After dinner, I tried reading in the common room for a while.
At the next table, two older students were arguing about Quidditch.
One apparently thought they just needed to replace half the team.
The other suggested starting with the captain.
I didn’t know any of the players, but after ten minutes, I had opinions about three of them.
I closed the book.
I could go back to the dormitory.
Or find the library, although I wasn’t sure how late it stayed open.
But there was somewhere else.
I’d thought about it when I’d arrived, but then there had been a trunk to unpack, a Sorting to survive and a bed that had proved far more persuasive than my plans.
Now I could finally find out whether I remembered enough.
I put the book in my bag and stood.
“Where are you going?” Malfoy asked.
He sat on a sofa with one leg crossed over the other.
A textbook lay on his knees, though he hadn’t turned a page in some time.
“To look around the castle.”
He glanced towards the exit.
“Now?”
“There’s plenty of time before curfew.”
“Just remember the way back.”
“I wrote down the password.”
“The password won’t help if you can’t find the door.”
That was annoyingly sensible.
***
On the third floor, I realised that ‘opposite the tapestry’ sounded much better in a book than when you were looking for a particular tapestry in a castle.
On the fifth, I began to regret bringing my bag.
On the seventh, I had to rest by a window for a moment.
Hogwarts had a lot going for it.
A lift would make it even better.
I straightened and set off down the corridor.
I passed a suit of armour, two paintings and a closed door.
Around the next corner, I found the trolls.
Several enormous, ungainly figures stood on a tapestry around a man trying to demonstrate a ballet position.
One troll raised a leg.
Another was using its club in a way that probably wasn’t part of the routine.
I stopped.
Barnabas the Barmy.
I’d found it.
I turned to the opposite wall.
The stones looked exactly like all the others I’d passed on the way.
I touched one.
Cold.
Uneven.
No handle.
I looked around the corridor.
Empty.
Good, because I was about to walk up and down in front of a wall.
*I need somewhere to study and practise spells.*
I began to walk.
*Somewhere quiet.
Somewhere I won’t break anything.*
I turned at the end of the tapestry.
Then I began wondering whether I ought to think exactly the same thing every time.
Whether adding conditions meant I was asking for a different room.
I stopped.
The wall remained a wall.
“Brilliant,” I muttered.
On the tapestry, Barnabas was struck by a club.
Apparently, we were both off to a difficult start.
I tried again.
This time, I focused on a simple image: a desk, books and some open space where I could finally take out my wand without worrying that someone might hear me through the orphanage wall.
I walked past three times.
When I turned, there was a door in the stone.
For a few seconds, I just stared at it.
Then I began to smile.
“Well, hello.”
***
The room smelled of wood and paper.
A wide desk with a lamp stood against one wall.
Beside it were two bookcases, then an armchair and a small table.
The centre of the room was empty apart from a thick mat on the floor.
I stepped inside cautiously.
The door closed behind me with a soft click.
I looked back, checked the handle and opened it again.
The corridor was still there.
Only then did I put down my bag.
I couldn’t decide where to start.
I wanted to inspect the shelves, try the room out, look under the desk and check whether the furniture was as real as everything else.
I ran a hand across the desktop.
Nothing came away on my fingers.
Not even dust.
At the orphanage, that alone would have deserved a spell of its own.
I went to the books.
*The Practice and Theory of Intent-Based Magic.*
*Runes: An Introduction.*
*Reflections on the Nature of Nonverbal Spells.*
Further along stood a history of ancient magic and a volume called *An Alchemist’s Notebook: Notes in the Margins*.
I took out the book on nonverbal spells.
By the first page, I was interested.
By the third, I wondered whether the author assumed the reader had already completed half their schooling.
By the fifth, I was certain.
I put it back, remembering the spot.
I’d return to it.
The volume on intent was more accessible.
I found several things similar to what Professor Babbling had discussed.
This time, I had something to connect the explanations to.
I sat at the desk and compared a passage with my notes.
Only a rustle behind me reminded me why else I’d come.
I turned.
