly. Terry looked amused. Neville seemed nervous at first, then relaxed once he spotted them.

Harry raised both brows. "We are sitting at the Slytherin table now?"
Ron shrugged. "They said it was fine."
Blaise drawled, "Snape will pretend otherwise, but he cannot override written protocol unless he wants Professor Sprout to knock down his door again."

Justin sat down, whispering, "Merlin's beard, she really knocked on his door?"
Daphne replied, cool as frost, "Knocked? She nearly blasted it open when he tried to confiscate Harry's study scrolls last week."

Harry winced at the reminder. "He should focus on actual rule-breakers, not parchment enthusiasts."

Across the table, Draco Malfoy watched them with a sour pinch to his mouth. Crabbe and Goyle shifted awkwardly, as if unsure whether to glare or flee. Draco's irritation practically radiated like a poorly brewed Pepperup potion.

"Look at his face," Ron murmured. "You would think we stole his inheritance."
Hermione nudged him. "Behave."
"Hard to," Ron replied, "when he scowls as if the universe wronged him personally."

Draco stood, ready to march over, but one sharp glance from Blaise stopped him cold. Blaise's expression conveyed the silent warning of a pureblood who understood political lines: do not challenge a group that includes Harry Potter, a Bones, a Greengrass, and Longbottom in public. Draco sat back down stiffly.

Harry buttered his toast. "He cannot do anything anyway. We are not breaking rules."
Terry added, "Snape cannot either, not unless he wants Sprout's verbal scalding again."
Justin giggled. "Sprout-scorched Snape is a terrifying concept."

Mid-breakfast, the enchanted ceiling brightened with the soft shimmer that always preceded morning post. Dozens of owls swooped in, beaks sharp and purposeful. Wings brushed the air with controlled chaos.

Hedwig descended gracefully, as regal as a snowy queen. She landed beside Harry's pumpkin juice with a dignified hoot, depositing the Daily Prophet onto his plate.
"Thank you," Harry whispered, stroking her feathers. Hedwig nipped his thumb affectionately before launching back upward.

Harry unfolded the Prophet. Justin leaned over discreetly.
"Anything interesting?"
Harry flipped through the front page. "No attacks. No Ministry fiasco. No Gringotts alerts."
Ron muttered, "That is a miracle in itself."

Harry slid to page three. His brows rose.
"Oh," he murmured. "There is a memoriam."

Hermione looked up. "For whom?"
Harry cleared his throat softly and read:
"Dr. Seraphina Valecourt, the world's first officially recognised Arcane Healer, passed away peacefully yesterday at the age of one hundred seventy-six. She pioneered metaphysical reconstruction and cross-plane triage techniques."

Susan's eyes widened. "Seraphina Valecourt? That Seraphina Valecourt?"
Terry whistled. "Arcane Healer Division One is practically built on her early work."
Neville whispered, "Gran always spoke of her like a legend."

Harry studied the image printed beside the text: an elderly witch with silver hair braided like starlight, eyes closed as if in serene sleep. She wore layered healer robes embroidered with runic filigree.

He felt a strange tug in his chest.
"She was the first," he said quietly. "The path every Arcane Healer follows begins with her."

Hermione leaned closer, her tone soft. "She lived a long, accomplished life. That matters."
Harry nodded, though a faint sadness curled behind his ribs. "Still. The world feels emptier without people like her."

Tracey picked up her goblet. "To Seraphina Valecourt. A pioneer."
The others joined, raising their drinks respectfully.
"To Seraphina," they echoed.

Draco, a few seats down, rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Even he understood the weight of healer legacies.

Harry folded the newspaper slowly. His aspiration to become an Arcane Healer flickered brighter, steadier, sharpened by reverence.
"One day," he thought, "I want to honour her work. Build on it. Heal the way she did."

Justin nudged his shoulder. "You will. No doubt."
Harry exhaled, letting the warmth of the group steady him.

The Thirteen resumed eating, their chatter softer now, respectful. Hedwig circled once overhead before vanishing through the enchanted ceiling.

