"Uh…?" Percy frowned, puzzled. Are you abnormal, or am I?
When Percy asked questions, it wasn't that he personally had a problem—he just thought Harry did. Now the Principal had warned of danger within the school, and yet Harry was questioning why Percy looked so serious. It felt off. Harry's thoughts always seemed… different from everyone else's.
"Isn't this pretty normal?" Harry said. "I think this school has always been dangerous. Ghosts feast with us, there's a sword in a hat, and you said before that if stairs move slightly, I can jump over them—so someone must have fallen already. Before I came, I even thought the magic exam might be a deathmatch with the Professors, or some kind of battle royale."
Harry thought Hogwarts was already far better than he'd imagined.
Percy blinked. "A deathmatch with the Professors? Our school isn't cruel enough for that. You don't actually want to kill a Professor, do you? You're only a first-year!"
Percy could no longer contain himself and blurted out his disbelief.
Harry remained noncommittal. He hadn't mentioned Quirrell or Snape, but he suspected he'd confront both eventually. Quirrell, especially—a true, pure-blood Death Eater—was playing a long game. Otherwise, Harry would have taken him down at the Leaky Cauldron. And he still needed time to ask Dumbledore whether he knew about Quirrell.
"By the way… what's a 'battle royale'? You just said it, and it doesn't sound… good," Percy asked, curiosity piqued.
Harry shrugged. "A battle royale… well, it's when students—never mind. It's too bloody. You're still young; you don't need to know."
Percy, a Prefect who valued authority and hierarchy, didn't argue. He instinctively treated Harry as superior—even as an adult, the boy commanded deference.
Just then, Dumbledore's voice rang through the Great Hall.
"Now, before everyone retires for the night, let us all sing the school song!"
Harry noticed that the other teachers' smiles froze momentarily. Dumbledore flicked his wand, and a long golden ribbon twisted and coiled high above the tables, forming lines of text.
"Everyone, choose your favorite tune," Dumbledore announced. "Ready? Sing!"
The hall erupted in song. Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hogwarts…
Please teach us knowledge…
The students sang in scattered voices. The Weasley twins chose the "Funeral March," while Harry sang the "Night Watch Army Song," a tune he had composed after reorganizing his Night Watch troops. Dumbledore conducted them all with a flourish of his wand. When the song ended, his applause was the loudest.
"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! Now, off to your dormitories."
The Gryffindor first-years followed Percy through the noisy crowd and up the marble staircase. Harry observed everything with curiosity. Percy explained that Peeves the Poltergeist usually appeared when new students arrived to play pranks, but today, Peeves seemed intimidated by Harry and went to bother the other Houses instead.
Additionally, the Bloody Baron, Slytherin's ghost, had a restraining influence on Peeves. Since he preferred solitude over mingling with the Fat Friar or other ghosts, Peeves tread carefully around Slytherin spaces. Now, with Harry present, there was yet another person who could intimidate Peeves.
As they walked, they reached the end of a corridor, where a portrait of a plump woman in a pink dress hung on the wall.
"Password?" she asked.
"Dragon Slag," Percy replied.
The painting swung forward, revealing a circular opening. Harry wondered why such a simple portrait needed guarding or a password. It seemed almost… unnecessary, like a childish attempt at authority—chūnibyō, eighth-grade syndrome, he thought with mild amusement.
Inside, the Gryffindor common room was a cozy circular space, filled with soft armchairs. Boys and girls separated here; their dormitories were close, almost like a shared dorm floor in a Muggle school. The girls passed through one door, and the boys followed Percy down another corridor.
Harry shared a room with Ron, Neville, and two other first-years. Ron wanted to say something before bed but soon dozed off.
"Over there," someone whispered, "next to the tall redhead."
"The one with glasses?"
"Did you see his face?"
"Did you see his scar?"
"Why are there scars on his wrists too?"
"I haven't heard of that. I know the scar on his forehead came from Avada Kedavra. But the scars on his wrists… they're more noticeable, probably from an even more terrifying spell."
"More powerful than Avada Kedavra?"
"My great-grandmother said she saw it when she was young. Something called Avada Chain Lightning, a curse that could kill many people at once."
"Don't joke, that magic doesn't exist."
"I heard he started killing at eight."
"Nonsense. One year old! That's in the modern History of Magic."
"Official records say Lord Voldemort died by Harry's hand."
"I didn't believe it at first, but after seeing him last night, I do."
"People are different. There's a rumor he's the prophesied savior; he might truly be extraordinary."
"Maybe decades from now, we'll brag to our children that we were classmates of Harry Potter."
The next morning, whispers followed Harry as he left the dormitory. Students lined the hallways, eager to glimpse him. They walked past, then turned back, eyes fixed on his every move.
Harry wished they wouldn't. He was here to study; fan meet-and-greets could wait until evening.
Navigating Hogwarts, however, was no simple matter. Harry had discovered there were 142 staircases throughout the castle. Some were wide and grand; others narrow, wobbly, and unstable. Some changed locations on Fridays. Some had steps that vanished halfway, requiring precise jumps to traverse.
Percy still insisted the school wasn't dangerous. If it were a Muggle school, he thought, many students would have perished already.
Harry considered the logistics of Hogwarts with mild amusement. Each corridor, stairwell, and magical trap was a puzzle. He found the challenge invigorating rather than frightening.
Even as whispers followed him through the hallways, Harry's mind stayed alert. Scars, curses, and magical traps—every detail mattered. First-years often underestimated the subtle dangers of Hogwarts. But Harry had faced far worse before.