Ron and Hermione were occupying the chairs to either side of Harry, so I slid into a seat across from them, gave a small sigh, and leaned onto the table, head in my hands. I must have looked relieved, because Hermione commented, "So, you were nervous about not getting into Gryffindor?"

I merely nodded, and closed my eyes.

A pleasant aroma made me open my eyes and looked down at my once empty plate. I should have been surprised to see the plates of food, but I was still recovering from the nervousness from getting sorted, and so my senses of perception were not what they should have been. My brain just numbly accepted the fact that there was food in front of me and I mechanically started to eat, not even noticing what was served.

I was too nervous. I had gotten into Gryffindor, and that was all that mattered.

I looked up and saw Harry watching me eat. I looked him in the eye, and thus we stayed for several moments, staring at each other like there wasn't anything else to look at in the entire world.

I had never known that it was possible to have a whole conversation without saying a single word.

His eyes told me, 'Welcome to Gryffindor.'

My eyes said, 'Thanks. Sorry about how I was acting earlier.'

His smile said, 'You may be a strange person, but don't worry about it.'

And then he turned to Ron to start discussing Quidditch. I continued eating, as Dumbledore made the usual announcements about the Forbidden Forest being forbidden, and the new items added to Filch's list of illegal objects.

I suddenly noticed a strange badge that Hermione was wearing. "Are you a prefect?" I asked, pointing to the badge.

"Why, yes!" she said happily.

I wrote it in my notebook. Hermione's grin turned into an oddly strained smile. "Oh," I said a bit too late, "congratulations."

She looked away.


All I had time to notice of the Gryffindor Common Room that night was that it was big. And it took a long, long time to walk across it to get to the impossibly high staircase that led up to the girl's dorm. The dorms were separated into years, with about ten beds in each dorm. I found an unclaimed bed in the fifth year dorm, and dropped into it, completely exhausted.

My dreams that night were sort of strange… I was in the queerest situation I'd ever been in, so my dreams were not quite up to par on the scale of weirdness. Anyway, I couldn't remember what exactly they had been about when I woke up, but I seemed to remember something about a fruitstand and that stupid Chihuahua from the Taco Bell commercials.

The window in the dorm let in plenty of light, and I could see the other girls already getting dressed.

Hermione was already halfway out the door when I called her back. "Hey," I called, "what time is it?"

"Almost eight," she replied. "You had better hurry, or you'll be late for class."

I knew classes started at 9; it had said so in the third book. Which meant I only had an hour to get ready.

My first class was in an hour and I still hadn't done any magic whatsoever. I wasn't even sure if I could DO magic. I mean, just because I had a magic wand didn't mean I was automatically a witch, right? And yet…

I pulled out my wand from my pile of stuff next to the bed, and, looking to make sure no one was watching me, I held it in front of me stiffly. Wracking my brains, I finally remembered a good spell. "Orchideous," I said softly. Nothing happened. I repeated the word, this time waving my arms of a bit as I did. Still, nothing happened at all. What was I doing wrong?

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Suddenly, I felt a strange warmth spreading from my chest all throughout my body. I felt it travel through my fingertips to the tip of the wand. Suddenly, I knew what to do.

"Orchideous!" I flicked the end of my wand, letting the warmth spill out of it. Where the warmth spilled, (how I could tell where it went I don't know) bright purple flowers appeared. Finally I had a bright bouquet sticking from the end of my wand. I waved the wand again, and the flowers disappeared. I wanted to jump for joy! I. Had. Just. Done. Magic. Real magic. The warmth had not disappeared; I could still feel it tingling throughout my body, ready to be channeled into a spell.

I gave the other girls still in the dorm a real confident grin. Class would be no trouble at all.


I felt confident enough to snap at Snape, to make faces at McGonagall, to laugh out loud at Professor Binns. I could do magic; I could do anything.

Perhaps I was a bit too confident. After all, as luck would have it, first class was Potions.
Now, even I realized that this was a bit too cliché'd for reality. I mean, when you get a new character in a fanfic, the first thing you want to do is make sure they aren't a Mary Sue, and the best way to do that is to pit them against Snape.

But it was real. Hoo boy, Potions.

