"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to the tall kid with the red hair."

"With the curly red hair?"

"Did you see her face?"

"Did you see her scar?"

"See her ears and tail?"

Whispers followed Heather from the moment she left her dormitory the next day. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at her, or doubled back to pass her in the corridors again, staring. Heather wished they wouldn't, because she was trying to concentrate on finding her way to classes and it was getting really annoying. She didn't wear her appendages in class, just during meal times, passing time and while in the common room.

She and Ron had become friends, Heather had quickly realized it would be a good idea to have someone to talk to while she was here, otherwise she would go insane. There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot.

The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Heather was sure the coats of armor could walk. The ghosts didn't help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Nearly Headless Nick was always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right direction, but Peeves the Poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class.

He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!" One time he did that to Heather and she snarled at him. Peeves was so surprised he let out a small frightened yelp. He then cackled gleefully.

"Ooo, looks like ickle Potty can bite back. Peeves like this firstie." He created a breeze that ruffled her hair and then she sped off.

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Heather and Ron managed to get on the wrong side of him on their very first morning. Filch found them trying to force their way through a door that unluckily turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor.

He wouldn't believe they were lost, was sure they were trying to break into it on purpose, and was threatening to lock them in the dungeons when they were rescued by Professor Quirrell, who was passing.

Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-coloured creature with bulging, lamp like eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a good kick. Old Norris seemed a little bit afraid of Heather and tried to steer clear of her whenever they were passing in the hallways.

And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the classes themselves. There was a lot more to magic, as Heather quickly found out, than waving your wand and saying a few funny words. During the first few weeks she would read her text books before class to brush up on information.

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. Heather was already greatly knowledgeable in this, since wolves looked at the nightsky quite often. Cheza, the flower maiden used to tell Heather stories about the constellations.

Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for. Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates, and got Emetic the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first class he took the roll call just as Heather walked in, and when he reached Heather's name he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight. Heather, with a combonation of sheer speed and luck, was able to shift into her wolf form and dive behind Flitwick's desk and catch him on her back.

"You okay Professor?" Heather asked.

The teacher, rather red from embarrassment thanked Heather kindly. The red she-wolf, picked up the professor with her jaws, much like she would a pup, by the back of his shirt and sat him back on his pile of books.

"There," she said. "All better."

Professor McGonagall was again different. Heather had been quite right to think she wasn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Hermione Granger had made any difference to her match; Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy and gave Hermione a rare smile.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defence Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this story.

For one thing, when Seamus Finnigan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

Heather noticed quickly that no one really had a head start or was behind. There were plenty of people in her classes who didn't know they were a witch or a wizard until they got their letters, even people from Pureblood families like Ron didn't have much of a head start.

Friday was an important day for Heather and Ron.

They finally managed to find their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once. There were so many scents throughout the school that Heather couldn't sort through them yet to get to the Great Hall. She would eventually get it but until then, at least they had the path memorized.

"What have we got today?" Heather asked Ron as she poured sugar on her porridge. Heather was only allowed to hunt for dinner; she had to eat in the great hall during breakfast and lunch.

"Double Potions with the Slytherins," said Ron. "Snape's Head of Slytherin House. They say he always favors them — we'll be able to see if it's true."

"It would be nice if McGonagall favored us," said Heather. Professor McGonagall was head of Gryffindor House, but it hadn't stopped her from giving them a huge pile of homework the day before.

Just then, the mail arrived. Heather had gotten used to this by now, but it had given her a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps.

Cheza hadn't brought Heather anything so far. She sometimes flew in to nibble her ear, which she grew to wolf size, people were still staring at them, and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the owlery with the other school owls.

This morning, however, she fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto Heather's plate. Heather tore it open at once. It said, in a very untidy scrawl:

Dear Heather,

I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three?

I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig.

Hagrid

Heather borrowed Ron's quill, scribbled: Yes, please, see you later on the back of the note, and sent Cheza off again.

It was lucky that Heather had tea with Hagrid to look forward to, because the Potions lesson turned out to be the worst thing that had happened to her so far.

At the start-of-term banquet, Heather had gotten the idea that Professor Snape disliked her. By the end of the first Potions lesson, she knew she'd been wrong.

Snape didn't dislike Heather.

