There are many reasons one may not enjoy school. It could be because they see it as a waste of time, is too crowded, or could simply be done better. To Pyram, all of these reasons apply.

Pyram simply, and very openly dislikes school. He already knows how to do magic, hell, he even transferred from barbaric America because he knows how to do magic. Does he know why he was transferred? No. Of course, no one would tell an orphan child why they would be moving from Colorado Springs to England, because that would be unthinkable.

Every time a stupid bell rings–the damn thing is loud as hell, to boot–, Pyram is shoved out of his already stuffy class and into a freaking crowd of idiot children who have no idea what personal space is, mind you, only to be shoved by those same idiot children. He was even rudely pushed around, so much so that he is just two steps from…from what again?

Schools in particular could also be shorter. They don’t allow their students to get their very much-needed rest and then expect them to be extra energetic to answer too many questions on too many papers. Why is that even mandatory? It might as well be a second purgatory, specifically for children who have done little to no wrong!

Although right now, Pyram sat in a (confessedly comfortable) chair with his head down on the desk, eyebrows furrowed in contempt as he lousily stared up at the Hogwarts Headmaster. 

The headmaster was blabbering about how special his case was or some baloney like that, Pyram didn’t particularly care. He had begun reaching out to the beautiful red and gold eagle that was sitting on its perch with his magic, petting its feathers with invisible hands.

The bird squawked indignantly and looked to the headmaster, seemingly annoyed at him for petting it while it was sleeping but paused mid-squawk when it noticed Pyram. It then adopted a regal posture, puffed out its chest feathers, and fluffed up its wings like it was about to play the starring role in a popular drama.

It spread its gorgeous red-to-gold wings which began radiating a comforting warmth. He observed it for a couple of moments before it finally calmed down and simply watched him expectantly.

The headmaster chuckled and calmed the bird down, “It seems Fawkes has taken a, let's say, peculiar liking to you, Mister Claraflam.” He then continued his boring talk while Fawkes was awed at Pyram’s stellar appearance.

“Mister Claraflam, I am most enamored with your willingness to proceed with all the paperwork tests we gave you, and I would like to invite you to attend Hogwarts for your education in the many different disciplines of magic.” The headmaster had finally gained Pyram’s attention with the sudden textbook talk, so much so that he had not realized that he was simply staring at him.

He then found his voice and said, “I accept your invitation,” with the same tone as the headmaster, still a little shocked and flattered at the opportunity. Perhaps I can learn real magic for once.

He smiled and his eyes twinkled, something that made Pyram irrationally confused because that shouldn’t be possible, and he then spoke, “You can follow me now, to the Great Hall for your sorting. I’d expect Minerva to have already started without us.”

Pyram was led down to the other first years waiting in line to be sorted, and it was there he saw the boy who lived himself, Harry Potter. Pyram didn’t interact with him, wanting to stay away in fear of some kind of curse that Voldemort may have put on him.

His name was called after around 7 other kids, something he hoped was good news as he walked up to the sharp bark of, “Claraflam, Pyram!”

There was a stool in front of the entire school, who were eagerly waiting for the start of the year feast as the first years got sorted.

Pyram sat down on the stool and Professor McGonagall handed him a worn wizard’s hat that she then put on, as per the silent request of her soon-to-be teacher.

‘From America, are we?’ A voice slithered into Pyram’s mind, invading all of his deepest secrets and past endeavors. Pyram was livid.

“GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HEAD YOU MEAN ASS DIRTY HAT! I’LL FUCKING BURN YOU ON THE SPOT IF YOU DON’T JUST SORT ME ALREADY!” Pyram shouted at the hat from his mind, imagining a very vivid image of fire as hot as the sun. He could feel his wand in his pocket agreeing, sending out hot pulses of magic through his body.

“Slyth–” Pyram imagined the hat burning, “RAVENCLAW!” it shrieked. Pyram smiled at it and took it off, handing it to Mcgonagall before walking to the Ravenclaw table. 

He was greeted by uncertain, “Woo..”s and “Yay?”s, both of which were very welcome. He then began the short wait for the others to be sorted.

