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Harry's breath caught in his throat. Beside him, Itisa went rigid, her eyes widening to perfect circles of astonishment.
"I—what? No, she's just—" Harry stammered, his mind racing through possible responses, denials, and, if necessary, memory charm options (though he wasn't entirely confident in his ability to cast one properly).
"It's quite alright," Luna said serenely, as if they were discussing something as mundane as the weather. "Daddy wrote an article about Nundus last year. Did you know they're actually quite misunderstood? Most magizoologists think their breath causes disease, but Daddy believes it's actually a form of emotional magic—they only make people sick when they feel threatened."
Harry stared at her, genuinely at a loss for words. Itisa seemed equally stunned, her tail frozen mid-twitch.
"How did you—" Harry finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper.
"See through the illusion?" Luna finished for him. "Oh, I see lots of things others don't. My mother was very gifted with perception magic. She always said reality has layers, like a cake, and most people only ever taste the frosting."
She reached out a hand toward Itisa, palm up in a gesture of peaceful greeting. To Harry's utter amazement, after a moment's hesitation, Itisa stretched her neck forward and delicately sniffed Luna's fingers.
"I won't tell anyone," Luna assured them both. "Some secrets are meant to be kept, especially when they have such lovely fur. Besides, who would believe me anyway?"
"Your secret's safe with me," she continued, turning her attention back to The Quibbler. "Though you might want to be careful around certain parts of the Forbidden Forest. There's a colony of Thestrals there, and they're terrible gossips."
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Harry found himself fighting a smile. "I'll keep that in mind."
"Have you named her something suitable?" Luna inquired, eyes still on her magazine. "Nundus should have dignified names, I think."
"Her name is Itisa," Harry replied, giving up any pretense of denial. "And she would probably appreciate if we kept our voices down about her... species."
"Itisa," Luna repeated, testing the name. "That's very clever. 'It is a' Nundu. I like word puzzles."
Harry had never actually considered the pun in Itisa's name before. He'd chosen it simply because it meant Free Spirit. The accidental wordplay was... well, just his luck, really.
The compartment door slid open suddenly, revealing Hermione, Neville, and Susan clustered in the corridor.
"Harry! There you are!" Hermione exclaimed. "We've been looking all over the train for you."
Her gaze fell on Luna, and Harry saw the brief flicker of confusion—the same look the Ravenclaws had given Luna, though without the malice. Hermione was many things, but unkind wasn't one of them.
"Oh, hello," she added politely. "Are we interrupting?"
"Not at all," Harry replied, gesturing for them to enter. "This is Luna Lovegood. She's starting her first year at Hogwarts. Luna, these are my friends—Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, and Susan Bones."
Luna lowered her magazine and offered them a dreamy smile. "Hello. Your timing is excellent—you've just missed the conversation about Itisa being a disguised Nargle and arrived in time for me to tell you about the Nargle infestation in Hogwarts."
An awkward silence fell over the compartment. Susan's eyebrows had disappeared beneath her fringe, Neville looked puzzled, and Hermione wore the expression she reserved for statements that defied logical explanation.
"Luna has a wonderful imagination," Harry said quickly, shooting Luna a meaningful look. "We've been swapping stories about magical creatures."
"Imagination. Yes," Luna agreed with a wink so obvious it was almost comical. "That's what I have. Lots and lots of imagination."
Itisa made a sound that, to Harry's ears, resembled a sigh of resignation.
As his friends settled into the compartment, bringing news of summer adventures and speculation about the coming school year, Harry found himself watching Luna. Whatever unusual perception she possessed that allowed her to see through Itisa's disguise, it seemed to come with a worldview entirely her own.
Perhaps having Luna Lovegood as a friend would be an adventure in itself—one that might prove as unpredictable and educational as his upcoming Italian summer.
"So, Luna," Hermione was saying with the determined politeness of someone making an effort, "which House are you hoping for?"
"Oh, I'll be in Ravenclaw," Luna replied with absolute certainty. "All Lovegoods are. Though the Sorting Hat did once try to put my great-aunt Cassiopeia in Hufflepuff after she fed it a Dirigible Plum."
As Hermione's expression shifted to one of polite skepticism, Harry caught Luna's eye and found himself sharing a private smile with his newest and strangest friend.
.
.
"So you're saying these... Wrackspurts... make your brain go fuzzy?" Hermione asked. From her face, it was clear that she was very skeptical.
Luna nodded serenely. "They float in through your ears and make your thoughts all fuzzy. That's why people can't concentrate during exams. The stress attracts them, you see."
"That's just test anxiety," Hermione countered, unable to help herself. "It's a documented psychological phenomenon."
"What causes the anxiety, though?" Luna tilted her head. "Perhaps Muggles simply have different words for the same things."
Hermione opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Harry watched with amusement as his academically-minded friend struggled with the impossibility of debating someone who treated the laws of logic as mere suggestions.
"I think Luna might be onto something," Neville offered unexpectedly. "Gran always says I'd do better in Herbology practicals if I could 'get the cotton out of my ears.' Maybe she meant Wrackspurts all along."
Luna beamed at him. "Exactly! Your grandmother sounds very wise."
