The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke.
His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days.
His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this story.
Lucifer even started making paper planes and started flying them during the class. Susan bones and Abbott were trying very hard to get their hands on them, but Hermione rolled her eyes and pinched her nose.
For one thing, when Seamus Finnegan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, he went pink and started talking about the weather; and they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Weasley twins, Ron's brothers, insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.
His stuttering, rambling lectures on dark creatures fell far short of useful information. Even failed to sketch a proper diagram of a ghoul or point out any specific vulnerabilities.
Instead, he described loud noises, fire, and throwing rotten meat as deterrents, making Lucifer raise an eyebrow. Was this "defense against dark creatures" or "how to keep a pet ghoul?"
Ron, however, seemed to agree with Quirrell's advice---his family had a ghoul in their attic that his mom handled in much the same way, and to them, it was almost like a pet.
xxxxxxx
In the following days, Lucifer's life adopted to a quiet rhythm. If he wasn't in class, he was being pulled by a little witch.
Hermione always dragged him to the library or sought out secluded corners to practice magic. Or sometimes, which were few, she also preferred leisurely walks around the castle, exploring its hidden corners.
Other than her, Lucifer had no real friends. Slytherins disdained his bloodline, even more so, cause he almost went to their house, a forbidden territory for his kind.
The other Houses disdained Slytherin as a whole. To be disliked by three Houses at once---now that was a Slytherin achievement in its own right. Lucifer figured it wasn't entirely the student's or their parents fault---Snape definitely deserved half the blame.
In just a few short days, Slytherin had soared far ahead in House Cup race.
Not because they earned more points, but because Snape mercilessly deducted 'more' from the other Houses.
"How can he do that!" Hermione fumed one day, after witnessing Snape deduct two points from a pair of Ravenclaw girls for merely walking too fast in the corridor, "He's practically using a magnifying glass to hunt for faults!"
"Oh, how fortunate that he uses a magnifying glass, and doesn't make things up."
She had to admit, from that perspective, Lucifer was a true Slytherin. Victory justified the means.
Snape always had reasons for the points he deducted. They were minor offenses, sure, but nothing he couldn't argue for. You could call him harsh---but not unfair.
Still, Lucifer suspected those two Ravenclaw girls had been collateral damage. Just moments earlier, Snape had glared at 'him', and the girls had misfortune of walking between them.
"If we don't stop bickering, I swear we are going to starve again..."
The two even though they got along well, had always seen being with each other, indistinguishable from a pair as their housemates named it-- would somewhere down the line of "talking" start sniping with sharp tongues.
This happened dozens of times a day. They were also born rivals---capable of turning even the tiniest disagreement into a half-hour debate.
When their philosophies didn't match.
"Fineee, Come on, Lucifer, we've got Astronomy tonight. You need to eat more...."
Hermione bit her lip, she grabbed his arm and tugged him away and stormed off to the Gryffindor table.
That night, after memorizing a dozen star names through telescope, students finally descended from the Astronomy Tower, weary and half-asleep, returning to their dorms.
The castle was deep in slumber now. Lucifer's roommates were already snoring. With a quiet swish of his wand, he casted a well-practiced Stunning Spell and slipped an Invisibility Charm over himself.
It was time for his first midnight adventure through the halls of Hogwarts.
There's an old saying at Hogwarts: 'a student's journey isn't complete without a little nighttime mischief.'
Sure, on the surface, the school had set up an endless list of rules to keep students in line. But every upper-year student knew the truth-breaking the rules wasn't the real problem. 'Getting caught was....'
Lucifer wasn't out wandering tonight because of some rebellious teenage impulse. No, he was here for something far more calculated:
He left the Gryffindor common room with a confusing charm on Fat Lady just as he had in the day, walking at a calm, steady pace. The candle sconces lining the walls cast flickering light across the corridor, and as the flames danced, so too did the shadows, creating an ever-shifting kaleidoscope of light and dark.
Perfect for practicing his Disillusionment Charm.
Now, the Disillusionment Charm wasn't true invisibility---it worked more like a chameleon, altering how light reflected off the body so the caster blended into the environment.
In a stable setting, charm was easy to maintain. But in dynamic, ever-changing lighting like this corridor, it truly tested one's finesse.
The halls at night were unnervingly quiet.
Occasionally, a flickering shadow would appear on the wall only to vanish just as quickly, like a ghost flitting through the corridors.
As time passed, the frequency of those shadows lessened. Lucifer was improving. He had gained better control over the way his appearance adapted to the lighting fluctuations.
While spells didn't come with official levels, they were generally understood to fall into several tiers of mastery.
The first was "barely functional"-in other words, you could cast the spell, but it only worked sometimes. That was entry-level. With enough practice, a witch or wizard would hit the second tier: 'proficiency.'
At this stage, the spell was easy to cast and succeeded nearly every time. But mastery wasn't just about success-it was about control.
Take the Levitation Charm, for instance.
Some people could only make objects float stiffly up and down, while others could make them dance in mid-air like ballerinas. That's the difference practice makes.
Climbing further up the ladder led to nonverbal casting, which made spellwork faster and more discreet.
Even so, many witches and wizards still spoke aloud while casting-it helped with focus, channeling magical energy, and often amplified the spell's power.
And then came the holy grail of magical finesse: 'wandless magic.'
According to what he learned, 'wandless magic' wasn't really about spell proficiency. It was more about one's depth of magical understanding and raw talent.
Some might be able to duel with a Disarming Charm against an 'Avada Kedavra' and still win---that's peak spell control.
But without a wand? They'd be helpless. That's talent-or the lack of it.
Lucifer realized his strengths lay in control. Once he learned a spell, it didn't take him long to wield it with speed and confidence.
It reminded him a bit of Hermione. She learned tons of spells but only ever cast them functionally---their actual power was often underwhelming.
He was different, though. With Lucifer's magical affinity, his potential was wide open. Eventually, even the simplest spell would become devastating in his hands---a basic charm turned 'Unforgivable.'
