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Welcome to a new chapter! Not a whole lot to say about this one, off the top. I only ask that, once you've ead it, you leave a comment telling me what you thought. I know you're reading, or at least clicking, but I don't know what you like, dislike, or want to see more of unless you tell me. Thanks, and enjoy the show.


Chapter 2: Welcome to Hogwarts

It was cold and dark, close to 9 o'clock at night, when the great engine finally came to a stop at Hogsmeade Station. Minerva and Alastor, long changed into their assigned school robes, stepped off the train with the crowd of eager, sleepy, and hungry students. Once he had changed into clean clothes, Minerva was forced to admit, Alastor's appearance had improved dramatically. However, she noted with her nose crinkling as he stepped upwind of her, he could stand to bathe more often.

The platform was immersed in the unfortunate combination of highland mist and steam from the train, making it impossible to see more than a metre in front of one's nose. The upper-years, no help whatsoever, had scarpered off without any warning, already knowing the way and more than happy to get at the warm castle and the plentiful feast. Minerva was just about to pull out her wand when Alastor tapped her shoulder. Looking in his direction, she could see a dim yellow light breaking through the mist, and a loud, somewhat-cracking voice calling out: "Firs' years! Firs' years, this way!"

The pair moved towards the voice, Alastor a step or two behind, and soon enough an enormous man, holding aloft a bright lantern, broke through the mist. He was well over twice the height of the tallest man Minerva had ever seen, and about twice as wide. Upon closer inspection he wasn't a man, but an extraordinarily large boy, with the hint of whiskers on his face and a mop of black hair. Alastor, always suspicious of new things, fixed the boy with a hard look. "Who the bloody hell are you, then?"

The boy didn't seem upset, though Minerva scowled at her friend's behaviour. "Name's Hagrid, assistant gamekeeper. I'm takin' you lot to the boats, so if yeh'd come this way, please-and-thank-yeh." Minerva liked Hagrid immediately; he was a kind person, with an honest face and a large, bright smile.

Alastor was less enamoured, but followed nonetheless. "Shouldn't you be a student?"

"Yeah." Hagrid looked suddenly sad, his beetle-black eyes taking on a far-away look, but he perked up quickly when the three of them, and the rest of the first-years, reached the edge of the lake where a fleet of small boats was waiting. "A'right you lot, no more'n three ter a boat. Come on, let's go; sooner you get goin', sooner you get to the feast."

If there was a better way to motivate forty starving eleven-year-olds, Minerva didn't know it. In the resulting mob she got separated from Alastor, and ended up sharing a boat with Amelia Bones and another young lady named Augusta Blishwick. As soon as everyone was settled, the fleet of boats lurched magically forward, driving under their own power into the mist. Not recognizing the Blishwick name, Minerva asked her new friend, and learned that they were a minor pureblood family, not particularly well-respected in the wizard community. Minerva thought that was a shame; Augusta was a perfectly nice young lady, if a little confrontational and hard-headed, though Minerva could hardly fail to recognise the same qualities in herself.

The boats drifted across the lake. With the fog so thick, it was difficult to judge their progress, but soon enough the curtain of grey parted, and rolled back, and where it had been there was now a great and majestic castle, standing up from the hill like something from old stories. As Minerva looked up at Hogwarts, her heart couldn't help but leap up. There was something about it – with its piercing spires, sheer faces, and bright lights twinkling invitingly from its windows – that felt inexplicably right. She looked over, and was surprised to see Alastor straining almost out of his boat, as if he were trying to get his entire body as close to the castle as possible. Even from that distance, she could see something in his eyes that she had never seen before. For the first time, he looked like the young boy he was, a young boy who desired something with every fibre of his being.

