They traipse through the corridor, pushing and pulling – or rather, Ethel pushes and pulls and Mildred just gets dragged along. The friendship trap is horrible and it's only been active for an hour.
"Are you sure you know where we're going?" Mildred questions as they go down a narrow corridor. "I don't think this is the way to the art classroom."
"It's a short-cut," Ethel says, before they go down a tiny spiral staircase. Mildred nearly trips over her own feet, wobbling dangerously even as Ethel pulls her down faster and faster.
"Ethel, slow down," Mildred struggles, heart beating in her ears as she becomes frightened, the stairs going on forever and ever and Ethel not slowing down so she can regain her balance. "Ethel, I'm going to fall!"
Ethel harrumphs, but stops, Mildred nearly falling forwards before she grabs the rope around the centre column. Catching her breath, she makes her way down slower, Ethel thankfully keeping to Mildred's pace, up until they exit the stairwell. The corridor is brightly lit and for a moment, Ethel imagines Ethel's short-cut worked, but then Ethel drags her over to a door that says No Students Allowed.
"What's that? Where are we going?" Mildred demands, tugging Ethel back – but Ethel is stronger and far more stubborn. She opens the door, pulling Mildred in with her. Immediately, Mildred feels cold, like she's outside in the snow. The room is dark, but in the middle of the room, Mildred can see a stone podium, a snow globe glowing dimly, illuminating the room in soft blue. "What is that?"
"It's a Wishing Globe," Ethel pronounces, manoeuvring them so they stand side-by-side in front of it. "We simply put our hands on it and say 'I wish we weren't bound by any magic at all'."
"And that's it?" Mildred questions, sceptical, "It just…goes away?"
"It just goes away," Ethel confirms, "But we have to be very specific. Wishing Globe's are worse than genies, sometimes. My father told me about this one – he said my Aunt Morwyn once wished to be the prettiest girl in the school and it banished half the pupils to the boundaries of Cackle's."
"Oh. Right…okay, then. So we say 'I wish we weren't bound by magic?"
"Bound by any magic at all," Ethel corrects harshly and Mildred nods quickly, hoping she doesn't mess this up, repeating the sentence over and over in her head. Ethel raises their bound arms, hands hovering over the Globe. "On three. One, two, three."
They lower their hands, the Globe's blue light turning indigo. They speak in time.
"I wish we weren't bound by any magic at all."
The cold in the room shifts, a soft wind blowing before their arms detach, the Globe turning a soft green. Mildred laughs, unable to believe that it worked. She turns to Ethel, who smirks superiorly at the Globe.
"It worked!"
"Nearly," Ethel says, looking to her just as the wind picks up. "You're so stupid, you know. Wishing Globe's sense intentions and your thoughts, too. Now I won't have to deal with you ever again."
Mildred's heart drops to her stomach. "What?"
"Good luck wherever the Globe sends you, Mildred – because it won't be here," Ethel says and then Mildred hears a big ripping sound, like pulling a tear through your jeans. Then, it's like something's yanking her from around her navel and she's sucked back through a fiery green portal. Ethel watches her with a victorious grin as Mildred goes skidding across a stone floor, the portal closing without another sound.
"No!" Mildred shouts, angry at Ethel and then scared as she looks around and sees unfamiliar hallways. She's in a castle corridor, but the ceilings are high and arched and the hallway wide, enough for eight men abreast. It's definitely not Cackle's. Getting to her feet, Mildred twists and turns, before calling out in a tremulous voice. "Hello?"
Her call echoes through the corridor, but no-one answers. Mildred swallows, the silence rankling. Going to the nearby window, Mildred looks outside, trying to see if she recognises anything. Outside there are tall, tree-covered mountains and a large, long lake that glitters in the sunlight. Off to one side, she can see a boathouse and then further, nearly out of sight, she can see people – people swimming in the lake and sunbathing on the grass and at the base of trees.
"Now that is an unusual uniform."
Mildred jumps, twisting to see the owner of the voice, eyes blowing wide at the sight of the ghost. A portly fellow in life, the ghost looks like a monk or a priest, dressed in a robe with a balding head. He tilts his head at her surprise.
"Are you lost, child?"
"I- I was banished," Mildred breathes out the words, shocked at seeing the spirit, "Ethel sent me away. I don't know where I am."
