After putting on that little show with illusions and transfiguration for the twins, Skyl tossed the whole incident from his mind and headed for the library. There he opened a portal to the Tower of Tomes and called his house-elf out to help. Gally was in charge of ferrying books into the Tower; Skyl handled the copying. They worked incredibly fast. Two rivers of books poured through the portal, and in a mere twenty-four minutes they had made a complete duplicate of Hogwarts' thousand years of accumulated knowledge.
Business done, Skyl decided to keep wandering. In the latter half of the night he came across a ghost drifting alone through the corridors. Bored, he dropped his Disillusionment Charm and went over to chat. The ghost was very quiet and simply listened while Skyl talked, and talked… and talked, until the sun was about to come up. At last even a dead man couldn't take all that rambling. The ghost glared at him and floated off.
Skyl was genuinely disappointed. He had thought he'd found a kindred spirit, a good listener who resonated with him, only to discover he'd just latched on to a socially anxious introvert of a ghost who didn't dare talk back even when accosted.
With dawn greying the sky, Skyl, brimming with energy, decided to go for a morning run.
After half a lap around the Black Lake he decided running alone was dull and that he needed a few running partners. So he dashed back to the dorm to drag people out. Percy, model student that he was, was already up, bent over his desk doing homework. Seeing Skyl had never come back to bed, the prefect was distinctly displeased.
"Mr Skyl, where did you go? You weren't sneaking out at night, were you?"
"Morning run," Skyl said, not breathing a word about the nocturnal stroll. His blood was up, his cheeks flushed red and sweat beading on his brow—pretty solid evidence for the running story. "Want to come?" the transfer student asked warmly.
"No, I have to study," Percy replied.
"You don't know what you're missing, lad. In the country I come from there's a saying: 'Cultivate a civilized mind and a savage body.' Only if you train your body can you study properly."
Percy was having none of it. The other two roommates obligingly snored louder, making it clear they had no intention of getting up early either.
Skyl didn't push. He turned and went downstairs to the first-year dormitory and hauled Harry, Ron, and Neville out instead.
Harry was a good kid; he got dressed and up at once. Neville, still half-asleep, thought Skyl had come to call him to breakfast and hurried to wash as well. Only Ron looked utterly horrified. He had heard perfectly clearly what Skyl had said: "Take you out for a morning run."
"Can I not go?" the red-haired boy asked with painful sincerity.
Skyl shrugged. "If you don't want to, then don't."
Ron hesitated, looking from Skyl to Harry. When he saw Harry already ready to go, he had no choice but to shuffle along after his friends, sulking.
One morning run nearly did the three of them in.
Skyl dug a handful of jelly beans out of his pocket and passed them around, telling them to keep at it. From the sound of it, he meant to make morning runs a regular thing. On the way back Ron's expression completely collapsed; he'd lost all control over his face.
"Merlin's beard, I can't do this," he groaned. "Harry, are you still alive?"
Arms slung over each other's shoulders, the three boys staggered towards the Great Hall step by step. When they saw the heaped platters of breakfast waiting on the tables, all three let out little cries of delight.
With that meal behind them, Hogwarts life truly began.
Harry felt that everything about Hogwarts was wonderful—at least, that was what he thought before his first Potions class.
First- and second-years only had eight subjects: Potions, Herbology, Charms, Transfiguration, History of Magic, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Astronomy, and Flying.
The first four subjects were taught by the four Heads of House. After a week of lessons, Harry was more certain than ever that Slytherin House was not a good place. It wasn't just the nasty students there, like Draco Malfoy; it was also the nasty Head of House, Severus Snape.
The first time Harry had seen Professor Snape, the man had been sitting at the staff table in the Great Hall, talking quietly with Professor Quirrell in his purple turban. The scar on Harry's forehead had throbbed faintly then, and that night he'd had a strange dream, full of flashes of Quirrell's purple turban and Snape's hook-nosed face, leering coldly at him.
The dream felt like a bad omen.
In their very first Potions lesson, Snape singled Harry out.
He deliberately asked him questions straight out of the textbook. Any child who hadn't done a full preview was bound to come up blank. Harry thought miserably, If I already knew all this, what would I need you for?
It was horribly embarrassing. Harry more or less decided on the spot that the teacher hated him. At his Muggle school he had seen this sort of thing before: a teacher taking against a particular child. Life was always harder for that student afterwards, because classmates would only laugh at you, not sympathise. Harry had been bullied plenty in primary school—stuffed into cupboards, doused with cold water, had his glasses broken—every nasty thing you could think of. So he didn't even feel particularly wronged. It was just more of the same.
Ron fumed on his behalf, muttering curses under his breath. Hermione and Neville tried to comfort him, and immediately got points taken off Gryffindor for whispering in class.
Nor was Harry the only one suffering. Throughout the whole lesson Snape was relentless, nitpicking every little thing. He stalked around the classroom while the students tried to brew, pouncing the instant anyone slipped up to scold them. He especially laid into clumsy Neville, shouting at him in front of everyone. He loved docking points from Gryffindor, and was endlessly indulgent with Slytherins. With that kind of double standard, it was no wonder most students hated him.
He had to be the worst teacher in the school.
When Harry and the others told the transfer student all this, Skyl's answer was blunt: "If a teacher has it in for you, you've only got two options. One is to bow your head and play the obedient, rule-following little angel from now on. The other is to work your socks off until you're flawless and leave him nothing to criticise. Teachers aren't absolute authorities. They're accountable to other people too. They can't just give you a hard time for no reason. If that really does happen, go to Professor McGonagall. She'll stand up for you."
"It's not fair!" Ron protested. "Why can't we just make him apologise?"
Skyl gave him a strange little smile and looked into Harry's green eyes, remembering all the wild fanfic ideas he'd read. If Harry Potter were a girl, would Snape still bully "her"?
It was an amusing hypothesis. Skyl certainly had the power to turn Harry into "Harriet" if he wanted… but in this sort of thing, it was best not to get clever and break something you couldn't fix.
If you thought about it, Snape's treatment of Harry now was just interest on the debt James Potter had run up by bullying him at school. This was the son paying the father's bill: one tragedy calling up another. Unless you could twist time backwards and fix it at the source, there wasn't really any neat solution.
All Skyl could do was encourage Harry to hit the books.
Then something else happened in Flying class—this time involving Neville. His grandmother had sent him a Remembrall that morning, and Draco, that pale little blond ferret, spotted it at once. He made a huge fuss over it, mocking Neville's memory. Harry and the others argued with him so furiously they nearly came to blows.
During Flying, Neville dropped the Remembrall. Draco swooped in and snatched it up. Ron lunged to grab it back, but Malfoy suddenly kicked off hard and shot into the air on his broom. Ron, hanging on to his robes, was yanked up after him, and the two of them put on an impromptu trapeze act over the lawn. Harry mounted his broom and tore after them.
In the end, Draco and Ron were both punished with detention and each House lost thirty points, while Harry, thanks to the flying skill and reckless courage he'd shown, was personally invited by Professor McGonagall to join the Gryffindor Quidditch team as their Seeker.