Chapter 6: Moderation in All Things

One of the best thing about the Ravenclaw house, besides having a library in our common room, older students willing to lend you a hand in your studies and being the house of your truly, is that we are of the two houses in this castle that offer its students individual rooms.

This feature offers a much-needed privacy, and reduces the risks of being cursed in your sleep. The latter is a real risk in the house where academic success must be achieved at all costs, including at the depends of your fellow housemates.

It was thus in a small room decorated in elegant blue silks and bronze ornaments that I woke up today. Carefully nurtured habits were more potent yesterday's culinary excess, which is why I woke up at seven o'clock sharp, two good hours before our first classes.

Yesterday's revelry demanded some more exercise, a fair price considering the delight the feast brought me. Finishing an extra set of burpees would be enough; it's a very effective exercise overlooked by all unrealistic fictional training regimens.

I stretched some more before making myself presentable; a bath and my carefully preserved robes could do wonders with some preening.

Making my way down the tower, I had to resist the urge to raid the library right away, knowing I would most likely skip breakfast if I gave in. Walking down the spiralling stairs confronted me with a well-known hardship among all new students, Hogwarts is a veritable maze to those unfamiliar with it.

It was only through asking ample questions to the more accommodating portraits that I managed to find my way to the hall, where only some of the staff and a dozen students were present.

As I was serving myself some orange juice, I almost spilled it over my robes when I heard the squeaking voice of my dear charm teacher.

"Good morning Mr. Arran, you got up rather early." The small professor smiled at me "Here's your timetable, the castle can be confusing at times so Mrs. Clearwater will be escorting you to your fist classes"

"Thank you, professor." I smiled at my head of house who just spared me from what could have been a really bad headache.

The teacher soon left for his table where he engaged in a conversation with Professor McGonagall, leaving me to my oranges. Breakfast went without a hitch and soon enough the hall started to fill up.

"Where in Merlin have you been? I've knocking at your door for ages! I thought you didn't wake up." Terry's voice cut through the increasing cacophony of sounds the student brought with them.

"I woke up a bit early, sorry about that." I apologised, a bit guilty that I worried the lad.

Soon enough, the lovely miss Clearwater gathered us for our first lesson; History of Magic.

I know, it's boring. I expected my first lesson in Hogwarts to be a highly esoteric, complex and fascinating class like charms or transfiguration, not an unimaginably mind-numbing lecture on goblin rebellions.

How can a lesson about the History of the wizarding world and the battles against goblins, taught by a literal phantom of all things managed to be boring was a mystery. But Professor Binns was master in the noble art of making excited young people sleep; which sounds very wrong now that I think about it.

Even the most academically inclined Ravenclaws couldn't resist the push into Morpheus's realms, I barely managed to control myself by studying our book on my own, dozing off as I learnt of Goblinkind's struggle for wand right while wizards fought to keep their place as the most powerful magicals.

An hour later saw us, dissatisfied students being led by our prefect into our next lesson; Potions.

After mind-numbing boredom, heart-stopping horror.

Couldn't we get some rest? The greasy haired stalker was nothing like Alan Rickman, bless his soul. That bugger's issues had issues, and he had a fancy mark in his arm to prove it.

"Do not talk in the classroom, do not ask him questions; no matter what. Do not answer unless he ask you to, do not look at him in the eyes for too long…" Penelope had been kind enough to give us some advice concerning the special inquisitor while advanced in the dungeons.

It was a closed, dreary dark place where the air was scarce and impregnated with the scent of potions and ingredients. It was constraining on so many levels it simply made me want to grab Terry and Penelope then make a run for it.

'Great, everything I love…' I thought, trying in vain to extinguish the ever-increasing dread this place planted in me. My chest tightened, an illusory choke made breathing the scarce air even harder. It was suffocating…

I was pulled out of my thoughts by a hand running through my hairs, raising my head that I unconsciously lowered, I was met with the concerned face of Miss Clearwater.

It was only then that I noticed we arrived at our destination, most of the students had already gotten inside and Terry was currently standing by the door giving me a worried look.

'Damn it…' I thought, this type of behaviour was everything I didn't want to exhibit; weakness. The lack of air in the dungeons only became more oppressive when my own unease had been apparent.

"Try thinking of a pleasant, open space." Lacking all mockery, Penelope's voice was calm and reassuring in a way only someone who understood could be.

"When I come here, I imagine myself flying outside the Ravenclaw tower in my first broom, I remember the wind hitting my face and the freedom I felt that day. It doesn't make this place any less horrible, of course…but it helps." She smiled a little, I allowed her the honour of patting my head as I pondered on her advice.

