Chapter 2: Year One, Part 1

"Show me your ticket, Harry."

Having heard that request four times already, he had it on hand. "Here, Aunt Petunia."

She scrutinized the piece of paper anew as if expecting something to have changed. "Platform Nine and Three-Quarters," she read. "Three-Quarters, that makes no sense!"

A step behind them, Uncle Vernon grunted in agreement. As he huffed and puffed from having circled Platform Nine several times, somebody crashed into his back, and he turned about as quickly as his girth allowed. "Watch where you're going!"

A little girl jumped backwards. "Eek!"

A middle-aged man—her father, judging from the matching hair colors—caught her by the shoulders and gave the Dursley patriarch a polite smile. "Sorry about my daughter, sir."

Vernon grunted again, paying the pair no more heed. Harry, however, trailed them with his eyes until the two rejoined their family. As the uniformly red-haired group was trooping away, he heard the mother scold her daughter for running ahead.

"It's not my fault, Mum! That Muggle was enormous..."

Harry's eyes widened at the term, and he glanced at his guardians. Vernon seemed oblivious, but Petunia had clearly noticed as well.

"I suppose I could go ask them," she whispered, looking positively terrified at the thought.

"What? Pet, you don't mean those people are also—that sort?" Vernon sent the family a belated glare.

She nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm going," she declared in a tone that suggested she was about to do something life-threatening.

Before either of the males could say anything, Petunia squared her shoulders and strode towards the boisterous group. Harry watched her approach a plump woman and exchange a few words, then point back at him. The entire family eyed him for a moment, and he ducked his head. Both Vernon and he breathed easier when Petunia returned; Harry's uncle even hugged her in a rare show of affection.

"The woman's name is Weaselly. She said there was a m-magical barrier, and that she'd show you how to get through." Petunia took a steadying breath and gave Harry a hug. "Be good. Don't do anything dangerous."

Uncle Vernon clapped him on the shoulder, looking eager to put as much distance between himself and anything of 'that sort' as possible. "Good luck, nephew."

"Thanks," Harry said, taken aback by the hasty farewells. "Goodbye, Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon."

He watched Vernon usher his wife across the platform until he lost them in the mass of commuters. A little uneasily, Harry began dragging his trunk towards the wizarding family.

He hauled his trunk down the train, pressing against the wall whenever anyone passed by. Having escaped the rambunctious gingers, he instantly found himself in a new predicament.

Oh, the Weasleys had shown him how to get to the platform, all right. They also asked him a million questions after finding out he was 'the Harry Potter', half of which he couldn't make heads or tails of. He even got scolded by the mother for swearing, but who could blame him? It's not every day one saw a pair of gangly teenagers run head-first into a wall and vanish instead of cracking their skulls open. Incidentally, none of the Muggles had paid them any attention whatsoever.

He got away from the fussy matron by climbing onto the Hogwarts Express, an old-fashioned steam train, only to find that it was absolutely teeming with ebullient young witches and wizards. All of whom were taller than Harry, and all of whom knew one another—or so it appeared, at least. Nobody paid him much heed, but he still kept his head low to hide his scar.

Raucous conversations abounded around him. His luggage seemed to be growing heavier by the minute, and he was barely making progress. He wanted nothing more than to hole up somewhere quiet, but all the compartments thus far had been taken, and he dreaded having to introduce himself to a bunch of older kids. He was starting to feel dizzy.

Suddenly, his eyes landed on a floating trunk following its owner like an obedient dog. He gaped at the sight, then released a tremulous breath. These people were all magical—and so was Harry. He belonged here.

Heartened by the thought, he trudged on, and eventually stumbled upon an empty compartment. Dragging his luggage in, he abandoned the notion of lifting it up to the overhead rack as futile, and collapsed on the exceptionally comfortable bench.

"Can I sit here?"

Harry turned and nodded in resignation. The newcomer looked about his age and was slightly shorter for a change. He had straw-colored hair and wore jeans and a T-shirt, which was downright mundane compared to the outlandish outfits Harry had glimpsed on the platform.

The boy pointed at Harry's fancy trunk. "Need a hand with that?"

