Ron was still in bed when Percy finished dressing. Harry had tried calling his name twice. Neither attempt had produced a useful result.
Percy checked the timetable.
"Double Potions."
Ron lifted his head.
"With the Slytherins," Percy added.
Ron put his head down again.
Harry pulled the curtain aside. "We will miss breakfast."
That worked.
Neville was looking for one shoe. Dean and Seamus were arguing about Quidditch, although neither seemed to know where their first classroom was.
Percy helped Neville find the shoe under a trunk. He remembered waking in barracks and cabins before difficult days.
A room full of boys preparing for school was different. It was also much louder than it needed to be.
They found breakfast, then the stairs to the dungeons. By the time they entered Potions, Percy had already decided that Hogwarts needed signs.
The classroom smelled of damp stone and herbs. Jars lined the walls. Percy chose a seat without looking closely at their contents.
Snape stood at the front.
The man from the books had become a person watching Percy adjust his chair. Percy put both feet on the floor and tried to look prepared.
Snape began in a quiet voice. He explained that careless work would not be tolerated.
He did not need to shout. Several students had stopped moving before he finished.
Percy could respect that method. He disliked being its target.
"Mr. Jackson."
Percy looked up.
Snape was looking directly at him.
"What results from adding powdered asphodel root to an infusion of wormwood?"
Hermione's hand rose at once.
Percy had read the ingredients list the night before. He had also listened to Hermione discuss it while they walked downstairs.
"The Draught of Living Death?"
Snape waited long enough for the uncertainty in Percy's voice to become uncomfortable.
"Correct. Where would you find a bezoar?"
"In a goat's stomach."
"And its use?"
"It counteracts most poisons."
Hermione lowered her hand. Snape looked at Percy for another moment, then turned to the rest of the class.
"At least someone has opened a book."
Ron stared at Percy.
Percy wished he could claim that the preparation had required genius. Mostly, it had required sitting near Hermione.
They worked in pairs. Percy kept the instructions beside the cauldron and read each step before doing it.
He was used to acting quickly when something was dangerous. Potions apparently required him to act slowly for the same reason.
He could learn that.
Snape passed their table more than once. Percy checked the heat every time, even when he had already checked it.
By the end of the lesson, his shoulders hurt from sitting so carefully.
Ron complained as soon as they left.
"He asked you all those questions."
"And I preferred them to whatever is in the third jar."
Harry glanced behind him. "Do you think he does that to everyone?"
"We will find out."
Percy made the answer sound lighter than he felt.
Defence Against the Dark Arts was next. Quirrell stood beside a desk covered with books, arranging them while the class found seats.
Percy recognized the turban. He also remembered why it mattered in the story John had given him.
Memory was one thing. Standing in front of the man was another.
Quirrell spoke about basic defensive magic. His voice shook, and he lost his place twice.
Ron whispered a comment. Hermione told him to listen.
Percy watched Quirrell's hands.
When the professor walked past their table, Percy's stomach tightened. His right hand moved toward his side before he remembered that Riptide was not there.
His wand lay on the desk. He touched it without lifting it.
The pressure eased when Quirrell moved away.
Harry had gone pale. He held one hand near his forehead.
Their eyes met.
Percy waited until Harry lowered his hand before looking away. Quirrell had noticed enough already.
The lesson ended without anything else happening. That was not the reassurance Percy wanted.
At dinner, he answered Ron's questions badly and ate without remembering the food. Hermione asked whether he was tired.
"Yes."
It was true. It was also a poor explanation.
Afterwards, he sat beside the common-room window. The grounds were dark, and the forest began where the light from the castle stopped.
Harry joined him.
"You felt something in class."
Percy looked at him. Harry was asking, but his tone was certain.
"Yes."
"Near Quirrell?"
"Yes."
Harry touched his scar this time.
"It hurt when he came close."
Percy looked down at his hands. He wanted to give Harry an answer that would stop the fear.
He had a remembered answer. He did not have proof that it belonged to this world.
"I do not trust him," Percy said.
"Because of that feeling?"
"Among other things. I want to know more before I accuse a teacher."
Harry watched him for a moment.
"We should keep looking."
"We should also avoid being alone with him."
Harry nodded.
They remained by the window until Ron called them over. A chess game needed a second player, and Percy was grateful for something he could lose without serious consequences.
He lost quickly.
Sleep was harder.
He lay listening to the others until the urge to check the window became too strong. He got up quietly and went downstairs.
The fire had burned low. Someone had left a book open on an armchair, and Percy nearly tripped over a footstool.
He moved it aside without using magic. He wanted fewer surprises tonight.
At the window, he found one anyway.
A hooded figure stood near the forest. It was too far away for Percy to see a face.
The same pressure from class reached him, weaker at this distance but clear enough to make his fingers tighten against the sill.
The figure turned toward the castle.
Percy stepped back. He could not know whether it had seen him.
When he looked again, it was moving into the trees.
He waited until the last visible movement stopped. Then he returned upstairs, where Harry slept with one hand beside his face.
Percy stood by his own bed before getting in.
Tomorrow, he would have to decide what to say. Tonight, he had seen enough to know that the feeling in class had followed him outside it.