Harry was glad as he got up to leave. He thanked the gods that this world didn't really have mind reading magic. It would have been a disaster if there was. As he reached for the door, he stopped in his tracks.
Read mind?
Goddamn… Legilimency existed. And Dumbledore was a skilled Legilimens.
Doesn't that mean that Dumbledore knew that everything he had said so far was just lies. Oh boy…. He was in deep trouble.
"Is something the matter, Harry?" Dumbledore called out from behind.
Harry turned around to face Dumbledore, becoming paler by the second.
"Sir, there is something I want to tell you, but I don't know if I can."
"Well Harry, you can tell me anything you'd like."
"I'm just afraid that it might turn some future events, so I'm not sure yet."
Dumbledore peered into his eyes and then smiled. "Well Harry, then I believe it would be wise not to speak about it to anyone."
He knew.
He knew Harry had not told him the truth.
Dumbledore knew it.
"I understand sir."
"Well Harry, if in the future you want to tell me something, you already know my office and I'm pretty sure that with your magic you would be able to come up here even without a password", Dumbledore chuckled.
"Well, I believe you should get going now Harry, it's quite late," Dumbledore said as he looked at the watch on the side wall. "And remember… my door is always open."
Harry nodded and bid the Headmaster good night before walking out of the office. On his way back, Harry was thinking about what the first week would be like, while subconsciously letting his magical energy guide him to the Gryffindor common room. Once he was outside Fat Lady's portrait, he turned to face her.
"Password?" Fat lady asked.
Harry panicked. He didn't know what the password was and he had forgotten to ask Percy. "Well, I don't exactly have the password yet. Please give me a minute."
He smiled and let his magical energy seep into the portrait. His magical energy penetrated the portrait and snaked its way inside towards the enchantments and started poking around to look for the password. With a mental effort, Harry unraveled the enchantments. "Caput Draconis."
As this the portrait swung forward and Harry stepped into the Gryffindor common room for the first time. It was already deserted as everyone had gone up to bed. Taking the opportunity, he sank into one of the cozy armchairs near the fireplace. The room was silent, save for the occasional pop from the fire. He reached into his pouch, pulling out a few licorice wands and unwrapped one with practiced ease.
He nibbled on the sweet, his gaze drifting over the room. Everything about Hogwarts was enchanting. The warmth of the fire, the feeling that the castle itself was alive—it was all so much more than he had ever imagined. For the first time since he got to know that he could do magic, this was the only other time when his heart was literally about to burst out of his chest.
He took another bite of his liquorice wand, letting the sugary taste ground him in the present. The weight of his earlier meeting with Dumbledore still lingered, but for now, he allowed himself to simply enjoy the quiet. Tomorrow would bring its challenges, but tonight, he had this moment.
He quickly finished another liquorice wand before getting up from the armchair and heading up the stairs to his dormitory. He pushed open the door quietly, careful not to wake anyone. The room was dimly lit by the moonlight filtering through the windows. He saw Ron, Neville, Seamus, and Dead all fast asleep, their curtains drawn around their four poster beds.
Harry quickly pulled out his trunk from his pouch and put it on the rear end of his bed. He then proceeded to pull out a pair of velvet pyjamas and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower. Since he had an aversion towards hot things, even in a full blown snow storm, he would only use cold water. The reason for that is something he never really figured out, not that he really tried to anyway. After changing into his pyjamas, he padded softly back into the room.
With a casual flick of his hand, he cast a soundproofing charm on his bed, and then climbed in. Paired with the warm covers and the soft mattress, in mere minutes, Harry felt himself lost in the realms of dreams. Even though he hated hot things, he still liked warm blankets and covers. How in the hell that works… well go figure.
That night, Harry dreamed.
He found himself in a bizarre realm, surrounded by drifting clouds of multicolored mist and a vast expanse of darkness with distant flickering lights. The place was both alien and beautiful, humming with an energy he could feel in his bones. As he looked around, a faint slithering sound coming from behind him caught his attention. He turned around to look at what it was, and his breath caught in his throat.
A majestic, serpent-like creature glided towards him. Its scales shimmered with an ever-changing palette of iridescent colors, as though the very fabric of the cosmos was woven into his body. Its eyes, a luminous green, held an ancient wisdom—otherworldly almost. With every movement, the creature left trails of stardust in its wake.
The serpent halted before him, lowering its head until its gaze met his. Its gaze was curious, as if asking the question of how Harry got there. Harry on the other hand was rooted to the spot, as though time itself had paused. Then, the creature nudged his chest gently with its snout. The touch broke whatever spell had held him still.
Tentatively, Harry raised his hand to touch the serpent's glass-like scales, watching the swirling colors dance beneath its surface. Just as his fingertips were about to make contact, everything shattered.