Their combined effort was just enough to hoist both of their trunks onto the luggage rack. Harry made a mental note to learn the floating spell to make this easier in the future.

"Phew." The kid extended his hand. "Name's Anthony Goldstein, but everyone calls me Tony."

"Harry Potter," he said cautiously, shaking the proffered hand.

Anthony raised his eyebrows. "Like, that famous Harry Potter? My mum says you're some sort of a hero."

Harry grimaced. "Not really."

"Ah, well—sorry." The blond rubbed the back of his neck. "Bet you get that a lot."

"Not really," he repeated. "I had no clue I was a wizard until a few months ago."

"Huh. Well, there's probably lots of Muggleborn joining, so no worries." Tony plopped down on the seats. "Me, I'm what they call a halfblood. My mum's a witch, but we live in a regular house and everything. She says purebloods don't even have electricity, can you imagine?"

Harry's eyes popped out. "Seriously? What do they do for light and heating? Don't they need dishwashers and vacuum cleaners and stuff?"

"Oh, they have spells for those things. Rather handy ones, too—Mum uses them around the kitchen, although she always makes me do things by hand."

Harry could relate, thinking that a spell for peeling potatoes would've made his childhood a lot more enjoyable.

"No, it's worse than not having dishwashers," Tony continued, seemingly on a roll now. "They don't have computers nor internet. No game consoles, no tellies, no smartphones... Mum says they have radio, but there's only one station and it plays lame wizard music."

Harry shook his head. "That's horrible. Why would anybody do that to themselves?"

"Most of them are centuries behind the times," the boy explained. "And too much magic is bad for electronics, or so I hear. It's why none of it works around Hogwarts."

"It's worth it though, isn't it? Magic." Harry grinned at the thought that all the incredible stuff he'd seen so far was only the beginning. "I still can't believe it's real. Three months ago I'd have said aliens or giant robots were more likely."

"Oh yeah, giant robots? What kind?"

"Er... you know." He shifted in his seat, unsure if he was about to be made fun of. "The kind you pilot."

Tony leaned forward. "Gundam or Macross?"

Harry's sincere grin threatened to split his cheeks.

The first-years milled about the chamber, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Their imminent Sorting was the subject of a heated debate; the majority expected a magical test of some kind, although the 'wrestling a troll' theory proposed by a familiar ginger had a number of ardent supporters.

Not everybody appeared skittish: a pale kid with slicked-back hair boasted knowing exactly what the ceremony entailed. Flanked by two other boys who rivaled Dudley in size, he kept shooting the people around him haughty looks and snorting at their wild speculations. This didn't pass unnoticed by the Weasley boy, whose face grew as red as his hair as he glared at the trio. Harry inched away from the brewing conflict and settled at the edge of the crowd.

McGonagall returned before things could get out of hand, and led the suddenly quiet children out of the chamber and into the Great Hall. The place was well-deserving of its name; Harry reckoned his entire home would have fit in here twice over. The presence of magic was evident in the countless floating candles and the high ceiling which reflected the night sky.

Harry caught himself gawking and ducked his head when he realized that there were hundreds of students seated at four huge tables, all staring at the first-years. Then a scruffy hat began singing, and his jaw dropped again. He barely processed the meaning behind the lyrics, when McGonagall began calling them forward to be Sorted.

"Wait," Harry hissed, "it's going to look inside my head?" He looked around frantically, then froze when he saw the deputy headmistress glaring at him.

He watched the others undergo the ritual with increasing nervousness, absently noting that his new acquaintance, Anthony, went to Ravenclaw. His turn came all too soon, and he stepped forward on shaky legs, cringing at the commotion which started after McGonagall read his name.

Eager to hide from the stares, Harry sat on the stool and covered his head with the wide-brimmed hat. Only then did he remember that his mind was about to be read. His hand twitched as he suppressed the impulse to pull the hat off.

"Stop fretting," a mellow voice said in his head. "Those urges are perfectly normal for a boy your age."

Harry perked up. "Really? Even... that?"

"Seen it before. Yep, that too. You're not that special," the Hat drawled. "Look, I'm not here to play your therapist. Relax and let me do my job."