"Oh, poor dear," the monk floats closer, sinking into the floor a little as he comes down to her level. "I am Friar Rogers, though students have called me the Fat Friar in centuries past." He chuckles, shaking his head. "What might your name be, young one?"
Mildred finds that her eyes are stinging and she blinks away her tears as she answers, stuttering. "M-M-Mildred, Friar Rogers, Mil-Mildred Hubble. I'm from Cackle's Academy."
"Cackle's Academy? Why, I've never heard of a Cackle's, before," Friar Rogers says, voice soft. "This castle hosts Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Follow me, now and I'll take you to see the Headmaster – or the Deputy Headmistress, if she's about. Lovely woman, Minerva, lovely woman…come along, Miss Hubble."
Friar Rogers floats upwards again, feet trailing a few inches above the floor. Mildred forces her feet to move, following him down the corridor and around a corner. Her eyes dart to the numerous canvases and portraits on the walls, full of moving people who whisper to each other. Half a dozen ladies playing cards in one wide canvas and in another, a little boy with curly brown hair peers at her closely as he can from the scaffolding outside a beautiful mosque.
The castle is huge, Mildred realises when they come to a tall, tall space full of moving staircases. The staircase she goes down starts to move as she nears the middle and the Friar calls out for her to hold on as it turns in mid-air to a new destination. Mildred finds herself looking down into the chasm-like space where what seems like a hundred staircases drift from door to door, holding onto the stone banister like a lifeline.
"Watch the trip step!" Friar Rogers warns when it stops and she hurries downwards, "I can't help you if your leg falls through!"
"If my leg falls through?" Mildred looks at the steps in terror, swallowing as she catches sight of one step that's paler than the others, two from the next landing. Careful to avoid it, Mildred makes it to the other end – the Friar muttering to himself happily about the castle being helpful. Mildred doesn't know how a castle can be helpful, but by the time the Friar has led her to another exit into Staircase Hell, a school bell has rung and Mildred sees dozens of students pouring out of different doors – most below but some above.
"Lunchtime," Friar Rogers chuckles, rubbing his transparent belly. "Ah, to be amongst the living. Come now – we can take an internal staircase up to the seventh floor and if the Headmaster has joined the students for lunch, we can always summon a house-elf to collect him. In truth, if you really did appear in Hogwarts via banishment, the school wards should have alerted the Headmaster to your predicament anyway."
"Right," Mildred says softly, following the ghost through into a sunlit corridor again, stopping when the ghost goes through a tapestry where, obviously, she can't follow. He's a ghost, Mildred thinks, even if the abandonment stings, he probably didn't realise.
But then Friar Rogers' head slips through the tapestry again, "Come on, Miss Hubble. This was my favourite secret passageway as a boy – no-one uses the classrooms on this floor anymore, but there used to be quite the amount of traffic up and down this staircase, people getting sent to the Headmaster daily."
"A secret passageway?" Mildred questions in disbelief, stepping forwards and pushing the tapestry aside a little, surprised to find a door, the Friar disappearing through once more. Slipping behind the heavy green and gold depicting some kind of battle, Mildred opens the door, the creaking making her wince. Inside, a dusty staircase much like the one Ethel dragged her down leads both up and down.
"Up we go," Friar Rogers says cheerily. Mildred holds the door – and the tapestry – open for a little longer, though, noticing the lack of lights for her to turn on with a snap of her fingers. "Scared of the dark, little one? A trusty lumos will light the way – children often do them as toddlers!"
"I've never heard of a lumos spell before," Mildred says, but lets the door and tapestry close with another creak and a soft thump. Shutting her eyes and holding her hands cupped in front of her, she imagines a ball of light in her hand that would float up in front of her, lighting the way as the Friar said it would. "Lumos."
Mildred feels a jolt in her magic, then, strange and funny – but the light appears and rather than draining her like normal spells, the flow of magic stops near-instantaneously. The Friar gasps.
"Wandless magic? Such power!"
Wandless? Mildred frowns, then supposes that maybe the Friar was a wizard in life. Well, he did say he was a student here, when he was alive. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…a co-ed school, like Miss Pentangle's. Maybe wizards used wands rather than staffs, before.
"Upstairs?" Mildred prompts, the Friar snapping out of his shock to nod, floating straight upwards. Mildred hurries to follow, checking her laces – done up tightly, thankfully, with no stray ends – before running up after him, ball of light staying a few feet ahead of her at all times.
