Over the next few weeks an autumn chill settled over the castle. It was not entirely unpleasant, but it did make everyone more reluctant to go outside. The Hufflepuff Basement stayed nice and warm underground, safe from the wind and drafts. The fire in the common room was stacked a few logs higher, and the leaves around Emmeline's bed were now in full bloom—some deep orange and red, but most a bright Hufflepuff yellow.

Emmeline felt she had hardly blinked before it was halfway through October. Time seemed to be speeding up, though she wasn't sure that was a good sign. Her daily routine had become more predictable, but it never got any easier. Quick as the term was slipping by, she was often gripped by fits of panic. She'd been at Hogwarts for more than a month, and she wasn't enjoying herself enough.

No matter how hard she tried, she still had trouble making conversation. She struggled to focus on her assignments if more than two people were talking in her vicinity, which led to late nights in the common room reading the same sentences over and over. Some nights she would give up and go to bed early only for her anxiety to wake her in the middle of the night. Once she was awake, it was difficult to find sleep again. There was too much breathing around her, too many strange noises. And so she would traipse back to the common room, books in hand, and go over the homework she had been unable to complete earlier. She hadn't slept so little since her last weeks at Sebara Cottage, and then she had been running on mostly adrenaline. Now there was none of that excited energy, only dread and fear of the challenges she would face the next day. It was exhausting. Emmeline could not understand what she was doing wrong.

It was after one of these particularly long nights that Emmeline woke to Humphrey yowling into her ear. She jumped in her chair, a spare piece of parchment stuck to her cheek: she had fallen asleep in the common room, and the sun was peeking through the half-moon windows.

Panic seized her. Emmeline ripped the paper off her face, scanning her own lopsided writing.

"In conclusion, it is for now impossible to date the beginning of magic. It clearly existed before wizards. It even existed before humans. We can prove this because of the magical creatures and plants that existed in that time. Some of them existed thousands of years before..."

The rest of the essay was illegible. Emmeline had started to fall asleep, and evidently forgotten to move her hand across the page as she wrote; the letters were all stacked on top of each other. After that it was just a smudge. She reached up and touched her cheek, where the other half of the ink blot had dried.

"Oh no," Emmeline groaned, and her head plunked back to the table.

She'd have to rewrite the conclusion—the entire essay if the rest was this bad. But people were already filing into the common room. It must be nearly time for breakfast.

There wasn't much of a choice. She straightened the parchment, pulled Humphrey into her lap, and began to reread her work.

It took her over an hour. The essay was worse than she'd thought, the price of working so late at night. All the facts were correct—she'd worked very hard to make sure they were—but it was written so terribly that it still managed to sound wrong. She rewrote the entire assignment, editing as she went, sometimes redoing entire paragraphs. As she worked, the other girls from her dormitory passed by on their way to breakfast. They each stopped briefly at her table, Sally Anne even offering to stay and help, but she waved them on. She didn't want to inconvenience any of them.

Emmeline scribbled her final word precisely eight minutes before class. She swept all her books into her bag, grabbed her essay by the corner of the parchment, and clambered out into the hallway.

Breakfast was a long lost possibility. As it was, the crowds in the corridors were thinning out as people settled in for their lessons. A few of the older students snickered as Emmeline went flying by them, her essay flapping wildly behind her. She knew she must look a mess. She hadn't even attempted going to bed last night, knowing how much work was ahead of her. As a result, she'd barely slept, and her day-old uniform was wrinkled and uncomfortable. Most days she might not have minded. But for some reason, everyone seemed to be looking at her.

Emmeline rounded a corner too quickly, and a group of Ravenclaws nearly toppled over her.

"Oi! Watch where you're going, spot-face!"

They laughed as they traipsed off to class, leaving Emmeline to stand puzzled in the stairwell. Not that she'd been called many names before, but she'd never considered herself spot-faced. An anxious hand came up to brush her cheek, and her fingers came away with tiny black flakes.

"Oh no," she moaned again, sagging on the spot. She'd completely forgotten about the ink stain on her cheek. It was probably all over her face.

Making a snap decision, Emmeline changed direction. She ran down the hallways, heading for the only bathroom she knew would be available. It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do.

The ghostly girl was already having a tantrum when Emmeline tumbled through the door. Her wails echoed around the rafters, broken only by small, high-pitched hiccups. Several of the sinks were already turned on, the water overflowing onto the floor. Emmeline was too frantic pay any mind to this as she splashed her way to the closest mirror.

