Chris woke to sunlight streaming through his circular window, illuminating dancing dust motes above his patchwork quilt. For a moment, he simply lay there, absorbing the reality that he was actually at Hogwarts, in a Hufflepuff dormitory that smelled pleasantly of fresh earth and beeswax. The gentle snuffling of badgers could be heard from somewhere outside his window, a sound so quintessentially Hufflepuff that he couldn't help but smile.
He dressed quickly in his new uniform, adjusting the yellow and black tie with care. The Hogwarts robes settled comfortably around him, the premium Acromantula silk blend regulating his temperature perfectly as promised. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed his glamour bracelet was working flawlessly, reflecting back the image of an ordinary eleven-year-old boy rather than his true sixteen-year-old form.
The Hufflepuff common room buzzed with activity when he emerged, first-years milling about nervously while older students lounged in overstuffed chairs, offering directions and advice. Susan spotted him immediately, her strawberry-blonde plait swinging as she waved him over.
"Morning! Hannah and I were just waiting for you," she said, eyes bright with excitement. "Can you believe we're actually starting magic lessons today?"
Hannah stood beside her, fingers nervously twisting the end of one blonde pigtail. "I hope I don't make a fool of myself," she murmured, chewing her lower lip. "My gran says first days are always the worst."
"We'll be fine," Chris assured them both with a confidence born of preparation rather than bravado. "Let's get some breakfast, everything seems less daunting after food."
The trio followed a group of second-years through the barrel entrance and up to the Great Hall, where enchanted silverware clinked against golden plates and the ceiling mirrored a perfect blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds. They found seats at the Hufflepuff table, surrounded by platters of steaming eggs, crispy bacon, and towers of buttered toast.
"First-years, your timetables," came the cheerful voice of Professor Sprout, their Head of House. She moved along the table distributing parchment schedules, her patched hat bobbing with each step. "Any questions, just ask. And remember, Hufflepuffs help each other."
Chris examined his timetable, already knowing what to expect. "Charms first period with Professor Flitwick," he announced, spreading strawberry jam on a piece of toast. "Then Transfiguration with McGonagall."
"Charms is on the third floor," said Susan, peering at her own schedule. "My aunt says Flitwick is brilliant but tiny, apparently he has to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk."
Hannah gulped her pumpkin juice nervously. "How are we supposed to find our way around this place? The castle's enormous!"
"We'll manage," Chris replied, finishing his breakfast with methodical efficiency. "If we get lost, we can always ask the portraits. They've been giving directions to first-years for centuries."
Twenty minutes later, they discovered that finding one's way around Hogwarts was indeed as challenging as Hannah had feared. They climbed a staircase that suddenly decided to change direction, sending them toward an unfamiliar corridor lined with suits of armour that tracked their movements with hollow helmet eyes.
"This can't be right," Susan muttered, peering down the gloomy passageway. "Wasn't the Charms corridor supposed to be brightly lit?"
Chris spotted a portrait of a medieval wizard with an extraordinarily long beard who appeared to be sorting through a collection of star charts. "Excuse me, sir," he called politely. "Could you direct us to Professor Flitwick's Charms classroom?"
The painted figure glanced up, adjusting a monocle with practiced dignity. "First-years, I presume? Take this corridor to the end, turn left at the statue of Wendelin the Weird, then it's the second door on your right." He paused, eyeing Chris's distinctive hair. "Interesting coloration, young man. Natural, is it?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you for the directions," Chris replied, already guiding his friends forward.
They arrived at the Charms classroom with two minutes to spare, slightly winded from jogging the final stretch. The classroom door stood open, revealing a large, airy space with tiered seating arranged in a semicircle. Floating candles drifted near the ceiling, providing warm illumination that supplemented the sunlight streaming through tall windows.
"Just in time," Susan whispered as they slipped into seats in the middle row. "Look, there's Professor Flitwick."
The tiny Charms professor stood atop a precarious stack of leather-bound books behind his desk, his feet barely visible beneath voluminous purple robes embroidered with silver stars. Despite his diminutive stature, there was a palpable energy to the man that commanded attention.
"Welcome, welcome to your very first Charms lesson!" Professor Flitwick squeaked excitedly, his voice carrying surprisingly well. "Charms is perhaps the most commonly used branch of magic in your daily lives. From lighting your way in darkness to making objects float, charms add convenience, beauty, and function to the wizarding world."
He produced his wand with a flourish, drawing appreciative gasps from several students. "Today, we begin with one of the simplest yet most useful charms: Lumos, the Wand-Lighting Charm."
With a precise flick of his wrist and a clearly enunciated "Lumos!" the tip of Flitwick's wand ignited with a pure white light that illuminated his smiling face from below.
"The key to this charm is clear pronunciation and focused intent," he explained, extinguishing his wandlight with a murmured "Nox." "Now, take out your wands and we'll practice the movement before attempting the spell."
Students rustled through bags and robes, extracting wands of various woods and lengths. Chris drew his Yggdrasil wand from its invisible holster with a practiced motion, feeling its now-familiar warmth against his palm.
After several minutes of practicing the simple wand movement, a small clockwise circle followed by a gentle upward flick, Professor Flitwick clapped his tiny hands for attention.
"Excellent form, everyone! Now, let's try with the incantation. Remember: LOO-mos, not LUM-os. Focus your mind on creating light, and speak clearly."
Chris waited for a few other students to attempt the spell, watching as they produced varying results, from faint glimmers that flickered out immediately to moderately steady glows. When Susan tried beside him, her wand emitted a weak light that pulsed uncertainly.
When his turn came, Chris carefully modulated his magical output, channelling just enough power for an impressive but not suspiciously advanced result. "Lumos," he said confidently, executing the movement with precision.
