Miracle in a Bottle

Transfiguration concludes with McGonagall giving them a chapter to read and three inches of parchment to write about visualization techniques, their first subject of study.

At least now Annie understands what Justin meant when he said Transfiguration was 'a lot of brain work'. It hadn't seemed that bad when Annie read through the textbook – though it didn’t go in many details, so maybe that was why. It just gave them spells, wand movements and some of the theory, plus references to Principles of Transfiguration and the researchers who developed them.

Magic isn’t just words and wand-waving, Professor Grey had told them. All it says to Annie is that she’s going to need to go to the library to get any homework done, because her textbooks weren’t detailed enough.

Transfiguration is Ravenclaw’s last class for the day, so Nick heads off to do his own thing, even as Rosier reappears to drag the Slytherins back to their dorm to switch textbooks, and then up to the Defence Wing. She walks just as slowly as before, but uses two shortcuts that save a lot of travel time between the dungeons and the third floor Defence Wing.

Said Wing has armour stands all over the place, weapons framed and displayed on every available surface on the walls, little plaques underneath with carved messages that Annie can barely read, few of them written in modern English. Busts and statues of old witches and wizards sit in almost every alcove, some made out of plain yellow stone, others gleaming with gold and jewels and actual clothes and weapons. When she looks up, she finds the ceiling painted with scenes of battles, all of them moving like they’re in a movie.

She almost walks into Bulstrode twice because Annie is looking up for too long. Steward has to be dragged by the hand by his friend, Wright hissing in his ear to watch where he’s going, while both Burke and Blishwick linger in the back, distracted by the various weapons and artefacts on display.

Rosier doesn’t seem to care about any of it, walking toward her goal and ignoring the squeaky attempts from Max to ask her if those are real weapons, are they cursed, is it possible to take them?

The Defence Wing, unlike the dungeons, doesn’t have fake doors. Some rooms don’t have doors at all, carved archways leading to spacious rooms decorated with trophies of all sorts. One room even has stuffed creatures inside, another is filled with mounted heads that are taller than Annie, and a third is filled with large crates – but Annie can only get a glimpse of them as they go by, unwilling to risk being left behind by the indifferent prefect.

After leading them up a narrow staircase and down a dim-lit hallway, Rosier eventually comes to a stop in front of one of the doors. It’s cracked open, but Rosier doesn’t make a move to touch it, and instead turns around to face them.

“The Defence teacher this year is a witch named Isabella Peasegood,” she says. “It will be in your best interest not to get attached. Defence teachers do not tend to last long in Hogwarts.”

“Thank you, Miss Rosier,” a woman's voice says irritatedly. “I can take the First Years from here.”

Rosier blinks and casts a disinterested look at the older witch standing in the now-open doorway. She blinks again, inclines her head and then turns on her heel, departing without a word.

Lips pursed, the witch – who must be their Defence professor – looks at them and then takes a step back. “Go sit down.”

The classroom is most similar to the Transfiguration one, with double desks and a flat, one-level floor. In an unspoken agreement, they all sit down on the left side of the room, Annie thankfully managing to get a seat in the front of the class. She doesn’t know what she’d do if she had to sit behind someone as tall as Nott or Bulstrode – she’s not sure she’d be able to see the board around their heads.

It takes a few minutes before the Gryffindors start to trickle in. The train girl, Granger, walks up to sit in the front, chatting enthusiastically with a thin girl who keeps casting nervous look to their half of the classroom. She meets Annie’s eyes once and lets out a startled squeak, earning Annie a suspicious glare from Granger, before she puffs up and turns back to her friend.

It is, honestly, baffling.

The bell rings and, immediately after, Annie hears the door slam close. Professor Peasegood stalks to the front of the class, each of her footstep loudly hitting the stone floor, and whips her wand at the board.

“Greetings, students,” she says in a strong voice. “I will be your Defence professor this year, so you may address me as Professor Peasegood. As you can see, my door closes at the bell. I will open it once ten minutes into class, and you’d better be there or you will not attend my class at all. I will not take points today as it is your first day, but do not expect my lenience to continue. If you are late to my class three times, not only will you lose points, but you will be assigned detention, and then again for every further happenstance. You may wish to merely skip my class instead, and that is your choice. But I do not take well to people disturbing their classmates’ learning and will not tolerate such behaviour in my class.”

Granger raises her hand. Peasegood ignores her.