Itisa, who had been pretending to sleep on Harry's lap, opened one golden eye to observe the conversation, her tail occasionally flicking with what Harry recognized as amusement.
"Do you have any pets, Luna?" Susan asked, clearly trying to steer the conversation to safer waters.
"Not yet, though I've been asking Daddy for a Crumple-Horned Snorkack," Luna replied. "He says they're difficult to domesticate, but I think they'd make wonderful companions. They're excellent listeners."
"I've never heard of those," Susan said, intrigued despite herself. "Are they rare?"
"Oh, extremely. Most magizoologists don't even believe they exist, which is terribly closed-minded of them. Just because you haven't seen something doesn't mean it isn't there."
Harry found himself nodding in agreement. After all, how many people would believe a twelve-year-old boy kept a Nundu as a pet?
"That's actually a fair point," he said. "The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures adds new species to their registry almost every year. Mr. Scamander told me they discovered a new type of water-dwelling fire salamander just last summer."
Luna's eyes lit up. "Newt Scamander? Do you know him?"
"We went to France together over the summer," Harry replied, enjoying the look of astonishment that crossed even Luna's usually serene features. "He was investigating something for the French Ministry, and I helped out."
"That's wonderful," Luna breathed. "Daddy's been trying to get an interview with him for years. Mr. Scamander is one of the few magizoologists who keeps an open mind about undiscovered creatures."
"I could introduce you sometime," Harry offered, finding Luna's enthusiasm infectious. "He visits Hogwarts occasionally to consult with Professor Kettleburn."
Hermione, meanwhile, had been flipping through her copy of "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them," presumably searching for any mention of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks.
"I don't see them listed here," she said finally.
"Of course not," Luna replied, not the least bit perturbed. "The Ministry classification system is dreadfully incomplete. That's why Daddy publishes The Quibbler—to fill in the gaps in public knowledge."
Hermione looked ready to debate this point when the compartment door slid open, revealing Nymphadora Tonks. Her hair was a vibrant shade of purple today, contrasting with the prefect badge gleaming on her robes.
"Wotcher, Harry," she greeted cheerfully. "Just checking in. Prefect duties and all that." She surveyed the compartment, her eyes landing on Luna. "Made a new friend, I see."
"This is Luna Lovegood," Harry introduced. "Luna, this is Nymphadora Tonks, my—"
"Just Tonks," Nymphadora interrupted swiftly, her hair briefly flashing an irritated red. "Call me Nymphadora and I'll hex your eyebrows off."
Luna studied Nymphadora the same way she had done with Itisa. "Your aura changes color with your hair. That's quite beautiful. Are you a metamorphmagus?"
Nymphadora's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "I—yes, actually. Most people don't recognize it straight away."
"Oh, the signs are quite clear if you know what to look for," Luna said matter-of-factly. "The fluctuating magical signature, the slight shimmer around your edges. Plus, your hair just turned red when Harry called you Nymphadora, which is a lovely name, by the way. It means 'gift of the nymphs,' did you know? Very powerful."
For perhaps the first time in Harry's memory, Nymphadora seemed momentarily speechless.
"She sees things others don't," Harry explained with a small smile.
"Apparently," Nymphadora replied, her hair shifting to a curious blue. "Well, Luna Lovegood, it's nice to meet someone observant for a change. These lot," she gestured at Harry and his friends, "wouldn't notice if I grew an extra head."
"We would if it was as loud as your normal one," Harry retorted with a grin.
Nymphadora ruffled his hair roughly. "Cheeky brat. Just for that, I'm confiscating your sweets when the trolley comes around."
"Abuse of prefect powers," Susan declared, though she was smiling.
"Absolutely," Nymphadora agreed cheerfully. "It's why I wanted the badge. That, and making firsties do my bidding."
"She's joking," Hermione assured Luna quickly. "Mostly."
Luna, however, didn't seem concerned. "I think you'd make an excellent prefect," she told Nymphadora. "Your magical aura has very firm edges. That suggests strong boundaries."
"Er, thanks?" Nymphadora replied, sounding uncertain whether she'd received a compliment or not.
"It's definitely a good thing," Luna assured her. "People with fuzzy auras tend to let others walk all over them. That's why I wear my butterbeer cork necklace—it helps strengthen my personal boundaries."
Harry noticed for the first time that Luna was indeed wearing a necklace made of what looked like cork stoppers strung together.
"Protection through fashion," Nymphadora nodded sagely. "I respect that. I once charmed my hair to turn anyone who pulled it into a toad for ten minutes. Only had to happen once before word got around."
"Did you really?" Neville asked, wide-eyed.
"Nah," Nymphadora winked. "But the threat worked wonders."
Luna leaned toward Nymphadora conspiratorially. "If you're interested, I could make you a dirigible plum bracelet. They enhance the ability to accept the extraordinary. Very useful for a metamorphmagus."
"I'll keep that in mind," Nymphadora replied. She glanced at her watch and straightened up. "Duty calls—got to check the rest of this carriage. Harry, try not to adopt any more strays before we reach Hogwarts."
"Too late," Harry gestured around the compartment, earning indignant protests from his friends.
