Miracle in a Bottle

True to her words, Lestrange wakes them up at six o’clock. Annie snaps awake at the sound of a horn, nearly falls out of bed when the sheets get tangled with her legs, and hops toward the curtains just in time to see the Prefect cast a spell that makes a bright red ‘45:00’ appear on the ceiling.

“You have until this hits zero,” Lestrange says, even as the numbers start to count down. “When it does, if any of you managed to get ready, I will take you to the Great Hall. The rest of you can get lost in the dungeons or beg a favour from the upper years, because I will not wait for anyone for any reason short of maiming and death.”

It’s something she’s very serious about, Annie learns when she reappears and calls them all to the door.

Burke and Max are still in bed, neither having made a single effort to get ready, and Selwyn is in the shower, where she has been almost the entire time. Davis is blearily walking to and from the bathroom, uniform rumpled and her curly red hair a mess, while the curtains hiding Parkinson and Moon’s alcoves are closed, hinting that they’re still getting dressed.

Annie, who spared a few minutes to wash her face and teeth and another five to get dressed, and then still had the time to wrestle her hair into a mostly steady bun after it escaped her braid during the night, doesn’t even know what is taking them so long.

Lestrange looks around their dorm with an unimpressed expression on her face, then looks down at the four girls waiting at the door. At Annie’s side, Millicent Bulstrode, Norah Keyes and Daphne Greengrass are looking back at her expectantly.

“Well, let’s get going then,” Lestrange declares, and pretends to be deaf to the squeals from the other girls asking her to wait.

They meet up with Connelly in the common room, the Prefect accompanied by three boys – Zabini, whom Annie hasn’t heard talk even once the night before, as well as the Steward and Wright boys who kept to each other at dinner.

Connelly takes one look at them and sighs. “Seven points to Slytherin,” he drawls, “for being ready on time.”

“I really expected us to have more,” Lestrange comments. “It seems my reputation isn’t what it used to be.”

“Your reputation is fine,” Connelly assures her, sounding a bit stressed. He then sighs, rolls his eyes, and waves a hand toward the entrance. “Come on, brats, let’s go. The others will catch up with us later.”

And with that, Connelly turns on his heels and leads them out of the common room.

The corridors are just as confusing as they were the night before, the walls bare but for the doors who are at equal distance from each other. Some of them aren’t even real doors, but Annie can’t tell until she’s right next to them and notices that they’re seamlessly fitted to the wall, the doorknobs being of no help since they’re all equally worn and dust-free.

“Hogwarts Castle used to be a wartime keep,” Lestrange explains as they walk. “Which is why travelling inside can be tricky – to fool any foreigner trying to invade. No one actually remembers who the castle belonged to before the Founders conquered the land and claimed it as theirs, though you’ll hear goblins claiming they built it. It’s hippogriff dung, of course, nothing about the castle has any mark of goblin architecture. The most goblins ever did in Hogwarts was to die and become fertiliser for the gardens. There is another theory that the castle was built by muggles – but Hogwarts sits atop a nexus and, I don’t care what Hogwarts: A History says, no amount of wise counsel from a respected druid would convince them to come to such a magical place, so that can’t be them either.”

Annie has no idea what a hippogriff, nexus or druid are, but she keeps her mouth shut. Even if it nags at her, she doesn’t want to ask a Lestrange anything.

Besides, no one else looks confused. Annie doesn’t want to look weird by asking about stuff that’s common knowledge. After the night before, she doesn’t want to make herself anything more of a target.

