George closed his magic book and looked at the three boys with mild amusement.
"Well, that's too bad. I quite like this bed and don't feel like giving it up."
"Do you even understand the situation you're in?"
The three young wizards stepped forward in unison, their faces darkening with menace.
"You should know—while the school forbids us from attacking with magic, they never said anything about using our fists."
To them, George was both shorter and slighter than any of them, and they had the advantage of numbers—three against one.
If George refused to see reason, they wouldn't mind teaching him a lesson the hard way.
"From what I know, Slytherin's tradition is that the most outstanding wizard takes the lead. If, in the future, you prove yourselves better than me—smarter, more skilled—then I'll gladly give up my bed.
How does that sound?"
George smiled as he made the suggestion.
If possible, he'd prefer not to resort to beating up children.
After all, he was now a proper wizard.
And what mattered most to a wizard was elegance. Rolling up his sleeves to throw punches? That was a warrior's approach.
"What's he saying? That a half-blood like him could outperform the three of us pure-bloods? That's the funniest joke I've ever heard!"
The leader of the trio burst into laughter, and the other two quickly joined in.
"I'm ordering you now—take your luggage and that stupid pet of yours and get out of this bed. Move to the one at the far end, or you'll regret it."
"Fine. If you don't want to compete with grades, then I suppose I'll have to show you that I'm also… somewhat skilled with my fists."
Seeing that his new roommates lacked even the slightest self-awareness, George set his book down on the bedside and stood up, stretching his limbs.
No magic. No special abilities. Just pure physical strength.
At his current level, even if every first-year wizard ganged up on him, he could still reduce them all to tears.
It wasn't that he had some extraordinary combat technique—his strength and speed simply far surpassed theirs.
"Looks like you really need to be taught a lesson."
The three wizards, seeing George rise, didn't waste any more words. Rolling up their robes, they lunged at him.
Two minutes later, George elegantly sat back down, picked up his book, and resumed reading.
"I'd advise against running to the teachers or the prefects. If word gets out that the three of you ganged up on me and still ended up like this… well, let's just say the next seven years won't be kind to you."
"W-we know! D-don't get cocky! You just got lucky with your strength! If you've got any real skill, let's compete with grades—with magic!"
The three bruised and tear-streaked wizards sprawled on the floor paled at his words before stammering out their reply.
Just moments ago, they had considered reporting him to a teacher and getting him punished. But now, the thought of becoming the laughingstock of the entire school made them reconsider.
So they fell back on the excuse of competing academically, if only to salvage some dignity.
"I did suggest grades earlier. But you insisted on fists. Pity."
George shook his head. The three boys' expressions darkened further—clearly, they were already regretting their choices.
The Next Morning
By the time the three battered wizards were still snoring away, George—having slept a full seven hours—opened his eyes precisely on schedule.
After a quick wash, he headed to the common room.
The prefect had mentioned the night before that the week's class schedule would be posted there after six in the morning.
It was now 7:20. Since classes didn't start until nine, most students were still asleep.
Only a few particularly studious older years were in the common room, reviewing their notes—likely fifth-years, given that they'd be taking their all-important O.W.L. exams that year.
"Just one class today?"
Checking the schedule, George saw that on this first day, Slytherin first-years had only a single lesson: History of Magic at two in the afternoon. The rest of the day was free.
The rest of the week, however, wasn't as light.
Tuesday: Two periods of Transfiguration in the morning, one of Defense Against the Dark Arts in the afternoon.
Wednesday: Two periods of Herbology in the morning, free in the afternoon.
Thursday: Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts in the morning, Charms in the afternoon, and History of Magic in the evening.
Friday: Two periods of Potions in the morning, one of Herbology in the afternoon, and Astronomy at night.
An additional note specified that Flying Lessons would begin in the second week, scheduled right after Charms on Thursday afternoons.
The timetable also listed which houses shared each class.
Due to limited teaching staff and small class sizes, Hogwarts typically paired two houses together for lessons, with around twenty students per classroom.
Potions and Flying Lessons, for instance, would be shared with Gryffindor first-years.
Charms and Transfiguration were with Hufflepuff.
Herbology, History of Magic, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Astronomy were all with Ravenclaw.
The schedule also noted the locations of each classroom.
"Too few Charms classes."
After memorizing the timetable, George frowned.
For him, Charms was the most crucial subject—it covered most foundational spells and magical principles. Yet there was only one session a week, the same as the practically useless Astronomy.
Then again, it made sense.
This was first year. Many students came from Muggle families and knew nothing about magic. There was no need to rush them into mastering too many spells—building a solid foundation mattered more.
"Guess I'll have to rely on myself."
The current curriculum was far too lax for his needs. If he wanted to learn more magic, he'd have to put in extra hours of self-study.
Fortunately, unlike Knockturn Alley, studying at Hogwarts would be far more efficient.
Any questions could be directed to the professors, and the library offered endless free books on magic.
"Since there's only one class this afternoon, I'll spend the morning exploring."
Instead of burying himself in books, George decided to wander the castle.
He'd be spending the next seven years here—it was only logical to familiarize himself with every corner. That way, he'd know exactly where to go when needed. Plus, it wouldn't hurt to locate his future classrooms in advance.
Leaving the Slytherin common room, he began by thoroughly exploring the dungeons.
The dungeons beneath Hogwarts were vast, a labyrinth of twisting passages. Merely scouting the general layout took him nearly an hour.
Boat House. Dungeon Storage. The room where ghosts held their Deathday parties. Potions Classroom. Slytherin Head of House's Office. Fifth Underground Classroom. Hogwarts Kitchens. Hufflepuff Dormitory.
The kitchen door was shut, but he could hear the clinks and clatters of house-elves preparing breakfast inside.
The entrance to the Hufflepuff dorm was blocked by stacks of barrels, requiring a specific rhythm of knocking to enter. Since he couldn't get in, he headed up to the Great Hall for breakfast instead.
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