Harry Potter:blood legacy

"- Incendio," said Harry, and a small jet of flame burst from his wand. He was currently in an unused classroom with Blaise, Daphne, and Tracey, practicing some spells with Angela's guidance.

"Well done," the third-year student smiled. "You managed it faster than the others."

"What else is new?" Blaise huffed, still struggling to master the spell.

Harry understood Zabini's frustration, as he had been the top student in most of their classes. He excelled in Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts, even though they were only covering theory in the latter. The Defense professor was a man who constantly wore a purple turban, and no one had ever seen him without it. His name was Professor Quirrell, and he was peculiar in that he seemed deeply afraid of almost everything and spoke with an irritating stutter. Harry couldn't help but wonder if there was some magical way to fix the stuttering.

"Excellent," Jet hissed approvingly as he slithered onto Harry's shoulder, actively encouraging him. "Well done, master. You are truly an impressive wizard."

"Try again," Angela advised. "This time, try to make the flame bigger, and then smaller once you've got the hang of it."

"Why does he need to do that?" Tracey asked curiously.

"It helps develop control. No matter what spell you learn, you must master controlling it—especially spells that can be dangerous. Imagine Harry wants to light a candle but ends up sending out a fireball the size of a Quaffle."

"That makes sense," Daphne nodded. "My mother told me that wizards and witches sometimes mess up simple spells because they either use too much power or not enough."

"Exactly," Angela confirmed. "It's always good to practice a spell until you can control it even in your sleep."

"What's a Quaffle?" Harry asked.

"How do you not know what a Quaffle is?" Blaise blinked in surprise.

"Muggle upbringing, remember?"

"Oh, right," the boy admitted sheepishly, looking almost embarrassed for forgetting. He tried the spell again to distract himself.

"It's a ball used in Quidditch, the most popular sport in the wizarding world," Tracey explained.

"Finally!" Blaise exclaimed in triumph as he successfully cast the spell.

"Good, now keep practicing," Angela instructed before turning back to Harry. "By the way, how are people treating you and Jet at school?"

"Well, most of them are pretty convinced I'm an evil dark wizard. I've even heard some saying they think I'm the Heir of Slytherin."

"People think you're the Heir?" Daphne asked, surprised.

"Yeah, never mind that my dad was a Potter and my mum was Muggle-born."

"I think you need to talk to someone," Angela suggested.

"Uh, who?" Harry asked, confused.

"Like a reporter—someone who can hear your side of the story."

"A reporter?"

"Yes, you have to remember that you're famous, Harry. A lot of people have spent years praising your name because you supposedly defeated You-Know-Who. Now they find out you can talk to snakes. I don't think it's evil, but many wizards have associated snakes with dark magic for years." Angela paused as Jet began hissing loudly. "And what did he say?" she asked.

"Nothing worth repeating," Harry assured her with a slight shake of his head.

"Oh... all right," the third-year continued after a brief pause. "Anyway, you should talk to someone and explain that Jet is your friend and has never betrayed you. Whether you like it or not, you're a celebrity. Trust me, it's better to control the public's opinion of you before someone who doesn't like you starts doing it for you."

"Who doesn't like my master?" Jet hissed threateningly.

"You're probably right," Harry sighed. "Do you know anyone suitable?"

"Ask me when my owl gets back."

"Owl?" Blaise looked surprised. "You already sent an owl to a reporter?"

"Of course. I knew Harry would agree; he's smart."

"Oh, look, he's blushing," Daphne teased with a giggle.

"Shut up," Harry muttered, swatting her hand away when she tried to pinch his cheek.

Harry and his fellow first-years arrived for their first flying lesson of the year. On the way, Tracey and Blaise had enthusiastically explained the rules of Quidditch, and Harry decided that the game largely resembled the wizarding world's version of football, given the passion with which his friends spoke about it. Not that Harry himself had ever been interested in football. He had avoided playing it out of fear that Dudley and his gang would beat him up, and Uncle Vernon didn't watch football either, oddly knowing even less about it than Harry did.

He remembered one time when a man asked his uncle which football team he supported, and Vernon froze for a moment before blurting out, "England." The man had pressed further, asking which English team he liked. The conversation ended with Vernon yelling at the man, who walked away after calling him a "fat idiot." If Harry ever found out who that man was, he'd probably send him a gift.

Honestly, Harry was looking forward to the lesson since he had never flown before and hoped it would be fun. He even considered trying out for the team, but quickly dismissed the thought. He wouldn't be allowed to join anyway since first-years never made it onto their House teams. Maybe next year, if he turned out to be any good.

Harry stood with the other Slytherins in a line next to their brooms, while Jet slipped under his cloak. Harry had offered to leave him somewhere he could watch, but the snake had refused, wanting to experience flying himself since he'd never done it either. Soon, the Gryffindors arrived and lined up opposite them. For some reason, Ron chose to stand directly across from Harry, glaring at all the Slytherins with open hostility. Once again, Harry found himself wondering why they always paired Gryffindors and Slytherins together. Things would probably be better without idiots like Weasley.

Finally, Madam Hooch arrived. The woman had short, spiky gray hair and sharp yellow eyes that looked more like a hawk's than a human's.

"Good afternoon, everyone," she greeted. "Welcome to your first flying lesson. Let me start by warning you, just as Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape would, that I do not tolerate any foolishness in my class. Flying is like walking, only much higher and far more dangerous. This is no place for horseplay. Now, let's begin. You're all already standing next to your brooms, which is good. Now, extend your right hand over your broom and say, 'Up.'"

"Up," the students chorused.

Harry was honestly surprised when his broom immediately flew into his hand. Glancing around, he saw that most of the other first-years weren't as successful. Some of their brooms remained motionless on the ground, others rolled to the side, and a few partially rose into the air before falling back down. After several tries, Daphne and Tracey managed to summon their brooms, followed shortly by Blaise and Draco.

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