Miracle in a Bottle

The First Years that hadn’t been able to follow Snape to breakfast all eventually end up trickling in. Burke and Max follow behind a boy who has the same droopy nose as the latter, while Blishwick stumbles into the Great Hall alone some twenty minutes before the end of breakfast.

Lestrange almost seems disappointed when he approaches the table.

“Oh, look at that,” Connelly says as Blishwick drops into a seat next to Burke. “All of our snakelets made it. I think that's a record.”

“Twenty points to Slytherin for getting to the Great Hall in time,” Lestrange announces as she stands up. “Linden, I'm leaving them to you. Children, there's another twenty points for you if you all manage to make it to lunch time without getting lost. Don't make Slytherin miss out on those easy points, we're already thirteen short.”

With that, Lestrange stalks away, her robes flaring behind her.

“Regina Lestrange, brats,” Connelly says with a dramatic wave in her direction. “Annoy her at your own risks. You might just live to regret it.”

Malfoy scoffs, but he's the only one who does. Annie swirls her pumpkin juice in her goblet and hopes he wouldn't get them all in trouble just because he wants to make a point.

She's... starting to think that all these talks of death and repercussions aren't just to keep them in line. And of course she knew that there were dangers to magic – St-Mungo's made that very clear to her. But she had assumed that it was due to magical diseases and badly casted spells backfiring on the caster, not other people.

Professor McGonagall had made it sound like that sort of things had only been a concern during the war, like it was just criminals who did that sort of things and they've been arrested already.

It doesn't look like that from Annie's point of view. Not anymore.

"Come on, brats," Connelly says. "Better start early and all that. The castle isn't small."

Blishwick, only two bites into his buttered toast, nearly chokes as he shoves it all into his mouth and tries to get up with the rest of them. His breakfast is abandonned behind him, though he does grab an apple for the way, and the First Year Slytherins follow the Fifth Year Prefect out of the Great Hall.

Connelly gives them a running commentary thorough the entire tour. He first leads them around the Ground Floor, pointing the paths toward the Greenhouses, where Herbology classes take place, and the various bathrooms, then takes them to upper floors one set of stairs at a time.

“The Infirmary Wing likes to move around,” Connelly tells them the second time they pass a pure white archway with a caduceus carved above it. “It has a few entrances at all times, but new ones also appear whenever someone needs it urgently.”

“That's Rowan the Rotten,” Connelly says sometime later, pointing at the portrait of a mad-looking wizard with a withered face and squeleton arms – literal ones, bones visible through the tears of his robes. “Don't touch any painting he's in or you'll be dreaming of him for weeks. Getting someone else to touch it, even indirectly, is also a good way of getting nightmares, so don't even try.”

Rowan the Rotten smiles at them then, skin pulled taunt against his cheekbones and viscous blood dripping from the corners of his mouth, like the idea of giving people nightmares amuses him. Annie is rather glad that he's some 14^th Century wizard and not a modern one – he's bad enough as a painting, she's thankful she can't meet him in person.

The entrance to the Astronomy Wing is on the Third Floor and is mostly safe to walk through. Connelly shows them a few rooms that Professor Sinistra still uses for theoritical lessons, with windows that were enchanted to show constellations and weird bronze instruments that look one breath away from crumbling. A door at the end of the wing has chains and two metal bars keeping it closed, with a set of narrow spiralling stairs just a few feet to its right.

“That's the Observatory,” Connelly says in a teasing tone, smirking down at Malfoy. “If you ever want to risk your health and sanity for a few more hours of sleep. If you would rather not put yourself into needless danger, then we have the stairs to the Tower right here. I won't take you all the way up since there's nothing else up there, but I can show you this nice little passageway that leads straight to the dungeons. We'll get your books for your next class and I'll show you the classroom where Professor Snape teaches First Year Potion, then we'll climb all the way back up to the Fifth Floor for Professor Grey's class. Doesn't that sound fun?”

