Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was an excellent start to the day after Dudley got his brand-new uniform for Smeltings. As he reflected on the praises he had received from his parents the night before, he was still full of energy. They looked so proud. He looked so grown up, like his father. Following his father’s footsteps, he was on his way to a successful life and a dream job.

Well, Dad’s life wasn’t all roses. He constantly complained about Harry and what the neighbors must think, but Dudley didn’t have any siblings, so he shouldn’t have to worry about awful nephews ruining all that.

Even the smell of whatever awful thing Mum had in the pot on the stove couldn’t ruin his mood.

Their ears heard the mail passing through the letter slot. While Dad was still trying to make Harry get the mail, a knock came from the door.

Petunia and Vernon exchanged glances, and then Petunia answered the door.

Vernon returned to his paper, and Harry and Dudley stared at the door even though they couldn’t see through Petunia.

Mum opened the door to find a tall woman standing there. Dudley knew he had to retreat, catch Harry doing something terrible to get her attention or pretend tears to escape her scolding by asking, “Can I help you?” in that calmly angry tone.

The woman replied, “Thank you. Is this the residence of Dudley Dursley?”

Standing rigidly in the doorway, Petunia asked, “Who is asking?”

“The extremely elite school for gifted students has invited Mr. Dursley to join. My name is Professor Minerva McGonagall, and I would like to inform you that he has accepted the invitation.” She said.

In no way had the term gifted been used to describe Dudley. The letters were constantly flickering and spinning, making it difficult for him to quickly follow what everyone else was doing. In Dudley’s opinion, doing homework was not fun because there were more exciting things to do.

An elite school? No, it was not Eton. Even the smeltings were not all that special, despite what Dad claimed.

Harry stared skeptically at Dudley, who returned the stare. Even though Dudley thought the woman was off her rocker, Harry had no right to rub it in.

Mum’s voice got cold. “He’s already accepted a place at Smeltings. You may leave now.”

“Mrs. Dursley, you must hear me out,” McGonagall insisted. As Petunia tried to shut the surrounding door, she shoved her way inside. Despite her tall stature, she wore a tartan-colored dress and appeared sternly more stern than Mrs. Petersen. As soon as Dudley saw her, he disliked her.

As McGonagall picked up the yellowish envelope from the pile of mail, he frowned. Petunia was standing next to Harry and hadn’t collected it yet. A moment later, her eyes widened. “I don’t think I need to tell you how critical it is that Dudley attends Hogwarts,” she said, gesturing at the envelope.

Petunia shouted over McGonagall, “Boys, please play out back!”

Then Dudley whined, “But Mom.” No matter how loud he protested, Petunia would back down. He wanted to know what was so special about this school that she would argue with her.

It didn’t work. When Dudley threw his biggest tantrum, Mum remained firm, and Dad escorted him outside.

Harry had ducked outside when Dad raised his voice and had already disappeared.

“Now, do you remember that I read all the addresses on the letters before they get delivered to students?” McGonagall asks.

Petunia and Vernon quickly paled. They were afraid of being turned into a frog or something.

“Things will change, or you will lose custody of both of them,” McGonagall said sternly.

Petunia exclaimed, “Don’t take my Diddykins!”

“Dudley will go to Hogwarts whether you like it or not. You should remember that if a younger witch or wizard does not attend Hogwarts, they endanger everyone around them. The untrained magic of a child can also be dangerous, especially after puberty. It would constitute criminal negligence if they were not allowed to attend.” McGonagall said, getting more frustrated.

Vernon starts turning purple in the face and shouting, “My son’s not sending him to some freak show school run by a bunch of freaks!”

“You do have the option to send that Dudley to a different magic school. You have no say in the matter regarding Harry; his tuition has been taken care of since he was a baby, and he will attend Hogwarts,” McGonagall said.

“I am not sending Dudley to Hogwarts. Let Dudley go to a different school!" Petunia exclaimed.

“Well, let’s talk about Harry now,” McGonagall had barely finished her sentence.

“I am not talking about that FREAK,” yelled Vernon.

“Harry Potter is not a freak! Then I will forcibly silence you until the discussion is over, or I will leave if you repeat it,” McGonagall said.

Vernon paled and quickly shut up.

“Now, continuing where I left off, I warn you if Harry doesn’t have a room or isn’t fed properly, I will make you regret it,” McGonagall said. “Want to talk to them.”

Petunia called Dudley back in from the back door. As Dudley entered the house, he sat eagerly on the couch when Mum directed him.

McGonagall sighed through her nose, pursed lips already in place before Dudley entered. “I want to speak with both boys, Mrs. Dursley.”

Mum didn’t look any happier. A scowl stretched across her face as she nodded to Vernon, who ran to the back door and shouted, “Boy! Get inside this instant!”

After another long moment, Harry scrambled into view of the open door, brushing dead leaves off his clothes and staying cautiously out of Vernon’s reach. He stepped towards Harry’s doorway as if he were about to grab him but stopped suddenly and backed away.

After hesitation, Harry rushed inside, past Vernon, and out of reach again. He toed off his shoes before stepping off the kitchen tile and silently, cautiously, walking into the living room where the rest of them were sitting.

Despite Harry standing warily near the couch, McGonagall’s scowl didn’t waver as he didn’t dare track dirt across its surface. Harry would have to do extra chores for a month; even Dudley knew that.

She said, “Mr. Potter, Mr. Dursley, I am here to offer you each a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

“Magic isn’t real!” Dudley blurted. Dad said that at least once a month.

“I assure you, Mr. Dursley, magic exists. There are normally strict laws about revealing magic to muggles - to people who aren’t magical - but exceptions exist for the family. Your mother had known this before you were born, considering her sister was a student at Hogwarts.”

Dudley stared at his mother. Despite looking furious, she didn’t correct the professor. “In taking the boy in, we swore we would stamp out any freakishness he might have with honesty and diligent work. We didn’t sign up for him to infect our precious Dudders like this!” Mum exclaimed.

McGonagall glared disapprovingly at her. Turning back to Dudley and Harry, she looked at them momentarily. “Is a demonstration in order?” McGonagall suggested. She did not wait for an answer. Suddenly, a cat appeared on the floor, with its paws hidden under its curled, twitching tail, where the woman had been standing.

Dudley eyed the cat. If that was the woman upsetting his parents, she was much easier to bash at that size.

McGonagall stepped back in front of them before he could grab the cat. McGonagall stood before them again before he could catch the cat.

Harry breathed, “Wicked. Is anyone capable of doing that?”

McGonagall’s face finally exhibited a hint of a smile. “You have a curious mind, like your mother, Mister Potter. To answer your question, most witches and wizards have not taken the time to become animaguses - people who can turn into animals. Animagus transformation is a specialized variant of transfiguration, the discipline I teach. There are many other forms of magic, of course.” She pulled a long stick from under her loose sleeve. “If I may?”

“You absolutely may not!” Mum exclaimed, practically shaking. “I wouldn’t want either of them to do that...”

The purple face and clenched fists in the kitchen puzzled Dudley as he looked away, not seeing him. His hands tightened into fists, but he didn’t seem to be approaching them. Dad caught Dudley looking away before he could see him.

McGonagall’s smile vanished as she insisted firmly, “Hogwarts is the most prestigious school of its kind. Young witches and wizards must attend magical schools when they are old enough to prevent unintentional violations of the Statute of Secrecy. A child’s untrained magic can also come out dangerously, especially after puberty. Failure to allow them to attend would constitute criminal negligence.”

When Mum and Dad didn’t protest, Dudley suspected they’d already argued before calling him back inside.

Petunia explained, “We’ve already paid for Dudley’s tuition—non-refundable fees. We cannot afford the fees of another school. How can we afford them?”

“You are not the only family with such concerns,” McGonagall said stiffly. “Hogwarts has an agreement with many private muggle schools. A transfer of funds is likely to happen.”

“Dudley cannot be magical. You’re wrong. There’s nothing abnormal about him.” Petunia screamed in frustration. Her first sign of weakness was audible to Dudley.

Petunia was furious. “He isn’t a wizard,” she declared.

“Often, accidental magic manifests during times of high emotion,” McGonagall explained patiently. Her gaze returned to Dudley. “When you are scared, frustrated, or angry, do you ever experience unusual things around you that you cannot explain?”

“It’s Harry’s fault!” Dudley insisted, taking his mother’s side despite not being sure. Harry got blamed and punished when Mrs. Reed’s hair turned blue. She was still raging against Dudley for being unable to read smoothly in front of the class when her hair changed color. After falling into the snake enclosure just a few weeks ago, when he’d been so mad, he thought for a moment that the glass had reappeared behind him. Nothing that would have caused him to run into the glass had happened to him. He’d toppled right onto the concrete floor of the reptile house when he tried to slam himself against it in his panic.

Dudley wasn’t sure what Harry had feared so much that he tried to escape into the snake tank. However, the glass vanishing in the first place had nothing to do with him.

McGonagall let out another sigh. “Is that description of accidental magic familiar to you, Mr. Potter?”

Looking cautious, Harry nodded carefully. He didn’t elaborate and only said “some things.”

“The invitation list, however, is written with an enchanted quill that makes no mistakes. A letter addressed to Mister D. V. Dursley, who will attend Hogwarts this year unless you want to apply to Beauxbatons?” replied Mum McGonagall.

If Dudley had to guess, the last word sounded French, but it might be another school.

Dudley didn’t know enough French to attend a French school! He glanced at Mum in a panic, but at least she didn’t appear to be considering sending him that far.

Through gritted teeth, Mum replied, “Very well. Did you plan to take them shopping?” She grabbed her purse and dug around until she stopped and looked coldly at McGonagall. In her bag, her hand remained still. Asked her, “Well?”

“I am willing to show you the shopping district, although I am sure you have been there before.” McGonagall’s face flashed with many muted emotions before she said stonily, “The school is not responsible for escorting summer students or buying their supplies.”

Mum immediately pulled a wad of bills from her purse and handed them to McGonagall. “Is this enough?”

Despite McGonagall’s flared nostrils, she accepted and thumbed through the bills, considering them. “It will get one student a new wand, a uniform, and enough supplies for the year if you buy most of them second-hand,” she said.

Mum looked torn for a minute, and Dudley expected her to pull out another wad of cash. She would never let Dudley embarrass himself in second-hand clothes.

“I’ll pay for Dudley’s items with that. Since it’s mandatory, not all students can afford everything. There has to be a fund set up for those who cannot afford everything, so use it to buy Potter’s stuff.” Petunia said.

McGonagall’s nostrils flared up. “I see.” She refolded the bills Mum had given her and put them in a pocket.

Dudley couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Mum, you wouldn’t!” He whimpered, trembling his lips. “You make me wear second-hand clothes to school,” he whimped, trembling. “But why—”

Seeing Dudley’s tantrum, McGonagall yelled, “Enough!”

“I can’t do anything to your parents for wanting to put in the minimum effort,” she said scathingly, “but this shopping trip falls outside my job responsibilities if you give me any trouble. I’ll make sure you regret it. At the same time, I will take you shopping as a favor for your parents. At least you’ll have detention for the first week of the school year!” She narrowed her eyes briefly at Harry but fixed her scowl on Dudley.

Dudley protested, “That’s unfair!”

Dudley was also warned that he might be given detention for nothing in addition to his tears being resisted twice a day. Besides, “Everyone knows Harry is a delinquent.”

She said, “I will judge students based on their actions, not hearsay. Please, Mr. Potter and Mr. Dursley, prepare to leave as soon as possible.”

Harry had to put his shoes back on to get ready. McGonagall had a quiet argument with his parents, but Dudley couldn’t hear them. Dudley and Harry were both waiting in the kitchen when McGonagall answered quietly.

Dudley and Harry did not get the chance to ask what all that was about before McGonagall grabbed them both firmly by the wrists. Squirming was the only warning included in the sign. It was like Dudley’s entire body was being pulled, crushed, and twisted simultaneously. It was a narrow alley paved with cobblestones unknown to them.

“What was that?” Harry wondered.

“The method you used to travel is called apparating. It is one of the quickest ways of traveling magically, but it can be uncomfortable. Are you both OK?” McGonagall answered.

After being pulled inside out like that, Dudley was feeling queasy. However, the sensation was subsiding, and he hated the idea of acknowledging weakness.

“Where are we?” Harry asked quickly. “I’m fine,” he replied. Dudley wasn’t feeling well enough to confront him about it while he was ill.

“It’s a pleasure to be in Diagon Alley, in London. It’s a popular shopping district and one of the few places where you can obtain all of your school supplies within walking distance of one another,” she explained.

She led them out of the shady corner. “The first thing we need to do is exchange your money at the bank, Mr. Dursley.”

Bank trips are not fun. Dudley was merely trying to comment on the bank’s unattractive dwarf employees. He couldn’t make a sound. Despite his best efforts, Dudley did not manage to complete the statement. It wasn’t his words or his feet that made noise. Almost too late, he realized that McGonagall had explained that the employees were goblins but was distracted from throwing a tantrum because he could not. It was vital for them to be polite.

Angry goblin eyes tracked them up to the counter, where McGonagall exchanged the wad of bills Mum had handed her for a small leather coin purse. She also quietly asked Harry Potter to trust the vault he could visit.

The goblin nodded. “Does Mr. Potter have his key?” asked the goblin.

“Yes,” McGonagall says, taking it out of her pocket and handing it to the goblin.

McGonagall left Dudley waiting silently for Harry just by the entrance. Dudley was still forcibly silent and shifted uneasily under the angry-looking glares from the goblins by the door; hopefully, that was just how their faces were.

McGonagall followed Harry and the Goblin down to the carts. She asked, “Do you have muggle clothes? Did the Dursleys buy you? When did you get your eyes checked?”

“No, they only gave me Dudley’s hand-me-downs. One of my elementary school teachers made my aunt take me to the eye doctor, but she just got some donated glasses,” Harry responded.

“We’ll have to include muggle’s clothes in our shopping as well, and I’m guessing we’ll have to get you some formal dress robes. We’ll have to add a stop at the eyeglass shop to check your eyes and get a brand-new prescription and glasses. As well as a book on pureblood customs, an introductory text for muggle-borns, and a book on secondary genders because you are the heir Potter.” McGonagall says with a sigh.

Harry nods, unsure what it means when she says he is the Potter heir. Harry was utterly in awe when he saw what he had in his vault. McGonagall helped him grab enough for school and some extra to ensure he had enough for clothes and some spending money for the year.

Once they’ve returned from Harry’s vault, McGonagall grabs Dudley and proceeds to exit the bank.

The first stop was Trunks. McGonagall explained that this was so they could pack the rest of their school supplies into them as they shopped.

She apologized for silencing Dudley and said something about not starting another war, but Dudley ignored her. He threw another tantrum that would have Mum and Dad falling over to appease him. Unimpressed and unmoved, McGonagall folded her arms and glared at him.

“The first week of school, that will be detention. If you don’t change your behavior, I’ll silence you for the rest of the day.” Her tone was harsh when he had calmed after her refusal to budge.

Harry had picked out a brand-new trunk, monogrammed with his initials, while Dudley picked out a second-hand trunk from the second-hand section.

Dudley was mad when McGonagall said there was insufficient money to get his monograms. He didn’t throw another tantrum. Habit tugged at him, but his lack of energy after the last one, and McGonagall’s warning restricted his complaints to whining and pointed sighs instead of wailing.

The rest of the morning was mostly dull. There was junk everywhere! They headed to a used goods store to buy Dudley’s scales and telescopes, which looked just as disorganized as Dudley’s second bedroom. Harry’s were brand new when they purchased them at a regular store. They bought quills, ink, and stacks of the funny, thick paper called parchment at one store.

Cauldrons were easy to spot in a mess, with substantial dull metal basins. Other junk had built up in drifts around them, but McGonagall insisted they never ought to buy a used cauldron.

Harry’s were shiny and brand new, with not a single dent or scratch in them. There was a significant dent in the side of Dudley’s telescope, but McGonagall insisted those wouldn’t make a difference in the telescope’s function.

“OK, boys, time for your uniform,” McGonagall informed them, leading them out of the junk store. After leaving the bank, she called them ‘boys’ instead of ‘Mr. Dursley and Mr. Potter.’ Occasionally, she would contact Dudley by name, but never Harry. He couldn’t figure out why. “We’re heading to Clare’s to get Dudley’s robes, and afterward, we’ll proceed to Madam Malkin’s for Harry’s.”

She led them to a door so narrowly wedged between two other doors that Dudley couldn’t imagine there was much of a shop inside. But he was proven wrong.

The entrance to Clare’s led to a normal-sized shopping area with robes — which just looked like weird dresses - sorted by color and size, hanging like they were floating unsupported in the air.

McGonagall had explained that they were mandatory as the school uniform, but Dudley wouldn’t touch the dresses with a barge pole unless he was forced.

“Welcome to Clare’s Fashions and Fortunes. How can we help you?” a young man said from behind the front counter, sounding bored.

“We’re looking for Hogwarts uniforms for a new student. Don’t worry, I know the way,” McGonagall answered, waving at the man to sit back down rather than lead them in.

Dudley followed her reluctantly as she weaved deftly between the racks, not wanting to be silent again.

McGonagall whispered to a salesperson in a section of short, black robes. As soon as Dudley had both feet inside the lines, measuring tapes started flitting about him all on their own.

As the salesperson took his measurements, he returned with a large bag full of robes. In the fitting rooms, Dudley shuffled with an armful of robes. As McGonagall sternly warned him, Dudley tried on each heavily worn robe — taking off his shirt but leaving his trousers on underneath - and stepped out to have McGonagall approve each.

She frowned more and more deeply at each one but didn’t say anything to him. Harry didn’t say anything either and just sat next to her. Dudley was starting to wonder if this was all a massive prank, forcing him to wear ragged, uncomfortable dresses. Finally, he emerged from the fitting room in his shirt, carrying all eight robes he’d tried on.

McGonagall took the pile from him and approached the salesperson. She talked too quietly to overhear, but her scowl was as vicious as the one she’d fixed Dudley with at Gringotts. He was just glad it was focused on someone else this time.

The salesperson visibly wilted under McGonagall’s quiet tirade before finally squeaking “Yes, Professor,” and disappearing into the racks again, taking all the robes Dudley had been forced to try on with her.

When the salesperson returned with more robes, McGonagall directed him back into the fitting rooms to try them on.

“Why do I have to try on more?” Dudley demanded, outraged. He’d worn enough dresses for the day.

“Miss Fawcett decided to take offense at something you said and brought you the poorest-quality robes they had in stock in your size. Would you prefer the pile of faded and stained robes you started with?” McGonagall inquired.

Dudley didn’t. Poorly used clothing wasn’t his style.

“We can ensure they’re more appropriate after you try them on,” McGonagall suggested.

There was no arguing with her. Dudley tried on more robes. They were still gray, but they didn’t have any stains or tears on them like the last pile. When he tried them on, he noticed that his neck and arms no longer itched from loose threads unraveling from the hems. He instead placed his head and hands around the room. He was amazed at the difference.

Finally, he had tried on all the new pile of robes. McGonagall looked much more approved this time, and sure enough, this time, she paid for the robes rather than sending the salesperson back for another.

The clerk flicked his wand, and the robes nearly stacked while he made a change for McGonagall. The pile of clothes she handed to Dudley was in his dull, plain trunk. She removed this trunk from her pocket and resized it with a tap of her wand and a muttered spell. As Dudley shoved the pile into a corner and closed the trunk, McGonagall shrank it immediately and put it back in her pocket.

McGonagall says, “Now let’s head to Madam Malkin’s.”

They make their way to Madam Malkin’s robes for All Occasions. Being fitted for robes turned out to be some hazing ritual.

“Hello, Professor McGonagall,” Madam Malkin says.

“Just helping a couple of First Years get their school supplies,” McGonagall says.

“Do you boys want to get up on my platform so I can start measuring?” Madam Malkin says, turning to the boys.

“No, I already got Dudley’s uniform from Claire’s,” McGonagall says before they can speak.

After whispering with McGonagall for a few seconds, Madame Malkin turns to Harry, taking some over to the podium to measure him.

Harry was distracted by the measuring tape that finished measuring his arms, legs, and torso and was now checking the circumference of his head then ears. Then he shooed it off when it started measuring his glasses.

Madam said that she’d have the finished robes done by the end of the day. A sewing machine in the far corner was already working on a set of robes, a black cat watching the heavy iron treadle wobble back and forth.

“Excellent. Come along, boys. I think it’s time we stopped for lunch.”

As McGonagall left the shop and weaved through the crowds, Dudley and Harry kept pace with her as she left.

When McGonagall pulled out her wand and tapped in the middle of the brick wall at the end of the Alley, the bricks wriggled, stretched, and moved. Eventually, there was a fine brick archway for them to step through.

On the other side of the arch was a bustling pub with a sign declaring it to be The Leaky Cauldron.

McGonagall led them inside and quickly claimed an empty booth in the corner. She ushered them into seats facing each other and instructed them to stay put and behave.

She disappeared into the crowd, heading towards the bar. Despite its dingy appearance, the restaurant wasn’t famous for lunch. Harry and Dudley exchanged nervous glances.

Harry said nothing, and Dudley wasn’t interested in starting a conversation either. His head was already spinning with the revelations of the day. Aside from magic, there were goblins, wars, and many other things to consider.

Eventually, McGonagall returned, followed by a waitress carrying three bowls of stew. McGonagall sat next to Dudley, and the waitress left all the food on the table and disappeared again. She also had plates with butter, chunks of bread, and glasses of something thick and dark orange that Dudley couldn’t identify.

The beef stew was tasty in a familiar sort of way. Dudley couldn’t decide whether he liked the pumpkin juice McGonagall ordered for them - but it was new to him. The story she told - about a terrorist targeting Harry’s parents and Harry surviving and getting credit for killing the terrorist - was also bizarre. It contradicted what Petunia said about Harry’s parents, for one thing. And for another, she kept calling the terrorist “He Who Must Not Be Named,” which was just a mouthful.

“But I can’t have done that!” Harry protested. “I was just a baby! And I don’t know any magic!”

“I believe you will find, Mister Potter, that the magical world lacks common sense. The fact that you were a babe in arms gets forgotten. Instead, compare that to the fact that you survived something that no one else has.” She took another bite and dabbed her perfectly clean lips with her napkin.

While eating something messy like a stew, Dudley found it easier to focus on the small things. For example, it was silly to clean your mouth while eating. What was the point? It was just going to be more food and more mess.

As a celebrity, Harry suffered through so much all at once. A terrorist killed his parents. How could he stand being thrown as far as he was?

Dudley sometimes had trouble understanding what he was hearing. At least this discussion revolved around food. It was far less stressful to listen while eating something and not be expected to participate in conversation as heavily as to be told things directly and respond promptly.

When they finished eating, McGonagall folded her napkin on the table beside her plate. “Well, boys, we should continue shopping if we want to complete our shopping by this evening. Flourish, and Blotts is next for your textbooks.”

“Ugh, books,” Dudley complained as he and Harry scrambled out of the booth and followed McGonagall back to the shopping Alley. “You have my list. Do I have to follow you through some dusty old bookstore?”

“If you behave, I’ll buy your course books and your cousin’s while you wait at the front of the bookshop,” McGonagall said, sounding sympathetic.

“I will behave!” Dudley promised quickly, his head spinning from the morning’s events, finding out magic was real and McGonagall’s story over lunch. The chance to sit down and not deal with life-shattering revelations sounded nice.

“Very well,” McGonagall said. She led the way to the bookstore without further comment.

A few armchairs and a couch were off to the side inside the bookstore, where they wouldn’t get in the way of new customers coming in. One chair was already occupied by an older gentleman reading a magazine with an attractive cover image.

“Now stay here and don’t cause a fuss,” McGonagall instructed, returning to being the stern teacher. “Or I’ll make you regret it.”

After that, she and Harry disappeared between the shelves.

Dudley sighed and looked around. The man at the counter had a clear line of sight on him, so he couldn’t fidget with anything without the risk of being scolded. The only thing in this store were boring books, even if the ones here did come in an incredible variety of sizes and colors. Dudley hated books, just like he hated school. Smeltings would have been OK because he was following in Dad’s footsteps, but all of today was just frustrating instead. Why did he even have to be alone to buy all these weird things?

Mum gave Dudley whatever he asked for simply by whimpering like he was about to cry. Harry was always polite, as the teachers told them, but Mum never gave him anything he asked for.

When the teachers told Dudley that asking politely would affect his grades, he thought they were nuts. It worked with any teacher who tried to tell him to act that way because that’s what they wanted him to do with them. However, he had never seen asking his parents politely accomplish anything that whining did not.

He would have to think about that. Was his family the unusual one?

McGonagall and Harry emerged. Harry carried a large stack of brand-new books. The pile of books McGonagall was holding appeared to be torn and used. Harry’s accumulation of books seemed to be more significant.

McGonagall said, “Come along, Mr. Dursley.” After the stacks of books had disappeared into charming bags that did not indicate their contents' size and weight, they were put into their trunks. “Only a few more stops.”

After the awful, boring bookstore, the apothecary was a delightful place full of fascinating things, even though Dudley would probably have loved the site anyway. There was a whole barrel of beetle’s eyes and another of mayfly wings. There was a neatly labeled shelf with slimy, stained baskets with slimy frog livers, toes, hearts, eyes, tongues, and legs. Brown waxed paper was nearby to wrap up each slimy purchase.

For once, it seemed like Dudley and Harry were thinking the same thing as they wandered through the shelf of different kinds of blood and jellyfish stings.

For each of them, McGonagall chose a cauldron - a little smaller than Dudley had seen at the junk store - and a stirrer set from the back wall. A solid gold cauldron caught Harry’s eye just before Dudley noticed it, but she didn’t allow him to touch it. Then she took them to the side counter and asked for two first-year potion ingredients kits from a young woman behind the counter.

McGonagall nodded. “Very well.”

“There will be two first-year kits on their way,” Jigger promised and rushed into the shop to collect whatever could be included in the kits.

Dudley couldn’t see what ingredients he had until after she returned with two folding cases that were disappointingly sealed. McGonagall and Harry paid for the supplies, and McGonagall pulled out their trunks again, packed with their latest purchases, before closing them and storing them away.

As they left the shop, a cheerful voice boomed, “Minerva! I didn’t expect to see you here!”

A man towered over the crowd and moved toward them with messy hair and a vast dark beard taller than Harry’s.

As McGonagall sighed, she muttered something about their “lack of subtlety.”

Then she raised her voice to an average level, instructing, “OK, boys.” Olivander’s Wand Shop should remain the reference.

They were warned to “Stay together.” She also told them to “Wait just inside the door. I’ll join you soon.” As she pointed to the shop across the street, an outline of a wand was displayed.

While Dudley and Harry stared at one another in confusion first, she urged them, “Come on.”

Seeing Dudley over his shoulder, Harry took a glance at McGonagall. McGonagall stepped briskly away from the pair towards the man calling her name, and Dudley followed after him.

When Dudley glanced past the counter, McGonagall led them into a dark, dusty shop, much more prominent than the robe shop.

“Who could you be?” he asked, suddenly turning towards Dudley as though he had been summoned.

“Er, I’m Dudley Dursley,” Dudley said, though he was still a tad frightened. The man’s large, pale eyes stared into the depths of his soul.

“A new customer is no problem, Mr. Dursley. Every child is unique, so knowing what wand their parents bought won’t help me fit a wand to them.”

"Um, yeah," Dudley replied, not knowing what to say.

“Now.” Olivander asked them, “Which is your wand arm?”.

“How would I know?” Dudley asked.

“Is it your right hand that you use to write or your left hand to throw a ball?” Olivander asked.

“I’m right-handed,” Harry answered quickly.

It was more difficult for Dudley. “Well, I write with my right hand,” he said; his writing was challenging for teachers to read, just as difficult for him to read the books. “I throw a ball with my left hand,” he replied honestly - so they were suitable for making him write his homework.

He looked at Dudley uncomfortably. “Try your left arm first,” he instructed. “Hold it out.” Olivander frowned at him for a moment.

The man had barely taken a step back when a wild tape measure flew around Dudley even more wildly than the one at the robe shop. McGonagall frowned and warned not to swat the pesky thing away, but it took some effort. In addition to measuring the circumference of his head and the length of his nose, the measuring tape also measured the distance between his nostrils.

In the back of the store, Olivander had disappeared when the tape measure shifted. He reappeared promptly with a small pile of boxes, which he quickly sorted into two piles. “Try this one, Mister Potter,” he said, picking a package from the pile and placing it in front of Harry. “Beechwood and dragon heartstring.” The wand was nine inches long and relatively flexible. He revealed it to Dudley, “Mister Dursley, let’s try this one.” The hair is made of aspen and unicorn and is 8 1/4 inches long. Firm”

After a while, Dudley held a warm wand in his hand, and purple sparks shot out of it. However, he grabbed the wands back from them before anything happened and placed them in their respective boxes. In this way, Olivander presented and rejected wands for each of them moments after they had barely taken hold of them. He gagged them

“Well done, Mr. Dursley! Black Walnut wands tend to attract those with sound instincts. I'm looking forward to great results," Olivander said.

Dudley asked, “From me?” It was easier for Dudley to believe the kooky old Wanamaker about his potential than McGonagall’s statement this morning that he was welcome at a “gifted” school, though it should be equally absurd.

“Mister Dursley,” Olivander replied, tucking the wand back into its box. Despite his strong reluctance to give up, Dudley finally gave in. Dudley felt like he belonged in the magical world for the first time since he had picked up the wand. “Especially with a unicorn hair core supporting you. It’s the most loyal. I can’t wait to see what you do with it.”

After sliding the wand back into its box, Olivander wrapped it in brown paper before handing it over to Dudley. He grabbed it eagerly. “The total will be seven galleons and eight sickles.”

McGonagall paid for the wand without fanfare, giving Dudley an appraising look without the distrust he had seen most of the day.

Well. At the apothecary, Dudley had used this ‘manners’ thing. It surprised Dudley that he meant it so sincerely when he said, “Thank you, Mister Olivander.” It meant he fit in here and was believed to be a capable wand wielder. Not just passable, but great. As encouraging as it was intimidating, that was.

Dudley felt oddly proud when McGonagall graced him. He cared so much about earning her approval, so why did he care so much? It should not matter what anyone else thinks. Mum and Dad said so.

Harry took another dozen wands before a red and gold spark erupted from a wand in his hand.

Olivander babbled something about greatness and terrible things and Harry’s scar while Harry paid for his wand. Harry’s scar caught the attention of many people.

McGonagall led them to another store after leaving Ollivander’s. McGonagall whispered to the salesperson briefly before they took Harry to the back. Dudley had no choice but to stand next to McGonagall. After waiting for around ten minutes, Harry emerged with a bag of colorful clothing, which McGonagall placed in his trunk.

They were walking by the Magical Menagerie when an 8-foot 6-inch man walked next.

“I didn’t expect to see you, McGonagall.” said the giant of a man.

“Hello, Hagrid,” McGonagall said, stopping. “I’m taking a couple of first-year students shopping for school supplies.”

Hagrid looked over at them, then stared.

“Harry. I have seen you since you were a baby,” he said.

Harry asked in consultation, “Who are you?”

“Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. I am Rubeus Hagrid, the gamekeeper and Keeper of Keys and Grounds of Hogwarts.” Hagrid said.

Hagrid turns to McGonagall and asks, “Is it all right if I get Harry a pet as an early birthday present?”

“Yes,” McGonagall announced, leading Harry and Dudley inside the Magical Menagerie.

McGonagall lets Hagrid take Harry to look at the pet.

“I want a pet, too,” Dudley demanded.

“Your parents only give me enough money to buy the bare minimum of all your supplies, most of which are second-hand. If you start to throw a tantrum, I will silence you and give you detention for the first week of school. It is the last warning,” McGonagall said.

Dudley stopped throwing a tantrum and started pouting. Ten minutes later, Harry returns with Hagrid, carrying a cage with a white owl.

After Harry thanked Hagrid, McGonagall ushered them along to finish their shopping.

The last store they visited was a store that had a sign with an eye on it. McGonagall Dudley waited outside when she took Harry inside. Twenty minutes later, Harry appeared with a glasses case in his hand and a small bag, which he quickly stowed into his trunk. And then McGonagall was ushering them into the Alley and back to a quiet corner to Apparate home.

As you had probably guessed, the two of them were standing in front of their living room after another gut-wrenching, crushing experience. While Vernon and Petunia were not present, a sound like a cup shattering on the floor came from the kitchen, and then Petunia appeared. McGonagall pulled out their trunks and restored them to full size, leaving both trunks on the carpet. “Vernon! Vernon, they’re home,” she shouted, aside from the couch.

Indents would be left on the carpet, and Harry would be held responsible even though he didn’t put them there. Harry winced. The day he had already taken a strange turn for Dudley. He wasn’t trying to worry about Harry’s place in the family and the world. Putting his belongings in a thoughtless place would get him in trouble, and Dudley didn’t want to. They knew Harry would do it even though he didn’t want to.

Vernon came thundering down the stairs moments later. He stayed home from work after all.
“Has everything been arranged?” McGonagall asked before Vernon arrived in the living room.

Petunia answered with a single terse nod, a sour expression appearing on her face.

No one explained what they were discussing. “It’s fine,” Petunia and Vernon both said. What was the point of adults always doing that? “It will be great to see you on September first, Mr. Potter and Mr. Dursley,” McGonagall said in parting.

Just as Vernon emerged from the front hall, McGonagall disappeared with a loud crack.

A hand rested on Petunia’s waist as Vernon announced, “There are going to be some changes around here, starting tonight. You will be moving into Dudley’s second bedroom. Dudley, I’ve already moved your stuff there. Dudley, don’t make any complaints.”

Harry quickly replied, “Yes, Uncle Vernon.”

Instinctively, Dudley swallowed the protest he wanted to erupt. Having an extra room full of broken toys wasn’t as exciting. Dudley hadn’t been there in months. He only threw something in when it broke.

Dudley sighed. “Fine,” he said. He couldn’t entirely suppress the whine in his voice; it had become a habit, but he didn’t try to fight Dad’s decision.

As Petunia instructed Harry coldly, “You will stay in your room and store all your things there, so they don’t infect the rest of the house with your nonsense.”

She hadn’t looked at Dudley since they returned nor called him any of those embarrassing nicknames she loved using. Her face was twisted with a sneer.

Vernon said, “You both need to put your newly acquired things in your rooms.”

“Let’s sort them, ensure we have everything, and then wash up for dinner, so we don’t have to shop again,” Petunia added.

After breathing a sigh of relief, Dudley rushed to follow instructions. He and Harry carried their trunks full of parchment and magical ingredients effortlessly up the stairs and into their rooms.

Dad had piled broken toys inside Dudley’s door, which he threw away. He closed the door behind him and opened his new trunk to remind himself of what was inside. Dudley couldn’t help but feel that life would only keep changing after such a whirlwind today.

It was exciting but also exhausting. After gathering all his belongings from the cupboard under the stairs, he quickly headed to the second bedroom. Even though Harry was still processing what had happened, he couldn’t wait to attend Hogwarts.

Chapter Text

Upon waking up two days later, Harry quickly packed his pureblood family customs book, secondary genders book, and introductory text for muggle-born into the old backpack Dudley’s parents had given him for school. He also brought an outfit of his custom-made muggle clothes that he had customized in Diagon Alley, and he also brought his extra ink and parchment paper along with two of his quills. In addition, Harry packed his brand-new glasses, which were his first pair of brand-new glasses and were the proper prescription, unlike his old ones. Harry did not want to wear them until he reached Hogwarts, so the Dursleys didn’t find out he had got new glasses, and Dudley could not break them.

In the letter, McGonagall asked if she should set up a tutor to teach him wizard manners. She also asked if he was interested in taking a course on cutting and measuring prerequisite potions. Immediately, Harry replied yes to them, eager to learn as much as possible about the Wizarding World. Professor McGonagall sets up a private tutor with the help of the goblins at Gringotts. This tutor will teach him the proper manners and customs he needs since he is the heir to an ancient and noble family. He would also have the pre-potions learn to cut and measure potions correctly and write with a quill.

McGonagall said she would ask his tutor to take him to a muggle shopping center to get the correct shoes for the uniform and some other shoes. She also suggested buying all the toiletries he would need for his time at Hogwarts since Hogwarts does not provide them. Professor McGonagall also got him to exchange some of his Galleons from his trust vault for pounds.

He left the Dursley’s house and walked to the library in Surrey, where he would meet his tutor, then change into his new clothes at the train station. Walking into the Surrey Library, Harry sat down at a table in the library.

Several minutes later, a woman dressed in super formal attire entered the library and started looking around. She spotted him as the only person in the library.

Walking up to him, she asked. “Hello, are you Harry?”

“Yes, that is me,” Harry said, looking at her.

“Nice meeting you. My name is Amina Ettington. Call me Mrs. Ettington.” Ettington said.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Ettington,” Harry nervously said.

“I’ve been informed that the Guardians you were placed with were Muggles, disliked Magic, did not teach you anything you needed to know, and only gave you hand-me-downs. Have you gotten some new clothes yet?” Ettington asked.

“Yes, I got clothes from a custom shop in Diagon Alley. I brought muggle clothing with me. But I don’t have any shoes yet,” Harry replied.

“Well,” Mrs. Ettington replied, “I was supposed to take you to a muggle shopping center. We should probably get moving. Are you planning to change here or at the train station?”

“I was planning on changing my clothes when we got to the train station because I didn’t want the Dursleys taking my new clothes and breaking my glasses,” Harry replied.

“All right then, let’s start walking to the train station,” she says, and Harry begins to follow her.

Harry begins to study her appearance as they walk to the train station. She has hooded turquoise eyes. In addition to her thick, straight, lemon-yellow hair worn in a strange headdress style, she has a slim build, white skin, and prominent cheekbones.

After 15 minutes, they arrived at the train station, and she ushered him to change into the bathroom. Harry quickly finds the stall in the bathroom and begins to change, throwing off his oversized and Dudley’s hand-me-down clothes into the hand-me-down backpack. He also removed his old broken glasses and put his brand-new ones on.

He exited the bathroom, and Mrs. Ettington said, “That was much better. Let’s hurry up and get on the train to the Muggle Shopping Center.”

To purchase tickets for the next town, Mrs. Ettington heads to the ticket booth. In the next city, there is an extensive shopping center. They board the train and sit down. Harry looks down, and thanks to his first pair of glasses, which were the correct prescription, he can see that he is wearing clothing that is his own and isn’t a hand-me-down; the only thing that doesn’t fit him is Dudley’s old trainers that were a hand-me-down and were two sizes too big for him.

Once they got off the train, they had a 15-minute walk to the shopping center. Harry walked closely behind her as he looked around at all the shops. He had never been allowed to visit a Muggle shopping center before. The Dursleys always had Mrs. Figg watch him.

The first shop they entered was a shoe store with many shoes displayed in the window.

Mrs. Ettington said, “All right, we need to buy two sets of formal shoes for your uniform and get you a pair of trainers. We should also get you some formal shoes for your dress robes. We should also get you various shoes, including Loafers, Boots, Running or sports shoes.”

Mrs. Ettington got a store worker’s attention and said, “I need some help picking out some shoes for uniforms and regular shoes.”

“How can I help you?” asked the store worker. “Who am I looking for when it comes to shoes?”

Mrs. Ettington responded, “I’m here to help Harry buy shoes for his school uniform and replace the old shoes that he outgrew, and he’s borrowing a pair of his cousin’s old shoes for right now.”

The store worker asked Harry, “Do you know your shoe sizes?”

“No,” Harry responded nervously.

“All right,” said the store worker, grabbing the Brannock device, which measures someone’s shoe size.

“Put your foot on this, and I’ll be able to measure your shoe size,” the store worker says.

Harry puts his foot on the thing, and the store worker moves a couple of things and says, “Okay, I got your size. Now, what type of shoes are you looking for?”

Harry looked at Mrs. Ettington, not knowing what to say.

Mrs. Ettington caught on to the hint and said, “We are looking for two semiformal pairs of shoes for his uniform, a couple of formal shoes, three or four pairs of athletic trainers, and a pair of winter boots.”

The store worker pointed to a section and said, “Well, these are the most common shoes people buy for uniforms. Do you know if they are required to be a certain color or style?”

Mrs. Ettington, “They have to be black, and they can be loafers or Oxfords.”

The store worker turned to Harry and asked, “Do you prefer one?”

Harry looked at Mrs. Ettington and then back at the store worker.