Harry woke with a start to the sight of Ron shaking his shoulder. "Harry, wake up! It's morning. We've got to get ready."
He glared at Ron—he was just about to touch the creature.
"Oi, don't look at me that way. You sure you wanna miss the first breakfast at Hogwarts?"
"I was having a really good dream Ron and you woke me up before I got to the best part!" Harry grumbled as he threw back his covers.
Ron grumbled as he began rummaging through his trunk, "How was I supposed to know?" he muttered.
Harry shook his head and got up from the bed. "No worries, Ron. It's not like anyone expects you to predict the future."
After a quick shower, Harry returned feeling refreshed. Ron had managed to dress, though his shirt was slightly askew. Together, they made their way to the Great Hall. The room was alive with energy—the clinking of plates, the cheerful murmur of students, and the occasional flutter of owl wings delivering letters.
They sat at the Gryffindor table, piling their plates with breakfast, when Hermione appeared, her eyes bright with curiosity. "Morning, Harry. Morning, Ron."
"Morning, Hermione," Harry greeted with a grin. Ron mumbled through a mouthful of toast.
Hermione wasted no time. "Harry, that magic you did on the train—it was incredible! You didn't even use a wand. How did you do it?"
Harry chuckled and replied, "Oh come on now, Hermione. I already told you how I did it."
"Yeah, but that explanation doesn't make any sense. Can you teach me instead?" she replied.
Ron snorted. "Let him finish his breakfast first, Hermione. Not all of us fancy lectures at dawn."
Hermione shot Ron a glare. "Well, unlike someone, I'm really fascinated by such magical wonders."
Harry chuckled as he buttered his toast. These two are meant to banter, regardless of any difference in the story. They hardly know each other and they have already started bantering. He could already see the strengths they each brought to their small group. Hermione's sharp mind, Ron's loyalty and humor, and his own… well, whatever it was that made him different.
As they ate, which Harry did a bit extra, Ron asked Hermione about her Muggle family. And Harry noticed that their earlier banter almost disappeared as she eagerly shared stories about her parents and their dental practice. Ron listened with genuine interest, almost a rare occurrence when the topic was anything but quidditch. It was almost as if their banter was never there to begin with.
You know, when I see them like this… they seem almost perfect for each other. Although when I was reading the books, they seemed anything but that… No… even then they did belong together I guess…
Suddenly an idea sparked in his mind. He leaned forward putting his fork down. "Hey Hermione, Do you play chess?"
Hermione looked up at him and nodded, "Yes, my dad taught me. Why?"
Harry grinned. "I need your help. Ron's been destroying me at wizard chess forever. I need to beat him—just once, so that that damn brat can stop rubbing it in my face. Think you can help me?"
Hermione chuckled. "I didn't figure you to be weak at chess, Harry. Even though you are so adept at magic."
Harry shrugged. "Well I can't be good at everything now, can I?"
Hermione chuckled, "I do think you are… but whatever you say, Harry." Then she continued with a slight smirk. "So what are you planning?"
Harry was just about to tell her, when out of the corner of his eye he caught an explosion. BOOM! The loud bang echoed through the hall. Seamus Finnigan who had been trying to turn his water into rum, just found out something—how magic doesn't work. His goblet of water had exploded, leaving him with a blackened face, and a few others wet. And Hermione was one of the few, who unfortunately was in the splash radius.
The entire hall burst out laughing.
"Harry… Harry… Did you see that?" Ron gasped, almost doubling over in laughter.
Harry who was wiping tears of laughter, "Yes…" He was trying—really trying—to compose himself, when he made the mistake of gazing in the direction of Seamus. That blackened face with the gaping reaction. It killed him.
Moreover, when his gaze fell on Hermione he almost choked. Her bushy hair was plastered on her face and she was in disbelief of the sheer situation she found herself in, as if questioning every life choice that had led her to this exact moment.
Ron, who caught sight of her just as Harry did, doubled over again laughing like a maniac.
"Hermio…ne… you.. look like a wet cat!" he wheezed as he clutched onto his sides.
Harry, who was now trying to calm down, couldn't resist throwing one in. "A very grumpy… wet cat."
That finished Ron. He fell over, coughing through his laughter.
Hermione peeled her wet hair off her face, gave them both a death glare, and muttered. "Honestly, you two are insufferable."
After about a good five minutes, Harry and Ron calmed down, although they were doing everything to avoid looking at Hermione's face. Still snorting, Harry flicked his finger at Hermione, casting a drying spell that instantly dried her wet hair and clothes and put everything back to normal.
Hermione, feeling the warmth return to her now-dry robes, gave him a small nod of thanks, though her lips were pressed into a thin line. But even then, the corners of her mouth were twitching slightly—betraying the fact that she, too, found the situation more amusing than she let on.