A wooden dummy stood at the far end of the mat.
I could have sworn it hadn’t been there before.
It had arms, legs and a round, featureless head.
A short rod rested in its right hand.
A pale circle marked its chest.
I stood up.
“For practice?”
The dummy didn’t answer.
But a sheet of parchment lay on a stand beside it.
**Stationary target.
Basic exercises.**
Below were brief instructions for changing the settings.
I looked around the room again.
A place that gave me a desk, books and something I could safely fire spells at.
If it served dinner too, they’d probably have to drag me out.
***
I drew my wand.
Simply holding it here felt good.
Over the past year, I’d read descriptions of movements so many times, traced them with a finger on parchment and put the book aside when I reached the practical section.
Now there were several metres of open space in front of me.
“Lumos.”
Light shone at the tip of my wand.
A simple, familiar spell.
I turned my wrist.
The patch of light moved across the floor, the wall and the dummy’s wooden head.
I didn’t have to put it out immediately.
I wasn’t listening for footsteps in the corridor.
I was standing in Hogwarts, shining a wand at a wooden man.
My smile widened.
“Nox.”
Then I opened the book I’d brought to the marked page.
I knew the descriptions of the Disarming Charm almost too well.
Performing the movement, however, was different from recognising it in a drawing.
I practised slowly several times.
“Expelliarmus!”
A red flash struck the dummy’s forearm.
The rod trembled but stayed in its hand.
I looked at my wand, then at the target.
The spell had worked.
Not quite as I’d intended, but it had worked.
I reread the passage on aiming and adjusted my stance.
The second time, the rod flew from the wooden fingers, bounced off the mat and rolled towards the wall.
“Oh, yes.”
I went to pick it up, but the dummy lowered its arm.
The rod sprang from the floor and returned to its hand.
I stopped mid-step.
“That’ll come in handy too.”
I repeated the spell.
This time, the rod flew sideways.
On the next attempt, it fell much closer.
I could have decided that, since it was leaving the hand, I was doing everything right.
But the difference between attempts was clear enough to make me want to understand what caused it.
I went back to the book.
Half an hour passed without my noticing.
Then I tried the Knockback Jinx.
The first successful hit sent the dummy scraping across the mat so sharply that I instinctively stepped forwards, as though I meant to catch it.
Fortunately, it stopped before reaching the wall.
I looked at my wand tip.
Power didn’t seem to be a problem.
Judging how much to use clearly was.
On the next attempt, I focused on a short push.
The dummy moved back a little.
Much better.
As I put the textbook down, I noticed a clock above the door.
I didn’t remember it being there when I’d entered.
There was barely more than half an hour until curfew.
“Already?”
The hands showed no sympathy.
I packed my books, checked that I had my wand and looked around the room once more.
Shelves.
Mat.
Dummy with its rod ready for another attempt.
Tomorrow.
Definitely tomorrow.
***
I reached the dungeons without much trouble.
I had to turn back once, but decided that didn’t count as getting lost.
After all, I’d known I was going the wrong way.
Eventually.
Malfoy was closing his trunk when I entered the dormitory.
“Find anything?” he asked.
I took off my bag.
“Lots of stairs.”
“Everyone’s found those.”
I sat on the bed and began taking off my shoes.
Only then did I realise how much my legs ached.
I could shorten tomorrow’s morning exercises a little.
***
I arrived early for Potions.
I had no intention of finding out how Snape reacted to lateness when I had a whole year to watch him react to other people.
The classroom was cold.
Jars lined the walls, filled with things I’d rather examine after breakfast.
Some of the shapes floating in the liquids looked like animal parts.
Others might have been, if the animals had been particularly unlucky.
I chose a workstation and laid out my equipment.
Cauldron, scales, knife, chopping board.
All new.
My greatest achievement so far in preparing anything from precisely measured ingredients was drinkable tea.
I hoped reading the textbook would make up some of the difference.
The Gryffindors began arriving a few minutes later.
Harry noticed me between the benches.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
He looked at the jars behind me.
“Do you know what that is?”