But Minerva could not appreciate this phenomenon for long, as the fleet of boats passed through a curtain of ivy at the base of the castle, into a wide underground harbour. The boats steered themselves over to a stone dock, and Hagrid lead the first-years up an ancient staircase, hewn into the rock, into the deep foundations of the castle, to the face of a plain wooden door. The large boy's great hand knocked at the door, the sound echoing through the stone cavern, and it creaked open to reveal a tall, thin wizard with a short brown beard and flowing purple robes, the spitting image of a stereotypical muggle wizard, twinkling blue eyes peering at the assembled students over half-moon spectacles. "Welcome," the wizard said in a light, pleasant voice, "To Hogwarts."

This new wizard, who identified himself as Professor Dumbledore, Deputy Headmaster and Professor of Transfiguration, led them away from Hagrid and into the castle proper. The inside of Hogwarts was no less majestic than the outside: massive, beautiful tapestries hung from the walls, as well as countless portraits of witches and wizards who peered out of their frames at the students passing by, many shouting out greetings. The whole place was illuminated by torches on the walls, but there always seemed to be enough light. Dumbledore led the group into the Entrance Hall, a cavernous entranceway with massive oak doors on one side and an equally massive marble staircase on the other, and left them in an antechamber to wait for his return.

Minerva's heart went out to Alastor, standing apart from the others. He was a very lonely boy, though he seemed to prefer it that way, taking no counsel but his own, and offering none. But something about him intrigued her, her instincts telling her that there was something buried beneath the gruff voice and untrusting attitude, and she was resolved to help him through it. Begging leave of Amelia and Augusta, the young witch moved through the crowd of students towards the lonely boy.

Alas, if only things were ever that easy. Out of nowhere, and suitably blocking her path, came the most unwelcome figure of Gabriel Mulciber. The Mulciber family was very old, very wealthy, very pure-blooded, and very proud of all three of those things, and their heir was the embodiment of everything his name represented. He was well-built, for an eleven-year-old, with high cheekbones and well-groomed blonde hair. His eyes, a brightly piercing blue though they may have been, were usually filled with malice or some cruel mischief, and now they were more the latter.

"McGonagall," he drawled, clearly delighted at his luck. "How wonderful to see you. Have you managed to find a husband yet?"

Minerva scowled, fighting to keep an even complexion. Her father had gone to great lengths to secure her a husband of high birth, with absolutely zero success, and all the old families knew it. They all found her too wilful, and she found them all too loathsome. Mulciber, she recalled, had been a particularly nasty child, scornful to his elders, cruel to his servants (which were numerous, and were replaced with alarming frequency), and had been perhaps most derisive of all of her proud bearing, as though a wife should stick to birthing and gossiping, and leave intelligent matters to men. Detestable little swine.

"That's none of your business Mulciber, but if it pleases you, then I have no desire to find a husband." True, more or less, but not the whole of the matter. "Now if you'll excuse me."

He would not. "That's not what I heard, McGonagall." His sneer could have curdled milk. "I've heard that your daddy is asking the lowest bride price in centuries, and nobody'll take him up on it." That was also, unfortunately, true. "Why, it'd be more expensive to kidnap some muggle whore than to become your husband."

Minerva, though thick-skinned, was shocked by that remark, but she held herself together well. "I'm surprised your father hasn't taken him up on it, then. Merlin knows it's the highest price you're likely to command."

Mulciber's self-control was dismal compared to Minerva's; at her jab, he flared up like a volcano, hissing some foul words beyond the range of hearing. He moved as if to strike her for her insolence, and she reflexively flinched away, but at the last second his hand rebounded, repelled by invisible force, and a low, cold voice spoke from behind him. "Is there a problem?"

Mulciber, caught off his guard, spun around to see Alastor standing there, seething. There was something in his eyes that frightened Minerva; something hard, and not at all pleasant. "Back down, mudblood. This doesn't concern you."

Minerva was not in the least surprised to hear that word pass Mulciber's lips, but it was nonetheless offensive. Alastor merely narrowed his eyes. "Ain't muggleborn." He answered simply. "You'd better stand down."

The other students had noticed what was going on, and they had come to watch the fun. Now, Minerva knew, nothing good would come of this. Mulciber wouldn't back down to one he considered inferior, certainly not in front of an audience, and at this moment Alastor did not look particularly stable.

