Chapter 21: Lights on the Black Lake
The sky outside the window had completely darkened, leaving only the last trace of deep purple twilight on the horizon. The train's speed slowed significantly, and the sound of the whistle seemed exceptionally long in the night.
"We'll be there in a little while." Polaris glanced out the window and stood up. "We should change into our robes."
He took the small carry-on bag from the luggage rack, which contained the robes he had prepared in advance. Neville also stood up hurriedly, scrambling to reach his trunk.
Hermione nodded and stood up as well. She looked at the narrow space of the compartment, then at Polaris and Neville, looking a bit hesitant.
Polaris pulled open the compartment door and said to her, "Ladies first. Neville and I will wait outside; call us when you're finished changing."
Hermione was slightly taken aback, then gave a grateful smile. "Thank you."
Polaris and Neville stepped out of the compartment and stood in the corridor. The corridor was full of students changing clothes; some compartment doors were tightly closed, while giggles and laughter drifted from others.
Neville rubbed his hands nervously, his face looking a bit pale.
"Are you okay?" Polaris asked.
Neville swallowed hard. "I... I'm a bit nervous. I don't know what it's going to be like... my grandmother told me a few things, but she always said I should see for myself..."
Polaris nodded without saying anything.
He knew exactly what would happen next—the Sorting Ceremony, the Sorting Hat, the gaze of the entire school's staff and students. But he couldn't say.
Neville wanted to say something more, but at that moment, the compartment door opened.
Hermione walked out wearing her brand-new robes, which fit perfectly with the collar neatly fastened. Her face carried a slight flush of excitement.
"Your turn."
Polaris and Neville went in and quickly changed into their robes. Polaris's set was made by Madam Malkin using the finest materials; the deep gray work robes were well-tailored, making him look exceptionally sharp. Neville's robes were slightly too large, with the cuffs covering half of his palms, and he scrambled to roll up his sleeves.
"It's fine, we'll talk more inside." Polaris helped him tidy up and pulled open the compartment door.
Just as the three of them stepped into the corridor, the train gave a sudden jolt and stopped.
Outside the window, a place that looked like a platform was lit by dim yellow lights, and the sign could be vaguely seen reading 'Hogsmeade Station.' The noisy sound of voices came from outside, along with the movement of something massive in the darkness.
"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"
A gruff voice pierced through the noise, sounding exceptionally clear in the night.
Polaris followed the sound and saw a massive figure standing on the platform, holding a lamp. The man's frame was so large it almost blocked the light behind him; he had a face full of beard, and his eyes sparkled in the darkness.
Hermione pulled at Polaris's sleeve. "Let's get down quickly."
The three of them followed the crowd and squeezed off the train. The November night was bitingly cold, and a chilly wind blew from the lake, carrying damp moisture. Neville shivered, his face turning even paler.
"Firs' years! Follow me! Watch your step!" Hagrid's voice echoed in the night sky. He held an oil lamp and led the way down a steep, narrow path.
The new students followed behind, chattering; some were excited, others afraid. The path grew narrower, with thick bushes on both sides, making it almost impossible to see the ground. Neville stumbled, nearly falling, and instinctively grabbed a corner of Polaris's robes.
His hands were shaking.
"It's so dark..." Neville whispered, his voice trembling noticeably.
Polaris glanced at him without speaking. He stopped and pulled his wand from his robes.
"Lumos."
A soft white light lit up at the tip of the wand, illuminating a small area around them. The light was warm and not blinding, like a star held in the palm of his hand.
Neville was stunned for a moment, and his tight grip relaxed slightly.
"Thank you," he whispered.
"It's nothing." Polaris continued forward, the light in his hand staying lit.
Hermione walked beside him, her eyes bright. "Your Lumosis so bright! Much brighter than I imagined. I tried this spell, but it could only produce a tiny bit of light..."
She didn't press for details, just offered pure admiration.
The path became steeper and steeper, finally opening up suddenly.
Before them was a Black Lake, its waters deep and reflecting the stars in the night sky. On the distant cliff stood a towering Castle. Warm light shone from the Castlewindows, flickering in the night like countless eyes watching them. The spires, the turrets, the walls—everything was exactly as Polaris had imagined, yet so real it made his heart race.
Hogwarts.
The surrounding first-years fell silent, staring blankly at the scene before them. Someone gasped, someone murmured to themselves, and someone grabbed the arm of the person next to them in excitement.
Neville also forgot his fear, looking at the Castle with his mouth agape.
"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid's voice pulled everyone back to reality. "C'mon, get in!"
A fleet of small boats was moored by the lake, rocking gently with the ripples. Polaris looked around and saw a boy with black hair and black eyes standing alone nearby, clutching his luggage, his expression calm with a hint of curiosity.
The boy seemed to sense his gaze and turned his head.
"Over here," Polaris waved to him.
The boy was slightly surprised, then walked over.
"Four people exactly," Polaris said, being the first to step onto a small boat. Neville followed closely, and Hermionealso boarded. The boy hesitated for a moment before sitting in the last spot.
The boat began to move automatically; there were no oars, yet it glided smoothly across the surface of the Black Lake.
The surroundings were extremely quiet, with only the faint sound of the boat cutting through the water. The distant Castle drew closer, its lights casting dappled reflections on the water that swayed gently with the ripples.
"I'm Anthony Goldstein." The black-haired boy suddenly spoke, his voice not loud but very clear. "Are you first-years too?"
Hermione nodded. "I'm Hermione Granger. This is Neville Longbottom, and this is Polaris Black."
Anthony's gaze rested on Polaris for a moment, appearing to react to his name, but he didn't say much.
"Are you nervous?" Hermione asked him.
Anthony thought for a moment. "A little. But more curious. Both my parents graduated from Hogwarts, but they never told me much, saying I should experience it for myself."
"Me too!" Hermione immediately found a kindred spirit. "My parents are Muggles; they have no idea what the wizarding world is like. I've looked up so many books, but what's written in books feels completely different from seeing it with your own eyes. What do you think it will be like later? I heard we have to sing the school song, and something else—"
She had started prattling, but no one interrupted her.
As Neville listened, he seemed to relax a bit, occasionally chiming in with a small comment.
Polaris didn't speak, just watched the Castle as it drew nearer.
The boat passed through a curtain of ivy beneath the cliff and entered a dark tunnel. The surroundings became pitch black, with only a faint light ahead. Then, the boat sailed out of the tunnel, and the view suddenly opened up—
They had reached the foot of the Castle.
An underground dock appeared before them, with stone steps leading upward toward a massive oak door.
The students disembarked one after another and stood on the dock. Hagrid walked to the front, raised his enormous fist, and knocked three times on the oak door.
Boom, boom, boom.
The heavy sound echoed through the stone walls.
The door slowly opened.
A tall Witch wearing emerald-green robes, with black hair pulled into a bun, stood behind the door with a serious expression.
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said.
Professor McGonagall nodded, her gaze sweeping over the group of nervous and excited children before her.
"Come in, all of you," she said.
The first-years followed her into the Castle, through the massive Entrance Hall, and down brightly lit corridors. Torches on the walls flickered, stretching shadows long and short. The surroundings were so quiet that only footsteps and occasional whispers could be heard.
Finally, Professor McGonagall stopped in front of a small room.
"Wait here," she said. "Don't wander off. I will come and get you when we are ready."
She turned and left.
The room was crowded with first-years, everyone chattering and discussing; some were rubbing their hands nervously, while others were red-faced with excitement. Through the crack in the door, the faint hum of a crowd could be heard—that was the people in the Great Hall.