Visualizing an open space would help, though I had no memory as personal as hers. For now, the boat trip to Hogwarts and the pleasant hands on my scalp will have to do.

"Thank you." I smiled at the older witch, who quickly left for her own lessons. I felt a bit embarrassed that I retarded her with my problems, but it was preferable to choking in silence.

"You're okay mate?" Terry Boot's concern was all over his voice which was almost as pleasant as it was hallow.

"Yeah, don't worry. I was just feeling a bit dizzy." I smiled at him, as we took a seat on the second raw. It seemed like we'd have class with the puffs.

The classroom was even more horrible, the crowded space filled with plants, ingredients and body parts preserved in jars would make anyone feel bad; a voluntary move on the teacher's part, of that I had no doubt. It was dreadful, but Penelope's advice made it at least a bit more tolerable, for that I was grateful.

'There's no way I'd let you get petrified next year…' I thought, frowning at my senior and benefactor's fate in the books.

She did not know it, but her actions today had saved her from an unpleasant encounter with one of the most dangerous beasts in the world.

Both my thoughts and my classmates chatter were ended as the doors were abruptly opened, a gust of chilling air passed through us, as the teacher entered.

Professor Severus Snape was an unpleasant man, he wore his long robes dark and strangely billowing as he walked. Perhaps it was a more graceful mirror to his own long, dark and unnaturally greasy hair, which fell down his shoulders and framed his face. His nose was long and crooked, though it held none of Dumbledore's eccentricity. His teeth were yellow and uneven, going well with his own sallow skin that stemmed either from unfavourable genetics or an abuse of potions.

'All in all…'

Snape walked through the nervous children, his flowing robes trailing behind him as he immediately became the form many boggarts would take. His black eyes wept over the class, the contempt in them was obvious to even the most naïve of Hufflepuffs.

'He does look like an overgrown bat.' I thought, holding back a snicker.

"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making." Said the former Death Eater.

The grease in his head did not seem to affect his oratory skills. Although, it did block his imagination, he seems to use the exact same speech every year for every class.

"However, for those select few who possess the predisposing… I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses, I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death." Said Professor Snape.

I had to admit that this man, for all his flaws and mistakes, knew how to control his students. If only he put more in enthusiasm in his teachings, he'd be one of the best teachers in this school.

"Open you books to page 106." Said the old bat, and so we did.

'Nice.' I thought, remembering an old joke few could understand.

(---)

Potion was hard, precise and more importantly dangerous business.

This became particularly true when your teacher's favourite teaching method was to write instruction on the board before skulking around the room and using psychological warfare on eleven-year-old students for two hours.

Our first task was to create a Cure for boils; a potion that would actually cause them when prepared by the wrong hands. As a certain Neville Longbottom could attest.

It was a long, tedious process that put my patience to the test as I slowly discovered the intricacies of stirring, ageing and timing techniques. Following the instructions to the letter was obviously not enough, and seeing that proper mentoring was lacking, I replaced it with further attention to the mechanics of potion-making.

Why would porcupine quills ruin the potion when added before taking off the fire? Why does Flobberworm mucus require strong stirring? What in oblivion were Shrake spines?

Such were the questions I had to answer in order advance in the art of potion brewing, it was much work; and harder than the mindless execution of vague instructions. But was it efficient?

"Acceptable." Said the Rogue teacher, judging the potion I presented him as the pink smoke started dissipating.

For the first time since I entered, the man eyed me with something less hostile than his usual spite. Most students who finished before me were sent out with varying degrees of humiliation, many Hufflepuffs cried for their moms and some Ravenclaws may suffer from short-term neurosis.

"See that it stays that way, and you might become a passable student." Mentioned the potion master, much to my surprise.

Coming from him, it's a great compliment, something that must physically hurt him. Unless you are a Slytherin, receiving a compliment from Severus Snape, even coated in insult, was as unexpected as a politician keeping his promises.

"Unless you have something to say, Mr. Arran, get out of my classroom." He spat while vanishing my cauldron, destroying the perfectly usable cure I managed to produce.

'That's more like it.' I thought, Snape showing decency was too disturbing.

"How did you manage to do that? Did your parents let you practise before Hogwarts?" Asked Terry, a touch of envy in his second question.

It made me realise something, which was as flattering as it was strange. My friend, Terry Boot. With whom I spent the last two days, did not realise who I was.

"Terry." I said, giving him a deadpan.

"Yes?" He grumbled, shooting one lost at the purple smoke over his cauldron; it was close.

"I'm a muggleborn." I said, ambers eyes fixing him.

"What!?" Terry almost fell down, again. Seeing him struggle to recover his balance almost made the coming headache worth it.