Ron, wiping the last tears from his eyes and turned back to his breakfast as fast as lightning. Harry wasn't sure what to feel when he saw Ron stuffing his face again with food, when merely seconds ago he was rolling around in a fit of cough from laughing too much.
"You know… I never cease to be amazed by how much you like food Ron…" Harry said as he too turned back to his food.
Ron paused mid-bite, mouth still full. "It's a gift," he mumbled through his food earning an exasperated sigh from Hermione.
"You'll choke one day if you keep eating like that." she scolded.
Harry chuckled, spearing a piece of bacon with his fork. "I think choking is just part of his process."
Ron shot him a playful glare but grinned. "Better than starving like you two."
The rest of breakfast passed in relative peace, though every now and then something or the other would happen in the Great Hall, which kept them entertained. Eventually, the plates cleared themselves, and the trio made their way out of the Great Hall, blending into the steady flow of students heading towards their common rooms or exploring the castle.
A week quickly went by as the first years adjusted to their new lives at Hogwarts. They stumbled through their lessons, got lost in the endless maze of corridors, and began to learn which staircases liked to change direction without warning. Well at least all the other first-years except Harry, who used his magical energy to guide the trio correctly.
Every day brought something new—whether it was Peeves the poltergeist pelting students with chalk, or the Fat Lady in the Gryffindor Tower singing them a song before she'd let them in.
But through it all, one thing remained constant: the whispers.
"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?"
The murmurs followed Harry from the moment he stepped out of his dormitory. Students lining up outside classrooms craned their necks to catch a glimpse of him, while others doubled back to pass him again, eyes wide with curiosity.
"You're as famous as ever, Harry," Ron smirked one morning as they made their way to Transfiguration class. Hermione stifled a laugh beside him.
Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. 'I wish they'd stop. It's getting frustrating now."
"Maybe they're hoping you'll give them an autograph," Hermione teased.
"Don't give them any ideas, Hermione. If they hear that, I'll never be able to leave the dormitory," Harry groaned.
The three of them descended a winding staircase together. Navigating Hogwarts was proving to be an adventure in itself, unless Harry let his magical energy guide him. There were a hundred and forty-two staircases—some grand and sweeping, others narrow and creaky. A few led to different places depending on the day, and one had a vanishing step that Harry had already seen Neville fall through twice. Certain doors only opened if you asked politely, while others turned out to be nothing more than solid walls pretending to be doors.
Adding to the confusion, the portraits along the walls wandered from frame to frame, and from what Harry's magical senses told him, even the suits of armor weren't as stationary as they appeared.
In simpler words, the castle itself was nothing short of a prankster, enjoying the laughs it got from pranking anyone and everyone.
"Honestly, you'd think they'd give us a map," Ron grumbled as he narrowly avoided stepping onto a trick stair.
Hermione, however, like Harry, was enjoying the adventure. "That's part of the fun, Ron. It's all about learning to adapt."
Harry merely smiled. He did keep his magical energy on the outside so that they didn't wander off too much from their path, but didn't let it sense everything, apart from the general direction. As much as the castle could be a headache, it was incredibly fun.
After about ten minutes of walking, the trio entered the Transfiguration classroom. Almost everyone else was already seated, and they quickly took their usual spots. The classroom was filled with murmurs as students prepared their quills and parchment. Five minutes later, the room fell silent as Professor McGonagall strode in with her usual commanding presence.
Harry barely registered the start of the lesson. It was already their third Transfiguration class, and while he acknowledged McGonagall's skill, he couldn't help but feel a growing sense of boredom. After all, he had already completed all the syllabus Hogwarts would ever teach, and although it was fun to watch others try the spells, it quickly became boring since everyone seemed to keep making the same mistakes over and over again. His mind began to wander, drifting toward something far more intriguing.
For the past week, he had been dreaming of the same creature that he saw on his first night at Hogwarts, one that seemed to exist in space and beyond the scope of reality. His curiosity had driven him to the library, where he had spent hours poring over magical creature encyclopedias, rare bestiaries, and even books on ancient magical beings and folklores. But to his growing frustration, he had found nothing. Not a single mention of anything that resembled the being in his dreams. It was as if it didn't exist—or at least, no one had ever recorded it.
"..r. Potter! Mr. Potter!"
Harry blinked, snapped out of his thoughts by the sharp voice of Professor McGonagall. He looked up to find her standing right in front of his and Ron's desk, arms crossed, eyes keen with scrutiny.
"Yes, Professor?" he asked, straightening up.
"Would you mind paying attention to the lesson? Or do you believe Transfiguration is beneath your interest?" she asked, her tone crisp.
Harry winced slightly. "Sorry, Professor. I wasn't trying to be rude. I just… already know how to do this spell."
A murmur rippled through the class. McGonagall raised an eyebrow clearly intrigued.
