When they got to the breakfast table the next morning, Professor Snape, the head of Slytherin House, was already handing out new schedules. Beth took hers and read it without surprise: Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Transfiguration, Divination, and the always-present Potions, Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts. She sat down near Bruce and Melissa to engage in the traditional griping.
Melissa was looking over her schedule with something like disgust. "Oh no, we've got Potions with the Gryffindors again!"
Potions was easily Beth's favorite subject, and since Professor Snape was always willing to help out his fellow Slytherins, one of her best. Unfortunately, the Gryffindors hated Professor Snape as a rule, and leapt at the chance to disrupt his class as much as possible.
"And Care of Magical Creatures," Bruce added, casting a glance at the Gryffindor table where a pair of red-headed twin boys were engaged in unflattering Snape impressions.
"At least we have Transfiguration on our own. Herbology with the Ravenclaws shouldn't be so bad."
"I haven't got Herbology, I have Ancient Runes," Melissa said glumly. "We're all thrown together in that one."
"Same as Arithmancy," Beth agreed.
Bruce's face suddenly assumed a look of horror. "You're not -- not taking Herbology?"
"Double negative, Brucey," Melissa chastised briskly, while Beth laughed. "Neither of us. You're not on your own, though. Aaron has it too."
Across from them, Aaron Pucey was struggling to unfold his napkin and babbling to Warrington about the Quidditch trials. Bruce's jaw dropped further.
"Well -- you're in Divination, right?" he said, somewhat desperately.
"Mm hmm," said Melissa, involved with her scrambled eggs.
"Both of us," Beth seconded. "Aaron took Muggle Studies instead. Right, Little Puce?"
Aaron looked up at her and grinned. "Right. 'Spect I'm the only Slytherin in Muggle Studies though."
"Probably right, after what most Slytherins say about Muggles and Muggle-born," Melissa agreed. "Well, torment a few Hufflepuffs for us."
Aaron gave her the thumbs-up. "Count on it."
Melissa looked around. "Time to go, everyone's leaving for classes." Students filtered slowly out of the Great Hall. The older ones were chatting excitedly; the first years just looked ill. A few of them carried pastries and fruit from breakfast, presumably for classroom munchies.
Beth stood and hauled Bruce out of a pile of hash browns. "We'll be late for Divination, get your nose out of that food. I hear it takes fifteen minutes just to get to class, and then there's a trapdoor."
The Divination class turned out to be held at the very tip of the North Tower, in a round room that looked like a coffee shop. Professor Trelawney, a large-eyed and sappy-voiced witch, guided the class through their first tea-leaf analysis and predicted three tragic events, including the death of Mervin Fletcher, the boy with a lot of red hair. Beth came out of the classroom feeling woozy from the heavy incense and dim lighting.
"What's next?" she asked Bruce, who was fumbling with his schedule.
"Transfiguration with McGonagall." This was Bruce's worst subject.
They stumbled into the classroom, blinking at the harsh lighting. Beth and Melissa grabbed seats in the front row. Bruce ended up several rows behind them.
Professor McGonagall, head of the Gryffindor house, began the lesson by reviewing some very basic principles. Beth felt her attention wander. Melissa nudged her sharply.
"...and I'm sure you all remember from Mr. Fletcher's undertaking last year, shortcuts will never get you anywhere."
Mervin Fletcher had tried to turn his quill into spun sugar and ended up nearly poisoning himself. The class laughed as Mervin's cheeks turned the color of his flaming hair.
"With all of that behind us, it's time to move forward into more complex forms of transfiguration -- living being to living being. Here, you can't rely on the simplification that comes when your original object is inanimate. The most extreme example of this is the case of Animagi, wizards who can turn into animals at will."
"I met one of those in Germany," Melissa whispered.
"It's a difficult but worthwhile endeavor to become and Animagus," Professor McGonagall was saying at the front of the room. "To wizards who do not intend to misuse their powers, the registration is only a slight hassle."
As she spoke, she seemed to shrink down to the desk. It was a few moments before Beth realized that she really was shrinking, and her skin was growing more and more yellow as she did. Additionally, McGonagall appeared to be hairier than anyone had ever seen her.