"Who's there?" the ghost demanded, her shrill screams stopping abruptly. "This is supposed to be my bathroom! I only wanted some privacy since I'm dead!"

Emmeline could see the girl floating behind her in the mirror, but did her best to ignore her. She'd hoped she might be able to get in and out without being noticed, as the girl was usually so preoccupied, but it wasn't shaping up to be a very lucky morning.

The girl sniffled over her shoulder.

"Oh—oh, that's a good one! Just p-pretend you can't see me! That's what they always used to do! Olive Hornby and her vile gang, telling everyone, 'Just—just pretend you can't see her! Pretend you can't see her pimply, four-eyed face! Then maybe she'll g-go away!'"

That did sound truly awful, but there was no time for Emmeline to say so. Just as she'd finished scrubbing the ink blot off her cheek, the girl's face popped out at her directly through the mirror.

"DON'T IGNORE ME! I WANT YOU TO GET OUT! GET OUT!"

Emmeline scarpered. She tripped over her sopping laces as she ran, her socks soaked through, leaving flecks of bathwater trailing down the corridor. Just past the bust of Rasputin, she toppled into the History of Magic classroom. There were a few scattered giggles as she collapsed into her seat, not that Professor Binns noticed. He had already started roll call and was completely focused on the parchment in front of him.

"Emmeline Marsh?" he called, seconds after she'd sat down.

"Here!"

She ignored the dirty look Hermione sent her and sank into her chair. She'd made it. By some miracle, she'd made it in time.

"Very well," Professor Binns wheezed. "Today we will be moving on to the first interactions of wizards and Muggles, as outlined in chapter two. The earliest wizards lived relatively in harmony with their non-magic brethren, often integrating themselves into daily..."

Emmeline did not hear the rest. Like a trusted lullaby, Professor Binns' voice lulled her into a trance. Her arms folded on top of her books, her eyes fluttered shut, and she was fast asleep before he'd finished the introduction.

She woke to a sharp pain in her side. Emmeline yelped, and Hermione elbowed her again, nodding toward the front of the room. Professor Binns' voice wavered in and out of Emmeline's ears as she blinked the sleep from her eyes.

"If you'll all present your essays on your desks, and Mr. DeThomasis will come round to collect them. After that, you are dismissed."

Dean—the talented voice actor from Gryffindor, Emmeline recognized—did not immediately realize that Professor Binns was talking about him. His Irish friend had to shove him out of his seat before he got moving. He stretched his arms lazily, and reluctantly began to collect the papers from his classmates.

Emmeline couldn't blame him. She rubbed her eyes blearily as she fished out her essay from her bag. She was so tired that she nearly missed Hermione's reproachful look at her paper. Emmeline's parchment was nearly as long as her own.

Stifling a yawn, Emmeline plopped her head onto her folded arms once more. It was a grey morning outside, and she couldn't be bothered to pretend she was awake. Even Professor Binns seemed to be dozing. His eyes were closed, and he was slowly listing through his podium. The class roster fluttered on top. Emmeline wondered how he planned on grading their papers if he couldn't touch the parchment.

"What did you say?"

Emmeline turned to Hermione, who was now staring at her. Emmeline hadn't meant to wonder out loud, but judging by the confused, almost affronted look on Hermione's face, that's exactly what she had done.

Her instinct was to disregard it, anything to avoid a confrontation. But Neville's words had been weighing on her ever since their Herbology class. Maybe Hermione could be nice. And if there was anyone who would have the answer to such a silly question, it would certainly be her.

It was with a small and uncertain voice that Emmeline repeated herself.

"How do you think he grades them? The papers?"

"Well…I imagine there's a rubric," Hermione answered, just as hesitant. "Most of the points would be weighed on an accurate reporting of fact, then composition, spelling..."

"No, I mean how does he physically grade them? They're papers, and he's a ghost."

Hermione stared at her blankly.

"I don't think that's very funny."

"I'm not being funny," Emmeline insisted. "I'm just curious. Do you think students have to read them aloud and grade them by dictation? Or maybe there's a spell that lets him touch the paper? And if there was, could he cast it with like...a ghost wand, or would one of the other professors have to help?"

She wasn't sure if she was making any sense. Her sleepiness was still rolling around her head like a fog. But Hermione was staring at the desk thoughtfully and did not seem immediately upset.

"I hadn't thought of that before. I suppose it is rather fascinating from a logistical standpoint. There are some records of ghosts being able to interact with corporeal objects, but it's very rare. Mostly reserved for very old, very dangerous ghosts, or spirits like poltergeists."