I started scribbling in my book all the things I remembered about Potions.

Infusion of Wormwood and powdered Asphodel make the Draught of Living Death, or something like that.
A bezoar is a stone found in the stomach of a goat that will cure most poisons.
Wolfsbane and monkshood are the same plant. What WAS the third name for it?!

What was it again that you weren't supposed to add to the cauldron until you took it off the fire? It's what happened to Neville in the first year… Darn it! I couldn't remember!
I cursed the times when I'd skipped over that part in the book because it was boring. Who knew that I'd need that knowledge one day? Well, in hindsight, I probably would already scare people with how much I remembered.

I suddenly noticed that I was alone in the hall, whereas before there had been students rushing all around me. What time was it anyway?

Oops. I was late.

And I didn't have anyone to follow to Potions.

I was in trouble.

So I did the only reasonable thing to do in this sort of situation; I started crying.

I slumped against the wall, hugged my knees, and kept chanting mentally, "I'm not supposed to be here, I'm not supposed to be here, I'm not supposed to be here."

At least, I though I was chanting mentally, until a calm voice asked me, "Then where are you supposed to be?"

For just a moment, I had a flash from a fanfic I'd once read. I'd look up, and see Harry Potter standing there, ready to rescue me from distress, lead me to class, defend me from Snape, and then…

But when I looked up, it was to see the bloodshot and crazed eyes of a tiny man.

"YEEAURGH!" I shot straight up, scattering my books and things everywhere. The little man zoomed into the air, laughing. I got control of myself, after several hysterical moments, and saw that the little man was wearing what I would have expected to see on one of Santa's elves, minus the pointed hat. He was bald, but had great tufts of hair sticking from both sides of his head, and he was laughing and zooming so fast I could barely see any more of him.

"Transfer student's late for class, sneaking around the hallways!" he cackled.

He leaned forward, and blew a raspberry at me, the force up which sent him shooting backwards around the corner and out of sight.

I sighed in relief. Could that have been Peeves? Of course, that was the only explanation. I bent down to gather my scattered books.

"Hey, are you alright?" The voice which questioned me was familiar. I looked up, to see Harry's concerned face peering down at me.

"Aren't you late for class?" I asked him, standing up in trying to adjust my load so that I wouldn't drop my books again.

"No later than you are," he remarked, giving me a shy smile. "I figured you'd have trouble finding the classroom, since it's your first day, and all."

"Thanks," I said. Gee, yet another fanfic cliché. Harry to the rescue!

Then again, maybe cliché's are there for a reason. People know that noble, brave, chivalrous Harry would be the one to remember that the new Gryffindor has no clue where classes are, and would follow her through the halls to make sure she was OK. Maybe the reason people use that idea so much is because…because it's what would really happen. What was really happening.

"So," he said conversationally as we walked quickly through the halls. I trailed just a half-step behind him; close enough to be walking with him, yet far away enough that he could still be leading. "How do you know all that stuff about us? That you were talking about on the train?"

I laughed; not my normal laughter, but the barking half-laugh I give when I'm feeling moody and want to be sarcastic. "You wouldn't believe me."

"Try me." He stopped walking to turn around and look at me.

I stared at him for a moment: why did he care so much? After all, it wasn't his job to be curious, insightful, kind, and serious. It was his job to be brave and strong. Just like in the books. After all, he was only a two-dimensional character, right?

I shook my head. "Why do you care anyway?" It sounded colder than I wanted it to. Why was I acting like this? Was it just because I was annoyed that Harry was actually a real person? I remember I once wrote a letter to an advice column in a magazine. Somebody called me back on the phone. I hung up on them. I didn't want to have a conversation with them. I just wanted an impersonal yet life-changing piece of advice.

Somehow that reminded me of now. I didn't want Harry to be a person, I wanted him to be a character that I could manipulate and write about. I wanted him to be flat and unreal, and, of course, brave and strong. Not- not a real person.

I couldn't look him in the eye. "I don't want to tell you where I'm from, or how I know about you guys. You probably wouldn't believe me, and if you did believe me, you wouldn't like it."

"Fine." With that one word, he spun around and grabbed at a doorknob. "Potions dungeon is right down these stairs."

