Waking up felt… strange. A soft mattress beneath me, the kind that didn't make my back feel like it had been personally cursed by a vengeful poltergeist. My eyes were still heavy with sleep, and the familiar darkness of early morning surrounded me. Normally, when I woke up at the orphanage, the first thing I felt was the hard, unyielding surface of my bed, a constant reminder that comfort was for the privileged. Then, it hit me.
I'm at Hogwarts.
It still felt surreal. I mean, who in their right mind would believe that I—previously a mundane, magic-less individual—had reincarnated into the world of Harry Potter? Though, oddly enough, here the legendary Boy Who Lived was named Henry Potter. Either I had landed in a slightly off-brand version of the universe or fate had a twisted sense of humor.
Not only was I sorted into Gryffindor, but I was currently a few meters away from the Fred and George Weasley—pranksters extraordinaire—who, for once in their lives, were peacefully snoring away. Seizing the moment, I grabbed my wand and muttered,
"Tempus."
Glowing whitish letters materialized in the air: 5:24 AM. A perfectly insane hour to be awake, but my internal clock had yet to adjust to the magical life.
I climbed out of bed, stretched lazily, and, with a few well-placed cleaning spells, freshened up before slipping into my tracksuit. The Black Lake was calling me for a morning run, and who was I to refuse? As I strolled through the grand corridors of the castle, marveling at its medieval magnificence, a realization struck me—how did I even know where I was going?
Simple. All it took was a bit of ingenuity. The moment I stepped out of the common room, I called out,
"Can any house-elf hear me?"
With a sharp pop, a tiny creature appeared before me, large eyes brimming with curiosity.
"Did you be calling for a house-elf, sir?"
"Yes. I'm Max. What's your name, dear?"
The elf gasped, eyes widening further (which I didn't think was physically possible).
"You asked for Zippy's name? Zippy is honored!" she cried, practically vibrating with emotion. I gave her a moment to process the life-altering fact that someone actually acknowledged her existence before she continued,
"Zippy's name be Zippy! How may Zippy help Master Max?"
"Just call me Max, Zippy."
"Master Max allows Zippy to call him Max? Such a kind and noble wizard he is!" she gushed, looking moments away from declaring lifelong servitude.
I blinked. Wow. Somebody, please help these pitiful creatures.
"Zippy, could you show me the way to the Black Lake? I want to get some exercise in."
"Black Lake? Oh yes, yes! Max follows Zippy! This way!" the little elf chirped, practically bouncing on her tiny feet as she led the way.
With Zippy's expert navigation, I reached the Black Lake in about fifteen minutes. Before starting my workout, I made sure to thank her, which, of course, resulted in another near-tearful breakdown before she popped away to tend to her duties. Seriously, someone needs to give these elves a some praise for their dedication.
Scotland's September weather usually hovers between 10°C and 20°C, and this morning had the perfect crisp chill in the air. Enjoying the refreshing breeze, I dove into my workout, ensuring I hit every muscle group.
Because if you want to duel someone who can obliterate you with sheer magical power, you'd better have at least two things—a strong body and excellent reflexes. Reflexes? Well, those come with time, experience, and dodging spells on instinct. But a good body? That's completely in my control. Unlike those lazy wizards who let themselves go (Seriously, have you seen some of them?), I had no intention of gaining an inch of unnecessary fat.
I am not stupid. And that's why I was out here, exercising.
As the sun peeked over the Scottish Highlands, my body heat rose alongside it. A quick Tempus charm revealed the time: 6:50 AM. Nearly an hour of exercise done. Drenched in sweat but feeling accomplished, I took a five-minute breather before launching into a thirty-minute run along the shore of the Black Lake.
Workout complete. Mission accomplished. Time to head back to the dormitory.
Or at least, that was the plan—until I passed by Filch's office.
And, by some divine stroke of luck, the room was empty.
I slowed my steps, casually looking around. No human in sight. No portraits to snitch on me. No ghostly tattletales lurking about.
This… was an opportunity.
Heart pounding with the thrill of mischief, I slipped inside. A quick scan of the office led me straight to a drawer labeled "Confiscated and Highly Dangerous."
Jackpot.
Without a second thought, I yanked it open and retrieved a certain old, worn-out parchment. Clutching my prize, I wasted no time bolting from the office, moving with the precision of a seasoned criminal who just pulled off the heist of the century.
Because what I now had in my possession was none other than the original Marauder's Map.
