The morning sun peeked through the enchanted ceiling as Harry made his way down to the Great Hall, joining his friends for breakfast. Ron was groggily stuffing toast in his mouth, Neville fumbled with his pumpkin juice, and Hermione was already buried in her timetable.
Their first class of the day was Herbology with the Hufflepuffs. Professor Sprout was warm and kind, explaining the basics of Devil's Snare and how to handle it. But Harry, already familiar with this from future theory and personal reading, found his attention slipping. As he stared at the writhing tendrils of the magical plant, his mind wandered.
What if I could modify magical plants? Like, something useful or defensive...
Ideas began to take root. He imagined plants that could shoot magical projectiles like a pea-shooter or glow brightly like a sunflower to enhance growth. But the excitement dimmed as he realized the practical limitations. I don't have the space or privacy to experiment here. The Room of Requirement would draw too much attention. Maybe Newt's suitcase method could help... I should write to the Flamels.
Their second class was Flying with Madam Hooch. The students buzzed with excitement, though Neville looked queasy.
"Stick out your hand and say, 'Up!'" Madam Hooch instructed.
Harry's broom leapt into his hand immediately. Ron grinned at his own success. Neville's broom, however, jittered and then shot into the air with him still clinging to it. Panic spread across the field.
Harry acted instinctively. "Aresto Momentum!" he cast sharply. Neville's descent slowed, and he landed with a soft thump. Madam Hooch rushed to check on him, shooting a suspicious glance at Harry, but said nothing.
Shortly after, Malfoy picked up Neville's dropped Remembrall.
"Give it back," Harry said calmly.
Draco smirked. "Why? Afraid he'll forget how to fall properly again?"
Harry's gaze was steady. "You're from a noble house. Taking things that aren't yours doesn't reflect well on your reputation."
Malfoy hesitated, visibly wrestling with pride. Finally, with a dramatic sigh, he tossed the ball to Harry. "Whatever, Potter."
Harry smiled and returned the Remembrall to Neville, who gave a sheepish thank you.
That night, feeling restless, Harry slipped out of the common room. Using a hidden passage he'd noticed earlier, he wandered deeper into the castle, careful not to alert Filch or Mrs. Norris.
He paused suddenly. Around the corner, Professor Quirrell staggered slightly, gripping the wall. Harry focused his senses—and felt it. Deep pain. Emotional and magical agony radiating from the man.
That's not just nerves, Harry thought. It's him. Voldemort. And he's hurting.
A shiver ran down his spine. The destroyed soul fragment must be affecting whatever was left in Quirrell. Harry stepped back silently and slipped away before he could be seen.
Something's changing, he realized. And I need to be ready.