When she reaches the Friar, Mildred accidentally runs through him, feeling as if a bucket of ice-water had been thrown over her head. Shivering, feeling icky, Mildred mumbles an apology, Friar Rogers waving her off before motioning to the new door.
"Be careful, it's behind another tapestry," he warns. Mildred nods, before opening the door outwards, pushing against the heavy fabric on the other side, slipping out with her lumos light.
"Out," she waves her hand over the ball, frowning when it stays, stationary in the air. She looks to the Friar. "Is there a special word to turn it off? Usually that works with other things."
"The anathema to lumos is nox." Friar Rogers informs her, before adding, "Though, it is also the anathema to lumos maxima."
"Is…is that Latin?" Mildred blinks, having a sudden realisation. "This is different magic! So, using Latin magic means using Latin magic to reverse the effects, too?"
Friar Rogers looks puzzled, "Well, yes. The Wizarding World was rather taken with Latin spells, after speaking it went out of fashion. Meant you didn't accidentally blow someone up while having an argument. That was somewhat before my time, though, several hundred years, in fact. Is this not familiar to you?"
"Not really," Mildred says, before catching sight of a griffin statue down the corridor. The Friar follows her gaze, twisting around.
"The Headmaster's Office," Friar Rogers says, floating forwards. Mildred follows him along, stopping in front of the hulking statue. "My dear fellow, is Albus in?"
"…he's got a visitor," the statue says after a long moment. "I'm not supposed to talk in front of students."
"I'm not a student here, don't worry," Mildred assures. "I'll keep your secret."
"…thank-you," the griffin says. "I've told him you're here. Fat Friar, go up and say hello."
"Of course, of course – I won't be a moment, Miss Hubble." Friar Rogers says, before floating up through the ceiling. Mildred watches him go, scuffing her feet on the floor.
"Is the Headmaster nice?" she asks the griffin.
"Yes. He is kind and has a horrible sense of fashion. It burns my eyes and I'm a rock."
Mildred giggles, looking left when she hears a set of shoes. A young man makes his way down the corridor, slowing at the sight of her. With oily hair and a hooked nose, wearing all black, Mildred has to wonder for a moment if he's related to Miss Hardbroom.
"And what do we have here?" he looks her up and down, stopping a few feet from her, sneering. "Where did you come from?"
"Somewhere else," Mildred says. "I'm lost. The Friar is speaking to the headmaster about me, but he's got a visitor right now."
"…I see. What is your name?"
"Mildred Hubble, sir," Mildred greets, putting her hand to her forehead as she gives a short bow, "Well met."
He frowns.
Mildred hesitates, unsure. Maybe it's like the spells – maybe they do things different here. Mildred holds out her hand instead, arm straight as can be. The man eyes it, before shaking slowly, their hands barely touching.
"Severus Snape, Potions Master here at Hogwarts…you may call me Professor," he introduces himself.
"Nice to meet you, Professor Snape," Mildred grins, putting her hands behind her back as the griffin turns, stone grinding on stone to reveal a staircase. "Oh!"
"I suspect the Headmaster wishes to speak to you, Miss Hubble. Up," Professor Snape orders, Mildred scampering forwards, rushing up the stairs. "Walk!"
At his shout, Mildred stops, beginning again at a slower pace, noticing him coming up behind her. This must be a tower, Mildred thinks as the stairs go on and on, until she reaches an ornate door with a plaque on it. She reads it as she knocks.
Albus Dumbledore, O.M 1st
Headmaster
Office hours: 9am-10pm
"Come in!" calls a muffled voice. Mildred opens the door just as the Friar floats down through the floor, dousing her feet in cold. She shivers, but then her attention is taken by the large red bird that squawks from its perch by the desk of an old man with a long, white beard.
"Oh!" Mildred startles, the bird then proceeding to flutter across to sit on the wizard's shoulder. "What kind of bird is he?"
"A phoenix, Miss Hubble," Professor Snape says coldly. "Don't you know your basic magical creatures?"
"Phoenixes are far from basic, Severus," the older wizard admonishes as Mildred walks forwards, not letting the professor's words get to her. Ethel has said worse. "Fawkes is quite restless today."
"Is he yours?" Mildred asks, curious.
"We are old friends," the wizard says, blue eyes twinkling from behind his half-moon spectacles. "I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of this school. The Fat Friar tells me you were banished here and that you are quite lost."