"What if I don't, then? This isn't any of your damned business." Mulciber's warning was chilling, but Alastor did not back down. He merely shifted his weight, lowering his center of gravity, ready to fight. Mulciber laughed, and four other boys stepped out of the crowd to back up their friend. Only one of them Minerva recognized, a sandy-haired boy with a round head and an eerie, ear-splitting grin that never seemed to leave his face. This was Owen Travers, one of the few potential husbands that even her father agreed was unsuitable. On the only occasion they had met in person, he did not once acknowledge that she was present, gleefully occupying his mind with the torture and maiming of small insects.

Alastor's eyes flicked over the five boys assembled before him. None of them were particularly large, though all except for Travers was taller than he, and that one had a glint of madness in his eye. Five on one was bad odds, and he knew it.

"Surely you're not going to carry on with this woefully mismatched altercation." A light Scottish voice broke through the tense silence, surprising everyone, Mulciber not the least. The voice's owner, a pale boy who stood a head taller than everyone in the room, stepped forward behind Alastor. He was a particularly peculiar boy, not because of his height, but because he was unnaturally thin; his skin, white as the snow, was stretched taught over his already-lithe frame, making him look for all the world like a skeleton with short black hair. With every move his bones threatened to pierce his nigh-translucent skin, but there was an air of gravity about him, not unlike that surrounding Mr. McGonagall.

"I don't need your help." Alastor growled to the boy, never taking his eyes off his foes.

"But you're getting it anyway." The boy replied matter-of-factly. "Besides, five on one are steep odds."

"That's what makes it fun."

Without warning, Travers leapt at Alastor, knocking the boy off-balance and nearly driving him to the ground, and all hell broke loose.

Alastor grabbed Travers by the arm and flipped him onto the ground, where he landed back-first with a thud. Mulciber lunged, but was rebuffed when Alastor flung his carpet bag into the boy's stomach and punched him hard in the nose.

The pale boy was somewhat more economical, taking out his first assailant, a slightly rotund boy whose name would later turn out to be Smethley, with a swift punch to the diaphragm and his second, a rat-like boy named Parkes, with an open-palmed smack to the side of the head.

Alastor, meanwhile, was wrestling the fifth boy, by far the largest, named Reedham, when Travers re-appeared and sank his teeth into Alastor's arm. Roaring with pain, the momentary lapse of concentration allowed Reedham to throw him to the floor. After detaching Travers with a haymaker to the side of the head, Alastor rolled to the side to avoid Reedham's boot coming down where his face had been.

The pale boy, having by this time dispatched his assailants, now came to Alastor's aid. Showing surprising strength for his bony appearance, he brought the larger boy to the ground with a strong kick to the inside of Reedham's kneecap, and was about to deliver the heel of his hand into his opponent's face when, to his notable surprise, his arm did not respond to his instructions.

All eyes turned towards the door, where Professor Dumbledore had his wand trained on the boys, a look of indescribable anger etched into his face, so terrible that even the first-years who had nothing to do with the fight shrank away from it. Behind him was Charlus Potter, a much older boy with a mess of black hair and wire spectacles, looking on in total surprise. When the professor spoke, his voice was deep and commanding, and brooked no disagreement: "You seven will stay. Charlus, the Head Boy, will take the rest of you into the Great Hall to be sorted. Do so now." Charlus motioned to the first-years not currently in trouble, and led them out of the antechamber and back into the Entrance Hall. Minerva alone of them stayed behind, but it took every ounce of will to stay rooted in place when Dumbledore turned his no-longer-twinkling gaze upon her. "You too, Miss McGonagall."

Curious how he knew her name, but too afraid to ask, shook her head in silence. It took a moment to gather her courage, but when she finally did, she said "No, sir. This fight was on account of me, so it is only fair that I be punished accordingly."

