By Thursday, Adrian could find the Great Hall without following someone else, although he had learned that knowing where a staircase led did not necessarily mean it would still lead there when he needed it.
He arrived at breakfast with Cedric and Toby after a detour that Toby was still insisting had been unnecessary.
“We should have waited for it to come back.”
“And miss breakfast?” Cedric asked, sitting down.
“We got here.”
Adrian put his bag beneath the bench and reached for the toast.
“If it gets me to food, I’m calling it the right way.”
He had just begun eating when the owls arrived, prompting several students to move their drinks before the birds descended.
Adrian followed their example as a brown owl approached with an envelope and a small parcel, extending his arm before it had to choose somewhere among the plates.
The bird settled with a brief adjustment of its wings, and he recognised the pale mark above one eye.
“Hey.
You made it.”
Cedric moved the butter out of reach while Adrian untied the delivery.
His mother had written his name across the envelope, but the smaller line beneath it was his father’s.
Please read the entire letter before deciding which parts apply to you.
Adrian smiled and opened it.
Marisol wanted to know whether the dormitory was warm, whether he was eating vegetables, and whether he had found his spare socks.
She was pleased about Hufflepuff and delighted that Cedric was sharing his room, although she apparently wanted a better description of where he was sleeping than “underground, but nice.”
Edmund congratulated him on the feather, then reminded him that Professor McGonagall probably knew more about teaching Transfiguration than a boy who had attended one lesson.
Adrian glanced at Cedric, who was reading a letter of his own.
“My dad agrees with you about giving Transfiguration a chance.”
“That’s sensible of him.”
“Everybody’s enjoying this a little too much.”
Cedric smiled without looking up, and Adrian returned to the page, where his father’s handwriting became slightly tighter.
I remember Avery.
Whatever his son believes he knows, you do not need to answer questions about my school years on my behalf.
If he has something to say to you, listen carefully enough to distinguish unpleasantness from a threat, then use your judgment.
Below that, Edmund had added another line.
Preferably the judgment your mother and I have spent eleven years trying to encourage.
Adrian read the passage twice.
His father remembered the family and didn’t sound surprised, although he had supplied very little of the explanation Adrian had hoped for.
Cedric noticed the pause.
“Everything all right?”
“Yeah.
Dad knows Avery’s father.” Adrian folded the letter, unwilling to spend breakfast trying to interpret what Edmund had left out.
“He says I don’t need to explain anything for him.”
“Good.
You didn’t know what he was talking about anyway.”
The owl shifted its feet, reminding Adrian that it was still there.
He moved to a clearer stretch of the table and let it leave his arm before returning to unwrap the parcel.
Inside was a cloth bundle of cookies, accompanied by another note from his mother telling him to share.
Cedric glanced at it.
“She knows you’re here,” Adrian said, offering him the bundle.
“I’d probably get caught.”
The dungeon classroom was quiet by the time Snape lifted the first sample from his desk.
Adrian opened his notebook to the heading he had copied during their previous lesson: Cure for Boils.
Beneath it were the ingredients—dried nettles, crushed snake fangs, stewed horned slugs, and porcupine quills—along with several reminders about their preparation.
During that first attempt, he had been occupied with measurements, timing, and keeping track of the next instruction.
Reading afterwards had given him more opportunity to wonder how those ingredients became a treatment for boils, and questions now filled the margin beside the recipe.
Snape held a cloudy vial toward the light.
“Snake fangs,” he said, watching particles collect at the bottom.
“Crushed.
Two words which appear to have defeated at least one pair in this room.”
A boy near the back lowered his eyes.
“Look up.”
The boy obeyed.
“Can you see the fragments?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you might explain why you failed to notice them when they were directly beneath your nose.”
“I thought they were small enough.”
“Clearly.” Snape set the vial down.
“You will try thinking more carefully today.”
He selected another sample, examined it, and returned it to the desk without hiding his disgust.
“The same preparation again.
Those of you who produced something usable will demonstrate that it was not an accident.
The rest will follow the instructions instead of indulging whatever passed for judgment during our previous lesson.”
Cedric began arranging their equipment while Adrian checked the scales.
Repeating the potion suited him; he wanted to know whether he could recognise the stages as readily as he remembered them.
“I’ll handle the fangs,” he murmured.
“Can you weigh the nettles?”
Cedric drew the dried leaves toward him, and Adrian placed the fangs in his mortar.
