"Is it your lightning scar?" Tyler leaned closer to Harry and kept his voice low beneath the fading noise of the feast. "Did it hurt just now?"
Harry looked at him in surprise, his hand still hovering near his forehead. "How did you know?" he whispered back, though the burning pain had already vanished as quickly as it had come.
"I saw your face," Tyler said. He glanced toward the staff table without making the movement too obvious, then returned his attention to Harry.
"It was my scar," Harry admitted quietly. "It burned for a second when the professor beside Professor Quirrell looked this way. It's fine now, though. It doesn't hurt anymore."
Tyler followed Harry's gaze and saw the black-haired professor seated near Quirrell. The man had a hooked nose, greasy curtains of hair, and the sort of expression that made even a feast look like an inconvenience.
"Do you know who he is?" Harry asked, lowering his voice even further. "I don't think he likes me, but I've never met him before."
"That's Professor Snape," Tyler said. "He teaches Potions, and from what I've heard, he was at Hogwarts around the same time as your parents."
Harry stiffened a little at the mention of his parents. He rarely heard anything about them that was not wrapped in mystery, pity, or someone else's awkward silence.
"Your father and Professor Snape didn't get along," Tyler continued, choosing his words with care. "From what people say, they were bitter rivals when they were students. Snape may not have a good impression of you because of that, which means you should be careful around him."
"That's not fair," Harry muttered, resentment rising before he could hide it. "I didn't do anything to him."
"No," Tyler said softly. "You didn't."
Harry looked toward the staff table again, and this time he did not bother disguising it. His green eyes fixed on Snape with a directness that carried a child's confusion, anger, and wounded pride all at once.
At that same moment, Snape seemed to sense the stare. He turned his head and looked down the length of the hall, and when his gaze landed on Harry's face, a flicker of disgust crossed his features.
Then Snape saw Harry's eyes. For one brief instant, the sharpness in his expression faltered, and something distant and painful passed through him like a shadow moving behind glass.
Harry looked terribly like James Potter, the boy Snape had despised. But his eyes were Lily's, unmistakably Lily's, and those eyes dragged memories out of places Snape had never managed to bury.
Harry noticed none of that. He only saw a professor looking at him coldly, and his opinion of Snape sank even lower.
"Don't worry too much," Tyler whispered. "I'll help you. I may even have a way to make Professor Snape look at you differently."
Harry tore his gaze away from the staff table. "How are you going to do that?"
"It's a secret for now," Tyler said, his mouth curving faintly. "We'll talk about it when we have Potions. If it works, he might not target you at all. He may even give you points."
Harry stared at him as if that sounded more impossible than anything else he had seen that evening. Snape giving him points seemed harder to imagine than ghosts, enchanted ceilings, and food appearing from nowhere.
Tyler said nothing more. A piece of mischievous magic from the Magic Codex had just come to mind, and if used properly, it might be the perfect way to disturb Snape's long-buried feelings without letting anyone trace it back to him.
When the students had eaten their fill once again, the desserts vanished from the golden plates. The Great Hall slowly settled, chatter softening as Dumbledore rose from the staff table for the second time that evening.
"Now that we are all fed and watered," Dumbledore said pleasantly, "I have a few more words to say. At the start of term, there are several notices that must be made."
The hall quieted at once. Even the older students, who had probably heard some version of this speech every year, turned their attention toward the Headmaster.
"First-years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all students," Dumbledore said. His eyes twinkled as he looked over the hall, and his gaze seemed to drift, quite deliberately, toward the Weasley twins. "A few of our older students would also do well to remember that."
Tyler glanced sideways at Fred and George with a knowing look. The Forbidden Forest might have stopped sensible students, but the twins did not seem like the sort of people who believed rules were solid objects.
Fred caught Tyler's look and waggled his eyebrows. George gave him an innocent smile that fooled absolutely no one.
"Furthermore," Dumbledore continued, "Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to remind you all that magic is not to be used in the corridors between classes."
A few students groaned quietly, though they were careful not to do it too loudly. Somewhere near the front, Filch looked deeply satisfied, as if this reminder were the one bright jewel in an otherwise disappointing life.