Neville stood close to Polaris, his face even paler than before.
"Polaris," he whispered, "what... what do you think will happen later?"
Polaris looked at the tightly closed door and shook his head.
"I don't know," he said. "But whatever it is, we'll find out soon."
Hermione took a deep breath beside him and straightened her back.
Anthony stood on Polaris's other side, his expression calm.
Then, the voices suddenly went quiet.
The sound of footsteps approached from a distance.
The door opened.
Professor McGonagall stood at the doorway.
"Follow me," she said.
The first-years followed her out of the room, through the corridor, to a pair of massive double doors.
Professor McGonagall stopped and turned to look at them.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said. "The Sorting Ceremonywill begin shortly."
She pushed open the doors.
Chapter 22: The Sorting
Professor McGonagall pushed open the giant oak doors, and the first-years filed in.
Behind the doors was an even wider stone corridor, where torches burned on the walls, casting their shadows on the ground. The students at the front of the line were already nearing the end of the corridor, where a warm yellow light faintly shone through, along with the hum of voices—the Great Hall was just ahead.
Just then, a group of translucent figures suddenly emerged from the walls, passing right through the middle of the line.
"Whoa!"
Several first-years screamed in fright, and some even backed away several steps. Neville's face went even paler, and he instinctively grabbed Rhys's robes.
The ghosts didn't care at all, some floating in the air, others passing through the students' bodies, talking to themselves.
"...Peeves is pouring ink in the corridors again, Filch is absolutely livid..."
"...He can't catch Peeves anyway..."
"...I wonder what's for dinner tonight, I hope there's roast beef..."
A plump ghost noticed the frightened first-years, stopped, smiled slightly at them, and bowed. He wore a doublet with a ruff, looking like someone from centuries ago.
"Don't be afraid," he said, his voice ethereal and airy. "New arrivals? Good luck to you."
With that, he and the group of ghosts continued to float away, disappearing into the wall on the other side.
Rhys watched those translucent figures, his gaze thoughtful.
Ghosts.
Dead Wizards who, out of fear of death, chose to remain in the world of the living, existing in the form of spirits.
He thought of the Sheep Talisman—the ability that allowed for astral projection and free flight. If he used the Sheep Talisman to project his soul, would his state be the same as these ghosts?
Or was the Sheep Talisman just a temporary separation of the soul from the body, while ghosts were a permanent lingering of the soul?
He didn't know, but he found it very interesting.
"It's amazing..." Hermione murmured beside him, her eyes sparkling. "Those are ghosts! I read about them in 'Hogwarts: A History.' Hogwarts has the most ghosts in all of Britain, and every house has its own resident ghost!"
Neville finally let go of Rhys's robes, but his face was still pale.
"Does it... feel cold when they pass through you?" he whispered.
"Probably," Rhys said.
The line continued forward, passing through the double doors at the end of the corridor—
The Great Hall suddenly appeared before them.
Even though Rhys already knew what the Great Hall of Hogwarts looked like from books and movies, the moment he saw it with his own eyes, he was still struck with awe.
It was a massive space, so high the ceiling was almost invisible. Hundreds of candles floated in mid-air, illuminating the entire hall in a golden splendor. Four long house tables stretched from the entrance to the end of the hall, each filled with older students craneing their necks to look at the incoming first-years.
At the staff table at the end of the hall sat over a dozen Professors. In the very center was a high-backed golden chair, occupied by an old man—long silvery-white beard, half-moon spectacles, and a gaze that was both sharp and kind.
Dumbledore.
Rhys's gaze lingered on him for only a moment before moving away.
His attention was drawn to the ceiling above—it wasn't a stone dome, but a deep night sky, dotted with stars and the Milky Way running through it. Those stars seemed to be moving slowly, twinkling with a soft light.
"It's a bewitched ceiling," Hermione whispered in his ear, her voice full of excitement. "'Hogwarts: A History' says the magic on this ceiling is very ancient and truly reflects the sky outside. Look, the stars are so clear tonight!"
Rhys nodded; it was indeed beautiful.
Professor McGonagall led the first-years through the hall, stopping in the open space before the staff table. They stood in a row, facing the staff table with their backs to the older students.
The surrounding hum gradually quieted down, and everyone's eyes fell upon the first-years.
Standing in the line, Rhys could feel countless gazes sizing them up. At the staff table, he saw a Wizard with greasy Black hair looking at the first-years with hollow eyes, a gaze deep and complex—Snape. Beside him was a hunchbacked, short Witch who looked a bit nervous. Further down was Professor Quirrell, wearing a large purple turban and trembling slightly.
Professor McGonagall took out a four-legged stool and placed it before the first-years. Then she produced a tattered Wizard's hat and placed it on the stool.
The hat was wrinkled, patched, and filthy, looking as if it had been abandoned for centuries.
The first-years looked at each other, unsure of what this meant.
Suddenly, a rip opened near the brim of the hat—no, it wasn't a rip, it was a mouth. The hat began to sing:
"A long time ago when I was still a new hat,
Before Hogwarts had even been built,
The four great masters of this noble school,
Nurtured them as students to be taught.
Together they built this Castle,
Choosing students according to their own whims!
Gryffindor wanted the brave and the bold,
The more adventurous, the more they were prized;
Hufflepuff wanted the loyal and diligent,
Unafraid of toil, persevering to the end;
Wise and learned old Ravenclaw,
Loved students of extraordinary wit;
Shrewd Slytherin valued bloodline,
Only teaching such people as his disciples.
Together they recruited their followers,
Teaching and raising them in the same Castle,
But later they developed differences,
How to treat students became a dilemma.
Slytherin only took Wizards of pure blood,
But the other three said it shouldn't be so.
The conflict grew greater until at last,
Slytherin departed from this very door.
Now the four founders are no longer here,
So I shall arrange your place for them.
Put me on quickly and do not fear,
I will sort you into the home that suits you best!"
When the hat finished its song, it bowed to each of the four tables and then became still.
Enthusiastic applause rang out through the Great Hall.
Rhys heard someone whispering behind him.
"Fred lied to me!" a boy said crossly. "He said we had to wrestle a Troll to be sorted!"
"Fred's always lying, Ron," another boy said lazily.
Rhys didn't look back, but he knew who they were—the Weasley Twins and Ron.
Professor McGonagall stepped forward, holding a long roll of parchment.
"When I call your name, come forward, put on the hat, and sit on the stool," her voice was stern and clear, devoid of any excess emotion. "The Sorting Ceremony begins."
"Hannah Abbott!"
A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stepped out of the line and sat nervously on the stool. Professor McGonagalldropped the hat over her head—
The brim twitched, as if in thought.
Then the rip in the hat shouted:
"Hufflepuff!"
The second table from the right erupted in applause, and Hannah Abbott was pulled over by several older students to sit down.
One by one, the names were called.
"Susan Bones!"
"Hufflepuff!"
"Terry Boot!"
"Ravenclaw!"
A tall, thin boy walked toward the Ravenclaw table, where applause broke out.
Rhys noticed that each house had its own style—Gryffindor's applause was the loudest, Hufflepuff's was the warmest, Ravenclaw's was the most elegant, and Slytherin's was the most reserved.
"Daphne Greengrass!"
"Slytherin!"
Malfoy's name hasn't come up yet, Rhys thought.
"Hermione Granger!"
Hermione took a deep breath, hurried forward, and put on the hat. She was so nervous her lips were pale, and the hat thought for quite a while—longer than anyone before.