I glanced back at the pale shape submerged in greenish liquid.
“No.”
Ron peered over his shoulder.
“Maybe that’s better.”
It was hard to disagree.
They sat a little further away.
Hermione had opened her textbook before most of the class had taken theirs out.
The door slammed shut.
Snape walked between the workstations to his desk.
The conversations stopped.
“In these lessons, you will follow instructions,” he said.
“The order in which ingredients are added is not a suggestion. Neither are the quantities.”
He put down a roll of parchment.
“If you cannot read a recipe to the end before beginning, I expect we shall discover that very quickly.”
I looked at my empty cauldron.
I intended to read the recipe twice.
The professor began taking the register.
He paused at Harry’s name.
“Potter.”
Harry looked up.
“Yes, Professor.”
“Do ensure that your fame does not interfere with everyone else’s work.”
A few quiet sniggers sounded around the room.
Harry pressed his lips together.
I glanced at Snape.
Since arriving, Potter had asked about a jar and sat down.
It would have been difficult to work more quietly.
The professor returned to his list as though nothing in particular had happened.
***
We were making a simple calming potion.
Instructions appeared on the blackboard.
Snape explained the most important stages, then demonstrated how to prepare the ingredients.
I watched his hands closely.
In the textbook, ‘finely chop’ took two words.
Here, at least, I could see exactly what they meant.
When he let us begin, I read through the whole recipe first.
Then I measured the lavender.
Then measured it again, because some had missed the scale pan on my first attempt.
Blaise, working at the next station, moved his bag further from the edge.
“Thanks for the warning.”
“You’re welcome.”
The mint leaves proved more troublesome than Snape’s demonstration had suggested.
The professor had cut them as though the knife knew where to go by itself.
Mine kept trying to slide across the board.
I held them more carefully and slowed down.
It wasn’t a race.
At least until I looked at the clock.
Then I sped up a little.
After the first ingredients went in, the liquid changed colour.
I leaned closer with interest, then remembered the warning about fumes and moved my face away.
The lavender smell was distinct, though something bitter cut through it.
I ran a finger along the instructions.
Two more stirs.
A pause.
Squid ink.
The drop hung from the end of the dropper for so long that I wanted to shake it.
I resisted.
It fell.
A dark streak spread across the surface and vanished as I stirred.
I watched the liquid gradually turn a clear blue.
This was much more interesting than tea.
***
Snape walked among the workstations.
At some, he stopped only briefly.
At others, one look was enough to send the student frantically comparing the cauldron’s contents with the blackboard.
When he stopped beside me, I straightened instinctively.
He peered inside.
Then examined my chopping board and the measured remnants of my ingredients.
“Lower the flame, Peverell. The potion is ready.”
I reached for the burner.
Snape scooped up a little liquid with a spoon and let it run back in.
I waited.
“Correct consistency. No sediment. Ten points to Slytherin for precision.”
“Thank you, Professor.”
He was gone before I’d finished.
I looked at the cauldron.
Ten.
I wanted to grin like an idiot, so I occupied myself with screwing the lid onto the ink bottle for a moment.
Across the aisle, Hermione had finished too.
Her potion looked very similar to mine.
Snape checked it, told her to fill a phial and moved on.
She watched him go.
Then looked at my cauldron.
I understood that expression.
I’d have preferred to earn points without having to wonder whether the colour of my tie counted as an ingredient.
Even so, the satisfaction remained as I filled my own phial.
I’d brewed a potion.
My first real potion.
I intended to keep at least that part for myself.
***
Towards the end of the lesson, Snape told us to write down which ingredient we considered most important to the recipe’s success and explain why.
I opened my textbook to the description of the ink.
While preparing for class, I’d mostly remembered it because it seemed an odd addition to something you were supposed to drink.
Now I read the passage about its role in the mixture more carefully.
I wrote that I would choose squid ink.
It wasn’t responsible for the calming effect itself, but helped keep the other ingredients bound together.
Without it, achieving the right colour didn’t necessarily mean the potion would remain usable.
I reread my answer.