“Some people claim faes were the ones to raise the foundations,” Connelly says, grinning as he dodges out of the way of a silent spell Lestrange snaps at him. The yellow light splashes harmlessly on the floor, disappearing in a little burst of static. “Hey, I’m telling the truth!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lestrange bites out. “If this castle was built by faes, the Founders wouldn’t have made it a school for children. Faes might have briefly gotten possession of it, though, which would explain the castle’s proclivity for mischief, but that’s just more speculation. Ireland’s School of Magic, however…”

“Yes, yes,” Connelly says dismissively. “That’s why most of our parents send us to Hogwarts instead. We’re less likely to be eaten or kidnapped on odd days. Now, kids, I say less likely, not unlikely. There have been many student deaths in these halls over the years, especially amongst those who decided to explore the Forbidden Forest – well, we say ‘death’, but that’s merely an assumption, since we almost never find the bodies. The most recent body found is in fact from fifty years ago, and her ghost has been haunting a girl’s bathroom on the second floor, the one down the hallway from the main staircase. I’d advise you to avoid that place if you can, I heard Moaning Myrtle likes to reverse the toilet’s flush and clog the sinks. Especially if someone’s using them.”

Annie wrinkles her nose. She knows this is about a girl who died, but still. Eww.

“Another troublesome spirit is Peeves,” Lestrange tells them as they take a corner. “He’s been around for centuries, and the only ghost he’s ever been afraid of is the Bloody Baron, which means he’s less likely to harass us Slytherin. Again, less likely doesn’t mean he won’t. He’s a pain, but generations of Headmasters have been unreasonably fond of him, so we’re stuck with him.”

The Prefects keep a stream of advice all the way to the Great Hall, which is a clear reverse of the previous night’s silence. They point out landmarks that are ‘not likely to move on their own,’ warn them about trick stairs, show them a door that will take them straight to the fourth floor from the dungeons (but not on the third day of the third week of the third month of the year, because of ‘you’ll learn that in Arithmancy if you ever feel smart enough to take the class’) and talk about the portraits that didn’t mind helping young Slytherins find their way.

“Never ask a ghost to show you the way to your class,” Lestrange says as they finally reach the first floor. “They forget the living can’t float or walk through walls, and then you’ll walk off the stairway and fall to your death.”

“That happened to a student in the 15^th century,” Connelly says gravelly. Annie is half-convinced he’s lying to their faces, if only because he had switched his tone. “They found her broken body at the bottom of the staircase and had to exorcise her ghost when she kept trying to scare students into falling to their death like she did. Some people said she isn’t really gone, and that you can still see her haunting the Golden Ram’s painting.”

Zabini gives Connelly a distrusting look, but he’s the only one who gives an outright reaction.

“Not very chatty, are they?” Connelly asks Lestrange. “That story usually has one brat getting loud and demanding proof.”

Ah. So he wasn’t lying – he was only baiting them.

“I’m sure they’ll start chittering once they have something to say,” Lestrange dismisses, before shooting them a look over her shoulder. “The walls at Hogwarts have ears, and I’m not just talking about the paintings. So if you have anything private to share with anyone… don’t. Understood?”

They all nod, taking her warning seriously. Watching them, Connelly sighs.

“This is going to be a fun lot, I can tell,” he comments. “I’ll consider myself lucky if no one ends up dead while I’m responsible for them.”

“If they’re old enough to kill, they’re old enough to hide the corpse and clean up the mess,” Lestrange declares, unbothered and slightly concerning, and then pushes through the tall doors leading to the Great Hall, effectively ending the conversation.

The Great Hall is almost deserted when they arrive. Three teachers are eating at the Staff table and a few Ravenclaws already have books open next to their plates, but the Slytherin table quickly becomes the busiest one when the nine of them sit down.

They’re directed to sit at the edge closest to the Staff table. Annie slips between Norah Keyes and Daphne Greengrass and finds herself facing Blaise Zabini. Wright and Steward huddle together near the edge of the table, but don’t seem as reserved as they did at dinner, and no one gives Annie looks like she’s diseased.

Was it just a few people, then?

What is it, that they hate about her?

And what does it mean, that no one says anything to those like Malfoys and Parkinson when they were clearly doing something wrong? The very same people who seemed to dislike Annie the most?