“I'll show you fun–” Tripe mutters under his breath. However, he's not quiet enough.

“Oh, really?” Connelly's eyes snap toward the boy, who scowls back at the Prefect. “Well, then, I suppose you don't need a shortcut from the dungeons to the Third Floor, do you? You can take the Great Staircase instead, and hope they don't move when you need them most. I know that will be fun. For me, at least. Maybe not as much for you.”

“You can't do that!” Malfoy exclaims.

“Can't?” Connelly repeats, mocking smile on his lips as he looms above them. “You do realize that none of us need to show you brats around? Or show you shortcuts between floors? This is just to prevent excessive loss of points by having you all late to your classes. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw loose about a hundred points each year just from tardiness, leaving you to figure it out on your own won't drag us down considerably. It'll just get you lot in trouble with your housemates.”

Well, Annie isn't sure she'd survive that. Not when her own Head of House seems to hate her.

“Please,” she says before anyone else can convince Connelly to make true on his threat. She makes sure her face is looking appropriatedly contrite, as though she is facing Aunt Petunia after failing to get first place in a competition and trying to convince her to let her attend another one. “We appreciate your thoughtfulness. We would be very grateful if you would continue showing us around.”

“Don't ta-urk,” Parkinson starts, before getting interupted by an elbow to the side, courtesy of Tracey Davis. Annie decides she likes her.

“Is that so?” Connelly asks, voice thick with fake confusion. He's mocking them, trying to provoke them to see if they'd stick by Annie or deny her words. “It looks like some of you disagree.”

“Some of us don't know what they're talking about,” Keyes says smoothly, shooting a warning look at Malfoy when he opens his mouth. She has an accent that Annie has never heard before, with rolling 'r's and high-pitched 'a's, and it almost sounds like a songbird. It's nice.

Nicer is the fact that Keyes seems to be Malfoy's foil – the one he doesn't want to upset. And she'll get involved if something threatens what she wants, so that's a way to get her to reign him in.

The nicest part, though, is when Connelly smiles when no one protests her words. It seem that he's gotten what he wanted. Annie isn't sure if 'what he wanted' was them begging, Malfoy and the other stuck-ups getting strong-armed into shutting up, or if he, too, wanted to see if there was anyone among them who could shut them up – but, well, as long as Annie had a shortcut that won't leave her at the mercy of the moving stairs, she doesn't particularly care which one convinced him.

“Well, if you insist,” Connelly says, sighing dramatically. “Let's go, before I change my mind.”

After that, no one dares to open their mouth, least the Prefect decides they don't need a guide anymore.

Professor Grey is a silver-haired woman with pale grey eyes and crows' feet, but an otherwise youthful appearance. She smiles at the sight of Connelly, waves them in and cheerfully chats with the Prefect before sending him off to do his own thing.

The desks are set up in a half-circle in front of the teacher's area, which was next to the door. Five rows of seats are elevated in a gentle slope and Annie sits down in the front row near the middle, if only so that she could see what is written on the board without anyone's head blocking her view.

Most of her housemates settle on her left and in the back rows, other than Malfoy who sits right next to the door, his two friends once again on either side of him. It leaves two empty seats between them and Zabini, who is one empty seat away from her.

About two minutes after Connelly left, the Prefect Annie remembers from the train appears in the doorway.

“Good morning, Professor Grey!” he says cheerfully. “I bring you our new badgers, fresh from Transfiguration!”

Annie immediately spots Justin behind the Prefect. He sees her one second later and beams, waving at her. A boy at his side looks concerned until he notices Annie waving back, and then he moves to whisper in Justin's ear.

“Good morning, Mr Lawson,” Professor Grey greets back with just as much cheer, standing up from her desk. “And Transfiguration? I hope Minerva didn't work them too hard on their first day.”

“It's fine, we have a tough bunch this year,” Lawson assures her. “Well, kiddos, this is where I leave you. I have to run.”