"Speak for yourself, Potter," Susan huffed. "I'm a highly respected Hufflepuff, not a stray."
"And I'm a... well, I suppose I am a bit of a stray," Neville admitted with a self-deprecating smile.
"I prefer the term 'independent spirit,'" Luna offered helpfully.
"There you go," Nymphadora grinned. "You're not strays, you're Harry Potter's collection of independent spirits. Much more dignified."
With a casual salute, she slid the compartment door closed and continued on her prefect rounds.
Itisa stretched languidly on Harry's lap, her golden eyes fixing briefly on Luna before she settled back into what appeared to be a nap.
"Your sister is very nice," Luna commented to Harry.
"She's not actually my sister," Harry explained. "I live with her family, but we're not related by blood."
"Oh, family isn't about blood," Luna said with surprising firmness. "It's about who stays when everyone else leaves. At least, that's what Daddy always says."
The simple wisdom of this statement hung in the air for a moment, touching something deep in Harry's experience. His thoughts flickered briefly to the Dursleys, who were blood but never family, and to the Tonkses, who had become his family in all the ways that mattered.
"Your father sounds like a wise man," Harry said softly.
Luna beamed. "He is. Eccentric, but wise. Much like your cat, I expect."
Harry glanced down at Itisa, who had opened one eye at being mentioned. "Eccentric is one word for her," he agreed, scratching behind the disguised Nundu's ears. "I usually go with 'opinionated' or 'judgmental.'"
"Most superior beings are," Luna nodded solemnly.
Hermione, apparently unable to contain herself any longer, blurted out: "Luna, what exactly does your father do at The Quibbler?"
"He's the editor," Luna replied proudly. "He writes most of the articles too, though we have several regular contributors. Our cryptozoology column is quite popular."
"And people... read it?" Hermione asked, then immediately looked mortified at her own rudeness.
Luna, however, took no offense. "Oh yes. Our circulation has doubled this past year. Daddy says it's because people are tired of the Daily Prophet telling them what to think."
"He might be right about that," Harry mused, thinking of the Prophet's often sensationalized coverage of his own talisman business.
Later
The familiar warmth of the Great Hall enveloped Harry as he settled into his place at the Slytherin table. The ceiling above mirrored the night sky outside—a canvas of deep indigo punctuated by stars that seemed close enough to touch. Hundreds of floating candles cast their golden light across the four long House tables, glinting off silver cutlery and expectant faces.
"Potter! Over here!"
The voice belonged to Sebastian Sallow, who was waving enthusiastically from his seat halfway down the Slytherin table. Beside him sat his twin sister Anna, her smile warm despite the pallor that still haunted her features. Harry made his way toward them, nodding in greeting to various Slytherins as he passed.
"Sebastian, Anna," Harry said, sliding onto the bench across from them. "Good to see you both."
Sebastian looked much the same as when Harry had last seen him—dark-haired, keen-eyed, with the perpetually amused expression of someone who found the world endlessly entertaining. Anna, however, showed the lingering effects of her illness despite the improvement in her condition. Her normally vibrant red-gold hair had a dull sheen, and shadows lingered beneath her eyes.
"You're looking better," Harry offered, trying to sound encouraging rather than concerned.
Anna's smile widened, genuine warmth reaching her eyes. "Thanks to you," she said, her hand moving to touch something beneath her robes—the outline of what Harry recognized as the Aqualis crystal he'd given her. "The healers at St. Mungo's were stunned when they saw what you'd sent. One of them actually fainted."
"Granted, he was quite old," Sebastian added with a smirk. "Practically fossilized."
Harry felt a flush of pride coupled with embarrassment. "It wasn't really from me—it was a gift from Princess Crystal-Harmony. I just passed it along."
"Yes, because underwater mermaid princesses regularly hand out rare magical artifacts to twelve-year-old wizards," Anna said dryly. "Clearly it was your winning personality, not your ability to help her develop ice magic."
"When you put it that way, it sounds rather impressive," Harry admitted with a self-deprecating smile.
"The crystal stabilized my condition," Anna continued, her expression growing serious. "The healers say I'll still need treatments, but..." She paused, seeming to search for the right words. "Put simply, Harry, you bought me time. Before, they weren't certain I'd live to see graduation."
Harry hadn't fully understood the severity of Anna's illness when he'd gifted her the Aqualis crystal—he'd simply known it might help.
"I'm glad," Harry said finally, finding the simplicity of those two words more fitting than any elaborate response.
The moment was interrupted by the arrival of Daphne Greengrass, who slid gracefully into the seat beside Harry. Her blonde hair was arranged in an elegant braid, and her expression held its usual careful neutrality—what Harry had come to recognize as her public mask.
"Potter," she greeted him coolly, though there was a warmth in her eyes that belied her tone. In the world of Slytherin politics, their friendship remained outwardly restrained.
"Greengrass," Harry replied with equal formality, fighting a smile. "Pleasant summer?"
"Tolerable," she said with a slight incline of her head. "Though lacking in underwater princesses and Leviathan summonings, I'm afraid."
Sebastian snorted. "News travels fast."
"Indeed," Daphne agreed. "Almost as fast as the news of Potter's meeting with the Italian Minister of Magic. The Slytherin grapevine has been positively buzzing."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Should I be concerned that my business dealings are common knowledge?"