Feeling a bit hungry, he decided to hit the kitchens before heading back.
It was directly beneath the Great Hall---still a bit of a trek. He descended a spiral staircase and arrived in a wide underground chamber filled with barrels and lined with oil paintings.
Opposite one of the fruit still---life paintings stood a barrel larger than the rest, lying on its side. That, he knew, was the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room.
How you ask? Well, he's Lucifer.
All you had to do was knock on the barrel in the right rhythm, and door would open---if you were a Hufflepuff. Anyone else would get a faceful of stinking vinegar as punishment.
'No wonder people said Hufflepuff had the best accommodations....'
Only those who lived at school would understand just how amazing it was to have your dorm right next to the kitchens. Actually-scratch that. This wasn't even a dining hall. It was the 'kitchen' itself.
A fully staffed, 24-hour, made-to-order kitchen that welcomed you at any hour, offering personalized service with a smile.
And location wasn't its only perk. From the Hufflepuff dorms, it was only a short walk upstairs to the Great Hall and classrooms.
Other houses had it rough: Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were at the top of the tower, while Slytherin was tucked away in some damp dungeon corner.
"If Hogwarts had a step counter, those three houses would definitely log a few thousand more steps than Hufflepuff each day...."
After another round of low-key envy for the lucky badgers, Lucifer approached the fruit painting and scratched at green pear in the fruit bowl.
The pear twitched like a ticklish child and let out a squeaky laugh. It wiggled and writhed until it twisted itself into a doorknob.
"....."
Okay, he had to admit---it was kind of adorable. 'Helga Hufflepuff clearly had a playful streak when designing her security mechanisms...'
Muttering to himself, Lucifer turned the doorknob. Inside was a vast chamber, almost as large as the Great Hall, with towering ceilings and rows of gleaming copper pots and pans.
As he stepped in, a house-elf popped into view with a loud pop! and bowed deeply.
"Sir! I'm Hobbie. How may I serve you?"
"I'm Lucifer Morningstar," he replied politely, then added, "I'm a bit hungry. Just looking for something to eat."
"Hobbie shall see to it right away!" the elf squeaked, dashing toward the stove with wild enthusiasm.
As he waited, the kitchen doors opened once more----and two identical red-haired heads poked inside, locking eyes with Lucifer in surprise.
Sneaking food and bumping into someone doing the same? Embarrassing, yes---but there's also that strange thrill, like meeting a kindred spirit in crime.
That's exactly how it felt for Lucifer when he ran into them. After a brief moment of stunned silence, identical grins bloomed on two identical faces. The pair strolled over to him, laughing as though they'd just stumbled into an inside joke.
"Well, fancy that."
"Didn't expect to run into Gryffindor''s newest lion."
"Lucifer, you're the first one we've ever met---besides a few from Hufflepuff---"
"---who's discovered the kitchen secret this fast."
They volleyed off each other effortlessly, speaking fast and without a shred of hesitation. It was like watching two minds with one shared stream of thought.
"I'm starting to think you two are telepathic," Lucifer muttered with a click of his tongue. The twins exchanged a smug glance, clearly pleased with the comment.
"Allow us to properly introduce ourselves. I'm Fred."
"And I'm George."
"And we're both Weasleys!"
"Lucifer," He replied coolly, "The infamous Weasley twins."
"You said it, George. Wait-no, I'm Fred. You messed up the intro."
"Idiot, you were the one who said you were George first!"
"Was I?"
Lucifer couldn't help but grin. Say what you will, these two truly were Hogwarts' biggest mischief-makers. Wherever they went, silence didn't stand a chance.
"Lucifer, you're way more famous than we are," said the real Fred suddenly, leaning in a little with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"You know that? You've already broken a record."
"What kind of record?" Lucifer asked, curiosity piqued.
George nodded dramatically, "You, my friend, are the first-ever Muggle-born Slytherin."
Fred chimed in, "At least in the past decade or so."
"That's it?" Lucifer looked mildly disappointed, "I already knew that. To be precise, it's been thirty-two years. The last Muggle-born Slytherin disappeared after graduation---rumor has it he was murdered by a Dark wizard."
Technically, he knew exactly who that "Dark wizard" was.
It was Voldemort. The poor fool had been chosen as an example---just to prove his twisted loyalty to Salazar Slytherin's blood purity ideal. That unfortunate soul didn't stand a chance. Fred looked frustrated by how calm the boy was talking about you-know-who's history from books.
Soon, the elves brought out midnight snacks---twins had a feast, and Lucifer had what he asked for. The three of them chatted while eating, and he quickly discovered that Fred and George really did know everything about Hogwarts.
Secret passages, strange castle quirks---everything rolled off their tongues like folklore. He managed to squeeze a lot of information out of them. The twins knew he was fishing for intel, of course---but they didn't mind. It wasn't every day they met a first-year who wasn't afraid of them, could deflect their pranks, and had the gall to shoot back with a snark of his own.
Compared to their younger brother, this kid was loads more fun. By the end, it was safe to say the three had hit it off. After their meal, the trio parted ways in the Entrance Hall.
Before leaving, the twins even thumped their chests and made a solemn vow: "If any Slytherins try to mess with you--come find us. We'll make sure they reek of Dungbombs for days."
Lucifer snorted, saying nothing.
Please. They weren't offering protection---they were just itching for an excuse to cause mayhem.
The night passed without an event.
xxxxxxx
A new day dawned-Friday, the end of the first week of term. Two days of weekend freedom loomed ahead.
"What have we got today?" Lucifer asked Hermione as he sat down at the Gryffindor table.
"Double Potions with the Slytherins," Harry answered for him, shocking Ron (who didn't like him).
"Snape's Head of Slytherin House. My brother said he always favors their lot -- we'll be able to see if it's true," Ron said whose mouth was still full of food and pieces were flowing everywhere.
"Wish McGonagall favored us," Harry was starting to dream even in the morning, Hermione thought he'd gone mad or eating something wrong.