"Corporeal?"

"Something that has a solid body," Hermione explained. She too seemed to be watching the parchment on Binns' podium. "The problem is that he really...erm...doesn't seem to notice his condition."

"But he floats through the blackboard every day!"

"That's true, but if he's doing it subconsciously it might not stand out to him. I've read quite a few books on the subject—ghosts were one of the most fascinating things to learn about, they suggests so much about the afterlife—and many scholars say that a large percentage of ghosts don't recognize their own state after death, especially those who came from a non-magical position during life. They wander through the same routines, no matter how much changes around them. In those cases, ghosts only really float through walls because construction was different while they were alive. Like butterflies! There's an interesting study on the migration patterns of Monarch butterflies that concluded that their paths were actually thousands of years old, designed to avoid treacherous mountain regions that no longer exist. So following that logic, he might be doing it without realizing. Grading papers, though—actually evaluating and engaging with our work—that would take a tremendous amount of presence. Unless, of course, he's been assigning the same grades every year. I certainly hope that's not the case. I spent all week on this assignment, and I'd like to be recognized for my hard work. Do you know what I mean?"

"Hm? Oh—yes, that's interesting."

Truth be told, Emmeline had barely heard half of what Hermione had said. She spoke so fast that it was difficult follow, and her voice had the same curious effect on Emmeline as Professor Binns'. She'd been completely lost, and then gotten distracted by a pretty robin that was sitting outside the window. Its chest was bright red against the dull grey sky. The bird, she thought, was much more her speed.

But her vague answer did not fool Hermione. Her face returned to its normal scowl, and she angrily turned to pack up her things.

"I'm sorry," Emmeline pleaded. "Really, I'm just tired."

"Yes, I'd noticed," Hermione said snidely. "But you wouldn't be so tired if you'd started your work on time, would you?"

"I know, but I…"

"It would be easy if you didn't sleep through class all the time. Professor Binns goes over all the material we need. If you just take notes during the lecture and read the textbook, all the assignments are perfectly simple."

"Actually, I have…"

"You might even enjoy it! History of Magic is really a very intriguing subject, and this essay was really fun to write. I think if you stopped being lazy, you could really…"

"I am not lazy!"

Hermione jumped in her seat. Emmeline hadn't realized she was shouting. But she was already sinking into a tirade, too furious to stop.
"I am not lazy, and it is not perfectly simple! Maybe you can understand everything you read the first time around, but I can't! Sometimes I have to read it three times before I understand it, never mind remember! And I can't read if it's loud, and I can't read if it's too quiet, and it's not just this class! We had loads of homework to do this week, and there were other papers I had to finish first! Sorry that you're so offended that other people dare to struggle in your class, but not everyone is as smart as you!"

The room had gone deadly quiet. Emmeline could feel the tears rolling down her cheeks, the sensation bringing her back to her senses. Hermione was gaping at her, almost terrified, and she wasn't the only one. Everyone in the room seemed to be staring, a few with their hands over their mouths, or else hiding their face behind their books. Dean had finally made it round to their table and was looking back and forth between the two of them with a morbid kind of excitement. One of the Gryffindor girls giggled, and her friend frantically shushed her.

It was enough to push Emmeline over the edge. Much like she had in the common room that morning, she swept all her belongings into her bag in one go and bolted for the door. She wasn't sure where she was going. She just wanted to put as much distance between herself and Hermione Granger as possible.

She'd only made it halfway down the corridor when she heard several sets of footsteps thundering behind her. Emmeline wished that they wouldn't. She didn't want to look at anyone right now, let alone speak. But this thought did not stop her roommates from catching up to her outside the lavatory.

"Are you alright?" Sally-Anne asked. "Ooh, Emmeline, I'm so sorry!"

"What did she say to you?" asked Susan.

"Just ignore her," Hannah advised. "Everyone knows Hermione thinks she's better than everyone else. I'm glad you told her off."

"Hannah!"

"What? She deserves it! She's always sneering at other people's answers and rolling her eyes. I don't know how Emmeline made it so long sitting next to her."

"I've never heard you sound like that," said Sally-Anne, patting Emmeline on the shoulder. "I never would have thought…"

None of this did anything to make Emmeline feel better. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to shrink down and fall between the stones so no one could see her. She wanted to stop existing for just a few short days.

All the doors in the hallway opened about the same time, and soon the corridor was flooded with people. Emmeline felt as though the walls were closing in on her, but before they could swallow her up, Hannah spoke up.

