So here I am. My first day at Hogwarts.
The clamor in the Great Hall hit me like a freight train of sugar-high teenagers and floating bacon. Which, to be fair, was exactly what it was.
Sunlight streamed through the enchanted ceiling, mimicking a crisp September morning, casting a gentle gold glow over four rows of long, polished tables.
Currently I am in the Great hall having my breakfast and minding my own business.
Because I wasn't just a first year. I was a first year again ' Though this time it's a magical school.... but still a school'.
Reincarnation, folks. It's not all fluffy phoenix feathers and second chances. Sometimes it's being mentally 21 years old and stuck in the body of a gawky eleven-year-old while surrounded by actual children who haven't even hit their awkward phase yet.
I slid onto the Ravenclaw bench and immediately regretted not sitting at the far end alone. Too late. A boy with thick glasses and a faint smell of ink stains plopped down beside me with the energy of a golden retriever on espresso.
"Hi! I'm Cedric—uh, not that Cedric—Cedric Moore!"
"Hmm."
"So where're you from?" Cedric leaned closer.
Another voice joined in, a girl with tight curls and a badge for the Gobstones Club already pinned to her robes. "You're Jon, right? You were the last one Sorted. That means you're the anchor of our first-year set. That's so symbolic!"
"I'm sure," I replied, not looking up.
They didn't get the message. Kids never do.
"Where'd you go to school before this?" Cedric asked again.
I paused. What was I supposed to say? 'Oh, just the School of Life, where I learned how to do taxes and recover from heartbreak? or I am a fucking assassin bro I ain't go to any school.... not in this life though.'
Instead, I gave him a stare. Not just a look. The look. The one I gave to my prey during these past 2 years.
A cold, dead-eyed, soul-shearing glare.
Cedric physically recoiled. The girl gasped softly. And then—bless the introverted gods—they both awkwardly turned away, murmuring something about sitting closer to the pastries.
Finally. Silence. Just me, my eggs and sausage, and the collective sound of Hogwarts going absolutely feral with first-day excitement.
I allowed myself a small smirk. Mission: Isolation, partially complete.
But Ravenclaws, it turns out, are persistent. A few minutes later, a new batch of students decided to try their luck.
A cheerful voice piped up from across the table. "Morning! I'm Diana Pierce. You're new too, right? Jon, wasn't it?"
Ugh.
She had a bright smile. Overachiever energy. Next to her sat a scrawny boy with red hair, looking more nervous than friendly, and a girl with dark braids and the sharp-eyed curiosity of someone already plotting her OWLs.
"We thought we'd say hi," Mira continued. "It's the first day, you know? Might as well get to know each other."
"I'm Finlay," the nervous boy offered with a tentative smile. "First year. First wizard in my family."
"Cool," I said.
"And I'm Aanya," the braided girl said, slightly more guarded but still friendly. "We were wondering if you'd like to sit with us later during lunch, too."
"No," I said bluntly, stabbing a sausage.
That gave them pause. Mira blinked. "Oh. Um, okay. Maybe some other time?"
"No," I repeated. "I'm not here to make friends."
Aanya's brow furrowed. "Why not?"
"Because I don't want to."
"Why don't you want to?" Finlay asked, genuinely confused.
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Look, you all seem nice. Truly. But I'm just not interested in the whole buddy-buddy, first-year bonding thing. Go make bracelets with someone else."
Mira opened her mouth, closed it, then looked at the others. "Well, okay. No need to be rude about it."
"I wasn't rude," I said. "I was honest."
They eventually drifted off, whispering in that way kids whisper when they want you to hear them but also want plausible deniability.
"Who doesn't want friends?"
"Maybe he's shy."
"Or a weirdo."
I took another bite of toast, unbothered.
If only they knew. I wasn't shy. I just had two decades of life experience, student loans, and emotional scars under my belt, along with 2 years of experience about killing people in the most effective way, and many more that I am too lazy to mention, and I had zero desire to discuss Chocolate Frog cards or whether Flitwick was scary or adorable.
I'd reincarnated into Hogwarts without a purpose—but it wasn't to hold hands with tweens and sing kumbaya.
Of course, there was one exception.
My eyes wandered to the Slytherin table. And there she was.
Daphne Greengrass.
White-blonde hair cascading down like frost over her shoulders, eyes sharp enough to cut glass. Her posture perfect, her presence like a marble statue that somehow made breathing look condescending.
She caught me staring. Or maybe I caught her staring.
Our eyes locked.
And I winked.
A slow, deliberate, flirty wink.
She blinked, then looked away sharply—but not before the tiniest smile threatened her usually icy composure.
And a blush.
A genuine, startled blush.
She recovered quickly, muttering something to the girl beside her, probably some sharp retort or excuse. But I caught it.
I noticed everything.
