(This Part was supposed to be a part of the previous chapter but I didn't save it and uploaded without rechecking so I had to rewrite it fully, it might seem slightly off.)
During Defence Against the Dark Arts, the crowd appeared again. It seemed many students truly feared Professor Snape and didn't dare to appear near the dungeons.
Inside the classroom, Professor Quirrell shuffled in, his turban tilted awkwardly atop his head. His voice trembled as he stammered through the lesson.
"D-D-Defense Against the D-Dark Arts… is a most important subject," he muttered, wringing his hands. "We must be vigilant… v-v-very vigilant against the forces that seek to harm us."
Cain sat near the back, watching carefully. Quirrell's nervousness felt exaggerated—almost theatrical. His eyes darted constantly, never settling.
Wasn't he the villain of the first book? Cain tried to remember.
Should I do something? Warn someone?
He hesitated.
This wasn't his story—and interfering without certainty was foolish.
Draco leaned over and whispered, "Pathetic, isn't he? Can you imagine him fighting anything?"
Cain murmured back, "He looks like he's scared of his own shadow."
By the end of the class, one thing was certain: Cain hated Defence Against the Dark Arts. Even if he might be good at it, Quirrell—and the classroom itself—were deeply unappealing.
---
The next morning brought Herbology with Professor Sprout. She greeted the class warmly, her robes smudged with dirt and her hands calloused from years of tending magical plants.
"Welcome, first-years! Today we'll begin with simple seedlings—harmless, but important," she said cheerfully. "Herbology is the foundation of potion-making and healing. Treat your plants with respect, and they'll serve you well."
Cain knelt beside a tray of seedlings, carefully loosening the soil around their roots. The plants shimmered faintly, their leaves curling toward his touch.
Professor Sprout paused to observe him.
"Gentler, Mr. Riven. Gentle hands make all the difference."
Nearby, Draco grimaced as dirt smeared his robes.
"Honestly, this is beneath us," he muttered. "We should be learning spells, not gardening."
Professor Sprout fixed him with a patient look.
"Magic grows from somewhere, Mr. Malfoy. Even the strongest potion begins as a plant."
---
After changing robes, they headed to History of Magic—and not even an hour in, the entire class was bored senseless.
Professor Binns floated at the front of the room, droning mechanically about the 1637 Warlock Convention and a goblin rebellion. Cain caught names similar to Ranrok, but there was no mention of him directly.
"This is torture," someone muttered from behind.
Cain too nodded, half-asleep.
---
At night, they climbed the spiral staircase to the Astronomy Tower with the other first-years. The air was cool, and the stars glittered above in a vast, endless sky.
Professor Sinistra stood tall and composed, her robes as dark as the night itself.
"Tonight, we chart the stars," she said calmly. "You will learn their names, their paths, and their influence on magical practice. Astronomy is not fortune-telling—it is the study of the universe itself."
Cain adjusted his telescope, turning the brass knobs until the stars sharpened into focus. He traced constellations across the sky, their patterns familiar yet strange. The vastness of the cosmos stirred something deep within him—a reminder of the Lands Between, where the stars themselves had once guided fate.
Nearby, Cain heard Ron muttering to Harry,
"Honestly, what's the point? We'll never use this for anything."
---
Aside from classes, there were several things Cain had only recently discovered. Hogwarts allowed students to wear their uniforms in different styles, so long as they followed a basic pattern and could be clearly distinguished by House colors. Robes could be tailored, layered, or styles differently, reflecting personal preference rather than strict uniformity.
The presence of student clubs surprised him even more. It was something he didn't remember from the films at all. Except for Duelling, academic circles, hobby groups existed outside the school academic curriculum.
(Acquaintance and Flying)
Thursday evening Cain was in the library. Towering shelves rose around him, and the faint smell of parchment lent the space a quiet gravity. He chose a table well away from Madam Pince, spreading out his Transfiguration notes to practice in peace.
Before long, a Ravenclaw girl with neatly tied hair approached him.
"Mind if we sit here?" she asked politely.
Cain glanced up. "Go ahead."
She set her books down with a friendly smile. "Sue Li."
Two others followed—a girl named Morag MacDougal, and a Hufflepuff pair, Roger Malone and Oliver Rivers. Both carried armfuls of parchment and looked slightly overwhelmed.
Oliver groaned as he dropped into a chair. "If Snape gives us one more essay, I'm done for."
Roger laughed. "You'll survive, Oliver."
"It's not so bad if you keep track of the instructions," Cain added.
Sue leaned forward, curiosity in her eyes. "You're Cain Riven, right?"
Cain nodded.
Morag studied him for a moment. "You don't act like most Slytherins."
Cain raised an eyebrow. "Most Slytherins?"
Sue rolled her eyes at Morag. "Ignore her. She means Draco Malfoy. He's… loud."
Cain chuckled softly. "He's more than just loud. But I get what you mean."
The tension eased after that. Soon they were comparing notes, sharing frustrations about homework, and quietly laughing as Oliver struggled his way through Snape's latest assignment. Cain found himself enjoying their company. None of them seemed concerned with House rivalries—they were more focused on learning, surviving classes, and finding their place at Hogwarts.
As the evening stretched on, Cain practiced charms under his breath, his wand tip glowing with a steady light. Sue watched him for a moment, clearly impressed.
"You've already mastered it?" she asked.
Cain shrugged. "I've got the hang of it. Still need practice."
Roger leaned back in his chair. "That's better than me. I can barely manage sparks."
Cain nodded. "I can show you sometime, if you want."
The library's hush settled around them again, broken only by the soft rustle of pages and the scratch of quills against parchment.