Just then, the mail arrived. Lucifer wondered if he got any then suddenly Rowena approached his table and pushed her leg towards him.
After giving her favourite treats, he started reading his letter.
'Lucifer,
Hey it's me here. Don't worry I haven't destroyed your pub yet.
But I am surprised you haven't killed or blown up someone's head up, until now? There are no prison threats, so I am assuming everything is going OK then?
Mazikeen'
"Was there even a need to write this?" Lucifer found it quite astonishing, and he wasn't stupid enough to think that, "How many drafts were sacrificed for this final piece?" he was muttering something like that under his breath.
Hermione who was sitting beside him heard everything and couldn't help but cover her mouth. But it was really very difficult, she was about to burst out laughing at any moment.
She didn't want to be labelled as a perverted girl, who likes to enjoy other people's inability to even write a few words.
________________
The morning light filtered through the dark water of Black Lake, now faint and eerie, but still enough to reveal several fish weaving leisurely among the lakeweed, completely carefree.
Suddenly, a massive shadow passed by. And when it vanished, the fish were gone too.
Lucifer spotted a few thick tentacles lingering for a second. That shadow... was clearly the legendary Giant Squid.
Well, so much for being carefree. Not a good thing, apparently---those fish didn't even put up a struggle before becoming breakfast.
"Impressive, isn't it?"
He whispered to Hermione who had appeared at his side when he changed directions along the way to Dungeons, also looking at Lake, "I'd heard about Slytherin's underwater view, way 'Greengrass' puts it-- far more stunning than any book could describe. It should be something, like living in one of those sea-view hotels."
"And that's all it has going for it." Hermione said aloud her pointy words, making a terrible face, as she turned to the motion of students passing them quickly. 'The scenery should practically be the dorm's only redeeming quality. As for everything else...' Well, there wasn't much to say besides endless complaints, if you ask her.
As they passed Snape's office, Lucifer cast a subtle glance at the door. It turned out Snape's personal quarters were connected directly to his office. The two rooms shared a door. He had only learned that from older students.
"Hermione, if you'd tried ever sneaking in without that knowledge, things could end... poorly."
"Gods, why would I ever 'sneak' into a professor's office? You are funny, I will let you know, I have never been given a detention before."
Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls----
"It's unclear whether they are alive or dead," But just the sight of them sent a psychological chill through the room, even Hermione.
Of course, another reason for the icy atmosphere could very well have been Professor Snape himself. His gaze, cold and piercing like the dead of winter, can make every student in the room shiver, the man hadn't even arrived yet, atmosphere was already gloomy.
....Bloody hell.
Britain was already damp enough. Scotland, with its highlands and oceanic climate, took it to another level-worse than London. And the fact that this dorm was located in a dungeon 'under' a lake? Realistically, this place shouldn't even be habitable.
Which, to be fair, it wouln't be without cooling and other charms placed. Most castles used their dungeons for prisoners. Who knew what Slytherin was thinking when he picked this place for his House dorm--trying to make sure his students went mad?
Dark, damp, and completely devoid of sunlight. The green color palette was already eerie during the day; at night, it was downright creepy to Hermione. Just being here made your mood sour without reason.
"Honestly, it was no wonder Slytherin kept turning out Dark wizards. The environment alone could twist anyone's personality...."
Anyone but Hermione, of course---she was a ray of sunshine.
"Wow, this could easily pass a tourist spot for Batcave."
She let out a giggle at that, "Lucifer!'
At exactly, 9 a.m the bell rang.
Then the door in front of the class, that Hermione assumed led to Prof. Snape's office, opened, and the man swept out dramatically in a billow of black swirling robes.
And it was at that moment she realized that she had been spending too much time with Lucifer, because the first thought that entered her head at the sight of the professor was Darth Vader's theme song.
Somehow, she managed to keep a straight face. He brought with him an oppressive presence. Every student-
Gryffindor or Slytherin immediately went silent. As Snape swept past, Lucifer subtly leaned away. He had no desire to get any of that greasy hair oil flung on him.
Snape's sharp gaze scanned the room, pausing briefly on both Harry before he finally pulled out the roll call.
Like the other professors, he hesitated when he reached Harry's name.
"Ah, Yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our 'new--celebrity'."
Malfoy and his two goons snickered as if someone had just passed gas. That tone. That voice. Even Harry, who had grown somewhat used to the professors' reactions, felt a prickle of unease.
Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of his warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.
Lucifer, unfazed, offered the man funding this school with his expertise, a friendly smile. Snape gave a cold snort and snapped the register shut.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," he began speaking in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word---like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort.
"As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic... I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses..."
"I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death---- if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
More silence followed this little speech. Harry and Ron, who were sat next to each other, exchanged looks with raised eyebrows. Hermione was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to prove she wasn't a dunder head.
She wasn't alone, several others mimicked her posture.
Lucifer was looking at the potion master with great interest, his gaze seemed to be looking through his entire life and judging his soul.
Snape slightly got unnerved by his stare and looked away.
"Potter!" Snape said suddenly, his sharp voice cut the air like a knife, zeroing in on Harry with laser precision, "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
To be completely honest, Harry didn't even recognize word "wormwood," let alone any of the others. It all sounded like gibberish to him.
Desperate, he glanced helplessly at Ron for assistance.
To his dismay, Ron looked away guiltily and shrank into himself, trying to become invisible.
A few seats away, Hermione had her hand shot up so high she might as well have been trying to touch the ceiling-but Snape ignored her completely, his eyes locked onto 'Potter.'
'...this is the first time I've seen him show such open hostility toward someone...'
Yes, this wasn't just bias. Lucifer could tell---this was genuine hatred, bordering on loathing. Watching Snape relentlessly direct his venom at Harry Potter, who sat among the Gryffindors, his expression became a little strange. 'What had the Chosen One done to provoke Snape?'
"I don't know, sir," Harry admitted, bracing himself.
Snape's lips curled into a sneer.
"Tut, tut---fame clearly isn't everything."
