Chapter X

A Perfectly Abnormal Week

"That's not really him, is it?"

"Yeah, next to the blonde girl!"

"Can you believe he was sorted into Slytherin?"

"I never could have imagined that would happen!"

"Did you see his scar?"

"Is it really shaped like a lightning bolt?"

From the moment Harry had left his dormitory, the hushed whispers of the other students had followed him. Even as he focused on trying to make it to class, he had to contend with their curious stares and endless gossip, going so far as to gather outside whichever classroom he was in to catch a glimpse of him. Add to that the impossibly confusing and ever-changing layout of the school itself, and his first few days at Hogwarts were proving to be quite the challenge.

There were doors to nowhere, staircases that lead to different locations depending on the day of the week, vanishing steps, and entrances that you needed to persuade or even tickle into opening. The people within the portraits talked and moved between the pictures freely, and ghosts were constantly gliding through the walls.

"The castle was designed that way to help students from Muggle families become more familiar with our world," explained Aelia on their first morning. "It teaches them what's normal for us—though Hogwarts is a rather extreme example."

Harry felt it would be quite a long time before he would consider any of this to be normal. But then, he didn't want normal. That was what he had left behind—normal was back at Little Whinging, and there it would remain. This wasn't to say that all of Hogwarts' strangeness was welcomed.

Peeves the Poltergeist was a constant menace to all the students, dropping wastepaper baskets on their heads, pelting them with chalk, or even...

"GOT YER CONK!" shouted Peeves, honking the nose of a startled Aelia, who promptly screeched.

"You - you filthy – I'll – Melofors –" stammered Aelia, having drawn her wand. The poltergeist had already darted off, cackling the whole way. Angrily stuffing her wand back into her robes, she stomped off towards their next class.

"Do jinxes work on poltergeists?" asked Harry, following along beside her as they made their way through the chilly dungeon corridors.

Aelia, now occasionally glancing over her shoulder expectantly, nodded. "Poltergeists cannot be destroyed, but you can still trouble them enough with a well-placed jinx that they'll usually leave you alone for a time."

"I guess that's something," said Harry.

But Peeves was not the worst menace the students faced. That honour went to the crotchety old caretaker, Argus Filch. With the aid of his mangy cat, Mrs. Norris, he was constantly on the lookout for any sign of rule breaking—and being lost or new was not an excuse.

"Thought you'd just sneak off to cause trouble where nobody could see, did you?" said Filch, sneering nastily at Harry.

"No sir, I'm just lost," said Harry. "I got separated from my friend. We were on our way to Herbology when—"

He could immediately tell that Filch didn't believe him, his bulging, lamp-like eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Think I was born yesterday? We'll just see what the Headmaster thinks when I—"

"There you are, Mr. Potter!" said Professor Black, walking briskly down the corridor. "Ms. Yaxley said she lost you around here – good thing you didn't wander too far."

Feeling an immense relief settle over him as Professor Black ushered him away from the clearly frustrated Filch, Harry glanced back to see the caretaker still glaring daggers at him alongside Mrs. Norris, whose sallow eyes were almost an exact match for those of her owner.

"Quite the unpleasant fellow, isn't he?" said Professor Black, chuckling.

"Yeah…what House was he sorted into?" Harry wondered aloud without thinking better of it. Aelia had gotten him into the habit of asking questions, against his better judgement.

Thankfully, Professor Black merely smiled. "Oh, he's not a wizard, but a Squib."

"That means his parents were magical, but he isn't?"

The professor nodded. "Correct. You're quite knowledgeable about our society, for having grown up in the Muggle World."

"Thank you, sir, though most of it comes from Aelia," said Harry, but Professor Black shook his head.

"A keen mind is required to learn. Never diminish your own accomplishments."

He rather liked Professor Black. He knew how to be encouraging without shoving Harry's supposed "greatness" down his throat like so many others seemed intent on doing. It was a little surprising that he was the head of Slytherin House, given how obsessed with success they all appeared to be.

Although he had been learning magic in some form or another for nearly five months when he arrived at school, classes like Herbology with Professor Pomona Sprout quickly proved that there was a great deal more to being a wizard than simply learning how to levitate cauldrons or knock chairs over.