The tip of his wand erupted with brilliant white light, perfectly steady and bright enough to cast sharp shadows across his desk. Sensing an opportunity to showcase skill without revealing too much, Chris adjusted his intent slightly, focusing on changing the light's colour. The white glow shifted to a vibrant electric blue that matched the streaks in his hair.
"Oh!" Professor Flitwick's excited squeak cut through the classroom chatter. "Exceptional control, Mr. Emrys! Changing the light's colour is typically introduced in third week. Five points to Hufflepuff for outstanding charm work!"
Chris dimmed his light slightly, offering a modest smile. "Thank you, Professor. I just visualized the colour I wanted."
Susan stared at him with undisguised admiration. "How did you do that? Mine barely lights up at all."
"It's all in the intent," Chris explained quietly as Flitwick moved to help another student. "Don't just say the words, really believe you're creating light. Here, try holding your wand like this." He gently adjusted her grip. "Now close your eyes, picture the brightest light you can imagine, then open them and cast."
Susan followed his instructions, her face scrunched in concentration. "Lumos!" she commanded, and this time her wandtip glowed with a steady, warm light that made her break into a delighted smile.
"I did it! Hannah, you try it Chris's way!"
Hannah, whose previous attempts had produced nothing but faint sparks, adjusted her grip nervously. Under Chris's patient guidance, she too succeeded in producing a respectable light, though not as bright as Susan's.
"Well done, ladies!" Professor Flitwick beamed as he passed their row. "Another five points to Hufflepuff for excellent improvement and teamwork. Mr. Emrys, perhaps you have a future as a teaching assistant."
By the end of the lesson, every student had produced at least some form of wandlight, though none as controlled or bright as Chris's. As they gathered their books and quills, excited whispers filled the classroom, the success of creating magic, real, visible magic, leaving everyone in high spirits.
"That was brilliant," Susan declared as they filed out into the corridor. "I can't believe you got the spell right away and even changed the colour!"
"Beginner's luck," Chris demurred, shouldering his bag. "Besides, you both got it working perfectly after a few tries."
Hannah smiled shyly. "Thanks to your help. We've got Transfiguration next, haven't we? I hear that's much harder."
Chris nodded, allowing himself a small, knowing smile. "Let's find out, shall we?"
The Transfiguration classroom on the first floor presented a stark contrast to the warm, cheery atmosphere of Charms. Sunlight streamed through tall arched windows, illuminating rows of wooden desks arranged with mathematical precision. At the front stood a large teacher's desk, imposingly empty save for a tabby cat sitting perfectly still, its tail wrapped neatly around its paws. The cat's eyes, ringed with square markings eerily similar to spectacles, followed the students as they filed in and found their seats.
"Where's Professor McGonagall?" Hannah whispered as they settled into chairs near the front. "You don't think we're early, do you?"
Susan consulted a small pocket watch. "No, it's exactly nine o'clock. Perhaps she's, "
Her words died in her throat as the tabby cat suddenly leapt from the desk and transformed mid-air into Professor McGonagall. The seamless shift from feline to human drew gasps and scattered applause from the first-years, several of whom had their mouths hanging open in undisguised shock.
"Transfiguration," McGonagall began without preamble, her Scottish accent crisp in the sudden silence, "is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts." She surveyed the class with piercing eyes that retained something of the cat's unblinking intensity. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."
Chris maintained a suitably impressed expression, though he'd been well aware of McGonagall's Animagus abilities. The demonstration had been effective, even he, with his foreknowledge, had felt a flutter of genuine admiration at the flawless transformation.
"Transfiguration differs from charms in that it fundamentally changes what an object is, rather than simply altering its behavior," McGonagall continued, extracting her wand from her emerald robes. "Today, we will attempt one of the simplest forms of transfiguration: turning a matchstick into a needle."
With a wave of her wand and precise incantation, she transformed a match on her desk into a perfect silver needle that glinted in the sunlight. Another wave, and the needle became a match again. She then demonstrated the wand movement once more, slower for the students to observe.
"Note the precise quarter-turn followed by the jabbing motion," she instructed. "The incantation must be spoken clearly while visualizing the transformation you wish to occur. Now, you will each find a matchstick on your desk. You may begin."
Chris examined the wooden matchstick before him, feeling the familiar hum of his Yggdrasil wand as he prepared to cast. The spell was technically first-year level, but required significant visualization and precision, qualities many young wizards lacked. He'd mastered it months ago during his solitary practice sessions at Ambrosia Manor, but needed to be careful not to appear too advanced.
Focusing his mind on the exact transformation he desired, Chris performed the wand movement with deliberate grace. "Mutatio Acus," he said clearly, channelling just enough power for effectiveness without ostentation.
The matchstick shimmered briefly before transforming into a perfectly formed silver needle, complete with a small eye at one end and a sharp point at the other. But Chris had added a subtle flourish, tiny Eastern dragons etched along the silver surface, so delicate they were barely visible unless caught in direct light.
Susan, struggling with her own match which had turned silver but maintained its blunt wooden shape, noticed his success immediately. "Chris! That's incredible!" She leaned closer, eyes widening at the detailed engravings. "How did you... are those dragons?"
"Just a small personal touch," Chris replied modestly. "I find visualization works better with specific details in mind."
"Could you help me?" Susan asked, frustration evident in her voice. "I can't seem to get past this halfway point."
Chris nodded, glancing around to ensure McGonagall was occupied with other students. "The key is to visualize not just what the needle looks like, but what makes it essentially a needle, its purpose, its properties." He demonstrated the wand movement again slowly. "Try thinking about sharpness, about metal instead of wood, about something that can pierce fabric."