"I am a little," Mildred admits, fiddling with her sash, which has loosened over the course of the day. She itches to retie it, but stays her hand. "I'm from Cackle's Academy for Young Witches. A girl I know, we were fighting and our headmistress cast a friendship trap on us so our arms were stuck together. Her name's Ethel and she's horrid, but her sisters are really nice."
"A friendship trap?" Mr Dumbledore's eyebrows rise on his forehead. "Why, that sounds rather extreme."
Mildred nods, glad to be rid of Ethel, even though she's somewhere strange and unfamiliar. "She's a bully and she tricked me, too. She took me to a room and lied and said- and said that the Wishing Globe would separate us. It did, but apparently she wished for something else, too." Mildred swallows, feeling as if she's in a small box, the walls closing in around her. She hugs herself tightly, wanting to be back in Cackle's with Maud and Enid – or even better, with her mum.
"A terrible fate to bestow upon a classmate," Mr Dumbledore says, grave. There's no twinkle to his eye anymore and his face is serious. "The Friar tells me your name is Mildred Hubble. What age are you, Miss Hubble?"
"Twelve," Mildred says, voice cracking. "I just started my second year at Cackle's."
"Very well," Mr Dumbledore says, standing, his phoenix friend fluttering back to his perch. Mr Dumbledore makes his way around his desk, stroking Fawkes once as he goes by. Mildred realises the griffin statue was right, all of a sudden, as she sees his robes – bright turquoise and covered in moving turtles and jellyfish. "We will contact the Ministry of Magic and report your appearance and hopefully, they will contact your parents and teachers to explain where you are. Then, hopefully, someone will come and collect you."
Relief fills Mildred for a good, solid moment, but quickly her confusion takes over. "Ministry?" she frowns, "What's the Ministry? I thought they were called the Magic Council."
Mr Dumbledore pauses, looking over her shoulder to Professor Snape before meeting her eyes again. "I'm afraid I've never heard of a Magic Council before, Miss Hubble. Are you sure you don't been the Wizengamot? Or perhaps the Warlocks Council?"
Wizen-what? Warlock Council? Isn't warlock just another word for wizard? Mildred feels a creeping sense of dread that pools in her belly, climbing up between her ribs to curl around her heart. She shakes her head rapidly.
"Mr Dumbledore," she says, "I think I'm very far away from home. Friar Rogers and I were talking about magic before and ours isn't the same – we use chants and- and hand movements. You use another language."
"The Friar did mention something about that," Mr Dumbledore says slowly. From his pocket, he withdraws a knobbly stick – a wand. He flicks it gently and a stream of blue sparks fall out the ends, Mildred gasping at the sight, stepping back, only to bump into Professor Snape.
"Careful," he snaps, before Mildred backs off to the side, bumping into a bookcase. She stares at the two wizards, wondering if Professor Snape too, has a wand. "Why is she frightened?" Professor Snape asks Mr Dumbledore, short and curt.
"I believe it as she says," the headmaster says, sombre. "She is very far away from home, indeed. Miss Hubble. Please, if you can, show us your magic – cast a spell."
Mildred swallows, having flashbacks to her transformation spell that went wrong, which went on and on because she couldn't stop it. I turned Ethel into a pig, she thinks however, finding her confidence bolstered at the memory, strangely enough. Her shoulders square and she stands up straight, off the bookcase. Her eyes shoot around and she finds a small table, with a half-empty bowl sitting on top. Going over, Mildred empties the bowl, the striped brown and white sweets into toppling onto the table-top.
"Really? Making a mess of the headmaster's personal study-" Professor Snape starts, before Mr Dumbledore shushes him.
"Let her do as she wills, Severus."
Mildred, looking between the wizards hesitantly, nods, turning back to the bowl. She stares at it for a while, her mind reeling. What rhymes with bowl? The bowl isn't especially pretty – a simple black oval, with a rectangular bottom. It's made of wood and the edges are chipped and well-handled.
Mildred allows herself a single smile as she comes up with something, before she concentrates, chanting quickly and precisely.
"Boring and a little rough, turn this bowl into a rug!"
Her magic swirls in her hands and then with a small swirl of purple smoke and a few sparks, the bowl flops, expanding rapidly, the plain black turning into a vibrant mesh of colours. Mildred grins, stepping back as the now-fluffy and luminescent, neon-rainbow rug slips off the table onto the floor, just as she imagined it.