"Herbology is the study of plants and fungi, both magical and mundane," explained Professor Sprout, a dumpy little witch who was also the head of Hufflepuff House. "Many different types of flora contain magical ingredients which are useful in potion brewing and medicine."

Three times a week they would make their way to the greenhouse, where they would be lectured on the proper use of a particular plant or ingredient, and how to handle it safely. While Harry was certain there would come a time in his life when he would be grateful to have learned about wormwood or asphodel, he would much rather be improving his wand technique instead of digging through dirt.

It perhaps wouldn't be so bad if he didn't have to deal with Lyra Black and her strange comments, as the Slytherins shared Herbology with Ravenclaw.

"Harry Potter," said Lyra, stepping to his side. "That baneberry you've just picked…"

"What about it?" asked Harry, looking down at the stalk full of bright red berries in his hand.

"It will be ground up into a potion and used to poison a witch's husband eleven months from now," explained Lyra, staring Harry dead in the eyes.

"Oh…"

Charms was a little better, being one of the classes Harry was most looking forward to. It would be his first opportunity since leaving the Leaky Cauldron to perform more magic – or so he had assumed.

"Welcome to your very first Charms class," said their teacher, a tiny man who had to stand on a stack of books to properly address the class. "I am Professor Filius Flitwick, your Charms instructor. In this class you will be learning the importance of precise wand movements, pronunciation, focus, and intent – the four pillars of magic! You may think of charms as representing magic at its most fundamental level, but do not let that fool you into believing that it will be easy to learn safe and efficient spellcasting!"

He then took the registry, only to come tumbling off his stack of books with an excited squeak when he reached Harry's name.

His first charms class had ultimately amounted to an hour of lecturing and reading – on subjects Harry had covered months earlier, no less. Even so, the revision was helpful, and likely quite necessary for Muggleborn students just entering the magical world. He knew well that he could have easily been in their position himself had things gone differently.

Contrasting the cheerful and enthusiastic Professor Flitwick was Professor McGonagall. Just like when they had met in Diagon Alley, she moved and spoke in a manner that made it clear that she was not to be trifled with. "Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

With a flourish of her wand, she then turned her desk into a pig and then back again. The class collectively gasped and sat on the edge of their seats in excitement. If they thought they were going to be doing anything so awe-inspiring, however, they would be sorely disappointed. Instead, they would spend most of their class taking a great many complicated notes.

But Harry recognized what these notes were for.

"It's the match-to-needle lesson!" he whispered excitedly to Aelia, who was seated beside him.

Smiling, she whispered back to Harry, "I'm guessing you kept practicing with it?"

"Yeah. In between learning other spells, but yeah."

Aelia glanced towards Professor McGonagall for a moment, before looking back at him. "Well, don't transfigure it perfectly, alright? It might look suspicious to her."

"What? Why?" asked Harry. He had been working to improve his spell work for all this time, and now he wasn't supposed to give it his best?

"Nobody ever transfigures their very first matchstick completely," whispered Aelia. "Even my first one was a little flat in the middle. We don't want it to be obvious we've been practicing outside of school, right? So, just make it…needle-like."

Harry nodded slowly, having forgotten about that rule. The last thing he wanted to do was upset the strict head of Gryffindor House.

When they were each given a match, Harry and Aelia both made certain that their transfiguration had a noticeable flaw in it, while the rest of the class—Slytherin and Hufflepuff alike—failed to make much of a difference in their matchsticks at all. Ernest looked quite impressed when McGonagall showed off their accomplishment, two silver and pointy needles, just imperfect enough to be believable.

"Excellent work, both of you," said McGonagall, surprising Harry with a smile. "Ten points to Slytherin."

Defence Against the Dark Arts was a class that everyone, Harry especially, had been eagerly anticipating. Professor Arsenius Jigger was an elderly wizard with short wisps of grey hair and didn't look a great deal younger than Dumbledore himself. Dressed in pristine, high-collared black robes, it quickly became apparent that age hadn't dulled his mind.

"While ghosts are incapable of harming the living directly, many nefarious spirits employ a variety of cunning tactics in their quest to spread misery," Professor Jigger explained, pacing slowly in front of the class. "The most common of these tactics generally involves giving the unfortune witch or wizard a terrible start as they're in the middle of a delicate or dangerous task. Many have met their end by tripping down a steep flight of steps after a ghost came screaming out of them.