Susan's brow furrowed in concentration as she tried again, her movements more precise this time. Her matchstick quivered, thinned, and finally transformed into a serviceable, if somewhat dull, needle.
"I did it!" she whispered triumphantly.
Hannah, watching from Susan's other side, had yet to produce any change in her matchstick at all. "Would you mind..." she began hesitantly.
"Of course," Chris said warmly, leaning across to guide her grip. "Try holding your wand like this, and, "
"Mr. Emrys," came Professor McGonagall's voice directly behind him, causing him to straighten immediately. "May I see your work?"
Chris indicated his needle with a polite gesture. "Yes, Professor."
McGonagall picked up the needle, examining it with raised eyebrows. The tiny dragons caught the light as she turned it, causing her expression to shift from assessment to genuine surprise.
"This is... exceptional work for a first attempt," she said, her Scottish brogue more pronounced in her surprise. "The detailing indicates remarkable control." Her gaze sharpened as she studied him. "Have you practiced transfiguration before coming to Hogwarts, Mr. Emrys?"
Chris felt the weight of her scrutiny, calculating his response carefully. "I studied the theory extensively, Professor," he answered truthfully. "My family's library had several texts on basic transfiguration principles. I've been reading about magic for about six months, though I've only had my wand for two months."
It wasn't technically a lie, he had indeed studied for six months, and had only possessed this particular wand for the time stated. The fact that he'd undergone a ritual to advance his magical core remained carefully unmentioned.
McGonagall's eyes narrowed slightly, but she nodded. "Ten points to Hufflepuff for exceptional spellwork. And another five for assisting your housemates." She returned the needle to his desk. "I encourage enthusiasm for my subject, Mr. Emrys, but remember that teaching is the professor's responsibility."
"Yes, Professor," Chris replied respectfully. "I only meant to help with the visualization technique."
McGonagall's expression softened marginally. "Your needle is better than many I see from third-years. Continue at this pace, and we'll need to consider advanced material for you by Christmas."
As she moved away, Chris caught the mix of awe and curiosity in Susan's expression. "Six months of reading turned you into a transfiguration prodigy?"
Chris shrugged, careful to appear appropriately modest. "Theory helps more than people realize. And I practiced the wand movements without magic before coming to school."
He spent the remainder of the class alternately improving his own needle, adding an intricate eye that could actually thread thin silk, and quietly offering advice to Susan and Hannah. By the end of the hour, Susan had produced a respectable needle with a proper point and eye, while Hannah had managed to turn her matchstick silver and pointed, if not completely transformed.
McGonagall concluded the lesson by displaying Chris's needle to the class, though without identifying him as its creator. "This level of detail is what you should aspire to, though I don't expect such results until much later in the term." Her eyes swept over the classroom, lingering briefly on Chris. "For homework, practice the wand movement thirty times and write six inches on the basic principles of transfiguration."
As they gathered their things to leave, Hannah sighed with relief. "That was much harder than Charms. If you hadn't helped us, Chris, I don't think I'd have managed anything at all."
"You'd have got there eventually," Chris assured her as they joined the stream of students heading to lunch. "Transfiguration just requires a different kind of focus."
Susan bumped his shoulder companionably as they descended the stairs toward the Great Hall. "Two classes, two successes for Hufflepuff. At this rate, you'll single-handedly win us the House Cup."
Chris laughed, the sound genuine despite his careful performance. "Hardly. But it has been a good morning, hasn't it?"
The delicious smells of lunch wafted up from the Great Hall, and Chris felt a surge of satisfaction. His plan was working, establishing himself as talented but not overly so, making friends, building a foundation for whatever came next. The year stretched ahead, full of possibilities and challenges he was hopefully more than prepared to meet.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom door stood ajar, but the stench wafting through the opening stopped the trio in their tracks. It was as if someone had hung a thousand bulbs of garlic from the ceiling and then set half of them on fire. Susan's nose wrinkled in disgust while Hannah covered her mouth and nose with her sleeve, eyes watering at the intensity of the odour.
"That's revolting," Susan whispered, taking a reluctant step backward. "Are we sure this is the right classroom?"
Chris, recognizing the infamous garlic smell that Quirrell used to supposedly ward off vampires, reacted immediately. With a subtle flick of his wand and a murmured "Halitus Purus," he cast a filtering charm over himself and his friends. The air around their heads shimmered briefly before clearing, creating a pocket of clean, breathable air.
Hannah took a tentative breath, her expression shifting from discomfort to surprise. "It's... gone! Well, not gone, but I can't smell it anymore." She looked at Chris with widening eyes. "What did you just do?"
"Air-filtering charm," Chris explained casually, as though it were the most natural thing for a first-year to know. "I found it in a household spells book when I was reading about cleaning charms. Thought it might come in handy someday."
Susan shook her head in amazement. "That's at least a third-year spell. How many books did you read before coming here?"
"Quite a few," Chris admitted with a modest shrug. "I was curious about magic. Shall we go in? Best to get seats at the back, I've heard Quirrell's stutter makes him hard to understand."
They entered the dimly lit classroom, where other students were already settling into desks, their faces displaying varying degrees of disgust at the pervasive smell. Several shot envious glances at the trio, noticing their apparent immunity to the stench. The room itself had an unloved quality, dusty display cases containing odd magical artifacts, faded diagrams of defensive wand movements on the walls, and curtains that may once have been blue but had aged to a sickly gray.
Chris guided his friends to seats in the last row, positioning himself where he could observe both Quirrell and the other students without being too conspicuous. He placed his textbook, "The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection," on the desk alongside a fresh roll of parchment, maintaining the appearance of an eager student while his mind worked on an entirely different level.
