hogwarts
Harry stared up at the pale boy in front of him. "Hullo. Hogwarts too?"
Caught off guard, Harry hesitated. "Uh—yes."
"Do you play Quidditch?"
"What?"
The boy frowned slightly. "Are you Muggle-born?"
"No—my parents were wizards, but they died."
"Oh. I'm sorry." The boy shrugged, then continued, "Anyway, you'll have to sit with me on the train—I'll explain Hogwarts to you."
Harry simply nodded.
The blond boy stood up. "My name's Draco Malfoy."
Harry gasped as a sharp pain flared across his neck. His hand shot up to his soulmark.
But Draco was already gone.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Harry found an empty compartment on the train and sat down. A moment later, the red-haired boy who had helped him on the platform peeked in.
"Mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full."
Harry nodded and patted the seat beside him.
The boy sat down, studying him curiously. "Are you really Harry Potter?"
"Yeah."
"No way—have you got the scar?"
Harry pushed up his hair to show it.
"Wicked."
Harry was about to respond when the compartment door slid open again. Standing there was Draco Malfoy.
"Hello," Draco said, eyes locking onto Harry. "You're the boy from Madam Malkin’s, aren’t you?"
Harry grinned.
"Mind if I sit here? My friends are being annoying."
Harry nodded. "Go ahead. I’m Harry Potter, by the way."
Draco dropped into the seat across from him—then froze. His hand shot up to his neck, fingers pressing against his soulmark as his eyes widened in realization.
Ron, who had been watching with amusement, let out a laugh. "You two are soulmates?"
Then he turned to Draco, grinning. "Ron Weasley."
Draco stiffened slightly. "Draco Malfoy."
Ron didn’t seem bothered. Instead, his expression turned excited. "Anyway, have you heard? There are a couple of demigods on this train!"
Harry blinked. "Demigods?"
His confusion must have shown because Draco answered, "They’re half-god, half-human. Really powerful—and really cool."
Draco turned to Ron. "Weasley, do you play Quidditch?"
"Yeah, of course," Ron said proudly.
Draco smirked. "Well, Harry here doesn’t even know what Quidditch is."
Ron looked as if someone had just told him the sky wasn’t blue. "You don’t—? But—it’s only the best sport ever!"
Without hesitation, both he and Draco launched into an explanation, talking over each other in their excitement. Harry tried to keep up, but the flurry of terms—Chasers, Bludgers, Snitch—made his head spin.
Midway through their impromptu lecture, the compartment door slid open again. A girl with bushy brown hair and bright brown eyes stuck her head in.
"Has anyone seen a toad? A boy named Neville has lost one."
She glanced around—then her eyes landed on Harry. Her brows shot up. "My—are you Harry Potter?"
Feeling a bit uncomfortable, Harry nodded.
"I’ve read all about you in *Hogwarts: A History*," she said matter-of-factly.
"Oh," was all Harry managed to say.
She gave them a brisk nod. "You’ll want to get changed—we’re nearly there."
And with that, she left.
Draco snorted. "I *really* hope I’m not in her house."
Ron nodded in agreement. "Yeah, she seems a bit—much."
Harry frowned. "Her house?"
That simple question sparked an entire discussion about Hogwarts houses—what they valued, which famous wizards had been in them, and the fierce rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Unsurprisingly, Ron and Draco ended up arguing.
Harry first saw the demigods in the castle—five of them, standing out among the sea of first years: Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase, Will Solace, Nico di Angelo, and Rachel Dare.
He leaned towards Ron. "How do we get sorted?"
"My brother said we have to fight a troll."
Draco, standing nearby, snorted. "Your brother’s a liar. You just put on a hat."
Sure enough, when the Sorting Ceremony began, Professor McGonagall called names one by one.
Ron went to Gryffindor, looking relieved as he joined his brothers. Draco smirked proudly when the hat sent him to Slytherin.
The demigods were sorted next:
Percy Jackson—Gryffindor.
Annabeth Chase—Ravenclaw.
Will Solace—Hufflepuff.
Nico di Angelo—Slytherin.
Rachel Dare—Ravenclaw.
Finally, it was Harry’s turn.
He sat on the stool, heart hammering. *Slytherin or Gryffindor,* he begged the hat.
"Ah," the voice whispered in his mind, "I thought you might ask. A difficult choice indeed…"
Harry squeezed his eyes shut. *Please… not Gryffindor.*
"Are you sure? You could be great in either house…"
*No—Slytherin.*
"Very well… SLYTHERIN!"
