The first week of school

The first week at Hogwarts quickly taught the new students one thing—

Magic school was no walk in the park, and it had a habit of throwing in the occasional fright.

One moment, you were memorizing theory from A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration; the next, you were clutching your textbook on a moving staircase and getting a ghostly shock. You thought you deserved a break after class, only for an old wizard in a portrait to tell you disdainfully that another two minutes of dawdling would cost you points. Or you finally climbed into bed at midnight, thinking the day had been chaotic enough, then opened your eyes the next morning to find fresh surprises waiting on your timetable.

"Academic pressure. It's been a while."

Early Wednesday morning, Gavin stood at the washbasin in the Hufflepuff dormitory, studying his reflection—a face that clearly hadn't had enough sleep but still had to go to class—and delivered that assessment.

Some of his dormmates were already up.

Ernie Macmillan sat on the edge of his bed, meticulously straightening his collar and cuffs with a solemn expression. Justin Finch-Fletchley yawned as he pulled on his robes, his face plainly asking why even boarding schools in the Wizarding World couldn't abolish early mornings.

"Good morning," Ernie said.

"If you're referring to the time of day, then yes," Justin said.

Gavin had already gained a thorough understanding of the difference between his two roommates.

Ernie was the sort who would make sure every button on his robes was perfectly fastened before dealing with the sky falling.

Justin was more like a typical Muggle boarding-school boy, livelier and more entertaining.

"What have we got today?" Justin asked as he tied his tie.

Ernie immediately recited their timetable, sounding so practiced that he might have rehearsed it three times in his head.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts and History of Magic this morning, Flying Class this afternoon."

"Sounds friendlier than Potions Class, at least," Justin said.

"We haven't had Potions Class yet," Gavin reminded him.

"That's precisely why I can still maintain this unrealistic optimism."

Fair enough.

Having already heard the older students' stories about Snape, Gavin understood.

In fact, throughout those first few days, Gavin found time to visit the Room of Requirement every day in addition to attending classes.

After dinner, or during an earlier free period, he would make his way alone to the Seventh Floor and spend some time behind the door opposite the Tapestry of Barnabas.

The Room of Requirement was very accommodating.

It seemed to know exactly what Gavin needed at the moment.

Most of the time, it took the form of a quiet, spacious practice room: sturdy long tables, an open floor, a blackboard for notes, and an entire wall that wouldn't immediately shatter if a beginner accidentally hit it.

Far more considerate than the proper laboratories at many schools.

Gavin practiced spells there without restraint, hoping to make some progress and achieve a breakthrough.

Tuesday morning's first lesson was Defense Against the Dark Arts.

An indescribable smell rushed out the moment they opened the classroom door, a mixture of stale garlic, mildew, damp fabric, and something harder to identify but unmistakably unpleasant.

Justin paused in the doorway.

"I'm suddenly thinking Dark Magic might not be the only danger," he said.

"Fair point," Gavin said. "This environment alone is enough to cause psychological damage."

Professor Quirrell stood at the front, his large purple turban tightly wrapped around his head. He stammered as he spoke, looking so nervous that every sentence seemed to require an internal review before he could let it out.

For the new students, this made for rather mixed feelings.

On the one hand, he didn't look very frightening. On the other, he hardly seemed like someone they could confidently entrust with the words "defense against the Dark Arts."

Still, Gavin was quite interested in the lesson.

He wasn't merely interested in Professor Quirrell; he was also interested in Defense Against the Dark Arts itself.

If a world had systematic methods of inflicting harm, it would inevitably develop systematic principles of defense. Even if the professor wasn't particularly reliable, the curriculum itself ought to have something to offer.

So when Quirrell stammered out the question, "What is the most important first step when encountering a low-level aggressive magical creature?" Gavin raised his hand.

Quirrell clearly hadn't expected anyone to volunteer an answer to that sort of question during the first lesson of their first year. He froze for a moment before nodding.

"M-Mr. Gu?"

"Establish the distance and your escape route first, Professor," Gavin said. "Then decide whether to cast a spell, defend yourself, or retreat. Without a sense of distance, any defense can easily turn into standing there taking hits."

Quirrell blinked, as though the answer had gone somewhat beyond the scope of the lesson he had prepared.

"V-very good," he said. "Two points to Hufflepuff."

Ernie immediately sat a little straighter.

Justin also turned to glance at Gavin. He was growing increasingly accustomed to the fact that Gu earned points whenever he spoke, though he hadn't become completely numb to it yet.

For the rest of the lesson, Gavin kept a low profile.

Professor Quirrell's teaching style really didn't lend itself to further questions. Every extra question made him look a little more nervous, as though he were wrestling with some anxiety only he could see.

Perhaps it had something to do with the Dark Lord lodging in the back of his head.

If he had to give a public lecture, he probably wouldn't last ten minutes, Gavin thought.

Of course, he kept that thought to himself.

Quirrell looked as though simply staying alive was difficult enough.

Their second lesson was History of Magic.