"On the contrary," Daphne replied smoothly. "You should be pleased. Your importance in the House has risen considerably. Even Malfoy has been uncharacteristically quiet about you."
Before Harry could respond, the great doors of the Hall swung open to admit Professor McGonagall, followed by a line of wide-eyed first-years. He immediately spotted Luna's distinctive silvery-blonde hair midway through the procession. Unlike her peers, who appeared varying degrees of nervous or excited, Luna wore an expression of dreamy curiosity, as though she were observing an interesting natural phenomenon rather than facing her Sorting.
As the first-years gathered before the staff table, Harry's gaze drifted toward the teachers. Dumbledore sat in his ornate central chair, blue eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles as he surveyed the new arrivals. Beside him, much to Harry's displeasure, sat Gilderoy Lockhart, resplendent in robes of deep turquoise with silver embroidery that matched his immaculately styled hair.
"Is that..." Daphne began, her voice dropping to a disbelieving whisper, "Gilderoy Lockhart?"
"Our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," Harry confirmed grimly. "Prepare for a year of listening to him talk about himself."
Daphne's eyes narrowed as she assessed Lockhart with the critical gaze of someone who had been raised to evaluate people as potential allies or obstacles. "He's wearing more cosmetic charms than my mother attends a Ministry gala," she noted. "And that's saying something, considering Mother once charmed her eyelashes to literally sparkle in low light."
Harry nearly choked on his suppressed laughter. "Don't hold back on my account, Greengrass. I think there might be one or two redeeming qualities you accidentally left out... like his ability to coordinate his robes with his eyes. Truly groundbreaking magical talent, that."
"He's a glorified moron with a smile that's probably the result of too many teeth-whitening potions," she said without hesitation. "I've read his books. The timelines contradict each other, the spellwork he describes violates basic magical principles, and half the creatures he supposedly defeated have biological traits completely inconsistent with magizoological research."
"So what you're saying is, you're not a fan?" Sebastian asked innocently.
Daphne's withering look could have curdled milk.
The Sorting Ceremony began with Professor McGonagall placing the ancient Sorting Hat on its stool. The hat's brim split open, and it launched into its annual song about the four Houses and their virtues. Harry listened with half an ear, his attention divided between Luna in the line of first-years and Lockhart at the staff table, who appeared to be checking his reflection in the back of a golden spoon.
The sorting proceeded alphabetically. Each time a new Slytherin was announced, their table erupted in carefully dignified applause, while the Gryffindors cheered.
When "Lovegood, Luna" was called, Harry found himself leaning forward slightly, curious which House would claim his unusual new friend. Luna approached the stool with the same dreamy demeanor she'd displayed on the train, appearing completely unconcerned about the hundreds of eyes fixed upon her.
The hat settled over her silvery-blonde hair, covering her eyes. Unlike many students, whose sortings took mere seconds, Luna's stretched on for nearly a full minute. Harry could see her lips moving slightly, as though having a conversation with the hat. Finally, the brim split wide.
"RAVENCLAW!" the hat declared.
The Ravenclaw table applauded politely as Luna removed the hat, gave it a small pat as if thanking it personally, and drifted toward her new House. Harry noticed that several of the Ravenclaws exchanged glances as she approached—the same skeptical looks he'd observed on the train. Luna, however, appeared oblivious to their reactions as she took her seat, immediately engaging her neighbor in what appeared to be a very one-sided conversation.
"Friend of yours?" Daphne inquired, following his gaze.
"New acquaintance," Harry replied carefully. "We met on the train."
"She seems..." Daphne hesitated, searching for a diplomatic term, "unique."
"She is," Harry agreed, a note of challenge in his voice.
Daphne's lips curved in the faintest of smiles. "I didn't say that was a bad thing, Potter."
The sorting continued until only a few first-years remained. When "Greengrass, Astoria" was called, Harry immediately noticed the similarity between the small black-haired girl approaching the stool and his friend beside him. Astoria had the same elegant features as Daphne, though her hair was as dark as a crow's wing where Daphne's was blonde, and her expression held more open determination than Daphne's careful neutrality.
"Sister?" Harry asked, turning to Daphne.
"Yes," she confirmed, her expression softening slightly. "My younger sister."
The hat barely touched Astoria's head before declaring "SLYTHERIN!" The girl's face lit up with a triumphant smile as she removed the hat and practically bounced toward their table. Daphne's subtle exhale of relief didn't escape Harry's notice.
"Was there doubt?" he asked quietly.
Daphne's eyes remained fixed on her approaching sister. "Our parents would have... struggled... if she'd been sorted elsewhere."
Astoria slid into the seat beside her sister, her mismatched eyes bright with excitement. "Did you see how fast it sorted me, Daph? It barely touched my head! It said I had the perfect Slytherin mind!"
"Yes, well done," Daphne replied softly. Harry was sure he had never heard Daphne speak like that before, and it seemed he wasn't the only one who heard her soft voice; even Draco seemed surprised to hear that.
"Astoria, this is Harry Potter. Harry, my sister Astoria." Daphne introduced the two, completely ignoring the others.