Back in the Slytherin dormitories, it was quiet. Green curtains swayed faintly with the slow currents of the Black Lake outside. Cain sat on his bed, sorting through his notes, when Draco strolled in with his usual smirk.
"I heard someone spotted you in the library," Draco said, dropping onto the bed opposite him. "With a bunch of bookworms and badgers, no less." His tone was mocking, but more teasing than cruel.
Cain shrugged, unbothered. "It's good to help people sometimes."
Draco waved the comment away, clearly uninterested. "Anyway, forget that. Are you excited about the flying lesson tomorrow?" His eyes gleamed with anticipation.
Cain raised an eyebrow. "Flying lesson?"
Draco leaned forward, eager to brag. "Yes—flying. On brooms. I've already flown plenty of times at home. Father bought me my own Nimbus last year, but of course they don't allow first-years to bring their own brooms. Completely unfair, if you ask me."
Cain smirked faintly at Draco's indignation. "Sounds like you'll have an advantage, then."
Draco straightened proudly. "Of course I will. You'll see. Flying comes naturally to me. I'll make the rest of them look like fools."
Cain leaned back against the headboard, listening without comment as Draco continued to boast. The muffled sound of water pressing against the stone walls filled the space between them, steady and distant, as the night settled in.
---
The morning air was crisp as the first-years gathered on the training grounds. Rows of broomsticks lay neatly on the grass, their bristles worn and uneven. Madam Hooch stood waiting with her whistle.
"Stand beside your broomsticks," she instructed. "Say Up! with authority. The broom should respond immediately."
Cain positioned himself beside his broom. He raised his hand and commanded,
"Up."
The broom snapped into his palm at once.
Cain blinked, surprised by how natural it felt—like drawing a weapon.
Draco smirked. "See? Easy. Told you I could fly." His broom leapt obediently into his hand as well.
Around them, students struggled. Neville's broom rolled lazily along the ground. Ron's shot upward and smacked him in the face. Harry's broom, however, jumped into his hand just as smoothly as Cain's.
Madam Hooch paced between them. "Mount your brooms. Grip tightly. When I blow the whistle, kick off gently. Hover a few feet above the ground, then come back down."
Cain swung his leg over, settling into the seat. The broom felt strange—almost alive—but responsive.
The whistle shrilled.
Cain kicked off, rising smoothly into the air. The ground fell away as the wind brushed his face. He hovered steadily, adjusting his balance with ease. Flying wasn't combat, but it demanded the same control, focus, and awareness.
Draco soared higher, showing off with a grin. "Told you! Natural talent!"
Harry rose beside him, equally steady. The two exchanged a glance—an unspoken competitiveness crackling between them.
Cain kept his altitude low, trying to get a feel for the motion. Neville, however, wobbled dangerously. His broom jerked upward, spinning out of control.
"Down, Longbottom!" Madam Hooch shouted—but it was too late.
Neville shot skyward, clinging desperately as the broom bucked beneath him. Then it tilted sharply. With a cry, Neville tumbled, crashing onto the grass with a sickening thud.
Gasps erupted.
Madam Hooch rushed forward, kneeling beside him. "Broken wrist. Hospital Wing, immediately." She helped Neville to his feet, her expression stern. "No one else moves until I return!"
The moment she disappeared from sight, Draco swooped down and snatched something from the grass. Neville's Remembrall glinted in his hand.
"Look what he dropped," Draco said smugly.
Harry's eyes narrowed. "Give it back."
Draco kicked off, rising higher. "Catch me if you can, Potter!"
Cain watched silently as two boys fought over a ball—pretty comedic, if you thought about it.
Harry shot upward, chasing Draco with surprising speed. Gasps and cheers rippled through the crowd as the two darted through the air, weaving between towers.
Draco hurled the Remembrall.
Harry dove, caught it cleanly, and pulled up just in time.
The field erupted in awe.
Cain exhaled slowly, impressed. Harry wasn't just lucky—he was genuinely gifted.
Moments later, Professor McGonagall stormed onto the field, her robes billowing behind her. She called Harry aside, her expression unreadable.
Draco landed beside Cain with a huff. "Did you see that? Potter's not getting away with this."
Cain shrugged. "He was skilled—for a complete newbie."
Draco scowled, clearly annoyed.
The lesson ended soon after, the students dispersing amid excited chatter making their way back to dorms.
Later that evening, the Slytherin common room glowed with its usual greenish light, shadows drifting lazily across the walls as students lounged on couches and armchairs. Cain sat near the fireplace, listening to the quiet crackle of emerald flames while Draco paced nearby, still fuming over the flying lesson.
The door swung open, and Pansy Parkinson swept in, her voice carrying across the room.
"You won't believe this," she announced, eyes gleaming with gossip. "Potter's getting a trial for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. McGonagall herself is arranging it."
Draco froze mid-step.
"What?" His voice cracked with disbelief. "A first-year? They don't even allow first-years to bring their own brooms!"
Pansy smirked, clearly enjoying the reaction. "Well, apparently rules don't apply to the famous Harry Potter."
Cain leaned back in his chair, expression calm.
Draco turned on him, incredulous. "Can you believe this? He breaks the rules, and instead of punishment, he gets rewarded!"
Cain shrugged. "Sounds like favoritism."
Draco threw his hands into the air. "It's ridiculous! I've been flying for years, and I'm not allowed to bring my Nimbus. But Potter—Potter gets a trial after one stunt!"
Pansy sat down primly, clearly satisfied with the chaos she'd stirred. "Everyone's talking about it. Gryffindors are already celebrating."
Draco dropped into the chair beside Cain, scowling. "It's not fair. I'll show them in flying class next time. Potter won't be the only one who can fly."
Cain glanced at him, amused by the fire in his voice. "We believe in you."
"Oh, just wait. I'll prove it—to all of you."