Mrs. Ettington nodded, and Harry said, “I’ve never worn either.”

The store worker asked, “Is this your first year?”

Harry nodded.

“Why don’t you just get one pair each, and next year, you can get another pair of the one you like better?” the store worker suggested.

The store worker showed Harry loafers and Oxfords, and Harry chose one of each. Mrs. Ettington helped Harry pick out two other formal shoes that were Derby. Mrs. Ettington had Harry pick out three pairs of trainers, and when he asked if he had to get any specific ones, she said, “Just choose whatever ones you like the best?”

Afterward, the store worker showed Harry where the winter boots were. He picked out a simple pair of black boots that had a bit of black fuzz on top of them. Harry picked out three pairs of trainers, one green and another red; the last was a simple pair of black.

They walked up to the counter. Harry took the money he had put in his bag to pay for them, and the person behind the counter handed him the bag full of his new shoes. Harry was ecstatic. It was great that he could get new stuff and not a hand-me-down.

Next, Mrs. Ettington guided him to a store displaying formal clothes and suits on mannequins. Mrs. Ettington Entered the store, and Harry followed after her. She went to a section that was displaying a bunch of men's suits. Then, Mrs. Ettington went to the section for young boys in the suits section, Harry awkwardly following behind her.

She then turned to Harry and said, “Although you are a wizard, your family does hold a seat in the House of Lords in the Muggle world, so if you have to visit, you'll at least need to dress appropriately. Because you are still growing, we should only get you two at the moment – the ones that fit you best should be tailored rather than custom-made in a shop in Diagon Alley that sells muggle suits. A gray suit and a black suit, two white shirts, and two cream shirts, you will need to get a variety of colored ties and possibly a bow tie or two. That should cover the basics.”

Harry nodded, and Mrs. Ettington began picking out several children's black suits in various sizes and a few gray ones. Harry tried them on after finding the correct size. They put them in the basket in both suits, then went over to the ties and bow tie section and began to browse.
Harry had no idea what color ties to pick out. He turned to Mrs. Ettington.

“What colors do I need to get?” Harry asked, sounding confused.

“Well, you should get a good handful of standard ties. The Navy tie is a must, at least. As well as a simple black silk tie, a striped tie, a burgundy tie, and a silver tie. I'd also suggest getting a green tie since it matches your eyes, and I also think you might want to possibly get a couple of matching Pocket Square.” Mrs. Ettington answered.

Harry got every tie Mrs. Attington suggested, including a black silk tie, a striped tie, a burgundy tie, a silver tie, a navy tie, a green tie, and matching Pocket Squares for each tie. At the counter, they paid for both suits, six ties, one bow tie, and six matching pocket squares. Mrs. Ettington suggested they send them to Madam Malkin's to have them tailored since she keeps a record of all her clients' measurements, Harry had gotten a dress robe and a school robe, so she had his measurements on hand.

Mrs. Ettington and Harry left the shop and started walking until they arrived in front of the clothing store. Upon entering, Mrs. Ettington led Harry to the underwear section.

Mrs. Ettington said, “Now pick out four packs of eight pairs of underwear, including at least a pair of boxers and briefs.”

Harry nodded, embarrassed.

Harry quickly picked out a pack of plain white briefs, a pack of multicolored boxers, a pack of white boxers, and a pack of blue boxers. The Dursleys had only ever given Harry a handful of Dudley’s old boxers, along with one package of briefs his size from the dollar store.

Harry put the underwear in the cart they had grabbed at the front as Mrs. Ettington walked to the socks section next to the underwear.

Mrs. Ettington: “Now you need to pick out socks. Ideally, you should choose one of the following socks: ankle-length socks, mid-calf-length socks, calf-length socks, and quarter-length socks.”

Harry asked, “Mrs. Ettington, Are there any particular colors I’ll need?”

Mrs. Ettington responded, “The socks for the uniform need to be grey mid-calf or grey calves, but other than that, can you get any color you want?”

After nodding, he quickly began selecting the socks he wanted. First, Harry chose a pack of white mid-calf-length socks and a pack of white calf-length socks, then a pack of gray ankle-length socks, white ankle-length socks, and white quarter-length socks. Additionally, Harry grabbed a pack of green ankle socks and a pack of red ankle socks that we found at the store.

As soon as Harry had piled them all in the cart, Mrs. Ettington set out in search of winter coats.

Harry asks Mrs. Ettington while walking, “What will we get next?”

Mrs. Ettington responded, “Well, next on the list of stuff to get is a handful of winter coats, a couple one or two full-length and a couple shorter, and we probably should get you some boots and a scarf as well. Do you have any gloves or mittens?”

Harry responded, “I have a pair of mittens, but they have holes in them.”

Mrs. Ettington sighed, “Once you’ve arrived at Hogwarts, you can order scarves and gloves that match your house, so we’d probably get you one pair of mittens and gloves because you’d still need some for the weekends wearing regular clothes. When you got your clothes and went to Diagon Alley, did you bother buying winter clothes?”

Harry responded, “I got a couple of winter dress robes at Madam Malkin’s, but not much else.”

Mrs. Ettington sighed, “I knew your Guardians weren’t the greatest, but this is terrible. Let’s get you a full winter wardrobe and a handful of jackets for fall.”

They headed to the section next to the coats, the winter clothes section. They got to the coat section, and Harry picked out a red down coat, a green down coat, and a brown dress coat. Harry also had a gray London Fog trench coat and a light brown London Fog trench coat.

Then Mrs. Ettington guided him to the section next to the coats full of winter clothes. Harry picked out five red, six green, four black, and three white turtlenecks. Two Blue long-sleeve jumpers, two green long-sleeve jumpers, and three black long-sleeve jumpers. He chose a few light jackets, one red, one green, and the last, a blue ombre.

Harry picked out a simple pair of gray mittens, a pair of black gloves, and one green scarf, a red one, a white one, and a black one. He also chose three or four pairs of blue jeans and a few pairs of winter pants, four pairs of slacks, and five button-downs with long sleeves.

Next, Harry Followed Mrs. Ettington until she stopped in front of a display with a bunch of belts. Harry picked out two nice leather belts with straightforward buckles, one black and the other dark brown.

Once Harry had picked out all his new winter clothes, they took all the stuff to the counter and paid for it. They left the store and began walking. Mrs. Ettington kept walking until stopping in front of a store advertising shampoo, conditioners, and makeup in the front windows.

Mrs. Ettington entered the store, and Harry followed her. The first section they went to had shampoos, conditioners, body washes, and other soaps.

Mrs. Ettington said, “Let me ensure you get all your Hogwarts toiletries now. I highly doubt they will provide you with any stuff you can keep at the Dursleys. For each summer you spend with the Dursleys, you should have three or four bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and about four bars of soap or body wash. And more if you intend to return for holidays during Hogwarts. You should bring eight bottles of shampoo, six or seven bottles of conditioner, and ten bars of soap to Hogwarts.”

Harry nodded. Harry looked at all the shampoos and conditioners, not knowing what to choose. He looked around until he found men’s shampoos and conditioners and grabbed the ones for coarse and messy hair. Harry grabbed 14 bottles of shampoo and conditioner and put them in the cart. He found the men’s body wash bars and grabbed a four-pack and a 10-pack that said they were scented like mint.

Once Mrs. Ettington noticed that he had everything, she nodded and walked to the next aisle, which was filled with toothbrushes, toothpaste, mouthwash, and other dental supplies.

“Next,” Mrs. Ettington said, “You will need at least eight boxes of toothpaste tubes and six new toothbrushes. I’d also suggest five large mouthwash bottles.”

Harry grabbed eight boxes of toothpaste in the Cool Mint flavor, five bottles of mouthwash in fresh mint, and six green toothbrushes.

They walked a bit further down the aisle to the deodorant.

Mrs. Ettington said, “Regarding your deodorant, I suggest you get 4 or 5.”

As Harry nodded, he began searching through the Section's deodorants. Harry took a minute to find men’s deodorant. Harry put five deodorants with a fresh fall scent in the cart.

In response, Mrs. Ettington glances at him and nods.

“The last thing we need to get before we go to the last store is a shower caddy. I suggest you get two, one to take to Hogwarts and one for when you’re at the Dursleys,” said Mrs. Ettington.

Mrs. Ettington and Harry look around the store, trying to find one, but after 6 minutes and finding nothing, Mrs. Ettington gets the attention of a store worker.

“What can I help you with?” asks a store worker after Mrs. Ettington waves them over.

Mrs. Ettington asked, “I’m looking for a shower caddy. I’m here helping Harry get all his supplies for his new boarding school, which he’ll be starting soon, and he needs a shower to take all his supplies to the bathroom.”

The store worker nods, “Oh, they’re over here,” she says, leading the way.

Harry looks at all the different shower caddies in different colors and picks a black mesh one for the Dusrleys and a mesh mint green one for Hogwarts.

Harry pushes the toiletries in the cart to the front counter, paying for them with money he has taken from his backpack. As soon as they leave the store, they start to walk.

Mrs. Ettington led him to one final store, which had many backpacks and other bags in the windows. They entered the store, and Harry looked at everything.

Mrs. Ettington approached the store worker. Mrs. Ettington spoke quietly with them, and then Mrs. Ettington made a motion for Harry to be followed. As they approached the section with a load of messenger bags, they stopped.

The store worker turns to Harry and asks, “What color are you looking to purchase? Does your school have restrictions regarding the colors that are allowed?”

Harry looked at Mrs. Ettington, not knowing if Hogwarts has restrictions on color.

Mrs. Ettington noticed that Harry looked at her loss and said, “They allow black and brown leather messenger bags. Also, look for a regular backpack.”

Harry picked out a simple, large brown messenger bag.

Harry asks Mrs. Ettington, “Why do you need a messenger bag?”

“Oh,” Mrs. Ettington said, “I guess Professor McGonagall didn’t tell you Hogwarts only allowed you to carry a messenger to class. You’ll need a messenger bag if you don’t want to carry all your books, quills, and ink by hand. Teachers don’t care what you carry on the weekends, but most use their messenger when going to the library or anywhere else in the castle. Most people only use backpacks or other bags when they’re in Hogsmeade. Though girls do carry purses on the weekends on or at Hogsmeade.”

Harry asks, “What is Hogsmeade?”

A few feet away, Mrs. Ettington saw a store worker waiting for her; she turned to Harry and said, “After we finish buying the last two items, then I will explain.”

Harry reluctantly nodded excitedly to learn more about the wizarding world and Hogwarts.

Harry and Mrs. Ettington followed the store worker. The store worker led them to the backpack section.

Mrs. Ettington turned to Harry, saying, “Pick which one you like.”

Harry picked a plain red one with three pouches and a water bottle pouch.

As soon as they paid for the two bags at the counter, they left the store and returned to the train station.

Mrs. Ettington proceeded to the ticket counter and purchased tickets back to Little Whinging. As they waited for their train, they sat on a bench at the station.

“Now,” Mrs. Ettington said, “I will explain Hogsmeade. Hogsmeade is a wizarding village near Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It is the only wizard-occupied town in Britain. From your third year onwards, you can spend selected weekends at Hogsmeade.”

A few moments later, their train arrived, and they got on. Once they arrived in Little Whinging, they returned to the library.

Once they arrived back at the library, Mrs. Ettington said, “We will meet here Wednesday and Thursday in front of the library at the same time as today.”

Harry nodded understandingly.

“All right,” Mrs. Ettington said, “it’s time for me to leave. Bye, Harry.”

Harry responded, “Bye, Mrs. Ettington.”

Harry hurried back to the Dursleys at Number Four Privet Drive. In his hurried rush, Harry hoped he could return before Petunia returned from her weekly shopping trip, which she always took at the same time every week.

Harry carefully and quietly opened the front door and hurried up the stairs. He was still getting used to having a bedroom and not having to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs. After opening his room door, Harry placed all the shopping bags on the floor.

Harry looked around the room; he still hadn’t unpacked or put anything away. Because he believed it was just a dream, he didn’t bother to unpack since he thought the Dursleys would take the room away from him and place him in a cupboard again.

It had been a couple of days, and none of that had happened, and they hadn’t even mentioned sending him back. Vernon had cleared out Dudley’s stuff before they returned from shopping in Diagon Alley. The only thing remaining in the room was a bookshelf with books removed, a small desk with a chair, a twin-size bed, a brown dresser, a brown wardrobe, and one brown nightstand with a lamp on top. A broken alarm clock and a few other items are found in the drawer of Harry's nightstand when he checks it. Vernon apparently neglected to check it. Upon opening the wardrobe, Harry found nothing but an empty round rack with plenty of hangers for clothes and a shelf with two or three sets of sheets and two blankets on top of it.

Harry had changed the sheets on the bed in here last week when he had to clean Dudley’s second bedroom before learning about Hogwarts. Taking out his trunk that he had stashed under the bed, Harry reached for his shopping bags, placed them on the bed, and slowly started unpacking everything, along with his other packages and bags from Diagon Alley.

Harry took out all his clothes and hung them up on the hangers in the wardrobe, except for his robes and clothes for his uniform at Hogwarts, leaving them in his trunk. He got out his ink and parchment paper, placing one quill and ink on top of the desk while storing the rest in the desk’s drawers. Harry unwrapped the paper around his books and placed them all on the bookshelf.

Harry took off his new pair of glasses, which he had forgotten to take off before getting to the Dursleys. In the nightstand drawer, he put them away in their case after switching them out for his old ones. Aside from that, Harry placed the backpack he had taken today beside the nightstand. Next, Harry placed all his shoes at the bottom of the wardrobe and placed his bags in the dresser drawer. He then put all his underwear and new socks in another drawer of the dresser.

Harry puts one bottle of shampoo, conditioner, a bar of soap, and his mesh black shower caddy next to his shoes at the bottom of the wardrobe. Next to his trunk that he put under the bed, he put all his other toiletries and his mesh mint green shower caddy under the bed.

As Harry looked around the room, it looked like it belonged to him now that all the belongings had been unpacked and put away. He noticed Hedwig sleeping in her cages on the desk.

A couple of hours later, Aunt Petunia called up the stairs, “Boys, dinner’s ready.”

After dinner, as Dudley and Harry went back upstairs, Harry stopped momentarily once I got up the stairs and turned to Dudley.

Harry spoke to Dudley for the first time in the last few days. “You need grey mid-calf or grey calves socks for your Hogwarts uniform. Along with a messenger bag for your bag, you need a messenger bag for taking stuff to class since backpacks are not allowed.”

Dudley nodded and said, “Thanks.” Then, he quickly headed to his room.

Since discovering Hogwarts, Dudley has stopped bullying Harry, but he isn’t sure how to talk to him.

Harry had first met Mrs. Ettington on a Thursday, so Harry had to wait an entire weekend until Wednesday rolled around.

Harry woke up early on Wednesday, quickly getting dressed. Harry grabbed the backpack he had left next to his nightstand and quickly headed down to the library in Little Whinging.

Once arriving at the library, Harry spotted Mrs. Ettington standing at the entrance to the library.

Harry approached her and said, “Hi, Mrs. Ettington.”

Mrs. Ettington responded, “Hi to you as well, Harry. Now it’s time to go.”

Mrs. Ettington started walking outside the library in the space between the two buildings.

Mrs. Ettington stopped walking, looked around, and then turned to Harry and said, “We are out of sight now. Apparate to my house. I will show you the study room where I usually tutor.”

Harry looked at Mrs. Ettington and nodded.

Harry braced himself as he felt apparating, felt like he had been pulled inside out like that, and felt a bit queasy.

Harry froze and looked up at the house. From the outside, this house looks magnificent. It has been built with wood covered in render and has oak wooden decorations. Tall, rounded windows add to the house’s overall look and have been symmetrically added to the house. The roof is low and pyramid-shaped and is covered with brown wood shingles. One small chimney pokes out of the center of the roof. A few large windows let in just enough light for the rooms below the roof—a garden with potted plants, an outdoor eating area, and a relaxation area surrounding the house.

The house has an average kitchen and two modern bathrooms; it also has a generous living room, five bedrooms, a spacious dining area, a library, and a spacious basement.

Mrs. Ettington began walking towards the house, and Harry quickly followed.

Once inside, Mrs. Ettington said, “This house has two bathrooms,” She walked towards a door in the hallway and opened it, “This is one of them.”

Following Mrs. Ettington deeper into the house, Harry followed her through the door when she walked inside.

Mrs. Ettington said, “This is the library that will have all of our lessons and tutoring here.”

Harry nodded, looking around the room; all the walls were covered in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves full of books. Centered in the room was a wooden desk with a drawer in the middle and two chairs on either side. There was a large chalkboard on wheels in the corner and a desk in the room.

Mrs. Ettington said, “Take a seat,” pointing at one of the chairs.

Harry took the seat that she indicated. Mrs. Ettington also sat down and turned to Harry, saying, “We're first going to start with how to write with a quill.”

Harry nodded and took out his quill and ink, and Mrs. Ettington showed him how to use a quill properly. They spent an hour on it before Mrs. Ettington spoke up and said, “That's enough practicing with a quill for now. Have you read the introductory texts for muggle-borns?”

Harry replied, "I just bought them a week ago. So far, I've only read the first chapter.”

Nodding, Mrs. Ettington asked, “Did you bring the book?”

Harry nods, taking the books out of his backpack.

Mrs. Ettington, “Let us begin.”

In addition to Muggleborn's texts, they discuss Mrs. Ettington, the additional context not included in the book, and the introduction.

A little while later, Mrs. Ettington takes out a cauldron, scales, and a first-year potion kit. Mrs. Ettington showed Harry how to cut and measure correctly and how long to stir.

After all their lessons, Mrs. Ettington Apparates Harry back to the Surrey Library. Harry slowly began his walk back to the Dursley. It soon became a routine every Wednesday and Thursday.

On Wednesdays, they met; the first hour was spent on calligraphy, while the remainder concentrated on the Wizarding World and pre-potions. On Thursday, they completely focused on Wizarding customs, purebred manners, pureblood customs, and secondary genders. However, they only briefly touched on secondary genders because there was a class at Hogwarts that would teach them more in-depth.

Vernon was still quietly fuming about Dudley being a wizard. Vernon started a habit of yelling at Dudley if he whined it all. Still, Petunia had partially come around; she had traveled to London, went to Diagon Alley, and got Dudley a secondhand book introduction for muggle-borns.

Harry was still confused about how Aunt Petunia had gotten to Diagon Alley. But Petunia treated him nicer since she discovered Dudley was a wizard after the initial shock. Vernon was outright ignoring Harry and Dudley.

When Uncle Vernon left for work, Petunia gave Dudley the second-hand book ‘A Beginner’s Guide to What You Need to Know About The Wizarding World for Muggle-borns.’ He heard her say, “I wished I could have gotten a new one, but Vernon is still completely against you being a wizard. I still haven't fully accepted it, but I'll at least support you. If Vernon knew what I was trying to buy, he wouldn't give me any money, so I only had a little allowance left so that I couldn't buy you a brand-new one, Diddykins.”

Dudley looked upset that he couldn't get a new one but was happy that his mom had treated him like she used to before finding out he was a wizard.

Harry noticed that Dudley had read the book while Vernon wasn't home. Harry was still shocked that Dudley was reading a book. As Harry could guess, the books about the Wizarding World and Magic would be much more exciting than the mundane textbooks that he and his classmates would have to read in Primary School.

Harry's last month and a half with the Dursleys weren't the greatest. True, Dudley no longer bullied Harry, so they stood awkwardly and ignored each other in the same room; while Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn't shut Harry in his cupboard, force him to do anything, or shout at him, they never talked to him. Half-frightened, half-enraged, Vernon acted as though any chair with Harry in it was empty, and he did the same for Dudley as well. It did become a bit depressing after a while, even though it was an improvement in many ways.

Harry kept to his room with his new owl for company unless he went to a tutoring session with Mrs. Ettington. He had found the name Hedwig in A History of Magic, so he decided to name her after her. His school books were very interesting. He lay on his bed reading late into the night, Hedwig swooping in and out of the open window as she pleased. It was lucky that Aunt Petunia let Harry use the vacuum to vacuum the room; if Hedwig were out flying sometimes, she would vacuum it for him. Every night before he went to sleep, Harry ticked off another day on the calendar he had pinned to the wall, counting down to September the first. As a thank-you for telling Harry about messenger bags and what socks to bring for uniforms, Dudley gave Harry one of the calendars his parents had bought.

Harry had used up a third of his ink during his tutoring over the summer with Mrs. Ettington. He had also broken 2 of his quills when Harry expressed his worry about it.

Mrs. Ettington recommended a calligraphy set and helped Harry order it through the owls. The calligraphy set had four quills and enough ink to last him his entire year, as well as a calligraphy guide, so he continued working on his calligraphy at Hogwarts.

On the last day of August, he thought it would be a good idea to speak to his aunt and uncle about getting to King's Cross station the next day, so he walked over to their living room, where they were watching a quiz show on television. He cleared his throat to let them know he was there, and Dudley stood awkwardly.

“Er – Uncle Vernon?” Harry asked hesitantly.

Uncle Vernon only grunted to show he was listening.

“Er – Dudley and I need to be at King's Cross tomorrow to – to go to Hogwarts,” Harry spoke hesitantly.

Uncle Vernon grunted again, slightly fuming at the reminder that Dudley was a wizard.

“Would it be all right if you took us to King's Cross station?” Harry asked.

Grunt. Harry assumed that this meant yes.

“Thank you.” Harry expressed his gratitude.

He was about to hurry back upstairs when Uncle Vernon actually spoke.

“Funny way to get to a wizards' school, the train. Magic carpets all got punctures, have they?” Vernon quipped.

Harry didn't say anything.

“Where is this school, anyway?” asked Vernon.

"I don't know," said Harry, realizing this for the first time. He pulled the ticket Professor McGonagall had given him out of his pocket.

“I just take the train from platform nine and three-quarters at eleven o'clock,” he read.

Harry caught the brief but knowing look from Aunt Petunia as his uncle Vernon just stared.

“Platform what?” Vernon asks sarcastically.

“Nine and three-quarters,” Harry responds.

“Don't talk rubbish,” warned Uncle Vernon. “There is no platform nine and three-quarters.”

“It's on my ticket.” Harry comments, slightly snarky, and Dudley is in the corner, wincing with discomfort. Vernon had taken to yelling at Dudley when he wasn't outriding him.

“Barking,” exclaimed Uncle Vernon, “Howling mad, the lot of them. You'll see. You just wait. All right, we'll take both of you to King's Cross. We're going to London tomorrow anyway, or I wouldn't bother.”

“Why are you going to London?” Harry asked, trying to keep things friendly.

“To return Dudley’s Smeltings uniform,” growled Uncle Vernon. “Since he won't be going to Smeltings after all.”

Scattered from the living room, Harry headed upstairs, noticing Dudley following him. Harry saw Dudley head for his room as he closed the door on his newly acquired room.

Harry packs excitedly, packing all his clothes and books into his trunk, along with ink and quills. He packs his shoes into his trunk and double-checks that it gets everything from the Wardrobe, leaving only the sheets and blankets. Harry ensures he puts in all his toiletries and his mint green mesh shower caddy.

As Harry grabs his black mesh shower caddy and the old towels Petunia would donate, she gives them to him instead of making Harry use the old towels with holes, stains, and everything else he had before. Aunt Petunia had been nicer to him. That was just one example, and she's also giving him a normal-sized helping of dinner rather than just the leftovers.

Harry opened the door, looked, and then headed to the bathroom. Vernon usually took a shower before work, and Petunia would shower or bath before bed. Dudley usually took a shower before Petunia.

Harry took a shower quickly, ensuring he washed thoroughly, then brushed his teeth, knowing that Vernon wouldn't let him in the bathroom later. Put Harry on his new pajamas that he would pack in his trunk in the morning. After showering, Harry returns all his toiletries and towels to his room.

Upon returning to his room after showering, Harry hangs his wet towel on his bed frame to dry. Next to the sheets and blankets, Harry placed his other towels on the shelf in the Wardrobe.

As Harry now had his own new clothes, he decided to keep only the best-looking hand-me-downs from Dudley since he didn't need them but figured he might need a few that he didn't mind messing up. Out of all the clothes, he only kept six t-shirts; he threw all the hand-me-downs from Dudley's pants into a pile. Looking through it, he found two jeans he had forgotten about. As Dudley's friend's mom was planning to discard the jeans, she gave them to Aunt Petunia for him. It was in good shape; the jeans were faded and a little big on him, but compared to Dudley's pants, Harry had to wear a belt to hold them up; they looked amazing. They were a little loose in the waist, but that was it; it was the only two pants worth keeping. A hoodie that Dudley quickly outgrew but was still in good shape and fit Harry like an oversized hoodie. There was also a hoodie jacket that Harry kept, which he had been given simply because Dudley had gotten it for a present, but he hated the color of it. Harry kept one of the hand-me-down trainers from Dudley; they were scuffed up but still fit him and had no holes in them. As a precaution, Harry kept the bare minimum at the Dursleys for the possibility that they might search his room. If they did, there wouldn't be any new stuff in it. Harry didn't expect Aunt Petunia to do so. However, he had no idea Vernon might go through his room trying to find brand-new things and destroy them while his aunt was perfectly happy to ignore him, and she had started treating him better recently. In the end, Harry looked at the pile of all the clothes he should get rid of and realized he probably needed a basket. Harry hung up everything that was planning to keep back into the Wardrobe before moving on.

Harry puts his black mesh shower caddy, the toiletries he got for the Dursleys, and one of the desk's drawers. Harry organized everything he planned to leave for the Dursleys during the school year. Harry looked around his room he still needed to get rid of the pile of the Dudley's old hand-me-downs, but Harry decided to worry about it when he was back at the Dursley's for the summer next year. Before Harry crawls into bed early, hoping to fall asleep so that tomorrow will be faster.

Harry woke at five o'clock the following day and was too excited and nervous to go back to sleep. Before, the old alarm clock he had repaired and found in the nightstand drawer had gone off. Getting up, he put on one of his new T-shirts and jeans because he couldn't walk into the station in his wizard's robes – he'd change on the train. After putting on his new glasses, he looked at his old ones and figured they might be better to toss than keep. Harry decided to deal with it later, just putting them in the nightstand drawer for now, and that could wait until he was back from Hogwarts for the summer. Additionally, he put the pajamas he had worn the night before into his trunk. He rechecked his Hogwarts list and trunk to ensure he had everything he needed, saw that Hedwig was shut safely in her cage, and then paced the room, waiting for the Dursleys to get up.

Thirty minutes later, Petunia woke up and began making breakfast. When Harry came to the kitchen, Petunia was almost finished making breakfast, and Dudley was also there. Harry and Dudley sat at the table, quickly eating their breakfast, and Petunia ate her breakfast before Vernon came down and joined them.

Two hours later, Harry's huge, heavy trunk was loaded into Dursley's car, along with Dudley's heavy trunk. Aunt Petunia had Dudley sitting next to Harry, and they had set off. Harry looked over at Dudley, sitting beside him as he left the driveway. Harry still wasn't over the fact that his cousin was also a wizard; the Dursleys had been adamant magic didn't exist, and while he could remember odd things happening around him, he couldn't recall anything odd happening around his cousin.

They reached King's Cross at half past ten. Uncle Vernon dumped Harry's trunk onto a cart, wheeled it into the station for him, and then did the same to Dudley's trunk. Harry thought this was strangely kind until Uncle Vernon stopped dead, facing the platforms with a nasty grin.

“Well, there you are, boy. Platform Nine – Platform Ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don't seem to have built it yet, do they?” Vernon scornfully replies.

He was quite right, of course. There was a big plastic number nine over one platform and a big plastic number ten over the one next to it, and in the middle, nothing at all.

“Have a good term,” said Uncle Vernon with an even nastier smile. He left without another word. Harry turned and saw Petunia and Vernon drive away. Vernon was laughing. Harry's mouth went rather dry. What on earth was he going to do? He was starting to attract a lot of funny looks because of Hedwig. He'd have to ask someone. Harry looked at Dudley, who looked lost and distraught about his parents abandoning him, just leaving him here.

Chapter Text

Harry stopped a passing guard but didn’t dare mention platform nine and three-quarters. The guard had never heard of Hogwarts, and when Harry couldn’t even tell him what part of the country it was in, he started to get annoyed, as though Harry was being stupid on purpose. Getting desperate, Harry asked for the train that left at eleven o’clock, but the guard said there wasn’t one. In the end, the guard strode away, muttering about time-wasters. Harry was now trying hard not to panic. While Dudley was just awkwardly trailed after Harry, his parents had just left him, and they had to locate platform nine and three-quarters. According to the large clock over the arrivals board, Dudley and I had ten minutes left to get on the train to Hogwarts, and Harry had no idea how to do it; he was stranded in the middle of a station with a trunk he could hardly lift, a pocket full of wizard money and a large owl, although Dudley only has a Heavy trunk.

McGonagall must have forgotten to tell them something you had to do, like tapping the third brick on the left to get into Diagon Alley. He wondered if he should get out his wand and tap the ticket box between platforms nine and ten. At that moment, a group of people passed just behind them, and he caught a few words of what they were saying.

“– packed with Muggles, of course –”

Harry swung round. The speaker was a plump woman who was talking to four boys, all with flaming red hair. Each of them was pushing a trunk like Harry’s in front of him – and they had an owl.

Heart hammering, Harry pushed his trolley after them. They stopped, and so did he, just near enough to hear what they were saying. Dudley noticed Harry was walking in a specific direction and awkwardly followed him; Dudley was sure Harry wasn't sure where they were going either. Yet, he didn't want to be alone in Kings Cross Station.

“Now, what’s the platform number?” said a plump woman.

“Nine and three-quarters!” piped a small girl, also red-headed, who was holding her hand. “Mum, can’t I go …”

“You’re not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go first.” said the plump woman.

What looked like the oldest boy marched towards platforms nine and ten. Harry watched, careful not to blink in case he missed it – but just as the boy reached the divide between the two platforms, a large crowd of tourists came swarming in front of him, and by the time the last rucksack had cleared away, the boy had vanished.

“Fred, you next,” the plump woman said.

“I’m not Fred; I’m George,” said the boy. “Honestly, woman, call yourself our mother? Can’t you tell I’m George?”

“Sorry, George, dear.” the boys’ mother said.

“Only joking, I am Fred,” said the boy, and off he went.

His twin called after him to hurry up, and he must have done because a second later, he had gone – but how had he done it?

Now, the third brother was walking briskly towards the ticket barrier – he was almost there – and then, quite suddenly, he wasn’t anywhere. There was nothing else for it.

“Excuse me,” Harry said to the plump woman.

Dudley awkwardly behind Harry with his truck and watched his cousin talk to a woman.

“Hullo, dear,” she said. “First time at Hogwarts? Ron’s new, too.”

She pointed at the last and youngest of her sons. He was tall, thin, and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet, and a long nose.

“Yes,” said Harry. “The thing is – the thing is, I don’t know how to –”

“How do you get onto the platform?” she said kindly, and Harry nodded.

“Not to worry,” she said. “All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don’t stop and don’t be scared you’ll crash into it, that’s very important. You best do it at a bit of a run if you’re nervous. Go on, go now before Ron.”

“Er – OK,” said Harry.

As soon as Dudley heard that, he froze. They were supposed to run into a brick wall.

Harry pushed his trolley around and stared at the barrier. It looked very solid. As he stared at his cousin in shock, Dudley realized that he was actually going to run into a brick wall.

Harry started to walk towards it. People jostled him on their way to platforms nine and ten. Harry walked more quickly. He was going to smash right into that ticket box, and then he’d be in trouble – leaning forward on his trolley, he broke into a heavy run – the barrier was coming nearer and nearer – he wouldn’t be able to stop – the trolley was out of control – he was a foot away – he closed his eyes ready for the crash –

It didn’t come ... he kept on running ... he opened his eyes.

A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, 11 o’clock. Harry looked behind him and saw a wrought-iron archway where the ticket box had been, with the words Platform Nine and ThreeQuarters on it. He had done it.

Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd while cats of every color wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted at each other in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.

Dudley saw his cousin disappear into a brick wall and stared in astonishment, and then the woman noticed him.

“Are you going to Hogwarts as well?” the woman asked.

Dudley awkwardly nodded.

Dudley watched The other boy go through the brick wall. While still staring at the brick wall, he turned his head, and the woman gave him an expectant look. He stared back at the wall before running hesitantly toward it. Even though Harry and the boy who thought his name was Ron went straight through the brick wall, Dudley had expected to crash right into it.

It never happened, and after running for a few seconds, Dudley reluctantly opened his eyes, froze, and then looked up, seeing a sign for platform nine and three-quarters.

The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats; Harry pushed his trolley off down the platform for an empty seat.

Harry passed a round-faced boy who was saying, “Gran, I’ve lost my toad again.”

“Oh, Neville,” he heard the old woman sigh.

A small crowd surrounded a boy with dreadlocks. “Give us a look, Lee, go on.”

The boy lifted a box lid in his arms, and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg.

Harry pressed on through the crowd until he found an empty compartment near the end of the train. He put Hedwig inside first and then started to shove and heave his trunk towards the train door. He tried to lift it up the steps but could hardly raise one end, and twice, he dropped it painfully on his foot.

“Want a hand?” It was one of the red-haired twins he’d followed through the ticket box.

“Yes, please,” Harry panted.

“Oy, Fred! C’mere and help!” With the twins’ help, Harry’s trunk was at last tucked away in a corner of the compartment.

“Thanks,” said Harry, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

“What’s that?” exclaimed one of the twins, pointing at Harry’s lightning scar.

“Blimey,” said the other twin. “Are you –?”

“He is,” said the first twin.

“Aren’t you?” he added to Harry.

“What?” said Harry.

“Harry Potter,” chorused the twins.

“Oh, him,” said Harry. “I mean, yes, I am.”

The two boys gawped at him, and Harry felt himself going red.

Then, to his relief, a voice came floating in through the train’s open door.

“Fred? George? Are you there?” asked their mother.

“Coming, Mum.” said the twins.

With a last look at Harry, the twins hopped off the train.

Harry sat down next to the window where, half-hidden, he could watch the red-haired family on the platform and hear what they were saying. Their mother had just taken out her handkerchief.

“Ron, you’ve got something on your nose.”

The youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but she grabbed him and rubbed his nose's end.

“Mum – geroff.” He wriggled free.

“Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?” said one of the twins.

“Shut up,” said Ron.

“Where’s Percy?” said their mother.

“He’s coming now.”

The oldest boy came striding into sight. He had already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes, and Harry noticed a shiny red and gold badge with the letter P on it on his chest.

“Can’t stay long, Mother,” he said. “I’m upfront, the Prefects have got two compartments to themselves –”

“Oh, are you a Prefect, Percy?” said one of the twins, with an air of great surprise. “You should have said something; we had no idea.”

“Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it,” said the other twin.

“Once –”

“Or twice –”

“A minute –”

“All summer –”

“Oh, shut up,” said Percy the Prefect.

“How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?” said one of the twins.

“Because he’s a Prefect,” said their mother fondly.

“All right, dear, well, have a good term – send me an owl when you get there.”

She kissed Percy on the cheek, and he left. Then she turned to the twins.

“Now, you two – this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you’ve – you’ve blown up a toilet or –” Their mother warned them.

“Blown up a toilet? We’ve never blown up a toilet.”

“Great idea, though, thanks, Mum.”

“It’s not funny. And look after Ron.”

“Don’t worry, ickle Ronniekins is safe with us.”

“Shut up,” said Ron again.

He was almost as tall as the twins already, and his nose was still pink where his mother had rubbed it.

“Hey, Mum, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?”

Harry leaned back quickly so they couldn’t see him looking.

“You know that black-haired boy who was near us in the station? Know who he is?”

“Who?”

“Harry Potter!”

Harry heard the little girl’s voice.

“Oh, Mum, can I go on the train and see him, Mum, oh please …”

“You’ve already seen him, Ginny, and the poor boy isn’t something you goggle at in a zoo. Is he really Fred? How do you know?”

“Asked him. Saw his scar. It’s really there – like lightning.”

“Poor dear – no wonder he was alone. I wondered. He was ever so polite when he asked how to get on to the platform.”

“Never mind that do you think he remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?”

Their mother suddenly became very stern.

“I forbid you to ask him, Fred. No, don’t you dare? As though he needs reminding of that on his first day at school.”

“All right, keep your hair on.”

A whistle sounded.

“Hurry up!” their mother said, and the three boys clambered onto the train.

They leaned out of the window for her to kiss them goodbye, and their younger sister began to cry.

“Don’t, Ginny, we’ll send you loads of owls.”

“We’ll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat.”

“George!” yelled the mother.

“Only joking, Mum.”

Dudley stared at the train; looking around he saw a sign that said Platform 9 and 3/4. Looking around, Dudley couldn't see his cousin anywhere, so he walked to the train. His heavy trunk makes it difficult for Dudley to lift onto the train, but after huffing for a few minutes, he drags it onto the train.

Dudley searches for an empty compartment but can't find any, so he decides to look to his cousin instead since he knows nobody in the Wizarding World. He starts walking up the train hallway, dragging his heavy trunk behind him as the train begins to move.

The train began to move. Harry saw the boys’ mother waving and their sister, half laughing, half crying, running to keep up with the train until it gathered too much speed; then, she fell back and waved.

Harry watched the girl and her mother disappear as the train rounded the corner. Houses flashed past the window. Harry felt a great leap of excitement. He didn’t know what he was going to – but it had to be better than what he was leaving behind. The compartment door slid open, and the youngest redheaded boy came in.

“Anyone sitting there?” he asked, pointing at the seat opposite Harry.

“Everywhere else is full.” the redhead boy said.

Harry shook his head, and the boy sat down. He glanced at Harry and looked quickly out the window, pretending he hadn’t looked. Harry saw he still had a black mark on his nose.

“Hey, Ron.” the doy said.

The twins were back.

“Listen, we’re going down the middle of the train – Lee Jordan’s got a giant tarantula down there.” said a twin.

“Right,” mumbled Ron.

“Harry,” said the other twin, “did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then.”

“Bye,” said Harry and Ron.

The twins slid the compartment door shut behind them.

“Are you really Harry Potter?” Ron blurted out.

Harry nodded.

“Oh – well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George’s jokes,” said Ron. “And have you really got – you know …”

He pointed at Harry’s forehead. Harry pulled back his fringe to show the lightning scar.

Ron stared. “So that’s where You-Know-Who –?”

“Yes,” said Harry, “but I can’t remember it.”

“Nothing?” said Ron eagerly.

“Well – I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else.”

“Wow,” said Ron.

He sat and stared at Harry for a few moments, then, as though he had suddenly realized what he was doing, he looked quickly out of the window again.

“Are all your family wizards?” asked Harry, who found Ron just as interesting as Ron found him.

‘Er – yes, I think so,” said Ron, “I think Mum’s got a second cousin who’s an accountant, but we never talk about him.”

“So you must know loads of magic already.” said Harry.

The Weasleys were clearly one of those old wizarding families that his tutor taught him about.

“I heard you went to live with Muggles,” said Ron. “What are they like?”

“Horrible – well, not all of them. My aunt and uncle, and cousin are, though. Wish I’d had three wizard brothers.” Harry remarked.

“Five,” said Ron. For some reason, he was looking gloomy. “I’m the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I’ve got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left – Bill was Head Boy, and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy’s a Prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks, and everyone thinks they’re really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it’s no big deal because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I’ve got Bill’s old robes, Charlie’s old wand, and Percy’s old rat.”

Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat grey rat, which was asleep.

“His name’s Scabbers, and he’s useless; he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a Prefect, but they couldn’t aff– I mean, I got Scabbers instead.” Ron said.

Ron’s ears went pink. He seemed to think he’d said too much because he returned to staring out the window. Harry didn’t think anything was wrong with being unable to afford an owl. After all, he’d never had any money in his life until a month ago, and he told Ron all about having to wear Dudley’s old clothes and never getting proper birthday presents. This seemed to cheer Ron up.

“... and until McGonagall told me, I didn’t know anything about being a wizard or about my parents or Voldemort—” Harry spoke.

Ron gasped.

“What?” said Harry.

“You said You-Know-Who’s name!” said Ron, sounding both shocked and impressed. “I’d have thought you, of all people –”

“I’m not trying to be brave or anything, saying the name,” said Harry.

“I just never knew you shouldn’t. See what I mean? I’ve got loads to learn ... I bet,” he added, voicing for the first time something that had been worrying him a lot lately, “I bet I’m the worst in the class.”