When the hubbub had died down, the headmaster again gave them the typical school lecture; don’t break the rules, no, really don’t break the rules, and it's very fun here at _____ school of Bart’s huck and witch crack. Then the headmaster finally dismissed all of his students to their respective common rooms for some sleep, “Prefects, show your first years where to go,” yada-yada.

A prefect, Penelope Clearwater, if what Pyram heard from a second year was correct, guided them all up some floors then up some more floors. At some point, Pyram felt something calling to him on the seventh floor of whatever tower. It was like a whisper tentatively asking Pyram to look at something interesting, but by the time they were finally at the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room, Pyram’s calves were already sore. 

Clearwater wrapped her knuckles on a wall, which suddenly became an outlined doorway that asked, “Where do vanished objects go?”

Clearwater answered in a brisk yet cautious voice, “Into non-being?”

The door’s outline sharpened and soon became a proper door, commenting on acceptance. 

Clearwater motioned them all to go on in, instructing the general layout, what not to do, what to do, and everything else that was generally known for the Ravenclaws at Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Pyram led the way to the first years’ male dormitory, basically a room with three bunk beds and enlarged space underneath to store their luggage which was already placed there by house elves. There was no bathroom, but that was placed somewhere in the common room if Pyram’s guesswork was up to date.

After bidding goodnight to his peers, Pyram laid his head down on his pillow. He had wisely chosen the bottom bunk furthest to the right that also had a window he could look out of and, if needed, sneak out of in time of emergency.

The next day Pyram woke up semi-refreshed and then decided to burden all of his sleeping dorm mates by shouting, “Get up you British Buffoons! It’s time for school!!” Due to how awesome he was and how much his peers –feared– adored him, they got up and yawned, asking about the weather and other normal child things.

He got up with the others, ate breakfast, and then asked a knowledgeable fifth-year Ravenclaw where to go, all the other first-year students trailing behind him awkwardly, as they too did not know where to go and Pyram was the only one to take initiative.

“You should get your schedules at around this time, they’ll just poof in your hands,” a volley of ‘POP!’ sounds were heard, “Yeah, just like that. You just go to where you’re assigned for your first subject with all the things you need for it. Now I need to get to Filch, he’ll be livid…”

Pyram looked behind him for the rest of the first years, deciding that he’d act as their guide dog for the first week or so. It would be nice to be depended on, after all. “Alright, what does everyone have for their first period, subject, block, whatever?”

A girl raised her hand, so Pyram called on her expectantly, “We all have Professor Quirrell first, Mr. Claraflam.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Pyram closed his eyes and tapped his chin, doing his best to act like he was thinking very hard about something before he got an idea, “Alright, follow me. I was allowed to see a map before you guys, so I was allowed to get a lay of the land and meet some of the Professors already. Stay in one group and don’t get lost. Follow someone recognizable who is also following me, if that helps.”

Just like that, the first years were under Pyram’s watch as they followed him down some floors and right. After some walking, they finally came across Professor Quirrell’s class, before the Hufflepuffs. Professor Quirrell was very surprised by this, stuttering, “M-m-m-my, I didn’t expect you to be s-so i-i-invested in my class.”

Soon enough the Hufflepuffs arrived and Professor Quirrell began class. He wasn’t a bad teacher apart from the fact that he stuttered every couple of words or so, which was annoying as can be. They mostly learned what the class was about and some tame dark spells as well as which spells counteracted them. Quirrell didn’t exactly teach them any of these spells, but that wasn’t a good start to the first class anyway.

 On a scale of one to ten, Quirrell would be about eight and two-tenths, Pyram silently rated his teacher as he walked out of the classroom, the first years following him dutifully. When they weren’t in the way of the bustling halls, Pyram turned back to his legion and said, “Alright, next class is Professor Flitwick’s, or Charms, as commonly said here at Hogwarts. Just a little heads up from me.”

Pyram then led his legion up two flights of stairs and to the left, finding the Charms class, again, before the Hufflepuffs who were likely lost at this point.

