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HP414- The Throne, The Toast, and The Trauma
🕑 Added 2025-04-22 23:43:56 +0000 UTCThey circled back to warmups, conversation splitting off into smaller chats. Most of them had started stretching properly now—arms swung, legs kicked, necks rolled. The occasional groan slipped in when someone pushed too far.
“Why is this worse than double Potions?” Theo asked, halfway through a lunge.
“Because Potions doesn’t make you sweat,” Pansy replied, holding a plank.
“That’s because I sleep through it,” Fred said, flat on the grass.
“You sleep through everything,” George muttered beside him, only slightly more vertical.
“Some of us don’t want to die during warmups,” Tracey called, already halfway through her second set of push-ups.
“You’re just showing off,” Ginny said.
“Obviously,” Tracey replied.
Harry climbed over the throne made entirely of squid tentacles—literally, Krak had shaped a proper seat out of himself like a bored sea monster with too much time and flexibility. The thing curled around the dock like a chair stolen off Poseidon's back porch, and Harry sat on it like it was perfectly normal. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, watching his friends grumble through the warm-ups.
“Alright,” he called, voice cutting through the chatter. “Break’s over. Up.”
Everyone groaned.
“Drill Sergeant Potter returns,” Tracey muttered, dragging herself off the mat.
“More like Sergeant Sadist,” Pansy said, stretching her back with an audible pop. “What now? Jog to Hogsmeade and back?”
Harry swung a leg over the throne and stood. “You lot whine more than first-years. Five sets. Push-ups, sit-ups, wand raises. Let’s go.”
“Wand raises?” Fred repeated. “What are we, wizards in boot camp?”
“Exactly that,” Harry said.
Neville dropped down beside Hermione, counting under his breath before even starting. “Why do I feel like we’re training to fight trolls?”
“You are,” Harry said. “Just most of them will be wearing school uniforms.”
That earned a few chuckles and one loud “Oi!” from Draco.
Pansy flopped onto her back and started her sit-ups without looking at anyone. “Five sets is illegal.”
Astoria passed her, bouncing lightly as she counted jumping jacks in a whisper. “We should get house points for this.”
“We should get hazard pay,” Blaise said, somewhere between sit-up three and collapsing.
Although they complained, the lot had more than enough energy to finish. They’d been doing workouts like these since first year, so their bodies were used to it. Grumbling didn’t slow anyone down. Tracey made a show of collapsing dramatically between sets, but still finished ahead of half the group. Astoria ran through the drills like it was a dance routine. Hermione paced herself like she was taking notes. Fred and George just turned everything into a competition, nearly wrestling each other during the wand raises.
When they wrapped up, the sky had lightened. Harry rolled his shoulders, gave a lazy wave, and walked straight off the path toward the lake. Krak surfaced with a low ripple and lifted a tentacle in greeting as Harry kicked off his shoes and shirt, then dove in with barely a splash.
"Insane," Blaise muttered, watching him from a safe, dry distance. "It's freezing."
"Let him freeze his brain," Pansy said. "Might reset whatever made him think wake-up calls through enchanted cards was okay."
The others didn’t follow him. Too cold, too early, and none of them felt like having their limbs fall off. Instead, they split off, dragging sore muscles and tired groans back toward the castle. Since half the group were prefects, sneaking into the special baths was easy enough. No questions asked when you had a badge. Boys and girls separated off to their respective sides of the Prefect bathrooms, dodging nosy portraits and curious ghosts.
The water in the Prefect baths was hot, charmed to smell like eucalyptus and cinnamon, and more than a few of them refused to get out even after Myrtle started nagging about being late. By the time they made it down to the Great Hall, the place was half full.
Harry strolled in, hair still a bit damp, his tie half-done, and plopped into his seat like he hadn’t just swum a lap around the lake. Tracey and Daphne flanked him seconds later, Tracey already reaching for toast.
“Next time,” she said, stabbing her butter knife into a pad of butter, “I’m hexing your card in half.”
“You say that every time,” Harry replied, grabbing a croissant.
“Yeah,” she muttered. “This time, I mean it.”
Astoria slid in beside Daphne, looking annoyingly chipper. “I made a checklist. Stretching, cardio, hydration—”
“No one cares,” Pansy cut in, dropping into the seat across from them.
“I care,” Astoria replied.
“Exactly,” Pansy said, pouring herself tea. “You’re the problem.”
Susan and Hannah joined a second later, sliding into the seats across the table with full plates already in hand. Susan eyed the tower of sausages in front of Fred.
“You know there’s other food, right?”
Fred raised a fork. “Let me grieve the calories I lost.”
George added, “We nearly died.”
“You pushed each other into a bush,” Ginny said, sitting down beside Luna.
“It was aggressive training,” George said.
“Was it?” Luna asked. “Or just shrubbery betrayal?”
“I’m claiming it as battle damage,” Fred said, mouth full.
Neville looked up from his porridge. “Still sore?”