Harry exhaled, calmed by the Hat's nonchalant attitude. Whatever the magical artifact did to look inside his head, he didn't feel a thing, and it was over in a few moments.

"An inquiring if not particularly studious mind. A desire to make friends tempered by a high degree of self-sufficiency. Hmm... quite an ambition, and not one I've encountered in an eleven-year-old's head before." The Hat sounded interested now. "I guess you are somewhat special."

Harry pouted, getting the impression that he was being mocked. "It's every man's dream."

"You have peculiar taste in role models, Mr. Potter," the Hat said dryly. "Now, where shall I put you?"

"You're asking me?"

"Your house will be your home for the next seven years. Of course you get a say."

He shifted on the stool to get more comfortable and furrowed his brows. All he knew of the Hogwarts houses was a couple of lines from the Hat's song. He'd just have to trust it to make the right choice.

"I want to do my own thing in peace," Harry said, recalling the hazing he was subjected to in primary school. "Maybe somewhere with fewer jocks."

"That matches my evaluation nicely, Mr. Potter. A house for freethinkers, one where you can pursue your interests without undue judgement. I daresay you will be welcome at Ravenclaw!"

He nearly fell off the stool when the Sorting Hat shouted the last word out loud. Taking it off, he made his way to the Ravenclaw table, ears ringing from the thunderous applause. He lost count of the handshakes and claps on the back he received from his new housemates before reaching an empty seat next to a grinning Tony. Harry smiled shakily in return.

After the remaining kids were Sorted, Dumbledore stood to make a nonsensical speech which ended about ten seconds later to another round of applause. An older student at their table jotted the ostensibly random words down on a napkin.

"That made about as much sense as Evangelion's ending," Harry said weakly. "Was it some kind of a code?"

Tony snorted. "That old man is high as a kite."

After the feast and a raucous, off-tune rendition of the school song (the highlight being an older Gryffindor's lousy attempt at rapping), they were bid goodnight by the headmaster and led to the Ravenclaw tower by two prefects. One was a lanky, fidgety boy named Robert Hilliard, and the other a standoffish girl who didn't introduce herself, looking like she'd rather be anywhere else. The trek up the tower wasn't exactly short, and many kids were out of breath by the time they reached their destination.

Hilliard pointed at an eagle-shaped knocker on the polished wooden door. "The entrance to the common room is protected by a password to make sure only house members can enter. Observe."

He knocked once, and a cool voice asked, "Password?"

"Two—Five—C—Hash—Seven—J—X—Zero," Hilliard recited.

"Password approved," the voice said, and the door swung inwards.

"Our house is awesome," Harry breathed.

The first-years exchanged unsure glances, and the one Harry recalled was named Michael Corner raised his hand. "Do we have to remember all that?"

"Yes, naturally—you there, don't write it down!" Robert jumped towards a girl who had a piece of paper out and seized it, causing her to squeak. "That would defeat the purpose!"

"Come off it, Hilliard," the female prefect said. "I told you to make the password simple, yet here you are with your ridiculous ideas again. We're changing it to 'raven's wit'."

Robert puffed up. "And I told you that passwords like that are vulnerable to dictionary attacks. It took Lysander and me less than an hour to break into the Hufflepuff common room using a Webster's Third we enchanted."

The girl rolled her eyes. "You dolts are the only ones in the castle who'd waste time on something like that. Come on—'raven's wit'."

Wilting under his partner's glare, the lanky boy nodded. The two prefects tapped the bronze knocker on each side with their wands and whispered something.

"Password changed," the voice announced.

"Get inside, I'll show you to your dorms," the female prefect ordered. "We've wasted enough time as it is."

"I thought your password was cool," Harry said as he walked past the dispirited Hilliard, who gave him a surprised grin.

The common room was tall and airy, with smooth stone walls rising up to a domed ceiling dotted with stars. An enormous fireplace cast a warm glow on the polished wood of the tables and armchairs arranged around the perimeter. The furniture was upholstered in blue and featured bronze accents, looking posh and formidable, like something one would find in a centuries-old mansion. The statue of a regal woman and the shelves brimming with ancient tomes only reinforced the image.