It sounded reasonable.
Just in case, I checked the word ‘keep’ against the book.
I handed in the parchment with my phial.
When we stepped into the corridor, the air felt exceptionally pleasant.
“Next time, I’m sitting further away from Goyle,” Blaise said.
“What did he do?”
“I don’t know. That’s what worries me.”
I looked back through the open door.
Greyish steam still rose from one of the cauldrons.
I decided not to ask.
***
History of Magic was further proof that even Hogwarts could surprise a student in an unpleasant way.
The teacher entered through the blackboard.
That should have been enough to hold my attention for the whole lesson.
It lasted a few minutes.
Professor Binns spoke in an unvarying drone, with no pauses to tell us he’d finished one thought and moved to the next.
Goblin names blurred into dates.
Dates into the names of agreements.
I filled the first page of notes.
On the second, I discovered I no longer knew what half the sentences referred to.
I looked up.
Binns floated slightly above the floor.
He was pale, transparent and entirely absorbed in a dispute whose participants had been dead for centuries.
I studied him more closely.
A faint glow surrounded his figure.
His outline stayed clear even when he passed in front of a pale section of wall.
I remembered the figures in Diagon Alley.
The cemetery.
They hadn’t looked like this.
Binns turned his head, continuing the lecture, and I instinctively returned to my notes.
For the rest of the lesson, I glanced at him occasionally, trying to grasp the difference without staring long enough to hurt my eyes.
I still didn’t know what I’d seen before.
But I did know that a person could die, become a ghost and still talk about taxes.
That seemed an especially bleak prospect.
***
After class, I stayed at my desk to put my parchments away in the right order.
Blaise left with the others. New chapters come out on g.com first.
I said I’d catch up.
By the time I reached the door, the corridor had emptied.
I saw movement beside the window on the left.
Something dark slid along the wall.
I stopped.
I waited for the student whose shadow I’d just seen to appear.
Nobody came around the corner.
I took a few steps.
The wisp was further away now.
Indistinct, barely visible against the stones.
For a moment, it resembled an arm, then lost its shape.
A familiar tension settled in my stomach.
I’d seen similar things before.
But now I was in a castle full of ghosts, paintings and objects that moved by themselves.
It was hard to treat every odd shadow as a warning.
I approached the corner.
At the end of a short passage stood a narrow door.
Paint peeled from its bottom edge.
The wisp was gone.
I stood listening for a moment.
Distant student voices drifted from the stairs.
Somewhere, a window slammed.
When I reached for the handle, the door shifted and swung ajar before I could press it.
I pulled my hand back.
“Hello?”
No answer.
I peered inside.
A small room.
A table, a bench, an old cupboard.
Books lay on a shelf, and a broken stand leaned against the wall.
No sign forbidding entry.
No enormous jaws waiting on the other side.
I checked that last point quite thoroughly.
Then I went in.
***
Dust lay almost everywhere.
Someone had left a flowerpot ring on the windowsill long ago.
An empty mug with a chipped handle stood on the table.
An open book lay beside it.
I looked towards the door again.
No shadow.
The room looked like an ordinary storeroom, or the former workspace of someone who’d left one day and never returned for their belongings.
I glanced over the open page.
Some sort of register.
Dates, names, brief remarks.
The handwriting was faded and uneven.
A folded piece of parchment protruded between the pages.
I took it out carefully.
I wasn’t looking for anything in particular.
I expected a bill or an old list of duties.
But the first sentences made the sounds from the corridor fade away.
*I don’t know what to call it.*
*He didn’t see ghosts the way we do.
He said they weren’t apparitions, but “traces”.*
*When we first entered this room, he said, “Someone died here. But they didn’t leave.”*
I moved my thumb to uncover the rest.
*Sometimes he stopped in empty places.
Fell silent, as though listening to something.
He claimed emotions had a smell.*
*I saw nothing.*
*He looked at walls as though he could read what they remembered.
We thought he was making it up.*
*But once, when I got lost, he found me.
He said I’d followed someone’s anger.