This was the first Hogwarts class that truly managed to drain the life out of the entire room in no time.

Professor Binns floating through the wall was striking enough.

But more striking still was how, once he began teaching, he managed to exhaust the novelty of having a ghost for a teacher within three minutes.

He discussed the Goblin Rebellions in a voice as flat as someone reading a shopping list whose end never came. Dates, places, people, legislation, conflicts, aftermath—every piece of information was precise and complete, and equally devoid of variation.

If Professor McGonagall's lessons were ice water and Professor Flitwick's were fizzy drinks, Professor Binns's lessons were probably a large basin of lukewarm oatmeal.

There might have been some nutritional value.

It was just difficult to consume it out of genuine enthusiasm.

A collective drowsiness soon settled over the classroom.

Some students had begun drawing inexplicable shapes in the margins of their notebooks. Others propped their heads on their hands, struggling to keep their eyes open. Even Ernie, who always sat so straight, had a trace of vacant confusion in his eyes that did not remotely accord with his proper upbringing.

Justin was already approaching the point where his soul was dutifully attending class while his body politely excused itself.

Only Gavin was still taking careful notes.

He didn't like this teaching style, but his studies in his previous life had taught him one simple lesson: the more sleep-inducing a class was, the more likely it was to contain useful details tucked away in corners that nobody else could be bothered to sort through.

Sure enough, while discussing a particular goblin conflict, Professor Binns casually mentioned a connection between an early piece of wizarding legislation and a dispute over goblin property rights.

The textbook hadn't made that point particularly clear.

Gavin raised his hand and asked whether that law had subsequently influenced the development of certain Gringotts Contract formats.

The chorus of snores around the classroom briefly broke off, and a few students stirred groggily awake.

The question itself wasn't necessarily all that remarkable.

They were simply astonished that someone had actually listened this far into a lesson like this and even asked a question.

Professor Binns looked at him over his glasses, apparently a little surprised himself.

Then he added a couple of explanatory remarks in his utterly unvarying voice, finishing with:

"One point to Hufflepuff."

This time, even Justin woke up completely.

He sat bolt upright, his eyes filled with a complicated emotion bordering on reverence.

"You actually managed to earn points in this class," he whispered.

"Possibly because I'm still alive," Gavin said.

That afternoon, they had Flying Class with Ravenclaw.

Madam Hooch stood at the edge of the grounds, her hair short and silver-gray, her yellow eyes sharp as a hawk's. Her movements were crisp and efficient as she blew her whistle.

The Broomsticks lay in neat rows on the grass.

For most of the new students, this was clearly the most eagerly anticipated lesson of the day.

After all, before actually coming to Hogwarts, they had all harbored some degree of unrealistic romantic fantasy about flying Broomsticks.

Then Madam Hooch sent those fantasies straight to the court of reality with a single instruction: "Hold your hand above your Broomstick and say, 'Up.'"

"Up!"

"Up!"

"Up!"

Commands rang out across the grounds.

Some Broomsticks immediately leaped into their owners' hands, as briskly as if they were old acquaintances. Some rolled over on the ground, offering a perfunctory acknowledgment that they had heard. A few didn't move at all, as though they had decided to make silence their form of protest.

Justin's Broomstick merely trembled before continuing to lie there, utterly indifferent to his dignity.

"Now that's hurtful," he said.

Ernie's Broomstick did spring up, but at the wrong angle, nearly striking him in the chin.

"At least it's enthusiastic," Gavin remarked.

When his turn came, Gavin glanced down at his Broomstick and held his hand level above it.

"Up."

The Broomstick sprang straight into his hand.

The movement was clean and decisive, without the slightest hesitation.

Madam Hooch noticed immediately.

She glanced in his direction, a rare hint of satisfaction appearing on her face.

"Good," she said. "Two points to Hufflepuff."

Several Ravenclaw students visibly redoubled their efforts, as though they had suddenly realized this subject involved competition too.

Gavin also completed the basic mounting and takeoff exercises smoothly. His posture was correct, his rises and landings steady—the sort of performance that belonged in an instructional video.

Madam Hooch looked his way twice more.

Beside him, Justin whispered, "I'm starting to suspect you really did fly something in a previous life."

"Do airplanes count?" Gavin asked.

"...Forget I said anything."

But compared with those scattered points earned in class, what truly made every first-year remember Gavin's name was Thursday morning's Herbology lesson.

They shared Herbology with Gryffindor.

The greenhouse was sweltering, its glass misted with condensation. The air smelled of soil, grass, damp leaves, and some kind of plant sap mingled together. To many new students who had just emerged from the castle's stone walls, it felt like another world—humid, lush, and bursting with life.

Professor Sprout wore a heavily patched hat, and her robes were stained with mud, but her expression was cheerful. There was a sturdy, dependable vitality about her.

Today, she was introducing them to Devil's Snare.

"This plant," she said, patting a mass of dark green vines resting quietly in a pot, "prefers dark, damp environments. It takes a particular interest in panic and struggling."

