Chapter 8
Thomas Greene followed the other first-year Gryffindors out of the Great Hall, the echoes of the Sorting Hat's last proclamation still ringing in his ears. Neville Longbottom in Slytherin. The very thought churned uneasily in his stomach. He had hoped—half-assumed—that events would follow the path he remembered. But nothing was certain anymore.
He looked back once to see Neville trailing behind the Slytherin group, head down, shoulders hunched. The space around him at the table had been wide and conspicuously empty. Thomas clenched his jaw. That wasn't fair. He'd promised they would stay friends, no matter what. He would try and keep that promise.
"Gryffindors, this way! Follow me, please," called Percy Weasley, the Prefect.
The group trudged up countless staircases and moving corridors, following Percy through torch-lit halls lined with ancient portraits who muttered and commented as they passed. Finally, they came to the portrait of the Fat Lady, who was half-asleep in her frame.
"Password?" she asked.
"Caput Draconis," Percy said.
The portrait swung forward to reveal a circular opening. They scrambled through and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room: a cozy space filled with squashy armchairs, a roaring fireplace, and tall windows looking out into the night.
Thomas caught his breath. It was exactly as he remembered it from the films—and yet more real. Warmer. Quieter.
The boys' dormitory was up the spiral staircase to the right. When they entered, Thomas quickly claimed a bed near the middle. Ron Weasley took one near the window, pointedly avoiding looking at Thomas. The rest of their roommates—Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville's absence—left an odd gap in the dynamics.
Ron barely said a word as he unpacked. Thomas glanced over, unsure if he should try again. But Ron's stiff posture made his cold feelings clear.
Thomas sighed and climbed into bed, his thoughts swirling like a storm. Without Harry… everything felt adrift.
The next morning, Thomas woke early. He dressed, reviewed wand motions in his spellbook, and made his way down to the common room before most others stirred. When the others joined him, they made their way to breakfast.
The next morning, Thomas awoke early, the faint gray light of dawn spilling through the curtains. He quietly got dressed in his uniform and descended the staircase to the common room. It was empty except for a single portrait whispering to another.
He spent the extra time reviewing wand motions from his textbook and mumbling incantations under his breath. When the others finally came down, he joined them for the walk to breakfast.
Ron was still distant. Hermione gave Thomas a polite but enthusiastic smile, already discussing the day's schedule.
"I've been reading about Professor McGonagall," she said brightly. "She's supposed to be strict but brilliant. Do you think we'll actually get to transfigure something on the first day?"
Thomas smiled. "If we're lucky."
They reached the Great Hall. Thomas's eyes scanned the Slytherin table and spotted Neville at the far end. He looked miserable.
During breakfast, Thomas quietly slipped away from the Gryffindor table and approached Neville. Some older Slytherins sneered as he passed.
Neville blinked in surprise. "Oh, hey."
"How's it going?" Thomas asked softly.
Neville hesitated. "Alright. Kind of. Not really."
Before Thomas could press further, a drawling voice cut through. "Aw, look, it's the Gryffindor come to rescue the crybaby. Didn't you have a nice sob last night, Longbottom?"
Draco Malfoy grinned wickedly, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. A few Slytherins chuckled cruelly.
Neville turned red and stared at his plate. Thomas shot Draco a sharp look but said nothing. He patted Neville on the shoulder.
"See you in class. Hang in there."
As he returned to the Gryffindor table, Ron gave him a dirty look. "Why're you talking to a Slytherin? Especially him. They all turn out dodgy. My dad says so."
Thomas frowned. "He's still Neville."
"Still a Slytherin," Ron muttered, stabbing at his eggs.
Breakfast ended with tension lingering in the air. The first class of the day was Transfiguration. The Gryffindors filed into the classroom and sat at their desks. At the front of the room was a tabby cat perched on the teacher's desk.
Ron entered late, panting. "Whew! At least the professor's not here yet."
The cat leapt from the desk and transformed mid-air into Professor McGonagall. Gasps echoed through the room.
"I am your Transfiguration teacher, Professor McGonagall," she said sharply. "Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not return."
She demonstrated by turning her desk into a pig and back again. The class applauded.
Then, with a dramatic wave of her wand, she turned her desk into a pig and back again. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the class.
Thomas smiled to himself. It was just like he remembered. He kept his wand ready, waiting for a chance to prove himself.
They were each given a matchstick and tasked with turning it into a needle. Most failed. Ron's remained unchanged. Hermione's match turned silver and slightly pointed. Thomas's match shimmered—then lengthened, its tip narrowing into a dull point.
Professor McGonagall passed by, raised a brow at Thomas's progress, and gave a small nod.
"Not bad for a first attempt, Mr. Greene."
Hermione glanced over, clearly impressed.
After class, Ron grumbled. "How'd you get that far?"
"Practiced a bit over the summer," Thomas said nonchalantly.
Hermione beamed. "It makes all the difference. I read through our entire textbook twice, but I wish I'd had a wand to practice."
"You memorized the textbook?" Ron said incredulously. "No wonder you sound like a walking encyclopedia."
Hermione's smile vanished. She turned sharply and marched ahead.
Thomas gave Ron a disapproving look. "That was rude."
"She acts like she knows everything," Ron muttered.
---
Between classes, Peeves made his first official appearance—humming off-key while floating above a cluster of frightened second years, upending ink bottles from thin air and snorting with laughter.
He zipped past Thomas and sprayed him with chalk dust. "Firsties, firsties, looking so neat—let's make you dusty from head to feet!"
Thomas coughed but laughed despite himself. Hermione rolled her eyes.
"I read that he's the castle's resident poltergeist. Shouldn't he be banned from the halls?"
"No one's managed to get rid of him," Thomas said, brushing off his robe.
Their second class of the day was Potions—held in the dungeons and shared with Slytherin. The air grew colder as they descended.
They descended into the dungeons for Potions, sharing the class with Slytherins. The room was dim and cold. Thomas sat beside Neville, who looked pale.
Snape swept into the room, robes billowing, his presence commanding silence.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began. "There will be no foolish wand-waving here."
He continued the introduction with precision and menace, his gaze lingering on Gryffindor students with disdain.
When he called on Thomas—
"Mr. Greene, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Thomas paused. He knew this from the films. "A sleeping potion. The Draught of Living Death."
Snape's eyebrows twitched. "Correct."
He turned to Neville. "Mr. Longbottom, where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"
Neville stammered. "Um… I… I don't know, sir."
Snape's lips curled. "Clearly not in a book you bothered to read."
He turned away with a swirl. "Five points from Gryffindor for wasting my time."
Thomas frowned. "But Neville's not in Gryffindor."
"Oh, are you his advocate now, Mr. Greene? Would you like me to deduct ten instead?"
Thomas clenched his jaw and said nothing more.
As the lesson went on, Snape berated Gryffindors and favored Slytherins. Neville nearly spilled their cauldron when adding too much snake fangs, but Thomas managed to stabilize the brew.
Snape gave them a glare. "Some of you should be grateful for help, not blunders."
After class, the students filed out. Thomas gave Neville a nod.
At lunch, Ron still kept his distance, visibly annoyed. Hermione sat quietly, barely touching her food. Thomas gave her a warm smile.
"Your matchstick transfiguration earlier today was really well done."
She looked up. "Thanks."
As the day ended, Thomas sat in the common room, watching the fire. Hogwarts was not going to be the same without the path he expected. But he would find a way forward.