Since Bagsy didn't have any other classes that day, she locked herself in her room and finished what unpacking she had left, trying to ignore her growing apprehension for Defence Against the Dark Arts, which was now the day after tomorrow. Her sister's ominous warning about the subject hung over her head like the chattering ghosts at meal times in the great hall.

Bagsy had unpacked almost everything, and yet had only filled three small shelves with her possessions. They contained her school books, some parchment, a cauldron and her stuffed griffin, Beaky. Her clothes, a few shirts and jeans, her white buttoned shirts, brown trousers, tailored robes and a pair of trainers were all neatly arranged in one small cupboard. Her potion set was proudly displayed on the large work bench and it was her trunk, stored under her bed, that contained the last item she needed to unpack.

Carefully, she pulled her toolbox from the trunk. Her pet rats, Jill and Bill, scuttled impatiently in their travel cage.

'I know, I'm sorry, I've been too busy until now,' Bagsy soothed them. She opened the toolbox which had as many compartments as she needed, and different drawers and boxes that appeared from nowhere for her to pull out.

Bagsy settled herself at the work bench, spread out the tools she'd need, selected a circular area of shelves in the room and set to work. When she was done, her rats had a rat-mansion of wood, straw, rope and soft cloth to live in – a conversion of a section of shelving. She'd installed a ramp to allow them to enter and exit their rat palace via her desk and explore the rest of her room at their leisure. Her rats were very well behaved and Bagsy trusted them not to destroy her things – they never had before. Rats were far more intelligent than they were given credit for.

Bagsy packed the tool kit away, whispered the lock-phrase 'bogshrub!' to lock it, and stowed it under her bed, next to her trunk. She grabbed her satchel, produced her subpar notes from the day's lessons, and began practicing.

The Hornbeam wand felt good in her hand, and she was certain her words and wand movements were as they should be, but not one sliver of magic, nor sight of sparking, came from her efforts. At least she wasn't envious of the sounds of students yelping in glee as they played with a floating stone chair out on the brisk grounds of Hogwarts, seeing who could stay on top of it for the longest before another student ousted them.

Bagsy wasn't deterred by her non-existent progress. In fact, every failed spell spurred her further. She didn't care how long it would take – she'd practice every day she could until she could cast a spell. She was at Hogwarts now, the place where everyone learnt magic. If she worked hard she trusted that one day she would cast spells, too.

When she woke the next morning late for Transfiguration, having fallen asleep at her desk with her wand clasped in her hand, she still hadn't managed to produce any magic. Worse, she had a stinging headache, feeling as though she'd had a very bad dream, even if she couldn't recall what it was, the dread of whatever it had been weighed on her shoulders like a lead shawl. She spent a few minutes puzzling, feeling as if there had been something in the corner of her vision, just out of sight, but no matter how she stretched her memories she couldn't figure it out. Something had made her heart beat erratically, and her breath turn to gasps of anxiety, yet she had no clue what the nightmare had been.

Professor Hilkins, the Transfiguration teacher, was the antique-looking wizard who'd guided the first years onto the boats. He had a hunched back and wore an orange and brown coat, that looked like it used to be two separate coats, torn in half and stitched together down the middle, and was clearly second-hand. His white hair was long and wispy, and his voice quiet and rasped. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, who shared Transfiguration, both proved disobedient under Hilkins' teaching, whispering to each other and passing notes despite the wizard's empty warnings.

'Now, now,' Hilkins would croak out, his voice barely audible as he meekly tried to catch a note folded into a rudimentary paper aeroplane aimed at a student on the other side of the class. 'Please, please, do pay attention, if you can.' When Hilkins turned back to the blackboard, more notes were passed. Bagsy even saw two Ravenclaws, one the bald girl she'd see in Charms, playing wizards' chess below their desk. The bald girl lost her bishop and cuffed her opponent over the head in good-humoured frustration whilst Hilkins remained none-the-wiser.

The transfiguration room was filled with odd objects, stuffed animals with lifeless miss-matched glass eyes, and furniture that was half one thing and half another. Bagsy was most curious about the half-bath-half-bicycle tittering away in the corner like a spinning wheel glued onto a bucket.