The classroom fell silent as Professor Quirrell shuffled in, his purple turban slightly askew and his hands fidgeting with the sleeve of his robe. Chris observed him carefully, noting details that others might miss: the unnatural pallor of his skin, the occasional twitch of his left eye, and most tellingly, the subtle dark aura that seemed to surround him like a faint shadow, visible perhaps only to Chris because of his magically advanced perception.
"G-g-good m-morning, c-class," Quirrell stammered, his voice barely carrying to the back row. "W-welcome to D-defense Against the D-d-dark Arts."
As the professor turned to write his name on the blackboard, Chris noticed how he flinched slightly whenever the back of his head, where Voldemort's face would be hidden beneath the turban, came too close to the light from the windows. The subtle signs of possession were there for anyone trained to see them, but to most, Quirrell simply appeared nervous and possibly ill.
"T-today we'll d-discuss the m-most basic p-principles of m-magical defense," Quirrell continued, though his lecture quickly devolved into a rambling account of his supposed encounters with vampires in Romania and why he wore so much garlic as protection.
Chris maintained a facade of polite attention while inwardly cataloging every inconsistency in Quirrell's stories, every nervous tic that betrayed the presence of another consciousness controlling his actions. When the professor demonstrated the simplest defensive spell, a minor shield charm, his wandwork was deliberately sloppy, as though someone wanted to ensure the students learned nothing useful.
"Is he actually going to teach us anything?" Susan whispered after twenty minutes of increasingly bizarre anecdotes. "I can barely understand him through the stuttering."
Hannah scribbled a confused note on her parchment. "What does his holiday in Albania have to do with defending against dark magic?"
"Nothing," Chris murmured back. "And I don't think we're going to learn much practical defense in this class." He made a show of dutifully copying down the single diagram Quirrell had drawn, a simplistic representation of wand positioning that was actually incorrect for the shield charm it supposedly illustrated.
By the end of the hour, the only substantial information they'd received was an assignment to read the first chapter of their textbook and summarize it in "t-t-twelve inches of p-parchment, no m-more, no l-less."
As students gathered their belongings, expressions of confusion and disappointment evident on many faces, Chris leaned toward his friends. "We should form a study group," he suggested quietly. "Practice the defensive spells from the book on our own. I don't think we can rely on Quirrell to teach us properly."
Susan nodded immediately. "Good idea. My aunt would be horrified if she knew what passes for Defense instruction here. She says it's the most practical subject for future careers."
"I'm in too," Hannah agreed, glancing nervously at Quirrell who seemed to be having a whispered argument with himself at his desk. "There's something... off about him, isn't there?"
"Definitely," Chris replied, careful to keep his voice small. "Let's meet in the common room this weekend and go through the first chapter together. I think there are some basic defensive moves we could practice."
They filed out of the classroom with the other students, the filtering charm still protecting them from the worst of the garlic stench. Chris allowed himself one last glance at Quirrell, whose hand had risen unconsciously to touch the back of his turban, his face contorted in what appeared to be pain.
Later that evening, Chris sat in a quiet corner of the Hufflepuff common room, the soft yellow light from copper lamps illuminating his Transfiguration essay. Susan and Hannah had gone to bed early, tired after the full day of classes, but Chris found himself unable to focus on McGonagall's assignment despite having completed most of it.
His thoughts kept returning to Quirrell and the dark presence hiding beneath that ridiculous turban. He knew from his foreknowledge that later in the year, or perhaps early in the next, Quirrell would begin hunting unicorns in the Forbidden Forest, drinking their blood to sustain Voldemort's parasitic existence. The memory of the beautiful, pure creatures he'd met in the sanctuary at Ambrosia Manor filled him with renewed determination.
"I won't let it happen," he thought, his quill pausing over the parchment. "Over Christmas break, I'll develop a plan to protect them." Even Voldemort, in his weakened state, would find Chris a formidable opponent if he tried to harm the unicorns, but the confrontation would need to be carefully managed to avoid exposing Chris's true abilities too soon.
He returned to his essay, his jaw set with purpose. The Defense Against the Dark Arts class might be a disappointment, but Christopher Emrys didn't need a stuttering, possessed professor to teach him how to protect himself or others. He had preparation, power, and most importantly, knowledge of the threats to come.
The following day, the afternoon stretched before them like an unexplored country, classes finished for the day and homework not yet pressing enough to demand immediate attention. Chris sat in one of the Hufflepuff common room's overstuffed armchairs, a school map spread across his knees as he traced possible routes with his finger. The castle's ever-changing architecture presented a puzzle he was eager to solve, corridors that shifted with the moon's phases, staircases that led somewhere different on Fridays, portraits that concealed secret passages known only to a select few.
"Planning an adventure?" Susan's voice interrupted his thoughts. She leaned over the back of his chair, her strawberry-blonde plait falling forward as she examined the map. "Or are you just trying to figure out how not to be late to Potions tomorrow?"
Chris smiled up at her. "A bit of both. I thought I might explore while we have some free time. This castle's full of secrets, and I'd like to discover at least a few of them."
"Mind if I join you?" Susan asked, circling the chair to face him. "Hannah's napping, apparently Astronomy at midnight doesn't agree with her body clock."
"I'd welcome the company," Chris replied, folding the map and tucking it into his robe pocket. "Any particular part of the castle you're curious about?"
Susan's eyes lit up. "Actually, yes. My Aunt Amelia mentioned the kitchens are somewhere near our dormitory. She said Hufflepuffs have been sneaking midnight snacks for centuries because of the convenient location."
Though he knew exactly where the kitchens were, he hadn't been, and was curious to what they were like. "That would be useful information. Shall we start our exploration there?"