"We should get a move on. It's always harder to get to the dungeons when it's crowded."

Emmeline groaned, and Sally-Anne patted her on the shoulder again.

If there was one thing that could have made Emmeline's mood worse, it was Potions. She'd forgotten they had a double class today. It wasn't the subject that Emmeline hated—at least, she wasn't any worse at making potions than she was at anything else. It was everything else about the class.

She reluctantly followed her roommates down the stairs and across the entrance hall, regarding the stairwell to the dungeons with contempt. Potions was held deep underground, but it was not homey like the Hufflepuff Basement. It did not feel like a warm and cozy burrow. It was dark and damp, all cold stone floors and slimy walls. If you were unlucky enough, you might be splashed by the murky something-water dripping from the ceiling. Emmeline patted the wet spot on the top of her head forlornly. It was truly doomed to be a terrible day.

The girls filed into their small dungeon classroom, parting ways to sit at their individual desks. Sally-Anne patted Emmeline on the arm once more before hurrying off to the table she shared with Megan. Emmeline walked to her own empty desk. The first few weeks, she'd sat next to Zacharias Smith. But after she spilled some of her half-finished boil-cure on him, he'd made quick friends with one of the dark-haired Ravenclaw boys to get away from her. Since then, Emmeline had been partners with Lisa Turpin. Lisa was the Ravenclaw girl that had gotten into an argument with Madam Hooch about broom etiquette their first lesson. Emmeline had hoped they might talk about flying a bit, but Lisa still seemed disappointed about having Emmeline for a desk mate. She always smiled politely but was careful to keep her precisely brewed potions away from Emmeline's side of the desk.

Emmeline shivered as she unpacked her things. Her quill had bent dangerously when she'd thrown it into her bag, and she had to twist it back into shape before starting to copy down the notes on the board. Double potions meant practical lessons, and that always meant bad news for Emmeline. She had just finished copying down the ingredients for the Girding Potion when the door to the dungeons slammed open once more.

Professor Snape was easily Emmeline's least favorite teacher at Hogwarts. He was tall and mean, with stringy black hair that hung in curtains over his long black robes. Emmeline could only imagine that anyone's hair would look like that after having dungeon slime drip on them all day. But it wasn't Professor Snape's sunken eyes or sickly pale skin that made Emmeline dislike him. It was the fact that he was a cruel, unkind bully.

Marnie and Devon had warned the first years that Professor Snape was a difficult teacher. He always favored Slytherin and would make any excuse to take points from other houses. He was unlikely to be helpful in lessons, so it was always best to be especially prepared for his class and keep your head down.

Emmeline had foolishly hoped that having Potions with the Ravenclaws meant Professor Snape might be a bit kinder. She could not have been more wrong.

In their very first class, Professor Snape had lectured them all about the "subtle art of potion making" and how his subject was vastly superior to all the waving and shouting of their other classes. After a lengthy and fairly uninformative speech, he'd instructed them to open up their textbooks and asked for volunteers to read the introduction. A few different hands spotted the air, but Professor Snape had ignored every one of them. His eyes searched out the weakest target, the smallest person in the room who was trying most desperately to go unnoticed.

"Miss Marsh," he'd called in a voice almost as slick as his hair. "Why don't you read the introduction for us all?"

Emmeline was torn between the horror of having everyone listen to her read aloud, and the terror of disobeying a teacher. Not wanting to lose points for Hufflepuff in her first week, Emmeline's eyes had quickly dropped to her book. She cleared her throat, and began to read.

She had been thankful, at least, that she'd read the beginning of the book in a panic the night before. But even being familiar with the words, she was not a very good reader. She stuttered through her sentences, and tripped over long words she was not sure how to pronounce. . Professor Snape sneered every time Emmeline made a mistake, and interrupted her at every opportunity to demand she speak louder. None of her classmates could offer any help. Everyone kept their eyes on their books, hardly daring to move. Snape did not let her stop until she had finished the entire four-page entry.

"Very well," he'd jeered when she sagged back into her seat. "Perhaps someone else would like to read the instructions on the chalkboard. Preferably someone familiar with the English language."

It had been the worst part of her first week.

