NOVEL NEXT Chapter 9: Chapter Nine: The First Lesson
Harry woke the next morning feeling groggy but determined to shake off the strange events of the night before. He had told himself it was just nerves—starting at Hogwarts, being sorted into Gryffindor, and the excitement of it all. That had to be it. Still, as the sunlight filtered into the dormitory, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was waiting for him, just out of reach.
"Come on, Harry!" Ron called from the foot of his bed, already half-dressed in his school robes. "We're going to be late for breakfast if you don't hurry."
Harry dressed quickly, throwing on his robes and grabbing his wand, which still felt foreign in his hand. Together, he and Ron hurried down the spiral staircase to the common room, where Hermione was waiting, her satchel already bulging with books.
"About time," she said impatiently, leading the way out of the common room. "We've got to eat quickly—we don't want to be late for Professor McGonagall's class. I hear she's quite strict."
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Breakfast and the Timetable
The Great Hall was alive with chatter as students filled their plates with eggs, toast, and bacon. Harry and Ron barely had time to grab a few bites before Professor McGonagall began handing out schedules.
"Transfiguration first thing," Hermione said, her tone both excited and apprehensive. "And then we've got Charms with Professor Flitwick. Oh, and look—double Potions with the Slytherins."
Ron groaned. "Brilliant. Just what we need—Malfoy sneering at us for two hours."
Harry nodded in agreement but kept his thoughts to himself. Malfoy had been suspiciously quiet during the Sorting Ceremony and hadn't approached Harry since their awkward introduction in Diagon Alley. Still, Harry wasn't looking forward to seeing him again.
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Transfiguration: A Taste of Magic
Professor McGonagall's classroom was tidy and orderly, much like the professor herself. She wasted no time diving into the lesson, tapping her wand against the blackboard, where the words Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts appeared in neat script.
Harry glanced at Ron, whose eyes were already glazing over.
"To begin," McGonagall said, holding up a matchstick, "you will attempt to transfigure this into a needle. Be patient—Transfiguration is not something mastered overnight."
Harry picked up his matchstick and stared at it. Around him, students muttered spells under their breath, some with more enthusiasm than accuracy. Hermione's matchstick glowed faintly silver, but it stubbornly refused to change shape.
Harry raised his wand, hesitating for a moment. He whispered, "Transfiguro." Nothing happened.
He tried again, this time concentrating harder. A strange warmth stirred in his chest, spreading to his fingertips. The matchstick quivered, then shimmered briefly before returning to its normal state.
"Well done, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. "A promising start."
Harry flushed with pride. Ron, meanwhile, was frowning at his unaltered matchstick. "How'd you do that?" he hissed.
"I don't know," Harry admitted.
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Charms: An Unexpected Reaction
Their second lesson of the day was with Professor Flitwick, a tiny, excitable wizard who stood on a stack of books to address the class. He began by teaching them the Levitation Charm, Wingardium Leviosa.
"You must remember to swish and flick," he said, demonstrating with his wand.
Harry watched as Hermione performed the spell perfectly on her first try, causing her feather to rise gracefully into the air. Ron, in contrast, was having a much harder time.
"Swish and flick, not jab and poke," Hermione corrected him.
"Do you mind?" Ron snapped, his ears turning red.
Harry decided to give it a go. He swished and flicked his wand, but as soon as he said the incantation, a burst of raw energy shot out of the tip. The feather didn't rise—it flew across the room, hitting the wall with a loud crack.
The entire class turned to stare at Harry, who looked down at his wand in confusion.
"Most unusual," Flitwick murmured, peering at Harry as though he were a fascinating puzzle. "Try again, Mr. Potter, but this time, ease up on the force."
Harry nodded, though he wasn't sure how to do that. When he repeated the spell, the feather hovered briefly before falling back to the desk.
"Well done," Flitwick said, though he still seemed puzzled.
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The Whisper Returns
By the time lunch rolled around, Harry was starving and a little frustrated. Despite his success in Transfiguration, his strange outburst in Charms had left him uneasy. Was it the same power he'd felt the night before? And why did it seem so out of control?
"Don't worry," Hermione said as they ate. "It's probably just nerves. Magic is all about focus."
"Maybe," Harry said, though he wasn't convinced.
That night, as Harry lay in bed, the dormitory quiet around him, the whisper returned.
"You're stronger than you know, Potter."
Harry's eyes snapped open. He sat up, his heart pounding. "Who's there?"
No answer came, but the air felt charged, as though something unseen lingered in the room. Harry's hand drifted to his wand on the bedside table.
The voice chuckled softly, then faded into silence. Harry stayed awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing.
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The Next Day
The next morning, Harry decided not to mention the voice to anyone—not even Ron or Hermione. He wasn't sure they'd believe him, and he didn't have an explanation himself.
But one thing was certain: whatever was happening to him wasn't normal magic. And Harry had a feeling that whatever lay ahead would test him in ways he couldn't yet imagine.