"The Wand-Lighting Charm, in the context of Defence Against the Dark Arts, is incredibly useful for repelling these errant spirits. Sir Nicholas here has kindly volunteered to assist in today's lesson. Now, observe – Lumos!"

Aiming his wand in the direction of the ghost, a bright orb of light formed at the tip and caused Nick to recoil so quickly that his head flopped down onto his shoulders, much to the startled amusement of the students.

"This is also effective against Gytrashes," he continued. "It is not, however, enough to frighten away poltergeists. For that, you need something with a little more kick – Lumos Maxima!"

The class gasped and shielded their eyes as the light at the tip of Professor Jigger's wand swelled to engulf the room. Nick was sent fleeing through the nearest wall with a yelp just as he was righting his head. When the light dimmed enough for them to properly see again, the professor chuckled warmly. "But that is a lesson for the future. Now, everyone take out your quills and prepare to write down the following..."

Defence Against the Dark Arts was quick to establish itself as Harry's favourite subject. Having been bullied by Dudley his entire life, the prospect of being able to protect himself was all the motivation he needed to memorize the homework given to them by Professor Jigger.

History of Magic was yet another class with little in the way of witchcraft or wizardry. It was taught by Professor Black, and unlike his strange and unnerving daughter, he easily rivalled Professor Flitwick when it came to being an animated teacher. Seldom did he remain still for more than a few seconds as he moved about the classroom to engage the students.

"Emeric the Evil!" said Professor Black with a dramatic flourish of his hands. "Yes, 'the Evil'. There have been many Dark Wizards throughout history, but few have merited such a bluntly derisive title. Can anyone tell me why the people of his time might have affixed such a moniker to him?"

A hand shot up almost instantly, belonging to the bushy haired Ravenclaw, Hermione Granger. Black's lips twitched into a smile, and he pointed to her. "Granger, right? Go ahead."

"Sir," she began, "Emeric the Evil lived from 1047 to 1092 AD. He was one of the most powerful duellists of his day and is best known for terrorizing southern England in the late eleventh century from the back of his wyvern, killing hundreds of Muggles and wizards. He was killed by Egbert the Egregious in a ferocious duel that is said to have lasted for more than an hour."

Professor Black chuckled at her answer, his smile broadening. "A very precise recitation of A History of Magic, Ms. Granger, but I did not ask who Emeric the Evil was. I asked why the people of that time period viewed him in such a negative light. Others have butchered many wizards and muggles without receiving such scorn. What made him uniquely terrible?"

Granger's mouth opened as if to speak, but no words managed to escape past the confused Ravenclaw's lips. Quickly weaving his way through the row of desks between them, Professor Black placed a hand upon her shoulder and then jabbed his wand at the blackboard. Immediately, the chalk sprang to life and began to illustrate for the class the scene of what looked to be a farmer tilling his crops with a hoe.

"Imagine if you will, Ms. Granger, that you are a farmer in southern England during this period. Your only desire in life is to have a bountiful harvest this year, so that your family can make it through another winter."

As Professor Black spoke, the chalk drawing of the farmer began to move of its own accord, much to Harry's amazement. Dutifully tilling his field, the farmer wiped a trail of sweat from his brow as a cartoonish sun bared down upon him. Most of the class had sat up in their seats by now, watching the lively illustration with interest.

"Your life is difficult, but…adequate for a Muggle of that time," Professor Black continued. "There you are, simply tilling your fields as you have hundreds, if not thousands of times before. Then, without warning…"

The class, Harry included, gasped when a great shadow swept over the field, the farmer staring up at the sky in confusion. His expression soon turned to one of horror as a great wyvern loomed over him, its comparatively tiny rider pointing his wand down at the Muggle. The farmer immediately went slack, his lips turning to an almost blissful smile.

Harry couldn't fathom why he would be smiling at a time like that, but before he could consider it further, the scene changed. The farmer was standing inside what looked like a burning cottage. At his feet laid a woman and a child, their eyes having each been replaced with an "X".

The farmer began to cry as he fell to his knees, staring at his hands. Looming over him was the wyvern rider—Emeric the Evil. He cackled down at the Muggle who had just killed his own family, and with another jab of his wand, a green light struck the farmer in the chest as the scene faded from the blackboard.