He worked carefully, keeping the pestle low enough that fragments couldn’t jump out, then paused to inspect what remained.
Most had become powder, but several small pieces resisted the pressure.
He raised his hand.
Snape finished inspecting another desk before approaching.
“What?”
“How fine do you want this, sir?”
Snape looked into the mortar, then at Adrian.
“Fine enough that I do not have to repeat the conversation you have just heard.”
“I got that part.
I’m asking if you want powder.”
“Unless you imagine fragments become more useful merely because they belong to you.”
Adrian glanced down at the mortar.
“Powder, then.
You could’ve started there.”
“Two points from Hufflepuff.”
Cedric stopped weighing the nettles.
Snape leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping.
“You will keep your opinions to yourself, Clarke.
I have no interest in them.”
Adrian met his eyes for a moment, then nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
He returned to the mortar immediately, grinding the remaining pieces while Snape watched.
Only when the powder was even did the professor move away.
Cedric waited until he was out of earshot.
“You could have stopped after he answered.”
Adrian checked the quantity before transferring it.
“I know.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“It slipped out.”
Cedric looked unconvinced, but Adrian was already turning back to the recipe.
Once the potion was underway, he found it easy to keep his attention on the work.
He remembered how the mixture had looked during their first lesson, and this time he recognised the changes early enough to anticipate the next instruction.
Cedric checked the stewed horned slugs while Adrian watched the cauldron.
They compared the preparation with the description, agreed it was ready, and continued without hurrying.
Adrian’s questions accumulated as they worked.
He wanted to know why one stage required more heat than another, whether the stirring direction mattered throughout, and how much variation the dried ingredients could tolerate before the result changed.
He wrote each question down rather than trying anything.
When they reached the porcupine quills, he read the preceding instruction again.
“Off the heat first.”
Cedric helped move the cauldron, and Adrian checked that it was secure before reaching for the quills.
Their addition went smoothly, and he completed the final stirring before setting down the rod.
Snape stopped beside them.
For several seconds, he examined the potion without speaking.
“What have you changed?”
“Nothing, sir.”
Snape looked at Cedric.
“We followed the instructions, Professor.”
“Then what is all this?”
He indicated the writing in the margin.
“Questions,” Adrian said.
“For later.”
Snape held out his hand, and Adrian passed him the notebook.
The professor read the first few lines, then turned back to their observations from the previous lesson.
“You have made this potion twice, Clarke.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you already consider yourself qualified to alter it?”
“No.
That’s why they’re questions.”
Cedric stared into the cauldron.
Snape’s eyes lifted from the page, and Adrian kept his expression attentive.
He wanted the answers badly enough to risk the conversation, but he wasn’t going to pretend he had changed anything when he hadn’t.
After a moment, Snape tapped one of the notes.
“Lowering the temperature here would change what is extracted.
Leaving it longer would not correct your mistake.”
Adrian leaned forward slightly.
“Even if the color ended up the same?”
“Colour alone tells you very little.
Surely that should be apparent after this morning’s examples.”
“Okay.
So it could look right and still be wrong.”
“Yes, Clarke.
An important distinction.
You might remember it.”
Adrian reached for his quill, then paused until Snape placed the notebook back on the desk.
He added the explanation beneath the question while it was fresh.
When he looked up, the professor was still watching him.
“Is there something I should read about that?”
“The section on ingredient preparation.
Before you invent further ways to ruin a perfectly serviceable potion.”
“Got it.”
“Bottle your sample.”
Adrian put the notebook aside and obeyed, cleaning the neck of the vial before sealing it.
Snape took the sample and held it against the light, then examined the cauldron once more.
“Correct consistency.
No sediment.”
Cedric’s expression brightened.
Snape turned toward the room.
“Those of you still stirring may wish to notice that Diggory and Clarke have finished.
Their ingredients were prepared properly, which spared them the need to compensate for carelessness later.”
Several students looked toward their desk.
“Five points to Hufflepuff.”
Adrian smiled.
“Thanks, Professor.”
“Do not look so pleased with yourself.
A little ability does not excuse an excess of cheek.”
“No, sir.”
This time, he managed to leave it there.
By the time their afternoon lessons and homework were finished, Adrian had added three more questions to his Potions notebook and crossed one out after finding the answer in his reading.
Cedric closed his Transfiguration book and watched him underline something.