Finally, the hat shouted, "Gryffindor!"
The Gryffindor table erupted in thunderous applause, with the Weasley Twins in particular whistling to welcome her. Hermione took off the hat, her face flushed, and headed toward the table.
Before sitting down, she glanced back at Rhys.
Rhys gave her a slight nod.
Next was Neville. He stumbled forward, nearly tripping over his own feet. As soon as the hat touched his head, it shouted:
"Gryffindor!"
Neville's face lit up, and he almost ran toward the Gryffindor table.
Then came Draco Malfoy. He walked up with an elegant stride, and the hat had barely touched his head before it shouted:
"Slytherin!"
Malfoy took off the hat and walked toward the Slytherintable with a smug smile. Before sitting down, he looked over at Rhys with an expectant gaze that seemed to say, "Cousin, you should come here too."
Rhys looked away.
"Harry Potter!"
The Great Hall suddenly went silent for a second, followed by a burst of whispers.
Rhys saw the boy with Black hair and green eyes step forward and sit down; the hat stayed on his head for a long time. The brim of the hat twitched constantly, as if it were arguing with Harry about something.
Finally, the hat shouted:
"Gryffindor!"
The applause was deafening, especially from the Gryffindor table. Rhys saw the red-haired Ron Weasleyclapping frantically, his face full of excitement.
Then it was "Ron Weasley," who got his wish and went to Gryffindor.
The names continued one by one.
Finally—
"Polaris Black!"
Professor McGonagall's voice was clear and powerful.
Rhys stepped out of the line and walked toward the four-legged stool. He could feel many eyes on him—Hermione, Neville, Malfoy, and some people at the staff table.
He sat down, and Professor McGonagall placed the hat on his head.
The hat's voice sounded in his ear, audible only to him.
"Interesting, interesting..." the hat murmured. "I've seen many of the Black family. Your father, Cepheus, Ravenclaw. Your mother, Long Meixiu, also Ravenclaw. But in you... there's something very complex. Intelligent, studious, like a Ravenclaw. But you also crave power and have ambition; Slytherin would welcome you as well. And you have courage, a great deal of courage..."
Rhys said in his mind: I want to go to Ravenclaw.
"Why?" the hat asked.
Because I want to learn things. Because Professor Flitwickis there. Because both my parents were there.
The hat was silent for a second.
"Are you sure? Slytherin can also help you learn things, and the Black family has its traditions..."
Sure.
The hat chuckled softly.
"Well, as you wish. Although there are so many possibilities within you, since your heart is set..."
It took a deep breath and then shouted:
"Ravenclaw!"
The Ravenclaw table erupted in applause, elegant yet warm. Rhys took off the hat, stood up, and walked toward the blue table.
He felt many gazes following him.
Malfoy was at the Slytherin table, his expression a complex mix of surprise, disappointment, and a hint of confusion. He clearly hadn't expected his cousin not to be in Slytherin.
Hermione was at the Gryffindor table, giving him a big smile and waving. Neville was beside her, nodding a bit shyly.
At the staff table, Professor Flitwick—the tiny Wizard—was clapping with a wide smile, seemingly very pleased to have received a new Ravenclaw. He even gave Rhys a nod.
Snape's gaze fell on Rhys, and there seemed to be something moving in those hollow eyes. His expression didn't change, but Rhys felt him watching—was it for some reason he didn't know?
What concerned Rhys the most was Dumbledore.
The old man with the silvery-white beard was looking at him, his gaze carrying a deep, all-seeing smile. He didn't clap, just watched quietly, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly.
Rhys looked away and continued toward the Ravenclawtable.
As he approached, several older students warmly made room for him.
"Welcome! Sit here!"
A pretty girl—who looked like a prefect—smiled and nodded at him: "I'm Penelope Clearwater, Ravenclawprefect. Welcome, Black. If there's anything you don't understand, feel free to ask me."
Rhys thanked her and sat down.
Just as he settled in, a boy with Black hair and dark eyes across from him reached out his hand.
He said, a hint of a smile on his lips, "We meet again."
Rhys shook his hand and smiled back.
Anthony said, "We were on the same boat. I didn't expect we'd end up as housemates."
Just then, another girl beside them leaned over. She had long Black hair and gentle eyes, looking a bit older than Rhys, likely a second-year.
"Hello," she said softly, "I'm Cho Chang."
Rhys looked at her, his heart stirring slightly.
Cho Chang.
The girl who caught Harry's eye in the original story, the one who was with Cedric in the original story—but in this world, she didn't seem to have crossed paths with Cedricyet.
She was looking at him with curious, sparkling eyes.
"Hello," Rhys said, "Polaris Black."
Cho nodded and was about to say something when an older boy beside her tapped her shoulder, signaling that the Sorting was still ongoing and not to be too noisy.
Cho smiled apologetically and turned back to watch the Sorting.
Rhys also turned toward the staff table.
The Sorting continued, one first-year after another being sorted into their respective houses.
But he was no longer thinking about it.
He was a Ravenclaw now.
He sat at this blue table, with Anthony beside him, Cho across from him, and Prefect Penelope in the distance—all his classmates and housemates.
The candles in the Great Hall flickered, and the starry sky on the ceiling was brilliant.
He looked up at that magical starry sky and suddenly felt—
Eleven years of waiting... it was worth it.
Chapter 23: The Ravenclaw Knocker
The Sorting Ceremony was finally over.
After the last freshman—a boy named Blaise Zabini—was sorted into Slytherin, Professor McGonagall put away the roll of parchment and the four-legged stool and left with it. The buzzing in the Great Hall grew louder as the new students began chatting with their older housemates, and a lively atmosphere filled the long tables of the four houses.
Rhys sat at the Ravenclaw table, with Anthony to his left and Cho Chang opposite him. The older students nearby were enthusiastically passing pumpkin juice and snacks to the freshmen.
At the staff table, Dumbledore stood up.
He spread his arms wide with a kind smile on his face, and the entire Great Hall fell silent instantly.
"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome back to Hogwarts for the new school year! I have a few words to say to everyone, and one matter is very serious. I think you should hear it before you head off to bed."
He cleared his throat and continued:
"First-year students, take note: the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all students. Our older students should remember this as well."
His gaze swept across the hall with a hint of warning.
"Furthermore, Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to remind you that no magic is permitted in the corridors between classes."
Rhys thought to himself that this was probably Filch's annual routine.
"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of this term. Any student interested in playing for their house team should contact Madam Hooch."
At the Ravenclaw table, several older students' eyes lit up, and they began to whisper excitedly.
Dumbledore continued, his voice dropping slightly:
"Finally, I must tell you that anyone who does not wish to suffer an accident and die a painful death should avoid the corridor on the right-hand side of the fourth floor."
A hush fell over the Great Hall.
The freshmen looked at each other, confused about what this meant. The older students exchanged meaningful glances.
Rhys knew in his heart—that was where the Philosopher's Stone was. But he remained impassive, listening quietly.
Dumbledore finished speaking, and a smile returned to his face.
"Now, before you go to bed, let us sing the school song together!"
The expressions of the other Professors seemed to freeze for a moment.
Dumbledore flicked his wand, and a long golden ribbon drifted down from the staff table, with musical notes floating upon it.
"Everyone pick your favorite tune," Dumbledore said. "Ready, sing!"
At once, the Great Hall was filled with a cacophony of singing. Most people sang in a slow, varied minor key, but Rhys soon noticed a completely different rhythm coming from the Gryffindor table—it was ridiculously slow, like a snail's crawl.