Despite its flaws, this little masterpiece showed everything—every classroom, every hallway, every hidden passage within Hogwarts' walls. More importantly? It revealed the location of every person in the castle.
And if I was going to be using a Time-Turner in the near future?
Oh, this map was going to be very useful.
Satisfied with how my morning had started, I took a quick bath, changed into casual clothes, and—most importantly—headed to the toilet for some much-needed privacy.
Once I was absolutely sure no one was around (because getting caught with a piece of parchment would do wonders for my reputation), I pulled out the map.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
Like ink spreading over paper, the map came to life, revealing the intricate layout of Hogwarts and the names of everyone inside.
Most of the professors were in their offices, which meant less supervision, and only a handful of students were in the Great Hall. It was, after all, an early Saturday morning.
But one name caught my attention—Jasmine Potter.
My current favorite Ravenclaw.
She was already making her way toward the Great Hall, which meant breakfast was finally an option. My stomach, in full agreement, let out a very undignified growl. That was my cue.
Tucking the map away, I stepped out, my hunger taking priority over all else.
When I entered the Great Hall, I was met with an unusual sight—the Gryffindor table was completely deserted.
Meanwhile, at the Ravenclaw table, Jasmine Potter was seated alone. The moment she spotted me, she casually gestured for me to join her.
Which I did. Not because I wanted to or anything. Nope. Definitely not because I enjoyed her company. If questioned, I could swear on Umbridge's existence that it was purely because she asked.
Jasmine greeted me with a small smile, and I returned one of my own as I sat across from her.
Now, priorities.
Earlier this morning, I had wisely asked Zippy to prepare my breakfast—two boiled chicken sandwiches and a cappuccino. True to her efficient house-elf ways, my meal materialized in front of me within seconds.
At almost the same time, a full English breakfast appeared before Jasmine—eggs, bacon, sausages, baked beans, and toast. A proper feast.
For a moment, there was silence. The awkward kind.
So, naturally, I decided to break it.
"So, Miss Potter, how was your first full day at Hogwarts?" I asked as nonchalantly as possible, making sure to keep my table manners impeccable.
"It was… not bad," she replied, though there was something off about her tone.
I raised an eyebrow. Not bad?
"Not bad, huh? Why? Too many questions about your family? Or—" I smirked, taking a sip of my cappuccino, "specifically your brother?"
Jasmine's eyes widened, and for a moment, she simply stared at me, silent. Then, with a dangerous edge to her voice, she finally asked,
"How do you know that?"
I didn't answer immediately. First, I finished chewing my food—gracefully, of course—because no matter the situation, manners mattered. Then, I set down my sandwich and replied,
"I see, I observe, I pay attention, I consider all possibilities, and then I draw conclusions."
I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice to a slow, deliberate pace.
"And—" I smirked, locking eyes with her, "you just confirmed my most likely guess."
Jasmine's expression shifted ever so slightly before she crossed her arms.
"How did you reach that conclusion?"
"Oh, it wasn't as difficult as you might think."
I leaned back, taking a sip of water before continuing.
"I was with you up until the Sorting, and your mood seemed just fine. Then, when they called 'Potter, Jasmine,' something interesting happened—what was previously a fairly quiet Great Hall suddenly turned into a buzzing beehive of whispers and gossip, all about The Boy-Who-Lived."
I paused, letting that sink in before adding,
"And I noticed the flicker of irritation on your face."
Her fingers twitched slightly, but she said nothing, so I pressed on.
"Then, of course, you were sorted into Ravenclaw—where curiosity isn't just a trait; it's practically a house motto. Naturally, your new housemates would want to investigate. And I imagine the constant questioning didn't do wonders for your mood either."
I took another sip before delivering the final piece.
"So, putting it all together—what should have been a perfectly pleasant evening was likely ruined by an avalanche of inquiries from a bunch of inquisitive Ravenclaws. You must have been bombarded with questions."
I made a small, thoughtful motion with my head, like a detective piecing together the last parts of a mystery. Then, with sharp precision, I locked eyes with her again—like a viper recognizing its prey.
"So… how wrong is my speculation?"
Jasmine, clearly baffled, hesitated before muttering,
"It's… not completely right."
I didn't miss a beat.
"Give a percentage to 'not completely' then."
She stared at me for a moment, exhaling through her nose.
"Fine," she admitted, "you were right for the most part. I just retired from them saying that I can't answer now due to exhaustion and will answer them properly tomorrow."
I gave her an easygoing smile, though there was a teasing glint in my eyes.