They didn't get to gawk for long. The grouchy prefect whose name Harry still didn't know separated them by gender and marched the girls through a large wooden door. Hilliard did the same with the boys, guiding the five towards an identical entrance on the opposite side of the tower. They found themselves on a narrow spiral staircase, climbing down and passing several doors until they arrived at one helpfully marked with the Roman numeral 'I'.

"Get some sleep and be in the common room by seven-thirty," Robert said, opening the door. "We're going to run an orientation."

Potions was starting in five minutes, and Harry had to double back to the dorms for the cauldron (pewter, size 2) he'd forgotten in his trunk.

"Hurry up!" Anthony groused.

"Er... mind giving me some privacy?" Harry asked, his face heating up.

Goldstein looked at him incredulously. "What do you have in there, pony plushies? Stop being a prat and get your stupid cauldron."

"Fine." Gripping the handle, he mumbled the password, yet his trunk stubbornly remained locked.

Tony shuffled his feet impatiently. "Get a move on!"

"Ow, bloody thing pricked me," Harry said in a monotone.

The trunk opened with a click, and he stooped to dig out his cauldron. He locked his belongings again and left the room, purposely not looking at his friend.

"I see you have one of those fancy two-factor security trunks," Tony said gleefully when he caught up.

Harry grunted, maintaining his brisk pace.

Anthony had the largest and most annoying smirk on his face. "Cool, cool. What you said earlier, that was your password, wasn't it?"

"Uh huh."

"Which you can't change, because the blood binding is permanent."

Harry sighed. "Evidently."

"That's priceless!" Bracing against the wall, Tony broke down in laughter. "So when it took a sample of your blood, you..."

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's not that funny. Let's go, we still have to find the classroom." They were running late as it was. He just hoped the professor was going to be sympathetic towards new students.

After they sprinted down the moving staircases and entered the dreary dungeons, Harry had to revise his initial assessment. They weren't just going to be late: at this rate, they were going to miss half the class. The place was a damned labyrinth, and wizards apparently disdained door signs.

Harry was getting desperate, so when he spied another student in the corridor ahead, he immediately raced after her.

"Wait—please," he gasped at the older girl.

"Yes?" She raised one eyebrow imperiously. Her tie was in Slytherin colors, and her black robes featured a shiny silver badge.

"We were hoping you could show us the way to the Potions classroom," Anthony said, sounding only a bit out of breath. Harry glanced at him enviously, gulping down air.

The girl smirked, her brown eyes glinting in the torchlight. "First-years, are you? You better hurry, Professor Snape despises tardiness. Follow this corridor"—she indicated the hallway behind her—"take the first right, then turn left at the stairs. The second door is the one you need."

"Thanks!" the boys shouted, and took off.

They followed the instructions to the letter, reaching the poorly lit hallway in a minute. Harry took a deep breath, knocked on the door, and entered.

"Sorry we're late..." he began, then blinked. The room was dark, dusty, and quite empty.

"That bitch," Anthony swore.

After a disastrous, if brief, Potions lesson which cost him and Tony at least fifty points apiece (he'd been too dazed to keep track of the deductions) Harry was eager to get as far away from the dungeons as possible. Thankfully, the next class, Charms, took place in an airy classroom on one of the upper floors.

He paused at the threshold to catch his breath. Stonework and high windows aside, the worn double desks wouldn't have looked out of place in an ordinary school. As he was one of the first to arrive, he could pick the spot he liked. Most of the window seats were free... except for the second-to-last one.

Harry groaned. After some deliberation, he walked up to the bored-looking ginger he recognized from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

"Um, hey. I don't suppose you could give me this seat?"

The Weasley boy narrowed his eyes. "What? Why?"

"It's hard to explain," Harry said, "but my future depends on it."

"You barmy or something?"

"Look, it makes no difference to you, does it?" Harry stuck his hands into his pockets, then paused as he got a flash of inspiration. "I could pay you."

Weasley bristled. "Do I look like a charity case? Jog on."

"Shit, I didn't mean..." Harry raked his hand through his hair. How was he going to explain the laws of anime to a pureblood wizard?

Weasley gaped at Harry's forehead. "Hold on, aren't you Harry Potter?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Wicked! Wait till my brothers hear about it." The boy smiled goofily, his earlier ire forgotten. "I'm Ron, Ron Weasley."