“You won’t be. There’s loads of people who come from Muggle families, and they learn quick enough.” Harry reassured.

While they were talking, the train carried them out of London. Now they were speeding past fields full of cows and sheep. They were quiet for a time, watching the fields and lanes flick past.

Around half past twelve, there was a great clattering outside in the corridor, and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and said, “Anything off the trolley, dears?”

Harry, who hadn’t had any breakfast, leaped to his feet, but Ron’s ears went pink again, and he muttered that he’d brought sandwiches. Harry went out into the corridor. He had never had any money for sweets with the Dursleys, and now that he had pockets rattling with gold and silver, he was ready to buy as many Mars Bars as he could carry – but the woman didn’t have Mars Bars. What she did have were Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavour Beans, Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Liquorice Wands, and several other strange things Harry had never seen in his life. Not wanting to miss anything, he got some of everything and paid the woman eleven silver Saddles and seven bronze Nuts.

Ron stared as Harry brought it all back into the compartment and tipped it onto an empty seat.

“Hungry, are you?” Ron asks.

“Starving,” said Harry, taking a large bite out of a pumpkin pasty.

Ron had taken out a lumpy package and unwrapped it. There were four sandwiches in there. He pulled one of them apart and said, “She always forgets I don’t like corned beef.”

“Swap you for one of these,” said Harry, holding up a pasty. “Go on –”

“You don’t want this, it’s all dry,’” said Ron.

“She hasn’t got much time,” he added quickly, “you know, with five of us.”

“Go on, have a pasty,” said Harry, who had never had anything to share before or anyone to share it with. Sitting there with Ron, eating their way through all Harry’s pasties and cakes (the sandwiches were forgotten), it was a nice feeling.

“What are these?” Harry asked Ron, holding up a pack of Chocolate Frogs.

“They’re not really frogs, are they?” He was starting to feel that nothing would surprise him.

“No,” replied Ron, “But see what the card is, I’m missing Agrippa.”

“What?” Harry asks, confused.

“Oh, of course, you wouldn’t know – Chocolate Frogs have cards inside them, you know, to collect – Famous Witches and Wizards. I’ve got about five hundred, but I haven’t got Agrippa or Ptolemy.” explains Ron.

Harry unwrapped his Chocolate Frog and picked up the card. It showed a man’s face. He wore half-moon glasses, a long crooked nose, flowing silver hair, a beard, and a mustache. Underneath the picture was the name Albus Dumbledore.

“So this is Dumbledore!” said Harry.

“Don’t tell me you’d never heard of Dumbledore!” said Ron, “Can I have a frog? I might get Agrippa – thanks –”

Harry turned over his card and read:

Albus Dumbledore, currently Headmaster of Hogwarts. Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Professor Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.

To his astonishment, Harry turned the card back over and saw that Dumbledore’s face had disappeared.

“He’s gone!” Harry exclaimed.

“Well, you can’t expect him to hang around all day.” said Ron.

“He’ll be back. No, I’ve got Morgana again, and I’ve got about six of her ... do you want it? You can start collecting.”

Ron’s eyes strayed to the pile of Chocolate Frogs waiting to be unwrapped.

“Help yourself,” said Harry. “But in, you know, the Muggle world, people just stay put in photos.”

“Do they? What, they don’t move at all?” Ron sounded amazed. “Weird!”

Harry stared as Dumbledore sidled back into the picture on his card and gave him a small smile.

Ron was more interested in eating the frogs than looking at the Famous Witches and Wizards cards, but Harry couldn’t keep his eyes off them. Soon he had not only Dumbledore and Morgana but also Hengist of Woodcraft, Alberic Grunnion, Circe, Paracelsus, and Merlin. He finally tore his eyes away from the druidess Cliodna, who was scratching her nose, to open a bag of Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavour Beans.

“You want to be careful with those,” Ron warned Harry.

“When they say every flavour, they mean every flavour – you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate, peppermint, and marmalade, but then you can get spinach, liver, and tripe. George reckons he had a bogey-flavored one once.” Ron continues.

Ron carefully picked up a green bean, looked at it, and bit into a corner.

“Bleaaargh – see? Sprouts,” said Ron.

They had a good time eating the Every-Flavour Beans. Harry got toast, coconut, baked bean, strawberry, curry, grass, coffee, and sardine and was even brave enough to nibble the end off a funny grey one Ron wouldn’t touch, which turned out to be pepper.

The countryside, now flying past the window, was becoming wilder. The neat fields had gone. Now, there were woods, twisting rivers, and dark green hills.

There was a knock on the door of their compartment, and the round-faced boy Harry had passed on platform nine and threequarters came in. He looked tearful.

“Sorry,” he said, “but have you seen a toad at all?”

He wailed when they shook their heads, “I’ve lost him! He keeps getting away from me!”

“He’ll turn up,” said Harry.

“Yes,” said the boy miserably, “Well, if you see him …”

He left.

“Don’t know why he’s so bothered,” Ron pointed out, “If I’d brought a toad, I’d lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can’t talk.”

The rat was still snoozing on Ron’s lap.

“He might have died, and you wouldn’t know the difference,” Ron said disgustingly.

“I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn’t work. I’ll show you, look …” Ron said.

He rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out a very battered-looking wand. It was chipped in places, and something white glinted at the end.

“Unicorn hair’s nearly poking out. Anyway –” Ron said.

He had just raised his wand when the compartment door slid open again. The toadless boy was back but had a girl with him this time. She was already wearing her new Hogwarts robes.

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one,” she said. She had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair, and rather large front teeth.

“We’ve already told him we haven’t seen it,” said Ron, but the girl wasn’t listening; she was looking at the wand in his hand.

“Oh, are you doing magic? Let’s see it, then.” the girl says.

She sat down. Ron looked taken aback.

“Er – all right,” He cleared his throat.

“Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.” Ron says.

He waved his wand, but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed grey and fast asleep.

“Are you sure that’s a real spell?” said the girl. “Well, it’s not very good, is it? I’ve tried a few simple spells just for practice, and it’s all worked for me. Nobody in my family’s magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course; I mean, it’s the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard – I’ve learned all our set books off by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough – I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?”

She said all this very fast.

Harry looked at Ron and was relieved to see by his stunned face that he hadn’t learnt all the set books off by heart either.

“I’m Ron Weasley,” Ron muttered.

“Harry Potter,” said Harry.

“Are you really?” said Hermione. “I know all about you, of course – I got a few extra books for background reading, and you’re in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.”

“Am I?” said Harry, feeling dazed.

“Goodness, didn’t you know, I’d have found out everything I could if it was me,” noted Hermione.

“Do either of you know what house you’ll be in? I’ve been asking around, and I hope I’m in Gryffindor; it sounds by far the best, I hear Dumbledore himself was one, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad ... Anyway, we’d better go and look for Neville’s toad. You two had better change, you know; I expect we’ll be there soon.” Hermione says, and she leaves, taking the toadless boy with her.

“Whatever house I’m in, I hope she’s not in it,” said Ron.

He threw his wand back into his trunk.

“Stupid spell – George gave it to me; bet he knew it was a dud.” Ron shrugs.

“What house are your brothers in?” asked Harry.

“Gryffindor,” said Ron. Gloom seemed to be settling on him again. “Mum and Dad were in it, too. I don’t know what they’ll say if I’m not. I don’t suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin.”

“That’s the house Vol– I mean, You-Know-Who was in?” Harry inquired.

“Yeah,” said Ron. He flopped back into his seat, looking depressed.

“You know, I think the ends of Scabbers’s whiskers are a bit lighter,” said Harry, trying to take Ron’s mind off houses.

“So what do your oldest brothers do now they’ve left, anyway?”

Harry was wondering what a wizard did once he’d finished school.

“Charlie’s in Romania studying dragons, and Bill’s in Africa doing something for Gringotts,” said Ron.

“Did you hear about Gringotts? It’s been all over the Daily Prophet, but I don’t suppose you get that with the Muggles – someone tried to rob a high-security vault.” asked Ron.

Harry stared.

“Really? What happened to them?” asks Harry.

“Nothing, that’s why it’s such big news. They haven’t been caught. My dad says it must’ve been a powerful Dark wizard to get around Gringotts, but they don’t think they took anything; that’s what’s odd. ’Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who’s behind it.”

Harry turned this news over in his mind. He started to get a prickle of fear every time You-Know-Who was mentioned. He supposed this was all part of entering the magical world, but it had been a lot more comfortable saying ‘Voldemort’ without worrying.

“What’s your Quidditch team?” Ron asked.

“Er – I don’t know any,” Harry confessed.

“What!” Ron looked dumbfounded.

“Oh, you wait, it’s the best game in the world –” And he was off, explaining all about the four balls and the positions of the seven players, describing famous games he’d been to with his brothers and the broomstick he’d like to get if he had the money. He was just taking Harry through the game's finer points when the compartment door slid open yet again, but it wasn’t Neville the toadless boy, or Hermione Granger this time.

Three boys entered, and He looked at Harry with much more interest than he’d shown back in Diagon Alley.

“Is it true?” he said. “They’re saying all down the train that Harry Potter’s in this compartment. So it’s you, is it?”

“Yes,” said Harry.

He was looking at the other boys. Both of them were thickset and looked extremely mean. Standing on either side of the pale boy, they looked like bodyguards.

“Oh, this is Crabbe, and this is Goyle,” said the pale boy carelessly, noticing where Harry was looking. “And my name’s Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.”

Harry remembering his pure blood Manners lessons from Mrs. Ettington, Harry got up from his seat, ignoring Ron's slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger.

“Hello to you as well, Heir Malfoy.” Harry said politely. “My name's Harry Potter, Heir to the most ancient and Noble House of Potter.”

At that moment, Draco Malfoy, who had turned around about to make a comment in response to Ron snickering at him, froze and immediately turned back to Harry.

“Apologies, Heir Potter, for forgetting my manners. It is nice to meet you.” Draco responded, forgetting about Ron momentarily. He held out his hand to shake Harry’s, and Harry shook Draco's hand.

Draco turned to Ron and said, “You need to improve your manners.” he turned, “I hope we will speak again, Heir Potter.”

“I hope as well, Heir Malfoy,” Harry says as he nods.

“Why were you nice to Malfoy and polite?” Ron asked.

“My muggle relatives raised me, and I didn't know about the Wizarding World until I received my Hogwarts letter. However, Professor McGonagall set me up to take etiquette courses and other lessons on The Wizarding World as I am the heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potters. The tutor she had set me up with told me I needed to act appropriately for my station, and knew this. She talked about families; the Malfoys were one of the noble families and part of the Sacred 28. We only learned some of the basics of family history and their position. We didn't have time for more in-depth information on each family. Why do you ask?” Harry explained.

“I’ve heard of his family,” said Ron darkly. “They were some of the first to return to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they’d been bewitched. My dad doesn’t believe it. He says Malfoy’s father didn’t need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side.”

“So they're part of the dark faction of families?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Ron responded. Ron looked about to continue, but the compartment door was abruptly shoved open.

Harry saw a Haggard-looking Dudley dragging his trunk.

“There you are,” Dudley said, wheezing, roughly shuffled into the seat, dragging his trunk behind him.

Dudley dragged his trunk through the train, looking for his cousin; he loathed his cousin, but he was the only one he knew, and he would not sit with random Wizards who could curse him, which was no use. He noticed Harry's trunk stored up along with the other person Harry was sitting with. When Dudley looked at his trunk, it was too heavy; he wasn't dragging it up there; he had already dragged it for a while and had even had to stop and take a break leaning against the wall, struggling to catch his breath, in between dragging it up there. As the train moved, he was knocked over several times by the trunk's weight, which knocked him over several times.

Dudley was covered in sweat and was hungry. He hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, and he had also exhausted himself when he had followed the trolley cart. Only when he finally caught up to it learn that they did not accept muggle pounds and he did not have any Wizarding money and couldn't get anything.

Dudley noticed the handful of sweets he had seen on the trolley lying in the seats. Dudley realized that the person Harry was sitting with must have gotten a few things from the trolley and shared them with him. Dudley grumbled but quickly grabbed what was left of the stuff and shoved it into his lap.

Harry just ignored as Dudley proceeded to stuff his face with the remaining sweets that were left. Suddenly, the compartment door opened again, and he saw Hermione.

He asked, “Can we help you with something?”

“You’d better hurry up and put your robes on. I’ve just been up the front to ask the driver, and he says we’re nearly there.” Hermione said.

“All right – I came here because I saw a guy barge in dragging a trunk through the corridors,” said Hermione in a sniffy voice. “And you’ve got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?”

Ron glared at her as she left. Harry peered out of the window. It was getting dark. He could see mountains and forests under a deep purple sky.

Ron asked, “Who are you?” once Hermione had left the compartment.

Harry responded, “Oh, his name's Dudley. It turns out my muggle cousin is a wizard, although I don't know how that happened,” Harry shrugged.

A few minutes later, the train seemed to be slowing down.

Taking off their jackets, Harry and Ron pulled on their school uniform shirts, sweaters, ties, and long black robes. Ron’s were a bit short for him; you could see his trainers underneath them.

Dudley looked up after stuffing his face and noticed the others were changing into their uniforms, and Dudley reluctantly changed into his. However, Dudley noticed that he wasn't the only one in second-hand clothes because the red-headed boy in the compartment where Harry was sitting with his robes was a bit short. Although Dudley's weren't short on him, they did look worn and weren't the proper black they were supposed to be.

A voice echoed through the train: “We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train; it will be taken to the school separately.”

Harry’s stomach lurched with nerves, and Ron, he saw, looked pale under his freckles. Also, Dudley appeared to be nervous. Harry and Ron joined the crowd, thronging the corridor; Dudley reluctantly followed.

The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way towards the door and out onto a tiny, dark platform. Harry shivered in the cold night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Harry heard a familiar voice: “Firs’-years! Firs’-years over here! All right there, Harry?”

Hagrid’s big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads.

“C’mon, follow me – any more firs’-years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’-years follow me!” Hagrid shouted.

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Harry thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Neville, the boy who kept losing his toad, sniffed once or twice.

“Yeh’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec,” Hagrid called over his shoulder, ‘jus’ round this bend here.”

There was a loud “Oooooh!”

The narrow path suddenly opened onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

“No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore.

Harry and Ron were followed into their boat by Neville and Hermione. As a result, Dudley had to board another boat.

“Everyone in?” shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself, “Right then – FORWARD!”

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

“Heads down!” yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads, and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy which hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle until they reached a kind of underground harbour, where they clambered onto rocks and pebbles.

“Oy, you there! Is this your toad?” said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

“Trevor!” cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid’s lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the castle's shadow.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge oak front door.

“Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?”

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

Chapter Text

The door swung open at once. Professor McGonagall, a black-haired witch in emerald-green robes, stood there. Harry immediately recognized Professor McGonagall, as she had been the one to take him and Dudley to Diagon Alley and lead to the changes at the Dursley residence. However, Harry was still unsure how long that newfound understanding would last.

Trailing closely behind Harry's group, Dudley noticed that it was Professor McGonagall When the doors swung open. After they visited Diagon Alley, Dudley wasn't fond of Professor McGonagall, but Dudley couldn't help but feel a sense of relief at the sight of at least one familiar face. Dudley knew no one in the Wizarding World except his freak of cousin, and the only adult he had become acquainted with was the professor who had ushered Harry and him through Diagon Alley to purchase school supplies. While Dudley and Harry had reached a truce of sorts, the unspoken agreement was clear – but his cousin Harry was supposed to have hand-me-downs, not him. Dudley hesitated to break their truce, recognizing the value of having at least one acquaintance in the strange Wizarding World.

“The firs’-years, Professor McGonagall,” said Hagrid.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.” She pulled the door wide.

The Entrance Hall was so big you could have fitted the whole of the Dursleys’ house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right – the rest of the school must already be here – but Professor McGonagall showed the first-years into a small empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing somewhat closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because your house will be like your family in Hogwarts while you are here. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your dormitory, and spend free time in your common room. The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes before the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as possible while waiting.”

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville’s cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron’s smudged nose. Harry nervously tried to flatten his hair.

“I shall return when we are ready for you,” said Professor McGonagall. “Please wait quietly.”

She left the chamber. Harry swallowed. “How exactly do they sort us into houses?” he asked Ron.

“Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking,” Ron answered.

Dudley, still trailing behind Harry's group, looked at the redhead, hoping that the redhead was out of his mind and that Wizards were not using something painful or barbaric to sort them into their houses.

Harry’s heart gave a horrible jolt. A test? In front of the whole school? But he didn’t know any magic yet – what on earth would he have to do? He hadn’t expected something like this the moment they arrived. He looked around anxiously and saw that everyone else looked terrified, too. No one talked much except Hermione Granger, who was whispering quickly about all the spells she’d learnt and wondering which one she’d need. Harry tried hard not to listen to her. He’d never been more nervous, never, not even when he’d had to take a school report home to the Dursleys saying that he’d somehow turned his teacher’s wig blue. He kept his eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would return and lead him to his doom.

Then something happened that made him jump about a foot in the air – several people behind him screamed.

“What the –?” He gasped.

So did the people around him. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room, talking to each other and hardly glancing at the first-years. They seemed to be arguing.

Dudley’s head began to swim. His vision blurred slightly.

Ghosts?

Ghosts?!

GHOSTS?!?!?!

Dudley was hyperventilating and immediately lost his color after witnessing the presence of twenty ghosts. "Ghosts at Hogwarts?" raced through his panicked thoughts. Forced into the Wizarding World against his will, Dudley felt an overwhelming sense of anxiety. The unfamiliar surroundings and magical beings left him questioning what other mythical creatures might exist in the Wizarding World.

What looked like a fat little monk was saying, “Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance –”

“My dear Friar, haven’t we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name, and you know, he’s not really even a ghost – I say, what are you all doing here?” A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first-years.

Nobody answered.

“New students!” said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. “About to be sorted, I suppose?”

A few people nodded mutely.

“Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!” said the Friar. “My old house, you know.”

“Move along now,” said a sharp voice. “The Sorting Ceremony’s about to start.”

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

“Now, form a line,” Professor McGonagall told the first-years, “and follow me.”

Feeling oddly as though his legs had turned to lead, Harry got into line behind a boy with sandy hair, with Ron behind him, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall. Harry had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands of candles floating in mid-air over four long tables where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the Hall was another long table where the teachers sat. Professor McGonagall led the first-years up here so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. To avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upwards and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars.

A reluctant Dudley followed Harry and the redhead he thought his name was Ron into the Great Hall. He had been dreading going to Hogwarts ever since he heard about it, but now he was concerned about all the magical creatures he had thought were just old fairy tales.

Harry heard Hermione whisper, “It’s bewitched to look like the sky outside; I read about it in Hogwarts: A History.”

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all and that the Great Hall didn’t simply open onto the heavens.

Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first-years. On top of the stool, she put a pointed wizard’s hat. This hat was patched, frayed, and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn’t have let it in the house.

Maybe they had to try and get a rabbit out of it, Harry thought wildly; that seemed the sort of thing – noticing that everyone in the Hall was now staring at the hat, he stared at it too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth – and the hat began to sing:

“Oh, you may not think I’m pretty,
But don’t judge on what you see,
I’ll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat,
And I can cap them all.
There’s nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can’t see,
So try me on, and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.
You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart;
You might belong in Hufflepuff
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil;
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
If you’ve a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;
Or perhaps in Slytherin
You’ll make your real friends,
Those cunning folk use any means
To achieve their ends.
So put me on! Don’t be afraid!
And don’t get in a flap!
You’re in safe hands (though I have none)
For I’m a Thinking Cap!”

The whole Hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

The Sorting Hat was filthy, dusty, ragged, patched, and singing. If Mum had been there, there was no chance in hell that Mum would've allowed Dudley to put it on his head. She’d probably think it had some magical form of lice. Despite that, Dudley sighed in relief; even though he was a little uncomfortable about the talking hat being in the Wizarding World, it was much better than all the alternatives he had been coming up with.

Dudley quiked, praying to anything that the words were just an expression. Having a hat that sings was weird, but he knew he'd get used to it. Having a Hat that ate things, and everything that implied, was terrifying.

“So we’ve just got to try on the hat!” Ron whispered to Harry. “I’ll kill Fred; he was going on about wrestling a troll.”

Harry smiled weakly. Yes, trying on the hat was much better than having to do a spell, but he wished they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot; Harry didn’t feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If only the hat had mentioned a house for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been the one for him.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward, holding a long roll of parchment.

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she said. “Abbott, Hannah!”

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment’s pause –

“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

“Bones, Susan!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

“Boot, Terry!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

“Brocklehurst, Mandy” went to Ravenclaw too, but “Brown, Lavender” became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry could see Ron’s twin brothers catcalling.

“Bulstrode, Millicent,” then became a Slytherin. Perhaps it was Harry’s imagination; after all he’d heard about Slytherin, he thought they looked unpleasant.

“Dursley, Dudley,” said McGonagall. Dudley reluctantly walked up towards the stool and sat down on it. Maybe it would say this is all a big mistake, and he'd return home and go to smelting.

Harry perked up, curious as to which house Dudley would be sorted into. Dudley had none of the qualities that the Sorting Hat described about the houses, like being smart, brave, hardworking, or cunning. Harry thought this would be interesting.

Some students sniggered at Dudley's alliterative nickname, but most didn't react. Dudley ignored them; growing up with "double D" as his initials had taught him that retaliating wasn't worth the trouble it caused. Instead, he focused on the Sorting Hat.

Dudley felt he could make out every frayed thread in every patch, see every speckled stain of dirt. How does a Hat get this filthy? He wondered. They must use it for all kinds of things at the school.

He lifted the Hat by the tip of its pointed top, Gingerly, he perched on the stool and set the Hat on his head.

The hat barely fit. From his spot, Dudley heard a few snickering and calling him a fat Pig, along with other nasty things about his weight. He even heard one joke about how they barely made robes big enough for him. Dudley wanted to tell them to stop laughing and snickering and that he was a healthy weight when he started hearing.

“Hmm,” said a small voice in his ear. “Difficult. Very difficult. Not very courageous, I see. Not one for intellect.”

Dudley gulped, angry that the hat implied he was stupid.

“Hmm,” The Hat spoke again. “Got a temper on you. Not cunning, I see. One for hard work, I see not. Hmm – where should I put you? Well, Hufflepuff, would you do some good? Hmm, Difficult. Very difficult – Well, perhaps this is the best house for you. It will give you what you need to grow, so it's better to be a HUFFLEPUFF!”

Professor McGonagall plucked the hat from his head and, with a tight smile, pointed him toward the table that a few cheered for him to join them. Dudley got up from the stool, he then ambled over to his new House table, sat down, and heard a couple of Snickers.

With Dudley's sorting over with Harry, he had nothing to distract him. He was definitely starting to feel sick now. Harry remembered being picked for teams during sports lessons at his old school. He had always been last to be chosen, not because he was no good, but because no one wanted Dudley to think they liked him.

“Finch-Fletchley, Justin!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

Sometimes, Harry noticed that the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others, it took a little while to decide. “Finnigan, Seamus,” the sandy-haired boy next to Harry in the line sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

“Granger, Hermione!”

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

“GRYFFINDOR!” shouted the hat. Ron groaned.

A horrible thought struck Harry, as horrible thoughts always do when you’re very nervous. What if he wasn’t chosen at all? What if he just sat there with the hat over his eyes for ages until Professor McGonagall jerked it off his head and said there had obviously been a mistake and he’d better get back on the train?

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. It took Neville a long time to decide on the hat. When it finally shouted “GRYFFINDOR,” Neville ran off, still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to “MacDougal, Morag.”

Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish immediately: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, “SLYTHERIN!”

Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.

There weren’t many people left now. “Moon” ... “Nott” ... “Parkinson” ... then a pair of twin girls, “Patil” and “Patil” ... then “Perks, Sally-Anne” ... and then, at last – “Potter, Harry!”

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

“Potter, did she say?”

“The Harry Potter?”

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the Hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. The next second, he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

“Hmm,” said a small voice in his ear. “Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There’s talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that’s interesting ... So where shall I put you?”

Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, “Not Slytherin, not Slytherin.”

“Not Slytherin, eh?” said the small voice. “Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it’s all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that – no? Well, if you’re sure – better be GRYFFINDOR!”

Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole Hall. He took off the hat and walked shakily towards the Gryffindor table. He was so relieved to have been chosen and not put in Slytherin that he hardly noticed that he was getting the loudest cheer yet. Percy the Prefect got up and shook his hand vigorously while the Weasley twins yelled, “We got Potter! We got Potter!” Harry sat down opposite the ghost in the ruff he’d seen earlier. The ghost patted his arm, giving Harry the sudden, horrible feeling he’d just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water.

He could see the High Table properly now. At the end nearest him sat Hagrid, who caught his eye and gave him the thumbs-up. Harry grinned back. And in the centre of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Harry immediately recognized him from the card he’d got out of the Chocolate Frog on the train. Dumbledore’s silver hair was the only thing in the whole Hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. Harry spotted Professor Quirrell, too, the nervous young man from the Leaky Cauldron. He was looking very peculiar in a large purple turban.

And now there were only three people left to be sorted. “Turpin, Lisa” became a Ravenclaw, and it was Ron’s turn. He was pale green by now. Harry crossed his fingers under the table, and a second later, the hat shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!”

Harry clapped loudly with the rest as Ron collapsed into the chair next to him.

“Well done, Ron, excellent,” said Percy Weasley pompously across Harry as “Zabini, Blaise” was made a Slytherin.

Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

Harry looked down at his empty gold plate. He had only just realized how hungry he was. The pumpkin pasties seemed ages ago.

Dudley stared at his empty gold plate, wondering where the food was.

Albus Dumbledore had got to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

“Welcome!” he said. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!”

“Thank you!”

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harry didn’t know whether to laugh or not.

“Is he – a bit mad?” he asked Percy uncertainly.

“Mad?” said Percy airily. ‘He’s a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?”

Harry’s mouth fell open. The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup and, for some strange reason, mint humbugs.

The Dursleys had never exactly starved Harry, but he’d never been allowed to eat as much as he liked. Dudley had always taken anything that Harry really wanted, even if it made him sick. Harry piled his plate with a bit of everything except the humbugs and began to eat. It was all delicious.

Now, however, Dudley was simply goggling at the meal laid before him.

It had appeared suddenly, with a small pop. And there was so much of it! Dudley was sure there was at least one item from each of his top fifteen favorite meals, and they all smelled incredible.

Dudley was awestruck as he surveyed the dishes piled high with food. He had never seen such a spread on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, mint humbugs. Without hesitation, Dudley began to dig in. Initially reluctant to come to the Wizarding World, Dudley now thought that if this was what they had each night, he could definitely get used to it.

“That does look good,” said the ghost in the ruff sadly, watching Harry cut up his steak.

“Can’t you –?”

“I haven’t eaten for nearly five hundred years,” said the ghost. “I don’t need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don’t think I’ve introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower.”

“I know who you are!” said Ron suddenly. “My brothers told me about you – you’re Nearly Headless, Nick!”

“I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy –” the ghost began stiffly, but sandy-haired Seamus Finnigan interrupted.

“Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?”

Sir Nicholas looked extremely miffed, as if their little chat wasn’t going at all the way he wanted.

“Like this,” he said irritably. He seized his left ear and pulled. His whole head swung off his neck and fell onto his shoulder as if it was on a hinge. Someone had obviously tried to behead him, but not done it properly. Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nick flipped his head back onto his neck, coughed, and said, “So – new Gryffindors! I hope you’re going to help us win the House Championship this year? Gryffindor have never gone so long without winning. Slytherin have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron’s becoming almost unbearable – he’s the Slytherin ghost.”

Harry looked over at the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. He was right next to Malfoy who, Harry was pleased to see, didn’t look too pleased with the seating arrangements.

“How did he get covered in blood?” asked Seamus with great interest.

“I’ve never asked,” said Nearly Headless Nick delicately.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later, the puddings appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavour you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, jelly, rice pudding …

As Harry helped himself to a treacle tart, the talk turned to their families.

“I’m half and half,” said Seamus. “Me dad’s a Muggle. Mam didn’t tell him she was a witch ’til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him.”

The others laughed.

“What about you, Neville?” said Ron.

“Well, my gran brought me up, and she’s a witch,” said Neville, “but the family thought I was all Muggle for ages. My great-uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me – he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned – but nothing happened until I was eight. Great-uncle Algie came round for tea, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my great-auntie Enid offered him a meringue, and he accidentally let go. But I bounced – all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased. Gran was crying; she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here – they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great-uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad.”

On Harry’s other side, Percy Weasley and Hermione were talking about lessons (“I do hope they start straight away; there’s so much to learn; I’m particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it’s supposed to be very difficult –’; ‘You’ll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing –”).

Harry, who was starting to feel warm and sleepy, looked up at the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell’s turban straight into Harry’s eyes – and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry’s forehead. ‘

“Ouch!” Harry clapped a hand to his head.

“What is it?” asked Percy.

“N-nothing.”

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Harry had got from the teacher’s look – a feeling that he didn’t like Harry at all.

“Who’s that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?” he asked Percy.

“Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he’s looking so nervous; that’s Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn’t want to – everyone knows he’s after Quirrell’s job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape.”

Harry watched Snape for a while, but Snape didn’t look at him again.

At last, the puddings disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet once more. The Hall fell silent.

Dudley, feeling drained from the feast, had eaten enough to make him sleepy. He propped his cheek on his fist, watching as the Headmaster—Dumbledore—prepared to address the students.

At the beginning of the feast, Dumbledore had spoken some strange, random words that Dudley had wondered might be a spell. Now, however, it seemed he was about to give a proper speech.
Dudley stifled a yawn.

As the hall settled, Dumbledore began his address. The speech turned out to be mostly a list of warnings about things and places students needed to avoid.

“Ahem—just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered,” Dumbledore began, his voice carrying across the hall. “I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.”

“First-years should note that the forest in the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.”

Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

“I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.”

“Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.”

“And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

Harry laughed, but he was one of the few who did.

“He’s not serious?” he muttered to Percy.

“Must be,” said Percy, frowning at Dumbledore. “It’s odd because he usually gives us a reason why we’re not allowed to go somewhere – the forest’s full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us Prefects, at least.”

“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” cried Dumbledore. Harry noticed that the other teachers’ smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself snake-like into words.

“Everyone pick their favourite tune,” said Dumbledore, “and off we go!”

And the school bellowed:
“Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,
Teach us something, please,
Whether we be old and bald
Or young with scabby knees,
Our heads could do with filling With some interesting stuff,
For now, they’re bare and full of air,
Dead flies and bits of fluff,
So, teach us things worth knowing,
Bring back what we’ve forgot,
Just do your best, we’ll do the rest,
And learn until our brains all rot.’

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand, and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped the loudest.

“Ah, music,” he said, wiping his eyes. “A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

Dudley supposed the strange words Dumbledore had spoken were the lyrics to some kind of song, though he’d never heard a more absurd collection of words in his life.

What is my favorite tune? How am I supposed to follow along? What on world is this nonsense?

Dudley thought the Headmaster must be a lunatic if he thought that was remotely good music. His attention was soon diverted as he noticed an older Hufflepuff student stand up and tell all the first-years to follow him. Reluctantly, Dudley joined the group as the older student introduced himself as Gabriel Truman, a prefect.

The first-years followed Gabriel out of the Great Hall and towards the stairs. Dudley heard Gabriel explaining things, but he wasn’t paying much attention, too busy huffing and wheezing from the climb. When they finally reached the bottom of the stairs, Gabriel continued walking, and Dudley glanced around. It seemed they were in the castle's dungeon. They trudged on for what felt like an eternity to Dudley before finally stopping in front of a stack of barrels.

Breathing heavily and still puzzled, Dudley looked at Gabriel with bewilderment. Why were they stopping in front of a stack of barrels?

His questioning gaze shifted downward as he watched Gabriel tap on the barrels in a specific rhythm. “The trick is to tap with the syllables of Helga Hufflepuff’s name,” Gabriel explained. As he spoke, the barrels shifted, revealing an entrance.

Dudley’s eyes widened as he stepped into the Hufflepuff common room. The circular windows set into the ground outside were black, but the room was brightly lit by a bubbly fire that crackled behind the pale brick hearth. Rich greenery trailed off the windowsills, hung in terracotta bowls from the ceiling, and sprawled across the floor, contrasting with the wood paneling and pale stone that shaped the circular room. The warm aroma and comforting crackle of the firewood filled the space, which was furnished with armchairs that had pale wooden frames and plush copper seats. First-years eagerly leaped into these chairs, bouncing slightly before sinking into them. Dudley managed to snag one of the quickly dwindling seats and sank nearly an inch into its softness.

As soon as Gabriel pointed out the boys' dormitory area for first-years, Dudley headed there. He found his luggage waiting in front of a bed but decided he was too tired to unpack. Laying down on the bed, Dudley quickly passed out from the exhaustion of all those stairs.

The Gryffindor first-years followed Percy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. Harry’s legs were like lead again, but only because he was so tired and full of food. He was too sleepy even to be surprised that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed or that twice Percy led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They climbed more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and Harry was just wondering how much further they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.

A bundle of walking sticks was floating in mid-air ahead of them, and as Percy took a step towards them, they started throwing themselves at him.

“Peeves,” Percy whispered to the first-years. “A poltergeist.” He raised his voice, “Peeves – show yourself.”

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered.

“Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?”

There was a pop, and a little man with wicked dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

“Oooooooh!” he said with an evil cackle. “Ickle firsties! What fun!”

He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked.

“Go away, Peeves or the Baron’ll hear about this; I mean it!” barked Percy.

Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on Neville’s head. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armour as he passed.

“You want to watch out for Peeves,” said Percy, as they set off again. “The Bloody Baron’s the only one who can control him; he won’t even listen to us Prefects. Here we are.”

At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.

“Password?’ she said.

“Caput Draconis,” said Percy, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it – Neville needed a leg up – and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cosy, round room full of squashy armchairs.

Percy directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. At the top of a spiral staircase – they were obviously in one of the towers – they found their beds at last: five four-posters hung with deep red velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up. Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their pyjamas and fell into bed.

“Great food, isn’t it?” Ron muttered to Harry through the hangings. “Get off, Scabbers! He’s chewing my sheets.”

Harry was going to ask Ron if he’d had any of the treacle tart, but he fell asleep almost at once.

Perhaps Harry had eaten a bit too much because he had a very strange dream. He was wearing Professor Quirrell’s turban, which kept talking to him, telling him he must transfer to Slytherin immediately because it was his destiny. Harry told the turban he didn’t want to be in Slytherin; it got heavier and heavier; he tried to pull it off, but it tightened painfully – and there was Malfoy, laughing at him as he struggled with it – then Malfoy turned into the hook-nosed teacher, Snape, whose laugh became high and cold – there was a burst of green light, and Harry woke, sweating and shaking.

He rolled over and fell asleep again, and when he woke the next day, he didn’t remember the dream at all.

Chapter Text

Sunlight peeked through Harry's four-poster bed curtains, waking him up. He opened the curtains on one side to grab his glasses and instantly regretted it when the sun hit him directly in the eyes. Overwhelmed with excitement and disbelief, Harry couldn't help but pinch himself to ensure he wasn't dreaming. It was surreal. Despite tutoring over the summer, he was actually at Hogwarts, away from the Dursleys. Being surrounded by fellow witches and wizards filled him with excitement and a sense of belonging. He felt like a whole new world had opened up to him. He was no longer just Harry, the poor orphan, but now Harry, the heir to a Most Ancient and Noble house, with a seat in the Muggle House of Lords. This realization filled him with a renewed sense of purpose and determination.

After a moment, Harry hopped out of bed enthusiastically; today was his first day at Hogwarts. He looked down at his trunk, having practically collapsed into bed from all the excitement last night. Glancing around at his fellow dorm mates, Harry noticed they were all still asleep and that Ron, in particular, was snoring loudly. Always an early riser, Harry figured he had plenty of time to unpack. As Harry looked around the dormitory, their four-poster beds were covered in red Eiderdowns with red curtains, a wooden nightstand next to them, and his school trunk at the end of the bed. The dorm had stone walls and wooden floors, and wooden furniture was on either side of the bed. A wooden chair and dresser sat on one side of the bed near a nightstand, and a wooden bookcase sat on the other. Dorm windows were draped with red curtains, and a carpet in the middle of the room with the house crest was red and yellow. Once he confirmed everyone in the room had the same setup, he began unpacking his trunk. Harry folded all his school robes, dress robes, and clothes in the dresser; Harry left his shoes in his trunk. The black loafers for his uniform were placed next to his bed, and a pair of school robes and other uniform items were spread across his bed.

From his trunk, Harry unpacked his quills, ink bottles, messenger bag, and parchment, neatly arranging them on the surface of the wooden nightstand to keep everything within easy reach. He organized his underwear into one drawer and his socks into another, placing his first-year potion kit and size two cauldron in the top drawer. Then, Harry removed his textbooks from his trunk and arranged them in the wooden bookcase. Next, he sorted through his toiletries and filled his green mesh shower caddy, leaving the rest in his trunk.

With most of his belongings unpacked, Harry decided to take a shower. He grabbed his shower caddy and underwear before heading to the bathroom. Harry noticed it already had five sets of towels, hand towels, and washcloths, each on its own bar. After a quick shower, he dried himself off, using a tassel to dry his hair, and hung the towel and washcloth back on the bar. He put on his underwear, brushed his teeth, and put everything back into his shower caddy.

Returning to the room, he changed into his uniform. He was thankful for the tutoring lessons with Mrs. Ettington, who had taught him how to properly wear his robes, including tying a tie and cravat. He finished dressing and packed his messenger bag with textbooks, quills, ink bottles, parchment, and his first-year potion kit. Just in case, he packed everything for his classes, not knowing the schedule yet. Before leaving the room, he grabbed his wand and tucked it into his robe's pocket.

Ron was still getting ready, looking like he had just woken up. Harry ended up following Neville down to the Gryffindor common room. Within minutes, Ron and the other boys from their dorm came down. They chatted for a while before heading to the Great Hall for breakfast.

The moment they reached the Great Hall, sat down, and started eating, whispers began.

“There, look.”

“Where?”

“Next to the tall kid with the red hair.”

“Wearing the glasses?”

“Did you see his face?”

“Did you see his scar?”

Upon waking up, The next morning, Dudley woke up groggily and blinked for a few seconds before freezing. He sat there, frozen for about 10 minutes, before remembering what had happened the day before. He was forced to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. After the rude hat told him he didn't fit into any house exactly, he was sorted into Hufflepuff. For some reason, the Hufflepuff common rooms and dorms were in the castle's dungeons.

After hiking to the common room, Dudley had been so exhausted that, as soon as he entered, he headed to the dorms and collapsed on top of the bed without even changing or taking his shoes off, not even going under the covers. As much as Dudley didn't like it, he was attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and likely would be there until he graduated. With that in mind, he looked around the dorm room.

The four-poster beds were covered in yellow eiderdowns with yellow curtains, a wooden nightstand next to it, and their school trunk at the foot of the bed. A wooden chair and dresser were on one side of the bed, near the nightstand. A wooden bookcase was located on the other side of the bed. The walls and floors were made of stone. A plant holder was on the wall with a plant in it on one side of the bed. The dorm had half-circle windows, a yellow and black carpet with what Dudley thought was the house crest in the center, and two spherical lamps on either side. Dudley noticed one of his dorm mates, whom he hadn't even bothered to learn the name of, grabbing a shower caddy with toiletry supplies and heading to the room's second door. When he opened it, Dudley realized it was a bathroom.

Packing hadn't been a priority for Dudley. He left everything they had gotten at Diagon Alley with Professor McGonagall in the trunk and hadn't opened any of it except the robes, which he only opened to change into on the train because everyone else was doing it, and he already didn't want to be here surrounded by freaks, as his parents called them. He still refused to accept that he, too, was a freak, but he didn't want to stand out among them. The day before they left for King's Cross, his mom told him and his freak of a cousin to make sure everything was packed in their trunks. After all, if they forgot anything, they would not send it to them because they did not want to interact with the Wizarding World more than they had to.