He turned to look; the Weasley Twins were bellowing at the top of their lungs, singing the school song to a mournful funeral march, deliberately dragging out certain syllables. Some Gryffindors around them were laughing, while others tried to keep up but were led astray.
Rhys's mouth twitched slightly.
He instinctively glanced at an older girl sitting not far away—Penelope Clearwater, the prefect. If he remembered correctly, she was Percy Weasley's girlfriend—though they might not be anything yet.
Penelope was frowning toward the twins, her expression somewhat helpless.
Just then, Rhys felt someone looking at him.
He turned his head and met Cho Chang's gaze. Cho was sitting opposite him, a small smile on her lips and a mischievous glint in her eyes. She seemed to have seen through the meaning of Rhys's little movement—he had looked at Penelope because the twins were Percy's brothers.
Rhys was slightly taken aback, then gave a faint smile and looked away.
The school song was finally over.
Dumbledore wiped his eyes, though there were no tears there.
"Ah, music," he murmured, "a magic beyond all we do here!"
Professor McGonagall's expression was even sterner than before, as if she were forcing herself not to shake her head. Professor Snape's face was darker than usual, his lips pressed into a thin line, seemingly loathing such childish entertainment. Professor Flitwick, however, looked quite enthusiastic; after all, he was the conductor of the Hogwarts choir and had a natural affinity for music.
"Now, it is time for bed," Dumbledore said. "Goodnight to you all."
Applause broke out, and the long tables of each house began to bustle.
Penelope Clearwater stood up and turned to the Ravenclaw freshmen.
"First-years, follow me," she said clearly. "I will take you to the common room."
Rhys stood up, and Anthony did as well. The other first-year students gathered around.
They followed Penelope out of the Great Hall and through the bustling crowd. Students from other houses were also heading to their respective common rooms—Gryffindors in one direction, Hufflepuffs in another, and Slytherins heading down toward the dungeons.
The Ravenclaw group climbed the marble staircase, passing through corridors and going higher and higher. The portraits on the walls whispered as they passed, and some even waved. As Rhys passed a window, he saw the dark night sky outside and the silhouette of the Forbidden Forest in the distance.
Finally, they reached the end of an empty corridor. There was no door here, only a stone wall with a giant bronze knocker—an exquisitely carved eagle-shaped knocker.
Penelope stopped and turned to face the freshmen.
"Welcome to Ravenclaw Tower," she said. "To enter the common room, you must answer a question posed by the knocker. This is our tradition and a characteristic of Ravenclaw House—wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure."
She pointed to the eagle-shaped knocker.
"The knocker will ask a random question, and you must answer correctly to get in. Don't worry, the questions aren't usually hard, and it's okay if you get it wrong; you just have to think of the answer again. But if you can't get it right... you can wait outside for other students to enter or ask a passing senior for help."
Just as she finished speaking, the Eagle Knocker suddenly moved. Its carved eyes seemed to come to life, and its beak opened, emitting an ethereal voice:
"What gets bigger the more you take away from it?"
The freshmen looked at each other.
Anthony frowned in thought. The freshmen tilted their heads, seemingly pondering. Another girl named Lisa Turpin whispered, "What kind of riddle is this..."
Rhys thought for a second.
The more you take away, the bigger it gets?
He remembered playing hide-and-seek with Bangbangwhen he was little; the harder it was to find someone, the greater the worry in his heart. But that wasn't the answer.
He thought again: something that gets bigger the more you take away... could it be a hole? You dig away the dirt, and the hole gets bigger. Or... hunger? The more you eat, the smaller the hunger—no, that's wrong. Or... loneliness? The more companionship you take away, the greater the loneliness. But that's not a concrete object.
Wait—what if it's something physical?
"A hole," Rhys said.
The Eagle Knocker's eyes turned toward him, seemingly sizing him up.
"Explain."
"When you dig dirt out of the ground, the hole gets bigger," Rhys said. "The more dirt you 'take away,' the bigger the hole."
The Eagle Knocker was silent for a second, then chuckled softly.
"Correct. Enter."
The bronze knocker emitted a soft light, and the stone wall split down the middle, revealing a circular door. The door opened, and a warm blue light shone from within.
Penelope gave Rhys an appreciative look.
"Not bad, Mr. Black. Getting it right on your first try shows promise."
She was the first to step inside.
The freshmen followed her in one after another.
—
The Ravenclaw common room was a spacious circular room with elegant arched windows and blue and bronze silk hangings. The ceiling was domed and painted with a starry night sky, which, like the magical ceiling in the Great Hall, twinkled with real light. The floor was covered in a deep blue carpet scattered with many cushions and armchairs. Bookcases lined the walls, stuffed with all sorts of books. There were also several worktables with astronomical instruments and parchment on them.
Most striking was a white marble statue standing in a niche in the center of the room—Rowena Ravenclaw, the founder of the house. She had a dignified face and deep eyes, as if she were watching every Ravenclaw student who entered.
"It's beautiful..." Anthony murmured.
Rhys walked to the window. Through the glass, he could see the surface of the Black Lake and the silhouette of the Forbidden Forest in the distance. The tower was very high, offering a wide view.
Once everyone was inside, Penelope cleared her throat.
"Alright, now I'll go over a few things."
The freshmen quieted down and looked at her.
"First, the common room is open all day, but you are not allowed to leave after curfew. Curfew is at ten o'clock in the evening, and it's extended to eleven on weekends. If you're caught by Filch, points will be deducted."
She paused and continued:
"The dormitories are upstairs, and the stairs move on their own. Boys to the left, girls to the right—boys are absolutely forbidden from entering the girls' dormitories, and girls cannot enter the boys' dormitories. The stairs will recognize you automatically; if you go the wrong way, you'll be bounced back."
Rhys nodded, making a mental note of this.
"Dormitories are shared by two people. The number of Ravenclaw students is relatively small, so everyone has plenty of space. The first-year dormitories are on the third floor, and your names will be on the doors."
She pointed to a spiral staircase on the left.
"That's the boys' side. You can go up and find your rooms now. Your luggage has already been sent up by the house-elves."
She added, "Breakfast starts at seven tomorrow morning. The first class is at eight, and your schedules will be in your rooms. If you have questions, you can find a prefect—me or Robert Hilliard; he's a fifth-year."
The freshmen nodded and began to head toward the stairs.
Rhys and Anthony walked toward the boys' dormitory stairs together. The staircase spiraled upward, vibrating slightly as they stepped on it. Old portraits hung on the walls, the people inside sleeping peacefully.
They climbed to the third floor, where wooden doors lined both sides of the corridor. Sure enough, names were posted on the doors.
They searched along the way and soon saw two pieces of parchment stuck to a door:
Polaris Black
Anthony Goldstein
"This is it." Anthony pushed the door open.
The room was much larger than Rhys had imagined. Two four-poster beds stood against the walls, covered in sky-blue sheets and bronze-colored quilts. Beside each bed was a nightstand with a small lamp. Two desks and chairs were placed by the window, with schedules and several textbooks already laid out on the desks. There was also a large wardrobe in the corner, enough for two people.
A landscape painting hung on the wall, depicting a tranquil lake with occasional birds flying past. The windows were large, offering a view of the starry sky and the distant mountains. Moonlight poured through the glass, coating the room in a layer of silver-white.
"This room is nice." Anthony placed his luggage by one of the beds. "Which one do you want?"
Rhys chose the one by the window. After putting away his suitcase, he sat on the edge of the bed and looked around.
