The staff table remained a powder keg long after the food appeared.
Filius Flitwick kept his voice low, but the steel in it carried.
“I think you’ll find that was the lad’s intention — until Hogwarts herself intervened.
I didn’t know you’d met Barchoke, but I would strongly recommend you not insult him.
Or his son.”
Snape opened his mouth.
Flitwick raised a hand.
“Obviously Mr Crow is not a goblin.
He is a wizard who has chosen to live by their customs and laws.
What is the one thing every young witch and wizard is taught about goblins?
Never mess with them.”
“Potter,” Snape hissed, “is a first-year student.
Nothing more.”
“Calling him Potter in that tone could see you barred from Gringotts — or challenged to a duel by the boy’s father,” Flitwick replied evenly.
“Goblins fight duels to the death.
Should you or your snakes deliberately provoke Mr Crow, he will respond exactly as a goblin would.
His honour will demand it.
We’ve already seen a glimpse of that tonight.” The little professor’s eyes were sharp.
“Have you ever heard of anyone being named Hogwarts champion before?
Harry Crow is no ordinary first-year.
You would be wise to remember that.”
At the Ravenclaw table, Harry slid into the seat beside Hermione.
Every face turned toward him.
“Eh… hi.
I’m Harry.”
Hermione, wound tighter than a watch spring since the train, cracked.
Laughter burst out of her — bright, infectious, and completely unstoppable.
“If there was ever an unnecessary introduction, that was it.”
The dam broke.
Food materialised in steaming platters and the questions began to fly.
Padma Patil congratulated him on Ravenclaw and the floodgates opened.
Harry ate steadily, answering what he could and politely deflecting the rest.
When someone asked what being Hogwarts champion actually meant, he admitted he had no idea.
A pretty Chinese girl — Cho Chang, someone supplied — leaned forward, eyes wide and adoring.
“Oh Harry, can I see your sword?”
Harry finished chewing, set his fork down, and looked straight into her eyes.
“Why, miss… that’s a rather personal question.
And we haven’t even been properly introduced.”
The table erupted.
Cho turned scarlet.
Hermione, beaming, leaned in and began explaining pasta to a deliberately bewildered Harry while the rest of Ravenclaw howled with laughter.
An older boy — Roger Davies — slid into the conversation once the noise died down.
“You have no idea how popular you’re about to become with the rest of the first-years.
The thought of potions without Snape will have them lining up to be your new best friend.
I only wish you were in third year so you could get me out of his class.” He lowered his voice.
“He’s usually vile to anyone who isn’t Slytherin.
That was before you announced to the entire hall that he was a Death Eater.”
Harry glanced at Hermione.
Private tuition had always been part of the plan for her.
She gave him the smallest nod.
He turned to Padma.
The girl blushed furiously but accepted at once.
Harry made a mental note to speak with his father before extending any more invitations.
The stories that followed — lost points for breathing too loudly, cauldrons exploded for the crime of existing, insults delivered with surgical precision — made the other six first-year Ravenclaws stare at him with open longing.
He would need Barchoke here before the week was out.
That much was certain.
When the last plates vanished, Dumbledore rose to make the announcements that had been delayed by the evening’s chaos.
The usual warnings about the Forbidden Forest were delivered with grandfatherly warmth.
Then came the new one.
“…And finally, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a most painful death.”
A ripple of uneasy laughter ran through the hall.
Hermione looked along the Ravenclaw table for guidance.
The older students simply shrugged.
She turned to Harry, voice dry.
“He does know this is a school, right?”
The prefects led the first-years out of the hall and up through the castle.
Ravenclaw Tower rose tall and graceful, its windows glowing against the night sky.
Penelope Clearwater explained the bronze eagle knocker as they climbed the final spiral staircase.
The knocker would pose a riddle; solve it and the door would open.
They reached the top.
Penelope was still speaking when the door swung inward without a sound.
The eagle’s voice was crisp.
“A Hogwarts champion may go anywhere inside the castle.
All doors are open to him.”
Penelope blinked.
“Em… right.
So if you can’t solve the riddle, you wait for someone who can — or just stick with Harry.”
Hermione’s expression settled into quiet determination.
She had already decided exactly that.
The common room was everything Ravenclaw promised: high ceilings, tall arched windows showing a sea of stars, bookshelves lining every wall, and a statue of Rowena Ravenclaw watching over them with serene intelligence.
Blue and bronze hangings glowed in the firelight.
The prefects divided them by gender and led the way to the dormitories.
Harry’s room was a single — a privilege he hadn’t expected.
A large four-poster bed dominated the space, with a wardrobe and desk tucked against one wall.
He took the shrunken trunk from his pocket, restored it to full size at the foot of the bed, and unpacked in minutes.
The prefect explained that first-years were encouraged to study together in a designated area of the common room rather than hide away in their rooms.
Harry headed back downstairs.
He wasn’t surprised to find Hermione already waiting by the fire, a book open on her lap that she clearly wasn’t reading.
He sat beside her.
“Thanks for standing by me tonight.
That meant a lot.
I still can’t believe you were ready to walk out of here after being so excited about coming.”
Hermione closed the book.
“I was hoping to use the journey home to convince you to let me attend goblin school instead.”
A quiet laugh escaped him.
“A portkey would have had us in London in under a minute.
Not that I would have needed much convincing.” He hesitated.
“Thanks also for not asking a thousand questions.
I know how hard that is for you.”
She actually pouted.
“You have no idea how hard I have to bite my lip.
I console myself with the thought that I already know more about you than anyone else here.” Her voice softened.
“The Sorting Hat called you the ‘Prophesied One.’ That seemed to shake you more than pulling a sword out of a hat.”
Harry stared into the fire for a long moment.
The flames danced across the blade resting against his chair.
“There are some things I can’t talk about, Hermione.
That’s one of them.” He met her eyes.
“You’re right, though.
You already know more than I meant to let anyone see.
One day… I might be able to tell you everything.”
The fire crackled between them.
Outside the tall windows, the stars wheeled slowly over the Scottish highlands.
Inside Ravenclaw Tower, a champion and his closest friend sat in the quiet, both aware that the night’s revelations were only the beginning.
Harry felt the weight of the sword at his side — not just steel, but expectation, legacy, and secrets still unspoken.
Hogwarts had claimed him.
Now he had to decide what that truly meant.