Ever since, Emmeline had dreaded Potions more than any other class, even History of Magic where she sat next to Hermione. She did not like Professor Snape, and he had made it abundantly clear that the feeling was mutual. At least once every week he made a point to ask her a question she had not volunteered to answer. If she got it wrong, and she usually did, he used it as an excuse to remind them all how little they knew about his magnificent subject, and how difficult he found it to teach children so dull. On the off-chance she got a question right, he would snicker and advise her to raise her voice before the castle's cats mistook her for a mouse. The only student who got it worse than Emmeline was poor Megan, and everyone knew that was because the Slytherins considered her a traitor to their house.

As Professor Snape swept into the room, Emmeline sped up her note-taking. She would not allow him to catch her off guard. Her morning was bad enough as it was.

The torture started the moment the last student took their seat.

"Miss Marsh," Professor Snape called, not even bothering to look up from his desk. "Would you remind the class what we will be working on today?"

"Um, the Girding Potion."

"Incorrect." His face stretched into the closest thing to a smile that it could manage. "And you'll address me as 'sir.'"

Emmeline shrank back into her chair. She would not make it out of this unscathed.

"Sorry, sir," she mumbled, picking at the sleeves of her robe.

"Speak up. Now, why on earth would you think this class would be brewing something as complicated as a Girding Potion?"

"The board, sir."

"Those notes are not for you, Miss Marsh. The Girding Potion is a lesson I have taught to third year students just this last period. I sincerely doubt any student in this room would be capable enough to brew this potion. I must confess, I doubt that I myself would be capable of instructing you in the matter. Imparting such complex material would truly take an act of a higher power."

"Then why bother becoming a teacher?" Emmeline wanted to demand. But she was smarter than that, at the very least. She kept her silence.

Professor Snape waved his wand, and the words Emmeline had been meticulously copying vanished from the board. With another flick, it was full again, "Herbicide Potion" written at the top in his own scratchy script.

"If you all recall, I explicitly told you all at the end of last class that we would be working on the Herbicide Potion today. This is a simple potion that can both control and kill magical plants. And though it is tedious to remind you, it is not for human consumption. So, much though you may be tempted, I must ask you to refrain from tasting any of the mixtures you may produce this afternoon. You'll need to be swift and pay special attention to your cauldron. That will be the difference between damaging a plant and damaging yourself. The mixture will need to brew for nearly an hour, so I suggest you all get to work."

The rest of class was a nightmare. The Herbicide Potion was simple in theory, much simpler than the notes she'd taken on the Girding Potion anyway. But Emmeline was still scrambling to get her work completed. She had to check herself three times before doing anything, and by doing so ran the risk of taking too long. Her potion looked fairly good when she set it to brew, but then she'd gotten wrapped up copying the notes down off the board. By the time she'd finished, it had been fifty-three minutes rather than fifty-one. It was slight, but two minutes made all the difference in potions. Flustered, she'd turned the heat up for ten seconds as the directions indicated, only to remember that she was supposed to add flobberworm mucus before taking it off the fire. She had to raise it again, lower it frantically, but the damage had already been done. Her potion had surpassed the desired pale green and turned straight to a mottled brown sludge.

"Disgusting," Professor Snape tutted happily, holding her vial up to the light. "I see you elected to ignore my explicit instructions to work swiftly and pay attention, Marsh."

"Sorry, sir," Emmeline repeated, staring at the edge of her desk.

"Don't apologize to me. Your housemates, however, might appreciate your regret. I think five points will warn you from being lackadaisical in my class."

"What?"

Emmeline's jaw dropped. She had not lost a point for Hufflepuff yet, none of them had. And for something so small! Emmeline wasn't the only person who had failed the assignment. She could smell Kevin Entwhistle's potion from where she sat, and Sally-Anne was frowning at the bottom of her cauldron. But Professor Snape reserved his glare for Emmeline.

"Five points from Hufflepuff," he said steadily. "And be thankful it's not more, Miss Marsh."

She couldn't have been happier when class was over.

"Don't worry about it," Wayne assured her as the Hufflepuffs fled the dungeon. "The prefects warned us Snape was going to try to take points. It was only a matter of time."

"It could have been any one of us," Hannah agreed. "My potion didn't look great either."

"Mine was awful," bemoaned Sally-Anne. "Ooh, Emmeline, I'm so sorry!"

"I'm going to change before lunch," said Emmeline, not meeting anyone's gaze. "I'll see you all later."

No one tried to stop her from leaving. Emmeline was grateful. Smith had been glaring at her for all he was worth, and Sally-Anne was starting to get that pitying look in her eye once more. Emmeline felt certain that if anyone tried to pat her on the arm again, she might scream.