In a few breathless seconds, McGonagall had completely morphed into a yellow tabby cat with squarish markings in the exact shape of her glasses. The class burst into applause.
The human McGonagall reappeared before them, flushed and pleased. "On a similar note," she continued, adopting her usual severe tone, "we must be aware that it is also possible for a person to take on the shape of another person. This transformation requires a complex potion but is entirely possible, so always be on your guard: if something doesn't seem right, it may not be."
"Maybe we can give some to Bruce, to make him look like Diggory," Beth whispered to Melissa, who sniggered behind her parchment.
They spent the rest of the hour trying to change Japanese beetles into ladybugs. It turned out to be far more complicated than anyone had guessed, and many of the beetles ended up with nothing more than a few black spots on their shiny green shells. McGonagall changed them all back into Japanese beetles as they were collected, and assigned a three-foot-long paper about Animagi registration.
At lunch, they sat around comparing their first-day classes.
"I never had so much homework on the first day," Beth griped. "We're going to need those Hogsmeade trips. Two essays for Trelawney. What are they trying to do?"
"And three feet on Animagi already!" Melissa complained. "McGonagall's worse than ever!"
It was well known that Professor McGonagall had it in for the Slytherins, since they had captured both the House Cup and the Quidditch tournament for the past six years.
Bruce looked up from a large tuna-salad sandwich. "S'not so bad," he said in a surprisingly mellow tone. "Just write big."
Melissa had tiny, intricate handwriting.
"Haven't had Arithmancy yet," Beth said halfheartedly, reaching across the table for a croissant. "Sounds half scary."
"Speaking of half scary, have you seen our Care of Magical Creatures professor?" Melissa interjected, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Professor Kettleburn. He's terrifying. Scars and things."
"Looks super," said Bruce. His voice was muted by the sandwich in his mouth. "Knows what he's doing, if he's got scars."
"Shouldn't he not have any scars if he was any good at caring for magical creatures?"
"Well, at least he tries then."
"He must have tried a little too hard," Melissa added. "Did you see his hand?"
"No, what?" Beth asked, suddenly interested.
"It's missing. He's fixed his wand straight on to his arm instead."
Bruce and Beth joined in a chorus of disgust. "How?"
Melissa shrugged.
The discussion was interrupted by Professor Snape coming to usher the students to class and provide directions to lost-looking first years. They entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom still theorizing over Kettleburn's missing hand. Melissa stopped dead at her first glance at Professor Quirrell. "Look, he's still wearing it!" she squealed under her breath.
Beth gaped delightedly. The purple turban added at least a foot to Quirrell's diminutive height, and the color was even more noxious up close. Moreover, there was a faint smell about the room that seemed to center around the turban. It almost resembled --
"Garlic," said Aaron Pucey, in a gleeful whisper. "He's stuffed it full of garlic to keep away the vampires!"
Muffled chortles surrounded them, and even as they found seats and started getting out their books, little giggles erupted every now and then.
Professor Quirrell turned away from the board, where he had been scrawling unintelligible notes in very small handwriting. "Welcome, w-welcome," he said, looking pleased to see a class full of students making fun of him. "I h-hope you had a good s-s-summer ... mine was an adv-venture ..."
"Where did you get your turban?" Aaron Pucey said loudly, from the back of the room. Titters sprung up again.
Professor Quirrell gave him a short look. "It was a reward from a p-prince of A-Africa, where I s-s-spent my v-vacation. I helped him r-rid his v-village of an especially p-persistent z-z-zombie."
Mervin Fletcher didn't look like he was buying the story, but Beth couldn't be sure since that was Mervin's usual look. "Where in Africa?"
"I-Ivory Coast," Quirrell stammered, turning a rosy pink. "Er -- now then -- the lesson for t-today..."
It was the class's third year with Quirrell, and they soon realized that he was no more exciting this year despite his zombie-hunting excursion. A few pages of notes was all it took before Quirrell's stuttering voice became a drone. Beth felt sleepy and warm from lunch, and nothing sounded better than a nap. She propped her head up on one arm and tried to look like she was giving the lecture her undivided attention.
