The morning light slowly filled the Ravenclaw dorm, streaming through the tall, round windows of the tower. Harris was already awake, sitting cross-legged by the window in his pajamas.
Outside, the sky changed from deep blue to soft gold. Birds soared between the towers. Inside, most of the other boys were still snoring softly, tangled in their blankets.
But Harris couldn't sleep.
He was thinking about home.
About the small, warm kitchen in Elderfield…
His dad, Thom, always burning the toast no matter how careful he tried to be.
His mum, Mara, gently brushing his hair with her fingers instead of a comb.
He remembered the hug they gave him before he left, and her soft voice whispering:
"No matter how magical that place is, you'll always be our little boy."
His chest ached. His eyes stung. But he blinked the tears away. There was no time for crying.
Today was important.
After breakfast in the Great Hall, where Fred and George Weasley made pumpkin juice erupt like a fountain from a goblet near the Gryffindor table, Harris followed the rest of the Ravenclaws through winding stone corridors toward their first Potions class.
The deeper they went, the colder it got.
The dungeons were damp and dark. Water dripped softly from the ceiling, and the air smelled like stone and dust and strange herbs. It was colder here, and older like even the walls remembered things.
He'd seen this place before.
In books.
In movies.
In dreams.
But now it was real.
The Potions classroom looked like something from a nightmare, shelves filled with floating eyeballs, preserved insects, and roots curled like fingers. There were even jars that seemed to breathe slowly, fogging up from the inside.
Harris sat near the middle, quietly watching the other students settle in.
Cho Chang, another Ravenclaw first-year, gave him a small nod as she sat down with her partner. He also noticed Cedric Diggory, a second-year Hufflepuff, walk in with perfect posture and a calm smile, offering a kind greeting to the younger students.
Then, the door creaked open.
And in swept Professor Snape.
He looked just like Harris remembered, tall, pale, dark robes swirling behind him like living shadows. His expression was sharp, like he was always judging you… and finding you lacking.
"There will be no foolish wand-waving in this class," he said, his voice quiet but sharp like a blade. "I do not expect many of you to truly understand the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making..."
Harris mouthed the words silently. He remembered them from the films.
But hearing them in person?
They hit different.
Snape's eyes swept across the room. He moved like a shadow, pausing beside students, staring into their souls.
Then he stopped.
Right in front of Harris.
"You," he said. "Name?"
"Harris Wells," Harris said, calm but respectful.
"Wells… not a name I know. Muggle-born?"
"I was adopted, sir. I don't know," Harris replied truthfully.
Snape stared a moment longer, his black eyes unreadable.
"Convenient," he said flatly, and moved on.
A few students glanced at Harris. He ignored them.
He wasn't here for attention.
He was here to learn.
They began with a Boil-Cure Potion, simple but still tricky.
Harris got paired with a girl named Mara, not his mum, just someone with the same name. She looked nervous. Her hand trembled while slicing dandelion root.
"It's okay," Harris whispered. "Go slow. You're doing great."
She gave a shaky smile, and together, they brewed the potion carefully. Harris guided her gently but let her do most of the steps. When their cauldron turned the correct shade of blue-green, Harris smiled.
Snape passed by. He gave them a glance. Not praise… but no insults either.
That was already a win.
At lunch, Harris spotted Alex Richards laughing at the Hufflepuff table. Cedric Diggory ruffled his hair as he passed.
From across the room, Summer Greengrass, cool and composed at the Slytherin table, gave Harris a subtle nod.
Different Houses. Different tables.
But they were his people.
That evening, after dragging himself back to the Ravenclaw Tower, Harris found something resting on his bed.
A note. Folded neatly.
Today was rough. That teacher's scary.
But you were cool.
Want to hang out after class tomorrow?
— Alex
Harris smiled. His body ached. His brain was tired. But something warm settled in his chest.
He wasn't alone.
That night, he looked out the dorm window one last time.
The Forbidden Forest was a dark line in the distance. Stars twinkled above the towers. A soft breeze pushed the clouds.
Somewhere in this castle, mysteries were waiting. Books. Secrets. Magic. Maybe even danger.
But Harris Wells was ready.
He had friends.
He had family.
He had purpose.
And for the first time since arriving, he felt truly at home.
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