Harry shook his hand. "Alright, Ron."

"You can have the window seat—if I can sit next to you?" He sounded unduly hopeful.

Harry grinned at having secured his main character status. "Sure, why not."

After conceding his seat, Ron proceeded to question him. He looked disappointed to learn that Harry hadn't been battling dragons nor training under master Aurors (whatever those were) before starting Hogwarts. It seemed that the legend of the Boy-Who-Lived was even more famous than McGonagall had hinted at, with his sheltered childhood being a popular gossip topic.

Ron was a fount of knowledge about the wizarding world, his family being one of those isolated traditionalists whose understanding of technology was at a Middle Age level. While his constant prattling distracted Harry from the lesson, he didn't mind too much, and neither did Professor Flitwick.

The Head of House Ravenclaw proved to be the exact opposite of Professor Snape in that he didn't demand silence in the classroom and was generous in awarding points. He only gave a short lecture before handing out feathers to levitate and jumping right to practice.

"That looks brand new," Ron said, eyeing Harry's wand. "What's it made of?"

"Pine and... dragon."

Ron raised his eyebrows. "Dragon what?"

"Just dragon," Harry said firmly.

Ron frowned but didn't pursue the topic. "Must be nice to have a matched one. Mine's a hand-me-down from my brother, Charlie. I don't think it has much life left in it." He demonstrated by making his feather wobble feebly.

Harry went through the swish-and-flick motion a couple times before taking a deep breath. "Wingardium Leviosa," he intoned, feeling a bit silly.

It took all he had not to whoop when the feather rose steadily, following his wand movements. There was no fanfare, no fancy light effects; it simply responded to his will.

"Splendid, Mr. Potter, just splendid! Five points to Ravenclaw," Professor Flitwick exclaimed, popping up next to their desk.

Harry grinned. The feather floated down at his lapse in concentration, but he knew he could do it again.

"On your first try, too." Ron sounded a tad bitter. "Oh well, you're the Boy-Who-Lived. It's a given."

"Maybe it is," he said with wonder. It would certainly be hero-like to have a natural gift for magic.

The rest of the lessons passed without notable incidents. He learned to turn matchsticks into needles, repot some sort of a magical parsley, recognize the three largest constellations of the night sky, and fly an actual broomstick. The last activity was surprisingly fun, and Harry resolved to buy his own broom next year.

The routine helped him accustom to the school. Sure, Hogwarts was a lot more exciting than the Muggle primary he used to attend, but there were also lessons, homework, and teachers who all had different opinions on how a classroom should be run. Some were amiable and supportive, while others demanded strict discipline.

The Potions professor was definitely the second type. That alone wouldn't have been so bad, but he also seemed to hold a grudge against Harry in particular, as he soon discovered.

After the ill-fated first lesson, he made sure to arrive early and follow the brewing instructions to the letter. That didn't prevent the professor from making snide remarks and docking points for things Harry couldn't have possibly known he was doing wrong. The latest lesson was no different, and he almost leapt towards the exit when it finally ended.

Tony caught up and clapped him on his back. "Does Snape know you from somewhere? I know we were late that one time, but damn."

Harry shook his head. "Haven't a clue what his problem is."

"You should talk to Flitwick," Tony suggested. "What he's doing can't be fair."

"I don't know... I still have at least five years with that git, and tattling on him might make it even worse."

"Well, you should do something," Terry Boot said from behind. "You've lost us a hundred points already."

Harry gritted his teeth and kept moving.

Potions aside, Harry was doing quite well, even compared to students who'd known about magic their whole lives. Sure, he might've been ignorant about things that were common knowledge in the wizarding world, but the lessons were designed to teach spellwork from scratch, so even the Muggleborn weren't at a huge disadvantage.

While the purebloods topped the rankings Flitwick put up as a way to motivate his Ravenclaws, Harry was often above average himself. Magic was still fresh to him, and he put his all into doing even those assignments others found tedious and dull.

The coursework wasn't too difficult, and he soon found himself with lots of free time on his hands. For a while, he practiced the Leviosa, annoying the older Ravenclaws by levitating everything in the common room that wasn't affixed to the floor, but the novelty eventually wore off. His limited repertoire of spells was a problem.