By the end of the lesson Bagsy was relieved to see no one had managed to change anything about the plain objects Hilkins had placed in front of them. Like hers, their matchsticks, spoons and twines all remained ordinary, and not one spark of magic had shown.

'Transfiguration is an incredibly difficult subject,' Hilkins had assured all of them, not seeming surprised. 'It takes lots of time and effort to master.'

Consoling herself that she would improve with time, Bagsy packed away her untransfigured objects.

Personal study was after Transfigurations. All the first years shared their personal study times, where they congregated in the library to do extra reading and practice. At least in theory that's what they were meant to do when, in reality, most students treated it as an extra break.

Even Bagsy was tempted to join in the fun when she saw the students pitting enchanted parchments in the shape of dragons against one another and cheering them on. The creatures spat out fiery balls of scrunched up paper at each other, and tried to tear the other's wings with sharp, pen-tip talons. One of the librarians, an old woman who kept her face down and turned away from the annoying children, didn't seem to care so long as they kept relatively silent. As much as Bagsy wanted to join in with the others, if she was to be able to cast spells she knew she had to stay focused. With a sigh, she continued her reading. She wouldn't know how to introduce herself to begin with, she told herself. Really, she was just avoiding a scary situation.

The games slowly grew louder, and unlike the old librarian, the younger librarian wasn't pleased with the first years after the Personal Study ended and practically chased the louder ones out. Bagsy noted the bald Ravenclaw girl seemed to be at the centre of trouble.

Bagsy had been looking forward to Herbology. It didn't require, at least not as much as other subjects, the casting of spells from a wand. Nor did she share it with Slytherin, so she didn't have to worry about avoiding Mezrielda in the lesson. When she arrived at the classroom, her spirits lifted even more. It was in one of a number of large greenhouses, packed to bursting with odd plants that tangled in and out of open windows, trees that hummed and flowers that changed colour with a poke.

Professor Wattleseed, the Herbology teacher, was young and good looking, with a goatee, square glasses and dark hair. He'd orchestrated the sorting ceremony, Bagsy recalled. She couldn't help but overhear some of the students in the class comment on how handsome Wattleseed was and tried not to cringe at the idea. Wattleseed seemed not to notice.

Sorting plants into groups, learning which ones were which, and how to properly plant them in the correct soil, at the correct time of year and in the right place, was refreshing work. Some plants were very picky and only wanted to be buried at times divisible by seven, whilst others demanded being replanted every five hours and five minutes for five days before blooming massive, green pumpkin flowers. A few picky plants wanted soil painted gold and would whine if the paint didn't have genuine flecks of the ore within it.

Then the second half of the double lesson began and Wattleseed announced they had to partner up with someone for the year. Bagsy's shoulders sagged miserably, she already knew what was going to happen. With a sinking feeling in her stomach Bagsy watched the class divide itself before her eyes, paying her no attention. To her right two Gryffindors, a tan boy with very short hair and a pale girl with freckles, instantly magnetised together. Clearly, they were going to be partners. To her left, Bagsy saw the bald Ravenclaw girl and two of her friends standing proudly side by side.

Wattleseed walked over to them, furrowing his brow. 'I said pairs. That means just two. Sorry, you gotta split up.' Wattleseed looked around the rest of the class, his eyes landing on Bagsy. 'There. Bagsyllia, was it?' he asked to a spattering of laughs from other students.

'Just Bagsy… please,' Bagsy answered quietly.

'Sure thing, just Bagsy,' he smiled. Wattleseed patted the bald girl on her back. 'I'll chose for you. Winifred, you look ready to make a new friend. Go on.' Wattleseed pushed the bald Ravenclaw girl, Winifred, over to her. Winifred scowled at Bagsy as she took her place next to her in front of the plant and equipment.

