𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝; 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡.𝐩

𝓨𝓮𝓪𝓻 1, 𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 6: 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓟𝓸𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼 𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻

~ chapter six: the potions master ~

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to the kid with the red hair."

"The boy wearing the glasses, right?"

"Did you see the girl's hair?"

"Did you see their scars?"

The whispers followed Harry and Y/N from the moment they left their dormitories the next day. People lining outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a good look at them, or doubled back to pass them in the corridors again, staring. Y/N wished they wouldn't; she was already concentrated on trying to find the way to her classes. She didn't need all the extra staring.

How could they see my scar? she wondered to herself. It's covered... right?

Then she looked down and saw that her scar was showing, as she had pushed up the sleeves of her robes a little bit - her scar was the closest it could get to her wrist without actually being on her wrist - because she had been feeling a bit warm. Oh.

There were one hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in portraits kept going to visit each other, and Y/N was sure that the coats of armor could walk.

The ghosts didn't help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Nearly Headless Nick was always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right direction, but Peeves the Poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you were unlucky enough to meet him while you were late for class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, grab your nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!"

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Harry, Ron and Y/N managed to get on the wrong side of him on their very first morning.  Filch found them trying to force their way through a door that unluckily turned out to be the entrance of the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. He wouldn't believe they were lost, was sure they were trying to break into it on purpose, and was threatening to lock them in the dungeons when they were rescued by Professor Quirrell, who was passing.

Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-colored creature with bulging, lamplike eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passages of the school better than anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a good kick.

And then, once you managed to find them, there were the classes themselves. There was a lot more to magic, as Y/N quickly learned, than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

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. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouse behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy 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.