Of course, he held the door open for me. I knew he would. After all, that's something he'd do.

The first thing I noticed as we went down the stairs was the change in atmosphere. It was cold and slimy. The stone steps were nothing like the marble staircases in the upper parts of the castle. The stone walls were covered in moss. I could barely believe how spooky and unreal it felt. The stairs were very slippery and wet, I was just thinking, when I felt my feet go out from under me.

I yelped, threw my arms out, and Harry caught my shoulders just before I slid down any further.

"Are you all right?"

"Y-yeah, just a bit shaken," I replied, embarrassed. What a klutz I was. I picked up my books for, what was it, the second time? Third? After a moment, I asked, "Just how late are we?"

"Only a few minutes." He grimaced. "But with Snape, even a few minutes is way too late."

We followed a long hallway, until finally we reached the Potions' classroom. It really wasn't a room any more than a wider part of the hall blocked off by a door. Same slippery stone floors and mossy stone walls. There were tables, maybe a dozen, and to the right of each one was a small fire with a metal rack above it, on which were hanging two small cauldrons. The room smelt of rotting fish and burning coals. The teacher's desk was a standard one, and hanging behind it on a wall was a set of shelves, full of glass bottles with strange colored liquids inside. Also behind the desk was a man I could only assume was Severus Snape.

His hair, black and greasy, fell below his ears, almost to his chin. It was the same kind of haircut I'd sported a few years ago; however, there was nothing effeminate about this man. His nose wasn't large so much as long, and pointy; it might have been called beaky. He had thin eyebrows, and a mouth which seemed to tilt into a scowl naturally. Of course, that might have just been because he was eyeing Harry and me as we nervously tried to find a place to stand. There were no chairs in the classroom.

Harry quickly moved next to Ron, who had been saving a space for him. The only open spot for me was with a boy I didn't recognize. I felt like swearing, but instead just quietly walked over to the empty spot and set my books, carefully, on the table.

Snape smiled grimly at Harry, who eyed him back. "Five points from Gryffindor, Potter. Don't be late again." Then he eyed me, and I wanted to shrink back from his gaze.

I can't stand it when adults are mad at me, especially strange adults. Just having him look at me like that made me want to burst into tears. I blinked once, then turned my eyes down to the table.

"And five points from Gryffindor for you, too, Miss-"

"Forrest." I volunteered.

"And another point for interrupting a teacher." He shook his head at me like I was the stupidest monkey in the zoo.

His hair didn't move when his head did, it was too greasy, and seemed to be stuck to the side of his head.

He reached behind him to shelf and brought down a rather large bottle full of brownish green liquid. "To start off this year, I will be teaching you how to make an invisibility potion. But before we start, I must warn you: any student found misusing this potion will be expelled immediately." He purposefully stared at Harry once more. "But I would enjoy seeing one of you risk it."

Gulp. Gee, that sounded encouraging. I listened carefully as Snape listed the ingredients we would need. There was a drawer underneath the table from which my partner pulled out to different ingredients listed. Among them were powdered rat spine, pickled mulberries, and black widow fangs. I gagged as he pulled out a wriggling grub of some kind and laid it on the cutting board.

Each retrieving our own cauldrons from above the fire, we began to carefully mix the ingredients. I was very disgusted at some of the stuff we put in there. But after a few moments, Snape finally told us that we could put our cauldrons back over the fire to simmer for a while, but to make sure they did not boil. While we watched, and I can assure you no pot was ever watched as carefully as mine, he lectured us on how to use the potion, i.e. dosages, side effects, and what to do if something goes horribly wrong.

I happened to glance over at Hermione, who was standing beside a rather plump boy I could only assume was Neville Longbottom. I think the whole class heard him whisper, "I think mine is starting to boil."

"Then take it off of the fire," Hermione hissed.

Somehow I knew that something was about to go wrong. I was right: As Neville went to grab his cauldron, he accidentally spilled the entire contents into the fire.

There was a tremendous whoosh, and a mushroom cloud of gray smoke that filled the room.

"Everyone out now!" I heard Snape's voice hole through the smoke and confusion.