Wattleseed walked around the greenhouse as he spoke. 'The first half of the lesson, which we've just completed, is for learning stuff. You know, like names and facts and whatever. Theoretical things. The second half, what we're starting now, is practical. That's why you all have a Herbology partner.' Wattleseed stopped behind two small girls, clapping his hands together, a mad glint in his eyes. 'Wonderful isn't it?' He kept moving, the two girls looking at each other in apprehension. 'Together you will complete projects throughout the year. Teamwork is very important, as you can imagine, as is good communication. Do try and talk about your work outside of class, please. Independent study is essential for improvement.' Wattleseed came to a stop behind Bagsy and Winifred. Wattleseed leant forward to examine the work Bagsy had been doing earlier in the lesson. Her notes were messy scrawls, but they were thorough. 'Good. Very good,' he commented. 'Looks like you've struck gold here, hey, Winifred?' Winifred looked like she couldn't disagree more.

The rest of the lesson seemed determined to prove Wattleseed wrong and make a fool of Bagsy. First, she tripped on her way back to their space with fresh fertilizer, her legs locking together. Next, she squirted bulb juice in Winifred's face when the squeezer slipped from her hands and pushed down too hard on the plant. Finally, the cherry on the cake of embarrassment, as they were clearing their equipment away one of the sheers seemed to come to life and snapped at Bagsy's hand, leaving her with a deep cut on her middle finger. Clearly, she must have grabbed the wrong kind of sheer. The subsequent blood spoiled the work they'd been doing that day. Norc-shocks were very docile plants that had powerful healing properties, like shocking a person's system into action in cases of heart failure. They gave off small electric pulses to those who tried to pluck them too early and, crucially, they were known to shrivel up and die in distaste at the sight of blood, as the norc-shock was currently demonstrating.

Bagsy could feel the irritation rolling off Winifred in waves.

'Winifred, take Bagsy to the infirmary, please,' Bagsy heard Wattleseed instruct her, then, 'Itsuki, Jon, can you clear up Bagsy and Winifred's station for them?' as Bagsy and Winifred left. The mohawked Hufflepuff and his herbology partner took their places, cleaning away Bagsy's mess. Bagsy, head hung low, left the greenhouse. Herbology couldn't have gone worse, she thought.

Once they were in the corridor Winifred seized Bagsy's arm and began dragging her along. 'You walk soooo slowly,' she complained. Bagsy nodded sheepishly, allowing herself to be led. 'And you're clearly hopeless at duelling.' Bagsy frowned at that, stumbling as Winifred tore around a corner at what felt, to Bagsy, faster than most brooms flew.

'What do you mean?'

Winifred snorted. 'You didn't even notice what those other students were doing? They kept egging each other on – it wasn't exactly subtle. Damn. You're hopeless, Bagsyllia.'

'It's Bagsy,' she mumbled in discontent. It had been an odd lesson but Bagsy didn't want to think that other students had been targeting her because, if they were, there was nothing she could do about it. It was better to simply accept she was a clumsy idiot.

When they arrived at the infirmary Winifred hadn't said anything else, and Bagsy's misery was building up in her stomach like she'd eaten a foul meal. At least a passing ghost gave her a small curtsey of sympathy. Or maybe it was mockery. It was hard to tell from the plain, slightly wax-like expression on the woman's face as she vanished through a wall.

'Hope your finger's okay,' Winifred offered, in what felt like a rather uncaring manner, as if she were ticking off a chore rather, before stalking off. Her black and blue robes flew out behind her and her shoes sounded loudly as they fell down on the stone floors. She had a lot of energy and confidence, Bagsy thought enviously.

Bagsy knocked on the infirmary door. Before she could blink, they were thrown open and a short man who looked like he hadn't slept in years bustled around her.

'What is it now… what is it now…' he mumbled repetitively as he led Bagsy into the spacious ward filled with white beds and curtains, and the occasional vase of flowers. The man had two triangular shapes plugged into his ears which were attached to ten different coloured wires that he placed to her forehead, arms, knees and nose in turn, all the while Bagsy blinked, befuddled.

After the hurricane of mutterings and measurings ended the nurse left Bagsy in peace with Stitchless Stitches ointment and a self-cleaning bandage. Apparently, the bandage would merge with her skin as her injury healed until it was indistinguishable from the rest of her hand. Bagsy was sceptical.