Dudley had no idea what to pack when it came to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which the Freak’s parents attended. The secondhand book that his mother had gotten him, which was the ‘A Beginner’s Guide to What You Need to Know About The Wizarding World for Muggle-borns’, but did not have a detailed list like his mum would make when he went summer camping with his friends. It mentioned bringing dress robes, which he assumed were just the wizarding equivalent of suits, so he packed two. He'd read that he needed to bring white button-down shirts for his school uniforms. He had gotten the sweaters for the uniform and the ties that were supposed to magically change colors to the house he got sorted into, which was weird. Dudley also learned from his freak cousin, who seemed to know more about what was happening than he did, that he needed grey calf socks. He guessed his cousin had always been a freak, so he would know what the freaks wanted for school uniforms, which was relatively normal. Dudley had a pack that his mum had bought him the last time they went clothes shopping before this fiasco began. He hadn't opened it, but his mum said he needed at least several neutral-colored socks. The book also says to bring casual clothing and suggest cloaks and robes for the winter months. He just threw in a couple of his winter coats they bought last year. For casual clothes, he packed all of his favorite new clothes. The book did not go into specifics, but it mentioned that he needed to bring all his toiletries. He also packed his pajamas and slippers.

Dudley had no idea what dorm supplies he would need for the freak school. Since they had already bought supplies for Smeltings, he decided to pack the bags with supplies. The bags were from a shopping trip for his Smeltings uniform, which they had to return since he wasn't attending Smeltings anymore. Dudley hadn't even unpacked the bags, assuming his mum would pack everything for him when his parents dropped him off at Smeltings. He figured it would be easier to leave everything as it was rather than going through or putting it away.

Dudley heard his parents talking a week after the shopping trip to Diagon Alley. His daddy, Vernon, considered returning all the supplies they had bought for Smelting's because he didn't want to spend money on or draw attention to Dudley's enrollment at the “freak’s” boarding school. However, Petunia argued against it, fearing that returning the supplies would only lead to more questions and unwanted attention.

“Also, Vernon dear, we need to discuss the boys' cover story and what school they attended so we have a convincing story to tell our neighbors. We couldn't tell them the boys attended Smelting's because they could easily look up the Smelting's registry and find out we were lying,” said Petunia.

Vernon offhandedly joked, “What lies have your parents told when your freaky sister attended that school?”

Petunia smiled, “Vernon, that's a wonderful idea. My parents' lie was that my sister got into an elite boarding school all-girls school in Scotland, but none of our neighbors knew my sister or my parents. So we can always lie that since my nephew's parents were alumni of these elite school based in Scotland and since I took guardianship of my nephew and that his parents paid his tuition for all seven years of his schooling at the elite school, that they offered a spot to my son since our nephew lives with us.”

“His no-good parents had enough money to pay for all of his years of schooling at this place,” Vernon quipped.

Petunia mused, “Yeah, I had asked the professor when they returned from the school supplies shopping when I noticed that Harry had much nicer supplies than Dudley. Harry's parents set up an account at a freak bank, so the freaks have their own bank. When asked about getting some money to cover all his expenses over the years, the professor responded that his parents had set up an educational fund that covered all his school supplies and paid his tuition for all his years at Hogwarts..”

“I'm pretty shocked to find out that Freak's parents had that kind of money,” Vernon chuckled. “It's a shame that they wasted it on Freak instead of using it for something useful.”

Petunia affirmed, “Yes, a fund exists since school is mandatory. However, it only covers the cost of school supplies and only the items on the list.”

“If a fund covers the cost of school supplies for the freak's boarding school, we should use that for Dudley next year. I don't want to waste any of our hard-earned money on this wizarding nonsense,” Vernon added.

“It's not like he's going to learn anything useful there," Petunia agreed. “Yes, there is a fund to cover the cost of supplies for the freak's boarding school. We should definitely consider it for Dudley next year,” Petunia agreed.

“Of course, but we don’t want him to encouraged to continue with this freakish,” Vernon sneered. “He’s already cost us enough.”

“We should also look into scholarships because my freak of a sister mentioned that they have some scholarships that can cover part of the tuition for that freak of a boarding school. Then we could use the money that it saves for Dudley to get private tutoring in regular classes during the summer so he can get a proper education and not the wishy-washy nonsense at that school,” Petunia suggested.

Vernon agreed, “Yes, we should look at scholarships. While the professor from that freak school did the fees back, most of it covered tuition for that freak boarding school. Petunia, do you know how much the tuition is from when your sister attended that freak school?”

Petunia acknowledged, “Yes and no. Dudley would pay the Muggle-born tuition rate, which reduces fees for students with non-magical backgrounds. I remember my parents asking about the full tuition rate without the Muggle-born discount - several years ago, it was £25,000 per year. For all seven years, it would be £175,000. When my parents asked about witches from poor families, they were told the Ministry offers scholarships to cover their tuition fees at Hogwarts. Children of Ministry workers can also attend Hogwarts for free as long as their parents are employed there. However, it is important to note that Hogwarts is the only school recognized by the International Cooperation of Wizards (ICW). After my sister returned from her first year, I started tuning out most of the information she shared.”

Vernon sighed and uttered, “That’s a lot of money. Freak's parents must have made a lot of money to pay all of Freak’s tuition upfront. Smeltings Academy tuition is £20,000 annually, but alumni can send their children there for £15,000 annually. When I checked my bank account after the transfer, we got back the enrollment fees for Dudley at Smeltings. However, the tuition money we paid was noted as transferred.”

Petunia retorted, “I suppose my no-good sister and her lay-about husband used up most of their savings to pay for the Freak’s tuition in full. They may have just had enough money to pay for his supplies by their death. Even if we tried to recoup the money we spent on him, I wouldn’t even know the full price and amount for all the school supplies in pounds. I don't think it’s possible.”

Vernon laughed, “We don’t even know the total cost of the school supplies. I bet the tuition is the big expense. For Dudley’s supplies, we gave him about £600. I doubt the new supplies would be much more, maybe £800. Your sister and her husband likely had £180,600 in savings; we don't know; maybe it was in their will to use all of their savings to pay for the Freak’s tuition and set aside an account at their freak bank to cover his school supplies. So, at most, we might only get back £4,800. Your freak of a sister and her lay-about husband were much better off than we ever thought if they could afford the full fees—yes, I agree, pet. We need to look into scholarships because I do not want to waste the money I set aside for Dudley going to Smelting's on this hogwash of a school.”

“You're probably right, dear. They probably put in their will use their savings to pay all their son’s tuition and set aside money for his supplies so it wouldn’t stop him from going to Hogwarts, especially since they weren’t sure who would have custody of him,” Petunia remarked.

Petunia looked at the clock. “Well, we've got a sufficient cover story to tell the neighbors, and I need to start working on making dinner if we want it at a reasonable time,” Petunia said, leaving the room.

Thinking aloud to himself, Vernon asked, “How could they pay the tuition upfront?” He decided to investigate further and see what he could find.

After eavesdropping on his parents, it looked like the freaks of a cousin's parents had more money than he thought, but they had already used up most of it on the Freak's tuition; what he thought was a waste, Dudley headed back upstairs as quietly as possible. Dudley didn't understand most of the conversation he had overheard his parents saying, but he realized that the freak did not have a bunch of money and probably only had money for school supplies and the Freak broke as soon as they got out of this freak of a school. Dudley knew one thing: his daddy, Vernon, was adamant that the family should not waste their money on wizarding nonsense. Dudley was upset that his daddy didn't want to spend any money even though he didn't want to go to this school on his supplies. Still, he guessed that the fund would cover only what was on the supply list next year, but that meant new supplies. Hopefully, he can have his trunk replaced and monogrammed this time.

“Hey”

Dudley jumped, startled.

“Why are you zoning out there? You need to take a shower and get changed into your Hogwarts uniform; otherwise, you'll miss breakfast,” the prefect Dudley recognized from the other night said.

Dudley got up quickly. He grabbed a new pair of boxers, socks and the rest of his uniform pieces from his trunk. He also looked in the shopping bags for his shampoo and other toiletries and hurried towards the shower. In his mind, Dudley had never moved so fast in his life, but he was determined not to miss breakfast. In the end, Dudley barely made it in time to the Great Hall to eat breakfast. Dudley heard people whispering and pointing over toward the Gryffindor table, but why? He didn't know, and he completely ignored them. Dudley was starving and quickly scarfed down his food, not paying attention to the whispers and pointing.

Hogwarts was a freaking deathtrap, Dudley thought to himself. There were over a hundred and forty staircases at Hogwarts, some so narrow that he couldn't even fit through them. Is this a the Freak's idea of a practical joke staircase you can't walk up? It's bad enough that his common room is in the literal dungeons of the castle, and don't get him started on the professors.

Dudley almost jumped out of his chair when he realized that the professor for History of Magic was a ghost. What do you mean by saying that Ghost is a professor at this school? What in the world were these Freaks' thinking? Dudley learned pretty quickly that the Freaks’ were opposed to a professor who was a ghost. There were a million complaints, but the Headmaster was a bumbling idiot and decided to let the ghost continue to teach.

The school Headmaster was the Worst of the Freaks and lacked common sense. Professor McGonagall mentioned that many wizards lack common sense but thought it was exaggerated. There was even a class at midnight, where they had to stare at the stars. Dudley struggled to keep his eyes open during that class, and he was planning on skipping it in the future.

Dudley's laughter echoed through the charms class as he couldn't help but find it amusing that the short dwarf was the professor. However, his laughter was abruptly cut short when the professor, with a stern look on his face, immediately deducted points from his house. He threatened him with detention if he didn't stop. From that moment on, Dudley spent the rest of the lesson grumbling.

Dudley couldn't believe Professor McGonagall had become even stricter than when they were in Diagon Alley. Skipping her class was out of the question now, as he didn't want to risk any more points being deducted from his house or facing detention.

Dudley found himself in Potions next, a class that took place in a dark, cold dungeon. Professor Snape was every bit as intimidating as he had heard from the other students. His eyes seemed to pierce through Dudley, making him feel more uncomfortable than ever.

“Mr. Dursley,” Snape drawled, “I expect you to pay attention in my class unless you wish to make an explosive mistake with your potion.”

Dudley nodded vigorously, not wanting to draw any more attention to himself. He tried his best to follow the instructions, but the cauldron in front of him seemed to have a mind of its own. His potion was a sickly green colour when it should have been pale blue.

“Pathetic,” Snape sneered as he passed by Dudley's workstation, making Dudley's ears burn with embarrassment.

After the torturous Potions class, Dudley had a break. He found what he thought was a somewhat safe little tucked-away spot that was somewhat secluded. Dudley was still looking around every corner but decided to pop down and rest. He'd never done this much walking in his life.

Dudley was trying to catch his breath, the faint echoes of students' laughter and conversation drifting from the corridors. His legs ached from the seemingly endless stairs and long walks between classes. He wasn't used to this much physical activity, and he was already dreading the next trek to his next class.

As he sat there, Dudley couldn't help but reflect on how drastically his life had changed in just a short period. A month ago, he was looking forward to a comfortable school year at Smeltings, where he was certain to be top dog. Now, he was in a completely different world, surrounded by things he couldn't understand or control.

Dudley grudgingly got up to head to his next class, which was Defense Against the Dark Arts. This class was a literal joke. Professor Quirrell’s constant stutter made it hard to follow the lessons, and Dudley found the subject matter—the idea of defending oneself against dark creatures and spells—absolutely terrifying. Every time Quirrell mentioned a dangerous creature or a dark spell, Dudley's mind raced with fear, imagining all sorts of horrible scenarios.

Dudley began attending lessons at the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology with a stout witch named Professor Sprout. As he entered the greenhouses for the first time, he was struck by the earthy smell of plants and the organized chaos of pots and gardening tools. Professor Sprout greeted him warmly, her enthusiasm for plants infectious as she began explaining the intricacies of magical herbs and their care. Dudley, still feeling out of place in this magical world, listened intently; his first positive experience in the Wizarding World came from her positive attitude. Besides, she was his head of the house, and he did not want to get on her bad side.

By the time Dudley practically dragged himself to the Great Hall for dinner, he was exhausted. The first few days of classes had been overwhelming. The workload was much heavier than he had anticipated, and he already had homework due by the end of the week. His parchment and quill were a constant source of frustration, and the thought of facing another night of struggling with his assignments was almost too much to bear.

As he sat down at the Hufflepuff table, Dudley noticed his housemates chatting and laughing. They seemed to be adjusting much better than he was, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. As he filled his plate with an extra large helping, he began eating slowly. Hogwarts was utterly awful, and the only thing redeeming it was the huge spreads at breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

After dinner, Dudley followed his classmates back to the Hufflepuff common room. He still hadn't fully figured out how to get in on his own and didn't want to risk being locked out and getting a detention in his first week. The prefect explained that if they got detention, a letter was written home about it. His daddy, Vernon, was still grumbling and angry about the fact that Dudley was even attending the school and “putting up with this nonsense.” Dudley was trying to avoid getting into trouble to minimize the number of times the school contacted his parents. His cousin seemed to be doing the same.

Once back in the common room, Dudley didn't start on his homework. Instead, he took a nice shower, put on his pajamas, and hopped into bed. He figured he could bully one of his dorm mates into doing it for him later. His cousin, Harry, wasn't an option either since they were in different houses and only saw each other during class time when professors were watching. Also, his cousin was the only person he actually knew in the wizarding world besides the extremely strict Transfiguration teacher, Professor McGonagall.

Dudley soon fell into a deep sleep. One thing he appreciated about Hogwarts was the comfort of the beds and the quality of the meals. Although the bed was a bit small for his liking, it was always super soft and clean. He never had to make his bed, assuming that Hogwarts had staff to handle that. The prefect had handed out an information packet at the beginning of the term, which Dudley hadn't bothered to read thoroughly. However, he had skimmed enough to know that all he had to do was place his dirty clothes into the wooden laundry basket in his dorm room, and they would be washed and returned, neatly folded, on top of his bed.

Whispers followed Harry from the moment he left his dormitory the next day. People queuing outside classrooms stood on tiptoes to get a look at him, or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again, staring. Harry wished they wouldn’t because he was trying to concentrate on finding his way to classes.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then some doors wouldn’t open unless you asked politely or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren’t really doors at all but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept visiting each other, and Harry was sure the coats of armour could walk.

The ghosts didn’t help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Nearly Headless Nick was always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right direction, but Peeves the poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. He would drop waste-paper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose, and screech, “GOT YOUR CONK!”

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Harry and Ron managed to get on the wrong side of him on their very first morning. Filch found them trying to force their way through a door unluckily, which turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. He wouldn’t believe they were lost, was sure they were trying to break into it on purpose, and threatened to lock them in the dungeons when they were rescued by Professor Quirrell, who was passing.

Filch owned a cat called Mrs Norris, a scrawny, dust-coloured creature with bulging, lamp-like eyes just like Filch’s. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she’d whisk off for Filch, who’d appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs Norris a good kick.

And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the lessons themselves. Harry quickly found out that there was a lot more to magic than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

Every Wednesday at midnight, they had to study the night skies through their telescopes, learning the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. Three times a week, they went to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout. There, they learnt how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi and found out what they were used for.

Easily the most boring lesson was History of Magic, which was the only class taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff-room fire and got up the next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates and got Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first lesson, he took the register, and when he reached Harry’s name, he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Harry had been quite right to think she wasn’t a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they had sat down in her first class.

“Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts,” she said. ‘Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned.”

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn’t wait to get started, but soon realised they weren’t going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After making a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Hermione Granger had made any difference to her match; Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy and gave Hermione a rare smile.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defence Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell’s lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he’d met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren’t sure they believed this story. For one thing, when Seamus Finnigan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

Harry was very relieved to find out that he wasn’t miles behind everyone else. Lots of people had come from Muggle families and, like him, hadn’t had any idea that they were witches and wizards. There was so much to learn that even people like Ron didn’t have much of a head start.

After a long and exhausting day, Dudley decided to head to dinner in the Great Hall. Afterward, he attempted to bully one of his dormmates into doing his homework, but his plan backfired spectacularly. The target of his bullying was a quiet, timid boy named Ernie Macmillan. Dudley had chosen Ernie because he seemed like an easy mark—someone who wouldn't fight back.

That evening, as they were all sitting in the common room, Dudley approached Ernie with a sneer. “Oi, Macmillan,” he said, towering over the smaller boy. “You’re going to do my homework for me. Understand?”

Ernie looked up from his book, a mix of fear and confusion in his eyes. “But Dudley, that’s not fair. We’re supposed to do our own work.”

Dudley leaned in closer, his expression menacing. “I don’t care. You do mine, or you’ll regret it.”

Ernie’s eyes darted around the room, seeking help, but most of the other Hufflepuffs were busy with their own work. Just as Dudley thought he had won, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see the Hufflepuff prefect, Cedric Diggory, standing behind him with a stern look on his face.

“Dudley, we don’t treat our housemates like that,” Truman said firmly. “Hufflepuff is about loyalty and fair play. Bullying won’t be tolerated here.”

Dudley tried to muster a retort, but the firmness in Cedric’s voice and the look in his eyes made him falter. “I was just... joking,” Dudley mumbled, backing off.

Truman didn’t budge. “It didn’t look like a joke to me. Apologize to Ernie.”

Swallowing his pride, Dudley turned back to Ernie. “Sorry,” he muttered, though it was clear he didn’t mean it.

Truman nodded, satisfied. “Good. Now, I suggest you get started on your own homework. If you need help, ask, but don’t try to make someone else do it for you.”

As Truman walked away, Dudley sat down, fuming. He had never been called out like that before, especially not in front of others. But as he looked around the common room, he realized that the other Hufflepuffs were now giving him wary looks. It was clear that if he wanted to get along in this house, he couldn’t rely on his old bullying tactics.

Dudley grudgingly pulled out his books and began working on his homework. It was harder than he expected, but as the evening went on, he found he could manage if he tried. Although he hated to admit it, Truman’s intervention taught him a valuable lesson about how things worked at Hogwarts.

After that incident, the rest of Dudley's housemates started avoiding him, and his dormmates refused to talk to him, keeping to themselves. Dudley was utterly alone and hated it. The loneliness was suffocating, a far cry from the attention and camaraderie he was used to back home.

Dudley, frustrated with his failed attempts at writing with a quill and parchment, decided to tackle another task: organizing his belongings in his trunk. Living out of his trunk for the past few days, Dudley had only taken out essentials like his uniform clothes and a set of pajamas. Other items remained packed away, contributing to making him feel out of place in his dorm room.

The demands of Hogwarts—long walks, the immense size of the castle, and distant classes—had left his uniforms in need of washing due to sweat. Dudley placed two uniforms in the laundry basket, then proceeded to sort through the rest of his clothes. He folded his casual clothes—jeans, t-shirts, and sweaters—and neatly arranged them in the drawers of the dresser. His socks and underwear found a home in another drawer, making it easier to find what he needed each morning. After that, he hung the messenger bag up on one of the hooks next to the bed that his parents had bought for him when they had gone clothes shopping in London. Dudley saw an expensive designer messenger bag for sale and begged his parents to buy it so that he could brag to his friends that he got it; he had never actually planned to use it. Still, he was thankful that he got it now because one of the Hufflepuff students, who was a dorm mate, had tried to bring a backpack to class and got detention for it.

Then Dudley reluctantly began sorting through the rest of the items in his trunk, carefully organizing all his toiletry items into the nightstand drawer. He also began sorting through the supplies they had bought him for Smelting. Mostly it was just typical dorm supplies like extra toothbrushes and toiletries, and that's where he got his toiletries from; there was also a throw blanket with his favorite football team's logo on it that he decided to put on the bed. He rummaged through the various items, pulling out notebooks and pens. These were intended for Smeltings, but they hadn't been returned. Dudley realized these could be useful for his schoolwork at Hogwarts. Finally, Dudley reached the bottom of the trunk and found a Surprising sight—a secondhand book he had never seen before. It was titled ‘A Beginner's Guide to Magical Theory for Muggle-Borns.’ Dudley opened it and found a note from his mother. Inside it was A note:

Dear Diddykins, (it said, in a very elegant handwriting)
This book came from your aunt, who had used her small allowance to buy me this second-hand book when she discovered that I had written to Dumbledore asking to attend Hogwarts when Lily was first accepted. I was always jealous of my sister for having magic when I did not, and that jealousy turned into resentment and then later into hatred. I'm still working through a lot of it and didn't know how to tell you. Also, I'm trying to make it up to your cousin for Treating him so badly for it, and I'm happy that I had enough magical blood in me to give you the abilities that I was resentful of. Your father is still angry about you being a wizard, and I'm still not fully processing it. And your father has been very strict on financing one of the receipts for every purchase, so I couldn't risk going to Diagon Alley to get you a new copy. I wish I could, Diddykins. Your father has already, much to my surprise, got into contact with the Ministry of Magic; he got the number from the information packet that Professor McGonagall gave us and has arranged for your school supplies for next year to be paid with the funds which means replace all the items we got you for your first year second-hand with new for your second year. I've been saving a little of Vernon's allowance for personal items. I will hopefully have about £200 by the time we go school supplies shopping next year so that you can get a few extra things and some spending money, but spend it wisely. I do love you, Diddykins. However, I am still working on accepting you are magical, and I will be talking badly and putting down the Wizarding World in front of Vernon to keep up appearances. I hope this helps you, Ickle Dudleykins.

Dudley considered putting his textbooks in the bookshelf but decided against it; he was already not having a great time here. He didn't need to get detention for not having the book; he probably forgot to put it into his messenger bag for when he needed it for class and decided to leave his textbooks and his messenger bag even though it made the messenger back ungodly heavy. He put ‘A Beginner's Guide to Magical Theory for Muggle-Borns.’ and ‘A Beginner's Guide to The Wizarding World and What You Need to Know for Muggle-Borns.’ Since he would not use them for class on the bookshelf, he would just read them to understand the Wizarding World better.

Dudley had already been tired when he had started unpacking but now he was absolutely exhausted, and he grabbed his toiletries in his arms; he really needed a shower caddy like his other dormites had them. Then Dudley thought, 'Didn't we just buy one when we went shopping for dorm supplies?' He placed his toiletries on his bed and rummaged through the bags he found that in one of the bags he had thought he'd emptied, there was a dark blue shower caddy with his name embroidered on it. After that, he went through all the other shopping bags, making sure they were empty before throwing them back into his trunk.

Then he grabbed his toiletries off the bed and put them into the shower caddy. After selecting a pair of boxers and pajamas, Dudley walked over to the bathroom to shower. One of his roommates was already there, brushing his teeth in front of the sink with damp hair and pajamas on. His dormmate ignored him, but Dudley refused to shower with someone else in the room. After a few minutes, the dormmate left the bathroom, ignoring Dudley. Dudley wasted no time and immediately hopped into the shower, taking an extra-long time to ensure he got himself completely clean.

After drying off and putting on his boxers and pajamas, he brushed his teeth and headed back to his bed, climbing in and trying to go to sleep.

As Dudley lay in bed, considering his situation, the thought of trying to intimidate his dorm mates lingered in his mind. However, he wasn't sure it would work after the incident with Truman. Dudley was beginning to realize that Hogwarts was vastly different from the world he was used to. The students here had grown up with magic, facing challenges far scarier than anything Dudley had encountered. He doubted they would be easily intimidated or bullied.

Dudley got up the next morning, went down to the great hall for breakfast, and returned to the common room. He had no classes until after lunch, so he decided to work on the homework he had given up the night before.

Trying to at least keep up with his schoolwork, Dudley found some pens and notebooks among the supplies they had bought for Smeltings. He tried to write his assignments on those, thinking it would be easier and faster. However, when he handed in his first homework written with a pen, Professor McGonagall immediately deducted points from Hufflepuff and sternly instructed him to rewrite it using a quill and parchment.

Dudley found using a quill incredibly frustrating. The ink smudged, the parchment tore, and his writing was barely legible. He felt like he was back in primary school, struggling to learn how to write all over again. His classmates' disdainful looks and whispers didn't help. Every mistake was met with another point deduction and a scolding from the professors.

Throughout these classes, Dudley noticed that other Hufflepuffs were often watching him. Some seemed curious, others wary, but none were openly hostile. It was a strange sensation for Dudley, who was used to either being ignored or feared by his peers back in the Muggle world.

Dudley found himself struggling through Potions class next. The dungeon classroom was dimly lit and smelled of strange ingredients. Professor Snape, with his cold, piercing eyes and sarcastic remarks, made it clear that he had no patience for incompetence. Dudley couldn't make heads or tails of the instructions on the board, and his potion quickly turned an alarming shade of green instead of the intended pale blue. Snape hovered over him, sneering, and deducted points from his house with relish. Dudley fumed silently, feeling the eyes of his classmates on him.

Transfiguration wasn't much better. Professor McGonagall's stern demeanor did nothing to calm Dudley's nerves. He was supposed to turn a matchstick into a needle, but his attempts only resulted in a slightly pointy matchstick. McGonagall's lips thinned as she looked at his work, and she gave him a terse nod, which Dudley couldn't tell if it was approval or disappointment.

As the days passed, Dudley realized he was hopelessly behind in almost all his classes. He didn't understand the magical theory behind anything, and his wandwork was clumsy at best. He often found himself daydreaming about his old life, where he didn't have to deal with ghosts, moving staircases, and strict professors.

Friday was an important day for Harry and Ron. They finally managed to find their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once.

“What have we got today?” Harry asked Ron as he poured sugar on his porridge.

“Double Potions with the Slytherins,” said Ron. “Snape’s Head of Slytherin house. They say he always favours them – we’ll be able to see if it’s true.”

“Wish McGonagall favoured us,” said Harry. Professor McGonagall was the Head of Gryffindor's house, but it hadn’t stopped her from giving them a huge pile of homework the day before.

Just then, the post arrived. Harry had got used to this by now, but it had given him a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners and dropping letters and packages on to their laps.

Hedwig hadn’t brought Harry anything so far. She sometimes flew in to nibble his ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the owlery with the other school owls. However, This morning, she fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note on Harry’s plate. Harry tore it open at once.

Dear Harry, (it said, in a very untidy scrawl)
I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig.

Hagrid Harry borrowed Ron’s quill, scribbled ‘Yes, please, see you later’ on the back of the note, and sent Hedwig off again.

It was lucky that Harry had tea with Hagrid to look forward to because the Potions lesson turned out to be the worst thing that had happened to him so far.

At the start-of-term banquet, Harry had got the idea that Professor Snape disliked him. By the end of the first Potions lesson, he knew he’d been wrong. Snape didn’t dislike Harry – he hated him.
Potion lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the register, and like Flitwick, he paused at Harry’s name.

“Ah, yes,” he said softly, “Harry Potter. Our new – celebrity.”

The class, mostly the Slytherins, chuckled. His eyes were black like Hagrid’s, but they had none of Hagrid’s warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking,” he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word – like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses ... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”

More silence followed this little speech. Harry and Ron exchanged looks with raised eyebrows. Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn’t a dunderhead.

Silence.

“Potter!” Snape snapped. Like Harry wasn't already looking at him. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood.”

What? He realizes this is first-class, right? I read ahead, but that answer wasn’t in the first ten chapters of our textbook, so it’s clearly above my paygrade. If I knew the entire textbook walking in here, what’s the need for a potion professor at all?

He bit it back, though, because he wasn’t stupid. Both of them ignored Hermione’s hand, which was going wild from the side of the room.

“Draught of Living Death, sir,” Harry said cooly, looking directly into the dark tunnel eyes of his professor.

“Which is?” Snape squinted.

“A sleeping potion so powerful that it appears that you're dead, sir,” Harry asked.

If Snape was impressed, he didn't show. He sneered and crossed his arms theatrically.

“Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

“Inside the stomach of a goat, sir. It can save you from the majority of poisons.”

“What's the difference between monkshood and Wolfsbane?”

“It’s the same plant, Sir. It also has the name of aconite.”

Snape looked him up and down. Finally, he nodded.

“Well, it seems that for bothering to crack a book before coming to class, you do know how to pick up a book once in a while.” he begrudgingly said.

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said. Snape nodded curtly.

Snape was not nearly as amused, though Harry couldn’t quite remember feeling so self-satisfied. Hopefully, it didn’t show on his face, or he’d be in for it.

“Sit down.” The bat instead snapped in Hermione’s direction, who’d been waving her hand with vehemence since the questioning started, and she did quickly. He sneered back down at the redheaded first year with distain in his eyes. “Well? Why aren’t you all copying that down?”

There was a rustle of papers and quills as everyone hastened to do just that, and Snape finally took his eyes off Harry to scowl at the room at large.

Harry would have been completely lost without his pre-potion classes over the summer. Harry learned his mother had been working on mastering her potion and wrote to Gringott to ask for her potion journals. Harry was still slightly confused as to why the professor of potions asked questions that were definitely owl-level material or higher; he would have only known the answers if he had been reading his mother's Journal so for the summer.

Snap continued to be hard on Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticising almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid-green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus’s cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people’s shoes. Within seconds, the whole class were standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

“Idiot boy!” snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. “I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?”

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

“Take him up to the hospital wing,” Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.

“You – Potter – why didn’t you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he’d make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That’s another point you’ve lost for Gryffindor.”

This was so unfair that Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Ron kicked him behind their cauldron.

“Don’t push it,” he muttered. “I’ve heard Snape can turn very nasty.”

As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Harry’s mind was racing, and his spirits were low. He’d lost point for Gryffindor in his very first week – why did Snape hate him so much?

“Cheer up,” said Ron. “Snape’s always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come and meet Hagrid with you?”

At five to three, they left the castle and made their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.

When Harry knocked, they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid’s voice rang out, saying, “Back, Fang – back.”

Hagrid’s big hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.

“Hang on,” he said. “Back, Fang.”

He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in a corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

“Make yerselves at home,” said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Ron and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

“This is Ron,” Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

“Another Weasley, eh?” said Hagrid, glancing at Ron’s freckles. ‘I spent half me life chasin’ yer twin brothers away from the Forest.”

The rock cakes almost broke their teeth, but Harry and Ron pretended to be enjoying them as they told Hagrid all about their first lessons. Fang rested his head on Harry’s knee and drooled all over his robes.

Harry and Ron were delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch “that old git.”

“An’ as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I’d like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D’yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can’t get rid of her – Filch puts her up to it.”

Harry told Hagrid about Snape’s lesson. Hagrid, like Ron, told Harry not to worry about it and that Snape liked hardly any of the students.

“But he seemed to really hate me.”

“Rubbish!’ said Hagrid. “Why should he?”

Yet Harry couldn’t help thinking that Hagrid didn’t quite meet his eyes when he said that.

“How’s yer brother Charlie?” Hagrid asked Ron. “I liked him a lot – great with animals.”

Harry wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Ron told Hagrid all about Charlie’s work with dragons, Harry picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cosy. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet:

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of dark wizards or witches unknown.

Gringotts’ goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had, in fact, been emptied the same day.

“But we’re not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what’s good for you,” said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.

Harry remembered Ron telling him on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but Ron hadn’t mentioned the date.

“Hagrid!” said Harry. ‘That Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might’ve been happening while we were there!”

There was no doubt about it: Hagrid definitely didn’t meet Harry’s eyes this time. He grunted and offered him another rock cake. Harry reread the story. The vault that was searched had, in fact, been emptied earlier that same day. Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen, if you could call it emptying, taking out that grubby little package. Had that been what the thieves were looking for?

As Harry and Ron walked back to the castle for dinner, their pockets weighed down with rock cakes they’d been too polite to refuse; Harry thought that none of the lessons he’d had so far had given him as much to think about as tea with Hagrid. Had Hagrid collected that package just in time? Where was it now? And did Hagrid know something about Snape that he didn’t want to tell Harry?

Chapter Text

Dudley's first week at Hogwarts was pretty miserable. The wizarding world was a Nightmare, everything was completely opposite then it had been his whole life. His entire world had been turned upside down ever since Professor McGonagall told him he was a wizard and took him and his cousin to Diagon Alley. However, it wasn't until his first week at Hogwarts that the reality of the situation truly hit him. Before Hogwarts, he had still lived at home, with some sense of normalcy despite his father's disinterest. Now, he felt out of place and overwhelmed. Meanwhile, his ‘freak’ cousin seemed to be doing just fine, basking in his fame and the attention it brought him. For the first time in his life, Dudley felt like a nobody.

Dudley woke with a sense of dread, but a small surprise awaited him: his uniforms were already cleaned and neatly folded on top of his trunk. He quickly took a shower and grabbed a freshly cleaned uniform, tossing his dirty one into the wooden laundry bin. Though he was skeptical about how quickly the uniforms were cleaned, he figured Hogwarts had amazing methods—probably magical ones and avoided thinking about it.

He also learned that all the towels were washed together, with no guarantee of getting the same one back. The thought of sharing towels with his dormmates made him uncomfortable, as he didn't like the idea of using the same towels to wash his face and to dry his body as ‘the freaks’ in his dorm. Dudley resolved to beg his mum to buy him his own set of monogrammed towels for his next year to Hogwarts, so there was no risk of his dormmates using them.

After his shower, Dudley hurried down to the Great Hall for breakfast. While he found Hogwarts breakfast less lavish compared to lunch or dinner, he was still pleased to see options like pancakes, French toast, beans, sausages, and an abundant amount of bacon.

It is Wednesday halfway through the second week, and Dudley is a bit nervous about his first flying lesson today. As a Hufflepuff, he found himself sharing the lesson with the Ravenclaws. The lesson took place on a Wednesday, a day earlier than Freak’s, and Dudley was already dreading it.

Dudley hadn't been looking forward to flying classes, and the first class of the day—Herbology—shared with his Freak of cousin, Harry, didn't help. The class went as expected, with Dudley struggling to keep up with the magical plants and the constant reminder of how different this world was from his own. At lunch in the Great Hall, however, Dudley found a silver lining. Though he had been disappointed to learn that the lavish welcoming feast wasn't the norm, the variety of foods available was still impressive. He happily discovered some dishes he liked, such as shepherd's pie and roast chicken. There were also several desserts, including pies, cakes, and puddings. Delighted, Dudley realized he could indulge as much as he wanted, which boosted his spirits.

After lunch, Dudley had Potions lessons, which he found tedious and confusing. The dungeons were cold and the atmosphere tense, especially under the watchful eye of Professor Snape. Dudley couldn't wait to get out of the castle and back to his Muggle home, where things were simpler and more familiar. But before he could even go back to his common room, he had to face one more ordeal: flying lessons.

At three-forty-five that afternoon, Dudley and the other Hufflepuffs hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds from the Forbidden Forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

Most of the Ravenclaws were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. As Dudley reluctantly approached the broomsticks, he couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of dread. The brooms looked old and worn, with twigs sticking out at odd angles. Dudley had overheard other students complaining about them, saying they needed to be replaced. Apparently, the flying instructor, Madam Hooch, had been requesting new brooms for years, but the Headmaster always claimed there wasn't enough money in the budget.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived, her short, gray hair and yellow eyes giving her a fierce, hawk-like appearance. “Well, what are you all waiting for?” she barked. “Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.”

Dudley glanced down at his broom. It was old, and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles. It looked really worn out, as if it could snap in half. He felt a surge of anxiety.

“Stick out your right hand over your broom,” called Madam Hooch from the front, “and say ‘Up!’”

“Up!” everyone shouted. The brooms flew into the hands of most students. Dudley, sweating with anxiety, watched as the others managed to control their brooms. When it was his turn, Dudley hesitated, feeling a mix of fear and embarrassment.

He muttered, “Up!” half-heartedly, and nothing happened. His broom remained stubbornly on the ground. He tried again, louder this time, “Up!” but the broom barely twitched. The Ravenclaws around him snickered, and Dudley felt his face burning with humiliation. He gritted his teeth and tried once more, shouting “Up!” as loudly as he could, but the broom only wobbled slightly before settling back on the grass.

Madam Hooch noticed Dudley's struggle and walked over. “You need to speak with more confidence,” she advised, her voice not unkind. “Try again, with more authority.”

Dudley nodded, his heart pounding. He took a deep breath and shouted, “Up!” with all the force he could muster. This time, the broom jumped into his hand, but it felt unstable and wobbly. Madam Hooch gave a curt nod of approval and instructed the class to mount their brooms.

As Dudley mounted his broom, he felt a wave of nausea. The ground felt so far away, and he wasn't sure if the broom could hold his weight. Madam Hooch walked among them, making sure everyone was positioned correctly. “On my whistle,” she called, “three... two... one…”

She blew her whistle, and the students kicked off from the ground. Dudley's broom jerked upward, and he clung to it desperately, his knuckles white. The broom seemed to struggle under him, and he only managed to rise a few feet off the ground. The Ravenclaws around him soared gracefully into the air, while Dudley hovered awkwardly, wobbling from side to side.

Seeing his difficulty, some Ravenclaws couldn't resist making comments. “Maybe the broom can't handle you, Dursley!" one of them called out. "Or maybe you just need to lay off the desserts,” another snickered. The Slytherins, who had been watching from a distance, joined in with mocking laughter.

Dudley's face turned beet red. Furious and humiliated, he tried to maneuver the broom closer to the Ravenclaws to retaliate, but the broom seemed to have a mind of its own, veering off course. In his frustration, he accidentally lost his balance and slipped sideways, almost falling off. Panicked, he clutched the broom tighter, managing to stay on, but his precarious position only drew more laughter.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle sharply. “Everyone down!” she shouted. The students descended back to the ground, some gracefully, others a bit more clumsily. Dudley landed with a thump, his legs shaking. Madam Hooch approached him, her expression stern.

“That was... an interesting first attempt,” she said diplomatically. “But remember, flying requires a calm mind and steady control. We'll work on it.”

Dudley nodded mutely, feeling utterly defeated. As the lesson ended and the students began to leave, Dudley could hear the whispers and snickers behind his back. He kept his head down, trying to ignore the humiliation burning inside him.

As soon as Dudley made it into the corridor after the flying lesson, he was greeted with a chorus of snickers from a group of Slytherins. It seemed like just his luck that some of the Slytherins had free time and had come to watch the flying lesson. Among them were first-year students and older ones who couldn't resist the opportunity to mock Dudley.

Everyone had laughed at him when his broom barely lifted off the ground, and the Slytherins had taken the teasing a step further. They joked about him being “Piggy,” saying not even a broom could carry his weight. Their taunts cut deep, and Dudley felt a surge of anger and humiliation. Unable to control his temper, he lashed out, attempting to punch one of the older students. However, before he could make contact, he was hit with a hex that made his nose swell and turn a bright, unnatural color. The Slytherins laughed even harder as Dudley stumbled, trying to regain his balance.

In his fury, Dudley managed to land a few blows on some of the younger students who had been mocking him. Unfortunately, this attracted the attention of Professor Snape, who happened to be nearby. Snape was known for his strictness and his particular disdain for rule-breaking. He quickly intervened, pulling Dudley away from the scene and dragging him to Professor Sprout, the Head of Hufflepuff House. Professor Sprout looked at Dudley with disappointment as Snape recounted the incident. She gave Dudley a stern lecture about the school's policy on violence, emphasizing that physical altercations were not tolerated at Hogwarts. As punishment, Dudley was given detention for two months and warned that any further incidents could lead to a home visit. The idea of his parents being informed, especially his father, terrified Dudley. His father had made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with "this freakishness" or this school, preferring to ignore it entirely. The thought of his father finding out that Dudley had gotten into trouble serious enough to warrant a home visit terrified him. The thought of his father learning that "freaks" were going to enter his home was a nightmare. Dudley dreaded the consequences and the potential outburst from his father if that ever happened.

Feeling angry, embarrassed, and scared, Dudley trudged back to the Hufflepuff common room. He grumbled to himself, fuming over the day's events. He was worried about the possibility of a letter being sent home. If his parents found out about his behavior, he knew there would be severe consequences, particularly from his father. Dudley could only hope that, with the incident happening so early in the school year, his father might forget about it by the time he returned home. But deep down, he knew that was unlikely, and the fear of facing his father's wrath loomed over him like a dark cloud.

Still, first-year Gryffindors only had Herbology and Transfiguration with the Hufflepuffs, so Harry didn’t have to deal with his cousin, Dudley, much. Fortunately for Harry but not for the other Gryffindors, they spotted a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room that quickly caught the attention of many students. Groans of dismay erupted almost immediately as they read the announcement: Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday—and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.

“Typical,” Harry said darkly. “Just what I always wanted—making a fool of myself on a broomstick. At least it’ll be just Gryffindors and Slytherins together, since Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff have their own flying lesson that day. So, I won’t be embarrassing myself in front of Dudley.”

Despite his frustration, Harry had been eagerly anticipating flying more than anything else.

