On Saturday morning, a ray of sunlight streamed through the circular window of the Hufflepuff dormitory, falling directly onto Virtus's face. His eyes snapped open at 7 a.m. sharp, a habit ingrained from his meticulous previous life. To his surprise, the curtains on the four-poster bed next to his were already moving.
"Are you awake already?" asked Cedric, rubbing his eyes sleepily but with a smile.
"Old habit," replied Virtus, sitting up. Lux, awakened by the movement, stretched on the pillow with a cute yawn. "And you? You could have slept more."
"Too much excitement, I suppose," confessed Cedric, yawning. "What if we explore the castle a bit today? No classes, it's the perfect opportunity."
"Sounds good," nodded Virtus, getting up. "But first, a shower. And breakfast."
As they headed to the communal bathrooms, the conversation flowed naturally. Cedric talked about exploring the grounds, maybe taking a look at the Quidditch pitch. Virtus, for his part, showed more interest in the library and finding some quiet corners to read.
"You're the first person our age I've met who prefers a library to a flying field," said Cedric, laughing, but without mockery.
"Everyone has their passions," replied Virtus with a shrug, secretly enjoying the normality of the chat. "You have the sky, I have my books."
Once dressed, with Lux following them like an orange shadow, they joined a small group of fellow second-year Hufflepuffs also heading to the Great Hall. The atmosphere was relaxed, full of laughter and plans for the free day.
Upon arrival, the hall was bathed in the morning light filtering through the enchanted ceiling, showing a clear blue sky. They sat at the long Hufflepuff table, where the plates were already full of food. Virtus served himself a generous slice of chocolate cake.
"I can't believe you prefer that to some good, spicy sausages," commented Cedric, shaking a bottle of homemade hot sauce made by the elves onto his own plate.
"Sweetness is food for the soul," declared Virtus with feigned solemnity, taking a bite of his cake. "Or at least, for the brain. Spicy food will only make you cry."
"That's part of the fun!" replied Cedric, grinning.
At that moment, Professor Sprout approached them, her kind face lit by a smile.
"Good morning, boys. I hope you rested well. Here are your schedules," she said, handing each of them a scroll. "You share most classes with Ravenclaw. It will be a demanding year, but I'm sure you'll do excellently."
"Thank you, Professor," they said in unison. As Sprout headed to the staff table, Virtus and Cedric unrolled their schedules, commenting to each other about the subjects.
It was then that the familiar sound of wings filled the hall. The post owls entered in flocks, delivering letters and packages next to the students. Virtus held his breath. 'It seems they've already sent it,' he thought, watching intently.
He saw several owls with the Flourish and Blotts insignia land in front of other students, and even two headed precisely towards the staff table: one towards Professor McGonagall and another towards the tiny Professor Flitwick. 'And I'm not the only one with a subscription at Hogwarts,' he thought, a mix of anxiety and anticipation running through him. He forced himself to maintain a neutral expression, but inside, a triumphant smile wanted to break through.
P.O.V.
Professor Minerva McGonagall
Minerva McGonagall entered the Great Hall with her usual straight and efficient gait. Mentally, she reviewed the endless list of tasks: schedules, prefect supervision, and the eternal headache of finding a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who would last more than twelve months. She had had to pull several strings and call in favors to hire the elderly and fragile professor who now held the position, and she only hoped this one would at least complete the academic year without ending up in St. Mungo's... or in Azkaban.
She stopped for a moment at the Gryffindor table to deliver the schedules. Her eyes inevitably fell on the Weasley twins, whose innocent smiles couldn't hide the glint of mischief in their eyes. A mental sigh escaped her. 'So much like James and Sirius at their age... Merlin help us all.'
Finally, she reached the staff table. She exchanged greetings with her colleagues: a warm smile with Pomona Sprout, an enthusiastic "Good morning, Minerva!" from Filius Flitwick, an almost inaudible snort from Severus Snape, an animated comment from Professor Kettleburn about the hippogriffs, and a sigh from Madame Pince, who already seemed to long for the silence of her library. She greeted the others—Vector, Sinistra, Hooch, Babbling—and, when Headmaster Dumbledore arrived in his starry robes, she gave him a respectful nod.
She sat down and poured a cup of tea, hoping the hot infusion would give her strength for the day. It was then that the owls arrived. She watched, with passing interest, as one of them, bearing the Flourish and Blotts seal, left a rectangular package in front of Filius and another, identical one, landed elegantly in front of her. She also saw some students receiving similar packages.
'The bookstore's annual subscription,' she recalled mentally, without much enthusiasm. For five Galleons a year, it was a convenient service, though she rarely received anything that truly caught her interest.
With a sigh and a slight flick of her wand, she undid the package's wrapping. The book that emerged was surprisingly beautiful. The cover was a deep navy blue, with an elaborate, stylized gold border. In the center was an illustration of what looked like a mirror with an intricate inscription, and in front of it, a blood-red stone that, though just an image, seemed to emit a faint internal glow. Her gaze went to the title: "Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone." And below it, the initials: V.K.
'Another storybook about poor Harry,' she thought, with a hint of weariness. 'Well, at least they're entertaining for rainy afternoons.' She turned the book over. On the spine, a small golden Snitch moved elegantly. 'Nice touch,' she admitted to herself. 'At least the binding is exquisite.'
She took another sip of her tea, now almost cold, and her eyes, purely out of inertia, fell upon the synopsis on the back cover. She began to read:
A legendary name. An unknown story. Everything you think you know about 'The Boy Who Lived' is wrong. This book contains the secrets hidden behind the walls of Hogwarts and the offices of the Ministry...
Professor McGonagall's face grew paler, line by line. Her posture, always straight, tensed like a bow. When her eyes reached the last line—"Reading it will make you question everything"—the world seemed to stop for an instant.
Professor McGonagall's perfect control, her unshakable composure, shattered.
With a choked, completely uncharacteristic sound, she spat out her entire mouthful of tea, splattering the table in front of her and her impeccable green robes.