Stepping away from Granger, Professor Black circled the classroom until he was once more in front of his desk, leaning against it rather casually, given the dozens of pale faces staring back at him. "Emeric the Evil was known for forcing Muggles and wizards alike to murder their loved ones for his own amusement. You'll not find that information in your set books, as some feel you're not ready to hear the full, horrible truth."

Professor Black slammed his hand down upon his desk, the students collectively jolting in their seats. His dark grey eyes had captured the entire class, his jaw tight. "I disagree. If you are to learn history, you must learn it in full. Should we forget the evils of the past, then we may just find ourselves being led down that same Dark path."

He then turned back to Granger, his sternness fading into another smile. "But you did well to study so diligently, Ms. Granger. Five points to Ravenclaw."

As they were leaving class, Harry could make out several First Years whispering with some older students in the corridor about the professor. According to them, the previous History of Magic teacher, Binns, had been considered so boring that people would sleep through his class. He felt like it would be very unwise to attempt such a thing with their current teacher.

Regardless, he wouldn't be forgetting Emeric the Evil any time soon.

By Friday they had more or less figured out how to make it from the Slytherin common room to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost. The labyrinth of passageways had been so confusing and disorienting that they easily rivalled the changing stairs and portraits on the higher levels, and most of the older Slytherins were too busy to waste their time acting as guides for a couple of clueless first years.

Pouring sugar into his porridge, Harry glanced to Aelia. "What have we got today?"

"Double potions," said Aelia, cutting her eggs and bangers into bite-size portions. "With Gryffindor."

"You must be excited. I know how much you've been missing Cormac McLaggen," said Harry, smirking.

"How would you like to be missing your tongue?" mumbled Aelia. "Besides, McLaggen is a year ahead of us. Anyway, potions is taught by Professor Damocles Belby – the inventor of the Wolfsbane Potion. Did you know?"

Harry perked up at this, a few drops or porridge dribbling down his chin much to Aelia's disapproval. "Really? No, what's he like?"

"Brilliant, or so I hear. I suppose he would have to be, to create the only known treatment for lycanthropy."

"The proper term is 'werewolfry!'" said Harry, doing his best impersonation of Professor Jigger.

She grinned. "You're really enjoying his class, aren't you?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "I grew up thinking ghosts, werewolves, and ghouls were only real in stories. Finding out the truth is fun!"

Whether or not it would be as enjoyable to encounter any of these creatures face-to-face was another matter entirely. Hearing about an acromantula in the safety of a classroom was entirely different than having one looking to make you its next meal, after all. Maybe there were magical zoos where you could see them all safely behind glass?

"Oh, the post is here," said Aelia, reaching up to take a small case from Altheda's beak after the raven had landed on her shoulder. She seemed quite pleased. "Father sent me a box of Pumpkin Pasties!"

"Great," said Harry, smiling.

It must have been nice, having a father that was always thinking of you even while you were away. He had yet to receive any post, though Hedwig would still pay him a visit every morning when the other owls swarmed the Great Hall. As expected, she fluttered down onto the table in between the marmalade and sugar bowl. Instead of nipping at his ear, however, she dropped a note onto an empty plate.

The writing was an untidy scrawl, one he immediately recognized.

"Who's it from, Harry?"

"Hagrid! He invited me over for tea after class," he said excitedly. "Do you want to come?"

Aelia hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Certainly, if you don't think he would mind."

Borrowing Aelia's quill to write a brief reply to Hagrid, he placed the letter securely in Hedwig's beak and sent her on her way. It would be good to see Hagrid again – they hadn't gotten a chance to speak properly since his birthday, after all.

"Did I hear you say you were going to visit the groundskeeper?"

Harry turned to see Cormac McLaggen looming over him, a big grin plastered on his face. Suppressing a groan, he replied, "Yeah, why?"

"Never been to the groundskeeper's house before," Cormac said, looping a long and powerful arm around Harry's shoulder, as if they were long-time friends. "Bet he's got all sorts of crazy beasts in there!"

"I don't know, maybe," said Harry, trying to shrug off the larger boy's unwelcomed grasp.