For a moment, there was stunned silence. Then, slowly, Draco got to his feet and began clapping. One by one, others joined in—until the entire hall applauded.
When Harry slid into his seat at the Slytherin table, Draco introduced him to his friends: Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle.
To Harry’s surprise, Draco had also befriended Nico di Angelo—the pale boy who radiated quiet menace. Harry couldn’t help but think Nico was a little terrifying… but something told him they were going to need him.
As Harry dug into the feast, he glanced up at the staff table. His eyes landed on a tan professor dressed in black, who seemed to be staring at him intently.
"Who's that?" he asked, nudging Draco.
Draco followed his gaze and grinned. "That’s Professor Severus Snape—he’s the head of our house."
Harry frowned. "I don’t think he likes me."
"Nonsense," Draco scoffed. "He doesn’t even know you. Besides, he’s my godfather."
---
After the feast, the Slytherin first-years made their way down to the dungeons, led by a prefect. The common room was dimly lit with emerald-green lanterns, the walls lined with black leather couches and dark wood furniture. It was cold, but in a strangely comforting way—like the whole space was carved out of something ancient.
Harry barely had time to take it all in before Draco pulled him over to a small group of students who were lounging near the fireplace.
"Alright, Potter," Draco said, smirking. "Since you’re one of us now, you should probably know who *we* are."
A boy with dark skin and sharp eyes leaned against an armchair, looking amused. "Blaise Zabini," he introduced himself smoothly. "If you ever need a brutally honest opinion, I’m your guy."
A girl with dark hair and a sharp smile rolled her eyes. "Ignore him. I’m Pansy Parkinson—Draco’s *actual* best friend."
Draco scoffed. "Please, Pansy, I have many best friends."
"Mm-hmm," she drawled, unimpressed.
A quiet boy with dark hair and a book in his hands nodded at Harry. "Theodore Nott," he said simply. "Theo’s fine."
The two larger boys standing off to the side exchanged glances before stepping forward. "Crabbe," one grunted.
"Goyle," the other added.
Harry blinked. "Right. Nice to meet you all."
Blaise smirked. "Oh, don’t worry, Potter, we don’t bite. Unless you deserve it."
Harry wasn’t entirely sure if he was joking, but before he could ask, Draco flopped onto one of the couches and pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket. "Alright, enough with the formalities. Who’s up for Exploding Snap?"
Pansy groaned. "Ugh, you *always* want to play that."
"Because it’s fun."
Harry sat down beside him, interested. "I’ve never played."
That was all it took for Draco to start dealing the cards. Blaise, Theo, and Pansy grabbed spots around the low table, while Crabbe and Goyle watched from the side.
As the game began, Harry noticed someone standing just outside the group, hovering near the shadows.
Nico di Angelo.
He wasn’t entirely sure how Draco had already befriended the quiet, intimidating demigod, but there he was, watching the game with wary curiosity.
Draco caught him staring and tilted his head. "You coming to play or what?"
Nico blinked, looking caught off guard. "Me?"
"Yeah, you." Draco raised an eyebrow. "Unless you’re scared."
Nico scoffed, stepping forward. "I don’t *do* scared."
"Good. Sit down, then," Draco said smugly, handing him some cards.
Nico hesitated, then, to Harry’s surprise, dropped onto the couch.
They played for over an hour, the occasional *snap* of the cards causing small explosions that left them all laughing—*except* for Theo, who remained impressively unfazed the entire time. Nico was quiet at first, but after winning a few rounds (and blowing up a few cards in Draco’s face), Harry noticed the ghost of a smirk on his lips.
By the time they finally called it a night, Harry felt something settle in his chest.
For the first time in his life, he belonged.
---
The next morning, Harry followed Draco and the rest of the Slytherins through the winding hallways of Hogwarts, heading toward their first class—Transfiguration. He felt a strange sense of anticipation. Despite the initial nerves of being at a new school, Harry was starting to feel like he was finding his place here, even if things were still a little strange.
They filed into the Transfiguration classroom, where Professor McGonagall, a stern-looking woman with glasses perched on her nose, was already waiting. Harry’s eyes swept the room, and he noticed that the Slytherins sat near the front. Draco immediately took a seat at the edge of the group, leaving the spot next to him open.
"You can sit here," Draco said, motioning to the seat beside him.
Harry hesitated for a moment, then slid into the chair, glancing over to where Ron had already plopped down a few seats away. He was chatting with Blaise Zabini, who looked slightly entertained by something Ron had said.
Harry looked back at Draco, who was already pulling out his wand and setting it neatly on the desk.