Dumbledore considered her carefully, and it seemed that he softened a little, for he merely replied "Very well" before releasing the boys from their enchantment and lining them up before him. "You should be made aware," he told the assembled students, "that Hogwarts does not look favourably upon students attacking each other, either magically or physically." His eyes swept over Mulciber, whose nose was liberally dripping blood, Smethley, who was still gasping for air, Parkes, who had a bruise forming just above his eye, Reedham, who could still not quite stand at his full height, and Travers, ever smiling his manic smile.

"Hang on…" Alastor began.

"No excuses, Mister Moody." Dumbledore's eyes flashed dangerously, and the use of his heretofore unknown last name made Alastor back down, although there was a bitterness in his face.

"Begging your pardon, sir," The pale boy attempted much more diplomatically. Dumbledore suffered him to continue. "There can be no excuses, but it must be known that the actions of myself and Mister Moody were only to protect the honour of the young lady there." Dumbledore's eyes flicked over to Minerva, and he seemed to consider.

"Be that as it may," Already he sounded less angry, which could only be a good thing, "Fighting is not tolerated at Hogwarts, and the first day of term is no exception." The pale boy looked to the floor. Alastor alone kept his eyes even with Dumbledore's. "However," All looked up, hopefully. "As this is your first day at Hogwarts, and you have not yet been sorted, I cannot conceive of an appropriate way to punish you. Let this be a warning:" his voice grew very dark and grave, "You will receive no such leniency again. I hope you take this event to heart, because it will not go well for you if it happens again." He fixed each of the eight with a piercing look, and they all nodded that they understood.

"Now follow me," Dumbledore relaxed, the gentle twinkle returning to his eye, "And let's get you all sorted." With a silent wave of his wand to heal all visible hurts, he led them back to the Great Hall.

Minerva felt as though she should say something to the two boys who had tried to defend her, but with Dumbledore's anger so recent in her mind, and her path still blocked by the others, she was not able. She did happen, however, to catch Alastor muttering a few words to the pale boy: "Thanks for the backup." The boy merely smiled thinly in reply.

The group entered the Great Hall to raucous applause. It took several self-conscious seconds for Minerva to realize that their late arrival was not, in fact, the cause; instead she picked out a willowy brown-haired girl making her way to one of the four long tables that occupied much of the floorspace, and seating herself next to Amelia Bones. At the far end of the hall was a raised dais, upon which the professor's table stood. Before that table stood a plain wooden stool topped with a ratty and stained pointed hat. Beside the stool stood Charlus, the Head Boy, bearing a long scroll of parchment. "Bulstrode, Violetta." He called, and a heavyset girl stepped forward from the mass of first-years assembled before the dais.

She seated herself on the stool, Charlus placed the hat on her head, and in only a moment a small tear near the hat's base had opened and cried out "SLYTHERIN!"

Cheers erupted from one of the house tables, and Miss Bulstrode left her seat to go and join them.

Minerva turned her attention away from the sorting to examine her surrounding more carefully. The Hall was magnificent; not nearly as massive as the Entrance Hall, but no less majestic. On the wall behind the Head Table there hung a tapestry bearing the Hogwarts crest: a shield bearing a lion, a serpent, a badger, and a raven, each on a field of a different colour (respectively scarlet, emerald, gold, and sapphire), all guarding a singly letter 'H.' The legend beneath bore the Latin phrase "Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus," which was beyond her skill to translate.

At the Head table itself, as Minerva had already noted, sat the staff. Twelve there were, now that Dumbledore had slipped behind them to take his seat. Besides him, Slughorn's moustache threatened to dip into his goblet each time he raised it to his lips. At the very center of the table, between both Dumbledore and Slughorn, was a frail, elderly wizard who must have been Headmaster Dippet; the poor man looked as though a strong gust of wind would knock him over, though Minerva had heard that he had been a great wizard in his prime. Also of note were a jolly-looking fellow with bright eyes and a somewhat large belly (though nothing to compare to Slughorn), and a crinkled and ancient woman with a long trumpet pressed to her ear. Standing in the shadows behind the Headmaster was a tall man in a long black overcoat, so hidden that she could not discern his features. A quick glance around the Hall revealed several similar figures she hadn't noticed before, lurking in the shadows near doorways.

