Advice and other useful information you may wish you’d known before arriving.
Dear First-Years,
First of all, congratulations. You have survived getting your wand, getting stomped on during Diagon Alley shopping, the train, the boats, the Sorting, approximately seventeen introductions to your new housemates and the terrifying realisation that you are now expected to find your way around a castle that appears to have been designed by someone who personally hated straight lines. Welcome to Hogwarts !
It is magnificent. It is magical. It is ancient. It is also confusing, occasionally ridiculous, and absolutely full of opportunities for you to make a decision that will leave you standing in front of a professor trying to explain why there is now a wet soggy cat in your school bag.
Fortunately, I am here.
After extensive research, eyewitnessing corridors events, years of personal experience and a frankly irresponsible amount of listening to other people’s business, I have assembled this – completely – unbiased field guide to your first year.
Think of it as a survival manual, except instead of teaching you how to survive in the wilderness, it teaches you how to find the Great Hall without accidentally ending up in a broom closet, how to avoid being bitten by educational vegetation and why the phrase “I wonder what this does?” should probably be removed from your vocabulary immediately.
Please read carefully. I know this article is stupidly long, and I’m sorry in advance to add to your homework pile, but this is public service, Owl Post duty. You will thank me later, as it may prevent some of you from becoming a cautionary tale before Halloween.
First things first : Who’s in charge of this place ?
Let’s begin with the important people. Not because I expect you to memorise every member of staff before you’ve learned where the bathrooms are, but because eventually something will go spectacularly wrong and you will need to know who you’re supposed to tell.
At the very top is Headmaster Dickie Richard Crozier, who oversees the school as a whole, makes the big decisions and generally has the enormous task of keeping hundreds of magical children, numerous professors and one extremely old castle functioning at the same time.
Then there is Deputy Headmaster Archimedes Fetherstonehaghe, ( YES I had to triple check my spelling and NO, don’t ask me to pronounce it out loud, you shouldn’t either, if he ever comes to talk to you, ‘yes Sir’ works fine) who assists with the running of the school and student matters. If you are ever wondering who handles what, remember this useful rule: if it is important, complicated or involves several students doing something they absolutely should not be doing, someone in the administration probably already knows about it.
Then, your Heads of House are particularly important, because they are basically your own official Hogwarts adults.
Valyria Rask, Head of Slytherin and Potions Master, can be mostly found in the Dungeons. She knows more about potions and ingredients than most people know about themselves, so I strongly recommend not borrowing anything from her stores without permission. In fact, perhaps don’t even look at the shelves too enthusiastically. Just don’t.
Pandora Galagher, Head of Ravenclaw and Divination professor, has her office on the fifth floor. She spends her professional life encouraging students to stare thoughtfully into crystal balls, cards, tea leaves and other objects that probably shouldn’t be stared at for quite that long. Or you can find her playing music or writing songs too.
Juliette Moore, Head of Gryffindor and Art professor, has her office on the seventh floor. She is a very cool art teacher and also remarkably small, which is an excellent reminder that height has absolutely nothing to do with authority. You can be approximately the size of a particularly determined garden gnome and still be terrifying when holding a grade book.
And finally, Danica Priaulx, Head of Hufflepuff and Astronomy professor, resides in the Astronomy Tower. She is, by all accounts, perpetually tired. This is understandable considering Astronomy involves being outside at night looking at stars while everyone else is presumably enjoying the revolutionary invention known as a bed.
Next in the command chain are the Head Students and Prefects. These are older students who have been trusted with responsibility and are there to help younger students, answer questions, point you in the right direction and occasionally prevent you from making your latest terrible decision. They are not professors. They are also not decorative badge-wearing furniture, nor miniature dictators in training. If a prefect tells you that you are running through the corridor, stop running through the corridor.
My advice: Learn the name of your Head of House and a few prefects. Knowing who to ask for help is considerably more useful than standing in a corridor shouting, “I NEED A RESPONSIBLE ADULT HERE ! “
So, where are you exactly ?