Sounds like certain newspaper reporters, Gavin thought.

Naturally, he didn't say it aloud.

Professor Sprout continued explaining, her key points quite clear: don't touch it carelessly, don't panic if it catches you, and most importantly, bright light and flames could drive it back.

The trouble was that one of the things first-year students excelled at was panicking the instant someone finished telling them not to.

It happened very quickly.

A small, skinny boy on the Gryffindor side either slipped or backed into the edge of a flowerpot and fell straight into a nearby patch of vines. The previously quiet Devil's Snare immediately came alive, like a boiling pot of dark green noodles, and whipped around him.

The boy froze for a moment, then instinctively began to struggle.

His struggles only made the vines coil faster.

Cries of alarm immediately rose around him.

"Don't move!"

"Don't struggle!"

"Merlin—"

Professor Sprout was already striding toward him, but Gavin acted a step ahead of her.

He hadn't wasted any time on the standard procedure of screaming first and thinking of a solution afterward.

He raised his Wand with barely a pause.

"Lumos!"

A brilliant burst of white light erupted from the tip of his wand.

It was brighter and more dazzling than the first time he had used it.

At that instant, the Devil's Snare visibly recoiled.

It was like someone suddenly having a light shone in their eyes.

Its coils immediately loosened a little.

Professor Sprout arrived and flicked her Wand, working with him to force the vines back completely and pull the unlucky student free.

The greenhouse fell silent for a second.

Then the new students, who had been in complete disarray only moments before, all turned to look at Gavin.

The rescued student looked dazed, his face still shaken.

Professor Sprout looked down to make sure the student was unharmed, then raised her eyes to Gavin with unmistakable approval.

"Quick thinking, Mr. Gu," she said. "And a clever use of that Spell. Five points to Hufflepuff."

This time, even the Gryffindors fell silent for a moment.

After all, they had seen it with their own eyes.

Those five points were thoroughly deserved.

Gavin put away his Wand, his expression remaining fairly calm.

"Thank you, Professor."

In fact, he had already quite naturally supplied the second half of that sentence in his head:

Apparently, Lumos was good for more than lighting things up.

In the right circumstances, it could double as a makeshift flashbang.

Beside him, Ernie made no attempt to hide his shock. "You can use Lumos to save someone?"

"Bright light drives away plants that thrive in dark places," Gavin said. "Weren't you listening?"

"..."

It sounded reasonable enough, but something still felt off.

"Wait, when did you learn Lumos?"

Not far away, several future famous members of Gryffindor had clearly noticed the commotion too.

The red-haired Weasley boy stared wide-eyed, and Harry, with his black hair and glasses, looked over as well. As for the little girl with curly brown hair—

Hermione Granger watched with particular attention.

Over the rest of the week, the novelty of Hogwarts gradually gave way to routine.

The new students learned how to grab roast potatoes in the Great Hall while they were still hot, how to keep their curses to a minimum when a staircase suddenly changed direction, and how to ignore portraits' more obviously mischievous directions. They also learned to do homework in the Common Room while older students told campus legends of dubious truth in the knowing tones of people who had been there.

The Hufflepuff Common Room was always warm at night.

The Fireplace crackled in the hearth. Dim light filtered through soil and grass roots beyond the round windows, while textbooks, parchment, and half-eaten snacks lay scattered across the long sofas and low tables.

Ernie liked to organize his notes there with great solemnity, his handwriting neat enough for an official document addressed to the Ministry of Magic.

Justin preferred to complain as he wrote.

"I finally understand why some British aristocrats send their children to Muggle boarding schools." He set his quill on the table and said with utter sincerity, "At least the staircases at Eton don't change their schedules on their own."

"Perhaps Hogwarts does it to train students to think on their feet," Ernie said.

"Then it's clearly working," Justin said. "I'm on my feet thinking every day."

Gavin sat nearby, bent over his own essay.

Its contents were rather different from those of an ordinary first-year student.

[Increasing the intensity of Lumos by controlling its output]

[Principles behind Broomstick propulsion]

[Slowing Charm Spell pronunciation and wand-movement variations]

He paused when he reached the last item.

On Wednesday, he had found a book about the Slowing Charm in the library and was preparing to study it.

"Gu," Justin called suddenly.

"Hmm?"

"I've noticed something."

"What?"

"You disappear for a while every evening."

Ernie looked up too.

Gavin's quill paused, but his expression did not change.

"I go for a walk," he said.

"Every day?"

"A walk after dinner helps digestion."

Justin gave him a suspicious look.

"You'd better really be going for a walk."

"I am exercising."

That was not exactly a lie.

His exercise simply included practicing Spells, studying the principles of Magic, testing the limits of Spell effects, and so on.

Ernie seemed to accept the explanation and nodded.

"Regular exercise is a good habit."

Justin looked at Ernie, then at Gavin, and finally decided to reserve judgment.

"You two really are well suited to being roommates sometimes," he said.

"Thank you," Gavin replied.

"That wasn't entirely a compliment."

"Thank you anyway."