Astoria's eyes widened as she assessed Harry as if an interesting object. "The talisman maker! Is it true you're going to study in Venice next summer? Father was livid when he heard—said it should have been offered to a proper pureblood family."
"Astoria!" Daphne hissed, but Harry merely laughed.
"It's an academic opportunity, not a blood status trophy," he replied, finding Astoria's directness refreshing after the usual Slytherin dance of veiled words. "And yes, it's true."
As the last student was sorted, Dumbledore rose to his feet, arms spread wide in welcome. "Before we begin our magnificent feast, I have a few announcements. First, please join me in welcoming our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart!"
Lockhart stood with a flourish, his smile dazzling as he bowed deeply, one arm swept dramatically across his chest. The Great Hall erupted in applause—largely from the female population, Harry noted with amusement. Across the staff table, Professor Snape looked like he wanted to do very bad things to Lockhart.
Harry wondered why Lockhart had already opened his big mouth.
"Thank you, thank you!" Lockhart called out, his voice carrying across the hall with practiced projection. "What an honor to be here among the bright young minds of tomorrow! Rest assured, under my guidance, you'll learn from the very best. After all," he chuckled modestly, "not everyone can be a five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award!"
"Is he serious?" Sebastian muttered.
"Unfortunately," Harry replied, his eyes drawn to a framed photograph hanging conspicuously near the entrance to the Great Hall. It showed Lockhart and Harry from their encounter in Flourish and Blotts. Harry watched with satisfied amusement as, even from this distance, he could see the subtle changes his enchantment had wrought on Lockhart's smile—what had once been a perfect display of gleaming teeth now curled at the corners in a distinctly troll-like grimace. Meanwhile, Lockhart's robes in the photograph had cycled to a particularly virulent shade of orange that clashed horribly with his golden hair.
No one else seemed to have noticed these changes yet, though Harry suspected it was only a matter of time. He caught Fred and George Weasley at the Gryffindor table looking his way with identical knowing grins and nods of approval.
After Lockhart finally relinquished the spotlight, Dumbledore continued with his announcements, most of which were the standard reminders about forbidden items and out-of-bounds areas. Just as Harry thought the Headmaster was about to dismiss them to their feast, Dumbledore's expression grew unexpectedly solemn.
"And finally," he said, his voice carrying a weight that instantly commanded attention, "I must emphasize that this year, more than ever, vigilance and adherence to school rules are of paramount importance. Hogwarts has stood as a bastion of magical education for centuries, but even these ancient walls cannot keep out all dangers if we ourselves invite them in through carelessness or curiosity."
A hushed silence fell over the Great Hall. Harry felt a prickle of unease travel down his spine, remembering Dobby's warning about "dark magic from long ago." and the giant Golden Eyes watching him back at the Tonks.
"The past has a way of resurfacing," Dumbledore continued, his blue eyes seeming to find Harry's for the briefest of moments, "often when we least expect it. Should any of you notice unusual occurrences within the castle this year, I urge you to bring such matters directly to the attention of a staff member."
The cryptic warning hung in the air for a moment before Dumbledore's expression brightened. "But enough of such somber thoughts! Tuck in!"
The tables instantly groaned under the weight of the magnificent start-of-term feast. Platters of roast beef, chicken, pork chops, and lamb appeared alongside mountains of potatoes, tureens of gravy, bowls of vibrant vegetables, and all manner of accompaniments. The abrupt transition from Dumbledore's warning to the feast created a strange discord, and conversations around the Hall seemed subdued as students processed the Headmaster's words while filling their plates.
"What was that about?" Sebastian wondered, helping himself to a generous portion of roast beef.
"No idea," Harry replied, though the warning from Dobby echoed in his mind: danger at Hogwarts... dark magic from long ago.
"Father mentioned the Board of Governors had some concerns this year," Daphne said quietly, carefully selecting a small portion of roasted vegetables. "Something about unusual magical signatures being detected around the castle during the summer inspections."
"What kind of signatures?" Harry asked, his interest piqued.
Daphne shrugged elegantly. "He didn't elaborate. You know how adults are—they think we're better off not knowing things that might actually help us stay safe."
As the feast progressed, conversation gradually shifted to lighter topics—summer adventures, class schedules, and speculation about the coming year's Quidditch matches. Harry participated, but part of his attention remained on Dumbledore's warning and its possible connection to Dobby's cryptic message and the Golden Eyes.
It wasn't until dessert appeared—magnificent towers of ice cream, platters of pastries, and bowls of fresh fruit—that Harry noticed something unusual. As he reached for a treacle tart, a strange sensation washed over him, like a discordant note in an otherwise harmonious melody. The magic of Hogwarts, which normally hummed in the background of his awareness like a comforting chorus, suddenly felt... altered. There was a subtle wrongness to it, as though someone had introduced a foreign element into the castle's ancient enchantments.
The sensation lasted only a moment before fading back into the familiar magical background noise of Hogwarts, leaving Harry wondering if he had imagined it. He glanced around, but no one else seemed to have noticed anything amiss. Even the teachers appeared relaxed, with Dumbledore engaged in animated conversation with Professor Flitwick while Lockhart regaled an increasingly irritated-looking Professor Sprout with what appeared to be a story involving expansive hand gestures.