The class started and they were asked to get their textbooks to flip to page 10: Light Charms. After learning about how they could flunk the charm known as Lumos and how to cast it, they were finally allowed to practice doing so.

“Lumos!” Pyram flicked his wand upwards. The tip of his wand glowed slightly, but it flickered and died out within five seconds of casting it.

“Well done, Mister Claraflam. 5 points to Ravenclaw.” Professor Flitwick complimented, but Pyram frowned. He shouldn’t have been complimented for such a weak light.

With that in mind, he imagined a light suitable for pitch-black corridors that lasted far longer than normal and cast Lumos again, “Lumos.” A far brighter light appeared this time, and instead of dying out quickly, it lasted for thirty seconds before Pyram decided to put it out, “Nox.”

“Excellent demonstration, Mister Claraflam! Another 5 points to Ravenclaw.” The professor smiled wide, nodding vigorously.

And so class passed on with Pyram teaching some of those from his legion how to correctly cast the light charm. Flitwick was kind enough to let the class leave a couple minutes before they had to leave for Transfiguration– “Just to beat the rush,” was his reasoning–, but instead of letting his legion leave early, Pyram made sure that his legion could all conjure at least a little light from their wands before leaving, as anything else would just be unkempt of one of his own.

Only after his legion was successful did Pyram lead the way down to Transfiguration class, feeling very proud of his fellow Ravenclaws as they still got to class before the Hufflepuffs. On the way Pyram spied Harry Potter and a friend of his walking around lost, so he smiled. No one in Gryffindor had the sense to help their first years navigate the school.

When they got to Transfiguration, it was about the same thing. Read about what not to do and what to do then turn a matchstick into a needle. Simple and ordinary, yes, but still requiring knowledge about the subject and everything to do with said subject.

All he had to do was communicate with his wand–silver birch from Finland and a strand of fabric from a Lethifold that tried killing a unicorn near the Black Forest in Germany, 10 and a quarter inches– what his intentions were. Since he had a very good relationship with said wand, this was rather easy. It impressed Professor McGonagall, however, who then granted his house another 10 points. 

After Transfiguration was lunch, then after lunch was Herbology, after Herbology was Potions, and after potions was Hooch’s class. Herbology was herbology. Pyram decided not to think too much when dealing with sentient plants, just treating them like magical creatures he had to take care of that could act in any way.

Potions were conflicting. Pyram had forgotten that he didn’t even have a textbook and had to borrow one after Professor Snape berated him and deducted 5 points from Ravenclaw, but that textbook had been annotated by what seemed to be some genius perfectionist who couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself. Although the annotations were, begrudgingly, extremely helpful. Pyram ended up keeping the textbook after growing somewhat fond of the annotation’s snide comments about how dumb people were.

Pyram never found out why flying brooms was so important when there were more ways to travel, but semantics. Each class was about 80 whole minutes long which took up the entire day. By the time 3:00 PM rolled around, Pyram dismissed his legion to the common room, telling them to relax only when all their schoolwork was finished, to go investigate the pull he had felt on his first school day.

It was somewhere on the seventh floor, so Pyram decided to just walk around with his wand out to see if he would feel the pull at any moment. Although this was answered quickly, the moment he stepped foot on the floor, he could feel it. So he followed it to a corridor with no paintings or classes.

At first, nothing happened, so Pyram was going to dub the corridor the thinking corridor, so he thought about some things weighing on his mind as he paced back and forth. First, he pondered about how difficult magic would be in his seventh year. Second, he wondered about Harry Potter and how the hell he, as a 1-year-old baby, could defeat the Dark Lord. And finally, he wondered about the year to come.

On his third lap around the corridor, a door came into being on the wall furthest away from the stairs. Feeling his wand practically scream in delight, he opened the door and walked in. In the bland cobblestone room was a table and a chair. On the table lay a book titled, “The Boy and the Stone” by someone who laughs so hard they start rolling around on the floor.

As he neared the book, he could feel his wand twitch and it suddenly zoomed into Pyram’s hand which had reached out for it unconsciously. There was no real synopsis but instead just the words, “A story about The Chosen One.”? As he flipped through the pages, reading it with furrowed eyebrows, he realized something. This book foretold the future. And vividly, at that.

