The grey heir

The fire in the Gryffindor common room crackled softly as the day settled into evening. A warm glow filled the room, but the mood was anything but peaceful. Ron Weasley sat rigidly in one of the armchairs, his ears still red with frustration. Across from him, Neville Longbottom stood, surprisingly steady.

"You were out of line, Ron."

Ron frowned. "What are you on about?"

"Harry," Neville said. "He hasn't done anything to you. You keep talking like he's some dark wizard just because of where he was sorted and because he has a snake."

Ron scoffed. "You saw the thing. He acts all secretive. Creepy, even. Like he knows things we don't. How is that normal?"

Neville's voice grew stronger. "He's quiet. That doesn't make him bad. You've been going after him since the train. Maybe you should try being decent before judging him."

Ron stood up. "Oh, come off it, Neville. You think just because he hasn't hexed anyone yet he's your new best mate?"

Neville squared his shoulders. "I don't need him to be my best mate. I just know what it's like to be on the outside. And I don't go around picking fights for no reason."

"Oh, and I suppose you're the expert now?" Ron snapped.

"I'm just saying," Neville said quietly, "maybe the problem isn't him. Maybe it's how you're treating people who don't fit your idea of a hero."

Before Ron could argue further, a Prefect gave them both a stern look from across the room, and the argument died down to simmering silence. Neville turned and walked away, leaving Ron staring after him, jaw tight.

---

Far below the castle, within the dim sanctuary of his private chambers, Quirinus Quirrell stood before an enchanted mirror that shimmered with cold light. The scent of herbs and something fouler lingered in the air.

"He has no idea," the professor whispered.

The voice that responded came from within, serpentine and cold. "No idea?"

"None," Quirrell continued. "He doesn't know what he is, what he carries. He's clever, but naïve. I used Legilimency during class. Only surface thoughts—completely mundane. He's thinking like a first-year. About spells, about adjusting to school."

The voice of Voldemort was thoughtful. "Then he is not pretending."

"No," Quirrell murmured. "He really doesn't remember. Not his legacy. Not even what happened that night. It's like trying to read a mirror—it's all reflection, no depth."

A hiss of amusement. "Good. Let him remain blind. It will make it easier… when the time comes."

---

The Great Hall gleamed under the candlelight. Dinner buzzed with chatter as platters clinked and goblets refilled themselves. Harry sat beside Daphne at the far edge of the Slytherin table.

"I still can't get over the staircases," he said, smirking. "I nearly got lost trying to find Transfiguration."

Daphne gave him a sidelong look, an amused curve to her lips. "The trick is to never let the stairs know you're in a hurry. They can smell panic."

Harry chuckled. "What, like mischievous pets?"

"Exactly. Hogwarts itself is half alive. Most of us just learn to negotiate with it."

They both laughed quietly.

"Still," Harry added, "magic seems a bit like chaos in a robe."

Daphne grinned. "That's why robes have so many pockets—for keeping the chaos contained."

He laughed more easily this time. The strange, wary atmosphere around him earlier in the day had faded with the clatter of plates and the flow of pumpkin juice.

"Can I ask you something?" he said, lowering his voice.

Daphne looked at him curiously. "Of course."

"How do House points work, exactly? And why do some of the older students seem… territorial about them?"

Daphne looked amused. "House points are like currency for reputation. Win them through academic success, good behavior, or Quidditch. Lose them through foolishness. The House with the most by the end of the year wins the Cup."

"And it matters?" Harry asked.

"To some? Immensely," she said dryly. "Mostly to Gryffindors."

Harry chuckled. "Makes sense."

He leaned in a little. "What about the ghosts? Do they always float through tables like that?"

Daphne nodded, eyes gleaming. "Yes. Especially the Bloody Baron. Try not to ask him anything unless you like your answers cryptic and your appetite ruined."

Harry grinned. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Anything else you want to ask?" she offered, clearly enjoying his curiosity.

"Everything," he said, then laughed. "But I'll pace myself."

They both smiled, the air between them comfortable.

From the staff table, Quirrell watched silently, a fork untouched in his hand.

To be continued...

Author's Note: Though Harry is a time traveler with knowledge of what once was, he must play the part of a curious newcomer to the wizarding world. His questions to Daphne are as much strategic as they are practical.