Harry Potter: But Where is Harry?

Chapter 11

The morning sun filtered through the tall windows of Gryffindor Tower, casting gold onto the worn stone floor. Thomas Greene sat upright in bed, his arms folded as he stared at the drawn curtains of the bed beside his. The muffled snores of Seamus and Dean echoed gently through the dormitory, but Thomas's thoughts were focused elsewhere—on the boy who had made it so clear he didn't belong.

Ron Weasley.

The redhead had barely spared him a glance since yesterday's flying lesson, except for a glare or muttered insult. And honestly, Thomas was beginning to wonder how Harry Potter could have possibly called him a friend in the original story. Was it all different now? Had Ron always been this... petty? The books had shown him as immature at times, sure, but this kind of open hostility was something else. Bitter, even.

Thomas swung his legs off the bed and stood, grabbing his robes and making his way quietly to the showers. He needed a clear head. His mind buzzed with more than just Ron's hostility—there were layers to this new world that the stories never touched. Neville, for example. Sorted into Slytherin, already beginning to change in subtle but unsettling ways. And then there was Professor Quirrell, who Hermione had insisted didn't seem dangerous at all.

But Thomas had felt it. That odd twinge of something wrong when the man spoke. And if this world's Voldemort still lingered in the shadows, he wasn't going to rely on gut feelings alone.

By the time he and Hermione made their way to breakfast, the Great Hall was already alive with morning chatter and the soft clink of spoons against plates. Ron sat a little further down the Gryffindor table, surrounded by Dean and Seamus, laughing at something Thomas couldn't hear.

"Don't mind him," Hermione whispered, scooting closer to Thomas. "I don't think he likes anyone who reads more than two books a year."

Thomas chuckled despite himself, but it came out strained. "It's not just that. He acts like I've insulted his whole family just by existing."

"Maybe he's jealous?" Hermione offered as she picked at her toast. "You're good in class, you're not afraid to ask questions, and... you talk to people outside Gryffindor."

"Scandalous, I know," Thomas said, then caught Neville's eyes from across the Slytherin table. The boy gave him a small, almost reluctant nod before turning his attention back to a first-year girl with dark hair and a Slytherin badge—Aurelia Flint, if Thomas remembered correctly.

Interesting.

---

Their first class of the day was Charms, held on the third floor. Professor Flitwick greeted the class with enthusiasm that nearly made him topple off his stack of books behind the lectern. He was as small as Thomas remembered from the films, but his presence filled the room.

"Welcome, welcome! Today, we begin the foundations of spellcasting! The most important thing to remember about charms is precision. One wrong syllable, and—well—let's just say it won't be the result you wanted."

Thomas eagerly sat near the front, quill and parchment at the ready. This was it—the good stuff.

Flitwick began by demonstrating Lumos and Nox, giving a brief but detailed explanation of how light-based charms interacted with magical focus and wand-lore. He even touched on ancient usage—how Lumos was once only known to specialized guardians of wizarding settlements.

Hermione scribbled furiously beside him.

"Notice the intent," Flitwick emphasized. "Magic responds to will, to clarity of thought. Picture the result before casting. Focus is everything."

Thomas raised his hand. "Professor, is it possible to vary the intensity of Lumos with emotional state?"

Flitwick looked surprised—and pleased. "Excellent question, Mr. Greene! Yes, in fact. Emotional intensity can amplify or distort certain spells, though it's much more noticeable with unstable or newly learned ones. More advanced witches and wizards can regulate this effect intentionally."

Thomas made a note in the margin of his parchment: Emotions modulate magical output — test with controlled environment.

When they finally practiced, Thomas's Lumos was solid—a sharp, bright thread of light bursting from his wand. Hermione's was brighter, but flickered slightly. Ron's wand sparked weakly, and Seamus nearly lit his sleeve on fire.

After class, Flitwick stopped Thomas briefly. "That was very fine work today. If you'd ever like to explore theory more deeply, feel free to visit me during my office hours."

"Thank you, sir," Thomas said, heart quickening. This was what he wanted—actual magical theory, the kind he could build into something new.

---

Lunch in the Great Hall was uneventful, though Thomas caught snippets of other students grumbling about Herbology being boring. He doubted Professor Sprout would make it too easy, especially if she was anything like her depiction in the books.

But it wasn't until History of Magic that Thomas truly struggled to keep his mind from drifting. Professor Binns's ghostly drone was soporific, and even Hermione seemed to struggle to stay engaged.

The lesson was a lecture on the Goblin Rebellions, specifically the one of 1612. Thomas tried to take notes, but found his mind wandering.

How much of this was even true? Wizarding history books probably had huge biases, especially against non-human magical beings. The goblins were clearly intelligent and organized—but how much of their portrayal was just wizards justifying oppression?

He wrote that down, too: Bias in wizarding history? Research goblin perspectives.

By the end of class, nearly half the students had their heads on their desks.

---

They had a break before dinner, and Hermione dragged him to the library—not that he minded. She was already working on extra reading for Charms and had pulled out a copy of Spellwork and Theories of Wand-Light Interference.

"I can't believe we're learning Lumos so early," she said, scanning a paragraph. "I thought that was more advanced."

"Yeah, I wonder if they changed the curriculum," Thomas muttered, then lowered his voice. "Or maybe Dumbledore wanted us more prepared this year. No idea why—I haven't even met him yet."

Hermione blinked. "You haven't?"

Thomas shook his head. "Not once. I thought he greeted all the first-years."

"Maybe he's busy?"

Thomas didn't respond. Something about it didn't sit right.

---

At dinner, Thomas ate quickly and then headed back to the common room. He'd planned to study more, but the room was too loud with chatter about broomsticks and Quidditch.

He spotted Ron in the corner with Dean and Seamus, once again muttering something under his breath while shooting Thomas glares.

Thomas tried to ignore it.

"Oi, Greene," Ron called loudly. "Gonna go practice spells with the snakes again?"

A few second-years nearby snickered.

Hermione turned red. "Oh, grow up, Weasley."

Ron just shrugged. "Some of us know where we stand. Some of us keep forgetting which House they're in."

Thomas clenched his jaw and walked away.

Back in the dorm, he sat on his bed and pulled out a fresh parchment. He needed to write, to think, to plan. Magic wasn't just waving a wand and saying words. There were patterns, principles—possibly even physics behind it all.

The more he learned, the more he realized no one had tried approaching magic the way a Muggle scientist would. And that gave him a possible edge.

---

Later that night, long after lights-out, Thomas lay awake staring at the canopy above his bed. A single thought turned over in his mind:

Something's wrong with this world.

The pieces didn't all fit. Neville, Slytherin, Quirrell's strange aura. Even Ron's hatred felt more... primal, more hostile than the petty squabbles he remembered from the books.