“Childish antics, pranks and petty rivalries are strictly banned from my class,” the teacher continues, glaring warningly at them. Her eyes land on Annie and narrow even further. “You are here to learn. You may only be First Years, but Defence Against the Dark Arts is a delicate subject that can easily lead to injury if not handled properly. If you cause any harm to a fellow student, you will not be welcomed back into my class until you have made proper amend. If it was up to me, you wouldn’t be able to return at all, but, alas, Hogwarts does not allow for such an exception. It doesn’t mean I cannot sit you down with essays while the rest of the class goes through our planned activities. No amount of whining or complaining will get you out of it. If you do not behave, I will find a way to make you.”

“She can try,” Annie hears Malfoy mutters. Somehow, Peasegood doesn’t hear him. Or chooses not to hear him, Annie isn’t sure yet.

The rest of the class doesn’t help her figure it out, either. As she promised, Peasegood opens the door after ten minutes and gives her speech again for the few Gryffindors who join them, but doesn’t take points from them. She does when one of the Gryffindor boys burps so loudly that half of his housemates burst out giggling, and then again later after slamming her hand on two girls’ desks because they were clearly talking to each other instead of paying attention – but she only took one point away from each of them and then went back to talking about Ministry rules.

It's boring. Annie cannot believe that a class about magic can be boring. She could understand a history class taught by a ghost being boring – it’s history. Annie never really cared about history classes. But this? It’s all rules and the Ministry says and by Ministry regulations and Ministry, Ministry, Ministry... Annie’s hand starts to cramp after twenty minutes and she’s already skipping words to keep up with Peasegood’s passionate if dull monologue about what is and isn’t legal to do when using magic.

It’s Connelly who is waiting for them at the door, a smirk on his lips when he sees them filing out of the door after the stampede of Gryffindors.

Justin had been right about it, too – Gryffindors are loud.

“Had fun, little snakelets?” the prefect asks them.

“This was a waste of time!” Parkinson exclaims, her arms crossed over her chest. “We didn’t learn any magic, only stupid Ministry rules!”

Connelly gives them a condescending look.

“Poor little snakes,” he coos, overly saccharine and very clearly mocking. “But you have to know the rules if you want to work the system. You can’t hex a hog when you’re casting around in the fog.”

Hex a hog. Where did that even come from?

“Come on, kids,” Connelly says. “I’m taking you to the Great Hall. You can wait there until dinner, unless you feel confident to travel on your own.”

Annie doesn’t know the way from the Defence Wing to the library, but she does remember how to get there from the Great Hall, thanks to Connelly’s morning tour. It means she patiently waits for them to reach the Great Hall, then goes inside just to see if Justin was at his table – but he’s not.

So Annie splits off from the other Slytherins and walks to the Ravenclaw table instead, where Nick is sitting with another of his housemate.

“Hi!” she says.

“Hey,” Nick greets, hesitating awkwardly for a moment before looking at his friend sitting next to him, then back at Annie. “Er, do you want to sit with us?”

“Actually, I was going to the library,” she says. “I just wanted to see if you wanted to come.”

“Oh, do you mind if I joined you?” Nick’s friend asks eagerly. “Miss Clearwater has been too taken by her prefect duties to spare the time, and none of our other prefects seem to be interested in assisting us.”

Annie blinks. She hasn’t heard anyone speak like that outside of Aunt Petunia’s dramas, but she supposes it might as well happen. “Of course,” she agrees. “I don’t mind.”

“You are very gracious,” he says, then stands up, turning to Nick. “Would you introduce us, then?”

Nick startles. “Um, yeah. This is... Annie, I’m sorry I don’t remember your full name. She’s a long-time friend of Justin’s. Annie, this is Donovan Fenwick, we’re partners in Charms.”

“I’m Anemone Potter,” Annie says, and shakes the hand Fenwick offers her. "Please call me Annie or Anemone."

“Anemone, then,” Fenwick decides. “You may address me as Donovan, in that case.”

“Donovan,” she agrees. “You two already had Charms? How was it?”

“It was most interesting,” Donovan says as they start walking. “Professor Flitwick is a retired duelling champion, did you know? My mother is proud to have challenged him on the duelling platform a few times. That was before she had my siblings and me, of course, but she strongly recommended that I join the Duelling Club once I possess the qualifications. My mother’s training gives me an advantage, of course, but I’m sure the two of you could also join if you are interested.”

“Maybe,” Nick says, sounding unsure.