“You don’t know you'll make a fool of yourself,” Ron said reasonably. “Besides, your cousin hasn’t been bothering you since you got to Hogwarts. He knows as much about flying as you do.”

“You’re right,” Harry admitted. Although Harry couldn't help but think about how Dudley had always been the first to pick for any teams, and when it came to sports, Dudley had talked about joining the boxing team when he was going to go to smelting before Professor McGonagall came to tell them about the magical world flipping all of that on its head. Harry had also heard through the grapevine that Dudley had already made several attempts to bully other students. Yesterday, Dudley had tried to pick a fight with some older Slytherin students, which landed him two months' worth of detention. The incident resulted in a letter being sent home, which terrified Harry was worried he might be blamed for Dudley’s trouble, despite being in different houses. Because of that Harry learned that every time he got detention, a letter would be sent home about it.

Harry hadn’t directly told anyone besides Ron that Dudley was his cousin. When Ron had asked about Dudley after their shared Transfiguration class, Harry explained how Dudley had bullied him relentlessly while they were growing up. They’d reached a sort of truce at Hogwarts, but Harry wasn’t interested in making an effort to hang out with Dudley. He mentioned to Ron how Dudley tended to call him a freak and pretended he didn’t exist when he wasn’t actively bullying him.

Harry had planned just to ignore Dudley for the most part during their time at Hogwarts and made Ron swear not to tell anyone about his cousin. Harry hadn't been thinking about when introducing Dudley as his cousin on the train and now regretted it, as he didn't want the news to spread, as it might lead to questions about his home life with the Dursleys which was abhorrent. He also didn't want his cousin to take advantage of his fame to bully other students. Dudley had already been shunned by his housemates for trying to bully one of them, and it was only in their second week at Hogwarts.

Malfoy certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the house Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. He wasn't the only one, though: Seamus Finnigan said he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick. Even Ron would tell anyone who'd listen about the time he'd almost hit a hang glider on Charlie's old broom. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly. Ron had already had a big argument about soccer with Dean Thomas, who shared their dormitory. Ron couldn't see what was exciting about a game with only one ball where no one was allowed to fly. Harry had caught Ron prodding Dean's poster of the West Ham soccer team, trying to make the players move.

Neville had never been on a broomstick in his life, because his grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, Harry felt she'd had good reason, because Neville managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents even with both feet on the ground.

Hermione Granger was almost as nervous about flying as Neville was. This was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book – not that she hadn't tried. At breakfast on Thursday she bored them all stupid with flying tips she'd gotten out of a library book called Quidditch Through the Ages. Neville was hanging on to her every word, desperate for anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick later, but everybody else was very pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the mail.

Harry hadn't had a single letter since Hagrid's note, something that Malfoy had been quick to notice, of course. Malfoy's eagle owl was always bringing him packages of sweets from home, which he opened gloatingly at the Slytherin table.

A barn owl swooped down and delivered a small package to Neville. He eagerly unwrapped it, revealing a glass ball the size of a large marble, filled with swirling white smoke.

“It’s a Remembrall!” Neville said proudly. “Gran knows I tend to forget things, so she sent this to help me out. It tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. See, you hold it tight like this, and if it turns red—”

Neville’s excitement faded as the Remembrall suddenly glowed a bright scarlet. His face fell as he stared at it, his mind racing to recall what he might have forgotten. “Oh no, what have I forgotten?” he murmured, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in his chest. His friends watched sympathetically, understanding all too well the pressure of remembering every detail in their busy lives at Hogwarts.

“Don’t worry, Neville,” Harry said, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s probably nothing too serious. Just make sure you double-check your schedule or your notes.”

As Neville tucked the Remembrall away, the sound of the bell signaling the end of breakfast rang through the Great Hall. The students began to rise, and the group made their way out, chattering excitedly about their upcoming lesson.

Today’s flying lesson was a big event for first-years, and everyone was buzzing with anticipation. Thursday afternoon arrived with a perfect clear sky for Harry's flying lesson. At three-thirty, Harry, Ron, and the other Gryffindors hurried down the front steps onto the grounds, making their way towards the Quidditch pitch. The grass rippled under their feet as they walked down the slope to a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds, near the dark, swaying trees of the Forbidden Forest.

The Slytherins were already at the pitch, and a line of twenty old broomsticks lay neatly arranged on the ground. Harry had heard from Fred and George Weasley that some of the school brooms had peculiar quirks—vibrating if you flew too high or veering to the left. He hoped his broom wouldn’t have any such problems.

Their flying instructor, Madam Hooch, soon arrived. Her short, gray hair and hawk-like yellow eyes gave her a commanding presence.

“Well, what are you all waiting for?” she barked. “Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.”

Harry glanced down at his broom. It looked old, with some twigs sticking out at odd angles. Madam Hooch instructed the class, “Stick out your right hand over your broom and say ‘Up!’”

“Up!” everyone shouted. Harry’s broom jumped into his hand smoothly, while Hermione Granger’s broom simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville’s didn’t move at all. Harry noted Neville’s obvious fear. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could sense apprehension.

Madam Hooch demonstrated how to mount the broom without sliding off and walked up and down the rows, correcting grips. Harry and Ron snickered when she told Draco Malfoy that he’d been mounting his broom wrong for years.

“Now, when I blow my whistle,” Madam Hooch said, “kick off from the ground hard, keep your broom steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle—three—two—”

Before Madam Hooch had finished counting, Neville, already nervous and jumpy, pushed off hard from the ground. His broom shot upward, and he quickly lost control, ascending far too high. The other students gasped as Neville flailed, trying to grab onto the broom, which was clearly getting out of control.

Harry saw the commotion and noticed Neville’s small glass ball, the Remembrall, which Neville’s grandmother had sent him. The ball, which was the size of a large marble and filled with white smoke, suddenly turned scarlet in Neville’s hand, indicating that he had forgotten something crucial.

Harry’s instincts took over. He kicked off the ground, maneuvering swiftly through the air towards Neville. With a combination of skill and bravery, Harry reached Neville just in time. The Gryffindor head of house, Professor McGonagall, happened to be in her classroom and saw Harry’s heroic rescue through the window. Harry managed to grab the Remembrall and stabilize Neville’s broom, guiding them both safely back to the ground.

The students erupted in applause as Harry landed. Madam Hooch’s eyes were filled with approval as she approached him. “Excellent work, Potter! You’ve shown remarkable skill and bravery today.”

His heart sank faster than he'd just dived. Professor McGonagall was running toward them. He got to his feet, trembling.

“Never – in all my time at Hogwarts –” Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, “– how dare you – might have broken your neck –”

“That's enough, Mr. Potter, follow me, now.” Professor McGonagall

Harry, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode toward the castle. He was going to be expelled, he just knew it. He wanted to say something to defend himself, but there seemed to be something wrong with his voice. Professor McGonagall was sweeping along without even looking at him; he had to jog to keep up. Now he'd done it. He hadn't even lasted two weeks. He'd be packing his bags in ten minutes. What would the Dursleys say when he turned up on the doorstep?

Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, and still Professor McGonagall didn't say a word to him. She wrenched open doors and marched along corridors with Harry trotting miserably behind her. Maybe she was taking him to Dumbledore. He thought of Hagrid, expelled but allowed to stay on as gamekeeper. Perhaps he could be Hagrid's assistant. His stomach twisted as he imagined it, watching Ron and the others becoming wizards, while he stumped around the grounds carrying Hagrid's bag.

Professor McGonagall stopped outside a classroom. She opened the door and poked her head inside.

“Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?”

Wood? thought Harry, bewildered; was Wood a cane she was going to use on him?

But Wood turned out to be a person, a burly fifth-year boy who came out of Flitwicles class looking confused.

“Follow me, you two,” said Professor McGonagall, and they marched on up the corridor, Wood looking curiously at Harry.

“In here.”

Professor McGonagall pointed them into a classroom that was empty except for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard.

“Out, Peeves!” she barked. Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which clanged loudly, and he swooped out cursing. Professor McGonagall slammed the door behind him and turned to face the two boys.

“Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood – I've found you a Seeker.”

Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight.

“Are you serious, Professor?”

“Absolutely,” said Professor McGonagall crisply. “The boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?”

Harry nodded silently. He didn't have a clue what was going on, but he didn't seem to be being expelled, and some of the feeling started coming back to his legs.

“He grabbed hold of another student's broom and stabilized it when it started going crazy,” Professor McGonagall told Wood, clearly impressed. “He also managed to catch a Remembrall that fell out of the other student's pocket, all while still keeping the broom under control. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it better.”

Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once. “Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?” he asked excitedly.

“Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team,” Professor McGonagall explained.

“He's just the build for a Seeker, too,” said Wood, now walking around Harry and staring at him. "Light -- speedy -- we'll have to get him a decent broom, Professor -- a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say.”

“I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks....”

Professor McGonagall peered sternly over her glasses at Harry.

“I want to hear you're training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind about punishing you.”

Then she suddenly smiled.

“Your father would have been proud,” she said.

“He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."

“You're joking.”

It was dinnertime. Harry had just finished telling Ron what had happened when he'd left the grounds with Professor McGonagall. Ron had a piece of steak and kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he'd forgotten all about it.

“Seeker?” he said. “But first years never -- you must be the youngest house player in about a century,” said Harry, shoveling pie into his mouth. He felt particularly hungry after the excitement of the afternoon. “Wood told me.”

Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Harry.

“I start training next week,” said Harry. “Only don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret.”

Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harry, and hurried over.

“Well done,” said George in a low voice. “Wood told us. We're on the team too -- Beaters.”

“I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year,” said Fred. “We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us.”

“Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school.”

“Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. See you.”

Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome turned up: Dudley.

Dudley approached Harry with a scowl, his frustration evident. “How?” he demanded, his voice tinged with anger and jealousy. “How are you adjusting to all this? How are you just going with the flow here? How is all of this normal for you? It’s... freakish! How are you doing so well while I’m just... a floundering?”

Harry looked at him, puzzled by the intensity of Dudley’s emotions. “What do you mean?”

Dudley’s eyes were wide with a mixture of disbelief and envy. “I don’t want to be here! I want to go home, pretend this is all a nightmare. But I’m stuck in this place, and you— you just seem to be taking it all in stride. How can you be so calm and accepting of it all?”

Harry took a deep breath, trying to understand Dudley’s struggle. “I get it,” he said quietly. “I’d always felt different. When Professor McGonagall came and told us about the Wizarding World, I also felt out of place and unwanted at Privet Drive. At first, everything about the Wizarding World was so strange and overwhelming.”

He paused, searching for the right words. “I understand that your life was perfect, or at least it looked that way. Nothing really shook things up for you, and maybe you didn’t notice the little strange things around you. I was always confused and felt alone, thinking they were just weird coincidences. But Professor McGonagall explained that it was accidental magic, which every witch and wizard experiences. It’s perfectly normal. I struggled with it too, especially when I didn’t know what was happening. But once I learned about magic, I realized it wasn’t freakish—it was just different. And I’m not doing as well as you think. I have my own challenges.”

Dudley’s eyes widened slightly, as if he was seeing a different side of Harry. “So, you’ve felt out of place too?” he asked, his voice softening.

“Yeah,” Harry said, nodding. “It’s like those odd things that happen around me, things I can’t quite explain. For me, it was always happening at Privet Drive, and it made me feel even more out of place. It wasn't until I learned about magic and understood that it was part of who I am that I started to find my place.”

Dudley looked away, wrestling with his own feelings. “I guess I just don’t know how to start accepting any of this.”

Harry offered a small, encouraging smile. “It’s okay to feel that way. It’s a big change, and it takes time. Just try to give yourself a chance and take it one step at a time. Things might not be perfect, but that doesn’t mean you can’t find your own place in all of this.”

With that, Harry gave Dudley a sympathetic look before returning to his dinner. Dudley stood there, mulling over Harry’s words, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he could find his own way in this strange new world. With a sigh, he slowly made his amble over to the Hufflepuff table, still deep in thought.

Later that night, Harry and his friends were in the Great Hall when Draco approached them. “Potter, Weasley,” he said, nodding to each of them. “There's something you should know. There's talk of a midnight duel. Some of the older students are planning it, and I thought you might want to watch.”

Harry’s curiosity was piqued. “A midnight duel? Where?”

“In the trophy room,” Draco replied. “Midnight. Be there.”

As Harry, and Ron, exchanged excited looks, Dudley overheard the conversation from his seat at the Hufflepuff table. Despite his struggles, the idea of a midnight duel intrigued him. Maybe this was his chance to see a different side of the wizarding world—one that might not be so terrible after all.

It was Hermione Granger. "Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" said Ron.

Hermione ignored him and spoke to Harry. “I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying –”

“Bet you could,” Ron muttered. “–and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you.”

“And it's really none of your business,” said Harry.

“Good-bye,” said Ron.

All the same, it wasn't what you'd call the perfect end to the day, Harry thought, as he lay awake much later listening to Dean and Seamus falling asleep (Neville wasn't back from the hospital wing). Ron had spent all evening giving him advice such as "If he tries to curse you, you'd better dodge it, because I can't remember how to block them." There was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris, and Harry felt he was pushing his luck, breaking another school rule today. On the other hand, this would be the first time he'd ever get to witness a real wizard duel. He couldn't miss it.

“Half-past eleven,” Ron muttered at last, “we'd better go.”

They pulled on their bathrobes, picked up their wands, and crept across the tower room, down the spiral staircase, and into the Gryffindor common room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchairs into hunched black shadows. They had almost reached the portrait hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest them, “I can’t believe you're going to do this, Harry.”

A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione Granger, wearing a pink bathrobe and a frown.

“You!” said Ron furiously. “Go back to bed!”

“I almost told your brother,” Hermione snapped, “Percy – he's a prefect, he'd put a stop to this.”

Harry couldn't believe anyone could be so interfering.

“Come on,” he said to Ron. He pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbed through the hole.

Hermione wasn't going to give up that easily. She followed Ron through the portrait hole, hissing at them like an angry goose.

“Don't you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves, I don't want Slytherin to win the house cup, and you'll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells.”

“Go away.” “All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so –”

But what they were, they didn't find out. Hermione had turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing an empty painting. The Fat Lady had gone on a nighttime visit and Hermione was locked out of Gryffindor tower.

“Now what am I going to do?” she asked shrilly.

“That's your problem,” said Ron. “We’ve got to go, we 3 re going to be late.”

They hadn't even reached the end of the corridor when Hermione caught up with them.

“I’m coming with you,” she said.

“You are not.”

“D’you think I'm going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me? If he finds all three of us I'll tell him the truth, that I was trying to stop you, and you can back me up.”

“You've got some nerve –” said Ron loudly.

“Shut up, both of you!” said Harry sharply. “I heard something.”

It was a sort of snuffling.

“Mrs. Norris?” breathed Ron, squinting through the dark.

It wasn't Mrs. Norris. It was Neville. He was curled up on the floor, fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer.

“Thank goodness you found me! I've been out here for hours, I couldn't remember the new password to get in to bed.”

“Keep your voice down, Neville. The password's 'Pig snout' but it won't help you now, the Fat Lady's gone off somewhere.”

“How's your arm?” said Harry.

“Fine,” said Neville, showing them. “Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute.”

“Good - well, look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere, we'll see you later –”

“Don't leave me!” said Neville, scrambling to his feet, “I don’t want to stay here alone, the Bloody Baron's been past twice already.”

Ron looked at his watch and then glared furiously at Hermione and Neville.

“If either of you get us caught, I'll never rest until I've learned that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about, and used it on you.”

Hermione opened her mouth, perhaps to tell Ron exactly how to use the Curse of the Bogies, but Harry hissed at her to be quiet and beckoned them all forward.

They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Harry expected to run into Filch or Mrs. Norris, but they were lucky. They sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed toward the trophy room.

The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness.

As they arrived at the trophy room, Harry’s eyes quickly took in the scene. A group of students had already gathered, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of their wands. At the center of the room, two older students stood facing each other, wands drawn, clearly preparing for their duel. The tension in the room was palpable, with every student eager to witness the spectacle.

Harry’s heart raced with anticipation. The duel was about to begin, and the sight of the older students poised for action filled him with both excitement and apprehension. The atmosphere crackled with energy, and he could sense Dudley’s mixture of fear and fascination beside him.

When midnight came, the group, including Dudley, snuck out of their dormitories and made their way to the trophy room. The air was thick with anticipation, and the castle was eerily quiet. As they crept through the halls, Dudley felt a strange mix of fear and excitement.

When they arrived at the trophy room, a small group of students was already gathered, wands at the ready. The duel began, and Dudley watched in awe as spells flew back and forth. The scene was chaotic and thrilling, a far cry from anything he had ever experienced.

Just as Dudley began to appreciate the excitement and power of the duel, Filch’s intrusion cut it short. Despite the interruption, Dudley felt a flicker of curiosity ignite within him. Perhaps there was more to this world than he had initially believed, and maybe, with time, he could find a way to belong in it.

“Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner.” Filch’s voice echoed through the room.

As Filch’s voice echoed through the room, chaos erupted. The students around Dudley scrambled, including the older ones who had been preparing for the duel. In the midst of the frenzy, Dudley hastily tried to follow them, his heart racing with a mix of fear and exhilaration.

It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris. Horror-struck, Harry waved madly at the other three to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurried silently toward the door, away from Filch's voice. Neville's robes had barely whipped round the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.

“They’re in here somewhere,” they heard him mutter, “probably hiding.”

“This way!” Harry mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run -he tripped, grabbed Ron around the waist, and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armor.

The clanging and crashing echoed through the castle, making their predicament even more precarious. Other students who had been fleeing in different directions also dashed past them, their hurried footsteps and muffled cries adding to the chaos.

“RUN!” Harry yelled, and the four of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following – they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Harry in the lead, without any idea where they were or where they were going – they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.

“I think we've lost him,” Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering.

“I – told – you,” Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest, “I – told – you.”

“We've got to get back to Gryffindor tower,” said Ron, “quickly as possible.”

Harry nodded, still catching his breath. “Let’s go.”

The situation took a turn when Dudley, struggling to keep pace with the other fleeing students, found himself lagging behind. As he tried to keep up, he glanced back and saw Filch gaining ground. Desperate to avoid capture, Dudley pushed himself harder, but the fatigue was catching up with him.

Suddenly, a hand shot out from a darkened corridor, grabbing Dudley’s arm. It was Filch, his face twisted with grim satisfaction.

“Gotcha!” Filch snarled. Despite Dudley’s frantic attempts to pull away, he was quickly seized and dragged toward the trophy room.

As they trudged back through the shadowy, echoing corridors, Dudley’s initial thrill had evaporated, replaced by a heavy sense of disappointment and embarrassment. The adrenaline of the night’s escapades had faded, leaving him with the stark reality of their predicament.

The other students, also caught in Filch’s net, murmured among themselves, their faces a mix of frustration and resignation. Dudley, however, felt a pang of isolation, as though he was an outsider not only in this strange world but in this very moment of failure. The excitement of the duel and the sense of adventure were now distant memories, overshadowed by the harsh light of consequence.

As they neared the dungeon where Filch would no doubt prepare the appropriate punishment, Dudley glanced around, trying to gauge the reactions of his fellow students. He saw a few faces he recognized, but most were unfamiliar, their expressions mirroring his own mix of dread and regret. He wondered if they were feeling the same way he was—lost, out of place, and uncertain about their future in this magical world.

Just his luck, Dudley lamented, as Filch dragged him and the other students into a dimly lit office. It was none other than Professor Pomona Sprout, the head of his house, who stood waiting. Her stern expression was softened only slightly by the dim light of her lantern.

“Ah, Professor Sprout,” Filch said, his voice dripping with smugness. “Caught a few more miscreants.”

Dudley’s heart sank further. As Professor Sprout’s gaze fell upon him, he felt a pang of guilt and embarrassment. He had hoped to explore the magical world and perhaps find a place for himself, but now, as he stood before one of the most important figures in his house, all he could think about was how much further he had to go to make things right.

As Filch left to track down the remaining students who had ventured out to watch the duel, the tension in the room remained palpable. Professor Sprout’s gaze swept over the gathered students, her disappointment evident. The dim light from her lantern cast long shadows on her face, highlighting the gravity of the situation.

“Students,” Professor Sprout began, her voice stern but tinged with weariness, “this behavior is unacceptable. Sneaking around the castle at night, breaking rules, and engaging in unauthorized duels not only endangers yourselves but also disrupts the safety and order of Hogwarts.”

The room was silent, save for the occasional shuffle of feet and the soft crackle of the lantern. Each student stood with bowed heads, absorbing the weight of her words.

“Now, you will each receive a detention for your actions tonight,” Professor Sprout continued. “Detention will be served in the greenhouses, where you’ll assist with various tasks until the headmaster deems it appropriate to lift the penalty. Given the severity of tonight’s escapade, you will also each receive an additional assignment to complete over the weekend.”

Dudley, who had been shifting nervously, felt a chill as Professor Sprout’s gaze landed on him. “As for you, Mr. Dursley,” she said, her tone softening slightly but remaining firm, “you will serve your detention after you’ve completed your other assigned detentions or when we can arrange an appropriate time for a night detention. This is to ensure you fully grasp the importance of following the rules and the consequences of your actions.”

Dudley nodded, feeling a mix of relief and resignation. He knew that this was just the beginning of a long series of consequences and challenges. The duel, which had sparked a glimmer of curiosity and excitement, now seemed like a distant memory overshadowed by the reality of his situation.

As the students began to leave, their expressions a blend of fatigue and apprehension, Dudley shuffled along, reflecting on the evening’s events. The thrill of the duel was overshadowed by the looming detentions and the growing realization that fitting into this new world would be a far more complicated process than he had initially imagined.

Harry thought she was probably right, but he wasn't going to tell her that. “Let's go.”

It wasn't going to be that simple. They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them. It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.

“Shut up, Peeves – please – you'll get us thrown out.”

Peeves cackled.

“Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty.”

“Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please.”

“Should tell Filch, I should,” said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. “It’s for your own good, you know.”

“Get out of the way,” snapped Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves this was a big mistake.

“STUDENTS OUT OF BED!” Peeves bellowed, “STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!”

Ducking under Peeves, they ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a door – and it was locked.

“This is it!” Ron moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door, “We're done for! This is the end!” They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could toward Peeves's shouts.

“Oh, move over,” Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry's wand, tapped the lock, and whispered, “Alohomora!”

The lock clicked and the door swung open – they piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.

“Which way did they go, Peeves?” Filch was saying. “Quick, tell me.”

“Say ‘please.”

“Don't mess with me, Peeves, now where did they go?”

“Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his annoying singsong voice.

“All right -please.”

“NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!” And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.

“He thinks this door is locked,” Harry whispered. “I think we'll be okay -- get off, Neville!” For Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of Harry's bathrobe for the last minute. “What?”

Harry turned around -- and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, he was sure he'd walked into a nightmare -- this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far. They weren't in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden.

They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads: three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Harry knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.

Harry groped for the doorknob -- between Filch and death, he'd take Filch.

They fell backward -- Harry slammed the door shut, and they ran, they almost flew, back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else, because they didn't see him anywhere, but they hardly cared -- all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster. They didn't stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.

“Where on earth have you all been?” she asked, looking at their bathrobes hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.

“Never mind that -- pig snout, pig snout,” panted Harry, and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed, trembling, into armchairs.

It was a while before any of them said anything. Neville, indeed, looked as if he'd never speak again.

“What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?” said Ron finally. “If any dog needs exercise, that one does.”

Hermione had got both her breath and her bad temper back again. "You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" she snapped. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?

“The floor?” Harry suggested. “I wasn’t looking at its feet; I was too busy with its heads.”

“No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something.” She stood up, glaring at them. “I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed – or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed.”

Ron stared after her, his mouth open.

“No, we don't mind,” he said. “You’d think we dragged her along, wouldn't you?”

But Hermione had given Harry something else to consider as he climbed back into bed. The dog was guarding something... What had Hagrid said? Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted to hide – except perhaps Hogwarts.

It looked as though Harry had found out where the grubby little package from vault seven hundred and thirteen was.

Chapter Text

Harry and Ron couldn't believe their luck when they saw that they were still at Hogwarts the next day, looking tired but perfectly cheerful. Indeed, by the next morning, Harry and Ron thought that meeting the three-headed dog had been an excellent adventure, and they were quite keen to have another one.

Neither Neville nor Hermione showed the slightest interest in what lay underneath the dog and the trapdoor. All Neville cared about was never going near the dog again.

Hermione was now refusing to speak to Harry and Ron, but she was such a bossy know-it-all that they saw this as an added bonus.

Dudley was thoroughly miserable. The midnight duel had been a complete disaster—not only had he been caught, earning a night detention on top of the two months he was already serving, but he was also assigned extra work to complete over the weekend. His grades were abysmal, mostly Trolls (T), with just one Poor (P). At Hogwarts, the grading system ranged from Outstanding (O), Exceeds Expectations (E), and Acceptable (A) to failing grades: Poor (P), Dreadful (D), and Troll (T).

Frustrated by the overwhelming pressure, Dudley threw his quill across the room, which landed with a loud clatter. With a deep sigh, he trudged over to retrieve it, only to find it broken.

“Fantastic,” Dudley muttered bitterly. He had bought ten quills at Diagon Alley, and now half were ruined. He realized things wouldn't get any easier with five left and over half the school year remaining.

Dudley wished his mum could come and get him, but he knew it was pointless. Attending Hogwarts was mandatory, and he wasn’t sure if she even could enter the grounds. If he were expelled, he’d have to transfer to another magical school, and the only other one he knew of was Beauxbatons, which Professor McGonagall had mentioned. Beauxbatons sounded French, and Dudley didn’t know enough French to attend a French-speaking school. The idea of struggling at Hogwarts and then tackling a school where he’d need to understand a new language was almost too much to bear.

Dudley was jealous of all of the other students who had received letters and packages from their parents. He wished that his parents would send him a letter or a present to make him feel special. But his father had been pretty adamant about not interacting with the Freakishness. Dudley had considered bullying one of the students into giving him the sweets their parents had sent. In the end, he decided it was easier to steal some of the sweets from his roommates simply.

Dudley had been eyeing the sweets stashed away in his roommates' trunks for weeks, his irritation over his own dismal situation fueling his envy. One evening, after his roommates had gone to dinner, Dudley decided it was the perfect time to snatch a few treats. He crept over to their trunks, carefully unfastening the clasps and peeking inside.

He reached into the trunk, grabbing a handful of wrapped chocolates and sugary treats. Just as he was about to close it, he heard a noise behind him. Spinning around, Dudley saw Justin Finch-Fletchley, one of his roommates, standing in the doorway with a stunned expression.

“What are you doing?” Justin asked, his eyes widening.

Dudley froze, his face flushing red. “I—I was just... I thought they were mine.”

Justin raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “You’d better put those back before someone finds out.”

Reluctantly, Dudley returned the sweets to the trunk, but it was too late. Justin had already gone to fetch Professor Sprout. A few minutes later, Dudley found himself standing in front of her, trying to explain his actions.

“You must understand,” Professor Sprout said sternly, “that respect for others’ belongings is fundamental here at Hogwarts. This behavior is unacceptable, Dudley.”

Dudley mumbled an apology, feeling humiliated. Professor Sprout’s disapproval was clear, and he knew that this incident would likely have consequences.

Professor Sprout's stern expression softened slightly, but only enough to show that she was considering an appropriate punishment. “Stealing is a serious offense,” she said firmly. “Since you’ve demonstrated a lack of respect for your housemates’ belongings, you’ll need to make amends.”

Dudley braced himself for the consequences.

“Starting tomorrow, you will spend one hour each evening in the greenhouse, helping with the plants on top of your other detentions,” Professor Sprout continued. “Additionally, you’ll need to write a reflection on why respecting others’ property is important and how you plan to improve your behavior.”

Dudley nodded, his face set in a frown. “Yes, Professor.”

“Good,” Professor Sprout said, dismissing him. “I expect to see you take this seriously and learn from it.”

As Dudley left her office, he felt a mix of embarrassment and frustration. Dudley’s heart sank as he realized this would only add to his already mounting troubles.

A few days later, during breakfast in the Great Hall, the usual commotion of owls arriving with letters and parcels was underway. Dudley was barely paying attention to the flurry of activity when a particular disturbance caught his eye.

A week after the incident with the three-headed dog, Harry was sitting in the Great Hall, enjoying a breakfast of bacon and eggs, when a notable disturbance occurred.

As the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone's attention was caught at once by a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls. Harry was just as interested as everyone else to see what was in this large parcel and was amazed when the owls soared down and dropped it right in front of him, knocking his bacon to the floor. They had hardly fluttered out of the way when another owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel.

Harry ripped open the letter first, which was lucky, because it said:

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.

It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody knowing you've got a broomstick, or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o’clock for your first training session.

Professor McGonagall

Harry had difficulty hiding his glee as he handed the note to Ron to read.

“A Nimbus Two Thousand!” Ron moaned enviously. “I’ve never even touched one.”

They left the hall quickly, wanting to unwrap the broomstick in private before their first class, but halfway across the entrance hall, they found the way upstairs barred by Dudley, who was looking grumpy and out of place. Dudley, not fully understanding the wizarding world, seized the package from Harry and felt it.

“What’s this? You’ve got some fancy toy?” Dudley asked, throwing the package back to Harry in frustration. “It’s not fair! I don’t get anything special!”

Ron couldn't help but tease.

“It’s not just any old thing,” he said. “It’s a Nimbus Two Thousand broomstick. What kind of brooms do you have at home, Dudley? Ones that barely fly?”

“What would you know about it?” Dudley snapped, clearly upset. “This place is freakish!”

Before Harry or Ron could respond, Professor Flitwick appeared at Dudley’s elbow. “Not arguing, I hope, boys?” he squeaked.

“Potter’s been sent a broomstick, Professor,” Dudley blurted out, still upset.

“Yes, yes, that's right,” said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry. “Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?”

“A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir,” said Harry, trying to suppress a grin at Dudley’s bewildered expression. “It’s really thanks to rescuing Neville during our first flying lesson,” he added, recalling the chain of events that had led to his discovery of the broomstick.

Dudley, not understanding the significance, threw a tantrum, stomping his feet and shouting, “This is so unfair! I want to go home!”

Professor Flitwick’s expression turned serious. “Mr. Dursley, tantrums are not acceptable behavior at Hogwarts. Five points from Hufflepuff and a detention.”

Dudley sulked as Harry and Ron headed upstairs, smothering their laughter. When they reached the top of the marble staircase, they entered their dorm room. Harry placed the package onto his bed and wished he had time to open it right away. However, with their first class fast approaching, he had to be content with simply anticipating the moment he could unwrap it.

Harry had a lot of trouble keeping his mind on his lessons that day. It kept wandering up to the dormitory where his new broomstick was lying under his bed, or straying off to the Quidditch field where he'd be learning to play that night. He bolted his dinner that evening without noticing what he was eating, and then rushed upstairs with Ron to unwrap the Nimbus Two Thousand at last.

“Wow,” Ron sighed, as the broomstick rolled onto Harry's bedspread.

Even Harry, who knew nothing about the different brooms, thought it looked wonderful. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two Thousand written in gold near the top.

As seven o'clock drew nearer, Harry left the castle and set off in the dusk toward the Quidditch field. Held never been inside the stadium before. Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around the field so that the spectators were high enough to see what was going on. At either end of the field were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They reminded Harry of the little plastic sticks Muggle children blew bubbles through, except that they were fifty feet high.

Too eager to fly again to wait for Wood, Harry mounted his broomstick and kicked off from the ground. What a feeling – he swooped in and out of the goal posts and then sped up and down the field. The Nimbus Two Thousand turned wherever he wanted at his lightest touch.

“Hey, Potter, come down!”

Oliver Wood had arrived. fie was carrying a large wooden crate under his arm. Harry landed next to him.

“Very nice,” said Wood, his eyes glinting. “I see what McGonagall meant... you really are a natural. I'm just going to teach you the rules this evening, then you'll be joining team practice three times a week.”

He opened the crate. Inside were four different-sized balls.

“Right,” said Wood. “Now, Quidditch is easy enough to understand, even if it's not too easy to play. There are seven players on each side. Three of them are called Chasers.”

“Three Chasers,” Harry repeated, as Wood took out a bright red ball about the size of a soccer ball.

“This ball’s called the Quaffle,” said Wood. “The Chasers throw the Quaffle to each other and try and get it through one of the hoops to score a goal. Ten points every time the Quaffle goes through one of the hoops. Follow me?”

“The Chasers throw the Quaffle and put it through the hoops to score,” Harry recited. “So – that's sort of like basketball on broomsticks with six hoops, isn’t it?”

“What's basketball?” said Wood curiously.

“Never mind," said Harry quickly.

“Now, there’s another player on each side who's called the Keeper -I'm Keeper for Gryffindor. I have to fly around our hoops and stop the other team from scoring.”

“Three Chasers, one Keeper,” said Harry, who was determined to remember it all. “And they play with the Quaffle. Okay, got that. So what are they for?” He pointed at the three balls left inside the box.

“I’ll show you now,” said Wood. “Take this.”

He handed Harry a small club, a bit like a short baseball bat.

“I’m going to show you what the Bludgers do,” Wood said. “These two are the Bludgers.”

He showed Harry two identical balls, jet black and slightly smaller than the red Quaffle. Harry noticed that they seemed to be straining to escape the straps holding them inside the box.

“Stand back,” Wood warned Harry. He bent down and freed one of the Bludgers.

At once, the black ball rose high in the air and then pelted straight at Harry's face. Harry swung at it with the bat to stop it from breaking his nose, and sent it zigzagging away into the air – it zoomed around their heads and then shot at Wood, who dived on top of it and managed to pin it to the ground.

“See?” Wood panted, forcing the struggling Bludger back into the crate and strapping it down safely. “The Bludgers rocket around, trying to knock players off their brooms. That's why you have two Beaters on each team – the Weasley twins are ours – it’s their job to protect their side from the Bludgers and try and knock them toward the other team. So – think you’ve got all that?”

“Three Chasers try and score with the Quaffle; the Keeper guards the goal posts; the Beaters keep the Bludgers away from their team,” Harry reeled off.

“Very good,” said Wood.

“Er – have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?” Harry asked, hoping he sounded offhand.

“Never at Hogwarts. We've had a couple of broken jaws but nothing worse than that. Now, the last member of the team is the Seeker. That's you. And you don't have to worry about the Quaffle or the Bludgers unless they crack my head open.”

“Don’t worry, the Weasleys are more than a match for the Bludgers – I mean, they're like a pair of human Bludgers themselves.”

Wood reached into the crate and took out the fourth and last ball. Compared with the Quaffle and the Bludgers, it was tiny, about the size of a large walnut. It was bright gold and had little fluttering silver wings.

“This,” said Wood, “is the Golden Snitch, and it's the most important ball of the lot. It’s very hard to catch because it’s so fast and difficult to see. It's the Seeker's job to catch it. You’ve got to weave in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Quaffle to get it before the other team’s Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the Snitch wins his team an extra hundred and fifty points, so they nearly always win. That’s why Seekers get fouled so much. A game of Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, so it can go on for ages – I think the record is three months, they had to keep bringing on substitutes so the players could get some sleep. Well, that's it – any questions?”

Harry shook his head. He understood what he had to do all right, it was doing it that was going to be the problem.

“We won’t practice with the Snitch yet,” said Wood, carefully shutting it back inside the crate, “it’s too dark, we might lose it. Let’s try you out with a few of these.”

He pulled a bag of ordinary golf balls out of his pocket and a few minutes later, he and Harry were up in the air, Wood throwing the golf balls as hard as he could in every direction for Harry to catch.

Harry didn’t miss a single one, and Wood was delighted. After half an hour, night had really fallen and they couldn't carry on.

“That Quidditch cup’ll have our name on it this year,” said Wood happily as they trudged back up to the castle.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you turn out better than Charlie Weasley, and he could have played for England if he hadn’t gone off chasing dragons.”

Perhaps it was because he was now so busy, what with Quidditch practice three evenings a week on top of all his homework, but Harry could hardly believe it when he realized that he'd already been at Hogwarts two months. The castle felt more like home than Privet Drive ever had. His lessons, too, were becoming more and more interesting now that they had mastered the basics.

It was only the third week of the term at Hogwarts when Dudley Dursley was caught skipping Astronomy class. Professor Sinistra, still familiarizing herself with her students, called out names from her roster during attendance. When she reached “Dudley Dursley,” she paused, realizing she hadn't seen him in class before.

Looking up from her list, she scanned the room, searching for a Dursley. One of Dudley’s dormmates, a Hufflepuff with a bemused expression, raised his hand.

“Professor, Dudley Dursley has been skipping class,” Zacharias Smith said. “He hasn’t shown up to a single Astronomy class since the first one.”

Professor Sinistra frowned, clearly surprised. “Why wasn’t I informed of this earlier?”

Zacharias shrugged. “I figured he’d suffer the consequences of his actions. This is only our third class, and I thought he might have just been unwell the last time. I didn’t want to get him into trouble over a single absence. Though, to be honest, he’s been a bit of a bully. He’s used to being the big fish in a small back home and hasn’t quite adjusted yet.”

Professor Sinistra’s frown deepened. She had hoped to give Dudley the benefit of the doubt, but it seemed she had underestimated the situation.

With a resigned sigh, she instructed the student to report Dudley’s absence immediately. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Mr. Dursley will need to be dealt with accordingly.”

A short time later, Dudley found himself Woken up by his head of house escorted by his head of house.

“Mr. Dursley,” said Professor Sprout, his head of house, “You continue to be a letdown. I hoped you would start behaving better after a couple of weeks to adjust, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. Professor McGonagall did warn me when you were sorted into my house that you were spoiled and prone to tantrums, but I tried to keep an open mind. Now, put on your outer school robe and come with me. We’re heading to Professor Sinistra’s office. Wanting more sleep is not a valid excuse for skipping class, even if it’s at midnight.”

Dudley, chagrined, grabbed his school robe and threw it over his pajamas. With a resigned sigh, he followed his head of house, Professor Sprout, to Professor Sinistra’s office. When he arrived, Professor Sinistra looked at him with a blend of disappointment and resolve.

“Mr. Dursley, it has come to my attention that you’ve been skipping my class,” she began. “This is unacceptable behavior. You will serve a month of detention helping me prepare for and organize my Astronomy classes.”

Dudley shifted uncomfortably. “I—”

“And, as an additional consequence,” Professor Sinistra continued, cutting him off, “you will be escorted to and from your classes either by your head of house or Prefect Gabriel Truman.”

Dudley’s heart sank. He had hoped to avoid further interactions with Gabriel, who had previously made it clear he didn’t tolerate Dudley’s attempts to bully others.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Professor Sinistra asked, her tone stern.

Dudley’s heart sank at the mention of Gabriel Truman, who had already made it clear he wouldn’t tolerate Dudley’s attempts to bully others. When Professor Sinistra asked if Dudley had anything to say, he mumbled an apology, clearly feeling the weight of his actions.

“Apologize properly and don’t mumble your words,” Professor Sprout said firmly. After Dudley offered a sincere apology, Professor Sprout took him back to his dorm so he could get some sleep.

His flying lessons, far from improving, seemed to only exacerbate his difficulties. During one particular session, Madame Hooch’s instructions to mount their brooms and take off highlighted Dudley’s ongoing issues.

As his classmates gracefully ascended into the air, Dudley’s broom remained stubbornly grounded. He kicked off the ground with all his might, but his broom seemed to defy his efforts. Sweat trickled down his forehead as he desperately tried to get airborne.

“Come on, Dudley, you’ve got to give it more of a kick,” one of his classmates called out, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Dudley’s face turned a deep shade of red. He gritted his teeth, trying to suppress the rising tide of frustration. “I’m trying!” he snapped, though his voice came out as more of a whine. The giggles and whispers around him only made things worse. “Why does everyone have to watch?”

Another student snickered, “Maybe he’s just not cut out for flying. I mean, look at him!”

The sting of their remarks made Dudley’s frustration boil over. He felt like a failure, his confidence crumbling under the weight of their judgment. Each failed attempt only seemed to amplify their derision.

In the days that followed, Dudley’s struggle extended beyond the Quidditch pitch. Writing with a quill was a challenge; his attempts were marred by ink blots and smudged parchment. His frustration with the mundane tasks of Hogwarts life only deepened his sense of inadequacy.