After the whirlwind treatment, she was sitting up in one of the beds, a pulsing pain shooting up and down her arm from the deep cut in her finger, with a glass of water on the bedside table. The nurse, whatever his name was, scuttled about the ward, and disappeared into other rooms with footsteps that sounded like a quick and quiet drum roll.

Bagsy heard an odd, fluttery cough to her right, followed by a frustrated huff. Looking at the culprit of the noise her eyes landed on Mezrielda, propped up by five pillows. 'What are you doing here?' Bagsy asked, before she could think better of it.

Mezrielda glanced over at her, her hand delicately masking her mouth from view. 'Nothing – SQUAWK – that's any of your – SQUAWK – business,' Mezrielda snapped back, determined to keep her mouth covered. A cough racked Mezrielda's body and a black feather fluttered out from behind her palm. Bagsy watched it land incriminatingly on Mezrielda's lap and raised her eyebrows. Mezrielda scowled at her.

Remembering Mezrielda's cruel trick on her, and that she was mad at Mezrielda, Bagsy turned to look the other way and crossed her arms.

'Why – SQUAWK – are you here?' Mezrielda asked after a while.

Smirking to herself and without looking back at Mezrielda, Bagsy held her middle finger up to the other girl, showing her the cut. Mezrielda let out a scandalized gasp.

Bagsy's smirk deepened. Despite herself, she turned to look at Mezrielda. 'Mishandled a pair of sheers – they cut into my finger,' she explained, pointing at the middle finger she'd been holding in Mezrielda's direction.

Mezrielda narrowed her eyes. 'Are you quite sure of that?'

Bagsy nodded. 'I'm clumsy, remember?' Bitterness creeped into her voice. If Mezrielda noticed she didn't react. 'I spent all of Herbology tripping over and dropping things. I have the worst luck.'

Mezrielda squawked quietly and coughed out a feather before responding. 'Are you aware of jinxes?'

Bagsy frowned. 'Yes.'

'Well-' Mezrielda was interrupted by another squawk. Bagsy held back a snigger. 'Sounds like someone was casting jinxes. Leg-lock and butter-finger jinxes are laughably easy to cast – I'd say someone was messing with you.'

Bagsy's eyes widened. 'You think so?'

Mezrielda nodded. 'I'd bet good money on it. If people realise you're weak you'll remain their target. Someone tried casting a jinx at me in potions. I stopped that delusional attempt in its tracks with some magic of my own.' There was an awkward pause as the two remembered the incident that had happened during Charms the previous day. 'I could uh… teach you the counter jinxes?' Mezrielda offered, sounding uncomfortable for once. Bagsy gave her a sideways look, wondering if this was another trick, or if Mezrielda really was trying to make peace. She couldn't tell if Mezrielda was a friend or enemy, or just someone she knew.

But Bagsy did really want to learn spells…

'Alright,' Bagsy agreed. When the nurse left for another room and seemed not to be returning, Mezrielda, between feather spewing coughs, got to her feet and indicated Bagsy do the same. Standing opposite each other, Mezrielda demonstrated the wand movement and the incantation for the counter jinx to the leg-lock spell.

'No, not like that!' Mezrielda hissed in frustration as Bagsy tried for the tenth time. 'Anyone would think you've never cast a spell.'

Bagsy shuffled her feet. 'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be sorry, just cast the counter jinx already,' Mezrielda reprimanded her, sending another leg-lock her way. Bagsy's legs were beginning to feel like lead, and each fall bruised a shoulder, or her hip, or even gave her a sharp knock to the head, which she didn't think was any help to her spell casting unless magical talent could be knocked into someone through blunt force. Maybe she should eat some Norc-shock and shock her magic alive – it sure felt dead right then.

Mezrielda cast, 'Locomotor Mortis!' and Bagsy tried to ward the leg-lock jinx for what felt like the twentieth time only to flail her arms awkwardly as she tumbled to the floor.

Mezrielda let out a huff of frustration. 'I give up. I can't teach you.' She got back into bed, the occasional squawk escaping her as she absent-mindedly flicked her wand so Bagsy could move her legs again.