“Are you nearly done?”
“Yeah.
I found the part Snape meant.”
“And?”
“He was right.”
Cedric looked unsurprised.
Adrian put the notebook away.
“You don’t have to enjoy it every time somebody else is right.”
“I’m enjoying the fact that we can go.”
They left their books in the dormitory and headed through the common room, but Professor Sprout called to them before they reached the entrance.
“Mr.
Clarke, Mr.
Diggory.
A moment, please.”
She was standing beside a table with several small pots arranged on a tray, her sleeves rolled back and a smear of soil near one wrist.
Adrian had seen her at meals and received his timetable from her, but they hadn’t yet had much opportunity to speak.
“Have you both settled in?”
“Yes, Professor,” Cedric said.
“Very well.”
“The room’s great,” Adrian added.
“I’m still working on the stairs.”
“They improve with familiarity.
Your opinion of them may not.” She set an empty pot on the tray and gave him a closer look.
“And lessons?”
Adrian considered how much of the week that question covered.
“Charms is going well.
Potions, too.
Transfiguration’s taking longer.”
“That’s a perfectly reasonable first week.”
Cedric glanced at him, and Adrian decided not to acknowledge it.
Sprout brushed some soil from the table, then noticed Adrian watching the trailing vine beside the passage.
“Something caught your eye?”
“The leaves turned when we walked past,” Adrian said.
“Is it following us?”
“Stand still for a moment,” she suggested, setting down her pot.
“Watch the ones nearest the door.”
Adrian waited beside Cedric, keeping his hands at his sides.
After a little while, the leaves began turning away, gradually settling into their earlier positions.
“It reacts to movement nearby,” Sprout explained.
“Passing animals can brush against it or catch its stems.
Following the disturbance helps it respond before too much damage is done.”
Adrian shifted one foot, and the nearest leaf turned toward him again.
He stopped, watching to see how long it would take to settle, while Sprout smiled at his interest.
“You may observe it as much as you like.
Ask before handling anything you don’t recognise, though.
A plant needn’t have teeth to make you regret touching it.”
“I can do that.”
“Good.
Curiosity is useful in my subject, provided it comes with a little care.”
She asked where they were going, and Cedric explained that Hagrid had invited them for tea.
“Then don’t let me keep you.
Make sure you’re back in time for dinner, and come to me if either of you needs anything.”
They thanked her and continued toward the entrance.
Once they were in the corridor, Cedric looked at Adrian.
“You were about to ask another question.”
“About six.”
“Save them for Herbology.”
Adrian smiled.
“I’m trying.”
Hagrid opened the door with a broad grin, then stepped back to make room.
“Ah, there yeh are.
Come in.
Kettle’s on.”
Adrian followed Cedric inside, taking in the fire, the heavy furniture, and the enormous dog rising from a blanket near the hearth.
Fang came straight toward them.
“Get down, Fang,” Hagrid said as the boarhound pressed his nose toward Cedric’s hand.
“Give ’em a chance.”
Cedric held still while the dog inspected him, then looked relieved when Fang’s attention shifted to Adrian.
Adrian turned slightly and let him approach, keeping his hand low.
Fang sniffed his fingers, moved on to his sleeve, and finally pushed his nose against the pocket of his robe.
“Hey, buddy.
Those are gone.”
He took out the empty cloth from his mother’s parcel, which explained the dog’s interest without persuading him to give up.
“Brought biscuits, did yeh?” Hagrid asked, clearing a coat from one of the chairs.
“My mom sent cookies.
We finished them.”
“Fang’ll check anyway.
Never believes yeh where food’s concerned.”
Hagrid chuckled and took down two mugs while Adrian gave the dog a slow scratch along the side of his neck.
Fang leaned against his leg, apparently willing to accept that as compensation.
Cedric sat down carefully.
“He’s heavy.”
“Great soft thing,” Hagrid said fondly.
“Fang, move over.
Yeh’re in the way.”
The dog eventually settled near Adrian’s chair, leaving just enough space for Hagrid to reach the table with the tea.
He put down a plate of thick biscuits as well, then sat opposite them.
“Go on, help yerselves.
How’s school treatin’ yeh?”
They told him about the stairs and their lessons, with Cedric supplying the part about Adrian answering Snape back.
Adrian looked across the table.
“You make it sound like I was arguing the whole time.”