Everyone in the room headed for the door and I was carried along with them; not that I didn't want to get out too, but I had no idea where the door was.

Once we were all out in the hall once more, I saw what had happened to Neville and poor Hermione. Where the potion had splashed up, Neville was completely invisible. It was really quite funny to see him with blotches and patches missing.

His whole left cheek was gone, as well as part of his hair and most of his stomach. Hermione, though, was much worse. Somehow, she had gotten drenched; her entire head was invisible except for part of her hair below her shoulders, and there were still bits of the potion tracing invisible streaks down her robes.

Snape's eyes flashed dangerously as he stared at Neville, who looked as if he wanted to sink into the ground. Neville nervously backed up against the wall, and Snape took a step forward, hands clenched into fists.

"I think they'd better get up to the hospital ward," Ron Weasley interjected quickly, grabbing Neville and Hermione's arms, and trying to lead them away before Snape's wrath could explode.

It was a futile effort. Snape's eyes narrowed, and he nearly quivered with rage.

"Did I not warn you not to overheat the potion?" He grabbed Ron and Neville's arms. "Detention. Detention for all three of you." He let go of their arms. "Now, up to the hospital wing both of you." Snape turned around and walked back into the classroom, clenching and unclenching his fists.

I heard Ron swearing under his breath, and he grabbed Hermione's arm again. Harry took one of Neville's arms, and I took the other, wanting to help. Plus, I had a feeling it would be an advantage to know where the hospital wing was.

Ron was swearing under his breath with every step; I had to hide my smile. I had never heard a bunch of his descriptions of Snape's heritage and species, and it was funny to hear them being said in a cute British accent.

Neville was crying, and his tears would dribble down his invisible left cheek, leaving slight traces behind; the whole effect was very strange. I think Hermione may have been crying too, but it was hard to tell.

"D'you suppose Madame Pomfrey will be able to fix them?" Ron asked Harry in an undertone. He must not have been quiet enough, for Neville's sobs became much louder at the question.

"Of course she'll be able to fix this!" Hermione's voice snapped. "What a question. Weren't you listening to anything Snape said?"

"No," the three of us chorused as one. Ron eyed me suspiciously. "What've you got against Snape?"

I shrugged. "He's a biased, selfish, grudge-holding git." I knew the word sounded funny coming from me, but I couldn't think of anything better. I had never liked to swear, although Ron was obviously of a different opinion.

Ron grinned. He looked absolutely adorable when he grinned like that. It was easy to imagine him as a six or seven-year-old who had lost his front teeth.

We finally got Neville and Hermione up to the hospital wing, which looked like a normal school nurse's office, except that it had an extra room where there were beds, just like in a normal hospital. It even smelled of antiseptic and starch.

I waited outside in the hall for the boys while they talked to Hermione. Then, when they came out, I asked them, "Do you mind if I follow you to the next class? I still don't know my way around."

"Thought you knew everything about Hogwarts," Ron said sarcastically.

"I don't know my way around." I knew it was childish, but I made a face at him; it felt good. "I wish you'd stop bringing that up."

"Listen to her!" Ron turned to Harry. "Stop bringing it up! Stop bringing up the fact that she knows everything about us? That little, insignificant detail that she knows who our families are, and how we feel about things?" He threw up his arms, and stormed away. "Find your own way to class, I say."

I didn't want to cry, I didn't want to cry, I didn't want to cry. But I can't stand it when people are angry at me, and especially for things that aren't my fault. I closed my eyes, and leaned back against the wall, my hands in fists.

My parents never let me clench my fists when I was angry. They'd punish me if I did, because they said it made them feel like I was about to attack them. I'd finally gotten out of the habit, or so I thought.

When I finally was able to swallow the lump that had been forming in my throat, and open my eyes, Harry was still there.

My face must have shown my surprise, because he laughed. "Ron doesn't like-"

"Things that he doesn't understand," I interrupted. "I know. But it doesn't make it any easier."

He watched me for a moment, while I stared at the floor. Finally, he said, "The next class is History of Magic, you just go follow this hallway and go down the stairs to your left, turn right, and it's the first door." He took off running in the direction that Ron had went, leaving me alone with my thoughts.