Minerva brought her attention back to matters at hand just in time to see both Jack Longbottom and Daniel Mallard go to Hufflepuff, before Charlus cried out "McGonagall, Minerva," and she found herself perched on the stool with the old hat on her head.

At once she heard a voice inside her head, an old and curious voice, with surprising vigour. "McGonagall, oh yes. Very bright, I see, and ambition. Loyal, my word yes, and brave. Very level-headed, I see, but you have impulses, like all the others. Decisions, decisions," it whispered, hemming and hawing over this attribute and that. It all seemed to take much longer than the others had. "Now my dear," the hat addressed her directly, startling her, "My first instinct is to put you in Ravenclaw; you've certainly got the mind for it, and you'd do well there. But not since dear Rowena herself have I seen a young lady of such potential, so I think I must put you where your talents will be best used…GRYFFINDOR!" The last word was shouted to the Hall, and Minerva went to join the table that cheered loudest. There was so much congratulating going on as she took a seat beside Augusta that she missed Araminta Meliflua going into Slytherin, but was well-settled when Charlus called out for Iain Menzies.

She watched carefully as the skeleton-like boy who had come to Alastor's aid stepped forward. The hat took a very long time with him, and she could see Charlus shifting uncomfortably before, finally, it called out "RAVENCLAW!"

Minerva applauded along with the rest as Iain strolled casually to the Ravenclaw table, his curious appearance garnering its fair share of curious stares. He seemed totally oblivious to them, or else he was fantastically unperturbed by them, as he took a seat between a first year girl and a boy so short that he had to stand on his seat to comfortably reach the table, and was soon chatting amiably to both of them.

Albert Mockridge went quickly into Ravenclaw, and then Charlus called out Alastor's name.

Alastor was under the hat for a very long time. Charlus had well passed his comfort level, and was whispering hurriedly across the table to Professor Dumbledore, likely asking for some direction, when at long last the hat cried out "GRYFFINDOR!" Perhaps it was her imagination, but even the hat seemed relieved to have made a decision.

Alastor stomped towards his table and took the first empty seat he came to, which happened to be far from where Minerva and Augusta sat. Minerva was slightly dismayed by this; she had assumed that, since he had stood up for her honour, she had managed to coax him somewhat out of his isolation. Alas it was not so, but even still she wished that she could thank him for it, him and Iain both.

There was little of note about the rest of the sorting; the five boys involved in the fight all went to Slytherin, as did Druella Rosier. Druella was the perfect complement to Mulciber: an obsequious society woman while in the presence of pureblood men, possessing of a wicked tongue for gossip, and as disdainful as you please of anyone or anything that wasn't a pureblood witch or wizard. Finally, Kendra Wimple joined the Hufflepuff table, and the sorting ended.

As Charlus left the hall bearing the Hat and Stool, Professor Dippet lifted himself from his seat, seemingly with great effort, and magically amplified his voice before speaking.

"I have no doubt," he said, his voice frail and squeaky even through the magical filter, "That you are all anxious to begin the feast." There was a great roar of agreement from the students, involving much banging of tableware against table, all of which was silenced instantly at a motion of Dumbledore. "However, before minds are clouded with nourishment, there are some announcements that I must make." A murmur of discontent shuddered through the students; Dumbledore silenced it again.

"As you know, the Ministry of Magic is currently engaged in hostilities with the Dark Wizard Grindelwald. Grindelwald's forces have recently been pushed out of northern Scotland, but the Minister believes that Hogwarts will be a target if and when they attack again. To that end, the Minister has assigned an Auror team to guard the castle, led by Auror Thicknesse." Dippet gestured towards the shadowy man behind him, who now stepped forward into the light.