"What in Merlin's name…" Professor Snape whispers, before Mr Dumbledore claps gently.
"Well done, Miss Hubble. Quite an impressive feat. Yes, I believe you are a long way from home, but alas, I do believe things would become far more complicated should we contact the Ministry. You seem to be from another magical community entirely – one I know not of. It would be dangerous if we were to reveal your existence."
Mildred's heart drops. "Dangerous?"
"Indeed," Mr Dumbledore says seriously. "Does your form of magic allow for others to find you? Could your teachers track you down?"
"I- I think so. Maybe. Ethel will get in trouble as soon as everyone realises we aren't stuck to each other anymore," Mildred says. "They'll come get me." They will, she thinks, believing her own words, even as she lingers on that word. "Dangerous. Why would it be dangerous?"
"Because I'm afraid we don't use such magics, here and if there is another magical community out there we are unaware of, then the Ministry would take action," Mr Dumbledore says, before turning to Professor Snape. "Severus. What did you want to see me about?"
Professor Snape purses his lips. "The portraits were gossiping. The subject of their fascination, in hindsight, is Miss Hubble's appearance. I have ordered their silence already, but the damage may already be done – the students were already on their way to the Great Hall for lunch when I and the fourth years overheard them."
"But they do not know her name," Mr Dumbledore cleverly picks out. "Hmm…interesting. I may have a solution – temporary, it might be, until Miss Hubble's community retrieve her."
"What?" Mildred asks.
Mr Dumbledore's eyes twinkle again, like stars, before he backs up, turning and walking over into a curved nook of his office. There's a set of armchairs and several spindly artefacts – but what Mr Dumbledore picks up is what is probably the dirtiest, most ragged thing in the room: a Wizards Hat.
"Headmaster," Professor Snape immediately protests, "you can't just Sort her."
"Of course I can't – the Hat will," Mr Dumbledore says merrily, before a third voice grumbles.
"She's not in the Book. The Quill hasn't written down her name."
"Has that ever stopped you before?" Mr Dumbledore says, speaking- speaking to the hat, Mildred realises, eyes going wide as she catches the brim moving up and down as the Hat speaks.
"I should have put you in Ravenclaw," the Hat mutters, before speaking louder, at Mildred. "Hogwarts was founded by four witches and wizards, by the names of Salazar Slytherin, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Godric Gryffindor. They in turn gave their names to Hogwarts, housing young witches and wizards and training them in their magical abilities. After they died, their names remained."
"Hogwarts is split into four Houses," Mr Dumbledore continues in a teaching voice, "Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Until you leave, you will stay here, in secret, posing as a potential transfer student. As such: your very own Sorting shall take place here and then, we shall go down to the Great Hall for some lunch and introduce you to the castle residents. How does that sound, Miss Hubble?"
Mildred bites her lip, before nodding. "Okay. This…this is only temporary, anyway."
"Of course," Mr Dumbledore agrees sagely, before he walks over, reverently placing the Hat on her head. It slips down, far too big and Mildred finds herself shutting her eyes – it's not as if she could see, anyway, not with the Hat being so far down her face.
'Wily' comes the Hat's voice, but it takes Mildred a moment to realise she didn't hear it. 'Clever, too. I'm in your head, girl.'
In my head? Mildred panics, Can you hear me thinking?
'Yes. Now, quiet. Oh yes, brave, courageous – but loyal and hard-working. Magic at Cackle's Academy is indeed far different. Not a drop of ambition, not yet anyway. Cunning- bah! You wouldn't know cunning if it hit you in the face, dearie. But- oh, what's this? Now that, that is interesting.'
What's interesting? Mildred asks, furrowing her brow.
'A word of advice: ask Albus the date, when our conversation finishes.' The Hat confides, then goes silent. For a while, Mildred stands there, waiting for him to speak to her again. When a minute ticks by without any word, Mildred reaches up to push the Hat off her head, going to ask Mr Dumbledore if there's something wrong with the Hat. 'I'm not done!' the Hat then snaps at her and she lowers her hand abruptly. 'Such a complicated witch – Helga would scoop you up, but you'd prove your worth soon enough, despite that. Rowena would ache to have you, as possessive a woman she was…the decision is difficult, but you're not a good flier-'
Hey!
