A Mixed Bag for the Start of the Year
Harry hadn’t only been at Hogwarts for very long, and he already desperately wanted to go home. Everyone stared at him in a mixture of confusion and fascination no matter what he did.
His only solace was that everyone in his house had been good about never using the ‘P-word’, as Blaise had jokingly begun to call it, but the other students weren’t exactly on the same page. He had complained about it in a letter to his mum and dad, but there wasn’t much they could do except express their sympathies, let him know that they love him very much, and that no matter what anyone says; He’s their son.
Hedwig had actually attempted to dry the tears that slipped down his cheeks with a napkin while he read the letter, and that just made it harder to fight back his tears.
Classes were a mixed bag as well, with some being better than others.
They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets with Professor Sinistra, who Harry got on with like a house on fire, and he spent every night in that class happily discussing the stars, space, and constellations with the older witch without paying his classmates any mind.
Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a strange little witch called Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for. Harry would have liked this class more if it hadn’t meant getting dirt stuck under his fingernails, which grossed him out so badly every time that he had to wash his hands over and over again until he felt no trace of the soil.
Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates, and got Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up.
Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard, who Harry was fairly certain was half-goblin, that had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first class he took the roll call, and when he reached Harry’s name he gave the boy a small smile and did actually refer to him as Mr. Hartford, without having to be corrected, which he very much appreciated.
Professor McGonagall was different. Harry had been quite right to think she wasn’t a teacher to cross, and he wasn't quite sure he quite liked the witch very much, her stern attitude making her come across as... Well, rather unwelcoming.
“Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts,” she said. “Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned.”
Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn’t wait to get started, but soon realized they weren’t going to be changing furniture into animals for a long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Hermione had made any difference to her match; Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy and gave the Gryffindor a rare smile.
The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell’s lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he’d met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days, but also had the added bonus of giving Harry such a raging migraine every class period that he dreaded going to Defense.
His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren’t sure they believed this story. For one thing, when Seamus Finnigan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; and Harry hadn’t missed the way Blaise, who never got angry at anyone or anything, had gotten near furious after just the one class.
“There aren’t even zombies in Zambia. Merlin’s balls, it’s like he’s talking about that bloody Lockheart book!” He had rather angrily complained in the common room that night, throwing his textbook onto the coffee table in the middle with a loud bang that made Theo flinch.
“Lockheart?” Harry asked curiously. “That fiction book writer?”
“Yes! He has this book about fighting off zombies in Zambia, which was completely inaccurate because the magic practiced in Zambia doesn’t even allow for undead creatures to be created, nor can they even get past the wards without-” Blaise was going off on one of his many passionate rants, and, wanting to avoid his own homework, Harry happily set his textbook to the side and listened to him.
He hadn’t even known there were branches of magic that dealt with the undead, and learning about Haitian Voodoo and bokor was far more interesting, and useful, than classifying all of the ways that a vampire could be warded away from one’s home.
The only class that he legitimately liked up until that point, besides Astronomy, was Potions, mostly because he trusted Professor Snape and felt the most prepared for it, especially since it was the only class he could get away with using a little bit of his wandless magic in. Snape was a difficult professor to impress, but unlike with McGonagall, it actually made him want to impress the man.
Hell, in their very first class, he had even looked at Harry’s Cure for Boils and called it “perfectly adequate”! That was a far better compliment than he had been expecting.
Flying lessons had been a blast, if he was being honest. He had a knack for being up in the air, quickly figuring out how to control his broom and work with it once he felt the magic that flowed through it. Madam Hooch, Draco, and Blaise had all said he should try out for the Quidditch team the next year, but he wasn’t sure about that quite yet.
He had never been the sporting type, after all.
But, apart from his weekly letters to his mum and dad, which were always filled with ‘I miss you’s and ‘I love you’s while he updated them on what he was learning and the happenings around campus, school was relatively normal.
He still wanted to go home, that feeling refused to go away, but he dealt with it perfectly fine.
That day, however, the fates had decided to test him.
They’d had double potions with the Gryffindors, which never ended well, if only because the rivalry between the two houses was so intense it couldn’t help but boil over at the worst possible times. Harry generally was able to ignore them, mostly so he could focus on brewing his own potions with Theo, who seemed just as focused on getting a good grade in the class as he was, but Draco couldn’t help but antagonize them whenever he was given an opportunity.
His usual target was the red haired boy who always seemed to have a smudge of dirt on his nose, Ron Weasley, who had just as bad of a temper as Draco did.
And, unfortunately, Professor Snape had stepped outside to speak with one of his N.E.W.T. students.
“Oh please, Malfoy.” Ron hissed as he shot a glare at Harry’s friend. At least, he was pretty sure that’s what Ron was doing, because he was pointedly refusing to turn around and give the petty argument any acknowledgement as he crushed his mustard seed with the flat side of his potions knife. “You and your father are so much alike. Following the first wizard to show off any bit of power.”
“I don’t follow anyone.” Draco snapped back, venom in his voice.
“Then why do you trail after Potter like a lost puppy?”
Harry sucked in a small breath at the name. He hated hearing it, he hated hearing anyone say ‘Potter’ in relation to him. Theo reached over and rested a hand on his arm, giving it a small, comforting squeeze.
“He’s my friend, Weasley.”
“Really? Why would anyone be friends with a greasy git like you?” Ron laughed a bit. “Hey, Potter! Potter, why are you friends with him, anyways?”