Cormac held firm, however, his grin widening at Harry's futile efforts to break free. He then looked at Aelia, across the table. "I overheard my mate Harry here saying you missed me?"

"Harry says many things he shouldn't," replied Aelia, her eyes flashing with irritation at what had been intended as a harmless joke.

Laughing, Cormac winked. "No need to deny your feelings, now! You can join me and the boys any time! We'll be waiting!"

Feeling Cormac finally release his shoulder, Harry's momentary relief was cut short when the second year's large hand grasped the back of his head and shoved it down into his porridge. When he pulled himself free, he could see nothing, his glasses now smeared with gruel.

"Sorry about that, mate! Hand slipped!" he heard Cormac say, followed by the laughter of several boys at the Gryffindor table.

"Why you – oh, hold on, Harry!" said Aelia. "Scourgify!"

Harry felt the porridge vanish from his face, almost as if he had been scrubbed clean with soap. He could also see again, his glasses having likewise benefitted from the cleansing. "Thanks…what's his problem, anyway?"

"Besides being a Gryffindor? I've no idea," said Aelia, putting her wand away.

"Gryffindors don't like us, do they?"

"Or us them. We've an incredibly old rivalry," Aelia explained, having mostly finished her breakfast. "It all started when their founder drove ours from the school after a violent disagreement between them. Ever since, our Houses have hated one another."

Harry stared down at what was left of his gruel, no longer having much of an appetite. What luck he had; the school had its own Dudley, one that wasn't nearly so out of shape. He could probably still outrun him, but their wands made that less of a sure-fire means of escape.

At least he still had his visit with Hagrid to look forward to.

Of course, he still needed to make it through Potions, one of the most difficult subjects taught at Hogwarts. So far, he had managed to get by well enough thanks to his months of preparation, but he had only experimented with a few simple potions at the Leaky Cauldron. He had barely even scratched the surface of the class.

The first thing that caught Harry's eye upon entering the Potions classroom were the pickled animals floating in glass jars along the walls. When coupled with the steady bubbling of cauldrons and beakers full of strangely coloured liquids, it felt like he was sitting in the laboratory of some mad scientist from an old movie.

Professor Belby was a rather short and fidgety man with thin, greying hair, squinty brown eyes, and a cleft chin. After taking the registry, he faced the class while absentmindedly wringing his hands. "Ah, um, potions! Yes. The art of potion making…as precise and exacting as any Muggle science, but capable of producing miracles on par with even the greatest spell. While it may not enthral some of you to the same extent that Charms or Defence Against the Dark Arts will, the patient potioneer can most assuredly brew their way to a level of success and fame that even the deadliest of duellists will never achieve."

Directing the class to take out One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, Professor Belby explained in detail each of the ingredients they would be working with today. Harry quickly jotted down notes on all of them, while Aelia, sitting beside him, seemed to be doodling strange symbols into her notebook, as she often did. Looking at them always made him feel uneasy, for some reason.

Professor Belby then led the class in the creation of a simple potion to cure boils, splitting the students into pairs. He anxiously moved about the dungeon all the while, carefully observing each of their concoctions and offering pointers when he felt they were needed.

Aelia let Harry handle most of the preparation for their potion, continuing to doodle while he crushed their snake fangs into a fine powder and added four measures of them to the cauldron. She would occasionally glance up at him and offer suggestions if she thought he was going about something the wrong way, much to his irritation.

"If you care so much, why don't you help?" he whispered.

"You need the practice," said Aelia. "Don't worry, this one's easy! You would have to be a complete scatterbrain to –"

A loud hissing filled the dungeon, and clouds of green smoke billowed forth to choke the air around the students. Professor Belby yelped in panic and quickly rushed over to the scene of the accident, where a familiar round-faced boy groaned in pain. His arms and legs were covered in green liquid, and soon began erupting with angry red boils. The cauldron in front of him and his partner had been melted into a blob.

"Oh dear!" gasped Professor Belby, erasing the green liquid with a swift wave of his wand. "Oh, dear – it looks like you must have added the porcupine quills to your cauldron before taking it off the fire…oh, we had better get you to Madam Pomfrey!"

Aelia had simply continued to stare at Harry while he watched the scene unfold. When he turned to face her, she sighed.

"Don't tell me. Longbottom?"

"Longbottom," said Harry, nodding solemnly.