They exited through the barrel door of the Hufflepuff common room, emerging into the corridor where barrels were stacked against one wall. The hallway smelled faintly of baking bread and cinnamon, subtle scents wafting from some unseen source.
"It must be nearby," Susan said, sniffing appreciatively. "I can smell something delicious."
Chris nodded, pretending to follow the scent as they wandered down the corridor. "Logically speaking, kitchens would need to be accessible for food delivery but hidden from students. Maybe look for something that seems... out of place?"
They examined the stone walls carefully, checking behind tapestries and tapping suspicious-looking bricks. After several minutes of fruitless searching, they turned a corner and found themselves facing a large still-life painting of a fruit bowl, the pear looking suspiciously more worn than the other fruits, as though countless fingers had touched it specifically.
"This looks promising," Susan said, studying the painting. "Why would they have a random fruit bowl painting in a basement corridor?"
Chris stepped back, allowing her room to examine it. "Good question. Maybe try touching it?" he suggested, deliberately vague to let her discover the mechanism herself.
Susan ran her fingers over the painted fruits one by one. "Nothing's happening," she said, slightly disappointed. As her hand passed over the pear again, her finger accidentally tickled it. To her astonishment, the pear began to giggle, a high-pitched sound like tiny bells, before transforming into a large green door handle.
"You did it!" Chris exclaimed with genuine enthusiasm. "Try turning the handle."
Susan grasped the pear-turned-handle and pulled. The painting swung forward like a door, revealing a high-ceilinged, warm room filled with activity. The smell of cooking food rushed out to greet them, an intoxicating mixture of roasting meats, baking bread, simmering stews, and sweet desserts.
"The kitchens," Susan whispered in awe as they stepped through the entrance. "We actually found them."
Before them stretched an enormous room, a mirror image of the Great Hall above but filled with approximately one hundred house elves bustling around five long tables positioned exactly like those upstairs. Copper pots and pans hung from the ceiling, steam rising from bubbling cauldrons positioned over magical fires that burned without wood. Elves chopped vegetables with blinding speed, kneaded dough with tiny, expert hands, and levitated trays of completed dishes onto the tables.
The moment the two students entered, activity halted. A hundred pairs of tennis-ball sized eyes turned toward them, ears perking up in unison. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, a wave of elves surged forward, their faces alight with excitement.
"Young master and miss have come to visit the kitchens!" squeaked a particularly ancient elf with ears like crumpled parchment. "How may we serve Hogwarts students today?"
"Would young master and miss like tea?" asked another, already conjuring a silver tray bearing a steaming teapot.
"Or perhaps some treacle tart?" offered a third, presenting a perfectly golden pastry that glistened with sweet syrup.
"Or pumpkin pasties?" suggested a fourth, holding up a plate of flaky, orange-filled treats.
"Or chocolate éclairs?" chimed in a fifth, balancing a tower of cream-filled pastries.
Within seconds, Chris and Susan found themselves surrounded by eager elves offering silver platters laden with every dessert imaginable. The enthusiasm reminded Chris powerfully of Bouncy, though these elves moved with a collective purpose that spoke of centuries of coordinated service.
"Thank you," Chris said warmly, accepting a treacle tart with a respectful nod that made the offering elf beam with delight. "This looks wonderful. Do you prepare all the food for the entire school?"
The question unleashed a flurry of proud explanations from multiple elves at once, each eager to describe their role in feeding Hogwarts. Chris listened attentively, asking follow-up questions about their cooking methods and organization while Susan sampled a chocolate éclair, her expression one of blissful appreciation.
"Young master is very kind to ask about our work," said the elderly elf who had first greeted them. "Most students only want food, not conversation."
"I appreciate good cooking," Chris replied, his smile genuine. "And I've always been interested in how house elves manage such magnificent feasts."
The mention of house elves' skills seemed to further delight the kitchen staff, who proceeded to give them an impromptu tour, showing off enchanted self-stirring pots, magical ovens that maintained perfect temperature, and a fascinating system of magical dumbwaiters that transported food directly to the corresponding tables in the Great Hall above.
"This is incredible," Susan whispered to Chris as they watched elves decorating what would become that evening's dessert, an elaborate castle made entirely of spun sugar and chocolate. "I had no idea so much work went into our meals."
Chris nodded, a familiar warmth spreading through his chest as he observed the elves' joyful industry. In their enthusiasm and desire to please, he saw echoes of Jilly's quiet competence and Bouncy's exuberant service. These creatures were truly magical in ways that extended far beyond their ability to apparate within Hogwarts or prepare food with supernatural speed, their capacity for joy in service represented magic in its purest form.
"We should probably let them get back to work," Chris said eventually, noticing the preparations for dinner intensifying. "But thank you all so much for your hospitality."
The elves bowed and curtsied, their faces shining with pleasure at the simple acknowledgment. One particularly tiny elf pressed a napkin-wrapped bundle of cookies into Susan's hands "for later studying," while another assured them they were welcome anytime.
"Young master and miss are always welcome in the kitchens," the elderly elf declared. "Friends of house elves are friends of Hogwarts herself."
As they climbed back through the portrait hole, Susan clutched her cookie bundle with a satisfied smile. "That was brilliant. Where shall we explore next?"
Chris glanced at his watch, calculating the time remaining before dinner. "We've still got an hour. Fancy trying to find a secret passage or two on the upper floors?"
Susan's eyes sparkled with adventure. "Lead the way, Christopher Emrys. I have a feeling you're going to make exploring this castle very interesting indeed."