“No running in the hallways, Mr Lawson!” Professor Grey calls out, but the boy is already gone. She shakes her head with a smile. “Well, let's hope he doesn't break anything. Come in, come in! Class is starting in three minutes, please get yourselves a seat.”

Not needing to be told twice, Justin bounces all the way toward Annie, dragging his new friends with him.

“Annie!” he calls happily. “I hoped we'd share a class! We just spent an hour with the Gryffindors and they're so loud!”

There's a few snickers coming from behind her, but Annie doesn't pay them any mind. “They were loud at dinner, too,” she reminds him. Justin shrugs.

“I guess so,” he says, before turning to the boy on his left. “Guys, this is Anemone Potter, we've been friends since we were eight. Annie, this is-”

“Ernest MacMillan,” the boy who whispered in Justin's ear introduces himself. He offers Annie his hand and she belatedly accepts it, shaking it awkwardly over her desk.

“Kathleen Scriven,” says a tall, dark-haired girl. She catches Annie's hand as soon as MacMillan lets it go.

“Sally-Ann Perks,” says the second girl, who is almost as short as Annie and has mousy brown hair and hazel eyes.

“And I'm Ivan Strangers!” the last of Justin's friends says with a grin. It looks a bit forced, but Annie doesn't comment on it, merely shakes his hand when he offers his. “Hey, Justin says you went to muggle school, right? Is it true what he said, that muggles have classes all day long, one after the other?”

Annie nods, unsure. “Yes?”

“But when do you eat?” Strangers asks, leaning over Annie's desk with narrowed eyes. “Or do your homework? How many subjects do you even have if you have school all day long?”

“Ivan,” Perks hisses.

“We usually have a break for lunch,” Annie says slowly, shooting Justin a look. He looks just as confused as her. “And we do our homework at home after school. Some subjects change with the years, but we have music, art, PE, math, science, history, geography, English, er... ethics and Spanish, I guess.”

“Didn't I tell you that yesterday?” Justin asks with a frown.

Strangers sniffs. “I just wanted to know if she would lie.”

Ah. There were more of them in Justin's House, too. And clearly Justin didn't like it, either, because his face fell like he scored last place in the finals.

“That was rude,” Scriven says, hands on her hips.

Strangers rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” And then he walks off to join the rest of his housemates.

“I'm sorry,” Justin whispers. “I don't know why he said that. I told him you were my friend.”

“It's not your fault,” Annie tells him, looking straight into his eyes. “He was rude. Not you.”

“That's right!” Scriven agrees, then sits right next to Annie with a smile. “Justin says you play music like him. I never learnt to play an instrument, but it sounds nice. Is it something all muggles do?”

Before Annie could answer, the sound of a bell echoed through the halls. Scriven mouthed a 'later' and Annie nodded, then turned toward the teacher.

Justin quickly sat down on her other side, MacMillan and Perks quickly settling behind them.

Professor Grey prooves to be an interesting teacher. She introduces herself as a retired Unspeakable, whatever that is, winks at them with a reminder to never ask a witch her age, and then moves on to explain what Magical Theory is about.

After a short lecture, Professor Grey has them working in pairs over a spreadsheet she floats to their desks. Justin immediately drags his chair to Annie's desk, and Zabini looks slightly confused when Scriven does the same to him, but she has the same kind of energy as Justin, the one that sucks you in and makes you their friend without you even realizing.

And, just like Annie two years ago, Zabini doesn't stand a chance. By the end of class, Scriven is calling him by his first name and waving at him before following the Hufflepuff Prefect – a girl with vivid yellow hair – out of the door and to their next class.

Slytherin's own escort doesn't arrive until after the second bell, walking slowly with a look of indifference. She looks at them standing in the hallway outside the classroom, her dark eyes seemingly judging them and finding them bothersome.

“I am Phyllida Rosier,” she then says in a light voice. “You may not address me by my first name. Regina asked me to lead you back to the common room, and so I will, but do not expect me to babysit you after that. No, I do not care what Cousin Narcissa has to say about that, Draco.”