This led to Harry coming up with the notion of a study group. The more he thought of it, the better it seemed: not only could they help one another learn all sorts of awesome spells, but a bunch of pretty girls would inevitably join, and the rosy school life of his dreams would be within reach. He pondered how he could make it a reality before selling the idea to Tony, and the two started spreading the word.

"Bigger turnout than we expected," Tony remarked.

That was an understatement: it seemed like half the school had assembled in the library for their first meeting. There weren't enough chairs, and the students milled all over the place, only giving Madam Pince's desk a wide berth.

For a moment, Harry considered turning tail and running, but the people at the outskirts had already noticed his approach. Squaring his shoulders, he started squeezing through the throng, Tony following at a distance. Once he was in the middle of the packed library, he stood on his tiptoes and cleared his throat.

"Um, who's here for the study group?" He gulped at the unanimous show of hands. "Okay, we can make this work. Transfiguration homework's an essay, so we'll do that first—"

"Homework? I heard Harry Potter would be teaching magic," said an unfamiliar Gryffindor boy.

Harry blinked. "I am getting handy with Mending and Levitation Charms, I suppose..."

The boy scoffed. "First-year spells? Weren't you trained by the Unspeakables?"

"Blimey, you must be daft to believe that Quibbler shite," someone said, eliciting laughter from the crowd and making the Gryffindor blush.

"Quiet!" Madam Pince snapped.

Harry was cottoning on to the fact that he was in over his head. People were getting rowdy, and now that he took a closer look, many of them were clearly older than eleven. He rubbed his temples.

"Look, I only want to form a first-year club for helping each other with homework."

"What about third-years?" asked a spotty-faced Hufflepuff witch seated at one of the tables.

He threw his hands up in frustration. "What about them?"

"Wanker," the girl murmured.

This resulted in more peals of laughter, and Madam Pince finally had enough.

"That's it! If you're not going to behave, get out!" She raised her wand, producing a shrill whistle which made those closest to her desk cover their ears and flee.

"Wait," Harry said weakly, but it was too late. Crestfallen, he watched as the crowd streamed out of the library, nearly jumping when bony fingers squeezed his shoulder.

"Hold your meetings elsewhere in the future, Mr. Potter," the librarian said.

He wilted under her stern look. "Yes, Madam Pince."

Keeping his gaze on the floor, he headed for the exit. Most of the students had scattered, but a few still lingered in the corridor outside.

"Well, that was a waste of my time," a scrawny boy wearing a Hufflepuff tie said loudly.

Terry Boot nodded. "Hear, hear."

Harry winced and hurried past, not looking them in the eye.

After the fruitless first meeting of his study group—or perhaps gawk-at-Potter-and-make-noise group would be more accurate—Harry was understandably discouraged, yet he didn't drop the idea. Anime protagonists always started meeting cute girls after joining a club, so he just had to keep at it. Maybe aiming a bit lower was the key.

He decided to limit it to Ravenclaw, which would allow them to practice magic in the common room and not stretch his organizational skills too much. The house's private library, meager as it was, would be an added benefit. Thus, he built up his courage and approached his classmates one by one.

"I can read whenever I want, why do we need a club?"

"Who's going to teach us? You didn't invite any older students, did you?"

"Won't this flop like last time?"

Suffice to say, most of his housemates were skeptical, and Harry could hardly blame them once he realized he didn't have good answers to their questions. Yet with Tony's help, he somehow managed to rope two more people into joining: the pureblooded Terry Boot, and a pint-sized girl of Asian heritage named Su Li. They claimed a table under one of the tower's arched windows as their gathering place.

"Any suggestions on what we should work on first, Su?" Harry gallantly asked the sole female of their group.

The girl gave him an unreadable glance and shook her head.

"Er, well..." He floundered to the obvious amusement of the other two boys. "Let's go over our Transfiguration essays, then."

To Harry's pleasant surprise, his idea worked out fairly well. He learned many things that weren't taught in class, but every child growing up in a magical household knew and took for granted. He even contributed by demonstrating a few basic charms that the others had trouble with; the subject came easy for him, to Flitwick's endless delight.