As Harry reached for another slice of toast, he made a quiet promise to himself.
"Her legacy will not fade."
______________________________

The rest of the morning flowed with an almost comforting rhythm. After breakfast, Harry hurried with the Thirteen toward the Charms corridor. Double Charms kept him wide-awake, especially with Flitwick bounding across his stack of books while demonstrating wand-wrist precision. Hermione whispered excitedly each time Harry's spellwork came out crisp and flawless. Daphne and Lisa exchanged competitive glances with older club members whenever Flitwick praised their casting speed.

After Charms, Astronomy Theory filled the next hour. Professor Sinistra moved across the platform like a comet, her voice smooth and cool as she explained stellar-alignment influence on enchantment stability. Harry found the topic fascinating, though Ron nearly nodded off twice. Maple would have enjoyed the floating constellation projector, Harry thought, amused.

Potions came next. Snape swept into the dungeon like a stormcloud soaked in vinegar. The atmosphere chilled perceptibly. Harry's cauldron, however, simmered with steady confidence. His Cure-for-Boils potion, the improved version brewed to textbook perfection, its mauve sheen swirling exactly as described in Ars Medicamentum. When Snape arrived at Harry's table, scowl etched deep, the professor froze for a fraction of a second.

"Of course," Snape sneered. "Potter would manage this on the second attempt."

Harry kept his tone respectful. "The cauldron temperature was the key, sir."

Snape's nostrils flared. "Detention is still available, Potter, should you wish to test whether arrogance is a transferable ingredient."

Tracey whispered to Daphne behind Snape's back, "He is going to combust one day."
Daphne murmured, "Only if Potter continues existing successfully."

Lunch offered relief. Ron inhaled three sandwiches before Harry even sat down. The free period afterward invited quiet study, a habit Justin considered "deeply suspicious behaviour." Terry, Hermione, and Lisa joined Harry in the courtyard until it was time for the final class.

Defensive Magic with Quirrell felt like someone trying to teach strategy while being chased by invisible pixies. Quirrell's stuttering cracked through every sentence.
"D-d-defensive po-posture... is... e-er... im-important-eek!"
Harry exchanged glances with Susan. She mouthed, "Still hopeless."
Neville whispered, "Why is he afraid of everything?"
Hermione recorded notes anyway, determined to extract something useful.

When classes ended, Harry felt pleasantly tired, his thoughts drifting toward Maple's wagging tail. He returned to Hufflepuff common room briefly, fetched Maple from the fifth-year corridor (where she had been happily receiving biscuits), and headed outdoors with her.

The early evening light painted the castle grounds in soft gold. Maple trotted beside him, ears perked, tail swishing lightly. She darted ahead toward the vegetable and fruit gardens, her nose buried in earthy scents. The Hogwarts gardens thrived with enchanted soil. Each row of cabbages glittered faintly with growth charms. Rows of berries glowed softly like clusters of tiny lanterns.

Harry threw Maple a small enchanted ball. She caught it mid-air and bounded happily across the grass.
"You like it here, girl?" he asked, laughing as she circled back.

As he walked past the pumpkin patch, something whizzed by his ear. A small paper airplane, folded with immaculate precision, spiralled downward and hovered at his shoulder. Harry blinked.

"What in Merlin's blue beard...?" He reached for it cautiously. Maple barked at it once before deciding it was not a threat.

Harry knew the Ministry used such paper airplanes. He also knew they could only be sent magically within short distances, usually within a building. Someone nearby had sent it deliberately.

He unfolded it.

The neat handwriting read:

Mr. Potter,
Report to the Hospital Wing at your earliest convenience.
- Poppy Pomfrey

The parchment dissolved in his hands the moment he finished reading, puffing into harmless silver sparks.

Harry's heart leapt.
"She called me," he whispered. "Finally."

Excitement ignited across his face. This was the moment he had been waiting for since the start of term. Madam Pomfrey had promised to let him observe healing procedures and techniques whenever possible. He had been waiting days for her signal, worrying the school had been too healthy for any real work.

Maple barked twice, picking up on his quickened steps.
"Yes, girl, come on. This is important."