The staircases of Hogwarts seemed to possess personalities as distinct as the students who climbed them. Some moved with stately grace, their stone steps gliding smoothly through the air like ships on a calm sea. Others jerked and swung with unpredictable enthusiasm, delighting in the startled yelps of first-years caught mid-journey. Chris and Susan navigated this architectural whimsy with growing confidence, learning quickly to step over the vanishing step on the third-floor staircase and to wait patiently when their chosen path decided to connect to an entirely different landing than intended.
"You know," Susan said as they paused to let a particularly temperamental staircase finish its rotation, "my aunt told me the staircases change to confuse troublemakers. Apparently, they're less random if you're genuinely lost or late to class."
Chris leaned against the carved stone banister, watching the portraits on the walls who seemed equally entertained by the students' perpetual confusion. "That makes sense, the castle is supposedly semi-sentient. Hogwarts: A History mentions that the founders imbued the building with certain protective instincts."
The staircase finally settled with a grinding of ancient stone, allowing them to continue their journey to the fourth floor. Sunlight streamed through tall, arched windows along the corridor, casting elongated rectangles of gold across the flagstone floor. Chris and Susan wandered along, peering into empty classrooms and examining suits of armour that tracked their movements.
About halfway down the corridor, they paused at a narrow window that offered a spectacular view of the grounds. The Forbidden Forest stretched into the distance, a dark smudge against the blue September sky, its trees swaying gently in the breeze like underwater plants caught in a current.
"It looks almost peaceful from up here," Susan observed, pressing her hands against the cool glass. "Hard to believe it's supposedly full of dangerous creatures."
Chris gazed at the forest with more knowledgeable eyes, remembering the unicorns he'd met at Ambrosia Manor and thinking again of Quirrell's future crimes against them. "Beauty and danger often coexist," he said quietly. "The most magical places usually contain both."
"Is that why you're so interested in Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Susan asked, turning to study his face. "You mentioned starting a study group since Quirrell's teaching is so... lacking."
Before Chris could answer, a high-pitched cackle echoed down the corridor. They turned to see a small man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth floating cross-legged in mid-air around the corner. He wore a bell-covered hat and an orange bow tie, and his translucent form shimmered slightly in the sunlight, Peeves the poltergeist, Hogwarts' resident chaos-maker.
"Ickle firsties wandering alone!" Peeves sang, performing a somersault in the air. "What fun, what joy, what targets for Peevesie!"
In his hands, he clutched a water balloon of suspicious size and color. The malicious gleam in his eyes left no doubt about his intentions as he took aim at Susan, whose eyes widened in alarm.
"Watch out!" Chris called, reaching for his wand with practiced speed as Peeves hurled the balloon.
With a fluid motion born of months of practice, Chris pointed his wand and commanded: "Waddiwasi!"
The balloon froze mid-air, then reversed direction with astonishing force, shooting back toward the poltergeist like a missile. Peeves, clearly not expecting counter-attack from a first-year, had no time to dodge. The balloon exploded against his translucent form, drenching him in water that had been charmed a lurid purple color.
"ARGGGH!" Peeves screeched, patting at his soaked clothing as purple droplets dripped from his bow tie. "Firstie knows tricks! Not fair! NOT FAIR!"
With a string of remarkably creative curses that would have earned any student a week of detention, Peeves zoomed away down the corridor, leaving a trail of purple droplets in his wake.
Susan stared at Chris with undisguised amazement. "That was incredible! What was that spell? I've never heard of it before!"
"Waddiwasi," Chris repeated, returning his wand to its invisible holster. "It's designed specifically for repelling small objects at high speed. I read about it in a book of practical defensive charms after hearing about Peeves from some older students on the train."
"You have to teach me that one," Susan insisted, her eyes sparkling with admiration and excitement. "Imagine being able to defend yourself against Peeves! Most of the older students don't even try, they just run or call for the Bloody Baron."
Chris laughed, slightly embarrassed by her enthusiasm. "It's not too difficult. The key is focusing your intent on the object you want to redirect." He carefully didn't mention that the spell was typically taught to third-years due to its precision requirements.
They continued down the corridor, now slightly more alert for additional supernatural mischief-makers. Near the end of the hallway, they passed a tapestry depicting a slumbering dragon curled around a pile of golden eggs. The dragon was rendered in thread-of-gold that caught the light, making it appear to breathe as the tapestry moved gently in the draft from a nearby window.
"Beautiful workmanship," Chris commented, pausing to examine it more closely. He noticed that the stone floor in front of the tapestry showed signs of frequent foot traffic, despite being in a relatively unused corridor. "I wonder..."
He lifted the edge of the heavy fabric, revealing not solid wall but a darkened passage stretching beyond. "I thought so, a hidden shortcut!"
"How did you know to look there?" Susan asked, peering past him into the darkness.
"The worn floor stones," Chris explained. "Too much traffic for an empty hallway with a decorative tapestry. Secret passages need regular use to stay open in Hogwarts."
"Lumos," Susan cast, her wandtip illuminating a narrow stone passageway that curved gently downward. "Where do you think it leads?"
"Only one way to find out," Chris replied with a grin, ducking beneath the tapestry and into the passage.
The corridor was narrow but tall enough that they didn't need to stoop, its walls smooth stone worn by the passage of countless students over centuries. Their wands cast dancing shadows ahead as they descended a gentle slope, following the passage's curve as it spiraled downward like the inside of a seashell.
"We must be heading back toward the main part of the castle," Chris observed after a few minutes of walking. "I think we're going down at least two floors."
The passage eventually straightened and ended at what appeared to be solid wall until Chris pushed gently on a particular stone. The section of wall swung outward like a door, revealing the entrance hall just beside the grand staircase leading to the Great Hall.
"This is brilliant!" Susan exclaimed as they stepped out, the wall closing seamlessly behind them. "A direct shortcut from the top floors to the entrance hall! Think of how useful that will be when we're running late for meals or heading to Herbology."