Su rarely said a word outside academic subjects—and even then, her sentences were laconic to the point of being cryptic—but Harry was getting used to her quiet presence. From what he could gather, she was homeschooled by her wizard father, so to her first-year curriculum was more like revision. She single-handedly improved the group's grades by going over their essays and making corrections in the margins in her tidy script. Harry felt guilty every time this happened, and his later assignments tended to be better-researched and written in more comprehensible penmanship. Su didn't show any outward reaction to the change, but Harry was oddly pleased when she didn't spend as much time fixing his essays.

Tony was quickly becoming his best friend; he had a knack for explaining wizarding terms in plain language, and was one of Harry's few connections to the Muggle world. The two often compared real magic concepts to those found in Muggle media, marveling at the differences and similarities. Unfortunately, discussions of this nature peeved the fourth member of the group, so they tried to keep them to a minimum. Sometimes, they slipped up.

"This won't get you anywhere," Terry snapped as he watched Harry and Tony cross-reference magical plants with the effects of the potions they were used in. Harry had jokingly asked if Potions was anything like alchemy in The Elder Scrolls—a theory Tony was eager to check. "We ought to be memorizing formulas instead—you know, things which actually get us grades."

"But I want to know how it works!" Harry whinged.

"You're not going to discover the principles behind potion ingredient interactions on your own, Potter, and certainly not from some silly Muggle game." Terry shook his head. "Count me out of this."

Harry glumly watched the boy walk away. Terry was a bit uptight, but you couldn't deny his knowledge of magic.

The diminished group underwent another trial when Padma Patil approached them during one of their meetings. She appraised Harry and Tony sourly before addressing Su.

"Li, why are you always helping these two? Come and study with me and Liz. We can pull our own weight."

While irritated by the implication, Harry found himself turning towards the taciturn girl in curiosity. If he was being truthful, she didn't benefit from their association as much as he and Tony did.

There was a silence, just long enough for it to get awkward, before Su answered. "Anthony is fourth in our year at Transfiguration, and Harry second at Charms." Her gaze darted fleetingly to the boys in question. "They have interesting perspectives."

"Is that so," Padma said thoughtfully, and walked away.

The next evening, she came over and clumsily asked for help with her Charms essay. Harry was overjoyed, yet he had a hard time striking up conversation with their new member. Padma considered the two boys to be weirdos—and perhaps they were, from a pureblood's perspective—so he wanted to at least make her less wary around them. Unfortunately, no matter what he said, he ended up putting his foot in his mouth.

"Hey, Padma, I heard you had a sister in Gryffindor," he picked what he figured was a safe topic. "Praverti... Pavarotti... Perv—"

"Parvati," Padma enunciated, giving him a glare. Tony snickered, earning one for himself.

"Right, sorry," Harry said. "So, what's up with that? I thought siblings were usually Sorted into the same house."

"I'm nothing like my sister," she said vehemently.

Harry drew back in his seat. "Uh, sorry?"

"If we're not going to work, I'm leaving." Padma got up and stormed off.

Harry watched her retreating back, wondering what on earth he'd done wrong. Girls were difficult. How did harem protagonists manage it?

"I met Parvati on the train," Su said, startling him out of his woolgathering. "She wasn't very interested in studying."

Harry took some time to parse that statement. So Padma was the bookish type, while her sister was an airhead.

"I think I understand now," he said.

"P-P-Potter, a word?"

Harry sighed and turned, the other pupils stepping around him to leave. "Yes, professor?"

Professor Quirrel was one of his least favorite teachers. Not only was the man afraid of his own shadow, the smell of garlic pervading his classroom invariably gave Harry splitting headaches. He'd even gone to the school nurse to see if he had an allergy, but she seemed to think he was trying to skive off.

"I heard y-you started a st-study club." The turbaned professor gave him a wan smile. "Interested in learning n-new magic? I could t-teach you some Defense spells."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "Thanks, sir, but why me?"

Quirrel chuckled. "Many educators would k-kill to be able to say that they had a h-hand in mentoring t-the Boy-Who-Lived."

Harry inclined his head. "Alright."