Hogwarts is beautiful. Hogwarts is historic. Hogwarts is also what happens when several centuries of magical architecture are allowed to accumulate without anyone ever saying, “Perhaps we should make a map and stick to it ?” You will eventually learn where things are. Eventually.
The Great Hall is where you eat, gather and stare at the enchanted ceiling when you are supposed to be listening to an announcement.
The Library is where you go when you need information, silence and the sudden realisation that your essay was due yesterday.
The Hospital Wing is where you go when your latest brilliant idea turns out to have been considerably less brilliant than advertised.
The Dueling Room is for supervised magical combat, which means it is absolutely not your personal arena for settling an argument over whose House is better.
The Owlery is where the owls live and therefore smells exactly like a place where a great many owls live. This should not come as a surprise.
The Quidditch Pitch is where House pride becomes approximately twelve times louder than usual, particularly during matches. Even if you don’t play, you’re expected to attend one and lose your voice cheering as you become emotionally invested in a ball thrown in hoops.
The Greenhouses are full of fascinating plants, some of which are beautiful, some useful and some apparently designed by nature specifically to remove fingers.
The Astronomy Tower is excellent for studying the stars and an excellent place to discover just how cold Scotland becomes after sunset.
The Dungeons are darker, cooler and atmospheric, which is either mysterious or mildly alarming depending on how much you enjoy walking around underground.
And then, of course, there are the common rooms. Learn yours. Learn how to get there. Learn how to get there when you are tired. Learn how to get there when you have been distracted by something shiny for twenty minutes. This will save you a remarkable amount of suffering.
There’s many more locations to add, but I didn’t want you to use your whole weekend reading just one article.
My advice: Learn your ways from your dorms to the Great Hall, your classrooms, the Library, Hospital Wing, Owlery, Quidditch Pitch and your usual routes between them. Leave any exploring side quests in the castle for once you master your safe routes.
Your wand is not a toy
I cannot believe this needs saying, and yet here we are. Your wand is not a drumstick. It is not a chopstick. It is not a pointer. It is not a magical version of a Muggle remote control. It is certainly not something you wave at your roommate while announcing, “Watch this.”
Your wand is a serious magical instrument. Treat it with respect. Listen carefully in class, learn your spells properly and do not experiment with unknown magic simply because someone told you it would be “funny”. Do not point it at people for dramatic effect. Do not borrow someone else’s wand because theirs looks “cooler”. Do not use magic to settle arguments unless your idea of conflict resolution involves explaining yourself to a professor afterward.
Magic is brilliant. Magic is powerful. Magic is also not particularly interested in whether you meant to turn your friend’s eyebrows blue or not in the process.
Eyewitness testimony: “He said he knew the spell. He did not know the spell. Someone’s eyebrows were blue until Thursday.” – Anonymous Third year
My advice: Respect your wand. It has considerably more magical potential than you currently have common sense.
Classes are, tragically, for learning.
I know. This is devastating. You came to a magical castle expecting wonders, adventure and possibly dramatic corridor moments. Unfortunately, Hogwarts also has homework. A lot of homework. The good news is that most subjects are actually fascinating. The bad news is that fascination does not exempt you from taking notes and turning in parchments properly.
After years of rigorous journalistic investigation and absolutely no permission from the faculty, I have compiled some essential academic survival advice.
In Potions, tie your hair back, no robes allowed in the lab… The last thing you want is loose sleeves or hair strands dangling above a boiling cauldron. Keep your ingredients organised and follow the instructions. A bubbling cauldron is not soup, no matter how suspiciously delicious it smells. If your potion starts doing something the instructions did not mention, stop touching it and find your professor.
In Herbology, remember that plants are living things and some of them have extremely strong opinions about being touched. They may bite, sting, strangle, scream or generally make you regret your career choices. Wear the proper protective equipment (solid earmuffs, and dragonhide gloves are a must!) and do not poke something simply because you are curious. Also, perhaps do not become emotionally attached to a plant before discovering whether the plant feels the same way.