“If I have the time,” Annie says. “Competitions are a lot of work, even amateur ones, and I have to keep up with my piano practice.”

She doesn’t want to be ridiculed next summer. Not when Aunt Petunia went and said she had gone to a musical school that would make her practice even during the holidays. She just knows that Mrs. Dustin would be waiting to criticize her, even if she came back and started playing expert pieces. Which she hasn’t managed yet, a fact that would undoubtedly be mentioned at least once.

“Right, Justin said you two competed,” Nick notes, earning a curious look from Donovan.

“I play the piano, Justin the violin,” Annie tells him. “We met at a mixed musical contest in London when we were eight, but we’ve both been competing regionally before that.”

Since she first entered her music teacher’s class at six, actually. The woman had driven her around Surrey, sometimes with older participants whose parents were busy, but mostly alone. It often meant overnight trips because the Dursleys wouldn’t pay her an hotel room, but her teacher never complained.

Annie owes Mrs. Todd a lot. Unfortunately, Dudley hadn’t liked the fact that a teacher liked Annie better than him and had complained to his father, who had then complained to the principal, whose younger brother worked under Uncle Vernon at Grunnings. Mrs. Todd hadn’t stood a chance, and Annie has since travelled alone by bus or taxi, when she had the money.

She had hoped to meet her again at another competition, but Mrs. Todd never appeared with another student. And now Annie wouldn’t be doing any muggle competition until next summer.

“Muggles... have competitions in music?” Donovan asks, sounding confused. “And you all have different instruments? At the same competition?”

“Just in amateur competitions, there are also specialised ones. Don't Wizards have them?” Annie wonders.

“No, we do,” Donovan assures her. “But I didn’t think muggles had enough appreciation of the arts to make such things officials.”

“Donovan’s relatives are all wizards,” Nick tells Annie before she can tell him he's being rude. “He’s been asking about my life a lot.”

“I never met a muggle,” Donovan confirms. “My third cousin once removed married a half-blood, but Vladimir never speaks much of his muggle mother’s family, and what he does say is hardly flattering. But, from what Nicholas has been sharing of his parents, I can assume it varies from muggle to muggle.”

“Yeah, my parents are great,” Nick says softly, before frowning. “What’s a half-blood?”

Donovan blinks in surprise, nearly tripping over his own foot before catching himself. “Oh, of course, you wouldn’t know. We call ‘half-blood’ those who are half-wizard, half-muggle. Or those with a muggleborn parent.”

Like me, Annie realizes. Then something clicks and it’s out of her mouth before she can snap it shut.

“What’s a mudblood, then?” she asks, and Donovan nearly jumps out of his own skin.

“Do not—” he seems to gather himself, looking between Nick and Annie, who have matching looks of confusion at his reaction. “Has someone called you such a name?”

Nick turns to Annie, who tries to keep her cheeks from flaring red. “Parkinson tried to insult me,” she says lightly. “That was her best attempt.”

Donovan scowls. “She has as little grace as ever. This word she used is an insult toward those not of pure wizarding blood. It shames them on their muggle origins, calling them dirty and unworthy. It is aimed toward muggleborns, but my father says that those who use that word often don’t have the wherewithal in terms of intelligence to distinguish their own quality as a wizard, never mind that of others, and should not be taken seriously.”

Wow. Annie wishes she could insult people like that.

“Your father is ruthless,” Nick comments, sounding impressed.

Donovan grins and puffs up in pride. “Thank you.” Then he frowns. “Though it is concerning that she felt comfortable enough to use such a word with an audience. If she persists, you should reach out to your Head of House.”

Annie remembers the looks Snape had thrown at her and tries to picture his reaction if she were to go and actually talk to him. She doesn’t think so. “I’ll remember that next time,” she lies, offering him a small smile.

Donovan doesn’t smile back, eyes flickering down to her green tie, before meeting her eyes again. “Yes,” he says. “I suppose you will.”

Nick frowns at her, then looks around uncomfortably. “So, er, is the library far?”

“It shouldn’t be,” Annie answers, thankful for the change in conversation. “Unless it moved since this morning – but Connelly said that rarely happens.”

Donovan nods, while Nick looks horrified. “The library moves?” he repeats. “Like, on its own?”

“It might just be the door,” Donovan suggests. “It would be too much for every book and bookshelf to change room, they might not even end up all in the same place. It would have been counter-productive to have such enchantments.”

“That was the impression I got,” Annie confirms. “Like the infirmary stays on the Third Floor, the doors just appear closer to where you need them.”