Auror Thicknesse was a tall, broadly-built man. Completely bald, one eye was covered by a dark patch, and the other swept grimly over the assembled students. Heavy boots thudded against the ground as he walked, his long overcoat swishing about him. Minerva noticed also that he wore a black glove on his right hand only. Headmaster Dippet stepped aside, allowing the Auror to take his place to address the school.

"Don't bother with that 'Auror Thicknesse' crap," His voice was hoarse and raspy, but he did not struggle to be heard. "My name is Erebus. I'm Deputy Head of the Auror Office, and in charge of Hogwarts security until that bastard Grindelwald is put down." Out of the corner of her eye, Minerva noticed that Dumbledore shifted in his seat.

"The headmaster and I have organized security measures." Erebus continued. "You'll see my men guarding strategic entrances and patrolling the grounds. If you don't bother them, they won't bother you.

"Raid shelters have been prepared for your protection. If Grindelwald or his army attacks, you'll be directed towards the nearest one and sealed inside while my men clear the threat. Once inside," Erebus' voice became very grave, "Do not leave until one of my men comes for you. I cannot guarantee your safety outside of those shelters.

"Until further notice, you're all expected to be in your dormitories at 7 o'clock, and not a second later. Heads of House will be conducting head counts, so don't be late. Afterwards, prefects, professors, and head students will be patrolling the corridors. If they, or any of my men, catch any one of you wandering about without permission, there'll be hell to pay.

"Access to the grounds is restricted to daylight hours. All entrances to the castle will be sealed at sundown, and I don't care what time that is. If you're on the outside when we lock the doors, you'd better have a damned good explanation." Erebus swept the students with one final, piercing glance, and retreated back into the shadows.

Professor Dippet stepped forwards to take his place. "In addition, there will be no Hogsmeade visits this year." At this news, a fervent muttering swelled amongst the older students. The first- and second-years, Minerva included, were not particularly troubled, but the elders seemed on the verge of revolt. "I understand that this comes as a shock, "Professor Dippet continued, as the murmur slowly faded, "But it is for your own safety.

"Finally," the murmur returned.

A couple of seats down, Minerva heard an older boy whisper to his neighbour "What else could he possibly take away?"

"Finally," the professor repeated, "For security reasons, there will be no Quidditch Cup this year."

While the students had muttered mutinously upon hearing that they would not be going to Hogsmeade, this news left them in stunned silence, save only for the strangled cry that came from Charlus Potter, freshly returned to the Hall. Even Minerva, who as a first-year would certainly not be playing, was dismayed; she greatly enjoyed the sport, none the less because her mother deemed it unladylike, and had been looking forward to watching a live match. It wasn't long before the murmur returned. Minerva heads the same boy from earlier whisper: "Well now they've done it; what are we going to do now, study?" She saw Dumbledore raise his hand for order, but there was none to be had; the students were angry, and would not be abated. The din rose, and first one person, then more, began banging plates and cups together as the Headmaster struggled to be heard. Minerva saw Erebus slip away from the Head Table towards his men, and saw them speaking hurriedly while drawing their wands.

Suddenly a loud bang refocused everyone's attention. Turning her eyes to the Head Table, Minerva saw Dumbledore standing, towering over Professor Dippet with his wand in the air. "That is enough." He commanded, and those students who had been driven to their feet by passion returned to their seats. "This behaviour is unbecoming of Hogwarts students." The Professors disapproving gaze touched each student deeply, even those, like Minerva, who had not been participating. "In happier days, I would share your sentiments completely." Someone in the Hall snorted, but was silenced swiftly by their neighbours. "But these are not happy days; we are at war.

"Your families have sent you to Hogwarts to keep you safe. They believe, target or no, that Hogwarts will keep you away from the War. I understand that the loss of some privileges may make Hogwarts less bearable to some, but know that the choice between a Quidditch match and guaranteeing your safe return to your families is no choice at all."