"Oh? You mean to say you can successfully transfigure a matchstick into a needle?"
"Yes, Professor," Harry replied without hesitation. For him this was like the teacher asking him if he knew the letter 'a'.
McGonagall's gaze sharpened. "Then, by all means, demonstrate."
Harry nodded, picking up the matchstick from his desk. Without reaching for his wand, he focused, channeling his magic with a precise intent. Then the matchstick shimmered before seamlessly morphing into a perfectly formed silver needle.
The class fell utterly silent. Even Malfoy, who had been sneering from the other side, looked slightly stunned. Neville who was sitting on the other side couldn't help as his jaw went slack. Ron and Hermione knew something like this would happen and were beaming at Harry.
McGonagall studied the needle carefully, then looked at Harry with an unreadable expression. For a moment, it seemed as if she was deciding something.
"Well done, Mr. Potter," she finally said, her voice even but laced with intrigue. "A flawless transfiguration—ten points to Gryffindor."
She paused a second before adding, "Though next time, I would prefer your attention to remain on the lesson, rather than wandering elsewhere."
Harry nodded. "Yes, Professor."
As McGonagall moved on, Ron leaned in, whispering,, "Blimey, mate, you didn't even say the incantation."
Harry shrugged slightly, his thoughts already drifting back to the mysterious creature in his dreams.
By the end of the lesson, only Hermione and Harry had managed to successfully perform the transfiguration. Hermione's matchstick had turned silver and became all pointy at the end, but the texture and grain of the wood remained stubbornly unchanged. She pursed her lips in frustration, determined to perfect it.
As the trio gathered their belongings and prepared to leave, Professor McGonagall's voice called out.
"Mr. Potter, a word."
Harry exchanged glances with Ron and Hermione. "Save me a seat at lunch," he said before turning back.
McGonagall waited until the last student had left before she spoke again, her sharp eyes studying Harry carefully.
"You performed wandless Transfiguration with remarkable ease, Mr. Potter," she said, folding her hands behind her back. "While I do not condone students using wandless magic so freely, I cannot ignore the fact that what you did was… extraordinary."
Harry remained silent, waiting for her to continue.
"Wandless magic is volatile, even for the most skilled wizards," she went on. "It requires precise control, and there is always the risk of a spell backfiring. I trust you understand why I am advising you to use your wand in class?"
Harry met her gaze, his expression calm. "I appreciate the concern, Professor, but I don't have trouble controlling it. I can cast any spell wandlessly without issue."
McGonagall's lips pressed into a thin line. "Any spell?"
Harry nodded. "Yes, any and every spell."
She studied him for a long moment, as if trying to gauge whether he was being arrogant or simply stating a fact.
"Even so," she said at last, "I would strongly recommend that you use your wand in front of others. A wand serves as a stabilizing conduit, and—"
Harry shook his head. "It's not that I don't want to use it, Professor. It's just… my wand is different. Special, in a way. I haven't had the time to properly understand it yet."
McGonagall's brow furrowed slightly at that. "Different how?"
Harry sighed, "It will be easier to just show you."
He reached into his robe and pulled out his wand—Elythral. The wand still had that ethereal glow to it—unnatural yet comforting, it's warmth almost tangible. He placed it gently on McGonagall's desk. Then, he retrieved the aged scroll that had accompanied it and handed it to her.
McGonagall's sharp gaze flickered between Harry and the wand before settling on the latter, a strange gleam in her eyes. Even without touching it, she could feel the power radiating from it—a quiet hum of energy, warm yet commanding.
Instinctively, she raised her hand, fingers inching toward the wand's surface.
"NOOO—Professor, don't touch it!" Harry shouted out.
McGonagall halted, looking at him with a mixture of surprise and mild disapproval. Wordlessly, she unrolled the scroll and began reading.
The classroom remained silent as her eyes moved swiftly across the parchment. Then, she inhaled sharply.
The scroll described Elythral in intricate detail—its unique core, the fusion of magical elements that defied conventional wand lore, and the implications of its sentience. It wasn't just powerful; it transcended even the Elder Wand in potential. A wand without a master, yet one that had chosen.
McGonagall's usual stern expression softened, giving way to something rare—reverence. Closing the scroll with deliberate care, she placed it back in Harry's hands.
"I see now, Mr. Potter," she said quietly. "It seems you must take time to study this wand before you fully wield it."
Harry nodded, slipping the scroll and Elythral back into his robes. He could tell McGonagall had more questions, but she chose not to voice them.
"Now, off to lunch with you," she instructed, regaining her usual composure. "Your friends will be waiting."
Harry gave a small smile and turned to leave. As he walked out of the classroom, he glanced down at his wand hand. He had almost forgotten about the wand, relying entirely on his wandless magic. But now, he realized he couldn't afford to ignore it any longer.