Malfoy again. Annie is starting to wonder if he's some sort of celebrity or something. Like a famous pain in the arse.

“Follow me,” Rosier orders, then turns sharply on her heels. She walks through the maze of hallways with her shoulders straight and her head high, and at a slow pace that contrasts greatly with Connelly's keep-up-or-get-lost speed and Lestrange's I-have-places-to-be hurried steps.

The hallways aren't as empty as they were earlier in the morning. They cross a few groups of people who eye them warily and Annie is shocked when she notices that Rosier's wand is in her hand, only noticeable when movement shifts her long sleeve away from her hand.

Lestrange had said that spellcasting in the hallways was against the rules. Annie more-or-less remembers the exact wording, how she and Connelly would say don'ts or dare them to do stupid things in spite of consequences, but would say that casting spells in the hallways is against the rules.

In hindsight, that sounds a lot like don't get caught.

Watching Rosier look around the hallways with cold but alert eyes, it even feels like a warning.

It's also making her stomach feel queasy.

Lunch comes and goes, and then Annie finds herself listening to a ghost drone on about History with the most supporific flat voice she has ever heard. The teacher doesn't even seem to notice they're there, floating behind his desk and uncaring that half of his class is falling asleep.

Annie has to shake Nick awake a few times, the Ravenclaw having fallen in the seat next to hers as soon as he entered the room. Neither of them have much luck taking notes, but Annie lets him copy hers and he shows her his own, so at least they're not as badly off as they would have been otherwise.

Ravenclaw also happens to have Transfiguration with them afterward, so a few of them follow behind the Slytherin prefect – a blond boy who introduces himself as Roderick Snyde – when he takes them to their next class.

“That's McGonnagal,” Annie whispers to Nick as they settle next to each others at a table, nodding at the cat watching them from the desk. Her ears flick back at her words, and Annie thinks she must not have been quiet enough. “Justin told me earlier.”

Nick gives her a wide-eyed look. “What? Really?”

“It's Transformation magic,” Annie explains. “An advanced branch of Transfiguration. It's very difficult. There's even people in St-Mungo's who got permanently stuck half-way into an animal because they couldn't do it right.”

Nick stares at McGonnagal, face pale. “Oh.”

“I don't think it's something we have to learn in Hogwarts, though,” Annie adds awkwardly.

The bell rings before Nick can respond. They watch in silence as McGonagall sits up, the tip of her tail twitching slightly. It makes Annie think of someone tapping their foot.

Is McGonnagal waiting for something?

“Boot and Goldstein aren't here yet,” Nick whispers at her. She twists her neck to look at the room and notices that there are less Ravenclaws that she remembers from History. “I think we're missing some girls, too.”

Nick's words are confirmed when, after five minutes of the room buzzing with low chatter, three girls pile up in the doorway, one of them running into the others' back and nearly sending them all stumbling on the floor.

“Did we make it in time?” the redhead of the group asks, pushing her messy hair out of her face.

“McGonnagal's not here yet, just sit down and–”

And that's about when McGonagall leaps off the desk and transforms back into a human. People gasp and Annie watches in awe, even though she had known. It's still impressive.

“And what, pray tell, Mister Meadowes?” McGonagall asks with a raised eyebrow. The boy who was speaking, a freckled blonde with a round face, flushes and ducks his head. McGonagall then turns her gaze onto the three girls, who are frozen in place. “Well? Are you planning on attending my class from the hallway?”

Everyone is silent as the girls move to empty seats, watching for McGonnagal's next move.

“It looks like we're still missing three people,” the older witch notes, unimpressed. “Three points from Ravenclaw for tardiness. Unfortunately, they will have to catch up on their own. As for the rest of you, welcome to your first class of Transfiguration. It is a difficult and demanding subject, and I will not tolerate any tomfoolery under my supervision...”