He deliberately ignored Hermione's hand, Malfoy chuckled under his breath, clearly savoring every moment. Watching Potter get knocked down a peg gave him more joy than being praised himself.
"Let's try again, shall we, Potter?" Snape said slowly, with venomous calm, "If I asked you to fetch me a bezoar, where would you look?"
"I... don't know, Professor." Harry's eyes were wide with confused innocence, "What's a bezoar?"
"I didn't give you permission to ask me questions. Gryffindor, minus one point." Snape's gaze grew colder, "Then let's make it simpler. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
He didn't wait for Harry to answer before snapping at Hermione, who looked like she might burst anytime through the ceiling, stretching her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat, "Miss Granger, I suggest you remain seated and silent."
She froze halfway out of her chair and reluctantly sat back down, making a sulky pout.
Harry muttered, "I still don't know, Professor," he clearly didn't have the faintest idea what a bezoar was.
"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"
The Chosen one forced himself to keep looking straight into those cold eyes. Snape sighed dramatically, as if boy had let down the entire wizarding world. Then, without warning, he turned to Lucifer.
"Morningstar. You look rather relaxed. That must mean you know the answer, don't you?"
"Tell us then-what do you get when you mix powdered root of asphodel with wormwood infusion?"
Lucifer wasn't the least bit surprised. Ever since he'd stood his ground against Snape that day when he tried to give him detention for the next week in the corridor, he had been expecting something like this.
Under Hermione's half admiring gaze, and half angry glare, he rose from his seat cleared his throat, and answered with calm precision:
"Asphodel, also known as Asphodelus, is a member of the lily family. In Greek mythology, it is a flower of the Underworld, said to bloom across the Fields of Asphodel---symbolizing desolation and the resting place of souls."
"During the Victorian era, it was common to use the language of flowers to express emotions. Asphodel conveyed the message: 'My regrets follow you to the grave.'
"Wormwood, on the other hand, is associated with bitterness and sorrow. Its flower symbolism similarly carries regret."
"From the context of the question, we can infer that---the person who posed it used these particular herbs to convey a poetic metaphor---a deep and sorrowful remorse toward someone whose nature was as pure as asphodel, and as graceful as a lily."
"Perhaps... that person's name was 'Lily?'"
'Scritch scritch scritch-!' Every single student, even Harry, turned to stare at Snape in perfect unison-confused, curious, stunned, even Lucifer.
That's what the question meant?
Especially Harry-'Lily?' That was his mum's name. Why would Snape be expressing 'remorse' toward his mother? Snape took two stunned steps backward, his face ghostly pale, staring at Lucifer like he had just witnessed something inhuman. 'I asked you a potion question, not for a bloody literary analysis!'
And yet... Lucifer Morningstar's answer had peeled him open like a book. Every layer of thought, every hidden regret Snape had buried deep within him---it had all been exposed, word for word.
Yes. Snape had indeed used this moment to say something unspeakable---something he could never admit aloud. Otherwise, why torment Potter with a question about the Draught of Living Death, an advanced sixth-year potion---when a basic first-year question would have sufficed? 'Damn you, Morningstar. This is the second time... the second time you've stabbed me in the heart!'
Snape's inner voice was screaming in rage, but his face turned even icier.
"Morningstar!" he snapped. "I asked you what potion the two ingredients create-not for your ridiculous poetic interpretation!"
"If you don't know the answer, just say so. Stop wasting everyone's time with your nonsense!"
"Ohhh," Lucifer blinked stopping deciphering sentences, he'd done out of old age habits, "you meant that, Professor." His eyes blinked again, as if he had just remembered this was a Potions class and not a literature seminar.
"The two ingredients, when combined in proper proportion, produce a powerful sleeping draught---the Draught of Living Death. The test creator used potion's name metaphorically to express a soul-crushing despair that makes life feel worse than death... further elevating the emotional depth of the question."
'Pfffft-!'
He did it again.
He actually did it again! Snape nearly exploded. He could no longer maintain his carefully constructed composure.
"SIT DOWN! Sit down this instant!" he bellowed at Lucifer who looked completely innocent as to why Snape was barking, sat back down quietly.
Hermione beside him looked absolutely stunned. 'How did answering a simple question make the professor that furious? Lucifer had even gotten answers right---shouldn't Snape be pleased?'
Where are House points? The young witches and wizards turned to Harry, then to Lucifer, and finally to Snape.
"What are you all staring at? Do I have the answer written on my face?!" Snape roared.
"Well?! Start writing! Or do you want me to shove the answers into your heads myself?!"
Everyone flinched and scrambled to jot down notes. But when Snape walked past the front row and caught a glimpse of Nott's parchment, his rage skyrocketed.
"Why are you writing down Morningstar's nonsense? I told you to write the recipe! The formula!"
"You lot are the 'worst' class I've ever taught!"
The heated glare from beside made Lucifer turn slightly and gave her a look. It was clear Hermione thought this was completely unfair. She had known the answer and had been the first to raise her hand.... Yet, she still didn't get the 'recognition' she deserved.
It wasn't hard to guess how upset that made her.
'Hmm... expecting fairness in Snape's classroom-wasn't that just wishful thinking?'
Hermione knew he wasn't to blame, but still... since class was in session and Snape was her professor, there wasn't anything she could say. All she could do was glare daggers at Lucifer with burning intensity.
It seemed she cared a lot about how well she performed in class. Lucifer didn't know exactly what she was thinking, but her emotional reaction caught his interest.
He blinked. His lips curved upward.
That deliberately provocative wink of Lucifer's only made Hermione angrier. With her brows furrowed and eyes blazing, she looked like a feisty little tiger-adorable, but not exactly threatening.
There was no denying it.
Besides studying magic, he had found something else entertaining at Hogwarts.
Like, say... teasing little witches?
Potions. It's a magical art that can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death!
As he spoke those words, Snape's typically dark aura-for once-didn't feel all that intimidating. Perhaps it was just an illusion.