Chris nodded, mentally mapping the discovery. "And I doubt many people know about it. That tapestry is in a pretty isolated corridor."
Students were beginning to stream toward the Great Hall for dinner, their voices echoing off the high ceiling of the entrance hall. The tantalizing smell of the evening meal wafted through the massive doorway, roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, and something sweetly spiced that promised delicious desserts to come.
"Should we join them?" Susan asked, gesturing toward the growing crowd.
Chris checked his watch. "We have time to drop off our bags in the common room first. Besides, I'd like to document our discoveries on my map before I forget the exact locations."
As they made their way back toward the Hufflepuff dormitory, Susan bumped her shoulder companionably against his. "Thanks for suggesting this exploration. I feel like I'm starting to understand the castle now, not just as a confusing maze of staircases and classrooms, but as a proper home."
Chris felt a surge of warmth at her words. Despite all his preparation and foreknowledge, despite the rituals and training, there was something genuinely magical about experiencing Hogwarts, about discovering its wonders alongside someone who appreciated them as much as he did.
"We've barely scratched the surface," he said, smiling at her enthusiasm. "This castle has been accumulating secrets for a thousand years. We've got seven years to uncover them."
"Seven years," Susan repeated, her voice filled with something like wonder. "It sounds like forever and not nearly long enough, all at the same time."
As they descended the stairs toward their common room, Chris reflected that this, the simple joy of discovery, the warmth of budding friendship, was perhaps the true magic of Hogwarts, more profound than any spell he could cast with his Yggdrasil wand.
The Charms lesson ended with a chorus of excited chatter as Professor Flitwick reminded the first-years of their flying lesson scheduled for that afternoon. Chris gathered his quills and parchment with methodical precision, watching Hannah's face grow progressively paler at the reminder. She had been dreading this moment since spotting it on their weekly timetable, her fear of heights transforming the prospect of flying from magical milestone to imminent catastrophe.
"It'll be fine," Susan assured her as they filed out of the classroom into the sun-dappled corridor. "My cousin started flying when she was five and she's never even fallen off. The school brooms are charmed with safety spells."
Hannah clutched her books tighter against her chest, her knuckles whitening. "What if my broom doesn't even listen to me? What if it decides to fly straight into the Forbidden Forest? What if it bucks me off a hundred feet in the air?"
"Then I'll cast a cushioning charm to catch you," Chris said with a reassuring smile, steering them toward the staircase that would take them to lunch. "Though I doubt it will come to that. First flying lessons are always very controlled."
The Great Hall hummed with the familiar midday energy, sunlight streaming through towering windows to illuminate the four house tables. As they found seats at the Hufflepuff table, fragments of flying-related conversations drifted around them like airborne seeds.
"My brother says the school brooms pull left if you go too fast," a second-year was explaining to a cluster of wide-eyed first-years.
"I heard one of the brooms is possessed by the spirit of a crashed Quidditch player," whispered a Ravenclaw at the next table, earning horrified gasps from her companions.
"Complete rubbish," declared an older Hufflepuff boy with prefect's badge. "The brooms are old and a bit temperamental, but they're perfectly safe. Just be confident and you'll do fine."
Susan helped herself to chicken sandwiches, her movements betraying none of Hannah's anxiety. "I've been looking forward to this all week," she confessed. "My aunt never let me try her broom, said it was too fast for beginners. But I've watched Quidditch matches since I was tiny."
"What about you, Chris?" Hannah asked, poking unenthusiastically at a bowl of soup. "Are you nervous?"
Chris selected an apple from a nearby fruit bowl. "Curious more than nervous," he replied truthfully. "I've read about flying techniques, and practiced a bit at home, but there is only so much you can learn about in books, and I didn't get enough practice in to be really good at it."
"You'll be brilliant at it," Susan predicted, reaching for a pitcher of pumpkin juice. "You're good at everything else we've tried so far."
Hannah managed a weak smile. "At least we're learning with the other Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. I heard the Gryffindors had to partner with Slytherin, and Draco Malfoy spent the whole time boasting about his flying skills."
After a light lunch, none of them wanting to risk an overly full stomach while airborne, the trio made their way across the sweeping lawns toward the Flying Practice Field. The September afternoon had turned gloriously golden, sunlight warming their backs as a gentle breeze ruffled the grass. In the distance, the Forbidden Forest stood dark against the horizon, while closer at hand, they could see Madam Hooch already waiting on the training ground, her short gray hair gleaming silver in the sunlight.
Two neat rows of school brooms lay on the grass, their handles worn smooth by generations of novice hands. Some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles, testament to years of less-than-gentle landings. Students from both houses formed small, nervous clusters at the field's edge, no one quite brave enough to approach the brooms until instructed.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Madam Hooch barked, her yellow, hawk-like eyes surveying them impatiently. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up!"
Chris selected a broom that, while old, had relatively straight bristles and a handle free of major gouges. He positioned himself between Susan and Hannah, offering the latter an encouraging nod as she approached her broom with the caution one might reserve for a sleeping dragon.
"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch from the front, "and say 'Up!'"
"UP!" shouted twenty voices in varying degrees of confidence.
Chris's broom jumped immediately into his hand, the worn wooden handle warm against his palm as if greeting an old friend. The sensation was remarkably similar to his Comet at home, though this broom's magic felt fainter, like an echo rather than a song.
Susan's broom wobbled indecisively before rising slowly to meet her outstretched hand. Her face lit with triumph at the partial success. Hannah's broom, however, merely rolled over on the ground as if considering the command before deciding against it.
"Up?" she tried again, her voice lifting at the end to form an uncertain question rather than a command.