Upon this realization, his wand vibrated in his hand. Was it exciting? A flash went through Pyram’s vision–something coming from his wand, he realized. Pyram fell to the ground, hitting his head on the table and blacking out for a few seconds.

Though now he felt more calm. The constant need to…just be was now sated. It was his wand soothing the stunting influx of magical power rushing through his body. Pyram remembered why he had been allowed to cross an entire sea just to go to a school now.

His magic was explosive and dangerous. Explosive in the sense that it sometimes became too erratic and escaped in large bursts. Dangerous because that explosiveness had killed…something. Pyram wondered who he killed, because he knew he did, he just didn’t remember…what, or who.

And that was why he went to Dumbledore. He must have had some kind of experience with this kind of stuff.  But how? Never mind…that’s not any of my business. He thought, perishing any curiosity. All I need to do now is focus on my studies so I can have a better future. But… he flipped through the pages, looking for his name, I’m not mentioned at all. It’d be better to finish this book before I do anything.

Pyram glanced down at his wand and then around the room, wondering what it was. A sheet of paper appeared on the table. 

The Room of Requirement is a room that can be found on the seventh floor. It complies with the user’s whims.

With that new information in mind, Pyram decided, “I want time to stop as long as the book is not finished, but I do not want myself or anything I touch to be affected by the time stopping.” Nothing noticeable happened, but a buzz from his wand told him that time had indeed stopped.

Pyram started to read the book and practice some of the spells Harry Potter learned when he got to Hogwarts. All spells were just a matter of communication with one’s wand, a little bit of intent, and a picture of what you want clear in your head.

Then came the breaking of the rules. The troll. The third corridor. Fluffy. Norbert. The Mirror of Erised. And then Voldemort. Voldemort was Quirrell, or rather, Quirrell was helping Voldemort come back. 

In the end, all would be fine. All Pyram needed to do was stay the hell away from Harry Potter. 

With a thought, the room conjured a fire and he tossed the book into it, and in a couple of seconds the fire flashed blue and the book turned to ash. Pyram watched the fire for several minutes, just standing there, head cocked towards the flame in wonder. He glanced down at his wand, asking whether he could make it happen

A single green spark rose from the tip of his wand, and Pyram looked at the fire for a few moments before picturing that same power under his control, made from the air itself being burned to create embers and leave charred remains in its wake.

Pyram held up his wand. The room quickly withdrew all flammable objects, as if it knew what was coming. Dragonfire erupted from the end of Pyram’s wand, roaring in delight at its awakening and whooshing away in the same instant.

Pyram coughed, feeling like he had just run a mile at full speed. He sat down on the floor, holding his wand in his hands and squinting at it. That shouldn’t be possible, at least not so young as I am now. He regarded his wand with curiosity, How powerful are you?

The trek back to his common room was long and tiring, filled with stairs he laboriously climbed as if he were carrying dead weight behind him. At some point, he thought he heard a painting murmur concerning words to its neighbor after taking a look at his disheveled state.

“I hope he’s alright,” a woman grooming a dashing young stallion whispered to her friend.

“He looks like he’s been through the works alright,” her friend agreed, “perhaps he met Peeves.”

The woman shook her head disapprovingly, “I don’t know why Dumbledore puts up with that damned poltergeist!”

When he finally got to the entrance, he knocked on the wall and a speaker-looking thing asked, “Glittering points that downward thrust, sparkling spears that never rust. What are they?”

Pyram groaned, half wanting to bang his head on the wall and sleep but also wanting to get inside before curfew, “Friggin…oh. Ice can glitter…downwards thrust, so something potentially sharp hanging, spears that never rust…could they be icicles?”

A ‘Ding!’ was heard and then a door materialized, Pyram gratefully opened it and walked into his dorm room while ignoring the curious glances of his housemates. When he finally got to his bed, he flopped onto it and fell asleep, sighing in relief as the comfortable cushions welcomed him with open covers.