Unfortunately, Hermione had to cut a frog's liver, and ripping out their spines, thinking she'd come into a slaughterhouse as she prayed for their rest after death, at this point, she'd even lose her ability to flinch, and bring down the knife. 'Chop--!'
She promised her now ingredients to do better in class, make her best in doing them "good use."
Things didn't improve for Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued, Snape'd put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to paralyze and safely remove doxies.
After yet another emotional critical hit, Snape could only blame his own wretched mouth. Why did he have to provoke Morningstar--'that' student who never played by the rules?
Now he'd let his guard down not once, but twice. Even his usual mask of composure was slipping.
Not that Snape would ever admit fault, of course. He was the professor, Lucifer was the student and sooner or later, he'd catch the boy slipping.
With a cold flick of his wand, lines of dense text began appearing rapidly across the blackboard.
"These are the ingredients and brewing steps for the Doxycide Potion. Everyone, collect your materials now. Pair up in twos. If I catch anyone wasting my supplies..."
Snape's eyes gleamed,
"...you'll be scrubbing the dungeon floors for a week."
At his command, the classroom'd already burst into motion.
Naturally, Lucifer partnered with Hermione. It had only been a week since the term began, but the rivalry between houses was already brewing strong. The students of different houses were keeping to their own unless the numbers forced a crossover.
Conveniently, this year both Gryffindor and Slytherin had an even number of students.
The temperature in Potions classroom began to rise as cauldrons lit up and potion fumes curled lazily through the air.
Truth be told, brewing a basic potion wasn't that different from cooking. The only real difference lay in precision---ingredients needed to be measured to the gram, steps followed to the letter.
Snape prowled the classroom like a silent bat. He moved so stealthily not a single footstep betrayed his presence. It was unnerving. Whenever he was out of sight, every student in the room tensed, afraid he might be right behind them, watching with those cold, soulless eyes.
Soon enough, everyone noticed who was getting the brunt of Snape's attention: Harry Potter.
"Potter, if you don't know what 'sliced' means, you could ask-rather than grind porcupine quills into 'dust.' Gryffindor, minus one point."
"Potter, I'm starting to think Hogwarts should hire a language tutor for you. So the great savior of the wizarding world can, perhaps, one day...read his professor's notes. Gryffindor, minus one."
"Potter, did I or did I not tell you to 'steam' the flobberworms? Have you done it yet?"
"Potter!"
"Potter!"
If Harry had been doubting Lucifer's motives earlier, all doubts were now burned away. There was only one explanation in his mind:
Lucifer Morningstar had completely made all that crap up.
All that stuff about Snape expressing regret, using flower language to convey hidden remorse? Nonsense! The guy was just looking for any excuse to make his life hell!
This version of Snape, freshly provoked, was even more brutal than the one in the Great Hall. By halfway mark of class, Gryffindor had already lost ten points.
Hermione looked like she wanted to possess Harry's body just so she could make the potion for him.
After thoroughly venting his fury on Harry, Snape finally decided he'd had enough. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticising almost everyone except Malfoy and Greengrass.
He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way she had stewed her horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their notion was cooling across the stone floor hunning.
Burning holes in people's shoes.
Within seconds, whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.
"Idiot boy!" Snape snarled, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand, "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"
Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.
"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus. Then he again rounded on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.
"You---Potter, why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."
Harry almost opened his mouth to argue, then bit inside of cheeks. Snape spared a few acid-tongued remarks for poor Neville, who nearly teared up on the spot, then shifted his sights to Lucifer.
He wouldn't dock Morningstar points---he had already tried that before, and Snape still had his house pride, after all. But his tongue? Oh, that could lash. All he needed was the tiniest flaw to launch a full verbal assault.
Except...As he watched, Snape's scowl deepened.
Where were the flaws? Why couldn't he find any?
Morningstar was following procedure with such absurd precision, it was painful to watch. Snape 'did' find a few minor issues, but they weren't even his fault---they stemmed from the ingredients.
You see, potion brewing isn't just about following instructions. Ingredient quality and compatibility matter too. Ideally, every batch should be adjusted subtly to account for these differences in pursuit of perfection.
But this was 'far' beyond what first-years were expected to know.
Morningstar, however, executed every step from the board flawlessly. Weights accurate to the gram. Timing down to the second. Snape felt as if he were chewing on a hedgehog---no matter how he tried, he couldn't get a proper bite.
From her seat at the back, Daphne watched with quiet amazement. Magic aptitude aside, Morningstar's learning ability was off the charts. The boy could pick up anything in mere moments----it was almost inhuman.
"Morningstar," Snape finally snapped, "The reason I paired students together was not so one of you could just sit there watching. You've done everything yourself---what's the point of having Granger there? Don't let a little talent make you so full of yourself!"
Clearly frustrated, Snape didn't give Lucifer a chance to respond. He whirled away and stalked off, his robes billowing behind him.
After two verbal defeats, Snape had come to a valuable realization: if Morningstar wasn't allowed to speak, he couldn't humiliate him. Best to shut him up entirely. That way, Snape wouldn't have to feel like someone was reaching into his chest and squeezing his lungs.
Lucifer couldn't help but chuckle. 'What a move, old bat. Only you could manage to turn even this into a complaint....'
He wasn't bothered in the slightest by Snape's outburst. But Hermione felt a pang of guilt, her pace was slow in handling dead carcasses of creatures, and mutilating them, she didn't even know before!
"I'm sorry, Lucifer. If I hadn't slacked off, Professor Snape wouldn't have scolded you..."
"It's fine," Lucifer said casually with a shrug, "I think he was just concerned I was overworking myself." He smiled and slid the dried nettles toward her.
"Just crush these into powder and add them to the cauldron. Once that's done, the potion is finished. You take care of this last step..."
"Okay!" Hermione nodded enthusiastically, it was better than wiping dirty cowbane's essence off her palm and began grinding the nettles with careful focus.
Class ended not long after, and Snape, true to form, didn't spare Morningstar even a single glance. But before leaving, he dropped a parting blow:
"Your homework is a sixteen-inch essay."
Sixteen.