To their right, a Ravenclaw boy yelped in surprise as his broom shot upward with excessive enthusiasm, smacking him squarely in the face before falling back to the grass. Several students laughed, though the boy's reddening nose suggested the impact had been less amusing from his perspective.
Chris leaned slightly toward Hannah, keeping his voice low enough not to attract Madam Hooch's attention. "Focus on your intent," he suggested gently. "Magic responds to will, not just words. Imagine the broom wants to be in your hand."
Hannah closed her eyes briefly, took a steady breath, and tried again. "UP," she commanded with marginally more conviction. The broom quivered, then rose shakily to hover at waist height before she grasped it with obvious relief.
"Well done," Chris whispered as Madam Hooch strode along the rows, correcting grips and stances.
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you will kick off from the ground, hard," Hooch instructed after ensuring everyone held their brooms correctly. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle, three, two, one, "
The shrill sound pierced the air, and twenty students pushed off with varying degrees of commitment. Chris rose smoothly, his body automatically adjusting to balance on the broom as it hovered about six feet above the ground. The feeling of weightlessness, of separation from the earth, brought a genuine smile to his face despite having experienced it before. There was something undeniably magical about flying, regardless of how many times one had done it.
Beside him, Susan had managed to get airborne but her broom was drifting sideways, threatening to carry her into another student's path. Without thinking, Chris leaned over and steadied her broom with one hand, helping her find the correct balance point.
"Thanks," she murmured, her initial alarm fading into concentration as she adjusted her grip. "It keeps pulling to the left."
On his other side, Hannah had kicked off too forcefully in her nervousness and shot upward well beyond the few feet Hooch had specified. She emitted a squeak of alarm, frozen in place with her eyes squeezed shut and knuckles white on the broomstick.
Chris guided his own broom higher with subtle pressure, coming alongside her. "You're doing fine," he assured her quietly. "Just adjust your grip like this, " he demonstrated a slight change in hand position ", and think about coming down slowly. The broom responds to your thoughts more than your movements."
Under his calm guidance, Hannah managed to descend to the proper height, her breathing gradually slowing from panicked gasps to merely nervous inhales. By the time Madam Hooch blew her whistle for them to land, she had even opened her eyes to take in the view of the grounds from their modest altitude.
Their feet touched down on the grass with gentle bumps, Susan landing with noticeable reluctance while Hannah immediately stepped away from her broom as if it might spontaneously take off again.
"That was brilliant!" Susan exclaimed, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration. "Did you see how high we got? Next time I bet we'll get to actually fly forward!"
"It wasn't... completely terrible," Hannah admitted, smoothing her rumpled robes. "At least once I stopped imagining myself plummeting to my death."
Chris returned his broom to the ground with the others, hiding his smile. "You both did really well for a first attempt. Flying is a skill that improves quickly with practice."
As they walked back toward the castle, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the lawn, Hannah bumped her shoulder against Chris's. "Thanks for helping me. I would have been stuck up there panicking if you hadn't talked me through it."
"That's what friends are for," he replied simply, enjoying the genuine warmth of companionship that had developed between them over their first week at Hogwarts.
Susan skipped a few steps ahead, then turned to walk backward facing them. "Think they'll let us try out for Quidditch next year? I'd love to be a Chaser."
"You'd be good at it," Chris said, already contemplating how he might practice more advanced maneuvers during free periods. The school brooms were vastly inferior to his Comet, but adequate for maintaining his skills until he could arrange for a better model to "mysteriously" find its way into his possession. Perhaps after demonstrating sufficient natural talent, a gift from an "anonymous admirer" wouldn't seem too suspicious.
The castle rose before them, its windows gleaming gold in the late afternoon light, towers reaching toward a sky that no longer seemed distant and unreachable but a new frontier they had begun to explore. One week at Hogwarts had already expanded their world in ways none of them could have anticipated, and Chris found himself genuinely looking forward to what would come next, both the challenges he knew awaited and the
"Maybe we can ask Madam Hooch if we can practice on weekends," Susan suggested, falling back into step beside them. "I bet she'd allow it if we got permission from Professor Sprout."
"I'd need a lot more practice before I'd feel comfortable zooming around on purpose," Hannah said with a small shudder. "But I suppose I could try again. With you two there," she added quickly.
Chris nodded thoughtfully. "We could make it a regular thing, an hour of flying practice each weekend. By Christmas, you'll be comfortable enough to race us around the field, Hannah."
The prospect of flying regularly appealed to him more than he let on. While his mature magical core allowed him to excel in classroom magic with relative ease, flying represented a different kind of challenge, one where physical skill and instinct mattered as much as magical ability.
"Do you think they'll notice if we sneak down to the kitchens for a celebratory snack before dinner?" Susan asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief as they entered the castle's cool shadow. "I think surviving our first week of classes deserves some of those chocolate éclairs."
Hannah giggled, her earlier fear seemingly forgotten. "I could definitely be persuaded by chocolate."
"Lead the way," Chris agreed, smiling as Susan took off down the corridor, already reaching to tickle the pear in the fruit bowl painting.
As he followed his friends, Chris felt a quiet sense of satisfaction settle over him. His first week at Hogwarts had gone exactly according to plan, perhaps even better. He had established himself as naturally talented but not suspiciously so, made genuine friendships that would provide both cover and companionship, and begun mapping the castle's secrets for future use.
Most importantly, he was enjoying himself. Despite the weight of what he knew, despite his awareness of the dangers that lurked beneath Quirrell's turban and the challenges that would come with the changing seasons, Chris found himself embracing this second chance with unexpected enthusiasm. Hogwarts was no longer just a tactical position from which to alter future events, it was becoming, in its own way, home.