A/N: Revised as of July 30, 2005

Chapter Six: Talks, Sleep, and Food

"Sirius?"

Sirius' face appeared in the mirror. "Hey, Michaela!"

"Sirius, this mirror is really quite something . . . and nobody can intercept it?"

"Nope. James and I would've known because we used to use them whenever we were in separate detentions. Hard though our teachers tried, they never quite caught on what we were doing."

Michaela had to laugh at that. "Boys and their jokes . . ."

"Hang on, I'm a grown man right now!"

"Like I said, boys and their jokes." Sirius pretended to look hurt, as Michaela started to laugh again. She couldn't believe how easy it was to talk to Sirius; it really was like he was her own age. But he's not, remember, so don't get any ideas!

"So! Um, how are you? Your mom make any more revelations about her true feelings?" Michaela said louder than normal in an effort to clear her thoughts.

Sirius chuckled. "No, not lately." His face became mock serious. "I can't believe I just laughed at something about my mother."

"Was she really that bad?" Michaela asked. Her relationship with her own mother was fairly good, it had its ups and downs, but only those typical of a teenager-mother relationship.

"Yes. She was. She had crazy notions about 'pure Wizarding blood' and was extremely hard to get along with. I finally ran away at age sixteen and lived with the Potters for a year."

So young! Michaela couldn't imagine leaving her family at that age. "I'm sorry" was all she could think of to say.

"No, don't. I'm not. The only thing now that I regret is that I have to stay in the house that I've hated so much."

They were both silent for a few seconds when Michaela changed the subject, saying, "Well, I'm just about all settled here at Hogwarts. Uncle Albus has arranged for me to stay in—what was her name?—Hermione Granger's dormitory in the Gryffindor Tower."

"That's great! Hermione's a nice girl—and you'll be able to keep an eye on Harry for me."

"You'll remember what I said, right?" Michaela said sternly.

"Yes, yes, of course. It's just for Harry's own good, are we agreed?"

"Yeah, I s'pose."

"So, say you want to meet about once a week around this time?"

"Yeah, that sounds good," Michaela said. "Well, I'm going to unpack now so I'll see ya . . ."

"Bye."

Sirius' face vanished from the mirror. Michaela headed for the winding stairs up to her new home.

Inside were six beds with curtains around them like on a "princess" type bed that you typically see in little girls' rooms. Michaela loved it; there was just something very exotic about them.

Spying a trunk next to the farthest bed with cornflower blue curtains (Michaela's favorite color), she walked over and opened it up. In it were her clothes, personal items, and even her schoolbooks. When Uncle Albus said he'd get her stuff, he really meant it!

There weren't any dresser drawers around, but there was a closet. Opening it up, she found black robes hanging there as a note fell out. Robes? What was she going to wear? Robes were more of a Wizarding fashion and since she attended a Muggle school, Michaela naturally wore Muggle clothes. She did have one black robe but it was very old and was fraying at the bottom.

Picking up the note, she started to read:

Michaela,

I know that you don't have many, if any Wizarding robes, so I have taken the liberty of providing you with your own set. You are, of course, welcome to wear your own clothes as you are not an "official" student of Hogwarts.

Uncle Albus

"Wow," Michaela said aloud. She stood there for a moment, feeling so . . . so taken care of. Michaela truly felt at that moment that everything would be alright. The best man in the world to look for her parents was on the case and in the meantime she would be safe here. No, even better, someone was looking out for her, even if she didn't need that much looking after.

Snapping out of her reverie, she focused on the problem of what to wear. No, she wasn't a Hogwarts student strictly, and she didn't much care for uniforms (they often looked almost cult-like and as though part of your identity was stripped away), but Michaela also didn't want to draw more attention than the amount that she knew she was already going to get. Besides, she reasoned, I can still wear my regular clothes most of the time. I don't think Uncle Albus would really go to the trouble of buying them if he didn't want me to wear them.

With the matter settled, Michaela finally had a chance to change her now definite wrinkly clothing into something fresh. She sprawled on the bed once more and pulled out her summer reading book that she had been interrupted with previously. By this time she was very hungry, (and very grateful that Mrs. Weasley had made her eat breakfast; it was now past three o' clock) but after awhile the feather bed claimed her sleepy mind and her stomach was forced to wait a few hours before it could be satisfied.

"Michaela Woodburn, miss, Michaela Woodburn, you must get up!"

"Hm?" Michaela was being shaken awake.

"It is almost time for the feast, miss!"

Michaela opened her eyes. Standing over her was a . . . a house-elf? Her parents didn't have one, but she had seen them before. "Who're you?"

"My name is Dobby, miss. Professor Dumbledore has sent me to fetch you to go to the Great Hall because the feast will be starting soon, miss."

"Okay, okay, I'm getting up." She stood up and stretched her arms.

"Are you ready for Dobby to take you to the feast miss? Dobby knows the way."

"Um, yeah, I guess. Hey Dobby? How do I look?"

"Dobby does not know what you mean, miss."

"I mean, do I look presentable? Is my hair screwed up from when I was sleeping?"

"Your hair does not have screws in it, miss. Dobby cannot see any."

"That's not what I—oh never mind. It's fine, I'm okay." Wishing for a mirror even still, Michaela said, "Okay, Dobby, please lead the way."