"How are you feeling about Transfiguration?" Draco asked casually.
Harry shrugged. "I’m not sure yet. I haven’t really done much magic beyond what I can do at home."
Draco smirked. "You’ll be fine. It’s not hard once you get the hang of it." He paused. "But don’t expect to beat me."
Harry laughed. "I wasn’t planning to."
At that moment, Percy Jackson entered the room, his sea-green eyes scanning the class before landing on Harry. Without missing a beat, Percy made his way over and sat down at the other end of Draco’s desk.
"Morning," Percy greeted, smiling at Harry before giving Draco a quick nod. "Looks like we’re all in the same class."
Draco shot Percy a small grin, then leaned back in his chair. "Seems like it. You’ll do well here, Jackson. Just keep an eye on Potter. He’s a disaster waiting to happen."
Harry felt his cheeks flush. "Hey!"
Draco just chuckled, but there was a softness to his tone. "Relax, Potter. I’m only messing with you."
Harry was surprised at how easily Draco was getting along with Percy. The way Draco bantered so effortlessly with him made it seem like they had known each other for years. Harry realized that Draco wasn’t just making friends quickly—he was genuinely *good* at it.
Professor McGonagall began her lesson, and Harry’s attention shifted to the front of the room. She demonstrated the Transfiguration spell with precision, turning a matchstick into a needle. Harry watched, entranced, as she flicked her wand with effortless grace.
When it was their turn to try, Harry raised his wand, feeling a little unsure. He had read about the spell, but the thought of making the transformation himself was daunting.
Draco, noticing his hesitation, leaned over. "You just have to focus. *Wingardium Leviosa* was nothing compared to this."
"Right," Harry muttered, trying to gather his concentration.
He flicked his wand, but nothing happened. He tried again. Still nothing.
Draco leaned in a bit closer. "Here, watch." He waved his wand with smooth, practiced movements. "It’s about visualization, Potter. You have to picture it in your mind, like a snapshot. Then, you let the magic follow."
Harry followed Draco’s instructions and gave it another go. This time, the matchstick flickered slightly, then transformed into a perfect needle.
Harry blinked in surprise. "It worked!"
Draco grinned, giving him a small clap. "See? You just need a little direction."
Percy, sitting on the other end, gave a friendly nod. "Nice job, Harry. I was stuck on that spell for weeks when I first tried it."
Harry felt a small rush of warmth spread through him. He had expected to be struggling alone in a new school full of new magic. But here, surrounded by Draco and his friends, it was... easier.
They spent the rest of the lesson practicing the spell, and Harry found himself getting more comfortable with each attempt. By the end of class, he had successfully transfigured a matchstick into a needle several times.
As the class wrapped up, Draco gave him a satisfied look. "Not bad for a first try."
Harry smiled, his gaze shifting to Percy, who was grinning at him. "Thanks, both of you. I couldn’t have done it without your help."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Of course you could have, Potter. But I didn’t mind showing you the ropes." He gave Percy a sidelong glance. "And Jackson doesn’t count. He probably learned that spell when he was twelve."
Percy shrugged, unbothered. "Hey, I’ll take the compliment anyway."
Harry chuckled, his thoughts spinning. He hadn’t expected to feel so at ease with Draco, or to find himself actually enjoying his company.
And then it hit him—*this* was his soulmate. Not just someone he was destined to be with, but someone who was actually becoming a friend.
For the first time in a long while, Harry didn’t feel so alone.
---
The first Potions class was, in a word, *intense*. Harry followed Draco and the other Slytherins down to the dungeons, already feeling a sense of foreboding. The air in the corridor was thick with the smell of herbs and magic, and the low, flickering lights cast shadows on the stone walls. The Potions classroom was no better—dark, damp, and lined with shelves filled with bottles of mysterious substances that made Harry uneasy just by looking at them.
Professor Snape stood at the front of the room, his black robes billowing as he surveyed the class with a cold, calculating stare. The Gryffindors, who had just entered, filed into the room, and Harry spotted Ron with his usual look of discomfort.
Snape’s eyes locked onto Harry’s the moment he stepped into the room, and Harry’s stomach churned with the feeling that Snape *hated* him on sight. His gaze was piercing, intense, like Harry had already done something wrong.
“Ah, Mr. Potter,” Snape’s voice echoed, sharp and low. “I trust you will be as talented in Potions as you are in creating unnecessary chaos.”
The comment stung more than Harry expected, and he instinctively reached up to his neck, where the mark from Draco still burned faintly.
As if sensing Harry’s discomfort, Draco leaned over from beside him and whispered, "Ignore him. Snape’s a miserable git to everyone."