"I'm a muggleborn Terry, or perhaps a half-blood? I wouldn't know. "I admitted easily.

I, of course, contemplated the idea of lying about my blood. Claiming to be half blood was way easier than Tom Riddle's own charade about blood purity, it was also politically preferable.

But it was a risky move, someone could always do some research and find out that I was nothing but a muggleborn orphan, staining both my honour and reputation forever. It would also leave a bitter taste in my mouth; hiding my foreknowledge was common sense, but hiding my blood purity…that's cowardice; weakness of the worst sort.

It's intolerable.

"But…But…how?" The boy managed to squeeze a hundred questions into one, admirable.

"Well, when two people really love each other's and get married…" I started explaining.

"No, not that!" He shouted again, his face beet red, attracting some attention, and earning himself some more embarrassment.

"Ah, how do I not act like a clueless buffoon?" I asked again, he nodded, not trusting his words after his previous misstep.

"I'm a Ravenclaw, Terry. I simply researched every bit of information I could find, asked plenty of questions to Professor McGonagall and simply paid attention." I explained as patiently as I could.

The best kind of lies, are not lies. They are merely an elegant distortion of reality that leaves out some details, and used the listener's own mind against him. I did not lie when I explained my situation to Terry, I merely omitted certain details that didn't concern anyone but me.

"Ravenclaws! Come on!" The voice of our dear prefect stopped him from giving an assuredly highly interesting reply.

All the Ravenclaws whose names I did not bother remembering followed the lovely miss Clearwater who guided us to the great hall for our first lunch in the school.

As I caught her concerned gaze, I offered her my sweetest smile and a light nod, reassuring her that everything went smoothly.

She responded in kind, while Terry who finally recovered from his earlier disbelief was telling me about Quidditch as jovially as ever….

The first years Ravenclaws were the last to arrive in the great hall, all other students were happily eating the much lighter food while discussing their first day. The room was radiating with the mirth I came to associate with the hall, while the weather was rather cloudy in the ceiling.

I sat between Padma Patil and Terry, who was chatting with Anthony Goldstein about the Tutshill Tornados; their favourite Quidditch team.

"How did you manage to finish the Cure for boils? Penelope told me it was very rare to succeed in the first try." Asked Padma, trying and failing to sound casual.

The girl, and all of my house was made up of fierce competitors, each one sought academic excellence and would do anything to ensure it. Asking me about the reason behind my performance was but the start, they will undoubtedly try to sabotage me at some point.

I shot a quick glance to Terry, who like the rest of my classmates was eavesdropping on my conversation with Padma.

'Even he might try something' I thought, a little disappointed that my first friend here was not bold enough to ask me himself.

"Like Professor Snape said, potions are both art and science. Following the instructions will only take you this far, you need some imagination, talent and mentoring to achieve good results." I said, while cutting my chicken, " I sought different ways to reach my goal, and used observation and some deductions to work out the proper process"

The Ravens were feasting on the bone I threw them, analysing each one of my words for hidden insights. The bad thing is that by heading my word instead of thinking and working it out by themselves, they are doing the exact thing they should avoid.

However, they will find no wisdom in my advice. For it is clad in a mighty load of bullshit, each of these 'carefully considered' words had no value beyond sounding clever, fancy and freely given in my great benevolence and generosity.

The art of talking without saying anything is a discipline all sensible men should practise, as it offers you the distraction to entertain yourself, mislead scavenging sycophants or give yourself the time, the time you need to ponder, to scheme and to decide your next actions.

Though one should not fall into the trap essential to such things, as this skill is sinful and shrewd. It might render incapable of speaking the truth, of giving without counting and seeing the beauty in simple things.

'Moderation in all things.' I thought, as I poured myself half a glass of lemonade. The house elves must have noticed that I loathe pumpkin juice, those guys are the best.

Soon, Penelope would lead us to our next lesson. Transfiguration with the eminent head of Hogwarts Transfiguration Department and Deputy Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall.

That was a class I had high expectations for.

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A small bonus chapter i made for you guys, Hope you'll like it.

Magnus had his first lessons, a really bad time and learned how an eagle should deal with ravens. It was my intention to illustrate some of Magnus's flaws, and uncover other parts of his history and personality. He is obviously no omnipotent being who always make the best decisions without trouble, nor is he the ideal of the purely rational machine of a man.

He's just a guy with extreme luck on both sides of the spectrum, whose doing his best to rise and live a fulfilling life; even if it means becoming an ubermensch.

As always, tell me what you liked, hated, what you want to see and point out my mistakes in the comments. Take care guys!