Fred rubbed his side. “Only my ego.”
Across the table, Blaise looked freshly scrubbed, hair damp and neat. Theo beside him looked like he hadn’t slept, which was entirely possible. Draco sat near the end, poking at eggs like they’d wronged him.
“I miss summer,” Theo said flatly.
“It’s been twelve hours,” Blaise replied, buttering a scone.
“That’s long enough.”
Daphne reached for the pumpkin juice. “When do timetables drop?”
“This morning,” Hermione said. She didn’t bother looking up from her already-unfolded schedule. “After breakfast.”
“Let me guess,” Harry said. “We’ve got Defense first?”
“Double Charms with Hufflepuffs,” she replied, passing a second schedule to Neville. “Defense is right after with us.”
The first years stumbled into the hall just then, wide-eyed and still clinging to their timetables like they’d been handed cryptic runes. One of them tripped on his own cloak. The others gawked at floating plates of bacon like they expected them to attack.
Blaise pointed with a fork. “We’ve got bets going for who cries first.”
“That’s cruel,” Susan said.
“Five galleons on the one in purple socks,” Blaise added.
“You’re worse than Peeves,” Neville muttered.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Astoria leaned across the table. “Purple socks kid’s already tearing up.”
“Victory,” Blaise said, smug.
Draco didn’t say much, just watched them for a minute before turning back to his plate. Tracey nudged Harry. “Think he’s okay?”
Harry nodded, “Castle is scary at first, but he’ll come to appreciate his time here. Everyone does.”
Ginny leaned over to grab toast. “Even the ones who end up in the hospital wing once a term.”
“Especially those,” Tracey said, reaching for marmalade. “You’re not a real Hogwarts student until you’ve been half-exploded, cursed, or nearly drowned.”
“Or eaten,” Fred added, buttering a scone. “Don’t forget the plant that almost digested me third year.”
George raised his cup. “To Flora, the only thing that ever gave Fred a complex.”
“Still better than History of Magic,” Daphne said. “At least the plant had personality.”
Susan was mid-sip of pumpkin juice and nearly choked. “You mean murderous intent.”
“Same thing.”
Charms was standard fare—Slytherins with Hufflepuffs, same as every year. Flitwick bounced into the room like he hadn’t aged a day, robes flaring slightly as he hopped up onto his stack of books at the front. Most students were still settling into their seats when he tapped the board with his wand and launched into it.
“Today, we’ll be revisiting a few key spells. Consider this a warm-up for the term,” he said, writing each charm in neat script. “We’ll begin with the Summoning Charm.”
“Accio,” Daphne muttered under her breath, catching Tracey’s quill before it rolled off the desk.
“Show off,” Tracey said, snatching it back.
They went through the usual suspects—Summoning, Banishing, the Fire-Making Spell, Levitation, and Mending. Spells they’d all learned back over the years, but Flitwick wasn’t letting anyone slack off. He walked between the rows with the same cheery energy he always had, occasionally pausing to adjust a wand grip or flick a wayward spell off-course with a casual wrist-twist.
Across from Harry, Susan’s feather shot a little too hard and clocked Hannah in the forehead.
“Watch it,” Hannah muttered, rubbing the spot.
“You moved,” Susan replied.
Pansy smirked from the other side. “Now that’s teamwork.”
Flitwick gave an encouraging clap. “Lovely enthusiasm, Miss Bones, but try to scale it back just a touch.”
The class kept going. Most students had clearly practiced over the summer—spellwork was sharp, mostly accurate, with only a few misfires. Even the usually clumsy pair from Hufflepuff only managed to singe one edge of the drapes.
Toward the end, Flitwick raised both hands and smiled broadly.
“As you all know, at the end of this year, you’ll be taking your Ordinary Wizarding Levels—your O.W.L.s. A significant milestone in your magical education.”
Groans rolled through the class like someone had hexed the floor to moan for them.
“You will be tested not only on spellcasting,” Flitwick continued, unfazed, “but also on written theory. That includes spell structure, magical history, and wand movement analysis. So I advise all of you to take careful notes this year and ask questions early.”
Tracey raised her hand lazily. “Will we get a study guide? Or is this one of those ‘you should’ve been paying attention all along’ situations?”
Flitwick chuckled. “A bit of both, Miss Davis. You’ll receive a syllabus breakdown by next week. But make no mistake—your performance throughout the year counts. Do not wait until April to start reviewing.”
Blaise muttered, “That’s when I planned to start.”
Theo leaned closer. “April? I was banking on May.”
“I was hoping the OWLs would cancel themselves,” Pansy said.
Flitwick clapped again. “That’s all for today. I expect written summaries on the adjustments we discussed by next week. Yes, even if you’ve already mastered the spells. Mastery without theory is like a broom without a handle.”
“Flitwick’s really going all in early this year,” Daphne said, adjusting her bag strap.
“He wants to make sure we know we’re all doomed,” Tracey replied.