This would be his home for the next seven years.
Yarnball's cage had been placed on the desk by a House-elf. The little guy was curled into a ball, sleeping soundly and letting out occasional soft "coos."
Anthony was also organizing his things. He wasn't a man of many words, but he wasn't dull either. As he put away his books, he asked, "How did you answer that knocker's question so quickly?"
Rhys thought for a moment. "I've thought about similar questions before. When I was playing with Bang... with a friend, we dug holes and knew that the more you dig, the bigger they get."
Anthony nodded. "No wonder. I didn't think of that answer; I was thinking of things like 'hunger' or 'loneliness'."
He suddenly remembered something. "By the way, do you remember? We can't go to the corridor on the right side of the fourth floor. Headmaster Dumbledore was so serious about it; there must be danger."
Rhys's heart stirred, but he didn't show it.
"Yeah, he warned us. It's best not to go."
"I definitely won't go," Anthony said, waving his hand. "I don't want to die a painful death."
They both laughed.
—
When everything was mostly tidied up, Rhys sat down at his desk and took out a piece of parchment and a quill.
He wrote a letter home.
Dear Grandmother and Aunt,
I have arrived safely at Hogwarts, and the Sorting Ceremony has just ended. I was sorted into Ravenclaw—just as I wished. Everything here is great. The common room is in a tower, and I can see the stars and the Black Lake. My roommate is named Anthony Goldstein; he's a nice person.
Professor Dumbledore mentioned some rules at the feast, including not going into the Forbidden Forest, not using magic in the corridors, and... not going to the corridor on the right side of the fourth floor. I'll be careful.
Yarnball is also doing well; he's been sleeping the whole time, probably tired from the train ride.
Please tell Bangbang and Kreacher that I'm doing fine and not to worry. The food at school is plentiful, but it certainly can't compare to Bangbang's cooking.
I'll write again once I'm settled.
Yours, Rhys
After he finished writing, he folded the letter, planning to have Yarnball deliver it first thing tomorrow morning.
By then, Anthony was already in bed.
"Writing a letter?" he asked.
"Yeah, letting my family know I arrived safely."
Anthony nodded. "I should write one too; my mom must be worried."
He paused and then said, "Black... is everyone in your family in Ravenclaw?"
Rhys shook his head. "My parents were. My grandmother was in Hufflepuff, and my aunt was also in Ravenclaw."
"What about your cousin Malfoy? I saw him in Slytherin."
Rhys was silent for a second. "He's in Slytherin; all the Malfoys are. We're just distant relatives."
Anthony didn't press further, only saying, "Your family is quite complicated."
"Yeah," Rhys said, lying down and looking at the ceiling.
Outside the window, the north star was faintly visible.
He suddenly thought of everything he had experienced today—the Sorting, the school song, the knocker's question, his new roommate. It all felt like a dream, yet so real.
He closed his eyes and whispered in his heart:
Grandmother, Aunt, Bangbang, Kreacher—I'm here, and everything is fine.
Goodnight.
Chapter 24: Stars and Needlepoints
The morning sunlight streamed through the arched windows of Ravenclaw Tower, casting dappled shadows across the deep blue carpet.
Rhys opened his eyes and found that he had woken up naturally. The magic clock on the wall showed exactly seven o'clock—just in time for breakfast. He lay on the soft four-poster bed, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds before fully waking up.
This wasn't Star-Swirl Manor.
This was Hogwarts.
In the bed opposite him, Anthony was still fast asleep, the duvet pulled over his head, leaving only a tuft of Black hair visible. Rhys sat up and called out softly, "Anthony, it's time to get up."
A muffled grumble came from beneath the duvet, but there was no movement.
Rhys got out of bed and walked over to pull back the curtains. Sunlight flooded in, and Anthony let out a "mmph" as his head finally emerged.
"What time is it?"
"Seven. Time for breakfast."
Anthony rubbed his eyes as he sat up, his hair a mess. He glanced out the window and muttered, "The view from Ravenclaw Tower is nice, but being woken up by the sun every morning..."
The two finished washing up, changed into their robes, and left the dormitory.
There were already people in the common room. A few older students sat around the fireplace holding books, steaming cups of tea in front of them. Someone in the corner was looking through a telescope—even though it was broad daylight, Rhys guessed they were studying star charts.
Just as they descended the spiral staircase, they heard a clear voice:
"Morning!"
Cho Chang stood at the common room entrance, dressed in neat robes with her long Black hair cascading over her shoulders. Beside her stood Penelope Clearwater; the Prefect was flipping through a notebook in her hands.
"Morning," Rhys nodded.
Anthony yawned. "Morning... Penelope, you're up early too?"
Penelope looked up and smiled slightly. "Prefects are responsible for helping the first-years get familiar with the Castle, so we have to get up early these few days. Did you sleep well last night?"
"Quite well," Rhys said.
"Don't let the moving staircases stump you later," Penelope winked. "Many first-years get lost on the stairs during their first week."
Rhys thought for a moment. "It's just a matter of remembering the patterns. Some stairs turn suddenly when someone steps on them, and others only appear at certain times. If you observe carefully, you can always find the rhythm."
Penelope gave him an appreciative look. "Well said. Ravenclaw's wisdom lies in observation and thought."
Cho Chang smiled beside them and then turned to Rhys. "Are you going to eat? Let's go together."
The four of them left the common room together, walking through the corridors toward the Great Hall. As expected, they encountered several moving staircases along the way. Penelope explained which ones moved when and how to determine the correct direction.
"Actually, you don't need to worry too much," she said. "The portraits are excellent guides. If you get lost, you can ask them; most are very happy to help. A few aren't... well, like Sir Cadogan, it's best not to believe a word he says."
Cho added from the side, "Sir Cadogan will try to make you duel his pony."
Anthony couldn't help but laugh.
Walking into the Great Hall, many people were already seated at the four house tables. The Ravenclaw table was on the left by the windows, and they went over to sit down. The breakfast conjured by the House-elves filled the long table—toast, fried eggs, bacon, sausages, grilled tomatoes, porridge, and various juices.
Cho sat opposite Rhys, spreading butter on her toast while discussing something with the girl next to her. Rhys vaguely heard words like "Quidditch," "tryouts," and "Chaser."
"Do you want to join the Quidditch team?" Rhys asked.
Cho looked up, her eyes brightening. "Yeah! I'm a second-year now, so I can try out. I love flying, and I want to try for the Seeker position." She paused and asked curiously, "What about you? Do you like Quidditch?"
Rhys nodded. "I do. If possible, I'd like to try out for Beater."
Cho's eyes sparkled even more. "Then we can play Quidditch together next year!"
"Sure."
Anthony, who was silently eating his fried eggs, chimed in, "Just hearing you talk about Quidditch makes me dizzy. I'd definitely be no good in the air."
Penelope had finished eating and stood up. "I'm heading to the classroom first. Take your time eating, but don't forget class starts at eight—today is History of Magic with Professor Binns."
At the mention of "Professor Binns," Rhys's expression slumped.
---
The first week of classes gave Rhys a comprehensive understanding of the teaching at Hogwarts.
Astronomy Class was scheduled for Wednesday nights. The first-years climbed to the observatory at the top of the North Tower and set up their telescopes in the cold night wind. Professor Sinistra was a tall, thin Witch who spoke softly but was very demanding.
"Tonight, we are going to observe the moons of Jupiter," she said. "Draw their positions accurately on your parchment, labeling them with their names and the time."
