Chapter 23: First Day Classes
Morning arrived with Theodore Nott's hand shaking Adam awake, his voice carrying the urgent whisper of someone who understood consequences.
"Breakfast in twenty minutes. Don't be late—Snape docks points from his own house if you show up tardy."
Adam dressed quickly, his fingers fumbling with unfamiliar robes while his mind raced through everything he'd memorized about Hogwarts' daily rhythms. Following the stream of Slytherins toward the Great Hall, he tried to absorb castle layout and social hierarchies simultaneously, cataloging which corridors led where and who deferred to whom in the subtle dance of adolescent politics.
"First day. Don't stand out. Don't disappoint. Don't give them reasons to investigate."
The Great Hall buzzed with morning energy as students compared schedules and complained about early classes. Adam claimed a seat at the Slytherin table's end, close enough to belong but distant enough to observe. When the morning post arrived in a flutter of owls, he watched other students receive letters from home with an ache he'd learned to suppress.
"Transfiguration first," Theodore said, consulting his schedule. "With the Gryffindors. McGonagall's fair but demanding—don't expect special treatment for being new."
The walk to McGonagall's classroom felt like marching toward judgment. Adam entered to find Gryffindors and Slytherins arranged in their typical territorial clusters, the subtle hostility between houses crackling in the air like static electricity. Harry Potter sat with Ron and Hermione near the front, their easy camaraderie a stark contrast to Slytherin's more formal interactions.
Professor McGonagall swept into the room with characteristic briskness, her tartan robes precise as military dress.
"Today we'll be working on advanced animal transfiguration," she announced, her sharp gaze scanning the assembled students. "Mr. Wright, as our transfer student, you'll be working with material you may have covered differently under your guardian's instruction. Please demonstrate your current skill level by transfiguring this teacup into a tortoise."
Every eye in the classroom fixed on Adam as he approached McGonagall's desk. His hand closed around his wand, the hawthorn wood warm and responsive, while System-purchased knowledge guided his movements with unconscious precision.
"Testudo," he said clearly, his wand describing the complex pattern that reshaped reality according to magical law.
The teacup shimmered, its porcelain surface rippling like water before reforming into a perfect tortoise. Not just functional—beautiful. The shell bore intricate geometric patterns, the eyes held genuine reptilian intelligence, and when it began walking across the desk, its movement carried the fluid grace of a creature born rather than conjured.
A murmur of appreciation rippled through the classroom. McGonagall nodded with obvious approval.
"Excellent work, Mr. Wright. Your guardian clearly emphasized precision in his instruction."
But then Hermione Granger's hand shot up like a lightning bolt.
"Professor, that technique—he used the Romanian method, not the standard British approach. The wand movement pattern and the syllable emphasis are distinctly Eastern European. Where exactly did you study, Wright?"
Adam's blood turned to ice water. In his nervousness to perform well, he'd defaulted to the System's theoretical perfection without considering regional variations. The Romanian method was more elegant, more efficient—and completely wrong for someone supposedly educated in Britain.
"Idiot. Showing off instead of thinking."
"My guardian traveled extensively," Adam replied, forcing his voice to remain steady. "He taught various methods, believing exposure to different traditions made for more versatile wizards."
Hermione's brown eyes narrowed with the focused intensity of someone who'd found an inconsistency that didn't fit her understanding of the world.
"But most British wizards stick to approved Ministry methods. It's unusual for a homeschool educator to teach foreign techniques as primary instruction."
Across the room, Harry and Ron whispered to each other, their glances toward Adam carrying curiosity tinged with suspicion. Perfect. His first class had attracted exactly the attention he'd hoped to avoid.
"Diversity of approach often produces superior results," McGonagall interjected before the interrogation could continue. "Mr. Wright's technique, regardless of origin, demonstrates mastery of the underlying principles. Please return to your seat."
But the damage was done. As Adam walked back to his place, he caught Hermione's watchful gaze following his movement. She'd identified him as a puzzle to solve, and Hermione Granger had never met a puzzle she couldn't crack.
"Great start. Academic success at the cost of increased scrutiny."