Jasmine stared at me, her brow furrowed in confusion.
"But… how do you do it?"
I sighed, setting my cup down. Didn't I just explain this?
"I just told you—watch, note, think, speculate. After that, the information you have at hand will narrow down to the most probable answers. Then, you just use instinct to determine the most likely one while matching your speculations to the situation. And boom—you have your answer."
I leaned back, smirking.
"Don't worry, you'll get it eventually."
Silence.
"Hello?"
More silence.
"Jasmine?"
She blinked, then shook her head as if snapping out of a trance.
"You know," she said, narrowing her eyes, "if I didn't know better, I'd think you were stalking me."
I chuckled. "And yet, here we are."
"But more importantly," she continued, eyeing me suspiciously, "why are you in Gryffindor?"
"Hat sorted me, you know."
"B-But aren't Gryffindors supposed to be the headstrong, act-first-think-later types. I would have laughed I someone said that a Gryffindor is capable of analyzing things before drawing conclusions?"
"They are… or at least, that's how they normally are."
She tilted her head. "And you?"
I grinned. "Normal is boring, Jasmine."
She sighed, shaking her head. "You are impossible, you know that?"
But she was smiling when she said it.
"So I've been told," I replied, mirroring her grin. The lighthearted banter seemed to do the trick—pulling her attention away from the grim subject of last night's interrogation.
Just as I was finishing my meal, the various Heads of Houses began arriving for breakfast.
All except Snape and the Headmaster.
The moment I spotted them, I paused eating, straightened up, and in a slightly louder voice, I greeted,
"Good morning, Professor McGonagall."
I turned and gave her a small, respectful nod before shifting my gaze.
"Professor Flitwick." Another nod.
"Professor Sprout." Another.
The reactions were immediate.
McGonagall's lips twitched upward ever so slightly in what might have been approval. Professor Sprout beamed. But the real winner was Flitwick, whose entire face lit up like Christmas had come early.
"Ah! Ten points to Gryffindor and Ravenclaw for promoting inter-house friendships!" he declared cheerfully, his high-pitched voice brimming with enthusiasm.
Then, turning to Jasmine, he added, "Glad to see you're doing well this morning, Miss Potter. And—"
"Ashborn, sir. Maximus Ashborn." I introduced myself smoothly. "I'm very much looking forward to your Charms class."
Flitwick practically glowed. "Then I shall have the pleasure of seeing you in my classroom, Mr. Ashborn!"
With that, he happily turned back to his breakfast—a bowl of what looked like some sort of porridge.
I took another bite of my sandwich, feeling rather pleased with myself. That was a successful introduction.
Professor McGonagall, ever the epitome of stern authority, fixed me with a pointed look.
"Not that I have any problem, Mr. Ashborn, but I see that you are not sitting at Gryffindor's table."
I smiled, setting my cup down before answering smoothly,
"When I arrived at the Great Hall, the Gryffindor table was completely empty. Then Miss Potter invited me over to join her for breakfast. And, well… I saw no reason to decline such beautiful company."
Cough—cough!
Jasmine promptly choked on her food.
I glanced at her, utterly innocent. The words 'beautiful company' had clearly landed critical hits, her face now rivaling the Weasley hair in shade.
Between struggling to compose herself and glaring daggers at me, she finally muttered,
"Flattery will get you nowhere with me, Ashborn."
I took a slow sip of my cappuccino, smiling over the rim of my cup.
"But it's not flattery if it's the truth, dear."
Another direct hit.
Jasmine, now visibly flustered, looked as though she was debating between throwing her fork at me or crawling under the table.
"You are insufferable, you know that?" she grumbled.
"Insufferable? That's a new one," I mused, looking genuinely delighted. "Well, thank you. I now have a new adjective to my name."
She deadpanned at my shamelessness. Meanwhile, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed McGonagall and Sprout, both diligently focused on their breakfasts… except for the slight issue of their shoulders twitching.
Oh? Were they… amused?
Good to know.
Clearing my throat, I adopted a more neutral expression.
"Jasmine, leaving all funny things aside," I said, shifting to a more serious tone, "I wanted to ask if you're occupied with anything today."
She blinked, her usual composure returning. "No, I actually have quite a lot of free time today."
"Well then," I said, leaning back slightly, "I was planning to visit the library for some quiet studying. Yesterday was enough for me to gauge Gryffindor's… enthusiasm. And their noise levels."
Jasmine snorted.