Harry took another deep breath, slowly setting down his potions knife and giving Theo a pointed look. Catching the hint, the other boy moved closer to their cauldron to protect it and keep working on the potion, while Harry slowly turned around to look at Ron.
“Call me Potter one more time.” He said quietly, his voice full of venom.
“Jeeze, Potter, I’m just asking a quest-” The red haired boy began to say, before suddenly, like someone had grabbed him by the hair and yanked him, his face was slammed into the table with a loud crack and a painful cry.
Harry had broken his nose.
He sucked in a breath, quickly turning back to his and Theo’s cauldron with wide eyes, immediately starting to crush more mustard seed.
When Professor Snape re-entered the classroom, he looked around at the mixture of silent, horrified Gryffindors and Slytherins who were simply minding their own business. After a moment, he spoke up.
“Finnegan. Take Weasley to the Hospital Wing.” He drawled, sitting down at his desk once again and beginning to grade assignments.
Harry let out a sigh of relief as he watched Ron, being led out by Seamus, leave the classroom, and he was finally able to focus on his potion once again. The soft chatter began to fill the air again after a while, and Theo leaned over, a chuckle escaping him.
“That was brilliant, you know.” He said softly. “I’ve never seen a group of people look so horrified.”
“It was an accident, Theo.” He whispered back, his face burning bright red.
“Still. Brilliant.”
The other boy leaned away again, carefully stirring the potion clockwise six times, before switching to counter-clockwise another six.
Harry paused for a moment, a small smile pulling at his lips. It was pretty brilliant, even if he hadn’t meant to do it.
And maybe, with a bit more practice, he’d be able to do it on purpose.
—
“Mr. Hartford?” Professor Sinistra asked, looking over at Harry as his head flicked up from the star chart he had been working on filling out. He had been connecting the last few stars of the Leo constellation and labeling the stars within when his attention was drawn away.
“Yes, Professor?” He asked, a smile on his face. Astronomy was a brilliant class. He got to stay up late, spend time outside, and look at the stars. Three of his most favorite things in the world! It also helped that he was usually the only student awake enough to actually enjoy the class, but he didn’t mind that either.
“I see you’re rather far in your chart,” She hummed a bit. “Would you mind taking a moment to help a few of your classmates identify the stars in Cetus?”
Harry nodded, grabbing his telescope and peering up at the sky to locate the familiar constellation, smiling a bit when he locked onto it.
“Cetus, otherwise known as The Whale, is located in the northern sky, just below the Pisces constellation.” He began explaining. “The four brightest stars in its shape are Menkar; which makes the snout, Mira; which makes the neck, Baten Kaitos; which makes the base of the neck, and Deneb Kaitos, which makes the lower half of the body.”
He looked to the side, biting back a chuckle when he saw Theo leaning over to just copy off of his own star chart. He wasn’t going to stop his friend, mostly because he knew Theo was about to drop dead from exhaustion and really, really wasn’t going to function well in the morning.
“Absolutely perfect, Mr. Hartford. Ten points to Slytherin for exemplary knowledge of the course material.” Sinistra smiled, obviously pleased that at least one person in her class was excited about the stars like she was. “Although, for that reason, I have to ask you to stop on your star chart for tonight. Can’t have you getting too far ahead after all.”
Harry snorted, tucking his telescope back into his bag and kneeling down to finish the last line on Leo before he slid it over to continue letting Theo copy it. After a moment, he walked over to the edge of the balcony, taking a deep breath of the cooling air.
“How are you enjoying your classes, Mr. Hartford?” Sinistra asked curiously, coming to stand beside him.
“Well, Potions and Astronomy are certainly my favorites.” He chuckled a bit. “Although I like Charms quite a lot as well.”
“I can imagine.” She laughed. “Astronomy was my favorite class as well when I was a student. Although I’m sure you guessed that.”
Harry looked over at her, studying her midnight blue robes that had the stars and planets sewn into them with a twinkling silver thread, and an even thinner thread connecting the constellations. It honestly amazed him that no one else in class noticed that their teacher’s clothes were a walking cheat sheet, but he wasn’t going to say anything.
“Really? I hadn’t noticed, Professor! I would have thought you were a fiend for Herbology!”
Sinistra let out a sharp laugh at that, shaking her head. “I did like Herbology, but I found the stars to be more of a comfort. I’m sure you can understand.”
He nodded a bit, looking up at the sky, and after a moment, his eyes went wide.
“Theo? Hey, Theo.” He hissed softly, flicking his wrist and sending a slight stinging hex towards his friend, causing the boy to jolt and shoot a glare at him.
“What, Harry?”
“Come here.”
A soft huff came from where Theo was sitting, but he stood at Harry’s side all the same, looking at him in confusion until the latter tilted his head up to the sky, pointing out the shooting stars that had begun to streak across the inky darkness.
“Make a wish.” Harry said softly, looking at Theo’s awestruck face. Then, with a slight surge of delight, he watched the awe turn into an uncharacteristically bright smile as his friend gazed up at the falling stars. He hadn’t wanted to make a wish until he saw that expression, but the second it seared itself into his brain, he knew exactly what he wanted, so he looked back up at the stars and closed his eyes tight, crossing his fingers and holding his breath.
I wish for Theo to find more reasons to smile like that, every single day.