When it came time for practicals, Snape instructed the students to pair up and brew a potion for curing boils.
Arthur wasted no time in dragging Hermione over to a table at the far edge of the Gryffindor section.
This way, not only were they far from Harry, but also kept a healthy distance from Seamus.
One of them—under Snape's constant gaze—always gave the impression of being coiled about by venomous snakes. The other… Well, Arthur knew from the original story that Seamus was basically a demolition artist.
Arthur was a fan of explosions, true—why else would he spend time researching magical grenades and landmines? But he had no desire for everything around him to blow up whenever Seamus was nearby.
What he didn't account for, however, was Neville.
The forgetful boy, without realizing he hadn't treated his porcupine quills, tossed them straight into the cauldron.
Within moments, the potion inside began to swell violently, giving off a sharp, corrosive stench. The boiling liquid frothed up and splattered outward, droplets threatening to scald nearby students.
Arthur reacted instantly—wand out, a quick Scourgify—and the mess vanished as though it had never been.
Snape, seeing that order had been restored, said nothing of awarding Arthur points or docking Neville's. He simply tossed out, "Read the instructions on the board," before striding off to inspect other cauldrons.
After class, the little witch who had been holding in questions for far too long finally tugged at Arthur, unleashing them all at once.
"Cousin, what was that 'language of flowers' you mentioned in class? Why is Professor Snape targeting Harry? Do you… know something?"
"Shh! That's a secret." Arthur pressed a finger to his lips and winked.
Hermione glanced around, noticing curious gazes from nearby students. She nodded knowingly.
This was the signal she and her cousin had agreed upon: when something couldn't be said openly, they'd set it aside for now, then exchange information in private.
After all, this was the wizarding world—who knew what kind of eavesdropping spells might be in play?
And right now, all of Hogwarts was under Dumbledore's watch. Every portrait in the castle was his eyes and ears.
Back when Arthur had only seen the films, he'd always thought it ridiculous: characters discussing secrets in booming voices, practically inviting discovery. Hagrid's dragon, for example, had been exposed to Draco in exactly this way—zero sense of caution.
Back in his dorm, Arthur sat down and wrote it all out: the tale of Snape's childhood sweetheart Lily, how James Potter had stolen her away, and how James and his Gryffindor friends had bullied Snape mercilessly.
Thousands of words flowed, the entire saga captured in ink. He slipped the pages into an envelope, sealed it with a spell learned from Teacher Sellen, and had Errol deliver it straight through Hermione's dorm window.
The seal was keyed only to Hermione—she alone knew the method to break it. Anyone else forcing it open would see the letter crumble instantly to ash.
Satisfied, Arthur sprawled back onto his bed and resumed his zombie-slaying journey.
He'd finished his first playthrough just yesterday, expecting a clear-game reward—only for the system to tell him he had to beat every mini-game, then complete a second run for the Golden Sunflower Trophy before claiming the prize.
So here he was again, farming away.
Difficulty wasn't the issue—cheat commands handled that. But the second playthrough added more zombies, dragging out every level. He also had to keep an eye on his plants, making sure they weren't munched.
Thankfully, this version could run in the background. Otherwise, he'd be glued to the virtual screen all day.
On the other side of the castle, a certain little witch had received his letter. Her review: the story was riveting, the gossip delicious, the melon sweet. Next time, cousin, be sure to share more!
What Arthur hadn't expected was that his little stunt in Potions had put him firmly on Snape's radar.
From then on, Potions class went like this: Snape would torment Harry first, and once satisfied, turn his questions on Arthur.
Arthur, of course, was well-read enough to answer with ease. But that only meant more suffering for Harry—because if Arthur could answer, then Harry's inability was all the more glaring.
Every Potions lesson ended with Gryffindor losing points. Sometimes a few, sometimes more.
Soon, upper-year Gryffindors had developed a habit: every time their hourglass bled scarlet gems, they'd mutter to themselves, "First-years must've had Potions again…"
Fortunately, those losses were balanced out elsewhere.
Between Hermione and Arthur, Gryffindor earned back points in other classes. Word spread quickly: the house now boasted two prodigies.
Normally, Arthur preferred to keep a low profile. But with a cousin as bright, responsible, and eager as Hermione, there was no hiding.
Her reasoning was simple: if first-years lost the points, then first-years should win them back. So she answered questions in every class with tireless enthusiasm—except Potions and History of Magic.
The latter had Professor Binns, a ghost who lectured endlessly but never awarded points. The former… Well, Snape only had eyes for Harry.
And so Hermione's reputation soared, and with it, Arthur's. Professors quickly realized: this boy was every bit the equal of his cousin.
Professor McGonagall was delighted. Professor Flitwick, not so much—he complained almost daily that the Granger siblings should've been placed in Ravenclaw.
McGonagall always countered firmly: they belonged in Gryffindor.
She even went public with her approval, inviting the cousins to join her Transfiguration Club.
The news caused a stir. Never before had first-years been admitted to McGonagall's exclusive club—let alone two. Most members were upperclassmen highly skilled in Transfiguration. Normally, only third-years and above qualified.
Now, everywhere Arthur went, eyes followed.
For someone mildly introverted, he half-wished he could invent a wizard-repelling charm just for personal use.
Hermione, on the other hand, didn't mind in the slightest. Six years of topping her class in Muggle school had long injured her to attention. Besides, her cousin was by her side now.
What mattered to her wasn't fame, but skill. She worried she wasn't yet up to the club's standards. So every day, she pestered Arthur to practice Transfiguration with her.
One evening in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione raised her wand toward an apple. With focus and incantation, the fruit twisted and reshaped itself into a Rubik's Cube.
Not bad, but not good enough.
"Ugh… my Transfiguration progress is too slow."
Arthur lowered his book with a smirk. "Careful—don't let Harry and Ron hear you. They'd think you're just showing off."
By now, a couple weeks into term, Harry could at least alter the shape of objects. Ron, though, still hadn't managed anything—likely because his wand wasn't truly his. He was using his older brother Charlie's, worn and ill-suited.
"It's not bragging, it's the truth," Hermione huffed. "If this is all I can do, I'll embarrass myself at the next club meeting!"
Frustration colored her voice. Practicing required calm and concentration, but the common room was full of students coming and going. Hardly ideal.
"Isn't there a classroom just for practicing spells?" she sighed.
"Hmm, you could just find an empty one," Arthur replied lazily from the sofa. "Or ask Professor McGonagall. If not… maybe even our headmaster's office. Wait—hold on! The Headmaster's office… eighth floor! How could I forget?!"
He sprang to his feet, grabbed Hermione by the hand, and all but dragged her from the common room.
By the time they reached the castle's eighth floor, Hermione was breathless and baffled.
"Cousin, what are we doing here?"
"Patience." Arthur grinned.
He led her to a stretch of wall opposite a tapestry depicting a troll clubbing Barnabas the Barmy. Then he paced back and forth three times.
Before Hermione's widening eyes, a smooth door appeared where the wall had been.
Arthur pushed it open.
"This is a place I stumbled on by accident. All you have to do is walk past three times while focusing on what you need. The room will then arrange itself to suit your purpose."
"Amazing!" Hermione exclaimed. Then, with a sly look: "Though tell me—was it really an accident? Or just you getting lost again?"
Arthur only rolled his eyes and stepped inside. He certainly couldn't admit that he'd known about the Room since his previous life.