“It does make things easier,” Donovan says, pleased.

“That’s not what I meant,” Nick mutters, sounding defeated.

Annie, who knows what he meant, just smirks at him. He looks at her suspiciously, but then she points out an horrid suit of armour – it’s orange and has mouldy fur and is just generally disgusting – and says this means they’re getting closer.

“I suppose it makes for an eye-catching marker,” Donovan says, wrinkling his nose.

“Nose-catching, too,” Nick adds as they walk next to it. “It smells like cheese and dirty feet.”

“They probably did not wash it properly before putting it on display,” Donovan suggests. “Or the preservation spell ran out and no one thought to alert the caretaker so he could fix it.”

“Preservation spell?” Nick asks, immediately curious. Annie also turns to look at Donovan, who nods imperiously.

“My father does a tour of our Estate every year to ensure everything remains in perfect condition,” the wizard-raised boy informs them primly. “He says it is an important duty to uphold, to preserve the history of our House and honour our ancestors. He took me with him every year after I had my first act of accidental magic, so that I would one day be able to take the duty from him. I have yet to learn every preservation spells he uses, but he told me the theory.”

Annie feels a pang in her chest. Would her father have shown this to her, had he been awake? Would he have told her about their family? Did they have anything of her grandparents, or was everything destroyed the night her mother died?

She doesn’t know.

She doesn’t want to think about it.

“We’re here,” she announces, stopping in front of two large wooden doors.

The boys stop in their tracks, Nick nearly walking on the hem of his robes as Annie goes to push the door open.

A woman looks up at their entrance, her eyes narrowing immediately with displeasure. “First Years?”

“That is correct, Madam,” Donovan answers, a winsome smile on his face.

It just serves to annoy the woman even more and she glares at them. “No drinking, no eating, no noise, no magic. You can only take five books out at a time. If you return them in anything less than perfect condition, I will have you banned. Understood?”

“Understood, Madam,” Donovan says, more quietly this time.

“It’s Madam Pince to you,” she snaps, before returning to her book.

They hurry down the aisles, none of them uttering a single word. When they’re far enough that she would not hear them, Nick lets out a shuddering breath.

“That was intense,” he comments, and Donovan nods in agreement.

“She reminds me of the librarian at my elementary school,” Annie says. “Maybe they’re all like that.”

Nick gives her an odd look. “What? No. My mum is a librarian and she’s nothing like that.”

Donovan lights up. “Your mother is a muggle librarian? Do you think she would agree to lend me muggle books?”

“I mean, I can ask,” Nick says, confused. “You’ll probably need a membership card, though, and you’ll need your parents’ permission for that.”

“I will write to my mother this very evening,” Donovan promises. “Until then, shall we investigate the knowledge held in these tomes?”

“I’ll go looking for the Transfiguration Section,” Annie says. “I need to get started on my homework before I can practise.”

She doesn’t know if Hogwarts is like her elementary school, where extracurricular activities were suspended if she had too many bad grades or was late with her homework, but she didn’t want to risk it. There isn’t a place where she can practise piano in the dorms, so if she’s locked out of the music room she doesn’t know what she could do about it.

The two boys at her side seem to wilt.

“It would be wiser to complete our assignments first, would it not?” Donovan says disappointedly.

Nick sighs. “Yeah.”

“It’s just three inches of parchment,” Annie says, even as their reticence hits her like it’s her own. “It shouldn’t take that long, right?”

Of course, that wasn’t counting them getting ridiculously lost in the library and having to run to dinner before they missed it. Annie’s day isn’t even over, because Connelly drags them all to the common room after the meal for a lesson on proper class etiquette, which means she doesn’t have the time to shower or even take a nap before it’s time for Astronomy.

Annie sits in a light daze, leaning against Justin’s shoulder with her cloak around them both, as Professor Sinistra gives them an overview of what to expect from her class. She shows them how to use their telescope, gives them a booklet full of Astronomy facts and myths about the stars - which would be very interesting if Annie wouldn't rather be both warm and in bed.

Professor Sinistra has pity on them and lets them go early, so that's nice, but it’s still half past midnight before Annie can fall into bed, her hair half-done and her pyjamas slightly wet. She, unsurprisingly, falls asleep the moment her head hits the pillow.

And then Lestrange wakes them up at six o’clock, again, with a sadistic grin on her face as bleary-eyed girls open the curtains of their alcove.