He hated her.

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls. Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Heather's name.

"Ah, Yes," he said softly, "Heather Potter. Our new — wild celebrity."

Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word — like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech. Heather and Ron exchanged looks with raised eyebrows. Heather thought the speech was nice, although it probably could have done without the dunderhead part. Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

'Powdered root of asphodel to infusion of wormwood.' Heather rolled this question over in her head; she had read this before class. Hermione's hand had shot into the air.

"Draught of Living Death," said Heather.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer.

He ignored Hermione's hand.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat, but Heather remembered what bezoar was. She tried not to look at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were shaking with laughter.

"Stomach of a goat sir." 'Yummy goat.' Heather thought to herself.

"Thought you should open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" Heather kept looking straight into those cold eyes. She was now incredibly glad that she looked over the book before class started.

Snape was still ignoring Hermione's quivering hand.

"What is the difference, Potter, between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?"

At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling. Heather looked at Hermione strangly then just shook her head and turned back to Snape.

"They're the same thing," said Heather confidently.

"Do you know the other name for Monkshood and Wolfsbane?" Snape asked.

"Yea-No." Heather shook her head, she didn't know everything.

"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione. "For your information, Potter, monkshood and Wolfsbane also go by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Things went downhill swiftly for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon.

Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus' cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Heather and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.

"You — Potter — why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's a point you've lost for Gryffindor."

This was so unfair that Heather opened her mouth to argue, but Ron kicked her behind their cauldron. She turned towards him and snarled with her fangs barred.

"Don't push it," he muttered, now used to Heather's wolf ways. She was very wolf-like and he just learned to accept. Heatherhandt really told him about her life yet, she didn't trust him with that kind of info yet. "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."

As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Heather's mind was racing. She'd lost a point for Gryffindor in her very first week for doing exactly what she should—why did Snape hate her so much?

"Cheer up," said Ron, "Snape's always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come and meet Hagrid with you?"

At five to three they left the castle and made their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door, including her mostly finished deer carcass, hanging upside down. Heather had almost eaten all the flesh from the bones but there was still enough for dinner tonight.

When Heather knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "Back, Fang —back."

Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.

"Hang on," he said. "Back, Fang."

He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound. There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling; a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Ron and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

"This is Ron," Heather told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

"Another Weasley, eh?" said Hagrid, glancing at Ron's freckles.

"I spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest."

The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke their teeth, but Heather enjoyed it and Ron pretended to be enjoying it as they both told Hagrid all about their first lessons. Fang rested his head at Heather's feet. He must have known that she was a wolf because he didn't jump all over her.

Heather and Ron were delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch "that old git."

"An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce hero Fang sometime.

D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her — Filch puts her up to it."

Heather told Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid, like Ron, told Heather not to worry about it, that Snape liked hardly any of the students.

"But he seemed to really hate me."

"Rubbish!" said Hagrid. "Why should he?"

Yet Heather couldn't help thinking that Hagrid didn't quite meet her eyes when he said that.

"How's yer brother Charlie?" Hagrid asked Ron. "I liked him a lot — great with animals."

Heather wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Ron told Hagrid all about Charlie's work with dragons, Heather picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet:

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown. Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.

"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokes goblin this afternoon.

Heather remembered Ron telling her on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but Ron hadn't mentioned the date.

"Hagrid!" said Heather, "that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!"

There was no doubt about it; Hagrid definitely didn't meet Heather's eyes this time. He grunted and offered her another rock cake. Heather read the story again. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier that same had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen, if you could call it emptying, taking out that grubby little package.

Had that been what the thieves were looking for?

As Ron walked back to the castle for dinner, his pockets weighed down with rock cakes he'd been too polite to refuse, Heather thought that none of the lessons she'd had so far had given her as much to think about as tea with Hagrid.

Had Hagrid collected that package just in time? Where was it now? And did Hagrid know something about Snape that he didn't want to tell Heather? She tried to push those thoughts out of her head as she finished cleaning the meat from the bones. She would have to go hunting tomorrow.

I am just writing theses chapters rapid fire aren't I? Now to answer some questions about how Heather got the questions right, Heather is not Heather, she is different, she thinks different and acts different. Read and Review. Leopardfang of Moonclan out!