"Harry? Are you alright?" Anna asked, noticing his distraction.
"Fine," he replied, forcing a smile. "Just thinking about Dumbledore's warning."
"I wouldn't worry too much," Sebastian said through a mouthful of chocolate éclair. "Probably just trying to scare the first-years into behaving."
Harry nodded in agreement, but the brief magical disturbance continued to nag at him. Between Dobby's warning, the Golden Eyes, Dumbledore's cryptic speech, and now this strange fluctuation in the castle's magic, he couldn't shake the feeling that this year at Hogwarts might prove even more eventful than the last.
And considering last year had involved a possessed Defense professor, a three-headed dog, and a confrontation with the disembodied spirit of Voldemort, that was saying something.
As the feast concluded and students began filing out toward their dormitories, Harry cast one last glance toward the staff table. Dumbledore was watching the departing students, his expression thoughtful. When his gaze met Harry's, the Headmaster gave a small nod, as though acknowledging an unspoken understanding between them.
Whatever was coming, Harry suspected Dumbledore knew more than he was saying—and possibly expected Harry to figure it out for himself.
Just once, Harry thought wryly as he followed his fellow Slytherins toward the dungeons, I'd like a normal school year.
Somehow, he doubted this would be it.
The Slytherin common room hadn't changed since Harry had last seen it in June—still the same underwater dungeon atmosphere, with greenish lamps hanging from chains and a ceiling that occasionally revealed the shadowy forms of creatures swimming in the lake above. The leather sofas and carved chairs remained arranged in strategic groupings that encouraged both private conversations and House-wide announcements.
Harry felt a familiar sense of homecoming as they entered, despite having been initially skeptical of being sorted into Slytherin. The cool, elegant space had its own particular charm, especially now that he understood the subtle politics that governed life within it.
The first-years clustered together near the entrance, their expressions ranging from awestruck to carefully composed—those from families with Slytherin traditions had clearly been briefed on what to expect.
"Feels good to be back," Sebastian murmured, dropping into his favorite armchair near one of the underwater windows. "Though I could do without Malfoy's strutting."
Harry glanced across the room where Draco was already holding court with Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson, gesturing expansively as he told some story that had Pansy giggling behind her hand.
"Just tune him out," Harry advised. "It's what I do."
"Easy for you to say," Anna replied, settling carefully onto a sofa. "You've got talismans and underwater princesses. Some of us have to navigate ordinary Slytherin politics."
Before Harry could respond, the stone wall entrance slid open once more to admit Professor Snape. The conversations across the common room immediately died away as their Head of House swept inside, his black robes billowing around him. He surveyed the room with dark, penetrating eyes, his expression as inscrutable as ever.
"Welcome," Snape began with a soft voice, "to Slytherin House."
He paced forward, positioning himself centrally where all could see him. The first-years seemed to shrink slightly under his imposing gaze.
"I am Professor Severus Snape, your Head of House and Potions Master at Hogwarts. While you are here, Slytherin will be your home, and its members your family." His gaze swept the room. "Like all families, we may have our internal disagreements, but outside these walls, Slytherins stand united. Always."
Harry had heard this speech before, but still found himself impressed by Snape's ability to command a room with little more than his presence and carefully modulated voice.
"My office," Snape continued, gesturing toward a corridor off the main common room, "is located down that passage, third door on the right. My door is open to any Slytherin with a genuine need between the hours of six and eight in the evening. For emergencies, any hour is acceptable."
The first-years nodded, several looking relieved at this information.
"Now, there are certain expectations for members of this House." Snape's voice took on a harder edge. "First and foremost, talent is to be nurtured and displayed appropriately. Slytherin has maintained the House Cup for seven consecutive years because its students understand the value of excellence. I expect this tradition to continue."
Draco preened visibly at this, as though he personally were responsible for all seven victories.
"Second, internal House matters remain internal. Whatever petty squabbles or rivalries exist among you, they are not for public display. The other Houses already regard Slytherins with suspicion and hostility—we do not provide them with additional ammunition."
Snape's gaze lingered briefly on Harry, who met it steadily.
"Third, cunning does not equate to foolishness or recklessness." Here, several older students glanced meaningfully at Crabbe and Goyle. "If you break school rules, do not expect me to shield you from the consequences unless you were cunning enough not to get caught in the first place."
A few students chuckled nervously at this, uncertain if their Head of House was joking. Harry, who knew better, maintained a carefully neutral expression.
"Finally," Snape's voice dropped even lower, forcing everyone to lean forward slightly to hear him, "Slytherin House has produced some of the most accomplished witches and wizards in history. You are the inheritors of that legacy. I expect each of you to conduct yourselves in a manner worthy of it."
He paused, scanning the assembled students once more. "Are there any questions?"
For a moment, no one moved. Then, among the first-years, a small hand rose tentatively into the air. It belonged to Astoria Greengrass, her mismatched eyes bright with a question she couldn't seem to suppress even in front of a Professor like Snape.
Snape's eyebrow arched slightly. "Yes, Miss Greengrass?"
