The sun filtered through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, casting a warm golden hue over the long House tables. The smell of roasted tomatoes, buttered toast, and pumpkin juice wafted through the air as students began their first proper morning at Hogwarts.
Harry sat at the Gryffindor table with Neville and Seamus, enjoying a peaceful breakfast. Hermione soon joined them, already scanning through her schoolbook while sipping her tea.
"I wonder what our first class will be," Hermione said eagerly, flipping a page. "I've read that Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration class is very advanced. They say it's one of the most difficult branches of magic."
Neville looked nervous, poking his scrambled eggs. "What if we mess it up? What if we turn something into a rat or… or worse?"
Harry smiled, "Relax, Neville. That's why we're here—to learn."
At that moment, Professor McGonagall herself walked along the table, handing out timetables. When she reached Harry, she gave a brief nod before moving on.
"Don't be late to your classes," she added crisply as she passed.
Harry looked down at his schedule.
First Class: Transfiguration Second Class: Potions
Transfiguration: Sparks of Surprise
The classroom for Transfiguration was filled with polished desks and the stern presence of Professor McGonagall at the front. She stood straight, wand in hand.
"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she began. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not return."
With a swift flick of her wand, she turned her desk into a pig, then back again. The class gasped.
They were soon given their first task: transform a matchstick into a needle.
Harry focused, calling on his fine control over minor magic. Thanks to the Phoenix Force and knowledge from the Library, his wand moved gracefully, and within moments, his matchstick shimmered and morphed perfectly into a silver needle.
Professor McGonagall approached, inspecting it with a raised eyebrow. "Impressive, Mr. Potter. Very neat work for a first-year."
She turned to the class. "Ten points to Gryffindor."
Hermione stared, wide-eyed, then set her jaw with determination and refocused on her own matchstick.
Transfiguration always felt natural, Harry thought. Maybe it's the Phoenix Force... or maybe something else entirely.
Potions: Shadows Beneath the Surface
The cold dungeons held a different atmosphere altogether. Dim lighting and a faint scent of damp stone filled the air. Students sat at their cauldrons, whispering nervously.
Then the door opened.
Professor Snape glided into the room like a dark shadow, robes billowing, his gaze sharp and cold. He didn't speak at first—just strolled to the front of the class and began roll call.
When he reached Harry's name, his voice drew out slightly. "Ah… Harry Potter. Our… celebrity."
A few students chuckled quietly. Harry said nothing.
Snape's eyes narrowed.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began in his silky voice. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic…"
Then, his black eyes darted back to Harry. "Potter. What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry answered calmly, "A sleeping potion so powerful it's called the Draught of Living Death."
Snape tilted his head. "Correct. And where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"
"In the stomach of a goat," Harry replied.
"And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
"They're the same plant, also known as aconite."
There was silence in the room.
Snape blinked, but said nothing for a moment. Then he turned to the class.
"Well? Why aren't you all writing that down?"
Quills immediately scratched against parchment.
Harry, politely, added, "Thank you, Professor."
Several students turned to look at him in confusion. No one ever thanked Snape.
Snape's lips thinned. "Five points from Gryffindor for speaking out of turn."
The class groaned softly, but Harry just smiled faintly. Yeah, that tracks.