Every student in the room deflated like a popped balloon. Even Lucifer grimaced. First-year assignments were typically light -six inches, maybe 1,500 words at most.
Snape had just assigned triple that. A full four to five thousand words.
He didn't care that the entire class looked like they'd been hexed into despair. He simply swept out of the classroom like the grim spirit of misery itself.
"Let's go," Lucifer sighed, turning to Hermione. Inwardly, he was already scheming. 'Maybe I should get myself a magical quill like that reporter Rita Skeeter's in Daily Prophet...'
Because writing thousands of words on such a basic potion was beyond pointless. He wasn't about to waste his time on something this meaningless. He'd rather go on a walk with his friend.
At least the little witch was nice to look at---bright eyes, soft dimples, always smiling sweetly. That improved one's mood.
But no, what annoyed Hermione most? Snape hadn't given her friend, best friend any points. 'Just because he's a Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake! Was this fair?'
Slytherin was currently ahead by a massive margin, so she felt the urgency to score points...
But she wouldn't allow this to stand. Clearly, it was time to up the difficulty for her dear studies---so others could learn who truly was the 'backbone' of Gryffindor House.
"He was just bullying Harry. And, why did you have to be so cheeky, what if we'd lose more points?"
"Well, you did make friends with the Devil, after all?"
She tutted at him loudly, eyes telling to be serious.
"...My first lo-friend taught me what flowers symbolized. That's what got me thinking... maybe something more was going on." Lucifer readied about to get a headache, he was already quite familiar with this tone, it's really hard dealing with children.
He even had to correct his words quickly. It was really a painful topic.
"Flowers?" Hermione who was looking at him, with a worried expression from the side, asked him hesitantly, "What do you mean Lucifer?"
'He looks like an angel' She wasn't blind, and obviously noticed his good looks, Lucifer was the most beautiful person, she has ever met. Very handsome.
"I hate him!" Harry wasn't impressed, either, looking quizzically at him, an eyebrow quirked. Planting flowers... He knew a lot about this kind of hard labour, had to keep the gardens managed back at home.
All three of them, shared confused looks with each other but just shrugged again, for being random non-sense. Lucifer was always talking about weird things, that they couldn't understand. Just like when they first entered the Great hall, he started talking to ghosts about Reapers and some biblical stuff.
'Maybe I should also try reading them, to have some kind of common ground?'
That's what Hermione thought, there was a bunch of old stuff in her Grandpa Wendell's room.
It obviously didn't hurt to gain some extra knowledge, besides in this way, she would be able to understand Lucifer much better.
______________
After lunch, Harry and Ron made their way to Hagrid's hut, just as they'd planned.
The half-giant welcomed them enthusiastically with scalding hot tea and rock-hard pies that looked like they could chip a fang off a dragon.
"Another Weasley?"
The moment Hagrid caught sight of Ron's signature flaming-red hair, he groaned with a weary sigh.
"I haven't had a good night's sleep in years, thanks to chasing your brothers out of the Forbidden Forest."
Ron chuckled awkwardly and lowered his head, nibbling at a rock pie-and immediately winced in pain as his face twisted in agony. He nearly broke a tooth on the thing.
Harry, wisely, set his pie down without taking a bite. He blew on the hot tea instead and took a careful sip before launching into a recount of his first week at Hogwarts.
To Harry, everything about the school still felt like paradise---warm beds, endless food, and a surprisingly generous amount of spending money. Well, technically, a legacy, not pocket change.
Best of all, he was learning magic. Real, powerful, 'incredible' magic. He had friends. A place he belonged. It was perfect.
Everything---except Professor Snape.
"Lucifer told me Snape was trying to show some kind of remorse to my mum," Harry muttered, scowling. "I think that's complete nonsense."
He didn't notice Hagrid's reaction at first--but the moment he mentioned the worse 'Remorse', the huge man visibly flinched. Twice. His mountainous frame actually shuddered.
"Do you think Snape hates me, Hagrid?" Harry asked earnestly.
"Rubbish," Hagrid replied, waving a meaty hand as he fiddled with a pie crust, "Why would he hate you? And even if there was something to apologize for... it wouldn't be 'his' place to do it."
If anyone owed an apology, it was James Potter, in Hagrid's eyes.
He hadn't forgotten how rowdy the Marauders had been back in the day. Even the junior Death Eaters from Slytherin had learned to avoid them.
Snape had been their favorite punching bag, day after day. If James hadn't matured after graduation, Hagrid doubted Lily would've ever become friends with him.
"Hmm?" Harry caught that odd comment, "Then... who 'should' apologize?"
Hagrid grunted and waved his hand again, clearly done with the topic. "No one needs to apologize. Snape doesn't hate you, Harry. Don't overthink it. Here, have another nougat."
"...Okay."
Harry knew he was dodging the question, but pressed no further. Instead, he listened to Ron excitedly recount stories of his second eldest brother raising dragons in Romania.
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed a copy of the 'Daily Prophet' sitting on the table.
The headline read:
"BREAK-IN AT GRINGOTTS – INVESTIGATION ONGOING."
Curious, he picked it up and was startled by the timing. The article said the break-in occurred on his birthday... the same day he'd visited Diagon Alley with Hagrid. But he had already retrieved whatever the goblins were guarding.
It might be related to Dumbledore's special task to Hagrid, so he noted the coincidence and put the paper aside.
xxxxxx
Meanwhile, Hermione had no interest in Immortality, without youth it was useless, she stated to Lucifer who quizzed her. Hearing her response, he became a little dazed.
"Hey? What are you thinking about?"
Her voice pulled him from his thoughts. She tilted her head curiously, watching Lucifer stare out over the Black Lake numbly.
He blinked, then smiled faintly, "I was just wondering how Quirrell managed to land the job."
She made a face of deep disdain.
"Right? He can't even speak properly! I can't understand half of what he says in class. I'd rather just read the textbook." Hermione huffed, clearly frustrated, "Honestly, what was Dumbledore thinking? Maybe he really is going senile... I mean, he's what, over a hundred now?"