Dudley trudged through the corridor toward the library, clutching his books tightly to his chest. A group of Slytherin students leaned casually against the wall, their whispers and laughter echoing as he approached.

“Hey, Mugblood,” one of them sneered, stepping into his path. “Managed to get off the ground yet, or is the broom still scared it’ll snap in half?”

The others snickered, and another added, “Maybe they’ll invent a broomstick reinforced with dragonhide just for you!”

Dudley’s face burned, but he kept his head down, trying to push past.

“Careful,” one of them jeered, “he might roll over us on his way to the library!”

Their laughter followed him down the hall, each word cutting deeper. Dudley didn’t stop until he was safely in the library, where he slumped into a chair, his face hot with humiliation.

In the library, Dudley slumped at a table, surrounded by piles of parchment. His quill wobbled in his hand, leaving uneven lines and smudges. He tried to focus on his Transfiguration homework, but the words on the page seemed to swim before his eyes.

“What’s the matter, Dudley?” a nearby Ravenclaw student asked, their tone a mix of curiosity and pity.

Dudley sighed heavily. “Just struggling with this homework. Everything seems harder here than I expected.”

“Maybe if you paid more attention in class, it wouldn’t be so bad,” the Ravenclaw suggested, more bluntly than intended.

Dudley’s heart sank at the comment. “I’m trying my best, okay? But it feels like nothing’s ever good enough.”

As Halloween approached, Dudley found himself feeling increasingly out of place. His worn robes and inability to keep up in classes left him feeling like an outsider. The excitement around Harry’s success in Quidditch only added to his irritation. He couldn’t understand why Harry was the center of attention, receiving praise and a new Nimbus Two Thousand broomstick while he struggled to even lift off the ground.

Dudley’s frustrations were compounded by his academic failures and the harsh reality of his situation. Each day seemed to bring a new challenge, and his attempts to fit in or excel were met with obstacles. He felt isolated and beleaguered, his hopes for a fresh start at Hogwarts quickly overshadowed by a sense of perpetual inadequacy.

The days following were a struggle for Dudley. Writing with a quill proved nearly impossible, his ink-stained fingers a constant reminder of his frustration. His grades were dismal, consistently scoring Troll (T) in most subjects. The only class where he managed to achieve an Poor (P) was Flying, and that was solely due to his participation.

Professor Quirrell's Defense Against the Dark Arts class was particularly dreadful for Dudley. Quirrell's constant stutter gave Dudley headaches, and he found it nearly impossible to take reliable notes. The professor's nervousness made learning almost impossible, which only added to Dudley's growing frustration. Additionally, Quirrell's apparent fear of the very subject he was teaching did nothing to alleviate Dudley's own fears about the wizarding world, further compounding his unease and discomfort.

Potions class was another ordeal. Professor Snape seemed to have a personal vendetta against Dudley, glaring at him with disdain. During one class, Snape hovered over Dudley's cauldron, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Ah, Mr. Dursley, attempting to brew a potion or concocting a disaster?"

Dudley flushed, muttering incoherently as his potion bubbled ominously. Snape’s scathing comments made it clear that nothing less than perfection would suffice.

Dudley left each class feeling more defeated than the last. The constant feeling of inadequacy gnawed at him, and he couldn’t shake the nagging thought that Snape seemed to have a personal vendetta against him. The more he pondered, the more he wondered if it was linked to his Aunt Lily. He remembered how his mum had always referred to Lily as a “freak,” and the thought crossed his mind that perhaps Snape, knowing about his aunt, had some lingering resentment that was affecting his treatment of Dudley.

In Charms class, the atmosphere buzzed with quiet concentration as students practiced their Levitation Charms. Dudley sat at his desk, his face etched with frustration. His wand flicked clumsily in his hand, and his attempts to levitate a feather were met with little more than sputtering sparks. The feather wobbled slightly but remained stubbornly grounded.

Across from him, Susan Bones, a fellow Hufflepuff, moved with practiced ease. Her feather floated gracefully in mid-air, and she adjusted its height with a gentle wave of her wand. Dudley couldn't help but watch her, feeling a pang of envy and inadequacy.

“Come on, Dudley,” Susan encouraged softly, noticing his struggle. “It’s all in the wrist. Just remember to focus on the incantation.”

Dudley nodded but felt a surge of frustration. “I’m trying,” he snapped, his voice tinged with irritation. “It’s just not working.”

Nearby, two students exchanged whispered remarks, loud enough for Dudley to hear.

“Can’t even get a simple Levitation Charm to work?” one said, snickering. “Maybe he should go back to Muggle school.”

“Seriously,” the other agreed, “how did he even get accepted here? He’s just dragging the rest of us down with his incompetence. Look at him—struggling with everything.”

Dudley’s face flushed with embarrassment. He tried to ignore the whispers, but their comments pierced through his concentration. Each failed attempt felt like a spotlight on his inadequacies, amplifying his struggles and making the spell seem even more elusive.

Susan glanced over at Dudley, her expression a mix of sympathy and concern. “Don’t let them get to you,” she said quietly. “Everyone has a hard time with something.”

Dudley forced a strained smile, trying to push through the growing pressure. “Yeah, well, it’s not exactly easy,” he muttered.

As they worked, Susan’s encouragement continued, though Dudley remained skeptical. “You’re really good at this,” she said. “I think you’re just overthinking it. Maybe try to relax a bit.”

Dudley’s brow furrowed. “Why are you being so nice to me? It’s not like I’ve done anything special. You’re just nice to everyone, right?”

Susan’s smile didn’t falter. “I just think everyone deserves a little help now and then. I know it’s not easy, but you’ll get the hang of it.”

Despite her words, Dudley remained unconvinced. He felt that Susan’s kindness was just part of her personality, not a reflection of any personal regard for him. He hadn’t interacted with her in a negative way, unlike his own dormmates, which he thought was why she wasn’t upset with him.

As the lesson continued, Dudley’s frustration only deepened. His wand movements grew more erratic, and his attempts to levitate the feather were met with more sputters and fizzles. The mocking comments from his classmates echoed in his mind, compounding his feelings of inadequacy.

Later, in the library, Dudley’s frustration reached a boiling point. His attempts to complete his homework were met with constant setbacks, and he grew increasingly irritable. When he tried to coerce a muggleborn Ravenclaw first-year into helping him, Madam Pince arrived just in time to witness the scene.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she snapped, eyes narrowing. “It looks like you’re bullying this student into doing your work!”

Dudley stammered, “I was just… asking for help.”

“Help?” Madam Pince’s voice was cold. “You’re banned from the library for a month, and once the ban is lifted, you’ll help me reorganize the shelves for a week in addition to your other detentions.”

Dudley left the library feeling the weight of his mounting frustrations. In just two months, he had accumulated multiple detentions for various infractions, including a week with Madam Pince, a month with Professor Sinistra, and an additional week for a midnight duel. His struggles were compounded by Professor Flitwick’s recent reprimand for bothering Harry.

As he walked through the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts, Dudley clutched his worn and frayed robes, feeling out of place among his peers. His thoughts were consumed by resentment towards Harry’s special treatment—a Nimbus Two Thousand broomstick—and the unfairness of his own situation.

Near the entrance to the common room, a group of Slytherins snickered at him. “Look at that, a Hufflepuff dressed like a charity case,” one said loudly, eliciting a wave of laughter.

Dudley’s face burned with embarrassment. He tried to ignore the taunts, but their words only deepened his sense of isolation. He had hoped for understanding from his housemates, but instead, he felt their pity and judgment on his worn robes.

As Halloween approached, Dudley’s frustration only grew. He couldn’t make sense of Quidditch and found the idea of spending hours chasing a tiny ball on a broomstick absurd. The excitement surrounding Harry’s success in Quidditch only fueled Dudley’s irritation. He had always been the center of attention at home, and seeing Harry excel in this strange world felt like an additional slap in the face.

Dudley couldn't help but compare his experience at Hogwarts with Harry's. While Harry was thriving, making friends, and finding his place, Dudley felt like an outsider, unable to grasp the magic around him or connect with his classmates. The thought of Harry succeeding while he struggled was a bitter pill to swallow, filling Dudley with a deep sense of resentment.

As the Halloween feast drew nearer, Dudley felt more isolated than ever. He didn’t care about the magical world or its traditions; he just wanted to go home. But for now, he had to endure Hogwarts and all the challenges it presented, constantly reminded of how different he was from the other students.

It was Halloween morning at Hogwarts, and the castle was buzzing with excitement. The Great Hall was decorated with floating pumpkins, and the air was filled with the sweet smell of spiced pumpkin juice and candy. Dudley Dursley, still not entirely used to the magical atmosphere, made his way to the Hufflepuff table, feeling a mix of anticipation and annoyance. Halloween had always been a time for pranks and candy in the Muggle world, but here at Hogwarts, it seemed to hold a deeper significance.

As Dudley sat down at the Hufflepuff table for breakfast, he noticed one of his housemates, a girl named Susan—he thought her last name sounded like Bones—chatting animatedly with another Hufflepuff student. The other student greeted her with a cheerful, “Happy Samhain, Susan!”

Susan smiled brightly in response. “Happy Samhain to you too!” she replied, her voice filled with enthusiasm.

Dudley, not wanting to appear completely out of the loop, nodded politely in their direction but couldn't help feeling puzzled. Dudley had never heard Samhain mentioned before now. Dudley felt a twinge of curiosity but also a sense of discomfort. This was another aspect of the magical world he was entirely unfamiliar with, and it reminded him of how out of place he sometimes felt at Hogwarts. Still, he kept his thoughts to himself, resolving to learn more about Samhain and other wizarding traditions, if only to avoid feeling so lost in the future.

Despite his confusion, Dudley decided to keep quiet, not wanting to draw attention to his lack of knowledge. He glanced around the table and noticed that most of the students seemed to be in high spirits, with many of them wishing each other a “Happy Samhain.” He couldn't help but feel a bit left out, not understanding the significance of the celebration.

As he sat there, quietly eating his breakfast, he overheard snippets of conversations about the various ways students planned to celebrate the day. Some mentioned special feasts, others talked about traditional activities, and a few even discussed honoring their ancestors.

As the morning went on, Dudley overheard more students using the term “Samhain.” He noticed his cousin Harry, who was sitting with his friends at the Gryffindor table, casually wishing everyone a “Happy Samhain.” Dudley couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy; even though he disliked his cousin, Harry seemed to fit in better at Hogwarts than Dudley ever could.

What puzzled Dudley even more was the reaction of the Slytherin students. He observed them nodding approvingly or even smiling when Harry mentioned Samhain. It was strange, considering the usual animosity between Slytherins and Gryffindors. Dudley wondered why they seemed to respect Harry for saying it.

Just then, Hermione Granger, one of Harry’s Housemates, approached Gryffindor’s table. Dudley knew her as the know-it-all who always had her hand up in class. She seemed particularly curious and, to Dudley's annoyance, headed straight for Harry.

“Harry,” Hermione began, her tone inquisitive, “Why are you calling it Samhain? Isn't it just Halloween?”

Harry smiled at Hermione, looking a bit amused. “Well, Hermione, Samhain is the traditional Celtic festival that marks the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter. It’s an important part of wizarding culture and history. Halloween is just the more modern, Muggle version of the celebration. The wizarding world has a lot of traditions that are rooted in older, pagan practices. Many witches and wizards follow traditions that are more closely aligned with ancient pagan beliefs rather than Christian ones, which are more common in Muggle culture. Samhain is one of those traditions. It's a time when the veil between the living and the dead is believed to be thinnest, making it a time for honoring ancestors and reflecting on the cycle of life and death.”

Hermione nodded, intrigued. “So, it’s more than just a celebration; it's a cultural and spiritual event for many wizarding families.”

“Exactly,” Harry confirmed. “The wizarding world's religious and cultural practices are quite different from those in the Muggle world. For most wizarding families, traditions like Samhain are more common than Christian holidays. However, at Hogwarts, they call it Halloween instead of Samhain.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Why do they do that?”

Harry sighed. “The Headmaster wants to make the school more welcoming to Muggle-born students. It can be overwhelming enough for Muggle-borns to adjust to the magical world, so using the term ‘Halloween’ helps bridge that gap, as it's a more familiar term for them. But the thing is, a lot of wizarding families don’t really like this. They feel it dilutes their traditions and culture. It can lead to some resentment towards Muggle-borns, which isn't fair to them. It would make more sense to have a class teaching Muggle-borns about wizarding culture, so they can understand and appreciate the traditions rather than just changing the names of things.”

Hermione looked thoughtful. “That does make sense. It’s a complex issue, trying to integrate Muggle-borns while respecting the traditions of wizarding families. Muggle-borns can't respect wizarding traditions if they don’t know they exist. Why isn’t there at the very least a handful of pamphlets they hand out? It seems like a simple way to help bridge the gap between the two worlds and prevent misunderstandings.”

Harry nodded. “It is. Even though I grew up in the Muggle world, I’m still learning about all these things. There’s so much history and tradition in the wizarding community that it’s important to understand and respect. It just seems like there could be a better way to handle it, like education rather than just changing things.”

Dudley listened intently, trying to absorb the information without drawing attention to himself. So that's what Samhain was—a more traditional, wizarding term for Halloween. He felt a bit better knowing the context, but it still irked him that Harry seemed to know more about this world than he did. He had always dismissed Harry’s world as strange and incomprehensible, but hearing about the deeper meanings and traditions made him realize there was more to it than he had initially thought. He remained silent, not wanting to reveal his ignorance or confusion, but he couldn't help but wonder why things were done the way they were.

The idea of teaching Muggle-borns about wizarding culture resonated with him, though he wasn't sure why. It made him think about how little he knew about the world his cousin was part of and, he thought silently to himself, my world as well. Dudley couldn't help but feel a flicker of curiosity. Despite his initial resistance, he found himself wondering whether he wanted to learn more about this unfamiliar world, its traditions, and perhaps even find a place within it.

The rest of the day went by in a blur of classes and festive preparations. Dudley kept to himself, avoiding conversations about Samhain or Halloween. He didn't want to reveal his ignorance or ask questions that might make him seem clueless. As much as he disliked being at Hogwarts, he didn't want to appear vulnerable, especially in front of his cousin.

As the students made their way to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, Dudley felt a strange sense of anticipation. Despite his confusion and frustration, he couldn't deny that there was something exciting about being in a magical castle on a night like this. As he took his seat at the Hufflepuff table, he resolved to keep a closer eye on Harry and try to understand more about this world that still felt so foreign to him.

On Samhain morning, Harry woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors. Even better, Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something they had all been dying to try since they'd seen him make Neville's toad zoom around the classroom. Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practice. Harry's partner was Seamus Finnigan (which was a relief, because Neville had been trying to catch his eye). Ron, however, was to be working with Hermione Granger. It was hard to tell whether Ron or Hermione was angrier about this. She hadn’t spoken to either of them since the day Harry’s broomstick had arrived.

“Now, don’t forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!” squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. “Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too – never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said ‘s’ instead of ‘f’ and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest.”

It was very difficult. Harry and Seamus swished and flicked, but the feather they were supposed to be sending skyward just lay on the desktop. Seamus got so impatient that he prodded it with his wand and set fire to it – Harry had to put it out with his hat.

Ron, at the next table, wasn't having much more luck.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

“You’re saying it wrong,” Harry heard Hermione snap. “It’s Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the ‘gar’ nice and long.”

“You do it, then, if you’re so clever,” Ron snarled.

Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand, and said, “Wingardium Leviosa!”

Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

“Oh, well done!” cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. “Everyone see here, Miss Granger’s done it!”

Ron was in a very bad mood by the end of the class. “It’s no wonder no one can stand her,” he said to Harry as they pushed their way into the crowded corridor, “she’s a nightmare, honestly.”

Someone knocked into Harry as they hurried past him. It was Hermione. Harry caught a glimpse of her face -- and was startled to see that she was in tears.

“I think she heard you.”

"So?" said Ron, but he looked a bit uncomfortable. “She must’ve noticed she's got no friends.”

Hermione didn't turn up for the next class and wasn't seen all afternoon. On their way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, Harry and Ron overheard Parvati Patil telling her friend Lavender that Hermione was crying in the girls’ bathroom and wanted to be left alone. Ron looked still more awkward at this, but a moment later they had entered the Great Hall, where the Halloween decorations put Hermione out of their minds.

A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet.

Harry was just helping himself to a baked potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, “Troll – in the dungeons – thought you ought to know.”

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was an uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence.

“Prefects,” he rumbled, “lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!”

Dudley's eyes widened in shock and fear. A troll? He barely had time to process the thought before the word echoed in his mind, growing louder and more frantic.

Troll?

Troll?!

TROLL?!?!

As Professor Dumbledore instructed the prefects to lead the students back to their dormitories, Dudley's initial panic turned to frustration. What is Dumbledore thinking? he wondered, his mind racing. The idea of heading back to the dorms seemed absurd, especially since the Hufflepuff dormitories were located in the dungeons—the same place where the troll had been reported. It felt like they were being sent straight into danger.

He looked around at the other Hufflepuffs, seeing the same mix of confusion and fear on their faces. The absurdity of the situation was palpable. Dudley clenched his fists, feeling a surge of anger. How could the headmaster expect them to go back to their dorms when there was a dangerous creature on the loose?

“Isn’t anyone going to stop us from going back there?” Dudley muttered under his breath, his voice filled with disbelief. The last thing he wanted was to encounter a troll, and he couldn't understand why they were being led back to the very place where it might be lurking. The thought of it sent a cold shiver down his spine. All Dudley wanted was to be somewhere safe, far from the threat of the troll. The headmaster's decision seemed not just reckless but downright dangerous, and Dudley felt a growing sense of dread as they prepared to leave the Great Hall.

In the midst of the chaos, Dudley spotted Prefect Gabriel Truman approaching with a determined expression. Gabriel’s presence offered a flicker of reassurance, but Dudley was far from comforted.

“Truman!” Dudley called out, his voice shaky but urgent. “This is insane! We’re being sent back to the dorms, but the troll is supposed to be in the dungeons. That’s where our dorms are! Aren’t we supposed to be staying away from there?”

Gabriel turned to face him, his expression stern but composed. “I understand your concern, Dursley. The Headmaster’s orders are to get everyone to safety as quickly as possible. The prefects and staff will handle the troll.”

Dudley’s frustration bubbled over. “Handle the troll? How can we go back there with a troll on the loose? It seems like a terrible idea!”

Gabriel’s gaze softened slightly, but his tone remained firm. “I get it, Dudley. It’s a dangerous situation, and I’m aware of the risks. We’re doing our best to ensure everyone stays safe. Trust me, the staff is taking steps to deal with the troll, and we’ll be escorting everyone as safely as we can.”

Dudley’s eyes darted nervously towards the exit. “But what if—what if something happens before we get back? I don’t want to be caught by the troll.”

Gabriel placed a reassuring hand on Dudley’s shoulder. “We’ll stick together, and I’ll make sure everyone gets back safely. Just stay close, follow instructions, and we’ll get through this.”

Dudley nodded, though his anxiety didn’t fully abate. As Gabriel led the group towards the dungeons, Dudley couldn’t shake the gnawing fear that the situation might spiral out of control. All he could do now was hope that Gabriel and the staff knew what they were doing, and that Professor McGonagall wasn’t the only one with any common sense. The headmaster’s decision seemed utterly nuts, and Dudley could only hope that they’d make it through the night without running into the troll.

Percy was in his element.

“Follow me! Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I’m a prefect!”

“How could a troll get in?” Harry asked as they climbed the stairs.

“Don't ask me, they’re supposed to be really stupid,” said Ron. “Maybe Peeves let it in for a Halloween joke.”

They passed different groups of people hurrying in different directions. As they jostled their way through a crowd of confused Hufflepuffs, Harry suddenly grabbed Ron's arm.

“I’ve just thought – Hermione.”

“What about her?”

“She doesn't know about the troll.”

Ron bit his lip.

“Oh, all right,” he snapped. “But Percy'd better not see us.”

Ducking down, they joined the Hufflepuffs going the other way, slipped down a deserted side corridor, and hurried off toward the girls' bathroom. They had just turned the corner when they heard quick footsteps behind them.

“Percy!” hissed Ron, pulling Harry behind a large stone griffin.

Peering around it, however, they saw not Percy but Snape. He crossed the corridor and disappeared from view.

“What’s he doing?” Harry whispered. ‘Why isn’t he down in the dungeons with the rest of the teachers?”

“Search me.”

Quietly as possible, they crept along the next corridor after Snape's fading footsteps.

“He’s heading for the third floor,” Harry said, but Ron held up his hand.

“Can you smell something?”

Harry sniffed and a foul stench reached his nostrils, a mixture of old socks and the kind of public toilet no one seems to clean.

And then they heard it – a low grunting, and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet. Ron pointed – at the end of a passage to the left, something huge was moving toward them. They shrank into the shadows and watched as it emerged into a patch of moonlight.

It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long.

The troll stopped next to a doorway and peered inside. It waggled its long ears, making up its tiny mind, then slouched slowly into the room.

“The keys in the lock,” Harry muttered. “We could lock it in.”

“Good idea,” said Ron nervously.

They edged toward the open door, mouths dry, praying the troll wasn’t about to come out of it. With one great leap, Harry managed to grab the key, slam the door, and lock it.

“Yes!”

Flushed with their victory, they started to run back up the passage, but as they reached the corner they heard something that made their hearts stop -- a high, petrified scream -- and it was coming from the chamber they’d just chained up.

“Oh, no,” said Ron, pale as the Bloody Baron.

“It’s the girls’ bathroom!” Harry gasped.

“Hermione!” they said together.

It was the last thing they wanted to do, but what choice did they have? Wheeling around, they sprinted back to the door and turned the key, fumbling in their panic. Harry pulled the door open and they ran inside.

Hermione Granger was shrinking against the wall opposite, looking as if she was about to faint. The troll was advancing on her, knocking the sinks off the walls as it went.

“Confuse it!” Harry said desperately to Ron, and, seizing a tap, he threw it as hard as he could against the wall.

The troll stopped a few feet from Hermione. It lumbered around, blinking stupidly, to see what had made the noise. Its mean little eyes saw Harry. It hesitated, then made for him instead, lifting its club as it went.

“Oy, pea-brain!” yelled Ron from the other side of the chamber, and he threw a metal pipe at it. The troll didn't even seem to notice the pipe hitting its shoulder, but it heard the yell and paused again, turning its ugly snout toward Ron instead, giving Harry time to run around it.

“Come on, run, run!” Harry yelled at Hermione, trying to pull her toward the door, but she couldn't move, she was still flat against the wall, her mouth open with terror.

The shouting and the echoes seemed to be driving the troll berserk. It roared again and started toward Ron, who was nearest and had no way to escape.

Harry then did something that was both very brave and very stupid: He took a great running jump and managed to fasten his arms around the troll's neck from behind. The troll couldn't feel Harry hanging there, but even a troll will notice if you stick a long bit of wood up its nose, and Harry’s wand had still been in his hand when he’d jumped – it had gone straight up one of the troll's nostrils.

Howling with pain, the troll twisted and flailed its club, with Harry clinging on for dear life; any second, the troll was going to rip him off or catch him a terrible blow with the club.

Hermione had sunk to the floor in fright; Ron pulled out his own wand – not knowing what he was going to do he heard himself cry the first spell that came into his head: “Wingardium Leviosa!”

The club flew suddenly out of the troll's hand, rose high, high up into the air, turned slowly over – and dropped, with a sickening crack, onto its owner's head. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its face, with a thud that made the whole room tremble.

Harry got to his feet. He was shaking and out of breath. Ron was standing there with his wand still raised, staring at what he had done.

It was Hermione who spoke first.

“Is it – dead?”

“I don’t think so,” said Harry, “I think it’s just been knocked out.”

He bent down and pulled his wand out of the troll's nose. It was covered in what looked like lumpy gray glue.

“Urgh – troll boogers.”

He wiped it on the troll's trousers.

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the three of them look up. They hadn't realized what a racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll's roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

Snape bent over the troll. Professor McGonagall was looking at Ron and Harry. Harry had never seen her look so angry. Her lips were white. Hopes of winning fifty points for Gryffindor faded quickly from Harry's mind.

“What on earth were you thinking of?” said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. Harry looked at Ron, who was still standing with his wand in the air. “You’re lucky you weren't killed. Why aren’t you in your dormitory?”

Snape gave Harry a swift, piercing look. Harry looked at the floor. He wished Ron would put his wand down.

Then a small voice came out of the shadows.

“Please, Professor McGonagall – they were looking for me.”

“Miss Granger!”

Hermione had managed to get to her feet at last.

“I went looking for the troll because I – I thought I could deal with it on my own – you know, because I've read all about them.”

Ron dropped his wand. Hermione Granger, telling a downright lie to a teacher? “If they hadn’t found me, I'd be dead now. Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived.”

Harry and Ron tried to look as though this story wasn't new to them.

“Well – in that case…” said Professor McGonagall, staring at the three of them, “Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?”

Hermione hung her head. Harry was speechless. Hermione was the last person to do anything against the rules, and here she was, pretending she had, to get them out of trouble. It was as if Snape had started handing out sweets.

“Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this,” said Professor McGonagall. “I’m very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you’d better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses.”

Hermione left. Professor McGonagall turned to Harry and Ron. “Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go.”

They hurried out of the chamber and didn't speak at all until they had climbed two floors up. It was a relief to be away from the smell of the troll, quite apart from anything else.

“We should have gotten more than ten points,” Ron grumbled.

“Five, you mean, once she’s taken off Hermione’s.”

“Good of her to get us out of trouble like that,” Ron admitted. “Mind you, we did save her.”

“She might not have needed saving if we hadn't locked the thing in with her,” Harry reminded him.

They had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. “Pig snout,” they said and entered.

The common room was packed and noisy. Everyone was eating the food that had been sent up. Hermione, however, stood alone by the door, waiting for them. There was a very embarrassed pause. Then, none of them looking at each other, they all said “Thanks,” and hurried off to get plates.

But from that moment on, Hermione Granger became their friend. There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.

As Dudley hurried through the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts, his heart pounded with anxiety. Rumors of a troll spotted in the dungeons had set his nerves on edge, and the thought of encountering it filled him with dread. He couldn't shake the images of monstrous creatures lurking in the shadows, their growls echoing through the castle. Every creak of the floorboards and flicker of the torches seemed to intensify his fear.

Finally, he reached the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room. The familiar warmth of the common room's entrance was a small comfort. The prefect quickly gave the password and ushered the rest of the Hufflepuff students inside. The door swung open, and Dudley burst inside, relieved to be back in the safety of his house's common area.

“Finally,” he muttered under his breath, his eyes darting around nervously. He made a beeline for the dormitory, feeling the tension in his shoulders. His heart still raced as he clambered up the stairs and flung open the door to his dorm room.

The dormitory was filled with the usual chatter and the scent of various after-school activities, but Dudley barely noticed. He stormed in, his face set in a determined scowl. “I’m taking a shower. Stay out!” he barked at his dorm mates, ignoring their puzzled looks and murmurs.

He grabbed his pajamas, shower caddy, and a few other essentials from his trunk, quickly slamming the door behind him. The dorm mates’ grumbles about his abruptness went unheard as he made a beeline for the showers. The soothing sound of running water was a small reprieve from the fear that had gripped him all day.

As he stood under the spray, he tried to wash away the anxiety and tension. The steam enveloped him, but it did little to calm his racing heart. He scrubbed vigorously, as if trying to scrub away not just the grime but the lingering fear of the troll. The minutes seemed to stretch endlessly, but Dudley was grateful for the distraction.

When he finally finished, he dried off quickly and threw on his pajamas. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him, both from the day's excitement and his earlier fear. He trudged back to his bed, his steps heavy and his mind still buzzing from the adrenaline.

Collapsing onto his bed, Dudley buried his face in the pillow, trying to ignore the remnants of his anxiety. The warm, cozy bed felt like a sanctuary, and he sighed deeply, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. The troll might have stayed away from his path, but his nerves had been thoroughly tested.

As he lay there, the day's events replaying in his mind, Dudley closed his eyes, hoping for a quiet, uninterrupted night. The excitement and fear of the day had taken their toll, and for now, all he wanted was to escape into the solace of sleep.

Chapter Text

As November progressed, the weather at Hogwarts grew increasingly cold. The mountains surrounding the school turned icy gray, and the lake resembled chilled steel. Each morning, the ground was blanketed in frost, and Hagrid could be seen from the castle windows, bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous beaverskin boots, as he defrosted broomsticks on the Quidditch field.

The anticipation of the upcoming Quidditch season added to the excitement in the air. Harry was particularly grateful for his new Muggle winter wardrobe and Wizarding dress robes, which fit him perfectly and kept him warm. Harry knew he had to be cautious around Dudley because his cousin could easily report back to the Dursleys about his new clothes. To avoid any trouble, Harry decided to come up with a convincing lie that would satisfy both Dudley and the Dursleys. He wanted to ensure they wouldn't question how he managed to afford the new wardrobe, knowing their disdain for spending money on him. The lie about the Wizarding Orphan Support Initiative seemed perfect—it was plausible enough to be believed and would hopefully keep Dudley from probing further.

Harry vividly recalled a conversation he'd overheard between Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. They had argued about the cost of his glasses, debating whether to put him on the Ministry dole in the Muggle world to cover the expenses. Vernon had been adamant that it was not worth the hassle, insisting they buy the cheapest pair they could find and never replace them. Knowing this, Harry realized they wouldn't believe he could afford new clothes on his own, so he devised a lie.

The only bright side to Dudley’s time at Hogwarts so far had been the incredible meals. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were lavish spreads, and Dudley indulged without restraint, stuffing himself with as much food as he could manage. This unchecked appetite had led to noticeable weight gain, which was becoming a significant issue.

Back home, whenever Dudley gained weight, his parents would promptly buy him new clothes to accommodate his growing size. But now that he was at Hogwarts, things were different. His parents had made it clear they weren’t going to engage with the Wizarding World, which meant Dudley couldn’t just write to them for new robes or replacements for his worn-out uniforms.

The secondhand winter cloak Dudley had purchased from Clare’s Fashions and Fortunes was the most worn of all the robes he had tried on. It had fit him well enough when he first got it, but with his added weight, the cloak now felt increasingly tight and strained. The worst part was that it was the only winter cloak he had. It might have fit him fine at the beginning of the school year, but now that November had arrived and he truly needed it, the cloak was tight—he could wear it, but barely.

Dudley trudged through the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts, his mind heavy with the day’s taunts. His robes, which had initially fit comfortably, now felt uncomfortably tight. They had been secondhand and well-worn even when he first got them, and his recent weight gain only made them strain more.

Entering the common room, Dudley tried to keep his head down, but the whispers of his dormmates were impossible to ignore. He made his way to a quiet corner, hoping to escape their attention. However, as he approached, he overheard snippets of conversation from the group of students lounging by the fire.

“Did you see Dudley’s robes?” Zacharias Smith’s voice was loud and mocking. “They look like they’re about to split open any minute. I can’t believe they even fit him when he first got here.”

Justin Finch-Fletchley chimed in with a chuckle. “Honestly, they barely fit then, and now it’s like he’s outgrowing them by the day. It’s kind of impressive how quickly he’s managed to turn them into a tent.”

Wayne Hopkins added with a smirk, “Yeah, you’d think he’d be a bit more careful. I mean, how hard is it to not stuff yourself at every meal? It’s not like he had to squeeze into them from the start.”

Ernie Macmillan, who had been relatively quiet until now, commented with a dismissive tone, “Maybe if he spent less time stuffing his face and more time paying attention in class, he wouldn’t have so many issues.”

Dudley’s face burned with embarrassment. He stood frozen for a moment, his heart pounding as the laughter and jeers washed over him. The words stung more than the physical discomfort of his tight robes. He had hoped to find a place where he could belong, but instead, he felt like an outsider, constantly mocked for things he couldn’t control.

With his face flushed and his fists clenched, Dudley turned away from the scene. He headed toward the dormitory, unable to bear the sight of his reflection in the nearby mirror. The mocking voices of his dormmates echoed in his mind, amplifying his feelings of inadequacy and isolation.

To make matters worse, Dudley couldn’t ignore that Harry, who had gotten his robes from Madame Malkin, still wore ones that fit him perfectly.

Dudley leaned against the stone wall of the Hogwarts courtyard, his arms crossed, as he watched Harry approach. The sight of his cousin in a fresh set of Muggle winter clothes caught his attention. Dudley had always been the one with the newest and best outfits, and seeing Harry in something new and decent-looking made him feel uneasy.

“Oi, Potter,” Dudley called out, leaning against the stone wall with his arms crossed. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy—he had always been the one with the newest and best outfits, and seeing Harry in something new and decent-looking unsettled him. “Where’d you get those clothes? Never seen you in anything that wasn't hand-me-downs. Thought you were broke.”

Dudley watched as Harry took a deep breath, seemingly prepared for the question. “Oh, these?” Harry responded, trying to sound casual. “I got some money from a program that helps orphans. They helped me get new clothes.”

Dudley raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “A program? What kind of program gives you new clothes?”

“It's called the Wizarding Orphan Support Initiative,” Harry explained patiently. “Professor McGonagall helped me sign up. They needed the death certificates of both my parents, and she helped me get them from the Ministry.”

Dudley's expression momentarily softened at the mention of Harry's parents, a rare flicker of empathy breaking through his usual demeanor. “Oh,” he muttered, caught off guard. He didn't like thinking about the fact that Harry's parents were dead; it was something that made him feel uncomfortable, even guilty. “So, they just give you money for clothes?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, they want to make sure we have what we need. Then Professor McGonagall helped me set up for the Muggle dole since I live in a Muggle household, to get some new glasses. It's... nice to have something that fits properly.”

Dudley shifted uncomfortably, feeling a mix of emotions he couldn't quite place. Part of him felt a twinge of jealousy, while another part felt guilty for questioning Harry's good fortune. He grunted, trying to mask his feelings. “Well, don’t get used to it. Just ‘cause you’ve got some new clothes doesn't mean you're better than anyone else.”

Harry simply shrugged, seemingly unaffected by Dudley's comment. “I never said I was, Dudley. It's just nice to have something of my own for once.”

As Dudley walked away, a strange mix of thoughts swirling in his mind. The idea of Harry having access to resources and support, even in the magical world, was something Dudley had never considered. It left him feeling oddly unsettled, as if the ground beneath his feet had shifted just a little bit.

As his cousin, Dudley, walked away, Harry felt a wave of relief wash over him. The lie had worked, and Dudley seemed to believe it. For now, at least, Harry could enjoy his new clothes without further questions from his cousin. He hoped that his aunt and uncle wouldn't demand additional paperwork to verify his claims. If they did, he knew he could ask Gringotts to make up some official documentation. However, Harry was determined not to waste any of his money on that unless it became absolutely necessary.

The Quidditch season had begun. On Saturday, Harry would be playing in his first match after weeks of training: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, they would move up into second place in the house championship.

Hardly anyone had seen Harry play because Wood had decided that, as their secret weapon, Harry should be kept, well, secret. But the news that he was playing Seeker had leaked out somehow, and Harry didn't know which was worse -- people telling him he'd be brilliant or people telling him they'd be running around underneath him holding a mattress.

It was really lucky that Harry now had Hermione as a friend. He didn't know how he'd have gotten through all his homework without her, what with all the last-minute Quidditch practice Wood was making them do. She had also recommended him Quidditch Through the Ages, which turned out to be a very interesting read. After receiving recommendation, Harry decided to order his own copy of Quidditch Through the Ages. He opted for one-day delivery to ensure it would arrive as quickly as possible. True to his choice, the book was delivered the very next day, allowing Harry to dive into the fascinating world of Quidditch and explore its intricacies further.

Harry learned that there were seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul and that all of them had happened during a World Cup match in 1473; that Seekers were usually the smallest and fastest players, and that most serious Quidditch accidents seemed to happen to them; that although people rarely died playing Quidditch, referees had been known to vanish and turn up months later in the Sahara Desert.

Hermione had become a bit more relaxed about breaking rules since Harry and Ron had saved her from the mountain troll, and she was much nicer for it. The day before Harry's first Quidditch match the three of them were out in the freezing courtyard during break, and she had conjured them up a bright blue fire that could be carried around in a jam jar. They were standing with their backs to it, getting warm, when Snape crossed the yard. Harry noticed at once that Snape was limping. Harry, Ron, and Hermione moved closer together to block the fire from view; they were sure it wouldn't be allowed. Unfortunately, something about their guilty faces caught Snape's eye. He limped over. He hadn't seen the fire, but he seemed to be looking for a reason to tell them off anyway.

“What’s that you’ve got there, Potter?”

It was Quidditch Through the Ages. Harry showed him.

“It’s my own copy. I bought it through owl order. It arrived yesterday,” Harry said firmly.

“Library books are not to be taken outside the school,” said Snape. “Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor.”

Harry felt a surge of frustration. “It’s not a library book! I ordered it myself! You saw it come in the mail at the Great Hall!”

Snape didn’t respond and, with a final scowl, limped away. Harry watched him go, his anger simmering. “I wonder what’s wrong with his leg?” he muttered.

“Dunno, but I hope it’s really hurting him,” said Ron bitterly.

Harry’s frustration bubbled up as he made his way through the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts. He had tried to brush off his anger after Snape had confiscated his copy of Quidditch Through the Ages, but the more he thought about it, the more he felt he had to do something. He decided to go straight to Professor McGonagall, hoping she could help him sort this out.

He reached Professor McGonagall's office and knocked on the door with determination. Her voice, steady and commanding, called from within, “Enter.”

Harry stepped inside and found Professor McGonagall at her desk, surrounded by stacks of papers and the faint aroma of ink. Her sharp eyes glanced up as he approached. “Mr. Potter, what brings you here at this hour?”

“Professor McGonagall,” Harry began, trying to keep his voice steady, “I need your help. Professor Snape took my copy of Quidditch Through the Ages today, claiming it was a library book. But it’s my own copy—I ordered it through owl post, and I’ve got the order form and the receipt right here.” He pulled out the crumpled receipt and the order form from his bag and laid them on her desk.

Professor McGonagall picked up the documents and examined them with a practiced eye. After a moment, she looked up, her expression one of disapproval. “I see. This does appear to be a legitimate purchase. Professor Snape has overstepped his bounds here.”

Harry felt a rush of relief. “So, what can we do about it?”

“I will address this with Professor Snape personally,” McGonagall said, her voice firm. “I will take you to his office tomorrow to retrieve your book and to ensure that this mistake is corrected. Additionally, I will speak to him about his conduct regarding this matter. It’s important that all staff members adhere to proper protocols and respect students’ rights.”

Harry nodded, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. “Thank you, Professor. I just wanted to make sure this got sorted out.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said with a nod. “Now, you should return to your common room and get some rest before your match tomorrow. I will handle this matter promptly.”

Harry thanked her again and left her office with a sense of accomplishment. As he walked back to the Gryffindor common room, he felt more at ease knowing that Professor McGonagall would help him resolve the issue. He hoped that the next day’s confrontation with Snape would go smoothly and that he would have his book back soon.

The Gryffindor common room was very noisy that evening. The Gryffindor common room buzzed with activity that evening. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat together next to a window. Hermione was meticulously checking Ron's Charms homework. She was always firm about not letting Ron copy her work directly. “How will you learn?” she would insist. But by asking him to read through her answers, he got the right answers anyway. Ron grumbled, but Hermione would not be swayed. She was determined to make sure Ron learned the material.

Harry didn't need Hermione's help with his homework. He was performing as well as, if not better than, Hermione in terms of grades. While Hermione was the one most comfortable in class, frequently asking professors questions and eagerly raising her hand, Harry managed perfectly fine on his own. Despite Hermione’s eagerness to participate in class discussions, Harry’s performance remained consistently strong, reflecting his hard work and growing confidence in his new academic environment.

Harry, who had always kept his grades just below Dudley's to avoid punishment from his aunt and uncle, had stopped doing so since he started attending Hogwarts. His grades now reflected his hard work, with most of his results being ‘Exceeds Expectations’ and a few even reaching ‘Outstanding.’ Hermione found herself primarily focused on helping Ron, who still struggled with some aspects of their coursework. While Hermione did assist Harry occasionally with spelling, he understood the material perfectly on his own. Interestingly, Hermione often turned to Harry with questions about the wizarding culture, despite Harry still learning about it himself. Although Ron had a general knowledge of wizarding culture, his family, considered ‘blood traitors’ for embracing Muggle traditions, did not strictly adhere to all the customs of the magical world. The Weasleys often followed Muggle traditions and celebrated Muggle holidays rather than the more traditional wizarding practices. However, Ron had a solid base understanding of most wizarding laws and their loopholes, his grasp of certain aspects of wizarding culture was somewhat limited. As a result, while Ron was knowledgeable about the legal aspects of the magical world, he lacked familiarity with some of its more nuanced cultural practices.