"Trials for the house Quidditch teams will take place in the second week of term," Dumbledore said. "Anyone interested in playing for their house should speak to Madam Hooch."
At that, Ron perked up with obvious interest. Harry looked curious too, though he was still too new to the wizarding world to fully understand why half the hall seemed suddenly more awake.
"And finally," Dumbledore said, his tone remaining mild despite the words that followed, "I must warn you that anyone who does not wish to suffer a most painful and unpleasant death should stay away from the corridor on the right-hand side of the fourth floor."
A wave of startled whispers broke out across the Great Hall. First-years stared at one another in alarm, while some of the older students looked as if they were already trying to decide whether the warning made the corridor more or less worth investigating.
Tyler's eyes moved almost instinctively toward Jamie at the Slytherin table. The Philosopher's Stone should already have been gone, yet Dumbledore had still arranged something on the fourth floor, which meant he had either prepared another trap or placed a fake Stone there to lure Voldemort into the open.
Jamie met Tyler's glance for the briefest moment. Neither of them spoke, but both understood that the fourth-floor corridor had just become far more interesting.
"Now," Dumbledore said brightly, as if he had not just mentioned tragic death to a room full of children, "before we go to bed, let us sing the school song."
The reaction from the staff table was immediate. Several professors stiffened as if they had been struck by a curse, and more than a few older students froze with the resigned despair of people who knew exactly what was coming.
Dumbledore raised his wand and gave it a light flick. A long golden ribbon streamed from the tip, twisting and curling above the tables like a shining serpent before forming lines of words in mid-air.
"Everyone may choose their favourite tune," Dumbledore announced with cheerful enthusiasm. "Ready? Begin."
What followed could only generously be called singing. The lyrics themselves were perfectly respectable, but there was no fixed melody, so every student chose whatever tune came to mind and charged ahead with complete confidence.
Some sang quickly, some slowly, and some appeared to be wrestling the words into songs that had never been meant to carry them. Fred and George chose a funeral march, dragging out the final lines long after nearly everyone else had finished, looking immensely pleased with themselves as they reached the end at last.
"Ah, music," Dumbledore said, wiping at his eyes when the final gloomy note from the twins faded. "A magic beyond almost anything we do here. And now, it is time for bed."
Benches scraped back as students began rising from the tables. The Great Hall filled with movement and noise again as prefects called for first-years, older students collected friends, and everyone began streaming toward the doors.
The Gryffindor first-years followed Percy through the noisy crowd and out into the entrance hall. From there, he led them up the great marble staircase, which rose grandly through the castle as if it had been made to impress every new student who set foot inside.
Tyler walked with the others, taking note of the turns as best he could. Hogwarts was not merely a school; it was an old fortress layered with centuries of magic, and its corridors seemed designed to confuse anyone who did not already belong to it.
The common rooms were scattered across the castle according to house. Gryffindor's was high in Gryffindor Tower on the eighth floor, Ravenclaw's was at the top of Ravenclaw Tower, and Hufflepuff's lay below, near the kitchens.
Slytherin's common room, meanwhile, was beneath the Black Lake, built into what had once been part of the castle dungeons. Tyler thought of Jamie heading downward with the Slytherin first-years while he climbed higher and higher with the Gryffindors, and the contrast amused him.
The staircases did not make the journey simple. Some of them moved, others turned without warning, and twice Percy led them through doors hidden behind sliding panels or hanging tapestries that Tyler suspected most first-years would never find again on their own.
At last, Percy stopped so abruptly that the younger students behind him nearly bumped into one another. Floating in front of them was a small, solid-looking spirit with wicked eyes, a wide mouth, and the unmistakable air of someone who considered trouble a form of art.
"Peeves," Percy said sharply, drawing himself up with all the authority his prefect badge could provide. "Are you trying to cause trouble again? Because I'll tell the Bloody Baron if you are."
The little poltergeist's grin widened as he looked over the nervous first-years. His eyes gleamed with delight, and his voice rang out through the corridor. "First-year brats! Ooh, this is going to be fun!"
.....
Join my p@treon and read ahead by more than 60+ chapters.
Link : [email protected]/InfinityWeaver
Free members can read the next two chapters for free on my p@treon