The common room was mostly empty when she returned. Emmeline had a chance to change her uniform, splash some water on her face, and brush her teeth. It was a relief, and it improved her mood just slightly. But for some reason—even though she knew the morning was over, that she had to eat sometime soon, that most of her classmates were understanding and no one was upset with her—she couldn't force herself to cross the entrance hall.

The Great Hall beckoned, afternoon sun glinting off golden platters filled with food. None of it appealed to her. There were too many people, and the morning had zapped her of what little energy she had left. She could go to the kitchens, but she didn't want to bother the elves during their busiest time of day. She considered staying in their dorm until things calmed down, to nap and reread Aunt Vee's letters, cuddle with Humphrey. Then she could just grab a pie or two and eat on her way to class.

But even that thought didn't comfort her. What she wanted was someone she could talk to, someone who would listen to her without judgment, someone who would comfort her without resentment or pity. What she wanted was a friend, and even after nearly two months at Hogwarts, that was something she didn't feel that she had.

Emmeline turned on her heel, walking straight out of the entrance hall through the double oak doors and down the front steps of the castle. The clouds overhead were a steely grey, moving quickly across the sky. The promise of rain felt thick in the air, and branches of colorful leaves shivered in the breeze.

The house was exactly where Aunt Vee had said it would be. A small hut sat on the edge of the forest, the garden patch beside it stretching back into the trees. Small was a relative term, of course. It looked like it was only one or two rooms, but the door towered above Emmeline's head, and she would have had to jump to climb into the rocking chair by the front stoop. The gourds that were growing in the pumpkin patch were larger than any Emmeline had ever seen. She would probably be able to sit inside one once they were properly carved out.

Emmeline hopped up the steps and rapped on the front door before she lost her nerve, only to be greeted by a thunderous bark. When she jumped back, she nearly toppled off the steps. Even the dog sounded enormous.

"Down, Fang! Ge' down!" The door groaned as it opened just a fraction, and a face full of wiry black hair appeared in the crack. "'Ello there! Can I help you?"

It was the giant man that had led the first years to the castle their very first night. Emmeline had known in theory that it would be, but somehow, she was still surprised to see him. She gaped up at his large face, her lips trembling in the autumn air.

The dog barked helpfully, making her jump and drawing the man's eyes away from her.

"I said get back, Fang! Sorry, sorry. Yer one of the first years, aren't yeh? I recognize you from the boats."

"I'm Emmeline!" She was half-shouting over the dog, half-terrified she'd have to repeat herself. "Emmeline Marsh!"

"Marsh? But you—oh!" His eyes lit up with recognition, and a wide smile shone through his beard. "You must be Lynette's little girl!"

Emmeline nodded fervently. She knew she was beaming with relief.

"Well, come in! Come in! No, hold on. This damn dog. I said back, Fang! Go lie down, or she won' be able to get in!"

There was a jangle as he took the dog by the collar and yanked him farther inside the house. Then the door swung open, and she was ushered inside.

It felt a bit like being a doll, Emmeline decided. Everything in the hut had to be proportionate to its owner, which meant most of the furniture was just as oversized as the house itself. There were a few squashy looking armchairs, and a bed in the corner that was draped with a large, multi-colored quilt. A low fire was roaring in the hearth. Its warmth washed over Emmeline, putting her at ease.

The moment Fang the dog was free, he came bounding for Emmeline. He was, in fact, enormous: a big black dog with a droopy face that shook drool all over her fresh robes. It was all the worse when he eagerly began licking her face, covering her skin in spit, but Emmeline couldn't help but giggle. She'd never met a dog so friendly. She could barely stand for his enthusiasm.

"Alrigh' that's enough, yeh ham." The man dragged the dog back, and plopped him down onto the large bed. "Don't mind him. He jus' likes the attention. But he's harmless."

"That's alright," Emmeline assured him. She wiped her face on her sleeves.

"Rubeus Hagrid," the man introduced himself. He offered her a hand, which she shook with some difficulty. "An it's a pleasure to meet you, Emmeline."

"Thank you, Mr. Hagrid."

"Ah, just Hagrid," he chuckled. "Nothin' formal 'round here. I was just about ter put on the kettle and have a spot of lunch, if yer interested."

Emmeline's stomach growled loudly at the mention of food, and she blushed.

"Erm…yes, please."

Hagrid helped her up into one of the armchairs, and Emmeline watched with interest as he wandered around preparing their meal. He plucked a large copper kettle from the rafters overhead and made tiny jam sandwiches with a surprising amount of precision. He piled them high on a platter between them, poured their tea, and then turned to a massive moleskin overcoat. From one of the many pockets he pulled a brown paper bag of tea cakes, which he arranged delicately on the platter.