Hermione also enjoyed discussing the theoretical aspects of their subjects with Harry. While some of the material went over his head, he could generally understand and follow along, and even contribute his own thoughts; there was a limit to how much Harry could handle when it came to academic discussions. To help him improve, she recommended a few Muggle books for spelling. Harry did promised Hermione, that he would buy them and practice over the summer.

As the trio worked through their assignments, the noise of the common room faded into the background for Harry. His renewed focus on academics was a stark contrast to his previous efforts to avoid attracting attention. Now, he was determined to excel, and Hermione’s support was invaluable in helping him achieve his academic goals.

Harry felt restless. He wanted Quidditch Through the Ages back, to take his mind off his nerves about tomorrow. Why should he be afraid of Snape? Professor McGonagall came to get him from the common room where he told Ron and Hermione that was going to go get his book footage through the edges back from Snape.

“Better you than me,” they had said together, but Harry hoped that with Professor McGonagall present, Snape wouldn’t refuse.

They made their way down to the staffroom and knocked. There was no answer. Professor McGonagall knocked again. Still nothing.

Determined, Professor McGonagall pushed the door ajar and peered inside – and a horrifying scene met both their eyes.

Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above his knees, revealing a leg that was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing Snape bandages.

“Blasted thing,” Snape was muttering. “How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?”

Harry's eyes widened in shock. He tried to shut the door quietly, but –

“POTTER!”

Snape’s face twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg. Harry gulped.

“I just wondered if I could have my book back.”

“GET OUT! OUT!”

Harry, feeling a rush of panic, immediately hid behind Professor McGonagall as she stepped forward with a look of stern disapproval. The sudden presence of McGonagall caught Snape's attention, and he turned to see her standing resolutely, her gaze fixed on him with an unmistakable air of authority.

The atmosphere grew tense as Snape, clearly taken aback, acknowledged McGonagall's intervention. Harry, still partly hidden, could sense the shift in the dynamics. The tension was palpable, and it was clear that McGonagall's presence was meant to assert a powerful stand against Snape’s previous actions.

“Professor Snape,” McGonagall began firmly, “that is not how you speak to students, first off. Second, you do not take students' personal property that they have paid for. There is no rule against students having library books outside of the library; they are allowed to check them out and must return them within a certain amount of time. If a book is overdue, the librarian, Madam Pince, will notify you to retrieve it, but this was not the case here. According to my records, the last person who checked out this book was Miss Hermione Granger, and it was returned three days before you took it from Mr. Potter.”

McGonagall's voice was unwavering as she continued. “I expect the book to be returned immediately, and I also expect you to learn how to address students properly. Especially students who come from abusive households. I had hoped that, given your own background, you would understand how to treat students with the respect they deserve.”

Snape's face darkened further, but he said nothing. McGonagall’s words cut through the tension like a knife.

“Professor Snape,” McGonagall added, “I have heard from several Gryffindor students that you have been excessively harsh with Harry, despite his excellent performance in your class. I trust that you will correct this behavior immediately.”

Snape's silence was heavy with grudging acknowledgment. He glanced at Harry, who was still hidden behind McGonagall, and then back at her, his frustration evident but restrained.

McGonagall turned to Harry, her expression softening slightly. “Mr. Potter, I will ensure that you get your book back promptly. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Thank you, Professor McGonagall,” Harry said, his voice filled with relief. He glanced over at Snape, who was now scowling deeply but making no move to protest.

“Come along, Harry,” McGonagall said, guiding him out of the staffroom. As they walked back to the common room, Harry felt a renewed sense of reassurance. With the support of his head of house, he hoped that things would now be a little bit smoother with his classes and his Quidditch match ahead.

As Harry walked back upstairs with Professor McGonagall, he felt a bit unsettled. The harshness of Snape's outburst was a jarring reminder of the Dursleys' treatment, and he was still startled by the confrontation. The Dursleys had not yelled at him since learning he was a wizard; they had resorted to ignoring him, so the yell from Snape had hit him harder than he expected.

“Did you get it?” Ron asked as Harry joined them.

“No, not yet,” Harry said, shaking his head. “Professor McGonagall said she’ll get the book from Snape and return it to me.”

Harry leaned in and, in a low whisper, recounted what he had seen. “You know what this means?” he said breathlessly. “He tried to get past that three-headed dog at Samhain! That’s where he was going when we saw him – he’s after whatever it’s guarding! And I’d bet my broomstick he let that troll in to make a diversion!”

Hermione’s eyes were wide. “No – he wouldn’t,” she said, shaking her head. “I know he’s not very nice, but he wouldn’t try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe.”

“Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something,” Ron snapped. “I’m with Harry. I wouldn’t put anything past Snape. But what’s he after? What’s that dog guarding?”

As Harry and his friends pondered the mystery, Professor McGonagall reappeared in the common room, holding Harry's book.

“I trust you’ve had an enlightening experience?” she said, her tone clearly displeased. She handed Harry his book. “I spoke with Professor Snape, and I believe he understands the gravity of his error. He will be receiving a lecture about respecting students' property and adhering to proper procedures. This matter will not be taken lightly.”

Harry accepted the book with a grateful nod. “Thank you, Professor McGonagall.”

She gave him a reassuring smile. “You’re welcome. Now, get some rest. You have a big day ahead of you.”

Harry went to bed with his head buzzing with the same question. Neville was snoring loudly, but Harry couldn't sleep. He tried to empty his mind – he needed to sleep, he had to, he had his first Quidditch match in a few hours – but the expression on Snape's face when Harry had seen his leg wasn't easy to forget.

The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheer ful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match.

“You’ve got to eat some breakfast.”

“I don’t want anything.”

“Just a bit of toast,” wheedled Hermione.

“I’m not hungry.”

Harry felt terrible. In an hour's time he'd be walking onto the field.

“Harry, you need your strength,” said Seamus Finnigan. “Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team.”

“Thanks, Seamus,” said Harry, watching Seamus pile ketchup on his sausages.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and the chill of early November settled over Hogwarts, Dudley Dursley sat in the Hufflepuff common room, debating whether or not to attend the first Quidditch match of the season. His usual irritation at Freak’s success in this strange world still simmered, and the thought of witnessing his cousin’s potential failure on the Quidditch pitch was an enticing prospect.

Dudley slouched in his chair, his eyes scanning the pages of a book he wasn’t really reading. His mind kept drifting back to the upcoming game: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. He had heard the buzz around the castle about Freak’s debut as Seeker. It was the perfect opportunity for Dudley to witness Freak’s downfall—something he had longed for since arriving at Hogwarts.

He mulled over his options. On one hand, he could stay in the common room, avoid the cold, and perhaps find some way to amuse himself. On the other hand, attending the match would mean braving the chilly night air and the rowdy crowd, all in the name of seeing Freak fail. The more he thought about it, the more the idea appealed to him.

‘Why not?’ Dudley thought to himself. ‘It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do. And besides, Freak’s always been picked last for sports back home in Little Whinging. I’d love to see him mess up and prove everyone wrong.’

The image of Freak’s face contorted in frustration, unable to find the Golden Snitch, made Dudley smirk. He remembered all the times Harry had been the underdog in their old school sports—times Dudley had basked in his cousin’s failures and the ridicule that followed. This was his chance to relive that satisfaction in the magical world, where Freak seemed to have a knack for shining despite the odds.

With a determined sigh, Dudley set his book aside and stood up. He grabbed his thick winter coat and scarf, preparing to face the biting cold. The prospect of seeing Harry falter was too tempting to resist. The game was sure to be an exciting spectacle, and Dudley would be right there to enjoy the moment if Harry stumbled.

As he made his way toward the door of the common room, Dudley felt a surge of anticipation. The decision had been made. He would go to the match, watch his cousin’s debut, and savor the satisfaction of witnessing his failure. It was a small victory, but for Dudley, it was enough to make braving the cold and the crowd worthwhile.

By eleven o’clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats might be raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes.

Ron and Hermione joined Neville, Seamus, and Dean the West Ham fan up in the top row. As a surprise for Harry, they had painted a large banner on one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It said Potter for President, and Dean, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colors.

As Dudley strolled alongside, he found himself seated on the Gryffindor section, his eyes scanning the pitch. He noticed the fluttering banner high above with ‘Potter for President’ and snorted. It seemed ridiculous to him, but he couldn't deny the buzz of excitement in the air.

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise as he spotted Dudley in the stands. His cousin, usually so disdainful of the magical world, was sitting on the Gryffindor side, dressed in Muggle winter clothes and a blue scarf, despite wearing his Hogwarts Hufflepuff robe over it. It was a puzzling sight, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder why Dudley was there and what he was up to. The sight of Dudley sitting among Gryffindor supporters was both unexpected and confusing, and it left Harry with even more questions about what might happen next.

Meanwhile, in the locker room, Harry and the rest of the team were changing into their scarlet Quidditch robes (Slytherin would be playing in green). Wood cleared his throat for silence.

“Okay, men,” he said.

“And women,” said Chaser Angelina Johnson.

“And women,” Wood agreed. “This is it.”

“The big one,’ said Fred Weasley.

“The one we've all been waiting for,” said George.

“We know Oliver's speech by heart,” Fred told Harry, “we were on the team last year.”

“Shut up, you two,” said Wood. “This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it.”

He glared at them all as if to say, “Or else.”

“Right. It’s time. Good luck, all of you.”

Harry followed Fred and George out of the locker room and, hoping his knees weren't going to give way, walked onto the field to loud cheers.

Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.

“Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you,” she said, once they were all gathered around her. Harry noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, a sixth year. Harry thought Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the fluttering banner high above, flashing Potter for President over the crowd. His heart skipped. He felt braver.

“Mount your brooms, please.”

Harry clambered onto his Nimbus Two Thousand.

Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle. As Madam Hooch signaled the start of the game and the players mounted their brooms, Dudley watched with a mix of curiosity and disdain.

Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off. “And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too –”

“JORDAN!”

“Sorry, Professor.”

The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.

“And she’s really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood’s, last year only a reserve – back to Johnson and – no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes – Flint flying like an eagle up there – he’s going to sc- no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle – that’s Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and – OUCH – that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger – Quaffle taken by the Slytherins – that’s Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger – sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which – nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes – she’s really flying – dodges a speeding Bludger -- the goal posts are ahead – come on, now, Angelina – Keeper Bletchley dives – misses – GRYFFINDORS SCORE!”

Dudley attention, however, quickly shifted when he saw the Beaters in action. When a Bludger hit one of the Slytherin players in the back of the head, Dudley’s excitement surged.

“That’s brilliant!” Dudley exclaimed under his breath, his eyes following the Weasley twins as they expertly maneuvered their bats. “So that’s what Beaters do,” he murmured, eyes widening. He had never seen anything like it before.

Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.

“Budge up there, move along.”

“Hagrid!”

Ron and Hermione squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join them.

“Bin watchin’ from me hut,” said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars around his neck, “But it isn’t the same as bein’ in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?”

“Nope,’ said Ron. “Harry hasn’t had much to do yet.”

“Kept outta trouble, though, that’s somethin’,” said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skyward at the speck that was Harry.

Way up above them, Harry was gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the Snitch. This was part of his and Wood's game plan.

“Keep out of the way until you catch sight of the Snitch,” Wood had said. “We don’t want you attacked before you have to be.”

When Angelina had scored, Harry had done a couple of loop-the-loops to let off his feelings. Now he was back to staring around for the Snitch. Once he caught sight of a flash of gold, but it was just a reflection from one of the Weasleys' wristwatches, and once a Bludger decided to come pelting his way, more like a cannonball than anything, but Harry dodged it and Fred Weasley came chasing after it.

Throughout the game, Dudley’s initial annoyance at Harry’s presence began to wane as he observed the Beaters' skill. When the Quaffle was in play, and the Bludgers were sent flying, Dudley found himself absorbed in the strategy and physicality of the role.

“Didn’t think much of Quidditch before,” Dudley admitted to himself, “but this Beater thing—now that’s something.”

“All right there, Harry?” Fred had time to yell, as he beat the Bludger furiously toward Marcus Flint.

“Slytherin in possession,” Lee Jordan was saying, “Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the – wait a moment – was that the Snitch?”

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.

Harry saw it. In a great rush of excitement he dived downward after the streak of gold. Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, too. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch -all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch.

Harry was faster than Higgs – he could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead – he put on an extra spurt of speed –

WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below – Marcus Flint had blocked Harry on purpose, and Harry's broom spun off course, Harry holding on for dear life.

He grinned, feeling a grim satisfaction. “That’s what you get for being a show-off,” he muttered to himself. Dudley’s sense of competitive pleasure grew as he saw Harry’s desperate struggle. The chaotic turn of events added a new layer of excitement for him, and he found himself surprisingly invested in the outcome.

“Foul!” screamed the Gryffindors.

While the Gryffindors erupted in anger and the Slytherins cheered, Dudley’s eyes sparkled with a mixture of delight and intrigue. “Maybe this Quidditch thing isn’t so bad after all,” he thought, appreciating the raw, unpredictable nature of the sport.

Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goal posts for Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.

Down in the stands, Dean Thomas was yelling, “Send him off, ref! Red card!”

“What are you talking about, Dean?” said Ron.

“Red card!” said Dean furiously. “In soccer you get shown the red card and you’re out of the game!”

“But this isn’t soccer, Dean,” Ron reminded him.

Hagrid, however, was on Dean's side.

“They oughta change the rules. Flint coulda knocked Harry outta the air.”

Dudley, watching intently, smirked as he saw the uproar. He took some pleasure in seeing Harry's situation draw such a dramatic reaction from everyone.

“No fouls in Quidditch,” Dudley thought to himself as he listened to Dean shout about the red card. “That’s different from every single sport I’ve ever played.”

He couldn't help but compare this to his own experiences, where he had often gotten into trouble and accumulated numerous fouls.

Dudley’s attention remained fixated on Harry. He couldn’t help but feel a perverse satisfaction at seeing his cousin in such a tough spot, even though it made him realize just how intense and thrilling Quidditch could be.

Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.

“So – after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating

“Jordan!” growled Professor McGonagall.

“I mean, after that open and revolting foul

“Jordan, I'm warning you –”

Dudley found himself caught up in the heated atmosphere, his earlier discontent with Harry overshadowed by the drama unfolding before him. It was clear now that Quidditch was more than just a game; it was a spectacle of high stakes and fierce emotions, and Dudley was hooked. His determination to join the Quidditch team as a Beater was stronger than ever.

“All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I’m sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinner, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession.”

It was as Harry dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past his head, that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. For a split second, he thought he was going to fall. He gripped the broom tightly with both his hands and knees. He'd never felt anything like that.

It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck him off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their riders off. Harry tried to turn back toward the Gryffindor goal- posts – he had half a mind to ask Wood to call time-out – and then he realized that his broom was completely out of his control. He couldn't turn it. He couldn't direct it at all. It was zigzagging through the air, and every now and then making violent swishing movements that almost unseated him. Lee was still commentating.

Dudley watched with wide eyes as Harry struggled to stay on the broom, which seemed to have gone rogue. Dudley’s earlier excitement about the Beaters was replaced by a growing sense of alarm.

“Blimey, what’s happening?” Dudley murmured to himself, gripping the edge of the stands. He had never seen anything like this before. His initial amusement at Harry’s possible failure turned to concern as he realized that Harry was in genuine danger.

Dudley’s mind raced. “Is this some sort of trick? Or is Harry actually in trouble?” He couldn't believe that a broom could behave so erratically.

“Slytherin in possession – Flint with the Quaffle – passes Spinnet – passes Bell – hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose – only joking, Professor – Slytherins score – A no…”

The Slytherins were cheering. No one seemed to have noticed that Harry's broom was behaving strangely. It was carrying- him slowly higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.

“Dunno what Harry thinks he’s doing,” Hagrid mumbled. He stared through his binoculars. “If I didn’ know better, I’d say he’d lost control of his broom... but he can’t have....”

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry's broom had given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.

“Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?” Seamus whispered.

“Can't have,” Hagrid said, his voice shaking. “Can’t nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic – no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand.”

Dudly glanced around to see if anyone else was reacting, and noticed that Hagrid and the others were also watching with visible concern. Dudley’s frustration with Harry momentarily faded as he focused on the unfolding drama, the sight of Harry struggling on the broom making him feel uneasy.

At these words, Hermione seized Hagrid's binoculars, but instead of looking up at Harry, she started looking frantically at the crowd.

“What are you doing?” moaned Ron, gray-faced.

“I knew it,” Hermione gasped, “Snape – look.”

Ron grabbed the binoculars. Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering nonstop under his breath.

“He’s doing something -- jinxing the broom,” said Hermione.

“What should we do?”

“Leave it to me.”

Before Ron could say another word, Hermione had disappeared. Ron turned the binoculars back on Harry. His broom was vibrating so hard, it was almost impossible for him to hang on much longer. The whole crowd was on its feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull Harry safely onto one of their brooms, but it was no good -- every time they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell.

Marcus Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

“Come on, Hermione,” Ron muttered desperately.

Hermione had fought her way across to the stand where Snape stood, and was now racing along the row behind him; she didn't even stop to say sorry as she knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the row in front. Reaching Snape, she crouched down, pulled out her wand, and whispered a few, well- chosen words. Bright blue flames shot from her wand onto the hem of Snape's robes.

It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realize that he was on fire. A sudden yelp told her she had done her job. Scooping the fire off him into a little jar in her pocket, she scrambled back along the row – Snape would never know what had happened.

Dudley watched in shock as Snape suddenly yelped and began patting at his robes, looking frantic. His eyes widened when he saw the brief flicker of blue flames that vanished almost instantly.

“Did someone just set Snape’s robes on fire?” Dudley thought, his mouth slightly agape. “Who would have the guts to do that, especially during a Quidditch match?” He knew Snape was widely disliked, but this was something else entirely.

The scene was both bewildering and fascinating. Dudley couldn’t understand what was happening, but he was captivated by the unfolding drama. The idea of someone daring enough to disrupt a Quidditch match in such a bold way added to the already intense and confusing atmosphere of the game.

It was enough. Up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to clamber back on to his broom.

“Neville, you can look!” Ron said. Neville had been sobbing into Hagrid's jacket for the last five minutes.

Harry was speeding toward the ground when the crowd saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick – he hit the field on all fours – coughed – and something gold fell into his hand.

“I’ve got the Snitch!” he shouted, waving it above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion.

Dudley watched in astonishment as Harry hit the ground on all fours, his face contorted in pain. The tension in the stands was palpable, and Dudley’s heart raced as he saw Harry clutching something gold in his hand.

“Is that the Snitch?” Dudley thought, barely able to believe what he was seeing. His confusion about the game melted into sheer amazement as Harry stood up and triumphantly waved the Snitch above his head.

The Gryffindor stands erupted into cheers, but Dudley was too stunned to react immediately. He glanced around at the ecstatic faces of the Gryffindor supporters, then back at the field where Harry was being celebrated as a hero.

“Harry actually caught it,” Dudley muttered to himself. He had hoped to see his cousin fail, but the sight of Harry emerging victorious, despite everything that had happened, left him with a mix of grudging respect and awe. The game had ended in chaos, but for Dudley, it was clear that Harry’s skill and determination had won the day.

As the stands began to empty, Dudley slouched off, his frustration palpable. He had come to the match hoping to see Harry fail, but instead, he had witnessed his cousin’s heroic triumph. This only deepened his irritation, leaving him with a sense of bitter discontent. The whole experience had left him unsettled, and he walked away from the match with a cloud of resentment hanging over him.

Despite his frustration, Dudley couldn’t ignore the intensity of the match and the crowd’s reactions. The dramatic end and Harry’s victory had sparked a newfound appreciation for Quidditch. He was particularly fascinated by the Beater position and the skill required to play it. The idea of being able to control Bludgers and impact the game in such a dramatic way intrigued him.

“If I had a broom, I could do that,” Dudley thought, his determination solidifying. “I need to get my own broom next year. I’ll show them.”

Fueled by his newfound resolve, Dudley was eager to learn how to fly properly and make the Hufflepuff Quidditch team as a Beater. He was determined to sway his parents to buy him a broom, convinced that he could prove himself and make a mark in the Wizarding World.

“He didn't catch it, he nearly swallowed it,” Flint was still howling twenty minutes later, but it made no difference – Harry hadn't broken any rules and Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the results – Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty. Harry heard none of this, though. He was being made a cup of strong tea back in Hagrid's hut, with Ron and Hermione.

“It was Snape,” Ron was explaining, “Hermione and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn’t take his eyes off you.”

“Rubbish,” said Hagrid, who hadn't heard a word of what had gone on next to him in the stands. “Why would Snape do somethin’ like that?”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another, wondering what to tell him. Harry decided on the truth.

“I found out something about him,” he told Hagrid. “He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding.”

Hagrid dropped the teapot.

“How do you know about Fluffy?” he said.

“Fluffy?”

“Yeah – he’s mine – bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las’ year – I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the –”

“Yes?” said Harry eagerly.

“Now, don’t ask me anymore,” said Hagrid gruffly. “That’s top secret, that is.”

“But Snape’s trying to steal it.”

“Rubbish,” said Hagrid again. “Snape’s a Hogwarts teacher, he’d do nothin’ of the sort.”

“So why did he just try and kill Harry?” cried Hermione.

The afternoon's events certainly seemed to have changed her mind about Snape.

“I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them! You’ve got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!”

“I’m tellin’ yeh, yer wrong!” said Hagrid hotly. “I don’ know why Harry’s broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn’ try an’ kill a student! Now, listen to me, all three of yeh – yer meddlin’ in things that don’ concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an’ you forget what it's guardin’, that’s between Professor Dumbledore an’ Nicolas Flamel –”

“Aha!” said Harry, “so there’s someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?”

Hagrid looked furious with himself.

At the end of November, Dudley trudged up to the Quidditch pitch, feeling a mix of excitement and disappointment. He had come prepared for the cold, bundling up in his Muggle winter coat beneath his Hogwarts robe, along with a sweater and scarf. His trousers, which had grown snug from the lavish Hogwarts meals, no longer buttoned, so he fastened them with a belt, though it sat uncomfortably on his expanded waistline. Hufflepuff’s first game of the season was about to begin, and while the biting wind stung his face, he was eager to cheer for his house.

Draped in his blue scarf, Dudley tried to ignore the chill seeping through his robes. Then, Caroline Cauldwell, a stern-looking sixth-year prefect, spotted him from across the stands. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of Dudley’s scarf.

“What’s this, Dursley?” she demanded, eyeing his scarf with disapproval. “Why are you wearing Ravenclaw colors? Where’s your Hufflepuff scarf?”

Startled, Dudley stammered, “I don’t have one.”

Caroline’s expression grew stern. “Didn’t you receive an order form? You should have gotten one when you purchased your school robes from Madame Malkin’s. By now, you should have ordered your house gear. If you plan to wear a scarf to class, it has to be your house scarf. Didn’t you buy the standard winter kit? Almost everyone does—it includes scarves, hats, and gloves, which are the only items allowed as part of the winter uniform. Wearing anything other than your house colors isn’t permitted.”

Embarrassed, Dudley admitted, “I didn’t go to Madame Malkin’s. My cousin did.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Your cousin? Who?”

Dudley hesitated before answering. “Harry Potter.”

Caroline’s eyes widened. “Harry Potter? You’re related to him? I had no idea.”

Dudley nodded. “Yeah, Harry’s my cousin. My parents didn’t like the fact that I was a wizard, but the school is mandatory, so I had to attend whether they liked it or not. Harry’s the one who went to Madame Malkin’s and got all new supplies. I didn’t have any say in it. My parents didn’t want to spend more than they had to on my school supplies. Since they didn’t want me to attend Hogwarts in the first place, they only bought me the essentials. Most of my supplies are second-hand. The only new items I got were my wand and cauldron. My school robes and this worn winter robe are from Clare’s Fashions and Fortunes.”

Caroline’s eyebrows shot up further. “Didn’t you get an order form when you got your robes at Clare’s?”

Dudley shook his head. “I didn’t get any order form. I didn’t even know about it.”

Caroline’s expression softened slightly but remained concerned. “If you wear non-house scarves to class, you could end up with a detention and lose house points. It’s important to follow the uniform regulations.”

Dudley hesitated. “I didn’t know about the order form or the house scarf rule.”

Caroline sighed and softened her tone. “Alright, I’ll get you an order form so you can get the proper Hufflepuff gear. But don’t let it happen again. No more showing up to matches in the colors of the enemy. It’s not good for house spirit.”

She handed Dudley an order form with a nod. Dudley tucked the blue scarf into his robe pocket, feeling the cold bite into him as he shivered without it. He focused on the game, trying to keep warm as he watched Hufflepuff struggle against Ravenclaw.

The rest of the match dragged on, with Dudley’s fingers growing numb in the cold. Despite the chilly discomfort and Hufflepuff’s loss, he felt a renewed determination. With Caroline’s help and understanding, he was ready to fully embrace his role in the house and look forward to next year, where he hoped to have the proper gear and a chance to contribute to Hufflepuff’s success.

Later that evening, Dudley dug through his trunk and found the birthday money he’d stashed away—a mix of Muggle bills and coins, originally meant for snacks at Smeltings. In the chaos of preparing for Hogwarts, he’d forgotten about it. Rummaging through his trunk, he found the stash buried in a bag among his belongings.

To his relief, the order form allowed for payment with Muggle money, though it included a small surcharge. He eagerly browsed the options and chose the deluxe package, which featured three scarves, four hats, two pairs of gloves, a pair of mittens, and convertible mittens-gloves. It felt like a chance to finally show pride in his house. Dudley carefully filled out the form, enclosed the money, and sent it off without hesitation.

The Great Hall was alive with its usual morning bustle as owls swooped in, delivering the post. Packages, letters, and newspapers rained down onto the students, some met with cheers, others with groans. Dudley sat hunched at the Hufflepuff table, trying to keep warm in his plain, second-hand robes that barely fit anymore. As he reached for a piece of toast, an owl swooped low, and a large, colorful package landed squarely in his lap.

Startled, Dudley nearly dropped his toast. For a moment, he just stared at the package. It was wrapped in bright yellow paper, stamped with the Hogwarts crest and Hufflepuff badger insignia. A few students nearby turned to look, their curiosity piqued.
“What’ve you got there, Dudley?” Susan Bones asked with a polite smile as she buttered her toast.

Dudley flushed, both from excitement and embarrassment. “It’s… uh, my Hufflepuff gear,” he mumbled, tugging at the package to open it.

Harry, seated a few tables away, caught sight of the package. His brow furrowed in confusion. Where on earth did Dudley get the money for that? he wondered. Harry’s first thought was that Dudley had bullied someone into giving him the money or that Aunt Petunia had caved and sent it. Then he remembered Dudley bragging at Smeltings about saving his birthday money for sweets and figured his cousin must have finally remembered it.

The package contained the deluxe Hufflepuff kit: three scarves, four hats, two pairs of gloves, a pair of mittens, and a set of convertible mittens-gloves. Dudley grinned as he pulled out the first scarf, soft and warm in bright yellow and black stripes. For once, it felt like he belonged.

“Finally decided to look like a proper Hufflepuff, have you?” Ernie Macmillan remarked from further down the table. His tone wasn’t unkind, but Dudley caught the hint of judgment in his words.

Susan, however, gave an approving nod. “It’s good to see you embracing the house, Dudley. It’s an important part of being here.”

Dudley smiled nervously, unsure how to respond. He had been largely ignored—or outright shunned—by his housemates up until now. For the first time, he felt like he was starting to take a small step toward acceptance.

He spent the weekend proudly trying on each piece of the kit, ultimately deciding to wear one of the scarves and a pair of gloves to class on Monday. Walking into the Great Hall for breakfast that morning, he felt warmer—not just physically, but emotionally too. He was finally starting to feel like a part of Hufflepuff.

During Herbology, however, he ran into his first challenge. Professor Sprout eyed him from under her wide-brimmed hat. “Lovely scarf, Dudley, but you’ll need to tuck it away while working with the Devil’s Snare. Wouldn’t want it to get tangled.”

Dudley nodded quickly, carefully folding the scarf and tucking it into his cloak. Later in Potions, he had to do the same. Snape didn’t even bother commenting; he simply sneered at Dudley’s cheerful Hufflepuff accessories before turning back to his cauldron. Dudley didn’t want to risk his new scarf getting stained by splashes of volatile potions, so he kept it hidden.

At lunch, Dudley overheard more comments from his housemates. “Well, at least you finally look like you belong,” muttered a fifth-year boy as he walked past. Another girl raised an eyebrow, sniffing, “Brand new gear, huh? I’m surprised you didn’t bother getting new robes and a proper uniform. Bet you spent all your money on that fancy stuff and didn’t think to upgrade your whole Uniform.” Dudley’s face turned red, but he stayed silent. He couldn’t bring himself to explain how he had scrimped and saved just to afford the new gear.

Susan, sensing his discomfort, spoke up again. “Don’t listen to them. It’s nice to see you making an effort, Dudley. You’re part of Hufflepuff just as much as the rest of us.”

Dudley smiled shyly at her, grateful for her kindness. As he sat in the common room later that evening, his scarf draped proudly around his neck, he realized how much he had grown to appreciate his house. Even if he still had a long way to go in building friendships and proving himself, for the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, Dudley felt like he was truly beginning to belong. While he hoped his parents might start spoiling him again like they did before they learned he was a wizard, he tried not to get his hopes up too high. Realistically, he knew he’d probably need to save any birthday, Christmas, or holiday money he received from Aunt Marge and other sources.

Chapter Text

Yule was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver mail had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again.

Dudley was eating breakfast in the Great Hall, the usual hum of conversation filling the air as students chatted and enjoyed their meal. He wasn’t expecting anything special that morning, so he was completely taken aback when an owl swooped down and dropped a letter right in front of him.

For a moment, Dudley’s heart raced with excitement. His parents had always been adamant about not contacting him directly in the Wizarding World unless absolutely necessary, usually only if something serious, like Aunt Marge being hurt, occurred. He wondered if maybe, just maybe, they had realized they missed him despite his being a wizard and had decided to send him some Wizarding money or sweets.

However, his fleeting happiness and anticipation were quickly dashed when he tore open the envelope and began to read the letter from his mother. The words inside were far from the comforting note he had hoped for.

Dear Dudleykins,

I hope this letter finds you safe and happy. With the winter holidays approaching, you might have noticed that your head of house will soon be circulating a sign-up sheet for those staying at school over the break. I wanted to let you know that, unfortunately, you will not be returning home for Christmas this year. Your father has decided he cannot tolerate the “freakishness” any more than absolutely necessary, and you might end up spending the rest of the holidays—and possibly the entire year—at this school.

Your father has decided that since you are a wizard, he will not spend any more than necessary on you. We won’t be sending any extra presents. Besides any gifts you might receive from Aunt Marge, most of what you’ll get will likely be just essentials, like clothes. Due to the Statute of Secrecy, we can’t tell Aunt Marge about this, so she will likely send you numerous presents instead. We hope you can manage with what we’ve sent. Ickle Diddykins

We’re looking forward to seeing you in the summer.

With love,

Mum

Dudley’s face turned bright red as he finished reading the letter. Tears of frustration welled up in his eyes, and his anger quickly boiled over. He slammed the letter down onto the table and let out a loud, high-pitched wail that startled everyone around him. “It’s not fair!” he screamed, his voice echoing off the enchanted ceiling.

Students at nearby tables turned to look, their expressions a mix of shock and confusion. Dudley shoved his breakfast plate away, sending it crashing to the floor along with the cup of juice. Food and drink splattered across the floor, and the commotion only intensified as Dudley’s tantrum escalated.

Dudley’s tantrum escalated. He kicked his chair, which toppled over with a loud bang, and stomped his feet on the ground, making a commotion that drew everyone’s attention. “I don’t want to stay here!” he cried out. “I want to go home! Why do they always do this to me? I hate it here!”

His loud sobs and kicking drew the attention of the prefects and teachers. Professor Sprout, his head of house, arrived with a serious expression on her face. She moved quickly to Dudley’s side and, with a firm but gentle tone, said, “Mr. Dursley, this is not an appropriate reaction to have at school. You need to calm down immediately.”

Dudley continued to wail, shaking his fists in the air. “But it’s not fair! They don’t even want me at home! Why can’t they just let me go back? I hate this place!”

“Mr. Dursley,” Professor Sprout said, her voice firm yet soothing, “I understand that you’re upset, but this outburst is unacceptable. We need to handle this situation properly.”

Professor Sprout gently but firmly guided Dudley away from the chaos. He flailed his arms and continued to cry as he was led down the corridor, his face flushed with anger and tears streaming down his cheeks. “I just want to go home! I don’t belong here!” he shouted, his voice echoing down the stone hallway.

When they reached her office, Professor Sprout managed to get Dudley to sit down, though he was still sobbing and sniffling. “You need to take a deep breath, Dudley,” she said calmly. “Your behavior today has been unacceptable, and as a result, you’ll be receiving a detention. We need to discuss how to handle your feelings in a more appropriate manner.”

Dudley, his small body trembling with emotion, barely registered her words. “It’s not fair,” he muttered through his tears. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

In an effort to comfort him, Professor Sprout prepared a mug of hot cocoa with extra marshmallows and placed it in front of Dudley. “This is for you,” she said gently. “If you need to talk or if you’re feeling overwhelmed, my door is always open.”

Dudley, still sniffling and with a pout on his face, glared at the cocoa before taking a big gulp of it. “Why should I talk to you?” he mumbled, his voice tinged with bitterness. “You don’t understand what it’s like.”

Professor Sprout sighed softly but remained calm. “I may not fully understand, but I am here to help you. It’s important to express your feelings in a constructive way. This outburst doesn’t solve anything.”

Dudley took another sip of the cocoa, its warmth momentarily soothing but not enough to lift his spirits. He slumped further in his chair, his mood far from improving. Despite the extra marshmallows, which he begrudgingly acknowledged as a small comfort, his frustration remained palpable.

“The cocoa’s good,” Dudley admitted quietly, almost grudgingly, “but it doesn’t change anything.”

Professor Sprout nodded, her expression empathetic. “I’m glad you like it, but remember, it’s not just about the cocoa. It’s about finding a way to deal with your feelings in a more constructive manner. Sometimes talking things through can help, even if it doesn’t seem like it right now.”

Dudley stared at the cup, the rich, chocolatey drink providing only temporary solace. The thought of his cousin Harry also staying for Christmas at Hogwarts seemed insignificant compared to the harsh reality of his parents’ disinterest. He couldn’t help but feel that no matter what he did or said, he would always be the outsider—a stark contrast to the acceptance and attention he desperately craved. His childish tantrum had been a raw display of his deep-seated feelings of rejection and isolation, feelings that no amount of hot cocoa could fully erase.

A week after the incident, Dudley was in the library, struggling with his homework. Frustrated by his inability to get a spell right, he slammed his book shut and threw a fit, knocking over a stack of books in the process.

A nearby group of students snickered. “Look at him,” one of them said. “He’s like a six-year-old having a tantrum. How old is he again? Eleven? Seems like he’s still in primary school.”

Dudley’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. He hated that his frustration with his schoolwork made him look immature, but he couldn’t seem to control his reactions. The mockery only made his frustration worse, turning his struggle into a public spectacle.

No one could wait for the holidays to start. While the Gryffindor common room and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the drafty corridors had become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms. Worst of all were Professor Snape's classes down in the dungeons, where their breath rose in a mist before them and they kept as close as possible to their hot cauldrons.

Harry, who was measuring out powdered spine of lionfish, ignored them. Slytherins had been even more unpleasant than usual since the Quidditch match. Despite their sneering and snide comments, it was clear that the Slytherins were begrudgingly impressed at the way Harry had managed to stay on his bucking broomstick.

It was true that Harry wasn't going back to Privet Drive for Christmas. Professor McGonagall had come around the week before, making a list of students who would be staying for the holidays, and Harry had signed up at once. He didn't feel sorry for himself at all; this would probably be the best Christmas he'd ever had. Ron and his brothers were staying, too, because Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were going to Romania to visit Charlie.

After Professor McGonagall had come with Harry to retrieve his copy of Quidditch Through the Ages, Harry noticed a change in Professor Snape’s demeanor. The Potions Master had begun to offer him tips on his potion-making, though the advice still came with Snape’s characteristic snide drawl. Despite his continued, somewhat gruff manner, there was a surprising shift in his attitude.

One day, Snape approached Harry with an unexpected gesture. With a rare hint of neutrality in his voice, he handed Harry a small, folded photograph. “This,” Snape said, “is a picture of your mother. We were friends during our early years at Hogwarts. That is, until we had a significant falling out.”

Harry took the photo, his eyes widening with curiosity. “You were friends with my mother?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes,” Snape replied curtly, his tone uncharacteristically mild. “We were quite close for a while. Your father, however, was quite another matter. He was a bully, and I had no regard for him. If you wish to know more about your mother, you may write to me. I can share more stories from our time at school.”

Harry was taken aback by Snape’s offer. Despite the Potions Master’s usual reserved and somewhat antagonistic demeanor, this gesture was genuinely kind, even if it was cloaked in his usual formality.

“Thank you,” Harry said, managing a small smile as he pocketed the photograph.

Snape inclined his head slightly, though his face remained its usual mask of cool indifference. “Do not mistake my actions for favoritism. As head of Slytherin House, I must maintain a certain distance, particularly from Gryffindors. However, this does not preclude the possibility of sharing some memories of your mother.”

With that, Snape turned and walked away, leaving Harry with a mix of gratitude and curiosity. The photo of his mother was now a cherished item, a link to a past he knew little about, and Snape’s unexpected offer of correspondence provided a new avenue for understanding his mother’s life at Hogwarts.

When they left the dungeons at the end of Potions, they found a large fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a loud puffing sound told them that Hagrid was behind it.

“Hi, Hagrid, want any help?” Ron asked, sticking his head through the branches.

“Nah, I'm all right, thanks, Ron.”

“Would you mind moving out of the way?” came Malfoy’s smooth drawl from behind them. “Hello, Heir Potter.” He changed his tone to a more neutral, pleasant one.

“Hello to you too, Heir Malfoy,” Harry responded in a cool, neutral tone with a small nod of his head.

Ron shot Malfoy a dirty look from behind Harry.

“Your manners have improved, Weasley,” Malfoy said in a slightly chiding tone, “though you still need to work on them a bit more.”

Ron clenched his jaw, trying to hold back his frustration. “Just move the tree, Malfoy,” he said tersely.

Malfoy’s lips curled into a smirk as he stepped aside, allowing Hagrid to maneuver the tree out of the way. As Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle strolled past, they brushed against the tree, sending a few needles tumbling to the floor. Their expressions were smug, but they didn’t let it spoil their festive mood.

“I’ll get him,” Ron muttered, grinding his teeth as he watched Malfoy’s retreating back. “One of these days, I’ll get him –”

“Ron, I understand your family's got a bit of a feud with the Malfoys,” Harry said, taking a deep breath before continuing, “but why not try killing them with kindness?”

“What do you mean, killing them with kindness?” Ron asked, confused.

Harry explained, “It’s a Muggle saying. It means treating someone nicely even if they’re being awful to you. The idea is that if you’re respectful and kind, it makes the other person look ridiculous or mean because they’re being unreasonable. It’s about showing them up without stooping to their level.”

Ron considered this for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Sounds like a good strategy. I’ll give it a try.”

“Come on, cheer up, it's nearly Christmas,” said Hagrid. “Tell yeh what, come with me an' see the Great Hall, looks a treat.”

So the three of them followed Hagrid and his tree off to -the Great Hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the Christmas decorations.

“Ah, Hagrid, the last tree – put it in the far corner, would you?”

The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.

“How many days you got left until yer holidays?” Hagrid asked.

“Just one,” said Hermione. “And that reminds me -Harry, Ron, we've got half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library.”

“Oh yeah, you're right,” said Ron, tearing his eyes away from Professor Flitwick, who had golden bubbles blossoming out of his wand and was trailing them over the branches of the new tree.

“The library?” said Hagrid, following them out of the hall. “Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren't yeh?”