"Sir," Astoria began, her voice showed no fear despite addressing Snape, "why does the Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts seem..." she hesitated, clearly searching for a diplomatic phrasing, "...too happy with himself? Is he actually qualified to teach us useful magic?"
A ripple of shocked amusement passed through the common room. Daphne closed her eyes briefly, whether in embarrassment or resignation wasn't clear. Draco looked positively gleeful at the prospect of witnessing Snape's response to such a direct question about a colleague.
Snape's expression remained unchanged, but something that might have been the ghost of satisfaction flickered in his eyes.
"An astute observation, Miss Greengrass," he replied after a calculated pause. "Professor Lockhart comes to Hogwarts with a..." his lip curled almost imperceptibly, "...highly publicized background in defensive magic. His books have topped the bestseller lists and won numerous awards from publications primarily concerned with hairstyling tips and smile aesthetics."
Several students snickered, quickly smothering their reactions when Snape's gaze swept in their direction.
"As for his qualifications," Snape continued with silky precision, "I'm sure the Headmaster, in his infinite wisdom, carefully vetted all candidates before selecting the one whose... skills... best aligned with his vision for the school."
The sarcasm was so perfectly calibrated that it was impossible to directly call it insubordination, yet left absolutely no doubt about Snape's opinion.
"However," he added, his tone shifting to something more practical, "should you find Professor Lockhart's teaching methods insufficiently rigorous or... pragmatic... my door remains open. Slytherins look after their own, and I will not have my students disadvantaged by inadequate instruction in a subject so vital to your education."
Harry exchanged a glance with Sebastian. This was as close as Snape would ever come to openly criticizing a fellow teacher or Dumbledore's hiring decisions.
"Additionally," Snape concluded, "should enough students report legitimate concerns about the quality of instruction, I will ensure the Headmaster is made aware of the situation. Are there any other questions?"
There was none. It seemed everyone was satisfied with Snape's answer about Professor Lockhart.
Snape gave one final nod to the assembled students. "Prefects, ensure the first-years are properly settled. The rest of you, I suggest you prepare for classes tomorrow. I expect Slytherin to lead in academic achievement from the very first day."
As Snape turned to leave, Harry caught a final glimpse of his expression—there was something almost like anticipation there, as though the Potions Master was looking forward to the inevitable complaints about Lockhart that would give him an excuse to approach Dumbledore.
Once the stone wall closed behind their Head of House, the common room erupted into conversation.
"Your sister has guts," Harry said to Daphne, impressed by Astoria's boldness.
Daphne sighed, though a hint of pride colored her exasperation. "Astoria has never understood the concept of self-preservation when curiosity is involved. Mother says she was born asking questions."
Across the room, Astoria was already the center of attention among the first-years, apparently recounting Snape's response to those who hadn't heard it clearly.
"Well," Sebastian said with a grin, "this year just got more interesting. Snape practically gave us permission to sabotage Lockhart's classes."
"No, he didn't," Anna corrected. "He gave us permission to complain if the teaching is substandard. There's a difference."
"Semantics," Sebastian waved dismissively. "Either way, I don't think our new Defense professor is going to last the year—not with Snape circling like a shark that's scented blood in the water."
Harry leaned back in his seat, watching the dynamics of the Slytherin common room unfold around him. If Lockhart proved as incompetent as he suspected, Snape wouldn't be the only one with concerns. And given the strange magical disturbance he'd felt during the feast, coupled with Dumbledore's warning and Dobby's message, proper defensive skills might be more important this year than ever before.
Just once, Harry thought again, I'd like a normal school year.
But with each passing minute at Hogwarts, that possibility seemed increasingly remote.
"I think I'll go check on Itisa," Harry said, rising from his seat. "She gets cranky when left alone too long."
"I'll come with you," Anna offered, standing carefully. "I should say hello. She's probably annoyed that I didn't greet her properly earlier."
Sebastian waved them off, already engaged in a debate with several fourth-years about the upcoming Quidditch trials. As Harry and Anna made their way toward the boys' dormitories, they were intercepted by an enthusiastic Astoria, who darted in front of them with the nimbleness of someone who had spent a lifetime learning to move gracefully.
"You have a cat?" she asked Harry, eyes bright with interest. "Daphne never mentioned that. I love cats! Is it a special breed? Can I see it?"
Harry exchanged an amused glance with Anna. "Her name is Itisa, and she's... particular about who she allows to touch her."
"Itisa saved my life," Anna explained quietly, earning a surprised look from Astoria. "Some of her... blood... was used in my treatment. She's very special."
Astoria's eyes widened. "Now I absolutely have to meet her."
"Well..." Harry hesitated, knowing Itisa's distaste for being treated as an ordinary housecat. But Astoria's eager expression was difficult to refuse, and he suspected she would find a way to meet Itisa regardless of his decision. "I suppose you can come along, but you need to be calm around her. No sudden movements or loud noises."
"I'll be as quiet as a Demiguise," Astoria promised solemnly, though the excitement radiating from her belied this claim.
They made their way to Harry's dormitory, where he shared a room with Sebastian and three other second-year Slytherin boys. The room was empty at the moment, with the others still socializing in the common room. Itisa was perched regally atop Harry's trunk, her golden eyes narrowing as the door opened to admit not just Harry, but two others as well.