Dark Arts comes with one particularly important piece of advice: DO NOT EAT ANYTHING. If it looks edible, don’t eat it. If it smells delicious, especially don’t eat it. If someone tells you it is perfectly safe, don’t eat it. If someone dares you to eat it, absolutely do not eat it. There is no academic reason for your lunch to be growling. Now, this class is by essence a class that will defy your fears, challenge your ability to stay calm, and, hopefully, alive.
Charms require concentration, pronunciation and enough confidence to actually perform the spell correctly. Mumbling the incantation and hoping the universe understands you is not a recognised magical technique. If you are unsure, ask. It is much easier to ask a question than explain why your shoes are now attached to the ceiling.
Transfiguration is another subject where improvisation should be approached with extreme caution. Follow the instructions and do not decide that transforming your friend into something funny would make an excellent practical experiment. It will not.
Divination requires an open mind. Tea leaves do not automatically predict death. Crystal balls do not hate you. And falling asleep during a reading is called napping, not “performing Oneiromancy”. Observe, listen and accept you will not always interpret things right. Almost never actually, unless you are gifted.
Astronomy has one essential piece of equipment that nobody lists in the textbook: a jumper. Preferably a warm one. The stars are beautiful. So is having functioning fingers. Oh, and making a “Star chart” or “sky map” is not as fun as the names let you imagine.
In Flying, learn the basics before attempting anything spectacular. Your broom does not care who is watching. Gravity cares even less. Save the showing off until you 1/know what you’re doing or 2/have both feet back on the grounds.
In Art, remember that magical artwork may move, react or otherwise behave in ways normal muggles paintings do not. If something in your masterpiece starts walking around and nobody told it to, perhaps mention that to the professor before it escapes the classroom.
Care of Magical Creatures Class has a remarkable way of turning a perfectly respectable school uniform into something that looks like it survived a small war. Listen carefully to instructions about approaching anything with teeth, claws, horns, hooves or an attitude problem, and remember that “but it looked friendly” is not a recognised form of creature handling. Also, keep your fingers where your fingers are supposed to be. Creatures have no obligation to return them.
In History of Magic, bring your notes, bring your patience and possibly bring a second personality who can keep the first one awake. This is one of those classes where you may begin the lesson feeling perfectly alert and end it several centuries later wondering what year it is. Write things down even when you are convinced you will remember them. You will not. There is always a date, name or extremely specific historical detail lurking somewhere on the exam waiting to ambush you. My advice: take notes like your future self is going to be very annoyed with you if you don’t.
In Magical Theory, pay attention even when nothing appears to be happening. This is the sort of class where you can spend an entire lesson discussing something that cannot be seen, touched or launched across a classroom. Knowing the secrets behind wandlore or how spells got invented are worth keeping your notes organised while sipping on your tea.
In Ancient Studies, bring your brain, your notebook and your willingness to discover that people several thousand years ago were apparently just as strange as we are now. Take your time, copy things carefully and don’t rely on guessing because two words happen to look like they might be cousins. They are probably not.
In Ghoul Studies, bring something warm. No, warmer than that. The classroom is in the Dungeons and has all the welcoming atmosphere of a stone cellar that personally disapproves of body heat. You may enter wearing a jumper and leave wondering whether you have somehow become an icicle.
In Mythology, remember that “I heard this story once” is not necessarily the same thing as knowing what you’re talking about. My advice: learn the details, remember who is who (#family trees for the win) and when in doubt, blame Zeus privately in your notes. Your professor does not need to know.
Muggles have some surprisingly clever inventions, some spectacularly confusing habits and absolutely no shame about making machines that beep at you for reasons nobody can adequately explain. Muggles’ studies will help you understand why and how. Don’t assume you already know everything about their world just because you’ve seen a toaster or because you have muggles in your family.