"Been savin' these fer a special occasion."

"Oh no," said Emmeline, looking longingly at the smudged icing. "I wouldn't want to…"

"Nonsense, nonsense. An' don't take this the wrong way, but yeh look like you could use a pick-me-up."

Shyly, Emmeline picked up one of the small cakes. They really did look quite good.

"Now," said Hagrid, taking a seat across from her, "what brings yeh all the way down 'ere?"

"S-Sorry?"

"Not that I min' the company, but most firs' years don' wander round the forest on their own. Er'ything alright?"

"Fine," Emmeline lied. "My…my Aunt Vee suggested I come down and introduce myself."

"An' who's that now?"

"Oh—Emmeline Vance."

"O'course!" Hagrid patted his knee heartily and nodded. "I nearly fergot you'd be livin' with her. Always on top of things, Vance was. Quick with er wand, sharp."

Emmeline watched him take a sip of his tea, hesitating over her next words.

"She…she said that you knew my mum."

"Aye, course I did." His beard twitched as a fond smile graced his face. "Yer mum was one of the friendliest students I ever met. Always came round fer tea, tol' me all about er friends an' classes—mostly Care of Magical Creatures."

"Is that what you teach?" Emmeline asked with interest.

"Blimey, no, no. No, I'm no professor. Jus' the gamekeeper. Mind you Professor Kettleburn does lemme look after the creatures time ta time, when he's not using 'em in class. I'd love ta though, someday. But I, er…"

Hagrid took a very sudden gulp from his cup, tea trickling down his beard.

"Anyways, it was yer mum's favorite class. She loved animals, loved learning 'bout them all. I reckon she could get jus' about anything to listen ta her if she tried hard enough. Friends used ta call her Lynette tha Lion Tamer."

"Really?" Emmeline giggled.

"Absolutely. She always said all it took was a gentle voice an' a firm hand. Woman could'a looked a harpy in the eye an' won, any day."

Emmeline munched on her sandwich happily, processing this new information. Her mother the Gryffindor, brave enough to stand up to any magical creature, kind enough to prove she was a friend and not a foe. Newt Scamander himself would have been impressed by her, Emmeline was certain.

"Now yer dad," Hagrid continued, "I did'n know him as well when he was in school. He kept to the castle, far as I could tell. 'Cept for Quidditch. Cor, I reckon yer father might'a been the best Chaser Hufflepuff's had in a century, at the very least. He knew how to fly, he did."

"I know!" Emmeline swelled with pride. "Aunt Vee said he became Quidditch captain in just his fourth year. She told me so when she got me my very first broom."

"Ah, you a flyer as well? Going in fer tryouts I suppose?"

"Not this year," Emmeline said, dejected. "Aunt Vee says that no matter how good I am, they probably won't let first years on the team. And I'd have to use a school broom, which would be like learning to fly all over again. I've got a Cleansweep Six at home. I know Dad had a Nimbus 1000, the very first model, but I'm not sure what happened to it. I've only ever seen it in pictures."

"Merlin's beard, that reminds me."

Hagrid set his plate aside, hauling himself out of his chair and hurrying toward a different set of cabinets. Fang took this opportunity to jump off the bed and trot over to curl up at Emmeline's feet. Emmeline gently tried to pet him with the bottom of her shoe.

"Ar, here we are!" Hagrid returned with a thick leather book, flipping through the pages furiously. "Now where tha devil is—ah! Here ya go."

He passed her the book, and Emmeline was so surprised that she nearly dropped it.

It was a photo album, with many excited faces waving up at her. The left page was dedicated to one large picture. It showed Hagrid sitting in a chair, his hair awkwardly pushed back, and looking as formal as one could with a bright yellow polka-dot tie. On either side of him stood her parents. It must have been their wedding day, Emmeline thought with a shock. Her father was in sleek black dress robes, her mother in a dress that was a pale, sparkling yellow. She'd charmed feathers into her hair, but for some reason it didn't look silly. She still looked beautiful.

"She kept sayin' she looked like a Fwooper," Hagrid chuckled, noticing what had drawn Emmeline's attention. "Mos' women wouldn't want that, lookin' like a bird on their wedding day, but I don' think she could'a been more excited."

Emmeline ghosted her fingers over the photograph, smiling as her mother's figure dodged her touch.