Rhys pressed his eye to the telescope and adjusted the focus. Jupiter was clearly visible in the lens, with four moons slowly orbiting it. As he observed, he sketched their positions on his parchment, labeling each one—Io, Europa, Ganymede, and Callisto.
This wasn't difficult for Rhys. The House of Black's obsession with stars was well-known; his grandmother had taught him to identify constellations and memorize star names from a young age. He even knew some ancient star charts not found in the textbooks.
Anthony's sigh came from beside him. "Why won't my quill do what I want..."
Rhys glanced at his parchment; the dots were crooked and clearly in the wrong positions. He pointed to the telescope. "Look again. The one closest to Jupiter should be Io; you've drawn it too far away."
Anthony looked again and realized. "Ah, I misidentified the moon."
By the end of class, Rhys had drawn an accurate star chart. Professor Sinistra glanced at it as she passed and nodded slightly. "Mr. Black, very well drawn. Five points."
Herbology Class was held three times a week in the greenhouses. Professor Sprout was a short, plump Witchwho wore mud-stained work robes but had a warm smile. She taught the first-years about various strange plants and fungi, explaining their habits and uses.
"Today we will be learning about the Mandrake," she said, pointing to a row of plants with drooping leaves in pots. "But it's not time to transplant them yet; they produce a fatal cry. I'll let you work with them hands-on once they're a bit older."
Rhys looked at the Mandrakes, remembering his childhood experience helping his grandmother identify medicinal ingredients in the infirmary. His grandmother had shown him dried specimens of Mandrake roots and leaves and explained their role in restorative potions.
When it was time for practical work, Rhys skillfully completed the task of repotting Puffapods. Professor Sprout came over to check and was surprised to find that he hadn't damaged a single root fiber.
"Mr. Black, have you grown magical herbs before?"
"I learned a bit from my grandmother," Rhys said.
Professor Sprout nodded with satisfaction. "Excellent. Five points to Ravenclaw."
Neville, standing in another row, was also carefully repotting his pods; though he was slow, he was very meticulous. Professor Sprout gave him an encouraging smile as she passed.
History of Magic was the only class Rhys found a bit boring.
Professor Binns was a ghost who would drift out of the blackboard during class and drone on from the textbook in a monotonous voice. His voice was like an emotionless machine, pouring dry historical events into the students' ears.
All four houses had class together. Anthony sat next to Rhys and began nodding off within ten minutes.
Rhys, however, wasn't sleepy. He flipped through the textbook, following Professor Binns's lecture and silently memorizing the timeline and events. His Sovereign Lord talent gave him a photographic memory, allowing him to remember these historical events after hearing them just once.
When the bell rang for the end of class, Anthony woke up with a start, only to find his notes were nothing but scribbles.
"I'm doomed, I'm doomed..." he wailed. "I didn't record a thing!"
Rhys pushed his notes over. "You can copy mine. I've also corrected a few things you got wrong."
Anthony looked down and saw that Rhys had not only recorded Professor Binns's lecture clearly but had also added supplementary knowledge not found in the textbook—information Rhys had read in his parents' old school notes.
"My god, Rhys, you're amazing!" Anthony said, moved to tears of gratitude. "I'm buying you Pumpkin Pasties!"
Charms Class was the favorite of Ravenclaw students because their Head of House, Professor Flitwick, taught it himself.
Professor Flitwick stood on a stack of books so he could peek his head over the lectern. He was a small but energetic wizard with a high-pitched voice and boundless enthusiasm.
"Today we shall learn the Levitation Charm!" he squeaked, waving his wand. "Wingardium Leviosa! Remember, the wrist movement must be light and flicky, and the incantation clear—it's not Wingardium Levios-ah—oh, and the last syllable must be drawn out!"
The students began to practice, and feathers flew everywhere in the classroom.
Rhys flicked his wand and whispered the incantation. The feather immediately obeyed and drifted upward, hovering steadily above his head.
Professor Flitwick hopped down from his stack of books and scurried over to Rhys.
"Oh, marvelous, simply marvelous!" his eyes sparkled. "Mr. Black, have you practiced this before?"
"I practiced a bit at home," Rhys said.
Professor Flitwick nodded repeatedly and turned to the class. "Look, everyone, Mr. Black has performed it perfectly! This is the correct Levitation Charm! Ten points to Ravenclaw!"
A few murmurs came from the side—some envious, some defiant. Over with the Gryffindors, Ron Weasley was struggling with his feather, which lay motionless on the floor. Hermione had succeeded; her feather was also floating, but she was a few seconds behind Rhys.
Transfiguration was taught by Professor McGonagall. She was a stern Witch who wore square glasses and had her hair pulled back into a tight bun. In the first lesson, she made the rules very clear—Transfiguration was one of the most complex and dangerous branches of magic at Hogwarts, and it was never to be tried haphazardly outside the classroom.
"Today we shall start with the simplest task." Professor McGonagall waved her wand and turned a match on her desk into a gleaming silver needle. "Turn your matches into needles. Remember to focus on the change in shape and material."
The classroom was filled with the sounds of wands waving and incantations being muttered. Students from Gryffindorand Slytherin were all trying desperately.
Rhys looked at the match in front of him, recalling Professor McGonagall's movements. He raised his wand, focused his attention, and gave it a light tap—
The match elongated and thinned before his eyes; the wood turned to metal, and the color shifted from brownish-yellow to silver-white. In less than three seconds, an exquisite embroidery needle lay on the table, its point sharp and its eye perfectly rounded.
Professor McGonagall happened to walk by. She stopped and picked up the needle to examine it closely.
"Mr. Black," her voice remained stern, but a hint of approval flashed in her eyes. "This is the most perfect first-year Transfiguration I have ever seen. How did you do it?"
"I observed your movements, Professor," Rhys said. "And then I visualized the needle."
Professor McGonagall nodded slightly. "Excellent. Ten points to Ravenclaw. Please come to the front later and demonstrate for your classmates."
Rhys walked up to the front and demonstrated again as Professor McGonagall requested. This time, the whole class saw clearly—the match completed a perfect transformation within seconds.
"Do you see?" Professor McGonagall pointed to the needle. "This is true Transfiguration. It's not enough to just make a match look like a needle; you must make it truly become metal. Mr. Black has done exceptionally well."
Hermione succeeded before the end of class; her needle was fully formed, though the eye was slightly crooked. She glanced at Rhys with a particular look of determination—as if she had found a target worth chasing.
Defense Against the Dark Arts was the class Rhys least wanted to attend.
Professor Quirrell was wrapped in a massive purple turban and reeked of garlic. He stuttered when he spoke and was always glancing around as if something might jump out from a corner at any moment.
"To... today, we will... will study..." he stuttered, opening his textbook. "The ba... basic knowledge of de... defending against Vampires..."
The classroom was thick with the smell of garlic; even the rowdiest Gryffindor students were frowning, wishing they could hold their noses.
Rhys couldn't take it anymore and nudged Anthony's arm.
"Let's sit in the back."
Anthony agreed immediately. The two quietly moved to the back corner of the classroom, trying to stay as far from Professor Quirrell's turban as possible.
Professor Quirrell didn't seem to notice and continued to stutter through the textbook. His lecture offered nothing new, just a rote reading with examples straight from the book.
Rhys and Anthony sat in the back and just started their own discussion.
"Do you think Vampires are really afraid of garlic?" Anthony whispered.
Rhys thought about it. "Probably not absolutely. Some defensive measures have limitations. Like the book says, garlic can only temporarily ward them off; true defense relies on magic."