'But you can't! I need to block jinxes for Herbology!' Bagsy begged, getting to her feet and picking off dirt and scraps of lint that had attached themselves to her robes. Her messy brown hair was sticking up all over the place and Bagsy tried to flatten if down as best she could. 'I'll practice as much as I need to – I won't give in until I can do it.'

Mezrielda folded her arms. 'You assume I'm willing to waste my time as well?' Bagsy deflated. Mezrielda sat quietly, looking at her pityingly. She sighed. 'When do you have Herbology?'

Bagsy looked at Mezrielda sceptically. 'Last two periods on Tuesdays. Why?'

'None of – SQUAWK – your business.' Mezrielda lay down on the bed, facing away from her, the conversation evidently over.

Bagsy got back into bed and sat in silence, tracing the arches in the tall ceiling with her eyes and imagining she was a monkey climbing along them until it was dark outside and the nurse, still muttering to himself, approached her.

'Hmmmmm…..' he droned as her inspected her hand harshly. Bagsy winced, but most of the pain was gone. 'How is it? How is it?' The nurse asked.

'Um, it feels a little prickly, but it's okay.'

'Good, good, you can leave, then. You can leave.' The nurse hunched over and moved to Mezrielda's bed, clicking his fingers around her face and then inspecting his fingernails as if they could tell him her medical information. Mezrielda looked like she was barely restraining herself from punching him.

As amusing as the sight was Bagsy hopped off the hospital bed and made her way out of the infirmary, hearing Mezrielda groan in annoyance at the news she'd need to stay overnight.

Bagsy, poking her finger curiously at the bandages which had sunk in and become one with her skin in a slightly more grey colour than she'd been expecting, walked back to the Hufflepuff common room. She was giving one edge of the bandages an experimental tug, feeling a twinge of pain as it pulled the rest of her skin with it, as she walked down a sloped corridor with a red carpet.

When the torches abruptly snuffed out, and the corridor flooded with darkness, she stopped in her tracks, the bandage forgotten. Bagsy looked up, her eyes wide against the black. She could just make out the smoke, emanating from the dead torches, swelling in size and surrounding her in a misty fog. Bagsy let out a whimper, her satchel sliding off her shoulder and to the floor, as she turned around, trying to see what was happening, the smoke clouding her vision.

The two torches on either side of Bagsy burst back to life, lighting the small area in an eerie red glow. The darkness beyond them, where the other torches remained unlit, was impenetrable. Confusion and fear only grew in Bagsy when the torches went out again.

This time, when darkness swamped around her, it was joined by a noise. Clanking and clattering screeches echoed around her and Bagsy remained petrified, frozen to the spot. The same two torches lit again. This time metal hands and feet, as still as statues, were poking into the light, the bodies presumably attached to them hidden in shadows.

'Please…' Bagsy cried softly, not understanding what was happening, and not knowing what she was pleading for. For this all to stop, most likely.

The torches ignored her begging and went out a third time. The clanking sounded again. Bagsy dropped to her knees.

When the torches re-lit six suits of armour towered in a circle over her, swords clasped tightly in their gauntlets. The black slits of their helmets gazed sharply at Bagsy, leaving her dizzy and terrified. She was trapped by whatever these things were. Filled with panic, she hyperventilated, and the next darkness that fell was from her own loss of consciousness.

Her mind wandered in its unconscious state, seeing suits of armour walking towards her, their metal hands outstretched, reaching at her face. Attached to their hands, Bagsy saw thin white strings, and when her eyes followed the strings she saw them thicken and multiply far above her head. They reached towards an epicentre of such bright light that she had to squint when looking at it. There was a distant roar and a shuddering of the air around Bagsy. It felt like someone, or something, was now watching her through a telescope.

Bagsy only grew aware she'd fainted when her eyes opened, and she was lying on the floor, a splitting pain in her head. The images she'd seen swirled confusingly in her mind. She didn't understand them, nor did she like them, so she pushed them away. The torches were normal again, and there were no suits of armour in sight. For all she knew, it had been some terrible nightmare. Bagsy struggled to her feet, picking her satchel of books up from the floor, and ran, wondering if she was seeing things.