My advice: Take your classes seriously. Ask questions. Take notes. Do your homework. And if your cauldron starts glowing purple when it was supposed to be green, stop stirring and call for help.
The library is wonderful. Behave yourself.
The Library is one of the greatest places in Hogwarts. It contains books. Thousands of them. Books about magic, history, creatures, spells, people, places and approximately every subject imaginable. If you have a question, there is a reasonable chance that somewhere in those shelves is a book containing the answer. And if you can’t locate it, ask the librarian. Treat those books accordingly. Do not shout. Do not run. Do not doodle in the margins. Do not eat over ancient manuscripts. Do not use books as weapons. Do not open a suspiciously ominous book just because it has a suspiciously ominous title. And about the restricted section… Approach with caution, don’t break in (have at least a friend with you for cover). Curiosity is wonderful. So is having eyebrows.
Eyewitness testimony: “I heard someone whisper, ‘I wonder what this does?’ Then the book bit him.” – Anonymous 2nd year Gryffindor.
My advice: Respect the books. They were here before you and, judging by some of them, may be planning to remain here after you.
Ghosts know things and Portraits have ears, and they all gossip.
Hogwarts ghosts have been here for a very long time. They know the castle. They know its stories. They may know where certain mysterious things are, who used to live where and which staircase has been behaving strangely since approximately 1847. Be polite to them. Ask questions. Listen. Perhaps don’t open the conversation by asking how they died.
Portraits are another matter entirely. Think of them as Hogwarts’ magical social network, except they cannot be muted and apparently nobody has invented privacy settings. Portraits see things. They hear things. They talk to other portraits. They gossip.
A great deal.
Eyewitness testimony: “I told one portrait about my crush. By dinner, another portrait was congratulating me.”
My advice: Ghosts can be useful. Portraits can be useful. Neither should be trusted with information you would not want broadcast across the Great Hall.
The forbidden forest is, remarkably, forbidden.
I feel this one should be fairly self-explanatory. There are two words here. Forbidden. Forest. Not “slightly discouraging woodland”.Not “optional extracurricular activity”. Forbidden. Forbidden means forbidden.
The Forest contains things with teeth, claws, hooves, venom, opinions and, more often then not, a combination of, or all five
Do not go in because your friends dared you. Do not go because you are bored. Do not go because you saw something shiny between the trees. Do not go because someone told you they went in once and “nothing happened.” That last one is particularly suspicious because people who tell stories like that usually leave out approximately ninety percent of the story.
Eyewitness testimony: “We went in because someone said it would be funny. It wasn’t.”
My advice: Admire the Forbidden Forest from the side where the school has decided you should remain. Alive.
Curfew means go to bed
I know what you’re thinking. “I’m old enough to stay up.” No. You’re eleven, maybe just twelve. Go to bed. Hogwarts at night is different. The corridors are darker, the castle is quieter and every shadow suddenly looks suspicious. You do not need to investigate mysterious noises. You do not need to explore because someone told you there’s a secret passage. You definitely do not need to be wandering around at one in the morning because you “wanted to see what Hogwarts looks like at night.” It looks like Hogwarts. But darker.Curfew exists for your safety. That is the official statement.
Now, as a journalist, I feel obliged to report that Hogwarts becomes considerably more interesting at night. Corridors are quieter. The castle feels different. Ghosts wander. Portraits are awake. Mysterious noises become approximately four hundred percent more mysterious when you cannot immediately see what caused them. This is precisely why you should respect curfew. Because the moment you think, “Well, I could just take a quick look,” you are thirty seconds away from wondering why you are crouched behind a suit of armour while a prefect walks past. I am not saying you should sneak around. I am saying I understand why people do. There is a difference.
My advice: Respect curfew. Curiosity is admirable, but not without using common sense. Try at your own risks. Getting caught is significantly less mysterious than you think it is.
