Practice began, and most of the first-years could do little more than stare helplessly at their matches.
Even Hermione tried several times without managing to produce the slightest change.
Leo’s eyes shifted thoughtfully.
Then, deciding to test just how sharp Professor McGonagall’s eyesight really was, he slipped a needle into his left hand.
In one swift motion, he swapped it for the match on his desk while bringing his wand down with his right.
Whoosh!
The wand moved so quickly that it cut through the air with a sharp whistle.
A tiny point of white light suddenly flashed at its tip, shot straight through the needle, punched a small hole through the desk, and buried itself several feet into the stone floor below.
“Was that…
accidental magic?” Hermione asked, staring at the hole in confusion.
“Something like that…” Leo replied vaguely.
He knew his own situation better than anyone.
As a Squib, how could he possibly suffer an outburst of uncontrolled magic?
Which meant that tiny flash of white light had probably been…
‘Sword energy?’ Leo swung the wand several more times, producing repeated cracks through the air, but the white flash refused to appear again.
By the time class ended, he still had not managed to reproduce it.
..
Their next lesson was History of Magic, which had a strong claim to being the dullest subject Hogwarts had to offer.
Professor Binns was ancient even by ghostly standards, and his teaching style was every bit as lifeless as he was.
He droned on in the same flat, monotonous voice throughout the lesson while the students halfheartedly scribbled down names and dates.
There was only one person in the entire classroom listening with genuine concentration: Hermione, seated in the front row.
On Wednesday nights, the first-years climbed to the Astronomy Tower with their telescopes to study the names of different stars and trace the movements of the planets.
Three times a week, Professor Sprout took them to the greenhouses behind the castle for Herbology.
Leo handled all of these subjects with ease.
None of them required him to cast much magic, so for the moment, it seemed no one had realized that he was a Squib.
Harry also began to relax.
He was discovering that the gap between himself and children raised in wizarding families was nowhere near as enormous as he had feared, and his anxiety that he might fail everything and be expelled gradually faded.
..
Friday was an important day for Harry.
For the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, he managed to get from Gryffindor Tower to the Great Hall without getting lost.
For Leo, Friday was important for an entirely different reason.
He finally had Potions with Professor Snape again.
Just thinking about getting another chance to trade venomous insults with Snape—no, of course, to benefit from Professor Snape’s patient and thoughtful instruction—was enough to make the corners of Leo’s mouth rise uncontrollably.
“What lessons do we have today?” Harry asked, spooning sugar into his porridge.
“Potions.” Leo speared a pork chop with his fork and took a bite.
“With the Slytherins,” Ron added.
“Snape’s Head of Slytherin House, and everyone says he favors his own students.
Guess we’ll find out whether that’s true.” “Maybe Professor McGonagall will favor us too,” Harry said hopefully.
“Don’t count on it.
Professor McGonagall is actually a good teacher,” Leo replied.
At that moment, the morning post arrived.
More than a hundred owls swept into the Great Hall at once, circling above the tables until they located their owners and dropped letters or parcels into waiting laps.
“Oh, Teacup’s here.” Leo caught a parcel as it dropped toward him.
“Looks like they’ve sent me something else from home.” “Is there seriously anything you don’t already have?” Ron asked enviously.
“Hmm…
I was thinking of asking my butler to send our house-elf over,” Leo said after a moment.
Ron looked even more envious.
He had neither a butler nor a house-elf.
“What’s a house-elf?” Harry asked.
“They’re elves who serve wizarding families,” Ron explained.
“They’ve been servants for generations and are bound to their masters.
Usually only really old, wealthy wizarding families have them.
Mum’s always wanted one to help with the ironing, but all we’ve got is a ghoul in the attic and a garden full of gnomes.” Harry looked at Leo.
“So your family’s rich?” “We do all right.
My father left me a pretty large inheritance.” “Er…” Before Harry could think of anything to say to that, Hedwig swooped down toward the table.
She landed between the marmalade dish and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto Harry’s plate.
“Someone actually wrote to me?” Harry immediately unfolded it.
The note was written in a large, untidy hand.
Dear Harry, I know you have Friday afternoon free, so would you like to come and have tea with me around three?
I’d like to hear how your first week has gone.
Send me an answer with Hedwig.
Harry smiled.
“It’s from Hagrid.” He turned the note over and wrote on the back, Yes, I’d love to.
See you later.
Then he looked at the others.
“Want to come with me?” “Of course.” Leo was already looking forward to it.
“That’s what I went to the library to prepare for yesterday.” “The library?” Harry blinked.
“Hey, we should get moving,” Ron interrupted.
“If we’re late for Potions—” “Right, right.
Let’s go.” The three of them hurried toward the dungeons.
..
The Potions classroom was a large chamber underground.
Shelves covered the walls, crowded with glass jars containing preserved animal specimens suspended in strange solutions.
The entire room had a distinctly unsettling atmosphere.
The three boys found their seats.
Hermione glanced sideways at them.
“I was starting to think you’d be late again.” Malfoy, who had also arrived well ahead of time, turned around and gave Harry a provocative look.
Harry frowned.
‘What’s with that stupid look?’ Professor Snape swept into the classroom like an enormous bat.
As soon as the lesson began, he picked up the register and started calling names, pausing when he reached Harry’s.
“Ah, yes,” he said softly.
“Harry Potter.
Our new…
celebrity.” “Tch, tch…” Leo had barely opened his mouth when Hermione pressed a hand against his arm.
“Our points were hard enough to earn in the first place.
Don’t start anything.” Snape turned his dark gaze over the class.
“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making.
As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic.
I do not expect you will truly appreciate the beauty of a softly simmering cauldron, its fumes rising with delicate fragrance, nor understand the power of liquids that creep through the veins, bewitch the mind, and ensnare the senses…
I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death—provided you are not as great a collection of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.” “He never changes the opening speech,” Leo whispered.
“Still sounds damn good, though.” Once his introduction was over, Snape did exactly what Leo had expected and began questioning Harry.
Harry, equally predictably, failed to answer.
“Tut, tut.
Fame clearly isn’t everything,” Snape sneered.
“Leo definitely knows.
Why don’t you ask him?” Snape’s eyes narrowed.
“Potter, one point will be taken from Gryffindor for speaking out of turn.” Then he turned toward Leo, who was already looking far too eager.
“Mr.
William.
Since you possess such an impressive wealth of knowledge, perhaps you would care to act as my assistant and help your poor professor manage half the class?” “Sure.” Leo smiled and turned an openly malicious gaze toward the Slytherin students.
“Do I get to choose which half?” “Yes.” Snape gave Harry a thin smile whose meaning was impossible to mistake.
Every student in the dungeon shivered at once.