Anthony nodded and pulled an extra-curricular book from his bag—Voyages with Vampires. He opened it stealthily and pointed it out to Rhys. "This book says Vampires fear silver and sunlight most. Garlic just makes them uncomfortable."
Rhys looked at it and felt this book was far more useful than Professor Quirrell's lecture.
"Can I borrow it?"
"Sure, just lend me your History of Magic notes when you're done."
"Deal."
By the end of the lesson, Rhys had barely listened to anything Professor Quirrell said. However, he and Anthonyhad exchanged thoughts on several books and discussed a wealth of knowledge not found in their textbooks.
When the bell rang, Rhys felt that this Defense Against the Dark Arts class wasn't a total waste of time.
---
That evening, Rhys and Anthony sat by the common room window, gazing at the starry sky. The fire crackled in the hearth, bathing the room in a warm glow.
"Guess how many points you've earned these past few days?" Anthony counted on his fingers. "Five for Astronomy, five for Herbology, ten for Charms, ten for Transfiguration... My god, that's thirty points!"
Rhys smiled. "I wasn't counting that closely."
Anthony sighed enviously. "I've got zero, but I haven't lost any points yet, so I'm satisfied."
Cho Chang walked past and, hearing this, said with a smile, "It's only the first week; take it slow. Rhys, I heard your Transfiguration was exceptional? Professor McGonagall doesn't praise people lightly."
"Just lucky," Rhys said.
Cho blinked but didn't press further, turning to head back to her dormitory.
Anthony lowered his voice. "It seems Cho is quite interested in you."
Rhys glanced at him but didn't respond.
Outside, the stars twinkled silently, with the north starclearly visible. Rhys gazed at it, suddenly thinking of his grandmother and aunt back home, of Bangbang and Kreacher, and every corner of Star-Swirl Manor.
Yarnball flew back and landed on the windowsill, a reply tied to its leg. Rhys untied it and opened the letter—it was his aunt's handwriting, brief but warm:
Rhys:
I received your letter. Your grandmother is beaming with joy that you're in Ravenclaw. Bangbang and Kreacher have been asking about you. Study hard, but don't overwork yourself. Write if you need anything.
Love, your Aunt.
P.S. Yarnball is so cute; Bangbang feeds him several times a day.
Rhys smiled, carefully folded the letter, and tucked it into his bedside drawer.
Seven years to go.
He looked out the window; the north star remained bright.
Chapter 25: The Gaze in the Dungeon
Potion Class was scheduled for Friday afternoon.
This was the last class of Polaris's first week, and also one of the classes the first-years were both most looking forward to and most apprehensive about—after all, the rumors about Professor Snape had already spread on the train.
Polaris and Anthony walked down the marble staircase. The further they went, the colder it got, and the air became increasingly damp. The torches on the walls flickered, stretching their shadows back and forth.
"The classroom is in the dungeon," Anthony said, hunching his shoulders. "No wonder it's so cold."
They finally stopped in front of a heavy wooden door. The copper handle on the door had turned slightly green, with a thin layer of white frost on the edges. Polaris pushed the door open, and a blast of cold air hit them in the face.
The dungeon classroom was even colder and gloomier than the corridor.
Along the walls were rows of glass jars, inside of which floated various strange-looking animal specimens—coiled snakes, toads with their mouths open, some kind of insect with compound eyes, and several things Polaris couldn't even name. They swayed slightly in the murky liquid, as if staring at everyone who walked into the classroom.
In the center of the classroom were about twenty stone tables, each with brass scales, bags of dried herbs, and a stack of parchment. The shelves against the wall were filled with glass jars of various sizes, containing Potioningredients of different colors—some glowing, some bubbling, and some as quiet as if they were asleep.
The first-years walked in one after another, intimidated by the eerie atmosphere and not daring to speak loudly. Neville sat diagonally in front of Polaris, his face pale, not daring to look at the glass jars.
Hermione sat in the front row, sitting upright, her textbook open in front of her, her lips moving slightly, probably reciting something.
Ron and Harry sat in the middle row. Ron was leaning into Harry's ear whispering something, and Harry nodded, his expression also somewhat tense.
Malfoy, with Goyle and Crabbe, sat by the window—if that could be called a window; it was just a few narrow slits near the ceiling, letting in a few wisps of bleak daylight.
Suddenly, there was a commotion from the back of the classroom. Polaris looked back and saw Seamus Finnigan's cauldron emitting Black smoke. He was scrambling to put it out, and Dean Thomas next to him was busy helping.
"Can a cauldron start smoking before we even start using it?" Anthony muttered.
Polaris didn't speak, just observing the specimens in the glass jars.
The door was slammed open.
The temperature in the classroom seemed to drop a few more degrees.
Professor Snape strode in, his Black robes billowing behind him like a giant bat. His face was as pale as wax, with greasy Black hair hanging down on both sides, and a pair of eyes that were empty and deep, like two Blacktunnels.
He walked to the front of the podium, stopped, and his gaze slowly swept over the whole class.
The classroom was deathly silent.
"You are here to learn the precise science and strict craft of Potion making." Professor Snape began, his voice so low it was almost a whisper, but every word drilled clearly into everyone's ears. "Since there is no foolish wand-waving here, many of you will not believe this is magic. I do not expect you to truly appreciate the tranquility brought to your heart when the cauldron over a slow fire emits white smoke, nor do I expect you to appreciate the sheer beauty of the heat slowly seeping into your veins... I can teach you how to brew glory, how to stop death—but that is on the condition that you are not the kind of idiotic students I often encounter."
He paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping over their faces.
"Now, I will take attendance."
He took out a roll of parchment and unrolled it.
"Hannah Abbott."
"Here." Hannah's voice was tiny.
"Susan Bones."
"Here."
...
Snape read on, one by one, his tone without inflection, like reading a dull list.
"Polaris Black."
Polaris raised his head and responded: "Here."
Snape's gaze fell on him and paused for a brief moment.
That pause was very short, so short that others might not have noticed it at all. But Polaris felt it—those empty eyes seemed to move slightly when calling his name, as if looking at something, or thinking about something.
Then Snape shifted his gaze and continued calling the next name.
Polaris lowered his eyes, a flash of doubt crossing his mind.
He had felt it at the opening feast—Snape's gaze had lingered on him. And now there was this subtle pause during roll call.
Why?
He and Snape had never met.
"Harry Potter."
Snape's voice changed abruptly, as if he were deliberately dragging out the syllables.
"Oh, yes," he said quietly, his gaze falling on Harry. "This is our newcomer—the famous figure."
A suppressed laugh came from Malfoy's side. Goyle and Crabbe followed with silly laughter. Ron's face flushed red, as if he wanted to say something, but held back.
Harry's expression was not good.
Snape continued to take attendance. After reading the last few names, he put away the parchment and looked at the class again.
"You are here to learn Potion," he said. "But I must tell you, Potion is not something you can succeed at by just throwing a few things into a pot and stirring. It requires precision, focus, and a level of comprehension beyond your imagination."
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the class again.
"Harry Potter, I ask you, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
The classroom was silent.
Polaris raised his eyebrows slightly.
Here it comes.
That classic triple question.
He looked at Harry—Harry was predictably blank-faced.
"I don't know, sir." Harry said.
Snape's lips twisted into a mocking smile.
"Tut, tut—it seems fame isn't everything."
He asked again: "Second question: If I were to ask you to find a bezoar, where would you look?"
