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Ron and Malfoy had been claimed by clusters of older students from their own houses, both of them enthusiastically retelling the practical lesson.
Every so often someone glanced toward the staff table.
“It seems your first class was a success, Professor Styx,” McGonagall said, lifting her teacup.
A small smile touched the corners of her mouth.
“The entire school is talking about it.” “The children did well,” Styx answered.
“Gryffindor courage and Slytherin pragmatism both showed themselves.” McGonagall’s smile deepened.
Beside her, Snape maintained his usual silence, but for once offered no cutting remark.
The first full day of classes ended cleanly.
— “What’s Seamus trying to do to that water?” Harry asked the next morning.
“Turn it into wine,” Ron said.
“Yesterday he managed weak tea.
After that—” The cup exploded before Ron finished the sentence.
Hermione, sitting closest, took the worst of the splash.
It was mail day.
Owls streamed through the high windows in a rushing cloud of wings and parcels.
Neville received a Remembrall from his grandmother.
He stared at the glass orb, which had already turned a solid red, and muttered, “I can’t remember what I’ve forgotten.” Around them packages opened and letters were read.
Harry looked at his empty hands, then at the folded newspaper Ron had just set down.
“Can I see that?” “Sure.” The front-page headline was bold and black: UNIDENTIFIED DARK WIZARD SIGHTED AT GRINGOTTS — “Good afternoon,” Madam Hooch called across the lawn.
“Welcome to your first flying lesson.
Stand on the left side of your broom and say ‘Up.'” Harry’s broom leapt into his hand on the first try.
So did Malfoy’s.
Hermione’s remained stubbornly on the grass.
“Mount,” Madam Hooch instructed.
“Push off hard, rise a few feet, then come straight back down.
Five points to the first student who does it cleanly.” Harry and Malfoy both rose smoothly.
Madam Hooch had just opened her mouth to award the points when Neville’s broom shot skyward without warning.
“Help!” “Neville, hold on!” Harry was already airborne before Madam Hooch could stop him.
Malfoy stared after him for half a second, jaw tight, then kicked off hard and followed.
He would not let Potter take every scrap of attention.
Harry reached Neville just before the broom slammed into the stone spear of a statue.
He guided the terrified boy back down.
The moment they landed, Gryffindors swarmed Harry with cheers and thumps on the back.
Malfoy hovered a short distance away, expression sour.
He had been only a few seconds behind.
After the lesson Harry caught up with him on the path.
“Malfoy.
Thanks.” Malfoy stopped and turned, familiar arrogance already in place.
“For what?
For not letting you show off alone in front of the whole school?” He brushed imaginary dust from his sleeve and ignored the offered hand.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Potter.
I simply refuse to let anyone claim Slytherin is less capable than Gryffindor.” A short pause.
“And don’t be late collecting your gift.
If that idiot Weasley grabs the best one, I won’t forgive you.” Harry only smiled.
— Ron and Hermione were already waiting outside the office when Harry and Malfoy arrived.
“Finally,” Ron said.
“Can we go in?
I’ve been thinking about this all day.” Styx looked up as the four of them entered.
“You’re here.
Sit.
The gifts are ready; they aren’t going anywhere.” He held Ron back with one hand when the boy tried to surge forward.
“Harry first.” From the desk Styx produced an old, thick telephone directory bound in dark leather.
“This is for you.
I’ve named it the Harry Book of Friends.
If you and another person both sincerely consider each other friends, they may write their name inside.
When you are in real danger, open the book, choose a name, hold it between your teeth and blow.
That person will appear beside you.
Once per month only.” Harry’s eyes went bright and wet.
“Thank you, Professor.
I’ll take care of it.” “Would you like me to sign first?” “Please.” Styx wrote his name, then added quietly, “Don’t forget the others—especially Headmaster Dumbledore.
He would be genuinely hurt if you never asked.” While Harry carefully collected signatures from the other three, Styx watched with mild concern for the future Dark Lord.
From this day forward the boy would never truly be alone.
He might never use the book in a crisis, but he would keep it under his pillow and open it every night just to make sure the names were still there.
“Hermione.” Styx took a simple silver ring from a drawer.
A tiny sapphire sat almost invisible in the bezel.
“A storage ring.
Roughly ten cubic metres of space.
Hold an object, think ‘store,’ and it disappears inside.
Think ‘retrieve’ and it returns.
It is also a protective charm.
If you are seriously injured it will raise a fifteen-minute barrier that reflects external attacks while still allowing you to cast outward.” Hermione accepted the ring with both hands.
She slipped it on, ears turning pink, and kept her gaze firmly on the floor.
Styx noted the reaction with faint alarm.
Tenure complications were the last thing he needed.
“Ron.” He produced a brass medal embossed with a roaring lion.
“The Lion Medal.
Only someone it recognises as a hero may wear it.
It can summon a fully obedient lion for ten minutes, three times a day.” Ron’s face lit up.
“Can I try it now?” “On the grounds, not in my office.
Plenty of witnesses out there.” Ron was already halfway to the door in his mind, imagining the dramatic arrival of a lion in front of the entire school.
Malfoy watched the medal with open disdain, as though the object itself were somehow beneath proper standards.
“Last,” Styx said.
“Malfoy.” He opened his palm.
A brooch rested there—a rose carved from deep sapphire, silver filigree tracing every petal.
“The Southern Rose Brooch.
It once belonged to a true noble house—the Phantomhives.
While you wear it, any magic intended to break your composure is nullified.
No one can read your thoughts.
You will keep the dignity a Malfoy is expected to maintain.” Malfoy took the brooch with something close to reverence.
Styx looked at the four of them.
Harry cradled the book as though it were already precious.
Ron wore the medal with unrestrained pride.
Malfoy pinned the rose to his robes and immediately adjusted his posture.
Hermione still refused to meet anyone’s eyes, one thumb absently turning the silver band on her finger.
“All right.
Out.
Try not to cause trouble before dinner.” They left in a noisy knot of argument and excitement.
Styx closed the door, leaned back in his chair, and allowed himself a small smile.
“System.
Settle the rewards.”