After the feast ended, Dumbledore rose from his seat at the staff table, his long silver beard gleaming in the flickering candlelight. The chatter of students gradually quieted as they turned their attention to the headmaster. His eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles as he raised his hands for silence.
"Welcome, welcome to another year at Hogwarts," he began warmly. "Before we send you off to your respective dormitories, allow me to introduce your professors, who will guide you on your magical journey this year."
Dumbledore gestured toward the staff table, and the students turned their heads to get a good look at the teachers who would be shaping their lives for the next seven years.
"First, Professor McGonagall, your Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration teacher." Professor McGonagall nodded curtly, her sharp eyes sweeping the hall as if daring any student to step out of line.
"Next, Professor Flitwick, Charms." The tiny professor gave a cheerful wave, nearly hidden by the large goblet in front of him.
"Professor Sprout, Herbology." The plump, motherly-looking witch smiled warmly, her hands clasped in front of her."
And our Potions Master, Professor Snape." A hush fell over the hall as the dark, brooding figure of Severus Snape inclined his head. His black eyes flickered towards Harry, who felt a shiver run down his spine. Snape's gaze was cold and calculating, as if he were trying to peer into Harry's very soul.
Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, recalling how Sirius had mentioned that he and Harry's father, James, had often played pranks on Snape during their school days. A pang of worry settled in Harry's stomach. Would Snape hold a grudge against him for what his father had done? From the way Snape was glaring at him, Harry had a sinking feeling that the Potions Master would indeed be trouble.
"And finally," Dumbledore continued, "our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Professor Quirrell."
Harry's attention was drawn to the nervous-looking man sitting near the end of the table. Quirrell wore a large purple turban that looked slightly askew, and his eyes darted around the room as if he expected danger to leap out at him from the shadows. A low murmur spread through the hall as students whispered about the strange professor.
"That's Professor Quirrell?" Neville muttered to Harry, who was sitting beside him. "He used to teach Muggle Studies, but he went off on some expedition to study Dark creatures. Came back looking like that."
"Why is he wearing that turban?" Harry asked, curious.
"Rumor has it," said Neville, lowering his voice, "that he had a run-in with a vampire in the some Forest. They say he's terrified of the dark now, and the turban's supposed to be enchanted to ward off evil spirits and vampires."
Harry glanced at Quirrell again, who was fiddling nervously with the edge of his robes. He couldn't help but wonder what had happened to the man during his travels. The professor's eyes flitted over to Harry, and for a brief moment, their gazes locked. Harry felt a strange sensation, like a jolt of unease, before Quirrell quickly looked away.
Dumbledore's voice cut through Harry's thoughts. "Now, a few start-of-term notices. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is strictly forbidden to all students. A few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."
His gaze lingered on the Gryffindor table for a moment, and Harry wondered who he was referring to.
"Also, Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to remind you all that no magic should be used in the corridors between classes. And finally, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to anyone who does not wish to suffer a most gruesome death."
There was a ripple of laughter from the younger students, but Harry noticed that the older students weren't laughing. They exchanged serious looks, nodding as if they knew something the others didn't.
Harry turned to Neville, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What sort of school is this?" he whispered.
Neville just shrugged. "Dumbledore's always saying stuff like that. Probably just trying to scare us."
Harry wasn't so sure. The way Dumbledore had spoken, the warning didn't sound like a joke. He made a mental note to avoid the third floor, just in case.
With the announcements finished, Dumbledore clapped his hands, and the noise in the Great Hall resumed as students began to rise from their seats. The Gryffindor prefects, Percy Weasley and a girl Harry hadn't met yet, called out for the first years to follow them.
"Come along, everyone," Percy said, his chest puffed out with pride as he led the way. "We'll show you to the Gryffindor common room."
The journey through the castle was a long one, and Harry found himself struggling to keep up with the group as they climbed staircase after staircase. The corridors were dimly lit, and the paintings on the walls moved and whispered as the students passed by. Harry marveled at the sheer size of Hogwarts. It was unlike anything he had ever imagined, with its twisting staircases, hidden doorways, and ghostly residents.
"How much further?" a small voice piped up from the back of the group. It was Neville, who was panting from the effort of keeping up.
"Not far now," Percy said over his shoulder. "Just one more staircase."
Harry, though tired, couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement. This was Hogwarts—a place full of mystery and magic. He couldn't wait to explore every inch of it.
Finally, they reached the seventh floor, and Percy stopped in front of a large portrait of a fat woman in a pink silk dress. The woman in the painting turned to look at them, her lips curving into a broad smile.
"Password?" she asked in a sing-song voice.
"Captus Draconis," Percy replied confidently.
The portrait swung forward, revealing a round hole in the wall. One by one, the students clambered through the opening, and Harry found himself inside the Gryffindor common room for the first time.
The room was warm and inviting, with a roaring fire in the fireplace and squashy armchairs scattered around. The walls were lined with tapestries and portraits of famous Gryffindors. A few older students were already lounging by the fire, chatting and laughing, but they quieted down as the first years entered.
"Welcome to the Gryffindor common room," Percy announced, his voice echoing slightly in the high-ceilinged room. "This is where you'll spend most of your time outside of classes. The boys' dormitories are up those stairs to the left, and the girls' dormitories are to the right. Your belongings have already been brought up. And remember," he added with a stern look, "the password is Captus Draconis. It will be changed regularly, so make sure you remember it."
The first years nodded, though Harry noticed that some of them looked a bit overwhelmed by it all. He could hardly blame them—Hogwarts was a lot to take in.
"Off you go, then," Percy said, ushering the boys and girls to their respective staircases.