Jon: 1. Daphne: Still 0.
With the would-be friends gone and my white-haired intrigue properly teased, I returned to breakfast with a satisfied grunt.
I had a long day ahead of me. Classes. Professors. Maybe a duel or two if I was lucky.
But for now, I had what I came for: peace, a full plate, and the knowledge that my resting villain face was functioning at full capacity.
Let the games begin.
If breakfast was chaotic, the trek to our first class was worse. Ravenclaws moved in packs, clutching timetables like lifelines and babbling nervously about class structures, magical theory, and whether Professor Flitwick was really as short as the rumors said. (Spoiler: he is.)
Me? I kept to the back. Hood up. Book bag slung low. Not because I was brooding — okay, maybe I was brooding — but mostly because I was planning. Observing. Plotting how to survive a second adolescence without throttling anyone.
Our first class was Potions, and unfortunately, it was partnered with Hufflepuff. Great. Nothing like a squad of overly cheerful bee-themed students to really make your morning sparkle.
We filed into the dungeons. It was dark, damp, and smelled faintly of mildew and burnt hair. Ten points to atmosphere.
Professor Snape stood at the front like some gothic statue that had accidentally been brought to life and deeply regretted it.
'Here comes Alan Rickman.' I thought to myself.
He didn't speak at first. Just stood there as we scrambled for seats, letting the silence fester.
I took the far left seat, closest to the stone wall. No one dared sit next to me. Good.
When the last whisper died out, Snape glided forward.
"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class," he said, his voice low and smooth like poisoned honey. "As such... I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making."
I fought back a grin. The man had a flair for drama. Respect.
"However," he continued, now pacing slowly between the tables, his black robes fluttering behind him, "for those select few who possess the predisposition, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses..."
His gaze swept over us like a cold wind. He passed my table, then doubled back. Our eyes met.
He paused.
"You... Ravenclaw."
I raised an eyebrow knowingly. "Sir?"
"Name."
"Jon. Jon Bonds."
A slow blink. "Hm. We'll see."
Snape moved on without explanation. The Hufflepuffs looked like they'd swallowed their own wands. One of them — a twitchy boy with a bad haircut — was already sweating.
"Today," Snape snapped, "you will attempt a simple Cure for Boils. Ingredients are listed on the board. Instructions are not. If you cannot follow basic logic, I suggest you prepare to be intimately familiar with pus. Begin."
A scramble. Everyone shot out of their seats toward the supply cabinets.
I waited.
Let the others fumble. Elbow each other. Spill rat spleens.
I already memorized the recipe two nights ago. Snape's curriculum hadn't changed since the 90s.
As chaos erupted around me, I moved with precision. Picked the freshest nettles. Chose the crushed snake fangs with the least amount of oxidation. Ground my horned slugs with a mortar and pestle that didn't have any cracks — rookie mistake, that one. If it leaks? You die. Or at least, stink for a week.
The cauldron hissed to life under my wand. A low, steady flame. No flickering. No drama.
I stirred counterclockwise. Slowly. No clanking. No splashing.
Halfway through, I glanced up. Half the classroom looked like a goblin battlefield. One girl had accidentally melted part of her cauldron. A Hufflepuff was crying over sliced fingernails.
Snape was unimpressed.
He stopped at my station again. Silent.
I kept brewing.
Steam rose, clear and light. The color was perfect — pale blue with a hint of green. No bubbles. No smoke. Just clean, textbook excellence.
Snape finally spoke. "Passable."
Which, coming from him, might as well have been a marriage proposal.
At the end of class, he swept to the front again. "Clean up. Bottles of your samples to my desk. Ten points to Ravenclaw."
Silence.
Then collective blinking.
The Ravenclaws turned to me like I had just revealed I was Merlin's grandson.
The Hufflepuffs looked personally betrayed.
I shrugged. It wasn't that hard.
As the bell rang and everyone scrambled out, Snape's voice cut through.
"Mr. Bonds. Stay."
I did.
The door shut behind the last student with a soft thud.
Snape approached, arms crossed, eyes narrow.
"You have prior experience."
Statement, not question.
"I'm a fast learner."
A long pause.
Then, the faintest curl of his lip. Not a smile, a smirk. A knowing smirk.
"What are you doing here Bonds?"
I smirked.
"I can ask you the same Snape."
"I teach here."
"I study here."
We stared at each other.
A moment of silence before we burst out in laugh.
"I should have known that it was you when Mini complained about a certain orphan boy who was smoking when she visited him for Hogwarts letter." Snape said.
"Well what can I say, she should have came another time."
"I have to end our conversation here Bonds. You are running late for you next class."
"Don't worry snape we will catch up later."
With that I left the dungeon and moved towards my next class which is charms with Gryffindor's.
Well as for how I knew Snape.....