"I don't know, sir." Harry's voice was even lower.
Malfoy laughed even louder, and Goyle chuckled foolishly along. Ron glared at them fiercely.
"Don't know? Do you not have the habit of glancing at the textbook before opening it?"
Harry didn't speak.
Snape continued: "Third question: What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
Harry was completely silent.
The classroom was so quiet you could hear the subtle sound of the liquid sloshing in those glass jars.
Polaris noticed that Hermione's hand was already raised, raised high, almost standing up from her seat. Her face was full of eagerness, her lips moving, wishing she could answer for Harry.
But Snape didn't look at her at all.
His gaze swept over the class, and then—
"Mr. Black."
Polaris was taken aback.
Snape was looking at him, and there seemed to be something flickering in those empty eyes.
"You tell him the answer."
Polaris stood up. He could feel everyone's eyes focused on him—Hermione's surprise, Malfoy's curiosity, Neville's worry, and Harry's...
He took a deep breath and answered:
"First question, adding powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood results in a powerful sleeping Potion, commonly known as 'Draught of Living Death'."
Snape's expression didn't change, he just nodded slightly.
"Second question, a bezoar is typically found in the stomach of a goat and is a stone that can neutralize many poisons."
"Third question," Polaris paused, "Monkshood and wolfsbane are actually the same plant, also known as aconite. The difference is that monkshood refers to its shape, and wolfsbane refers to its toxicity—but essentially, they are the same thing."
After he finished speaking, he looked at Snape.
The classroom was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
Snape stared at him for a long time.
That gaze was hard to interpret—it didn't look like the mockery directed at Harry, nor the tacit approval for Malfoy, and even less like the indifference toward other students. There was something in that gaze, very complex, very deep.
Finally, Snape spoke:
"One point to Ravenclaw."
His voice was still that low, flat tone, but as soon as this sentence came out, several students were stunned.
Snape giving points to another house?
Malfoy's smile stiffened for a moment, then recovered, and he even winked at Polaris, with an expression that said "My cousin is indeed impressive."
Hermione lowered her hand, a complex look on her face—she clearly knew it too, but hadn't even had the chance to answer.
Then Snape turned to Harry, his tone returning to that cold mockery:
"Mr. Potter, because of your habit of not wanting to open your textbook to preview before class, one point from Gryffindor."
Ron let out a dissatisfied grunt, only to be silenced by a glare from Snape.
Harry's face flushed red, and he lowered his head without speaking.
—
"Next, in pairs, follow the recipe on page 146 of your textbook and brew the Cure for Boils." Snape waved his wand, and the recipe on the blackboard lit up, "Ingredients are on the shelves, start."
Polaris and Anthony were a pair. They went to the shelves to get dried nettles, snake fangs, horned slugs, and a small bottle of porcupine quills.
"You weigh the ingredients first," Polaris said. "I'll do the cutting."
Anthony nodded and started fiddling with the brass scales. Polaris picked up the knife and sliced the horned slugs into thin slices—this was a technique he learned from his grandmother, cutting them both fast and evenly.
Snape walked around the classroom like a Black bat patrolling its territory. When he passed the Gryffindortable, he could always find faults—Ron's heat was wrong, Neville almost cut his hand, and Seamus's cauldron started smoking again.
"Sir, what's wrong with my cauldron?" Seamus asked pitifully.
Snape glanced at it: "You didn't stir, Mr. Finnigan. I thought stirring the cauldron was the most basic common sense; it seems I had too high expectations of you."
Seamus's face flushed red.
Polaris focused on processing the materials in his hands. By the time Anthony had weighed the dried nettles, he had already finished slicing the slugs and grinding the snake fangs into powder.
"You're really fast." Anthony said enviously.
"Practiced at home." Polaris poured the ingredients into the cauldron and began to stir—three turns counterclockwise, seven turns clockwise, as required by the recipe.
Anthony stood by holding the recipe sheet, responsible for reading the steps.
The liquid in the cauldron began to turn pale purple, then slowly turned light pink. This was correct.
"Add porcupine quills." Polaris said.
Anthony quickly handed over the small bottle of porcupine quills. Polaris counted seven, putting them in one by one. The liquid suddenly boiled, emitting pale green smoke, and then calmed down, the color gradually turning into a clear lake blue.
"Done." Polaris turned off the fire.
Anthony leaned over to look; the Potion at the bottom of the cauldron was clear and transparent, the color uniform, with no sediment.
"Amazing!" He lowered his voice, "Look at those next to us..."
Next to them, Seamus was scrambling to save his cauldron, but it was too late—with a dull thud, a cloud of Black smoke erupted from the cauldron. Seamus coughed from the smoke, and Dean hurried to wave it away.
Polaris was quick-witted, pulling Anthony back a step to avoid the splashing boiling liquid. At the same time, he caught a glimpse of Neville standing blankly diagonally in front, about to be splashed—
Polaris reached out and pulled Neville over as well.
Neville stumbled, blinked blankly after standing firm.
"Th-thank you..." He stammered.
"It's fine." Polaris let go.
Seamus's cauldron was completely ruined, and the Blackresidue inside splattered everywhere. Harry and Ron next to them were also affected a little, with a few drops of Black stains on their robes.
Snape walked over, watching this farce expressionlessly.
"Mr. Potter, because you did not remind your classmate to pay attention to safety, one more point from Gryffindor."
Harry opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but closed it again.
Snape's gaze turned to Polaris, lingering on his pot of clear Potion for a moment.
"Good technique." He said, his tone still flat, "One more point to Ravenclaw. The rest of you, learn from this."
After saying that, he continued walking forward.
Malfoy leaned over and whispered to Polaris: "Well done, cousin! Unlike some people who can't even manage a cauldron."
Polaris glanced at him without speaking.
Malfoy didn't mind, winked, with an expression of "we are in this together," and then returned to his seat.
Anthony muttered on the side: "Your cousin seems quite proud of you..."
Polaris didn't answer, just bottled the Potion and labeled it.
—
The bell rang.
Students filed out of the dungeon classroom, the warm corridor outside in stark contrast to the cold in here. Nevillecaught up with Polaris and thanked him earnestly again. Hermione also walked over, looking at his Potion bottle and said: "Your Potion color is even more standard than the textbook's, did you add anything?"
"No." Polaris said, "Just controlled the heat well."
Hermione nodded thoughtfully, then walked away quickly.
Polaris and Anthony walked toward the Ravenclaw tower together. On the way, Anthony asked: "Did you notice, when Snape called your name, he seemed to pause?"
Polaris nodded.
"Did you know him before?"
"No."
Anthony thought for a while, couldn't figure it out, and gave up.
Back in the common room, Polaris sat by the window. Outside, the surface of the Black Lake in the distance glimmered, and occasionally a huge tentacle flashed by—that was the Giant Squid swimming.
He took out parchment and started writing a letter.
Dear Aunt,
There is something I would like to ask you about. Professor Snape seems to have some special attention on me, pausing when calling my name. I don't know him, and I don't know why. Do you know anything?
Also, I performed quite well in Potion Class today and got two points. Anthony is my roommate, a nice person, and we study together happily. Senior Cho also often eats with us.
All is well, do not worry.
Polaris
He folded the letter and summoned Yarnball. The little fellow had gained a bit of weight recently, but it was still very cute. It cooed, took the letter, and flew out the window.
Polaris watched it disappear into the night, then leaned back in his chair, looking at the starry sky outside the window.
What exactly did Snape's pause mean?
He didn't know.
But he knew, one day he would know.