“Professor Snape should arrive soon,” Lestrange says, giving the entrance door a quick narrow-eyed look. “He’ll hand us your schedule when he does. You can also expect the Hufflepuff First Years to show up if they manage to shepherd them all early. You must to sit at your House table for feasts, but you can move around outside of those times, even at meal time. Just make sure your friends are fine with it. Today, however, I ask that you don’t wander off to chat with whoever you might know. If you miss any of our instructions, we won’t repeat ourselves.”

Lestrange looks at Bulstrode, who nods, and then at Annie, who does the same and quickly redirects her attention onto the food. It’s too bad, really – it would have been nice to see a friendly face after last night, and she’s sure Justin has a lot to say about his dormmates.

And a small part of her doesn’t want to give him the chance to forget about her when he makes friends with nicer people. People of his own House, who have things in common with him other than music.

Breakfast, like dinner, has an abundance of choices for food. Pitchers of juice, lemon water and even hot water for tea always seem to be within reach when they want it, and Annie piles her plate with slices of fresh fruits, bacon and eggs that, much like the food at St-Mungo’s, never seem to be anything but perfect in every way. The bacon isn’t burnt, the eggs aren’t soggy or cold, and Annie doesn’t know how she’ll go back to eating with the Dursleys once the year is over.

She’s considering getting a second serving when Professor Snape finally arrives. He’s not alone, though, Malfoy strutting smugly next to him and a few more students trailing behind him. Lestrange’s face flashes with irritation, before she smoothes it out and leans over to whisper to Connelly, who gives her a small nod and gets up to meet with the teacher.

“I guess he wasn’t kidding when he said Snape is his godfather,” Steward murmurs to Wright, who grimaces back at him.

“That’s right,” Lestrange says, startling them all. She doesn’t remark on it, though, just watching as Connelly talk in deferential tones to the older wizard. There’s none of the teasing, lazy cat attitude he’s shown them and Annie hasn’t known him for long, but it already feels wrong to see him take what clearly is a scolding with a practised chastised expression. “And there’s nothing you’ll do that will change that preferential treatment. Don’t be idiots, kids.”

Once the scolding is over, Connelly returns to the table with papers in hand and the other students, while Snape stalks past them, not sparing them a look.

“It seems like you lot have a free period after breakfast,” Connelly comments idly, back to acting lazy like nothing happened. “Good news is, so do I, so I’ll be taking you on a tour of the school while Regina’s off to Divination.”

“I wouldn’t mind skipping,” Lestrange mutters, taking the papers Connelly hands her. She compares them side-by-side and scowls. “Alright. Once Connelly has shown you some parts of the castle, he’ll take you to the Magical Theory classroom. Professor Grey is sensible, which means she usually lets people out before the bell so that they don’t have to run to get to their next lesson and doesn’t lock the door until the bell signals the beginning of class. That means you will sit and not cause her trouble until class begins. Once class is over, you will wait for a prefect to come to fetch you. You don’t have another class, so they’ll leave you at the common room. You’ll be on your own until lunch, where I should have gotten everyone’s schedules and made proper escort plans.”

As she talks, Connelly goes around and hands them their schedules. Annie looks curiously at hers.

After dinner, she has History of Magic and then Transfiguration. There’s a thirty minutes tea break, and then she has Defence Against the Dark Arts, followed by a free period, dinner, and, at 10h30, Astronomy.

“Excuse me,” a small, pale-haired pale-eye girl says in a faint voice. That’s Lily Moon, Annie remembers, mostly because she shares her first name with her mother. “It says that we have class at 10h30 at night, but you said that we have curfew at that time.”

“That is correct,” Lestrange agrees. “But you can’t look at the stars during the day, so you have an exception for Astronomy. Don’t try to use that if you’re caught in the hallways after curfew – the teachers know what classes Professor Sinistra has and they won’t be amused if you lie about it.”

“It’s only once a week,” Connelly adds. “And it’s cancelled half of the time when the sky isn’t clear, the weather doesn’t allow for class or it’s too cold up the Astronomy Tower because the wards are malfunctioning. Just keep an eye on the announcement board for news. Sometimes Professor Sinistra has us working spreadsheets in a classroom if she feels we skipped too many classes, so bad weather doesn’t mean class is cancelled. Don’t you go assuming or you’ll be serving detention before you know it.”