'-so the Eagles are no kin to you. Ah!' the Hat exclaims, 'it's obvious, in retrospect – you're just like Mr Potter. You even saved your Academy, something he's done for Hogwarts many times and will do again, no doubt. You'd do well in Hufflepuff, but Gryffindor is as equally welcome to your sort. Choose.'
Mildred listens to him and finds herself more confused than anything else, but she tries to make some sense of it and realises he's offering her a choice.
'I am. At least you're somewhat less oblivious than that boy,' the Hat sniggers, causing Mildred to frown. The Hat sighs in her head, explaining tiredly, 'Each House has their own stereotypes, but in general: Gryffindor is full of the chivalrous and reckless, Ravenclaw the clever and shrewd, Slytherin the ambitious and unfortunately, historically, the less morally scrupulous and Hufflepuff, the hard-working and lacking.'
His words hit Mildred like a truck. But you thought I'd do well in Hufflepuff!
'And you would – your ability to pass the entrance exams to Cackle's Academy says so. Mildred Hubble, please remember that this isn't so serious an endeavour, not to you. If you became a Hufflepuff, you could proudly say you were a Badger – yellow and black would be your colours.'
And Gryffindor? Mildred questions, tentative.
'A roaring lion, red and gold. They're a rowdy bunch, but Gryffindor Tower is often more home than their true residencies to its occupants than not.'
Mildred hears murmuring, then, from Professor Snape. "A Hatstall…"
"I wonder if she'll beat the record," Mr Dumbledore whispers back to him.
What's a Hatstall? Mildred asks the Hat.
'Traditionally, I Sort all the first years in one sitting at the beginning of the year, on their first day,' the Hat says. 'Hatstalls are those that supposedly take too long, in the opinion of the students. Stops them from eating their dinner. However, you won't be beating the record today, no matter what Albus thinks – I don't need half an hour to stew over your pretty mind, Miss Hubble. No, choose for yourself, allow yourself a choice.'
Lions or badgers? Mildred thinks, gut twisting. It's true, she won't be at Hogwarts long – hopefully, at least – but this is something that seemly predates her all the way to the founding of this school. It's important and she can't decide. You choose, she says to the Hat.
The Hat sighs. 'I'll forever think on you, among others, Miss Hubble. For today, I sort you into-'
Harry picks at his roast beef, not even able to enjoy it much, though he had definitely salivated when he smelt it. His head is aching now from that bludger that hit him in the Quidditch Trials that morning and right now, as his head pounds, not even his shiny Gryffindor Team Captain badge can make up for it. He also has detention with Snape to look forwards to. Then, of course, Ron elbows him excitedly, adding another ache to the list.
"Mate, look," Ron whispers, pointing to the staff table. Harry looks, blinking in surprise at the sight of Professor Dumbledore standing in front of the staff table with a young girl dressed in a knee-length dress with a school shirt underneath it. One of her socks are bunched at her ankle, the other pulled up and very clearly striped – even Harry can see it, as far down Gryffindor table as they are – and her brown hair is in long plaits. If she had glasses, Harry might have thought she were related to Moaning Myrtle, somehow.
"Students!" Dumbledore calls, a silence slowly falling, only whispers remaining as he speaks. "Students, today I have a new student to introduce to you who may or may not be transferring from her magical academy to Hogwarts. Mildred Hubble shall be joining the second years in their classes until further notice and I hope you treat her as you would any new student."
"What House is she in?" shouts a fourth year from Ravenclaw, standing up slightly, head rising above the crowd. "Do we get to see her Sorted?"
Professor Dumbledore smiles genially, "I'm afraid her Sorting has already been done privately, Mr Birchhouse. Mildred Hubble will be joining…" he trails off, smiling slightly. The whispers rise and the tension grates on Harry, rather than enthuses. He meets her eyes though – this new girl, who nervously waves.
Harry waves back, just because it would be rude not to.
"…Gryffindor," Dumbledore finishes, finally and then the young girl – Mildred Hubble – skips down the steps from the raised area towards the Gryffindor table. She's smiling and so obviously nervous. Harry thinks she seems rather cheery – but he can see the laces of her boots that come undone and he cringes right before it happens, because he can tell what's about to happen.
Unable to help, Harry Potter watches as Hogwarts' newest second year trips over her own feet and lands flat on her face in front of the entire school.