Potions class in the dungeons brought its own challenges. Professor Snape swept into the room like a storm cloud given human form, his black robes billowing dramatically as his dark eyes surveyed the assembled Slytherins and Hufflepuffs with familiar contempt.
"Mr. Wright." Snape's voice carried the silky menace of someone who enjoyed making students uncomfortable. "I've heard you were homeschooled in potions. Let's see if your education was worth the parchment it wasn't officially written on."
He assigned a complex Shrinking Solution—third-year level but with timing requirements that could ruin months of ingredient preparation if mishandled. Adam worked methodically, using his purchased Potions Mastery to measure precisely, stir at exact intervals, maintain perfect temperature control throughout the brewing process.
His potion turned the correct acid-green color, earning a grudging nod from Snape.
"Acceptable. Your guardian taught you something useful." But then Snape's eyes narrowed with predatory interest. "However, technique without understanding is meaningless. Explain the purpose of the wormwood's counterclockwise stirring."
"Counterclockwise stirring reverses the natural magical polarity," Adam replied smoothly, System knowledge flowing without conscious effort. "It prevents the hellebore essence from overwhelming the shrinking properties of the daisy roots."
"And the temperature requirements?"
"Consistent heat prevents crystallization of the active compounds while allowing proper molecular bonding."
"The three-second intervals between ingredient additions?"
"Magical saturation timing. Too fast and the solution becomes unstable. Too slow and the binding agents lose potency."
Snape's interrogation continued throughout the class, each question designed to test whether Adam actually understood potions theory or had simply memorized procedures. But System knowledge was perfect knowledge—comprehensive, interconnected, impossible to fake.
"Your understanding appears... adequate," Snape concluded, the admission clearly painful. "We shall see if practical application matches theoretical knowledge as the year progresses."
"He's suspicious. Of course he's suspicious. Too many perfect answers make teachers nervous."
After classes ended, Adam sought refuge in the library—massive, labyrinthine, filled with the comfortable silence of accumulated knowledge. He pulled books on Hogwarts history and castle layout, ostensibly researching for essays but actually mapping escape routes and hidden passages for future reference.
"Wright."
Adam looked up to find Hermione Granger standing beside his table, her arms crossed and her expression carrying the determined focus of someone who'd decided to solve a problem.
"I've been thinking about you," she said without preamble.
"That's exactly what I was afraid of."
"Your education is suspiciously comprehensive," she continued, settling into the chair across from him uninvited. "Homeschooling rarely produces students who excel in every subject immediately. Most transfers struggle with at least one area where their preparation doesn't match Hogwarts standards."
Adam met her gaze calmly, his Occlumency shields raised but not obviously defensive. "And?"
"So either your guardian was extraordinarily gifted—more gifted than most Hogwarts professors—or something else is going on." She leaned forward slightly. "Which is it?"
"My guardian dedicated his life to my education after my parents died," Adam replied, letting genuine emotion color his voice. Not for his fictional guardian, but for all the mentors he'd never had, the family he'd lost before he could remember them. "He was brilliant, even if he wasn't officially credentialed by the Ministry. Is there a problem with that?"
Hermione studied him for a long moment, her analytical mind clearly processing every detail of his expression and body language.
"I don't know yet," she said finally. "But I'm going to find out."
She left him alone among the dusty books, and Adam slumped in his chair as the full weight of his situation crystallized. Hermione Granger—brightest witch of her age, relentless researcher, someone who'd figured out the Polyjuice Potion in second year—was now actively investigating him.
As if Dumbledore's suspicion wasn't dangerous enough.
[WARNING: CHARACTER SUSPICION INCREASED—HERMIONE GRANGER. RECOMMEND INCREASED CAUTION.]
Adam groaned softly and let his head fall forward onto the open book. His strategy of blending in had failed spectacularly on day one. Tomorrow, he needed to start making small mistakes, appearing more normal, less suspiciously perfect.
The irony wasn't lost on him. He'd spent two years becoming powerful enough to survive Hogwarts, and now that power was his greatest liability.
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