"We don't talk about them much," she said quietly. "Or we do, but…Aunt Vee really knew Dad more than Mum. And I think…it's really hard for her to talk about them."

Hagrid nodded sympathetically.

"Can be hard, losin' people. An' from what I remember, Vance was closer to yer dad than anyone else—even her own family. To lose someone like that…I mean…ta go the—the way they did…"

He stopped speaking abruptly. The teacup rattled as he put it back on the table, and he fished out a large spotted handkerchief from the moleskin overcoat. He blew his nose like a brass trumpet, the sound so loud that even Fang jolted at Emmeline's feet. Hagrid's eyes were still shining when he tucked the fabric away.

"Sorry," he said. "Me goin' on 'bout losin' people, an' here it's your parents…"

"It's fine," Emmeline assured him. "Really, it is. It's nice to hear someone talk about them."

"Well, ya know, yer welcome anytime. Like I said, I loved your mum much as anything. Watched her grow up since she were a kid. Which is why—" he paused to draw himself up importantly "—I feel it's my duty ta ask you how yeh've been gettin' on at school."

"Oh it's—it's been…fine…"

Hagrid hummed, but did not seem to believe her.

"Can't imagine it's easy," he said knowingly. "New place, new people. Away from home fer the firs' time, all these classes an' assignments. Makin' friends."

It was the last that pushed Emmeline over the edge. She was horrified to hear her own teacup rattling now, her lip trembling as water welled up in her eyes. It was a matter of seconds before the dam exploded.

Emmeline told Hagrid everything—how she was struggling in her classes, that she didn't have any real friends. She told him about growing up in the country, and in stumbling words, attempted to tell him about the wall seemed to have grown between her and her classmates. She couldn't talk to anyone, and she wasn't sure why. It had always been easy with Aunt Vee, but now that there were strangers around every corner she didn't know what to do. Even the people she'd been living with for almost two months, people who by all accounts weren't strangers anymore, she couldn't befriend for the life of her.

She told him all about her exhaustion, how she was barely completing her work in time. That Hermione Granger had called her "lazy" and Emmeline had caused a scene. That Professor Snape was tormenting her and had taken points away from Hufflepuff.

"Well, ya can't be bothered 'bout that," Hagrid assured her. "Snape's always takin' points away from tha other houses."

"But he did it because of me! And he's always picking on me because I'm small and quiet and he knows I won't know what to say! I hate it!"

"It's jus' the way Snape is. Yer not the only one who feels that way. Jus' last week Harry and Ron were in here tellin' me tha same thing."

"Wha—Harry Potter?"

Immediately, she felt stupid. Of course it was Harry Potter. How many Harrys were there at Hogwarts? And Harry had already told her that he was friends with Hagrid. He'd talked all about it in Astronomy. She had no idea how she could have forgotten.

"Yeah, that's the one," Hagrid chuckled. "Ya know Harry already, then?"

"No!" Emmeline said quickly, and winced. "Well, yes. Obviously. We—we've got some classes together, but…mostly it's just because...you know…"

"No need to be shy 'bout it. I reckon everyone in tha castle knows about Harry by now, even tha Muggleborns. An' with yer parents an' all, it's no wonder yeh'd want to get ta know him. I'm sure even Harry would understand tha' much."

"No." She shook her head, poking at what was left of the tea cakes. "That doesn't make me special."

"O'course it does. You try telling that ta Harry and see if it don't matter to him!"

"I don't want to tell him, Hagrid," Emmeline said firmly. "It's weird, and—and even if it wasn't, I don't want Harry to talk to me because of my parents. I just…want to be me. You can't tell him."

"Alright, alright. Still think it's a load a' codswallop."

Hagrid pulled a face that made Emmeline giggle, breaking the tension. He smiled and glanced at the clock over the fireplace.

"Well, looks like we've still got time before lunch is finished. How 'bout you give me a hand with the pumpkins I got in tha garden? Gotta make sure they're nice an' ready, with Halloween comin' up so fast."

"Alright."

They cleaned up the tea dishes and headed back outside. Fang bounded into the garden, jumping amongst the gourds and vines, while Hagrid poked the pumpkins with a large pink umbrella. Emmeline totted along behind him, carrying an oversized watering can which she passed to him whenever he asked for it. They continued talking while they worked, Hagrid telling her all about the creatures her mother loved most, from bowtruckles to werewolves. And even when the sky began dripping with its promised rain, though Emmeline's robes were drenched with water for the second time that day, it was with a clearer head and a bright smile that she wandered back to the castle.