"Hello, girl," Harry greeted her. "Look who's come to see you."
Itisa's gaze shifted to Anna, and something that might have been recognition flickered in those feline eyes. Despite her usual aloofness, the disguised Nundu allowed Anna to approach and gently stroke her head—a privilege granted to very few.
"Thank you for your help," Anna murmured to the cat. "You are scary, but very kind."
Itisa made a sound halfway between a purr and a rumble, acknowledging Anna's gratitude with what Harry interpreted as gracious condescension.
"She's gorgeous!" Astoria whispered, inching closer with poorly concealed enthusiasm. "Look at those eyes—like actual gold! And her fur... I've never seen a cat with markings like that."
"She's... a rare breed," Harry offered, watching Itisa's body language carefully. The disguised Nundu had gone slightly rigid, clearly assessing the new human approaching her territory.
Astoria, either missing or ignoring these warning signs, suddenly darted forward with arms outstretched. "She's so beautiful! Can I hug—"
In a movement almost too swift to follow, Itisa leapt from the trunk, using Harry's bed as a springboard to land gracefully on his shoulder. From this elevated position, she fixed Astoria with a stare that could only be described as imperious disdain, a low warning growl rumbling from her throat.
"—her," Astoria finished weakly, arms still partially extended.
"Itisa doesn't like to be hugged," Harry explained, reaching up to stroke the tense form on his shoulder. "She's not really a pet so much as... an independent ally who chooses to stay with me."
"Oh." Astoria looked crestfallen for a moment before her natural resilience reasserted itself. "That's actually even better! Independent magical creatures are always more interesting. Does she do tricks? Or hunt special prey? Or have magical abilities?"
The rapid-fire questions made Harry once again appreciate the vast difference between Astoria's open curiosity and Daphne's careful reserve.
"She's excellent at hunting," Anna offered. "And she's extraordinarily intelligent. More than any ordinary cat."
Itisa seemed to preen slightly at this assessment, her tail curling with satisfaction.
"Can I at least offer her a treat?" Astoria asked, apparently undeterred by the rejection of her attempted hug. "I have some special dried fish from Latvia that our family's kneazle loves."
Itisa's ears pricked with interest at the mention of fish, though she maintained her dignified pose on Harry's shoulder.
"Maybe another time," Harry suggested diplomatically. "She's still getting reacquainted with Hogwarts, and she can be... unpredictable... when stressed."
Astoria nodded with surprising understanding. "That makes sense. Magical creatures need to feel safe before they can fully trust. I've been reading Scamander's book all summer—I'm hoping to work with magical creatures someday."
"Newt's book?" Harry asked, genuinely interested. "He's actually a friend of mine. I spent some time with him in France this summer."
This revelation seemed to elevate Harry immediately in Astoria's estimation. Her jaw dropped slightly. "You know Newt Scamander? The Newt Scamander? Personally?"
"We worked together on a project for the French Minister of Magic," Harry confirmed, trying not to sound boastful. "He's brilliant, and much more interesting than his books might suggest."
Astoria looked as though she might faint from excitement. "You have to tell me everything! What's he like? Does he always carry his case of creatures? Did you see inside it? How many species has he discovered that aren't in the book yet?"
Itisa made a soft noise that Harry had learned to interpret as amusement, seemingly entertained by Astoria's enthusiastic barrage of questions.
"Perhaps tomorrow," Anna suggested gently, noting Harry's tired expression. "It's been a long day, and classes start early."
"Oh, right. Sorry," Astoria said, though she didn't look remotely sorry. "I'll let you rest, but I'm absolutely going to ask you more about this tomorrow, Potter. And I'll bring those fish treats for Itisa." She directed her final words to the cat herself, with a respectful nod. "It was an honor to meet you, even if you didn't want a hug."
As Astoria bounded from the room with the inexhaustible energy of youth, Anna shook her head with amusement. "I see why Daphne finds her exhausting."
"She's... enthusiastic," Harry agreed, as Itisa gracefully descended from his shoulder to curl up on his pillow, clearly claiming it as her domain for the night.
Anna laughed softly. "Good night, Harry. And thank you again—for everything."
After she departed, Harry sat on the edge of his bed, gently scratching behind Itisa's ears. "Well, that was interesting. I think you've made a new admirer, even if you don't want her hugs."
Itisa made a noncommittal sound, though Harry could tell she wasn't entirely displeased by the attention—so long as it remained at a respectful distance.
"Just wait until she finds out what you really are," Harry murmured with a smile. "Though for everyone's sake, let's hope that doesn't happen anytime soon."
As he prepared for bed, Harry's thoughts returned to the strange magical disturbance he'd felt during the feast. Something had changed at Hogwarts—something subtle but significant. And based on Dumbledore's warning, he wasn't the only one who sensed it.
Whatever it is, he thought as he slipped beneath the covers, Itisa a warm, protective presence beside him, we'll face it together.
Whether "we" meant just him and Itisa, or included his growing circle of friends across different Houses, Harry wasn't entirely sure. But he had a feeling he would need all the allies he could get before this year was through.
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