"So, I was wondering if you'd like to join me in the library. We could compare what we know in different subjects."
She tilted her head, clearly considering it.
"Sure. What subjects?"
"You said you know Potions. I think I could help with Transfiguration."
Her eyes lit up at the idea.
"Alright. What time?"
"How about in thirty minutes? We'll meet outside the Great Hall and head to the library together."
She nodded. "Sounds good."
I smirked.
A quiet study session in the library with Jasmine Potter?
This was going to be interesting.
After finishing our breakfasts, we parted ways to our respective common rooms to gather our textbooks.
I packed three books into my bag, which, thankfully, had an expansion charm—because I valued my spine. Meanwhile, Jasmine, in true Ravenclaw fashion, was carrying two gigantic books in her arms, struggling under their weight like a medieval scholar hauling ancient tomes.
I raised an eyebrow.
"If you'd like, Jasmine, I could keep them in my bag for you."
She hesitated for a brief second before handing them over.
"Only if you want to," she added, trying to keep her dignity intact.
With our study materials secured (and my bag weighing as much as a small troll— or at least, it would have, if not for the blessed lightweight charm), we trudged up to the third floor and entered the library—Hogwarts' very own temple of knowledge, fiercely ruled by the ever-vigilant Madam Pince. Under her piercing glare, we silently swore to uphold the sacred law of the library: Speak loudly and suffer. Shout... and perish.
The place was nearly empty, save for seven students—every single one of them a Ravenclaw, naturally. If I listened hard enough, I was fairly certain I could hear their brains whirring like finely tuned magical clocks.
Jasmine wasted no time. The moment we sat down, she cracked open her Potions book with the grim determination of a scholar on the brink of unraveling the universe's deepest secrets. I, on the other hand, took a moment—partly to admire her dedication, partly to mentally prepare myself —before finally following her lead.
And within thirty minutes, I had a startling realization—there is a massive difference between knowing Potions in theory and actually brewing them.
Sure, I understood the ingredients, their properties, and the logic behind potion-making. In theory, I practically knew everything. But Jasmine? She had experience. Firsthand, hands-on, cauldron-stirring, potion-fumes-in-your-face experience—courtesy of one Lily Potter née Evans.
Which, of course, meant that while I was still mentally processing why powdered moonstone had to be counterclockwise stirred exactly seven times, Jasmine had already moved on to explaining why failing to do so would probably result in a minor explosion.
She effortlessly guided me through various ingredient preparations—how to cut them, when to stir, the precise timing for adding ingredients—and patiently solved every doubt I threw at her.
And I must admit—I enjoyed it, But she was elated.
Every time I asked a question, she'd answer with a spark in her eyes, a quiet enthusiasm bubbling beneath her words. She explained things in the simplest, most crystal-clear way possible, as if she genuinely enjoyed breaking down complex concepts.
This back-and-forth continued seamlessly. I asked, she answered—sometimes with a small, triumphant smile when I grasped a tricky concept. I speculated, she corrected—her voice carrying the unmistakable thrill of someone who loved knowing things. I made a sarcastic remark about potion fumes, she ignored it with the patience of a saint... but I didn't miss the way the corner of her lips twitched, betraying her amusement.
Neither of us realized just how much time had passed… until I cast a quick Tempus charm.
The glowing numbers appeared in the air:
12:09 PM.
I blinked.
"Jasmine."
"Hmm?" she hummed, her eyes still glued to the page of Advanced Potion Making, completely immersed in her reading.
"We've been here for four hours."
She blinked, looked up at me, then glanced at the numbers, and finally back at me, her face a picture of realization.
"Oh."
I smirked, letting the moment linger.
"I take it you were lost. In books? Or perhaps—"
Before I could finish, a swift flick of her wand sent a flash of light zipping past my face, close enough to make me blink. Her expression was now a perfect blend of playful menace and icy warning.
"I dare you to finish that sentence, Ashborn."
I raised my hands in mock surrender, though the mischief dancing in my eyes completely betrayed my supposed compliance.
"Or perhaps... in the undeniable charm of the Library?"
Her huff was loud enough to be a personal offense to my existence. With a small but dramatic thud, she slammed her book shut, her wand sliding back into her sleeve with an exaggerated slowness that screamed, 'You live today, but just barely.'
I watched her, knowing full well that, one way or another, I'd survived this encounter... for now.
"She's scary," I thought, rubbing my forehead where her magic had grazed—or, more accurately, nearly seared my poor, innocent skull.