Tangled Fates

The moment Harry opened his eyes, he felt a strange mix of excitement and nervousness curling in his stomach. The four-poster bed was softer than anything he had ever slept on, a stark contrast to the lumpy mattress at the Dursleys'. The room around him was still dimly lit with the first hints of dawn creeping through the windows, casting long shadows across the heavy wooden trunks and four beds that made up the first-year Gryffindor boys' dormitory. For a few seconds, he had to remind himself where he was—Hogwarts. He was finally here.

Ron groaned from the bed beside his, mumbling something about breakfast in his sleep. Harry grinned and sat up, rubbing his eyes. In the other beds, Seamus Finnigan and Neville Longbottom were still snoring lightly, while Dean Thomas, their final dorm mate, was already half-awake, stretching his arms with a yawn.

After getting dressed in their Hogwarts robes, the boys made their way down to the Great Hall, following the trail of students heading in the same direction. When they entered, Harry was once again struck by the sight of the enchanted ceiling, reflecting a perfect morning sky. Owls were swooping in and out, dropping letters and packages onto the tables. The smell of freshly baked bread, eggs, and bacon filled the air, making Harry's stomach rumble.

They took seats at the Gryffindor table, and almost immediately, golden plates appeared in front of them, filled with food. As Harry hesitated, still slightly amazed at how food just appeared, Ron had already begun piling his plate. "Better eat up, mate. We've got lessons soon," he said through a mouthful of toast.

From the other side of the table, Hermione Granger sat primly, a book propped open next to her plate as she ate. As Harry reached for some scrambled eggs, she glanced up. "Do you know what classes we have first?" she asked eagerly.

Ron sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. "No, Hermione, we didn't memorize our schedules before bed."

Hermione sniffed, unimpressed. "Well, I did. First is Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall. Then we have Potions with Professor Snape."

At the mention of Snape, the older Gryffindors nearby snickered. "Good luck with that one," one of them muttered as they passed by.

Harry and Ron exchanged uneasy glances, but Hermione, unfazed, went back to reading her book, her fork still poised neatly in her hand.

The first-years shuffled into their Transfiguration classroom, murmuring quietly as they took their seats. The room was lined with bookshelves, and the walls were adorned with moving diagrams illustrating the magical process of transformation.

Professor McGonagall stood at the front, her piercing gaze sweeping over the class as she tapped her wand against the desk. "Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she began. "Anyone who is not paying attention will leave my class immediately."

The room fell completely silent.

With a flick of her wand, she transformed her desk into a sleek black cat and then back again, drawing gasps from the students.

For the next hour, the class attempted to turn matchsticks into needles. Most failed miserably, their matchsticks remaining unchanged, while a few achieved slight silver tinges. Hermione, of course, was the first to succeed in making hers at least partially metallic.

Harry watched, slightly awestruck, as Hermione readjusted her grip and tried again, finally turning her matchstick into a near-perfect needle.

"Did you—did you actually read all the books before coming here?" he asked, half in disbelief, half in playful sarcasm.

Hermione gave him a matter-of-fact nod. "Yes, of course. Didn't you?"

Harry glanced at Ron, who rolled his eyes and whispered, "Mental, that one."