After a heavy lunch, Harry, Hermione, and Neville made their way to the History of Magic classroom, feeling more sluggish than ever. Their full stomachs didn't help matters, especially considering what lay ahead—a double period with the infamous Professor Binns. From what they had overheard during lunch, Professor Binns was widely regarded as the most boring teacher at Hogwarts. The upper years had jokingly said that he could put a charging werewolf to sleep with his monotone lectures. Harry hoped that wasn't entirely true, but he had his doubts.
The classroom was dimly lit, the walls lined with faded tapestries and dusty bookshelves, as if it had been frozen in time. Harry, Neville, and Hermione found a seat on one of the long benches near the middle of the room, positioning themselves between the Gryffindors and the Hufflepuffs who shared the class. To Harry's mild surprise, his friends Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott were sitting not too far away. They caught his eye and smiled warmly at him.
As they settled in, Harry noticed something strange—the professor hadn't yet arrived. There was no sign of the usual clatter of robes or footsteps that announced a teacher's entrance. Instead, a cool breeze seemed to drift through the room, causing a few students to shiver. Then, without warning, a ghostly figure emerged from the chalkboard, floating effortlessly toward the front of the class.
"Good afternoon," the ghost said in a droning, barely audible voice. His transparent form hovered above the desk, a stack of notes clutched in his wispy hand. His appearance was peculiar—an elderly man with thinning hair and a weary expression, but it was clear he had been a professor long before his death. "I am Professor Binns, and today, we shall begin our lecture on the Goblin Rebellions."
Harry blinked in surprise. The professor was a ghost. He hadn't expected that, though in a school filled with magic, it wasn't exactly shocking. What did surprise him, however, was the sheer monotony of Binns' voice. There was no passion, no energy, just a continuous, droning monologue about long-dead goblins and their uprisings. It was like being lulled into a trance.
The lesson stretched on as Professor Binns droned about dates and treaties, rebellions and battles, all in the same flat, emotionless tone. Harry glanced around the room and noticed that many of his classmates were already struggling to stay awake. A few had even given up entirely, their heads resting on their desks as they quietly dozed off. Some students were doodling in their notebooks, while others were whispering to each other or passing notes. It seemed that Professor Binns didn't care—he continued speaking as though no one was present at all.
Hermione, on the other hand, was an exception. She sat up straight, quill in hand, furiously scribbling notes as if every word Professor Binns said was of utmost importance. Harry and Neville exchanged a look of disbelief, wondering how on earth she was managing to stay so alert and focused.
"How is she doing that?" Neville muttered under his breath, shaking his head in amazement. His eyes were already half-closed, and he was pinching the skin on his arm to keep himself awake.
"No idea," Harry whispered back. "She's not human, I swear."
Just as Harry felt his own eyelids starting to droop, he glanced over at Susan and Hannah again. The two Hufflepuffs were still smiling at him, looking more awake than he felt. Harry grinned back, then had an idea. He quickly scribbled a note on a small piece of parchment: Hi, how do you do? How was your classes? With a tap of his wand, he levitated the note toward them, watching as it floated through the air and landed softly on their desk.
Susan and Hannah giggled as they opened the note, reading it and passing it between them. They scribbled a reply, crumpling the parchment into a ball before tossing it back toward Harry. It landed neatly in front of him, and he unfolded it to read their response: We're doing fine. How was yours?— The rest of the message trailed off, unfinished, but it didn't matter. Harry could guess what they were asking. He flashed them a thumbs-up in response, and they both grinned.
Meanwhile, Neville watched the note-passing with a mix of curiosity and amusement, though he was too tired to participate. Harry noticed the slight smile on Neville's face but could also see how much his friend was struggling to stay awake. With a small sigh, Harry leaned back on the bench, trying his best to focus on Professor Binns' lecture, but it was a losing battle.
Professor Binns droned on, completely oblivious to the fact that nearly half the class was either asleep or not paying attention. "And in the year 1612, the first major Goblin Rebellion broke out in Hogsmeade…" he continued in the same lifeless tone. Harry wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. He tried to follow along, but the details of the rebellion—dates, names of goblin leaders, battle strategies—blended together into a confusing blur.
He glanced over at Hermione again, who was still diligently taking notes. How could she be so focused? Did she really find this interesting, or was she just determined to excel in every class, no matter how dull? Harry admired her dedication, but he wasn't sure he could manage the same.
The hours dragged on, and Harry found himself slipping in and out of focus. Every once in a while, he would catch a word or two about the goblins, but it all seemed so distant, so unimportant compared to everything else happening at Hogwarts. By now, Harry had concluded that Professor Binns wasn't teaching for the students—he was merely going through the motions, as though stuck in an endless loop, doomed to repeat the same lectures for eternity.
Even as students around the room began to sleep openly, or pass notes, or simply stare out the windows, Professor Binns continued without pausing. Harry stifled a yawn and shook his head, trying to refocus on the lesson. He glanced at Neville, who had slumped further down on the bench, his eyes barely open.
"This is impossible," Neville whispered. "How does anyone survive this class?"
Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe we'll ask Hermione later." He chuckled softly, but even that didn't last long. His attention drifted once again as Professor Binns continued discussing yet another goblin uprising.
It wasn't until the very end of the class that something finally caught Harry's attention. Binns had moved on to discussing the early magical treaties between wizards and goblins. For a brief moment, Harry's mind sharpened—treaties, negotiations, conflict resolutions. For some reason, this part of the lecture seemed more relevant, more tangible.
Harry forced himself to sit up a little straighter, determined to catch at least one useful thing from the class. But as the words droned on, the details slipped away, replaced by the low hum of Binns' voice.