Hogwarts is not going to respect your timetable
You have a timetable. It looks very official. It has little boxes. It tells you where you need to be and when. You may even have carefully calculated how long it takes to get from your common room to each classroom. Adorable. Unfortunately, Hogwarts has a timetable too, and apparently its timetable says “let’s see what happens next”.
Hogwarts has corridors that seem to rearrange themselves when you’re not looking, doors that lead somewhere different depending on their mood, and staircases with the moral compass of a particularly mischievous Niffler. One first-year once left the common room twenty minutes early for Charms, carrying a map, a timetable and the confidence of someone who had absolutely no idea what was coming. They eventually arrived at the kitchens, the fourth floor, the kitchens again, and finally a bathroom. They never found Charms.
Hogwarts is very old. Old enough that generations of witches and wizards have had centuries to build things, hide things, lose things, forget things and then invent increasingly dramatic stories about the things they forgot. There are secret passages. Strange corridors. Suspicious doors. Odd objects. Unexplained noises. Moving portraits. Staircases that appear to have developed independent personalities. There are rumours about rooms that appear and disappear, places that nobody can quite find twice and doors that absolutely look like they are hiding something.
Some of these stories are true. Some are complete nonsense. Some started as nonsense and became true because Hogwarts apparently enjoys encouraging rumours. A mysterious corridor is interesting. A mysterious corridor with a sign saying KEEP OUT is still interesting. It is simply interesting from the other side of the sign.
My advice: You do not have to solve every mystery you encounter. If a door growls, leave it alone. If the floor whispers your name, perhaps go somewhere else. If a professor tells you not to investigate something, believe them. You can be a great explorer without becoming a great example in a safety lecture.
The bit nobody tells you
Here is the actual bit nobody tells you. You will get lost.You will walk into the wrong classroom. You will forget someone’s name immediately after being introduced to them. You will hand in homework late. You will forget a book. You will call a professor “Mum” at least once if you are sufficiently tired. You will probably stand in the wrong place during an announcement and realise everyone else knew where to go except you. This is normal.
Older students have done it too. Yes, even the terrifying seventh-years who currently look as though they were born knowing every staircase in the castle. They were once first-years wandering around with confused expressions and timetables upside down just like you.
Eventually, you will learn the corridors. You will learn which portraits are helpful. You may even greet them by name at some point. You will learn which staircase is lying to you. You will find your favourite place to sit, your favourite people to talk to and the places where you can go when you need a quiet moment.
Hogwarts is going to be strange. It is going to be wonderful. It is going to be confusing, exciting, occasionally terrifying and probably responsible for at least three stories you will still be telling when you are old enough to complain about students being too loud in the Great Hall.
You are going to get things wrong. You are going to learn things you never expected. You are going to laugh at things that seemed terrifying on your first day. And, eventually, you will probably become the older student telling some poor first-year that there is a secret room behind a bathroom mirror. Please don’t. (Or at least have the decency to tell me first.)
And somewhere along the way, without really noticing it, Hogwarts will stop feeling like an enormous confusing castle and start feeling like home.
Final note
So, First-Years, sorry again for this lengthy article.
Give yourself time. Hogwarts is enormous when you first arrive. Eventually, you’ll know which portrait is grumpy in the mornings, which staircase is likely to betray you and where your friends sit at dinner. You’ll have favourite places. Favourite subjects. Favourite meals. Stories you will tell for years. And one day you’ll see a terrified group of first-years wandering around and realise that you used to look exactly like that. You may even help them. Or laugh first. Preferably help them.
Welcome to Hogwarts.
And do me a favour, try not to become the subject of one of my articles by Christmas.
Violette Twiggs
6th Year Ravenclaw – Collector of Questionable Evidence , Hopeful for a successful Journalism Career, Chronic Scribbler of Things People Probably Shouldn’t Have Said
P.S. : Currently accepting rumours, scandal and mildly suspicious information & Still convinced that staircase is plotting something