That it was still hanging in the air.*
*I don’t know whether it was magic.*
*But I never joked about his eyes again.*
I read the last sentence twice.
Then returned to the beginning.
There was no signature.
I turned the parchment over.
Only a smudge of ink marked the back.
No date.
No name.
I looked at the empty bench.
Someone had described a person who could see things invisible to others.
They’d mentioned his eyes.
That could mean a great deal.
It could also mean much less than I wanted it to.
I couldn’t identify emotions by smell.
I’d never found anyone by following anger.
Even now, I couldn’t say whether the shadow in the corridor had anything to do with this page.
But the word ‘traces’ wouldn’t leave me alone.
I remembered the figures that didn’t answer and seemed unaware of their surroundings.
Then Binns, boring the class with complete confidence that he was doing something useful.
There was a difference.
I didn’t know how to explain it yet.
I folded the parchment carefully.
Before leaving, I examined the pages where it had been tucked.
I found no continuation.
The other entries concerned entirely different things.
I placed the sheet between blank pages in my notebook.
The corridor was still empty.
This time, I went straight to the stairs.
***
At dinner, I kept reaching for my bag without thinking.
The parchment was where I’d left it.
It wasn’t going to vanish simply because I spent a moment eating.
“Pass the bread?”
I looked up.
Blaise pointed to the basket beside my elbow.
“Of course.”
I pushed it across the table.
“Did you finish your History notes?” he asked.
“Some of them.”
“Do you know which war he was talking about at the end?”
I thought for a moment.
“There was another one?”
He looked at me, and we both snorted.
He took a folded sheet of parchment from his bag.
We compared dates.
It turned out I’d put the name of an agreement beside the wrong rebellion, while he’d left out the man whose signature was apparently supposed to have ended something.
After a few minutes, we had a set of notes that at least resembled an account of a single event.
The page in my bag could wait a little longer.
***
That evening, the way to the seventh floor was easier.
Not shorter.
Apparently, Hogwarts had no intention of helping me with that.
I passed the tapestry three times, thinking of somewhere to read and practise.
The door appeared almost immediately.
The same desk waited inside.
A blackboard now stood beside the shelves, and the dummy had both arms down by its sides.
I put my bag on a chair and took out the parchment I’d found.
Under the lamp, the handwriting was easier to read.
I still found nothing that would identify the writer.
I copied it into my notebook.
Beneath it, I added where I’d found the sheet and a few details I might confuse later.
Dark wisp by the window.
Door.
No answer.
I put a question mark beside ‘traces’.
For a while, I sat with my quill poised over the paper.
I wanted to write more.
To connect the eyes, the cemetery, my father and every strange event since arriving in Diagon Alley into a single story.
But after a few sentences, I wouldn’t know what I’d actually found and what I’d added myself.
I put down the quill.
I slipped the parchment back between the pages and closed the notebook.
Enough for today.
***
A new sheet of parchment lay beside the mat.
I recognised the Disarming Charm and Knockback Jinx on it.
Below were two more: the Shield Charm and the Full Body-Bind Curse.
Beside it lay a book on basic defensive spells.
I opened it to the chapter on shields.
After a few paragraphs, I turned the page.
Then went back and read the first passage again.
It looked interesting.
Not something for the last twenty minutes of the evening.
I left the book on the desk and set up the dummy as before.
This time, I knew where to stand.
I adjusted my grip on the wand.
“Expelliarmus!”
The rod leapt from the wooden hand and fell onto the mat.
I smiled.
When it returned to its place, I repeated the spell.
Then again, trying to produce a similar result.
On the fourth attempt, the dummy turned slightly sideways.
I checked the instructions.
There was a second option under the target settings.
**Moving target.**
I touched it with my wand tip.
The wooden figure took a step.
I raised my hand.
“Expelliarmus!”
The red flash passed beside the dummy’s shoulder and faded against the wall.
The target stopped on the other side of the mat.
For a moment, I stared at where it had been standing a second earlier.
Then I adjusted my feet and raised my wand again.
“All right. Again.”