Harry nodded, trying to brush it off, but it didn’t help when Snape gave a pointed sneer and gestured for everyone to take their seats.
Ron, who had been trailing behind, sighed loudly as he sat down next to Hermione Granger. It was clear he wasn’t thrilled to be partnered with her. Harry could practically feel the tension in the air between them. Hermione looked perfectly pleased, her bushy brown hair bouncing as she set down her things. Ron, on the other hand, was slumped in his seat, clearly trying to avoid her overly eager questions about what they’d learned so far.
As the lesson began, Snape wasted no time in assigning pairs. Of course, Harry was paired with Draco.
“Perhaps Mr. Malfoy will show you how to follow instructions, Mr. Potter,” Snape drawled, eyes narrowing.
Draco smirked at the comment but didn’t respond. Instead, he immediately turned to Harry and handed him a set of ingredients. "You take the mandrake root, I’ll get the cauldron ready."
Harry blinked in surprise. "You’re actually good at this?"
Draco gave him a sly grin. "I’m excellent. You’ll catch up fast. Just don’t screw it up."
Harry nodded, trying to keep up, and to his surprise, he found the instructions in the textbook weren’t too complicated. Draco had a steady hand and a precise way of handling the ingredients, his movements smooth and confident. He was quick, too—by the time Harry had finished chopping the mandrake root, Draco had already begun heating the cauldron.
Meanwhile, across the room, Ron was looking at his cauldron with growing frustration, the mixture bubbling erratically. Hermione, however, had already completed hers and was carefully adding ingredients. Harry couldn't help but notice how Ron kept glancing at her with a mix of annoyance and curiosity, though he never made eye contact. It was clear he wasn’t thrilled about their pairing.
Harry chuckled softly to himself and turned back to Draco, who was adding something to their potion with expert precision. "You’re really good at this," Harry remarked.
Draco glanced at him and shrugged, his usual arrogance slipping into a rare, genuine smirk. "Like I said, I’m excellent. It’s all about timing. And if you follow the steps, you can’t go wrong."
"Right," Harry said, making sure to follow the instructions carefully. "I’ll try to keep up."
To his surprise, the potion started to come together. The fumes rising from their cauldron weren’t as dark and ominous as some of the others around them.
Draco looked over at Harry, a hint of approval in his eyes. "See? You’re not so bad."
Harry smiled back, feeling a strange warmth from his soulmate’s words. It felt… nice. Like they were finally getting the hang of things, working together, instead of just being partners because of some soulmark destiny.
As the lesson continued, Harry found himself bonding with Draco’s friends. Blaise Zabini was quiet but had a sharp wit, commenting dryly on the Gryffindors’ failures while Theo helped Harry measure out the next set of ingredients with a patient, almost scholarly air. Pansy, though somewhat dramatic, had an infectious energy about her, and she was quick to offer Harry a knowing grin whenever Draco would throw a sarcastic comment their way.
Harry found himself laughing more than he thought he would. The Slytherins, it seemed, weren’t as bad as he’d imagined. They had their own quirks, but there was a camaraderie that, for some reason, felt real.
By the time the bell rang and the class was over, Harry had managed to create a potion that was at least halfway decent.
“Not bad, Potter,” Draco said, glancing at their finished product with a satisfied grin. "You might not be hopeless after all."
Harry felt a surge of pride, despite himself. "Thanks."
As the class emptied, Ron and Hermione approached them, though there was still a bit of distance between them. Ron looked relieved to escape from his uneasy pairing with Hermione, while Hermione was already asking Snape questions about the next lesson.
Draco, unbothered, slung his bag over his shoulder and gave Harry a small nod. "See you at lunch?"
"Yeah," Harry replied, feeling that strange bond with Draco grow a little stronger.
And as he walked out of the dungeon, surrounded by Draco’s friends, Harry realized something—he wasn’t just learning magic. He was also finding his place in a world he never thought he could belong to. And maybe, just maybe, things wouldn’t be so bad after all.
---
The morning of Harry’s first flying lesson arrived, and the moment he stepped out into the cold morning air, his nerves started to take over. He had never been on a broom before, and the idea of flying felt both thrilling and terrifying at the same time. He could already feel the weight of the broomstick in his hands before he even saw it.
Draco, who had a natural air of confidence about him, was talking animatedly to Blaise and Theo, but Harry couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes flicked over to Harry every so often. He almost seemed to be waiting for Harry to voice his concerns.
“You alright, Potter?” Draco asked, his usual smirk replaced by something gentler than Harry had expected.