There’s a scoff. Annie looks up from her schedule and finds out it comes from Malfoy, who had settled two seats away from Zabini, his two friends sitting on either side of him. Nott, sitting next to Zabini, seems to be resenting that fact, giving a disgusted look to his sleeve covered with egg bits from the taller of Malfoy’s friends’s eating manners.

It’s rather impressive, in a horrible way, how far he manages to spit out half-masticated food.

Annie silently slides a rolled up serviette Nott’s way, between the orange bowl and the pot of pumpkin juice. He accepts it with a nod, then gives her a double take before more egg splatters his shoulder and he ends up throwing the serviette, ring and all, at the culprit’s face.

Annie hides her smile behind her goblet. She guesses that works, too.

“What kind of class is taught in the middle of the night?” Malfoy complains after scoffing again and getting no more attention than before, raising his voice to cover his friend’s spluttering next to him. “Couldn’t they have an Observatory like proper wizards?”

“Hogwarts has an Observatory,” Lestrange corrects apathetically, not even looking at Malfoy. “Unfortunately, it was destroyed in the war against Lady Styx, and what’s left of it is thoroughly cursed. But if you don’t mind living in constant existential dread and seeing enemies in every corner, go ahead and attend Professor Starkey’s lessons. Rumours have it that her voice will answer if you ask questions.”

Connelly makes a throaty sound of amusement. “Of course, we don’t recommend it,” he almost purrs. “The Weasley twins got caught messing around in the area, so no one knows what else is going on with the Observatory nowadays. Chances are that you’ll be walking around with flippers and glitter in your hair for a few weeks.”

“Weasleys,” Malfoy sneers, even as Annie slots the information away. It’s always a good idea to keep track of troublemakers, if only to learn what kind of trouble to expect from them.

She gets the feeling that Malfoy will be like Dudley, and his two friends certainly look like they can hold people in place while Malfoy punches and kicks them. He will probably not even realise she exists if she stays out of his sight. Parkinson appears more like Aunt Petunia, though that still has to be confirmed, while Burke, from the little Annie saw, seemed more interested in trouble itself rather than who her target is. She found it funny to watch Parkinson make a mess of Annie’s things, but then also laught at Parkinson with the others. Annie doesn’t know if she’ll wait for opportunities or actively cause trouble, if she’s like Piers who’se a coward unless Dudley is with him or like Carter who’ll trip others or set Dudley on targets when he’s bored.

Annie’s list of people to avoid keeps getting longer and she has barely met anyone who isn’t in her House. She doesn’t like it.

“Why haven’t they gotten rid of the curse, then?” Greengrass asks as she lowers her fork onto her empty plate.

Lestrange scoffs. “For the same reason we still get a new Defence teacher every year,” she says disdainfully. “The Headmasters won’t admit that there is a curse, because then the Board of Governors would get experts involved and the Ministry has been waiting for centuries to get their claws into Hogwarts. The school is supposed to be neutral grounds, where feuding powers are bound by propriety to treat their enemies as courtly as they would a stranger.”

“It’s already a fragile excuse with our very Headmaster having so many seats of power outside of the school,” Connelly adds, lips curving sardonically. “But, again, Hogwarts has historically never followed through with its claim of neutrality, so that doesn’t mean anything, does it? Unfortunately, the Headmaster won’t allow anyone else to gain access to the school, and that means late night classes and revolving Defence teachers for the lot of us.”

Neutral grounds? Feuding? Seats of power?

It’s all words to her. She knows there’s something to it, that the Prefects are trying to tell them something, but she’s too new to the Wizarding World to understand what he’s saying. Even as the conversation continues, drifting to do’s and don’ts in Hogwarts, there is no further explanation, the subject closed.

…maybe Justin will want to look into it with her.