Minerva could feel the sense of shame that permeated the Hall. As she glanced around, she saw only three faces that dared to meet Dumbledore's eyes: Alastor, Iain, and Tom Riddle. Those three stood apart from the rest, looking in this moment as high-born princes of old. A wave of self-consciousness washed over her; she wondered if she looked so noble, if any eyes had been set upon her.

After a moment, Dumbledore spoke again. "Put let us now put this behind us. If the Headmaster is finished," Dippet indicated that he was, "Let the feast begin." With that, he took his seat again even as food appeared on the plates in front of them.

No guest had ever described Robert McGonagall's table as anything less than plentiful, and Minerva had certainly never gone hungry there, but even the dinner-table of her father paled in comparison to the richly-laden trays of Hogwarts. Had the Hall not so quickly erupted with hundreds of conversations, Minerva swore she would have heard the table creaking under the weight. Filling her plate with everything within reach, Minerva settled into an excellent feast and an engaging conversation with her new friend Augusta who, as it turned out, was just as passionate about Quidditch as Minerva herself. It was oddly refreshing to have a conversation with another female that resolved less around whom was having an affair with whom.

Of course, inevitably, the topic of conversation did turn to boys. Augusta, as it happened, was quite taken with young master Menzies. "He has an air about him," she defended, blushing profusely. "He's so…noble. Not like that other boy." Minerva followed her friend's eyes down the table to Alastor, who had a chicken leg in one hand and was ripping off chunks with his teeth. "He's a right pig."

"Alastor's alright." Minerva found herself defending the odd boy, who had hardly said a dozen words to her. "He's got a different sort of nobility."

Augusta snorted. "Maybe. But somebody needs to teach him how to behave himself." Minerva had no good response.

The meal wore on but, as all good things are wont to do, it eventually came to an end. As the last of the uneaten feast vanished from the tables, Minerva remarked to herself that she had never felt so utterly full. Her mother had always impressed upon her that ladies should eat daintily and, though she had never been truly hungry, she had also never been so satisfied. After a meal like this, she thought to herself, she may never return to her mother's style of eating.

Professor Dippet stood again to address the students one final time. "Now that food and drink begin to make you weary, I will keep my final remarks brief. I would like to thank all of you for your co-operation in these trying times, and wish you the best possible term. First years: your house prefects will lead you to your dormitories. Everyone else: I bid you good-night!" And that was it.

Minerva soon found herself in a crowd of Gryffindor first-years, following the fifth-year prefects: A weedy blonde boy named Alberic Philpott and a full-figured redhead named Octavia Switch. The pair led their charges expertly through the weaving passageways and up staircases just before they shifted to point somewhere completely different, high up into the rafters of the castle. Finally they found themselves before a painting of a very large woman in a pink dress, which swung open on unseen hinges when Alberic gave the password "Absit invidia," revealing the Common Room beyond.

The Common Room itself was a pleasant place, a great round room billed with tables and large squashy chairs and a large, inviting fireplace. More interesting to Minerva, at least at that moment, were the two staircases that wove apart from each other. Alberic stood beside one, and Octavia the other. Minerva moved towards the female prefect, but remembered herself suddenly when a particularly familiar odour hit her nose. She turned around to see Alastor standing a short ways away, well apart from the other Gryffindors. Steeling herself, she stepped towards him.

If he noticed her approach, he did not show it. "Alastor?" No response. "I wanted to thank you for earlier. It was brave of you to stand up to Mulciber."

He turned to look at her. Though he wore the same grim scowl as ever, Minerva thought that he looked sad, though she couldn't fathom why. "Don't mention it." He grumbled simply.

"May I ask why you did?"

Alastor considered her for a moment. "Don't like bullies." He said finally. Minerva deflated slightly. Clearly she had been mistaken to believe that he cared for her at all. "And you're my friend." He added, causing her to perk up again. "Only one I've got, I suppose."

The two looked at each other for some moments; two young people, each alone in their own way, who had found each other. Finally, Minerva's exhaustion overpowered her. "Goodnight, Alastor." She turned and moved towards the portrait hole, almost not hearing the reply.

"Night, Minerva."