Harry glanced at Draco, unsure of how to express his anxiety. “I’ve never… I’ve never flown before,” he admitted quietly.
Draco’s lips quirked into a knowing smile. "You’re nervous, aren’t you? It’s fine. Most first-years are. But don’t worry, it’s just like riding a bike—only way more fun."
Harry chuckled nervously. "I hope so."
They reached the flying field where Madam Hooch, their flying instructor, was already waiting, hands on her hips and looking like she meant business. She was a tall woman with short, untidy blonde hair, and her sharp eyes scanned the group with a no-nonsense look.
“Alright, first-years!” she called, her voice cutting through the morning air. “Listen up. We’ll start with the basics, and I expect you to follow my instructions carefully. Brooms are not toys, and if I see anyone misbehaving, I’ll have you grounded immediately.”
The students were all lined up, and Madam Hooch handed out their brooms. Harry’s hands felt clammy as he grasped the handle, and he gave Draco a sidelong glance, trying to mask his nerves.
Draco, noticing his unease, leaned in and spoke in a low voice. "Take a deep breath, Potter. You’ve got this. You’re just going to hop on and lift off, like this." He demonstrated with his broomstick, lifting it from the ground and hovering a few inches in the air.
Harry watched, impressed by Draco’s effortless control. “Alright. I’ll try.”
As the lesson began, Harry did as Madam Hooch instructed—he grasped the broom tightly and gave it a firm tap. To his surprise, it lifted off the ground easily, though he wobbled a bit before gaining control. The wind ruffled his hair as he floated a few feet off the ground, a sense of exhilaration slowly building in his chest.
Draco was already zooming around, circling the field with the ease of someone who had spent years on a broom. Harry watched him for a moment, trying to get the hang of it, before the sound of someone stumbling caught his attention.
Turning his head, he saw Percy Jackson wobbling on his broomstick, looking more than a little overwhelmed. He was high off the ground but seemed unsure of how to steer, his eyes wide with nervous energy.
Draco, who had noticed the same, zipped over to him effortlessly. “Relax, Jackson. Grip it with your knees—like this,” Draco demonstrated, showing Percy how to steady his broom, his hands resting lightly but firmly on the handle. “And don’t look down unless you want to end up on the ground."
Percy looked up at Draco, his face tense. “Thanks,” he said, trying to follow the instructions. He gave Draco a grateful look, his body relaxing slightly as he steadied himself.
Draco nodded before darting off again, leaving Percy to get the hang of it. Harry watched, surprised. It was the first time Draco had really taken the time to help someone other than himself, and it was… different.
As the lesson continued, Madam Hooch instructed them to fly in a circle. Harry managed to stay upright for most of it, though it wasn’t as smooth as he’d have liked. But just as he was starting to get more confident, a loud, excited shout broke through the air.
“SEEKER!” Madam Hooch shouted, pointing directly at Harry. “Potter, I’m assigning you as Seeker for your House!”
Harry froze in midair, the realization hitting him all at once. He was… Seeker? He blinked, trying to comprehend what had just happened.
Draco shot him a quick look of surprise, but his face quickly morphed into a grin. “Well, well, Potter. Looks like you’re the new star of the team. You’re going to do great.”
Harry, still in a state of disbelief, hovered awkwardly in midair as the class continued around him. The excitement was building in his chest, and for a moment, he couldn’t help but feel a surge of adrenaline. He was going to be Seeker on the Slytherin Quidditch team.
“Well, now that we have that settled,” Madam Hooch continued, clapping her hands, “let’s see what you can really do. Everyone, try some sharp turns, and keep your balance!”
Harry was still processing everything, but he grinned to himself. He had never felt so free in his life, even if he was still trying to stay upright. But with Draco’s help and the realization that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t so bad at this, he felt a new sense of confidence.
As the lesson ended and the students landed, Harry couldn’t help but feel proud of himself. He had done it—he had stayed in the air, helped by Draco’s quiet support and advice.
“Not bad, Potter,” Draco said as they landed on the ground, a rare note of approval in his voice. “You might just make it as Seeker after all.”
Harry smiled, feeling more at ease than he had since arriving at Hogwarts. "Thanks, Draco," he said, realizing just how much that simple acknowledgment meant.
Percy, who had gotten the hang of his broomstick, rode over to join them with a grin on his face. "Nice job, Harry. You were flying like a pro."
Harry laughed. “Thanks. I’m still getting the hang of it, though.”
"Seeker, huh?" Percy added. "That’s impressive. I bet you’ll be a star player."