Lucifer over the days noticed something: it didn't matter how progressive or indifferent a Slytherin might seem---every single one of them seemed to carry a grudge against Dumbledore.
Even someone like Tracey Davis, who wasn't a blood-purity zealot.
What had Dumbledore done to earn that kind of hatred? Lucifer wanted to know, but doubted the girl had the answers. So instead, he played along.
"I heard there's a curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. No professor's ever lasted more than a year..."
Hermione's eyes lit up, "You've heard that too? I 'love' that story! There've been so many professors that quit for the weirdest reasons."
And just like that, she was off, animated and gleeful as she rattled off all the juicy gossip she'd gathered.
The last professor? A witch who got conned out of her gold and her heart by a scoundrel. She sliced off something vital in a fit of rage, looted his vault, and vanished. Still on the run.
The one before that? An elderly wizard, old pals with Dumbledore. Collapsed from illness during Easter. Now permanently confined to St. Mungo's.
The one before that? An illegal magical creature dealer. The one before that? Injured by a failed experiment. And another one? Caught with a criminal record.
Her voice eventually slowed... and softened... until she dozed off mid-sentence, using Lucifer's arm as a pillow.
Feeling the weight on his shoulder, helplessly amused. He didn't wake her. Instead, Lucifer shifted slightly into a position that was comfortable for both of them. Then, with a final glance at the slumbering girl beside him, he closed his eyes.
xxxxxx
It wasn't until the sun began to sink below the horizon and the air grew chilly that the girl finally stirred from her slumber.
The cool evening breeze brushed against Hermione's face, bringing clarity to her sleepy mind. As soon as she remembered what had just happened, her eyes darted to the wet patch on Lucifer's robe---a painfully obvious stain that made her cheeks turn as red as the sunset overhead.
She wanted nothing more than to bury her face in her chest and disappear.
Lucifer, who had just exited getting familiar with magic around the castle, especially "trace" slowly opened his eyes. Pretending he had just woken up too, he stretched lazily and muttered, "Can't believe I slept for that long. Hermione, why didn't you wake me up? We wasted such a beautiful afternoon."
"Huh? I-I just woke up too. I guess I slept too well..." She mumbled in a voice as soft as a mosquito's hum, all the while wishing she could whip out her wand and 'Evanesco' away the incriminating evidence.
Lucifer didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. He casually brushed some dust off the back of his robe and said, "We'd better head back. It's getting cold---you don't want to catch a chill."
"Mhm."
Hermione clasped her hands behind her back and followed after him. As they walked, a quiet, breathless giggle escaped her lips, and her eyes curved into little crescent moons.
This--this was exactly why she enjoyed being around Lucifer so much.
She wasn't stupid. She'd realized it now. Lucifer hadn't really been asleep. No one wakes up from a nap with such sharp awareness, without even a single second of dazed blinking.
He had pretended to sleep---just to save her from the embarrassment.
He was like an adult trapped in a boy's body. Not in a try-hard, show-off kind of way, but in a calm, composed, always-in-control manner. He was thoughtful, subtle.
Always taking care of her emotions without making it obvious.
For a girl like Hermione Granger, who had left the comfort of her home and her mother's care to face the intimidating new world of Hogwarts alone, Lucifer gave her a rare and precious feeling of safety. It made her feel like she belonged.
Watching his tall figure walking ahead, she suddenly felt like she ought to be the one doing something for him---not just receiving his kindness all the time.
But what? She racked her brain in frustration.
Lucifer was good at everything. Every subject he touched, he mastered. Even that nosy Slytherin girl was constantly green with envy. He didn't need her help with classes. And in daily life... she felt like she didn't even have the right.
Wait--a spark flashed in her mind.
Food, and Sleep!
Hermione's chocolate eyes lit up. She remembered how Lucifer had once rattled on and on about various 'french cuisines' Given his background, it was likely boy's palate was exquisite, and used to try new things, without worrying of the cost.
It made Ron's face once scarlet when she had seen him "borrowing" a few sickles with Lucifer, and even offered to seven years worth of interest after graduation once he secured a job.
Knowing Harry's nature, that money was all but forgotten. Of course, good mannered enough Granger didn't expose such a scammy plan.
But still, she was worried about Lucifer's financial burden. Maybe... just maybe... she could help from that angle. Discreetly learn to bake a few sweets.
With a plan finally forming in her mind, Hermione beamed like a little sun. She quickened her steps to catch up with Lucifer, walking beside him, laughing and chatting cheerfully as they entered the castle.
As soon as she returned to her dorm, she pulled out a piece of parchment and began scribbling a letter to her mother. She added a few plausible excuses and requested--casually-to help her learn her ways of the "kitchen."
That should be enough... for now.
Meanwhile, Lucifer was completely unaware that his little gesture of kindness had unknowingly made the bushy-haired girl unknowingly fall even harder for him.
....As far as he was concerned, money
was just a piece of paper or metal, he could make out from the air. He had no idea that he secured a girl ready to make "home-baked meals" for him.
Back in his dorm, the moment Lucifer walked through the door, Harry, Ron and their three roommates who had been messing around just a moment ago instantly fell silent. He gave them a brief glance but paid them no mind.
Pulled out a Herbology textbook and began reading. These rowdy boys had been behaving suspiciously well lately. Lucifer wasn't sure if they'd genuinely learned their lesson, or if they were just scheming something new.
In the magical world, winning a duel wasn't just about power level.
It wasn't about who had the most magic or who had practiced the most spells. Real duels depended on reflexes, awareness, battlefield experience... and sometimes, just sheer luck.
xxxxxxx
Talk about History of Magic, it was everything Hermione had hoped it wouldn't be.
This is to say that History of Magic was---God, how she hated to say it. Boring.
History of Magic was boring.
In fact, it was the most boring class she had ever had the displeasure of sitting in. Prof. Binns just kept droning in this monotone so flat that a robot sounded lively by comparison.
