The next morning, when Henry entered the Great Hall, the simulated morning light on the ceiling was beginning to turn golden.
Breakfast had already appeared on the long tables: porridge, smoked fish, bacon, mountains of sausages, and all kinds of bread rolls spread with butter and jam.
The rich aroma of food filled the air.
Most of the first-years, especially those at the Gryffindor table, were enthusiastically helping themselves to fried eggs and syrup-covered pastries.
Henry took a seat near the middle of the Slytherin table.
His plate was soon filled with the food he had personally selected: a small bowl of cereal soaked in milk, accompanied by a dish of fresh berries; two slices of whole-grain toast, perfectly toasted with slightly crisp edges and only a thin layer of strawberry jam; a boiled egg; and a small glass of water.
It stood in stark contrast to the fried food and sugary pastries piled onto the plates around him.
“That’s all you’re eating?”
Draco sat down opposite him, staring in disbelief at Henry’s breakfast.
His own plate was piled with sausages and fried eggs drenched in rich gravy.
You’re a prince, and this is what you eat for breakfast?
“I’m used to it.”
Henry picked up his silver spoon, his movements as composed as ever.
“At the palace, every meal is carefully prepared by a nutritionist. Breakfast usually isn’t this elaborate.”
He chose his words tactfully, his gaze briefly passing over a Hufflepuff student nearby who was pouring a generous amount of honey syrup over an already enormous stack of pancakes.
Draco thoughtfully cut into his sausage and did not pursue the matter further, but he clearly filed this detail away in his mind.
Crabbe and Goyle, meanwhile, openly seemed confused by the lack of substantial food on Henry’s plate and concentrated on their own mountains of breakfast.
Halfway through the meal, a phoenix with almost excessively magnificent plumage gracefully flew over the Great Hall, drawing everyone’s attention.
It descended precisely onto the Slytherin table and landed beside Henry’s bowl of cereal, placing a note it had been carrying in its beak in front of him.
Henry picked up the note.
It read:
“Prince Henry, if convenient, please come to my office after breakfast. The password is ‘Lemon Sherbet.'”
Why not Cheese Sherbet?
After reading the note, Henry gave the phoenix a blueberry.
The phoenix swallowed it, raised its head, let out a clear cry, and transformed into a burst of flame before disappearing.
Draco’s hand froze halfway through cutting his sausage.
His gray eyes remained fixed on Henry.
Being summoned privately by the headmaster during breakfast was hardly an ordinary occurrence in any house.
“It seems the headmaster is quite interested in you, Your Highness,” Draco said tentatively.
“Perhaps it’s simply a routine welcome.”
Henry calmly finished his last sip of water and dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin.
He already had a few guesses about the reason for the summons.
The headmaster’s office was located in a tall tower.
At the end of the spiral staircase stood a gigantic stone gargoyle.
Henry spoke the password, “Lemon Sherbet,” and the gargoyle leaped aside, revealing a spiral staircase behind it.
The office was filled with the buzzing and humming of all sorts of strange silver instruments.
The portraits of former headmasters hanging on the walls were all pretending to be asleep.
Dumbledore sat behind his enormous desk, his blue eyes gleaming with amusement behind his half-moon spectacles.
“Ah, Henry, do come in. Would you like a Lemon Sherbet? Or perhaps a box of Cockroach Clusters?”
He pushed a box of sweets toward Henry.
“No, thank you, Headmaster.”
Henry sat down in the comfortable armchair, his posture upright but not the slightest bit stiff.
The headmaster’s office was fantastic.
Every portrait of a former headmaster was full of talent, and they were all such entertaining conversationalists.
Henry absolutely loved being there.
“I hope you’ve begun to adjust to life at Hogwarts, as well as the unique atmosphere of the Slytherin dungeon.”
Dumbledore brought his fingertips together.
“I asked you to come here primarily to convey a message from Buckingham Palace and to confirm a small arrangement with you.”
He gently waved his wand.
A document bearing a copy of the royal seal floated gracefully toward Henry.
Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, in her private capacity, had made a substantial donation in Galleons to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to support the smooth transition and education of students with special circumstances.
As an additional clause of the donation agreement, and with the approval of the current Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts would assign a house-elf specifically to provide reasonable day-to-day assistance to His Royal Highness Prince Henry of Wales.
“Your grandmother has been very considerate.”
Dumbledore’s gaze passed over the top of his spectacles.
“Hogwarts accepts her goodwill, while also understanding and respecting the principles of the Statute of Secrecy. The house-elf is named Lucy. She will answer only to you and will primarily assist with minor matters, such as cleaning your clothes, preparing special supplies, or ensuring that you are not disturbed by the castle’s usual services when you require some quiet time. She will not interfere with your classes or social life, nor will she make you appear special in any way. To everyone else, she will simply be one of Hogwarts’ many diligent house-elves.”
Dumbledore paused, his tone becoming gentler, though there was a hint of deeper meaning behind his words.
“Lucy is familiar with most of the castle’s rules, and she understands the importance of discretion. I believe that in Slytherin, having an absolutely reliable resource that belongs solely to you may help you navigate certain circumstances with greater ease. Of course, how and when you use her is entirely up to you.”
Henry quickly understood the multiple implications.
His grandmother’s protection had extended into the magical world in this manner.
Dumbledore had tacitly permitted this limited special arrangement, partly as a gesture of respect toward the royal family, and perhaps also as a form of goodwill.
And an absolutely reliable resource was invaluable in Slytherin, where information was power.
“I understand, Headmaster. Thank you for arranging this. Please allow me to express my sincerest gratitude.”
Henry gave a slight bow.
“I will make careful use of this privilege.”
The only class that morning was Herbology, held in a bright greenhouse on the first floor alongside the Ravenclaw students.
Professor Sprout was a short, plump, kindly-looking witch.
Rather than soil and seeds, she brought dried herb specimens, vivid diagrams of magical plants, and several transparent jars containing fungi that wriggled slightly inside.
The lesson really was as basic as it could get.
Considering this was the first class, Professor Sprout spent most of the time explaining the subject of Herbology itself and why it was important.
After lunch, the only class in the afternoon was History of Magic.
When Henry and his fellow Slytherins entered the classroom, which smelled of dust and old parchment, Professor Binns had already begun speaking in his monotonous, sleep-inducing voice.
The topic was the convening of medieval European wizarding councils and the early foundations of the International Statute of Secrecy.
Draco had practically begun daydreaming the moment he sat down.
He idly toyed with his brand-new quill, clearly having no interest in Professor Binns’ endless list of long-dead wizarding figures and lengthy treaty clauses.
Crabbe and Goyle were even worse.
Within a minute, they had both entered a steady rhythm of nodding off.
Henry forced himself to concentrate, cross-referencing the history being presented from the wizarding perspective with the corresponding Muggle historical records he had obtained from Sir Arnold.