“Yeh don’t want ter get on the wrong side o’ Professor Snape,” Hagrid said, his expression becoming serious.
“Best listen when he tells yeh somethin’.”
“I did.
The potion came out right.”
“Well, keep it that way.” Hagrid pushed the plate closer.
“An’ mind yer manners.
Won’t hurt yeh.”
Adrian accepted the advice without arguing, particularly because he suspected Cedric was enjoying the conversation.
They had also spoken to Professor Sprout on their way out, which pleased Hagrid.
“Good woman, Professor Sprout.
Yeh’ll do all right with her.”
Adrian described the plant by the common-room passage, and Hagrid listened while pouring more tea.
It was an easy conversation, with room to ask questions without feeling as though he had interrupted something more important.
When they reached the subject of the lake, Adrian took out his notebook.
“Do you mind if I write some of this down?”
“Course not.
What d’yeh want ter know?”
He began with the squid, asking where Hagrid usually saw it and whether it came close to the bank.
Hagrid answered readily, pausing now and then to remember when something had happened.
“Found a boy’s shoe once,” he said.
“Lad dropped it in messin’ about by the edge.
Squid brought it back.”
Cedric looked up from his mug.
“Really?”
“Left it in the shallows.
Boy still had ter explain why he’d only got one dry sock.” Hagrid smiled at the memory, then pointed a finger toward them.
“Don’t go throwin’ things in ter see if it’ll fetch.
Lake’s not a rubbish bin.”
“I won’t,” Adrian said, adding a note.
He wanted to know how Hagrid had recognised that the squid was returning the shoe deliberately, and that led to another account, then another question.
Cedric began asking things too, eventually forgetting the biscuit he had been examining.
Hagrid had years of watching the grounds behind his answers.
When he didn’t know something, he said so, but often he could describe what he had seen in enough detail for Adrian to understand why he believed it.
That was what made the visit worthwhile.
When Adrian’s questions moved toward creatures living among the trees, Hagrid glanced at him more carefully.
“Yeh know the Forest’s forbidden.”
“Yeah.
I’m not asking for directions into it.”
“Just makin’ sure.”
“I was wondering about Bowtruckles.
Are there any trees near the edge where you can watch them without going in?”
Hagrid rubbed a hand over his beard, considering.
“Might be able ter show yeh some.
Have ter come with me, though, an’ do as yer told.
They don’t like people fussin’ round their trees.”
“That would be awesome.”
Cedric smiled into his tea.
Hagrid seemed pleased by Adrian’s enthusiasm, but he didn’t let the warning drop.
“Not somethin’ yeh pick up because it looks harmless.
Those fingers can do damage.”
“I’ve read about that.
I’d rather let one decide if it wants to come closer.”
“Good.
Yeh remember that when yeh see one.”
Adrian nodded and closed his notebook long enough to finish his tea.
They stayed until Hagrid checked the time and reminded them about dinner.
Fang followed them to the door, accepting another scratch before Hagrid called him back inside.
“Thanks for having us,” Adrian said.
“Yer welcome.
Have a look by the lake on yer way up, if yeh like.
Don’t leave it too late, though.”
They followed the bank for a short distance and chose a patch of grass well away from the edge.
Cedric sat first, stretching his legs, while Adrian watched the surface before settling beside him.
For several minutes, nothing larger than a ripple appeared.
Adrian opened his notebook and added something Hagrid had said, trying to record the distinction between what he had seen himself and what he had heard from others.
Cedric leaned back on his hands.
“You’ll fill that before Christmas.”
“I’ve got more paper.”
“I thought you might.”
The water shifted farther out, and Adrian stopped writing.
A dark curve broke the surface, followed by the slow rise of a tentacle with water running from it.
He had difficulty judging its size until he compared it with the bank beyond, and then he forgot the notebook entirely.
“Oh, wow.”
Cedric sat forward, watching as another section emerged before slipping beneath the water again.
For a moment, Adrian wanted to move closer, but he stayed on the grass.
From here, he could see the way the surface lifted before the creature appeared and how far the ripples travelled after it moved.
He watched until the tentacle sank and the lake began to settle.
Cedric let out a breath, smiling.
“Fred’ll be annoyed he missed that.”
“We’ll tell him where we sat.”
“He’ll come down every afternoon.”
Adrian looked at the water once more before closing his notebook.
“Yeah.
I might too.”