They walked through the common room and out the portrait door. Michaela tried to remember the route that they were taking to the Great Hall but gave up after the fourth staircase that they had either gone up or down. I'll get it eventually, though this is worse than the first day at high school.

"So, do you like Hogwarts, Dobby?" Michaela asked, trying to make conversation.

"Oh, yes miss, Dobby loves it here! Professor Dumbledore has been so kind letting me on and paying me—"

"You get paid? Wow, I guess things have changed since I've been in the Wizarding world or maybe it's just Britain because I thought that house-elves were literally slaves to their masters."

"This is still true miss! Harry Potter has helped Dobby get his freedom three years ago, miss! Hogwarts is the only place Dobby will get paid."

"Oh, that's great, I guess. Are there any other free house-elves, Dobby?"

"There is Winky, miss, but she is still pining over her old master, miss."

"That's too bad," Michaela said.

It seemed strange that Dobby was so happy about his freedom. From what Michaela knew, house-elves were supposedly completely devoted to their masters. Maybe Dobby's master was cruel . . . but anyway, Michaela felt glad to know that there was at least one house-elf who enjoyed his freedom.

The whole idea of slavery, even though it was to a non-human made Michaela feel a bit sick. Being a very independent-minded person, she was at a loss to understand why anyone would be completely willing to be a slave.

At last they reached the Great Hall which was now filled with a sea of black robes worn by the students. Michaela felt immediately out of place, despite the robes that she had hurriedly put on just a few minutes ago.

Standing in the doorway, Michaela looked down to ask Dobby where she should sit but Dobby was gone. Feeling even more nervous, Michaela took a few steps forward hesitantly when an elderly-looking witch with dirt stains across her front approached Michaela.

"Are you Michaela Woodburn?" she asked. She had a kind face that Michaela warmed up to.

"Yes. Um, who are you?"

"My name is Professor Sprout, dear. Professor Dumbledore has told me about your tragic situation and has asked me to have you sit with Miss Granger, so if you'll follow me please."

She led Michaela down one of the long tables to Hermione and . . . Harry? The boy turned around and Michaela saw the scar on his forehead; it was Harry.

"Miss Granger? Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley? This is Michaela Woodburn. She will be staying in the Gryffindor Tower with you for awhile and I trust you'll help her out and show her around, won't you?"

"Yes, of course," Hermione said. "Come sit here, Michaela."

Gratefully, Michaela sat down. There was no chance for conversation, though, because a line of extremely scared-looking kids had just walked in, following Professor McGonagall. They looked rather young too.

"They're first years," Hermione whispered.

Oh yeah, thought Michaela. And they'll be sorting them . . .

Professor McGonagall walked forward, carrying a stool and a very old, battered hat. She set them both down and then the hat opened at the brim where there was a rather large hole and began to sing. It was a bit of a surprise for Michaela to watch at first, but she took it in stride.

It must be the sorting hat! She listened to it sing. It sang of the four houses that the first years would be sorted into, but then it went on to give advice about school unity and loyalty against "deadly foes."

Voldemort? Can a hat be smart enough to know about such things? Michaela was puzzled. Well, it's the magical world, Michaela, she told herself. Just about anything's possible, I suppose.

When the song ended, there was applause, but it seemed deterred by mutters and whisperings of the students.

"Branched out a bit this year, hasn't it?" Ron said.

"Too right it has," Harry answered.

"I wonder if it's ever given warnings at all?" asked Hermione.

A ghost glided towards her, saying, "The hat feels itself honor-bound to give the school due warning whenever it feels—"

But he was cutoff by Professor McGonagall who was giving the "eye" to the students. After all the conversations had stopped, she called out the first years' names. They each walked forward and put on the hat, which shouted the house that they were sorted into.

Michaela knew that it was mean, but it was kind of fun to watch the kids who were almost all terrified. At her school, it was easy to pick out the freshmen on the first day of school because most of them had that "scared rabbit look" to them. Of course Michaela was nice and pointed out which way to go to their classes if they were lost but it was still amusing for her to see them.

Oh, crap. That's gonna be me when I get lost. At least I won't look scared.

When the sorting was finally over, Dumbledore stood, arms open warmly, and said, "To our newcomers, welcome! To our old hands—welcome back! There is a time for speech making, but this is not it! Tuck in!"

Even Michaela laughed as everyone clapped and started to dig in for the tables were suddenly filled with food. It all looked great but there were a few dishes that Michaela didn't recognize. Eager to try them, she spooned a bit of everything on her plate.

She was literally starving for food, though apparently not as much as Ron, who was gorging down his food as though he hadn't eaten in a week. Michaela and Hermione both shared a look of disgust until they saw each other making the same face and burst out laughing together. Yes, Hogwarts wouldn't be such a bad place to live.

There was conversation during the meal, but Michaela was content enough to listen. It was so interesting for her to hear the different types of British accents and even some with Irish accents. That and she wanted to better her listening skills because she wasn't quite to the point where she could understand everything all at once. Some people were very hard to make out because their accents were so thick; hopefully she'd be able to get the hang of them before long.

By the time all of the plates were cleared, Michaela was pleasantly content, in mind and stomach (her soul was understandably not in the highest spirits). Gradually the Great Hall became louder with the students' conversations, but they were all suddenly halted.

Looking around to see what was going on, Michaela saw her uncle getting to his feet.