By the time class ended, it was nearly three in the afternoon. Leaving the castle and making their way across the grounds, they soon arrived outside a small wooden house on the edge of the Forbidden Forest – the home of Hagrid. An oversized crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.

Aelia crinkled her nose at the rustic house, but said nothing as they approached, with Harry being the one to knock on the door. A series of booming barks gave them both a slight start, before the familiar voice of Hagrid called out, "Back, Fang – back!"

The door swung open and Hagrid poked his large head out, smiling down at them.

"Jus' a moment," he said. "Back, Fang!"

Hagrid was fighting against what had to be the largest dog Harry had ever seen, a large, black boarhound. Aelia seemed even more unsettled by the barking dog and kept her distance. The house was all one big room, with hams and pheasants hanging from the ceiling and a massive bed with a patchwork quilt resting in the corner.

"Glad yeh could make it, Harry! Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, releasing Fang, who immediately bounded towards Aelia and began slathering her ears with his tongue.

"AH! N-no, w-wait! Oh, disgusting – s-stop!" Aelia protested, trying in vain to hold off the very big, very friendly dog.

Hagrid chuckled and pulled Fang off Aelia. "Don' mind ol' Fang here, he's not used ter company."

"I'm…ugh, I'm fine," said Aelia with a strained smile.

Harry tried to hide his grin at seeing his normally prim and proper friend looking dishevelled. He was certain she would be rushing off to the bathroom in the girl's dormitory first thing once they returned to the castle.

"Here, might as well have yeh summat ter eat while yer here," said Hagrid, presenting Harry and Aelia with a plate of rock cakes and a pot of freshly brewed tea.

The cakes truly were hard as rocks and felt like they might break Harry's teeth when he tried to bite into them. Taking advantage of Hagrid focusing mostly on him, Aelia had instead chosen to slip hers to Fang whenever Hagrid wasn't looking her way, with the great boarhound gnawing on them like shapeless bones.

Harry spent most of the next half hour telling Hagrid all about their classes this week, along with the close encounter he had with Filch when he got lost. It was quickly made apparent that the groundskeeper had no love for the crotchety caretaker.

"Aw, that ol' git," grumbled Hagrid, waving one of his massive hands through the air. "Him an' his mangy cat, Mrs. Norris. I've a mind ter introduce her teh Fang here, next time he puts her up ter followin' me about the school."

Harry grinned at the thought of that, having suffered the cat and her piercing yellow eyes watching him and the other students on more than one occasion. Aelia, setting her now empty plate aside, likewise smiled in response to Hagrid's short rant.

"Really, though, I thought Charms would be the class I enjoyed the most by far," said Aelia, "but Professor Black actually made history fun for once, if rather frightening."

"I thought I'd hate history, to be honest," Harry admitted. "I still don't know if I like his class, but it definitely isn't as boring as I thought it would be."

Hagrid chuckled, gulping down what must have been his fifth cup of tea since they arrived. "Professor Black's real serious about makin' sure his students are learnin' what they're s'pposed ter be. Been a bit mopey outside o' class, though; upset that his daughter wasn't sorted into his House. If yeh ask me, though, she's better off bein' in Ravenclaw than—"

Hagrid's mouth was left ajar as he looked at the pair of Slytherins sitting in his house, Aelia's eyes noticeably growing narrow. The half-giant quickly cleared his throat, looking quite sheepish. "Not that there's anythin' wrong with…with bein' in his House…lots o' great witches an' wizards…"

"You don't like Slytherin?" asked Harry, thinking back to his sorting. Hagrid had looked incredibly surprised when the Sorting Hat placed him there.

Hagrid awkwardly shuffled his massive feet as he stammered, "It's jus'—the thing is—I thought yeh'd be put in Gryffindor for sure, is all…"

"With Cormac McLaggen? Why?" asked Harry, frowning.

"Aw, don't mind him, he's just a troublemaker," said Hagrid dismissively. "Most o' Gryffindor's not that way. It's the House o' Professor Dumbledore, after all – greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had! An' of course— "

"And of course, Professor Dumbledore would wish for all the Houses to get along, right?" asked Aelia, smiling.

"—Right. He would," said Hagrid slowly, a rather forced-looking smile parting his mess of dark hair. "Fair man, Professor Dumbledore. Always treats all the students right."