“Oh, we’re not working,” Harry told him brightly. “Ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel we've been trying to find out who he is.”

“You what?” Hagrid looked shocked. “Listen here – I’ve told yeh – drop it. It's nothin’ to you what that dog's guardin’.”

“We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that's all,” said Hermione.

“Unless you’d like to tell us and save us the trouble?” Harry added. “We must’ve been through hundreds of books already and we can't find him anywhere – just give us a hint – I know I've read his name somewhere.”

“I’m sayin’ nothin,” said Hagrid flatly.

“Just have to find out for ourselves, then,” said Ron, and they left Hagrid looking disgruntled and hurried off to the library.

They had indeed been searching books for Flamel's name ever since Hagrid had let it slip, because how else were they going to find out what Snape was trying to steal? The trouble was, it was very hard to know where to begin, not knowing what Flamel might have done to get himself into a book. He wasn't in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, or Notable Magical Names of Our Time; he was missing, too, from Important Modern Magical Discoveries, and A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry. And then, of course, there was the sheer size of the library; tens of thousands of books; thousands of shelves; hundreds of narrow rows.

Hermione took out a list of subjects and titles she had decided to search while Ron strode off down a row of books and started pulling them off the shelves at random. Harry wandered over to the Restricted Section. He had been wondering for a while if Flamel wasn't somewhere in there. Unfortunately, you needed a specially signed note from one of the teachers to look in any of the restricted books, and he knew he'd never get one. These were the books containing powerful Dark Magic never taught at Hogwarts, and only read by older students studying advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts.

“What are you looking for, boy?”

“Nothing,” said Harry.

Madam Pince the librarian brandished a feather duster at him.

“You’d better get out, then. Go on – out!”

Wishing he'd been a bit quicker at thinking up some story, Harry left the library. He, Ron, and Hermione had already agreed they'd better not ask Madam Pince where they could find Flamel. They were sure she'd be able to tell them, but they couldn't risk Snape hearing what they were up to.

Harry waited outside in the corridor to see if the other two had found anything, but he wasn't very hopeful. They had been looking for two weeks, after A, but as they only had odd moments between lessons it wasn't surprising they'd found nothing. What they really needed was a nice long search without Madam Pince breathing down their necks.

Five minutes later, Ron and Hermione joined him, shaking their heads. They went off to lunch.

“You will keep looking while I'm away, won't you?” said Hermione. “And send me an owl if you find anything.”

“And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is,” said Ron. “It’d be safe to ask them.”

“Very safe, as they're both dentists,” said Hermione.

Once the holidays had started, Ron and Harry were having too good a time to think much about Flamel. They had the dormitory to themselves and the common room was far emptier than usual, so they were able to get the good armchairs by the fire. They sat by the hour eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork – bread, English muffins, marshmallows – and plotting ways of getting Dursley expelled, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn't work.

Ron also started teaching Harry wizard chess. This was exactly like Muggle chess except that the figures were alive, which made it a lot like directing troops in battle. Ron's set was very old and battered. Like everything else he owned, it had once belonged to someone else in his family – in this case, his grandfather. However, old chessmen weren't a drawback at all. Ron knew them so well he never had trouble getting them to do what he wanted.

Harry played with chessmen Seamus Finnigan had lent him, and they didn't trust him at all. He wasn't a very good player yet and they kept shouting different bits of advice at him, which was confusing. “Don’t send me there, can't you see his knight? Send him, we can afford to lose him.”

Once the holidays had started, Dudley found himself alone in his dormitory, the silence of the empty room a stark contrast to the lively atmosphere of the Great Hall during mealtimes. With the rest of his dorm mates away for the break, he had the space all to himself. As Dudley walks down to the great hall, he eats toasting fork-baked bread, English muffins, marshmallows, and an extraordinary amount of pork bacon. It really hit him at that moment that his father no longer loved him, just regarded him as a freak. And Mum did try, but she still hated the Magic World and wasn't ever going to stand up to his father, and she was a homemaker, so she couldn't leave even if she wanted to, since everything was tied to his father, the house, and had no money to support him and his cousin.

After days of deliberation, Dudley had decided to give Harry a genuine Christmas present, hoping to do more than the usual pair of old socks and a hanger he had previously received. Dudley hoped that this small gesture might help improve their strained relationship. He had noticed Harry's skill and enthusiasm for Quidditch and was eager to join the Hufflepuff team as a beater. If their relationship improved, Harry might be able to help him with flying lessons. Dudley knew Harry had a natural talent for flying and could offer valuable tips.

In addition, Dudley hoped that Harry, being more familiar with the Wizarding World, might know of a way to obtain a broom or even a loan for one. Joining the Quidditch team and enhancing his flying skills were goals Dudley was passionate about, and any assistance from his cousin would be greatly appreciated.

Dudley had five leather-bound journals that his mother had bought for him, initially intended for smelting so he could write about his time there. Since he had no interest in using them and hadn’t mentioned this to his mother, he decided that three of them would make a suitable gift for Harry. He wasn’t planning to use the journals himself, so it seemed like a thoughtful idea to pass them along.

As he prepared the gift, Dudley realized he needed wrapping materials. He rummaged through his trunk and found some old shopping bags that had carried his dorm and school supplies. He chose a simple green paper bag and found some tissue paper that had been wrapping around some of the supplies. Dudley placed the three journals in the green bag, stuffed the tissue paper on top to make it look presentable, and then grabbed a piece of blank paper and a pen from his school supplies. He folded the paper in half, wrote “Merry Christmas” on the front, and penned a short, sweet note inside. After slipping the makeshift card into the top of the bag, Dudley decided to ask Professor Sprout if she could deliver the gift to Harry’s common room for Christmas.

Meanwhile, Dudley had kept two of the journals for himself, intending to use them for notes about the Wizarding World. During his detention with Madam Pince, the Hogwarts librarian, he had asked for a recommendation on a book about Quidditch. Although he hadn’t done much more than push the cart and follow her, Madam Pince had suggested Quidditch Through the Ages, which was available at the time. She allowed him to check it out for the holidays with the expectation that it would be returned on the first day of classes after the break.

Quidditch Through the Ages proved to be far more engaging than Dudley had expected. Despite his usual disinterest in reading, he found himself captivated by the book and realized he would need to take notes to fully understand the game. Alongside this, he wanted to get a catalog for brooms to determine the best one for his needs. Unfortunately, since his dorm mates had no interest in helping him, Dudley was left hoping that Harry, who had made the Quidditch team, might offer some useful advice.

Dudley hoped that by giving Harry a thoughtful gift and demonstrating a genuine interest in Quidditch, he might not only improve their relationship but also gain valuable insights for his own Quidditch aspirations.

On Christmas Eve, Harry went to bed looking forward to the next day for the food and the fun, but not expecting any presents at all. When he woke early in the morning, however, the first thing he saw was a small pile of packages at the foot of his bed.

“Merry Christmas,” said Ron sleepily as Harry scrambled out of bed and pulled on his bathrobe.

“Happy Yuletide to you too,” said Harry, his excitement evident. “Will you look at this? I’ve got some presents!”

Ron blinked in surprise at the unfamiliar greeting but quickly smiled. “I didn’t know you were into Yule traditions, Harry. What did you expect, turnips?” he added, turning to his own much larger pile of gifts.

Harry chuckled and began unwrapping his presents. He picked up the top parcel, wrapped in thick brown paper with “To Harry, from Hagrid” scrawled across it. Inside was a roughly cut wooden flute that Hagrid had obviously whittled himself. Harry blew into it, and it emitted a sound that was a bit like an owl’s hoot.

He moved on to the next gift, a green paper bag with messy tissue paper and a makeshift card that read “Merry Christmas” on the front. Opening the card, Harry read:

Dear Harry,

I hope you’re enjoying the holidays at Hogwarts. I thought you might like this. Merry Christmas!

Best wishes,

Dudley

Harry pulled out three high-quality leather journals, each one having an empty page that said who it belonged to. They were clearly expensive and well-made, not exactly what Harry had been thinking of, but still a thoughtful gift. He’d thought about getting leather notebooks for Hogwarts before, and though these weren’t parchment, they were a step in the right direction. Harry appreciated Dudley’s effort to bridge the gap between them and was glad he had decided to get Dudley a present in return—a box of assorted Wizarding sweets from Honeydukes.

Ron eyed the leather journals with interest. “Whoa, those look really nice. I didn’t know Dudley had it in him to pick out something like that.”

Harry shrugged, smiling. “Yeah, it was a nice surprise. I’m guessing Aunt Petunia picked them out. Dudley actually gave me one of the calendars his parents bought him once. I remember, when Mrs. Figg couldn’t babysit me, I ended up on one of the Dursley shopping trips and saw a calendar I really liked. He wants it, so he shoves it in my face. But after learning we’re wizards, he ended up giving it to me as a sort of truce present. So I think it’s great that he made the effort.”

Ron looked at Harry with newfound respect. “Wow, that’s pretty decent of him. Didn’t think Dudley had it in him. Maybe he’s not as bad as I thought.”

Harry nodded, feeling a bit more hopeful about his cousin. “Yeah, maybe. And maybe he wanted to reach out to family since his parents have been blatantly ignoring him since they learned he was a wizard. Although Petunia is a bit better now, I think she was jealous of my mum and took that jealousy out on me. But now that Dudley’s a wizard, part of her is happy while another part is upset.”

Ron looked thoughtful. “Sounds like a complicated family dynamic. At least Dudley’s trying, even if it’s not perfect.”

Harry nodded in agreement and then moved on to the next gift, a very small parcel that contained a note:

We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Taped to the note was a fifty-pence piece.

“That’s friendly,” Harry said, looking at the coin.

Ron examined it with fascination. “Weird! Is this money? It’s not even in a shape I’ve seen before!”

“You can keep it,” Harry said, laughing at Ron’s excitement. “Hagrid, my cousin, and my aunt and uncle—so who sent this one?”

Ron’s eyes went to a very lumpy parcel. “I think I know who that one’s from,” he said, turning a bit pink. “My mum. I told her you didn’t expect any presents and—oh no,” he groaned, “she’s made you a Weasley sweater.”

Harry had torn open the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted sweater in emerald green and a large box of homemade fudge.

“Every year she makes us a sweater,” said Ron, unwrapping his own, “and mine’s always maroon.”

“That’s really nice of her,” said Harry, trying the fudge, which was very tasty.

His next present also contained candy – a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione.

But the next present gave him pause. It was wrapped in elegant silver paper, tied with a ribbon so perfect it could only have been done by magic—well, it probably was. Attached to it was a small envelope, his name written in delicate, precise script.

Frowning curiously, Harry opened the letter first.

The note inside was formal, almost stiffly polite:

Heir Potter,

It is customary for those of Ancient and Noble families who maintain at least a cordial or friendly relationship to exchange gifts on Yule. My mother would absolutely skin me alive if I failed to observe proper courtesy, especially given your position. Enclosed, you’ll also find a catalog—my mother mentioned you were raised by Muggles and may not yet be well-versed in Wizarding fashion.

Sincerely,
Heir Malfoy

Harry blinked at the letter, rereading it twice. Malfoy’s tone was polite, but the underlying comment about his lack of familiarity with Wizarding traditions stung a little. Still, there wasn’t any malice in the note, and it was probably true.

Shrugging, he set the letter aside and opened the gift. Inside was a stunning, high-quality quill set with silver-tipped nibs that gleamed in the firelight. Harry’s eyebrows rose—he’d never owned anything so elegant. Beneath the quills was a catalog filled with recommendations for Wizarding robes and other luxury items, annotated in neat, pointed handwriting. One note particularly caught his attention:

‘Silk pajamas are a traditional staple of an heir’s wardrobe.’

Harry blinked, bewildered. Silk pajamas?

Ron leaned over, his expression incredulous. “Did Malfoy just send you a fashion guide? What’s he trying to say, mate? That you’ve got no style?”

Harry chuckled awkwardly, holding up the quill set to change the subject. “I think it’s more about the gift. These quills are really nice.”

“Yeah, posh as anything,” Ron muttered, wrinkling his nose. “Figures he’d send something fancy like that. But a catalog? What’s he expect you to do—start wearing velvet robes to class?”

Harry shrugged again, glancing at the catalog. He thought to himself not both those voicing it around Ron not wanting to get in a fight about it, I don’t really mind the suggestions. I’ve got a few Wizarding clothes, but I had no idea where to start, so I just let Madam Malkin pick stuff out. It’s not like I care all that much about fashion, but maybe it’s not the worst idea to get advice from someone who knows about it. Although I’m pretty sure half of what he’s circled isn’t my taste.

“It’s just a gift,” Harry said quickly, setting it aside. He didn’t want to argue. He’d sent Malfoy a present too, after all—a sleek black notebook with a silver clasp he thought Malfoy might like.

This only left one parcel. Harry picked it up and felt it. It was very light. He unwrapped it.

Something fluid and silvery gray went slithering to the floor where it lay in gleaming folds. Ron gasped.

“I’ve heard of those,” he said in a hushed voice, dropping the box of Every Flavor Beans he'd gotten from Hermione. “If that's what I think it is – they’re really rare, and really valuable.”

“What is it?”

Harry picked the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It was strange to the touch, like water woven into material.

“It’s an invisibility cloak,” said Ron, a look of awe on his face. “I’m sure it is – try it on.”

Harry threw the cloak around his shoulders and Ron gave a yell.

“It is! Look down!”

Harry looked down at his feet, but they were gone. He dashed to the mirror. Sure enough, his reflection looked back at him, just his head suspended in midair, his body completely invisible. He pulled the cloak over his head and his reflection vanished completely.

“There's a note!” said Ron suddenly. “A note fell out of it!”

Harry pulled off the cloak and seized the letter. Written in narrow, loopy writing he had never seen before were the following words:

Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well.

A Very Merry Christmas to you.

There was no signature. Harry stared at the note. Ron was admiring the cloak.

“I’d give anything for one of these,” he said. “Anything. What's the matter?”

“Nothing,” said Harry. He felt very strange. Who had sent the cloak? Had it really once belonged to his father? He wondered why someone would send him an invisibility cloak that had belonged to his father as a Christmas present. It seemed oddly rude to return such a personal belonging as a gift, especially since it was rightfully his. Harry had thought that all of his parents' belongings had been sent to Gringotts to be stored in their vault after their deaths, awaiting his coming of age. Certain items were supposed to be given to him when he turned eleven, like his vault key which Professor McGonagall had given him. Was this cloak one of those items? He decided he would need to write a letter to Gringotts to find out more about the cloak’s origins and its unexpected arrival.

Before he could say or think anything else, the dormitory door was flung open and Fred and George Weasley bounded in. Harry stuffed the cloak quickly out of sight. He didn't feel like sharing it with anyone else yet.

“Merry Christmas!”

“Hey, look – Harry’s got a Weasley sweater, too!”

Fred and George were wearing blue sweaters, one with a large yellow F on it, the other a G.

“Harry’s is better than ours, though,” said Fred, holding up Harry’s sweater. “She obviously makes more of an effort if you’re not family.”

“Why aren’t you wearing yours, Ron?” George demanded. “Come on, get it on, they’re lovely and warm.”

“I hate maroon,” Ron moaned halfheartedly as he pulled it over his head.

“You haven’t got a letter on yours,” George observed. “I suppose she thinks you don’t forget your name. But we're not stupid – we know we're called Gred and Forge.”

“What's all th is noise.”

Percy Weasley stuck his head through the door, looking disapproving. He had clearly gotten halfway through unwrapping his presents as he, too, carried a lumpy sweater over his arm, which

Fred seized.

“P for prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we’re all wearing ours, even Harry got one.”

“I – don’t – want,” said Percy thickly, as the twins forced the sweater over his head, knocking his glasses askew.

“And you’re not sitting with the prefects today, either,” said George. “Christmas is a time for family.”

They frog-marched Percy from the room, his arms pinned to his side by his sweater.

Christmas morning arrived with a peculiar quietness in Dudley’s dorm room. For once, he was alone, and the silence was punctuated only by the occasional rustling of wrapping paper. Dudley stretched lazily, his excitement quickly turning into anticipation as he remembered the presents waiting for him.

Dudley scrambled out of bed and pulled on his bathrobe, grumbling as he began to open his Christmas presents. The first parcel he spotted was wrapped in plain paper. As he tore it open, he revealed a box filled with first-level secondary school textbooks. A note accompanied it:

Dear Dudley,

We know you’ll need these for summer tutoring and your homeschooling exams. Please make sure you go over them, as you will be starting tutoring and normal classes, not this hogwash nonsense that this school teaches.

Love,

Mum

Ps. You better make the money I’m spending on this tutoring worth it,

Regards,

Dad.

Dudley’s face twisted into a scowl. “Textbooks? Really? On Christmas? This is just reminding me that I have to do tutoring for all the Muggle classes I missed. This is the worst Christmas ever!” He huffed and tossed the box aside. He had expected something more exciting, not reminders of his academic duties.

Next, he unwrapped a bundle of new coats and winter clothes. “More clothes,” Dudley grumbled, pulling out a thick winter coat and a few sweaters. “As if I don’t have enough of these already.” He stuffed the clothes into a corner of his bed.

Dudley moved on to the next gift, a box of Muggle sweets. He opened it to find a selection of familiar candies and a note from his mum:

Dear Diddykins

I know you’re probably super disappointed with your presents this year, especially since you’re used to getting at least sixty gifts every Christmas. Your father is being really strict about money now that you’re a wizard and doesn’t want to waste his money on what he calls this ‘freakishness’ or ‘Wizarding nonsense.’

I thought you might want a taste of home. I remember from when my sister went to Hogwarts that some of the Wizarding sweets are downright awful. There were some that I really liked, but there are also plenty that are just plain disgusting. I hope these Muggle sweets can raise your spirits a bit, Diddykins.

Love you very much,

Mum

Dudley read the note with a mix of annoyance. “So, they’re cutting back because of this ‘wizard nonsense,’ huh?” he muttered. “So, Mum’s trying to make up for it with these,” he said, picking up one of the sweets and unwrapping it.

As Dudley sat amid his pile of unimpressive gifts, he felt a surge of curiosity. His parents’ presents had been a letdown—just essentials and reminders of schoolwork. Maybe the gifts from Harry and Aunt Marge would be better.

Dudley moved on to Harry's gift, intrigued by noting the wrapping paper. It was different from anything he had ever seen before—decorated with stars and moon shapes that shimmered in the light and had a real card attached that read, “Happy Yuletide!” Dudley had never heard of ‘Yuletide’ before but assumed it was the Wizarding equivalent of Christmas, just as he had learned that wizards called Halloween ‘Samhain.’

As he tore off the wrapping, Dudley’s eyes widened at the sight of a massive box filled with assorted Wizarding sweets from Honeydukes, along with a full catalog of Honeydukes products. He couldn’t believe it. Harry had actually gotten him a present!

He pulled out a small note from the box. It was written in Harry's neat handwriting:

Dear Dudley,

I noticed you were looking at your classmates when they received packages from home, so I thought I’d send you some Wizarding sweets. I think I picked out some you might actually like, though I haven’t tried all of them myself yet.

Happy Yule,

Harry

Dudley was taken aback by the thoughtful gesture. He couldn’t quite believe that Harry had gone out of his way to get him a gift. He wondered how Harry could afford such a present, but he decided not to question it. The fact that Harry had made the effort was more than enough for Dudley.

Grinning, Dudley opened the box of sweets and pulled out a handful of candies, popping one into his mouth. “These aren’t bad at all,” he said, savoring the taste. It had been months since he had had any sweets besides the occasional dessert at Hogwarts. He was tired of the same old food and welcomed the change.

“Thanks, Harry,” Dudley murmured to himself as he sampled more candies, his spirits lifting slightly. “This is actually pretty good.”

Next, Dudley turned his attention to Aunt Marge’s gift. He opened the card carefully, hoping for something normal. Inside was a card with a generous amount of money and one from Aunt Marge and one from his mum note:

Dear My Neffy Poo,

I’m sorry I couldn’t send you the video game controller and the new games I bought. Your mum mentioned that you need to apply before you’re allowed to bring any electronics onto school grounds at your new school. Apparently, they’re holding onto them for you until then, which I think is quite ridiculous. So, I decided to send you some extra money this year. I hope you can put it to good use at your school.

I have to say, I don’t understand why your parents chose to send you to some rando school in Scotland when your father was an alumnus of Smelting. I always thought you’d follow in his footsteps, but instead, you’re at this... elite school in Scotland, which seems like such a waste of time and money. Your disgusting waste of a space cousin’s parents went there and were alumni. The only way to get into that school is either by being put on a list as a baby or by being one of the lucky few who are offered a spot—like your aunt, who was a bitch and managed to get one. It’s only because of your nobody waste of a cousin that they even offered you a spot. It’s absurd that your parents chose this over a proper school.

I hope this money helps you out somehow.

Love and Luck,

Your Aunt Marge

Dear Dudley,

Aunt Marge got you several new video games and a video game controller. Unfortunately, they couldn’t be sent to you at Hogwarts because electronics don’t work here and would be fried as soon as they crossed onto school grounds. I’m sorry, Ickle Dudleykins.

Love,

Mum

Dudley’s face flushed with frustration. “No video games? And electronics don’t work here? That’s ridiculous!” He tossed the note aside, feeling a mix of disappointment and anger. “Why do they have to ruin everything?”

Dudley looked at the note and sighed. “Marge just doesn’t get it,” he said to himself. “She’s completely clueless about how things work here. But at least she sent extra money.”

But then he glanced at the money again, counting the notes carefully. He counted, recounted, and counted once more.

“Seven hundred pounds!” he exclaimed in disbelief. “That’s a lot of money. I remember hearing my parents say that my school supplies cost around £600, that new school supplies would probably cost around £800. I’m only a hundred pounds short!”

The idea of saving the money rather than spending it immediately began to take shape in Dudley’s mind. “Maybe I could use this to buy a broom,” he thought, his mood slightly improving. “And still have some left over for other things. I might even be able to get a pet.”

Dudley recalled the note his mother had included with the book she had thrown into his trunk last minute. It mentioned that his father had signed him up for a fund to cover school supplies on the list. Dudley did some quick mental calculations. With the seven hundred pounds from Aunt Marge and the additional funds his mum had mentioned, he realized he could end up with around nine hundred pounds.

“So, with this amount and fund, I could get new school supplies and still have some left over,” Dudley mused. “And maybe even a broom and a pet.” His mood lightened at the thought. “That’s not too bad for a Christmas after all.”

He carefully folded the money and placed it in the bottom of his trunk. Dudley wasn’t particularly worried about his roommates stealing it since it was in Muggle money, and they would have to exchange it before spending it in the Wizarding World. Still, he wasn’t going to take any chances. “When I get my new trunk, I’ll definitely get it monogrammed and make sure it locks,” he decided.

Then Dudley remembered the pouch Professor McGonagall had given him from the bank during their trip to Diagon Alley. It had come with a piece of parchment with instructions on how to use it. He had only glanced at it before tossing it into his trunk.

He pulled out the pouch and the parchment. The instructions read:

To set up your anti-theft money pouch:

1. Place a drop or two of your blood on the pouch.
2. This will bind the pouch to you, making it secure from theft.

Without hesitation, Dudley pricked his finger and let a drop of blood fall onto the pouch. He watched as the pouch shimmered briefly, signaling that it was now bound to him. He then grabbed his money from the trunk and carefully placed it into the pouch before throwing the pouch back into his trunk.

“This should keep my money safe,” Dudley thought with satisfaction as he closed the trunk securely. The enchantment on the pouch gave him a sense of relief. “I’ll have to remember to keep this safe and to use it.”

He glanced over at the Wizarding sweets from Harry, appreciating the thoughtful gesture even more now. “It’s nice of Harry to think of me,” he thought, feeling a bit more positive. Despite the rocky start to Christmas, he was slowly finding ways to make the best of it.

“The sweets will be a nice treat,” Dudley decided as he looked forward to trying them. He knew the Christmas season wasn’t exactly what he was used to, but with a bit of planning and a positive outlook, he might just be able to turn things around and enjoy the holiday in his own way.

Dudley spent the rest of the morning dealing with his Christmas presents and organizing his gifts. After setting up the anti-theft money pouch, he took a moment to enjoy the Wizarding sweets from Harry, trying a few of the flavors and noting the differences from Muggle candy. The thoughtfulness of Harry’s gift began to cheer him up, and he couldn’t help but appreciate the gesture more with each bite.

He also glanced at the catalog for Honeydukes, feeling a bit of excitement about trying more Wizarding treats in the future. The money from Aunt Marge, safely tucked in his enchanted pouch, gave him a sense of security and hope for future purchases, like a broom or even a pet.

As the day went on, Dudley kept himself busy by reading through the catalog and flipping through his new textbooks, though he tried not to dwell on the extra studying he’d have to do. He took breaks to try on his new winter clothes and was relieved to find that they fit well.

Finally, it was time for Christmas dinner. Dudley walked into the Great Hall, feeling a mix of anticipation and apprehension. The sight before him was nothing short of spectacular. The long tables were laden with an incredible feast: a hundred roast turkeys, mountains of roast and boiled potatoes, platters of chipolatas, tureens of buttered peas, and silver boats of rich, thick gravy and cranberry sauce. The sight made Dudley’s mouth water.

Stacks of wizard crackers were placed every few feet along the table. Dudley had heard about these magical party favors and was curious to try one. He took a seat and waited for the meal to start, glancing around at the decorations and the festive atmosphere.

When the time came, Dudley joined in pulling a cracker. With a satisfying pop, the cracker burst open, sending out a cloud of glittering blue smoke. From inside came a bright, flashy party hat and a small toy, much fancier than any Muggle cracker Dudley had ever seen. He laughed, feeling a bit of the holiday spirit.

As the dinner progressed, Dudley watched in awe as the feast continued. Flaming Christmas puddings were brought out, and he couldn’t help but be impressed by the sheer scale of the celebration. The high table was particularly entertaining, with Dumbledore sporting a flowered bonnet and chuckling at Professor Flitwick’s joke.

Throughout the meal, Dudley observed the lively interactions around him, including Hagrid, who was becoming increasingly red-faced and animated. Professor McGonagall, surprisingly, was enjoying the festivities and even blushed when Hagrid gave her a kiss on the cheek.

The warmth and cheer of the evening made Dudley feel a little more at ease. Despite the rocky start to his Christmas, the grand feast and the festive atmosphere were slowly lifting his spirits.

Harry had never in all his life had such a Christmas dinner. A hundred fat, roast turkeys; mountains of roast and boiled potatoes; platters of chipolatas; tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce – and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table. These fantastic party favors were nothing like the feeble Muggle ones the Dursleys usually bought, with their little plastic toys and their flimsy paper hats inside. Harry pulled a wizard cracker with Fred and it didn't just bang, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them all in a cloud of blue smoke, while from the inside exploded a rear admiral's hat and several live, white mice. Up at the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard's hat for a flowered bonnet, and was chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick had just read him.

Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey. Percy nearly broke his teeth on a silver sickle embedded in his slice. Harry watched Hagrid getting redder and redder in the face as he called for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Harry's amazement, giggled and blushed, her top hat lopsided. As Harry scanned the Great Hall during dinner, he spotted Dudley at one of the long tables. With a friendly smile, Harry waved politely. Dudley looked up, his face lighting up with a surprised but genuine smile as he waved back. They didn’t exchange words or engage in conversation, but the brief acknowledgment between them spoke volumes.

It was clear to Harry that things were slowly improving between them. Dudley’s response was warm, and the small gesture of camaraderie was a step forward. arry felt a bit of relief, knowing that they might be on the path to developing a genuine relationship as cousins, even if it was just a small.

As the evening progressed, Harry reflected on the small but meaningful progress in his relationship with Dudley, feeling that this Christmas might turn out to be more memorable than he had originally thought.

When Harry finally left the table, he was laden down with a stack of things out of the crackers, including a pack of nonexplodable, luminous balloons, a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit, and his own new wizard chess set. The white mice had disappeared and Harry had a nasty feeling they were going to end up as Mrs. Norris’s Christmas dinner.

Harry and the Weasleys spent a happy afternoon having a furious snowball fight on the grounds. Then, cold, wet, and gasping for breath, they returned to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, where Harry broke in his new chess set by losing spectacularly to Ron. He suspected he wouldn't have lost so badly if Percy hadn’t tried to help him so much.

After a meal of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas cake, everyone felt too full and sleepy to do much before bed except sit and watch Percy chase Fred and George all over Gryffindor tower because they'd stolen his prefect badge.

Dudley headed back from the Great Hall after Christmas dinner, feeling satisfied but a bit overwhelmed by the sheer amount of food and excitement. The feast had been nothing short of spectacular: a hundred roast turkeys, mountains of roast and boiled potatoes, platters of chipolatas, tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of rich gravy, and cranberry sauce. The long tables were decorated with stacks of wizard crackers every few feet, and Dudley had enjoyed pulling one of these magical party favors.

Among the various Wizarding knick-knacks he received were a bright, flashy party hat and a small, enchanted toy, much fancier than any Muggle cracker Dudley had seen. He also discovered a few small, amusing items that added to the festive atmosphere.

Feeling content with the evening's festivities, Dudley headed to his dorm room, which contrasted sharply with the warm and lively atmosphere of the Great Hall. The dorm was quiet and still, a stark reminder of his solitude during the holidays.

He took some time to admire his new gifts and organize them. The Wizarding sweets from Harry stood out as a special highlight. Dudley decided to save these for a special treat later, appreciating Harry’s thoughtfulness even more. He glanced through the Honeydukes catalog, making a mental note of the sweets he wanted to try in the future.

The catalog was full of intriguing options, and Dudley felt a sense of excitement at the prospect of exploring these new flavors. Despite the quiet of the dorm, the small gestures of kindness and the festive spirit of the day had left him feeling positive. As he settled into his room, Dudley couldn't help but reflect on how the day had unfolded. Despite his initial disappointment, the holiday had turned out better than he had expected. The warm atmosphere of the Great Hall, the friendly gesture from Harry, and the delicious feast had made it a memorable Christmas.

With a contented sigh, Dudley prepared for bed, looking forward to the rest of the holidays and the new experiences that awaited him at Hogwarts.

It had been Harry's best Christmas day ever. Yet something had been nagging at the back of his mind all day. Not until he climbed into bed was he free to think about it: the invisibility cloak and whoever had sent it.

Ron, full of turkey and cake and with nothing mysterious to bother him, fell asleep almost as soon as he'd drawn the curtains of his four-poster. Harry leaned over the side of his own bed and pulled the cloak out from under it.

His father’s... this had been his father’s. He let the material flow over his hands, smoother than silk, light as air. Use it well, the note had said.

He had to try it, now. He slipped out of bed and wrapped the cloak around himself. Looking down at his legs, he saw only moonlight and shadows. It was a very funny feeling.

Use it well.

Suddenly, Harry felt wide-awake. The whole of Hogwarts was open to him in this cloak. Excitement flooded through him as he stood there in the dark and silence. He could go anywhere in this, anywhere, and Filch would never know.

Ron grunted in his sleep. Should Harry wake him? Something held him back – his father’s cloak – he felt that this time – the first time – he wanted to use it alone. He crept out of the dormitory, down the stairs, across the common room, and climbed through the portrait hole.

“Who’s there?” squawked the Fat Lady. Harry said nothing. He walked quickly down the corridor.

Where should he go? He stopped, his heart racing, and thought. And then it came to him. The Restricted Section in the library. He'd be able to read as long as he liked, as long as it took to find out who Flamel was. He set off, drawing the invisibility cloak tight around him as he walked.

The library was pitch-black and very eerie. Harry lit a lamp to see his way along the rows of books. The lamp looked as if it was floating along in midair, and even though Harry could feel his arm supporting it, the sight gave him the creeps.

The Restricted Section was right at the back of the library. Step ping carefully over the rope that separated these books from the rest of the library, he held up his lamp to read the titles.

They didn’t tell him much. Their peeling, faded gold letters spelled words in languages Harry couldn't understand. Some had no title at all. One book had a dark stain on it that looked horribly like blood. The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck prickled. Maybe he was imagining it, maybe not, but he thought a faint whispering was coming from the books, as though they knew someone was there who shouldn’t be.

He had to start somewhere. Setting the lamp down carefully on the floor, he looked along the bottom shelf for an interestinglooking book. A large black and silver volume caught his eye. He pulled it out with difficulty, because it was very heavy, and, balancing it on his knee, let it fall open.

A piercing, bloodcurdling shriek split the silence – the book was screaming! Harry snapped it shut, but the shriek went on and on, one high, unbroken, earsplitting note. He stumbled backward and knocked over his lamp, which went out at once. Panicking, he heard footsteps coming down the corridor outside – stuffing the shrieking book back on the shelf, he ran for it. He passed Filch in the doorway; Filch’s pale, wild eyes looked straight through him, and Harry slipped under Filch’s outstretched arm and streaked off up the corridor, the book’s shrieks still ringing in his ears.

He came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armor. He had been so busy getting away from the library, he hadn't paid attention to where he was going. Perhaps because it was dark, he didn't recognize where he was at all. There was a suit of armor near the kitchens, he knew, but he must be five floors above there.

“You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library Restricted Section.”

Harry felt the blood drain out of his face. Wherever he was, Filch must know a shortcut, because his soft, greasy voice was getting nearer, and to his horror, it was Snape who replied, “The Restricted Section? Well, they can’t be far, we’ll catch them.”

Harry stood rooted to the spot as Filch and Snape came around the corner ahead. They couldn't see him, of course, but it was a narrow corridor and if they came much nearer they’d knock right into him – the cloak didn't stop him from being solid.

He backed away as quietly as he could. A door stood ajar to his left. It was his only hope. He squeezed through it, holding his breath, trying not to move it, and to his relief he managed to get inside the room without their noticing anything. They walked straight past, and Harry leaned against the wall, breathing deeply, listening to their footsteps dying away. That had been close, very close. It was a few seconds before he noticed anything about the room he had hidden in.

It looked like an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket – but propped against the wall facing him was something that didn't look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way.

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. His panic fading now that there was no sound of Filch and Snape, Harry moved nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at himself but see no reflection again. He stepped in front of it.

He had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself from screaming. He whirled around. His heart was pounding far more furiously than when the book had screamed -- for he had seen not only himself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people standing right behind him.

But the room was empty. Breathing very fast, he turned slowly back to the mirror.

There he was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking, and there, reflected behind him, were at least ten others. Harry looked over his shoulder – but still, no one was there. Or were they all invisible, too? Was he in fact in a room full of invisible people and this mirror's trick was that it reflected them, invisible or not?

He looked in the mirror again. A woman standing right behind his reflection was smiling at him and waving. He reached out a hand and felt the air behind him. If she was really there, he'd touch her, their reflections were so close together, but he felt only air – she and the others existed only in the mirror.

She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes – her eyes are just like mine, Harry thought, edging a little closer to the glass. Bright green – exactly the same shape, but then he noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back, just as Harry's did.

Harry was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly touching that of his reflection.

“Mom?” he whispered. “Dad?”

They just looked at him, smiling. And slowly, Harry looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror, and saw other pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old man who looked as though he had Harry's knobbly knees – Harry was looking at his family, for the first time in his life.

The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping to fall right through it and reach them. He had a powerful kind of ache inside him, half joy, half terrible sadness.

How long he stood there, he didn't know. The reflections did not fade and he looked and looked until a distant noise brought him back to his senses. He couldn't stay here, he had to find his way back to bed. He tore his eyes away from his mother's face, whispered, "I'll come back," and hurried from the room.

“You could have woken me up,” said Ron, crossly.

“You can come tonight, I'm going back, I want to show you the mirror.”

“I’d like to see your mom and dad,” Ron said eagerly.

“And I want to see all your family, all the Weasleys, you’ll be able to show me your other brothers and everyone.”

“You can see them any old time,” said Ron. “Just come round my house this summer. Anyway, maybe it only shows dead people. Shame about not finding Flamel, though. Have some bacon or something, why aren't you eating anything?”

Harry couldn’t eat. He had seen his parents and would be seeing them again tonight. He had almost forgotten about Flamel. It didn't seem very important anymore. Who cared what the three headed dog was guarding? What did it matter if Snape stole it, really?

“Are you all right?” said Ron. “You look odd.”

What Harry feared most was that he might not be able to find the mirror room again. With Ron covered in the cloak, too, they had to walk much more slowly the next night. They tried retracing Harry's route from the library, wandering around the dark passageways for nearly an hour.

“I’m freezing,” said Ron. “Let’s forget it and go back.”

“No!” Harry hissed. “I know it’s here somewhere.”

They passed the ghost of a tall witch gliding in the opposite direction, but saw no one else. just as Ron started moaning that his feet were dead with cold, Harry spotted the suit of armor.

“It’s here – just here – yes!”

They pushed the door open. Harry dropped the cloak from around his shoulders and ran to the mirror.

There they were. His mother and father beamed at the sight of him.

“See?” Harry whispered.

“I can’t see anything.”

“Look! Look at them all... there are loads of them....”

“I can only see you.”

“Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am.”

Harry stepped aside, but with Ron in front of the mirror, he couldn't see his family anymore, just Ron in his paisley pajamas.

Ron, though, was staring transfixed at his image.

“Look at me!” he said.

“Can you see all your family standing around you?”

“No – I’m alone – but I’m different – I look older – and I'm head boy!”

“What?”

“I am – I’m wearing the badge like Bill used to – and I'm holding the house cup and the Quidditch cup – I'm Quidditch captain, too.”

Ron tore his eyes away from this splendid sight to look excitedly at Harry.

“Do you think this mirror shows the future?”

“How can it? All my family are dead – let me have another look –”

“You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time.”

“You’re only holding the Quidditch cup, what's interesting about that? I want to see my parents.”

“Don’t push me –”

A sudden noise outside in the corridor put an end to their discussion. They hadn't realized how loudly they had been talking.

“Quick!”

Ron threw the cloak back over them as the luminous eyes of Mrs. Norris came round the door. Ron and Harry stood quite still, both thinking the same thing – did the cloak work on cats? After what seemed an age, she turned and left.

“This isn’t safe – she might have gone for Filch, I bet she heard us. Come on.”

And Ron pulled Harry out of the room.

The snow still hadn't melted the next morning.

“Want to play chess, Harry?” said Ron.

“No.”

“Why don’t we go down and visit Hagrid?”

“No... you go…”

“I know what you’re thinking about, Harry, that mirror. Don't go back tonight.”

“Why not?”

“I dunno, I’ve just got a bad feeling about it -- and anyway, you've had too many close shaves already. Filch, Snape, and Mrs. Norris are wandering around. So what if they can’t see you? What if they walk into you? What if you knock something over?”

“You sound like Hermione.”

“I’m serious, Harry, don't go.”

But Harry only had one thought in his head, which was to get back in front of the mirror, and Ron wasn't going to stop him.

That third night he found his way more quickly than before. He was walking so fast he knew he was making more noise than was wise, but he didn't meet anyone.

And there were his mother and father smiling at him again, and one of his grandfathers nodding happily. Harry sank down to sit on the floor in front of the mirror. There was nothing to stop him from staying here all night with his family. Nothing at all.

Except –

“So – back again, Harry?”

Harry felt as though his insides had turned to ice. He looked behind him. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall was none other than Albus Dumbledore. Harry must have walked straight past him, so desperate to get to the mirror he hadn't noticed him.

“ – I didn’t see you, sir.”

“Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you,” said Dumbledore, and Harry was relieved to see that he was smiling.

“So,” said Dumbledore, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor with Harry, “you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised.”

“I didn’t know it was called that, Sir.”

“But I expect you’ve realized by now what it does?”

“It – well – it shows me my family –”

“And it showed your friend Ron himself as head boy.”

“How did you know –?”

“I don’t need a cloak to become invisible,” said Dumbledore gently. “Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?”

Harry shook his head.

“Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?”

Harry thought. Then he said slowly, “It shows us what we want... whatever we want…”

“Yes and no,” said Dumbledore quietly. “It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.”

“The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don’t you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?”

Harry stood up.

“Sir – Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?”

“Obviously, you've just done so,” Dumbledore smiled. “You may ask me one more thing, however.”

“What do you see when you look in the mirror?”

“I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks.”

Harry stared.

“One can never have enough socks,” said Dumbledore. “Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books.”

It was only when he was back in bed that it struck Harry that Dumbledore might not have been quite truthful. But then, he thought, as he shoved Scabbers off his pillow, it had been quite a personal question.