"Oy, Beth!"
Beth raised her head up warily. Across the aisle, Melissa was giving her a pointed gaze, flicking her eyes to the paper in front of her and back to Beth's face. Beth leaned over.
Melissa smiled and picked up her quill. Just as she touched the nub to the paper -- "AAI! My -- my hand!"
Beth jumped back in alarm. Melissa clutched her right hand in obvious agony. At the front of the room, Quirrell rushed over in a state of panic. "Are you - are you all r-right?"
"No!" Melissa gasped, near tears. "I have a ... a cramp..." Her face was flushed, Beth guessed only partly from pain. "I was going to tell Beth about --"
Her words stopped suddenly, and an incoherent squeal issued from her clamped lips. Beth realized that her chin looked strained -- almost as if she couldn't open her mouth.
"L-lockjaw," Quirrell diagnosed in amazement. "Let's g-get you to M-Madame Pomfrey ... looks l-like a curse ... d-did you see who c-cast it?"
Melissa shook her head tearfully, making whimpering noises.
"C-come on then," Quirrell ordered, taking her good hand and helping her to her feet. He turned back to the class. "Finish r-reading the chapter for t-tomorrow, and hand in a s-s-summary. You're free to g-go." He escorted Melissa out of the room, as she shook silently in his arms.
Beth gaped after them -- then she jumped from her chair and rushed to the door. She could still see the pair making their way down the hall. She threw all her things into her knapsack and bolted to catch up with them.
"Miss Parson!"
Beth ground to a halt. "Professor McGonagall! Melissa got cursed --"
"What are you doing out of class?"
Beth drew her breath and tried again. "Professor, Melissa got cursed, and he called off class -- Professor Quirrell did -- and they're on their way to the hospital wing now --"
McGonagall turned and stared down the hall, as if she could see where Quirrell and Melissa were at that moment. "Then your class is teacherless?"
"Please, Professor, we were excused -- I need to go see Melissa --"
McGonagall pursed her lips. "Very well. I'll take it on faith that you're telling the truth. Thank you for warning me about your classmates, who will be no doubt running amok within moments..."
A harmony of groans reached their ears, followed by the unmistakable stench of a newly-fired Dungbomb. McGonagall's nostrils flared. "Go on to see Miss Ollivander." Her face softened. "Wish her a swift recovery from me." A nauseating wave of odor hit them again; McGonagall straightened and strode toward the D.A.D.A. classroom.
Remembering Melissa, Beth turned away from the sight of McGonagall storming the classroom and hustled down the hall to the hospital wing. She had only been there a few times, once for a bee sting and once for a badly-botched Potions experiment. Fortunately, the hallway was bewitched to lead straight to the hospital wing if someone wanted to go there, and Beth arrived in a matter of minutes.
Madame Pomfrey, the infirmary witch, had already broken Melissa's curse and was dabbing the girl's forehead with a damp towel, muttering about teachers who didn't keep a close enough watch on their students. Melissa looked pale and clearly frightened.
"Are you all right?" Beth asked her friend timidly. The infirmary was white-walled and smelled of antiseptic potions, and made one want to speak more quietly.
Melissa nodded weakly. "It doesn't hurt anymore. But I thought -- I didn't know --" she broke off, biting her lip. "Strange," she said, in a very odd tone.
Beth nodded in agreement, but couldn't help noticing how subdued Melissa sounded: not at all like she usually did. "Well -- at least you don't have to go to class for the rest of today."
"There aren't any more classes today," Melissa said glumly. "And now the whole class is going to think I'm pathetic and hysterical."
"Of course they won't," Beth assured her, although she thought that Melissa had looked pretty pathetic and hysterical at the time.
Melissa didn't look convinced. "Want me to bring your books up?" Beth asked hastily. "You can start that Animagus paper, and we have to write a summary for Quirrell."
"Oh, bother!" Melissa said crossly. "As if a curse isn't bad enough already. It's earned us extra homework!"