Harry followed the other boys up the spiral staircase that led to their dormitory. The room they entered was cozy, with five four-poster beds draped in deep red curtains. Each bed had a small trunk at the foot, and their belongings had been neatly placed beside them.
Harry quickly spotted his bed, which was next to a window that looked out over the castle grounds. He sat down on the soft mattress, feeling a strange mix of exhaustion and excitement.
Neville plopped down on the bed next to Harry's, looking relieved to finally be off his feet. "That was a lot of walking," he said with a tired smile.
"Yeah," Harry agreed, though he was still too full of energy to care about the long trek. "But this place is amazing, isn't it?"
Dean Thomas, a tall boy with dark skin who had introduced himself earlier, nodded as he sat down on the bed to Harry's right. "It's brilliant. I can't wait to see what kind of stuff we'll learn here.
"Seamus Finnigan, a sandy-haired boy with a thick Irish accent, flopped onto his bed with a grin. "My mam's a witch, but I grew up in a Muggle neighborhood. I bet I'll know a lot of the stuff already, but there's bound to be loads I've never seen before."
Ron Weasley, who had taken the bed next to Neville, pulled out a chocolate frog from his pocket and began unwrapping it. "Yeah, I've got five older brothers who went here, so I've heard all the stories. Fred and George—my twin brothers—they're always up to something. You'll probably meet them soon enough."
Harry listened to the chatter around him, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. He had always wanted to belong somewhere, and now, for the first time, he felt like he did. These boys were like him, just starting out on their magical journey, full of curiosity and excitement.
As the conversation flowed, Harry remembered that he needed to write to Sirius. He had promised to keep him updated, and he didn't want to break that promise.
"I'm going to write a letter to my godfather," Harry said, standing up and heading over to his trunk. The other boys looked at him curiously.
"You've got a godfather?" Dean asked, clearly interested. "What's he like?"
Harry hesitated for a moment, feeling a pang of caution. He didn't want to get too personal with Dean, or Ron, or any of them. Friendliness was one thing, but friendship—that was another matter entirely. After all, Sirius had taught him the importance of being cautious about whom to trust. So, Harry nodded briefly and shrugged.
"Yeah," he said, keeping his tone casual. "He's... interesting."
That was all Harry said, and Dean, sensing that Harry didn't want to talk about it further, let it drop. Meanwhile, Ron seemed to be fidgeting with his blanket as if he wanted to say something but couldn't quite figure out how. Harry ignored it, focusing instead on finding his parchment, quill, and ink. He didn't want to think too much about Ron. The redhead seemed nice enough, but Harry had no intention of making friends—especially not so soon. He wasn't here to be distracted by friendships.
Once Harry had his writing materials, he settled onto his bed and began to write. His quill scratched lightly over the parchment as he poured out his thoughts to Sirius.
Dear Sirius,
I've just finished my first day at Hogwarts. You were right—it's like nothing I've ever seen before. The castle is massive, and it feels like there's magic in every corner. The Sorting Hat put me in Gryffindor, just like you said it might. I was a bit nervous, but the Hat made the decision quickly.
I've already met some interesting people. There's Neville Longbottom—he's a bit shy but seems decent enough. Hermione Granger—very smart and knows a lot about magic, even though she's Muggle-born. And then there's Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott, both from Hufflepuff. Susan's aunt is Amelia Bones, the Auror who helped get you out of Azkaban. You remember her, right? I haven't spoken much with her yet, but she seems nice, and I think she's someone worth knowing.
I wish you were here. You'd love it—Hogwarts is incredible. I'll write more soon and tell you about the classes. I think I'm going to like Charms the most. Take care of yourself, and give Buckbeak a good treat from me.
Love, Harry
Harry finished the letter, folded the parchment neatly, and set it aside. Hedwig would deliver it in the morning. He glanced around the room and saw that the others had busied themselves with various tasks—Neville was still fussing over Trevor, while Dean and Seamus were deep in a conversation about football. Ron, however, was still watching him from the corner of his eye, clearly trying to figure out how to strike up a conversation.
Harry turned his back to Ron, feigning interest in the view outside the window. The grounds of Hogwarts looked peaceful in the twilight, the Forbidden Forest dark and foreboding in the distance. He wasn't interested in bonding with Ron, even though he could sense that the other boy was making an effort. It wasn't that he disliked Ron—he just wasn't ready to open himself up to someone new, especially not so soon.
Besides, he had enough on his plate. Hogwarts was a big place with big expectations, and Harry knew he needed to stay focused. He couldn't afford to be distracted by the idea of making friends. Neville seemed trustworthy, and Susan's connection to Amelia Bones made her someone worth getting to know. Hermione was clearly intelligent and driven. Those were people who had potential—people who could be allies in the future.
Satisfied with his letter and his assessment of his classmates, Harry closed his trunk and climbed into bed, drawing the curtains around him for privacy. As he lay back against the soft pillows, his thoughts drifted to Sirius. His godfather had been through so much—locked away in Azkaban for nearly a decade, enduring the torment of the Dementors, all because of a crime he didn't commit. It was infuriating that no one had believed him, that no one had even given him a trial.
Sleep came slowly that night, with Harry's thoughts whirling around everything he had experienced so far. Hogwarts was a new world—a world of possibilities, but also of unknown dangers. And Harry knew that he needed to be ready for whatever came next. For now, he would keep his distance, observe, and learn. He couldn't let his guard down, not yet.
As Harry drifted off, the sounds of the castle at night filled the air—the distant creak of ancient wood, the rustle of tapestries in the corridors, and the soft hoot of an owl outside his window. Hogwarts was alive with secrets, and Harry was determined to uncover them all.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new opportunities. But tonight, in the safety of his bed, Harry allowed himself to rest, knowing that he had a mission to fulfill and a godfather waiting for news of his progress.