And just like that, the class was over.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the period, and students began to gather their belongings, some waking up from naps while others folded their notes. Harry exchanged a tired glance with Neville, who sighed in relief.
"Finally," Neville muttered. "I thought we'd never get out of here."
As they stood to leave, Harry noticed Hermione giving them a disapproving look. "Honestly, you two," she scolded lightly. "You could have at least taken some notes."
Harry grinned sheepishly. "Maybe next time, Hermione."
With that, they filed out of the classroom, glad to have survived their first encounter with the ghostly Professor Binns. As they made their way toward the common room, Harry couldn't help but laugh to himself. History of Magic was going to be a long year.
It was the end of their first day of classes, and to the relief of every first-year, none of the professors had given them any homework. As the evening settled over Hogwarts, Harry, Neville, and Hermione found themselves lounging in the Gryffindor common room, a place that was quickly becoming their new home. The room was warm and cozy, with the crackling fireplace casting a soft glow over the walls, and the sound of chattering students filled the space as older Gryffindors mingled with the younger ones.
For Harry, it was a strange experience. He was used to the solitude but people eager to talk to him, not just because he was "The Boy Who Lived" but because they genuinely wanted to get to know him. Older students approached, introducing themselves one after another, curious and excited to meet him.
"Hey, Harry! I'm Katie Bell, third-year," one of the older girls said, shaking his hand with a friendly smile. "If you ever need help with anything—especially Quidditch—just let me know!"A few more Gryffindors from various years greeted him as well, offering advice on surviving Hogwarts or simply asking how he was adjusting. Harry was polite, though he tried not to draw too much attention to himself. He wasn't sure how to handle all the praise or the expectations that came with it, but he found it comforting that people were at least friendly.
Neville, sitting beside him on one of the plush sofas, looked a little overwhelmed by the bustling common room but smiled weakly at Harry. "Everyone's so…nice here," he said, his voice soft. "I wasn't expecting it."
"Yeah, it's a bit different from what I'm used to," Harry admitted.
Hermione, who was perched in a nearby armchair with a book on her lap, nodded in agreement. "Well, Hogwarts is a place for everyone to learn and grow," she said, a hint of that know-it-all tone slipping into her voice. "It's natural that people want to be friendly. We're all stuck here together, after all."
"Did you always know you were coming here?" Harry asked, genuinely curious. He hadn't had a chance to hear much about his new friends' lives before Hogwarts, and now seemed like a good time to ask.
Neville shifted uncomfortably, fiddling with the edge of his robe. "Sort of," he replied. "My family always knew I was magical. My parents were…well, you know what happened to them." His voice wavered for a moment, but he quickly cleared his throat, refusing to let his emotions get the better of him. "I was raised by my gran. She's pretty strict, always going on about how I need to live up to the Longbottom name. But I didn't show any magic for a long time, so…well, I think she was worried I might not be a wizard at all."
Harry nodded, feeling a pang of sympathy for Neville. He knew about Neville's parents, the tragic story of how they had been tortured into madness by Death Eaters, and how they now lived permanently at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. But Harry didn't bring it up—he could tell that Neville didn't want to dwell on it.
Instead, Hermione chimed in, trying to lighten the mood. "My parents are both dentists," she said, her voice perking up. "They're Muggles, so they didn't really know anything about magic until I got my letter. It was quite a shock for them. But they've always been very supportive, even though they're a bit busy with their practice."
"That must've been strange," Harry remarked. "I mean, finding out you were a witch and all."
"Oh, it was!" Hermione's eyes lit up as she talked. "But I've always loved learning new things, so it was exciting more than anything else. I spent the whole summer reading all my textbooks before coming here. I didn't want to be unprepared." She paused for a moment, her expression faltering slightly. "But…I never really had many friends back home. I suppose people thought I was a bit…bossy."
Neville gave her a small smile. "I don't think you're bossy. You're just really smart, and some people don't know how to handle that."
"Yeah," Harry added. "It's good to have someone like you around. You keep us on our toes."
Hermione blushed at the compliments, clearly pleased. "Well, I'm glad I've made friends here," she said softly. "My parents were worried about that too."
As if on cue, Hedwig, Harry's snowy owl, swooped into the common room, delivering a letter to Hermione. Her face lit up as she opened it, scanning the neat handwriting quickly. "Oh, they're so happy!" she exclaimed. "They were worried I might have trouble fitting in, but now that I've written to them about you two, they're so relieved. They're just glad I'm not spending all my time with my nose in a book."
Neville chuckled. "Well, you are doing that, too."
Hermione laughed along with them, but she looked genuinely touched. "I suppose so. But I'm trying to balance things."
Eventually, their conversation turned to the weekend. Harry was already counting down the days until Sunday.
"I can't wait to explore the castle more," he said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "There's so much we haven't seen yet."
Neville nodded, looking equally eager. "I want to see the greenhouses again. Herbology seems like it'll be fun."
As they talked about the potential adventures awaiting them, the common room gradually grew quieter. Students began retreating to their dormitories, and soon it was just a handful of Gryffindors still awake. Harry, Neville, and Hermione eventually decided to head to bed as well, their first day at Hogwarts behind them.
Before they parted ways, Harry took a moment to reflect. For the first time in his life, he wasn't alone. He had friends—real friends—and he was part of something bigger than himself. And though there was still so much he didn't know about the wizarding world, he felt ready to face whatever came next.
As he climbed into bed that night, Harry couldn't help but smile. Sunday would come soon enough, and with it, more opportunities to explore the castle and uncover its secrets. He had a feeling that this was just the beginning of something incredible.