It was a struggle to make her mind focus on his words. Thirty minutes into the lecture, half the students were asleep, and the remaining half, mostly Ravenclaws, looked like they were trying to keep from nodding off.
Hermione stopped herself from looking at her watch for the third time in what she knew had only been a minute.
A watched pot never boils.
She tried to return focus to Prof. Binns' lecture, but it was proving even more difficult than usual, and that was because, apparently, the boy to her left had decided to take up humming as a new hobby.
History of Magic-without question, Lucifer's most detested class.
Other classes, at least, offered House points or valuable knowledge. Even Professor Quirrell, who was an absolute joke in class and barely taught anything, still managed to help him earn a few points--- when he played along with his nervous act and cornered him after class with carefully staged questions.
But Binns---the ghostly relic of a professor -was something else entirely. His lectures were nothing but dull recitations from textbook, devoid of depth or insight.
The man (ghost?) didn't even allow students to ask questions, eliminating any chance of earning extra credit.
In short, the class was a complete waste of time.
"Lucifer, stop it. I'm trying to pay attention."
In contrast to literally everyone else in the classroom, he practically looked bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
He was lounged back on the chair, The 'Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4' in his hand, and he'd been trying to cast The Summoning Charm on a piece of parchment on the table.
It hadn't been going too well; all he'd managed to do so far was to make the parchment twitch a few times, so apparently, he'd decided to take a break and do some humming instead.
Lucifer looked at her, "Granger, I highly doubt my not humming will help you pay attention any better."
She scowled when he shifted to using her surname again, how many times was it now, she had to remind him?
"It's 'Hermione' for you. Well, it certainly isn't helping, is it? And could you at least pretend like you're paying attention?"
"Why?" Lucifer asked. "I'm not. That's why I've got that guy." He gestured at his newly delivered Self-Writing Quill that was diligently noting down every word Prof. Binns said in beautiful gold ink.
Hermione's scowl deepened. Clearly, he didn't have any issues with using quills when they favoured him.
"You need to do more than just take notes, Lucifer; you also have to pay attention in class."
Lucifer began to respond, then he paused and gave Hermione a very thoughtful look. "You're not actually trying to convince me, are you? But yourself."
Hermione spluttered. "Of course not! Why would I need to convince myself to pay attention in class?"
"Because the class is boring. And because Binns is a terrible teacher. There's nothing that listening to him talk will give you that the transcript won't, and you know this... But you feel that you must do it, because that's how it's supposed to be done. So you try to convince yourself, by using me as some kind of... sounding board for your arguments."
xxxxxx
"Huh. It's like the potions' textbook all over again," Lucifer said thoughtfully.
Hermione had no idea what potions' textbook he was talking about, but she had trouble caring about that right then with how angry she was.
The worst part was that she didn't know why what he'd said was making her angry, but it was, and not knowing was simply making her angrier.
"Fine, then," She said curtly, "do whatever you want." And with that she tried to ignore him and pay attention to the lesson.
The nerve of him. All she'd wanted to do was help him, and he was acting like she was being a "know-it-all."
Well, he hadn't actually used that term, but that was beside the point.
They were supposed to pay attention in class. That was what they were supposed to do. Even if the teacher was boring, and dreary, and she knew he was quoting the textbook verbatim---argh!
Hermione's inner turmoil was interrupted by her partner's sigh.
Then she watched him from corner of her eye as he stopped the Self-Writing Quill and, using a pen, continued the note---taking by hand in his own rather unflattering penmanship.
She blinked twice, "I thought you didn't see any point in paying attention?" She asked.
"Still don't. Not even a little bit."
Hermione frowned, not sure how to respond. Lucifer didn't sound angry, or snarky. He sounded nothing like she'd thought he would.
Before she could think of something to say, he sighed again, pen tapping on the desk thoughtfully.
Then he said, "you know, one of the few things that I recall my mum telling me, is that I have a habit of making people face their truth." Lucifer looked at her, and his eyes were lost and sad. "She said that this isn't a bad thing, as long as I also remember to face my truth. And my truth is, Granger, that I'd rather suffer three hours of Binns' torture, than to drag out a 'pointless' argument with you."
A beat passed.
"Damn, that sounded way better in my head," Lucifer muttered. It was in that moment that Hermione realized that, for the first time in her life, she had technically won an argument and it didn't feel good.
She didn't much like the feeling; like she'd taken a bite of her favourite food only to realise that it was ash all along.
Hermione almost sighed. Why couldn't Lucifer just be like every other boy her age?
Now, his words were causing her to evaluate her own actions, and she couldn't deny that, while she may not have been in the wrong, she had undoubtedly handled this entire event with none of the aplomb she should have.
Because Lucifer was right, she didn't want to take notes. Or pay attention to Binns' dull lecture. She would much rather be studying something else.
Hermione huffed. 'Was this what Mum had meant when we talked about growing up?'
The girl had to admit that she didn't care much for it. Lucifer went back to taking notes, and she tried to do the same, but if it had been difficult to focus on the incorporeal professor before, it was now virtually impossible.
She needed to say something, didn't she? She had to do something to push past... this.
Hermione's eyes alighted on the Self-Writing Quill on the table where Lucifer had dropped it.
"So, your quill," She began, then cleared her throat when her voice came out smaller than she'd expected, "it writes well," she finished, and then almost cringed at her own words.
That was the best she could come up with!?
Fortunately, Lucifer saw the olive branch for what it was, because he smiled and said, "It does, doesn't it? Much better than my small one."
Hermione smiled back. Then after a moment, "You didn't look like you were making much progress with The 'Summoning Charm' earlier. I could practice with you if you want."
And barely a minute later, Lucifer's Self-Writing Quill was steadfastly transcribing Binns' lecture once more, while the two children practiced a spell many years above theirs.
At least, they got the parchment to do more than twitch by the end of the class.
When the bell rang, Binns, expressionless as always---assigned homework and promptly phased through the wall back to his office.
The students, unfortunately, couldn't phase through anything and had to walk to the Great Hall on their own tired legs.
xxxxxx