An awkward silence fell over the three of them. It made Harry wonder if he should even be here. He was a Slytherin, after all, and it sounded like Hagrid was a Gryffindor. But then, he had been invited over, so it couldn't be that big of a deal, surely.

"Ah—have yeh—uh heard about them weird sightin's about the school lately?" asked Hagrid suddenly.

"Sightings?" asked Aelia.

Hagrid leaned forward slightly, speaking in a conspiratorial tone. "Folks have been seein' students that ought not ter be there. Ones that weren't at yer Sortin' Ceremony, or any o' the older year's, either. S'real strange. They're there one minute, then gone the next!"

"Like ghosts?" asked Harry. "The school's got lots of those. Isn't that pretty normal here?"

"See, that's what makes it strange," continued Hagrid. "They appear ter be alive as you an' me! Real solid, not like a ghost."

A spark of recollection flashed across Aelia's face. "Well, now that you mention it, Parkinson did say that she saw a first year in our dorm the other night whom she didn't recognize. Her robes were apparently 'all wrong'. When Parkinson called out to her, she simply stared at her and then walked away. She tried to follow but…"

"Wasn't there anymore, was she?" asked Hagrid, grunting when Aelia nodded. "S'how it's been with all them stories. Even Professor Dumbledore's gettin' concerned. Can't say I blame him. Hope they don't start showin' up out here – Fang's big enough o' a coward without havin' ter worry about that."

"I haven't seen anyone like that," Harry admitted. "But then, everyone here is new to me. I probably wouldn't know if I did see one."

He had been trying his best to keep his head down and focus on his classes this past week. His apparent fame had been a strange but not unwelcomed surprise at first but had really started to wear out its welcome over the past week. People kept stealing looks at him as if he were some sort of attraction in a zoo, whispering to one another in hushed tones as if it wasn't obvious they were talking about him.

"I haven't noticed any myself, personally," said Aelia. "But I'll certainly be keeping an eye out for them now."

"Jus' make sure yeh stay out o' trouble," said Hagrid, glancing between them. "It's best ter leave matters like this ter the professors. Probably shouldn't have said nothin' meself, but yeh'd have found out sooner or later."

Aelia waved off his concerns as she and Harry stood to leave. "Please, Hagrid, we have better things to do with our time than to go chasing after mystery students."

Harry was about to open his mouth to ask what the girl who always doodled in her notebook during class had to do that was so urgent, but ultimately thought better of it. After a long day of school, he didn't feel like getting into a pointless argument, even if he did feel frustrated with Aelia's behaviour.

Besides the points they had earned in Transfiguration class, she had thus far been a complete dead fish when it came to helping Slytherin win the House Cup. She never answered any of the professor's questions and procrastinated on doing her homework despite it largely being revision for her. Yet, he often saw her in the library, with her nose buried in some massive tome. Just what was she up to?

The more he thought about it, the more it bothered him.

"Why do you keep looking at me like that?" asked Aelia, as the pair of them walked back to the castle for supper.

Harry hadn't realized it until now, but he had been shooting aside glances at her ever since they left Hagrid's hut. "Sorry, it's nothing."

"Are you sure? You look upset," she said, frowning. "Did I say something wrong at Hagrid's?"

Harry sighed, shaking his head. "It's not that. It's just…been a long day, is all. I'll feel better after I get some sleep."

"Alright then," said Aelia, though Harry got the feeling she didn't quite believe him.

He hadn't been lying when he said sleep would likely make him feel better about all of this. He always thought more clearly after a good night's rest, and he had been given a fair bit to consider. Aelia's strange behaviour, and the mystery regarding the unknown students. Even if she wasn't interested in the mystery, he certainly was.

Harry would certainly be on the lookout for anyone out of place from here on.

Hey everyone! Long time no see! Yup, the story is back nearly a year later! I sure hope there's still an appetite for it, because if you can't tell, the main plot is about to really kick off! I look forward to seeing your reviews again, and I apologize for the very long wait. As you all know, 2020 was a hectic year, and it turned my life upside down. Thankfully, I've now got a bit of time to write once more!

Thank you for everyone who has chosen to keep following the story! I hope the wait was worth it for you!