A/N: Revised as of August 4, 2005

Chapter Eight: Classes

"Time to wake up, no more tarrying on in your dreams . . ." a voice sang.

"Wha?" Michaela rolled on her bed.

" . . . for school is awaiting and breakfast you need . . ."

Ack! I'm stuck at Grandma's house! No, wait a minute. Michaela opened her eyes and remembered where she was, Hogwarts. But what was that annoying voice?

"Morning, Michaela. I set your alarm for seven; you can adjust it if it's too late or too early."

Slowly Michaela sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Hermione?"

"Yeah, it's me, did you have a nice sleep?"

Michaela tried to focus. "Um, yeah." She yawned but stood up automatically to start stretching. "Seven am, huh? Kinda harsh on these getting-up-at-eleven am bones of mine."

Hermione laughed. "Imagine getting up at 6am just to do your make-up and hair like the rest of the girls."

"To hell with that!" But then Michaela amended her statement. "Well, I might put on some light make-up, but certainly not if it means that I have to get up an hour earlier."

"I don't really wear make-up because it takes too much time and can be such a bother."

"Yeah, true. But just enough can work wonders sometimes. Anyway, what was that "alarm"?"

Hermione chuckled. "Corny, isn't it? Everyone has the same song that will sing louder and louder each time if you don't wake up. Luckily, only the recipient can hear it, so that's why you don't hear anyone else's."

"Well, it's better than the grating noise that my old alarm makes." Getting dressed, Michaela headed for the bathroom after Hermione pointed it out.

She found herself in a large bathroom with five sinks and mirrors as well as some stalls. It was squeaky clean—Michaela could even see her reflection slightly on the polished marble floor. Lavender and Parvati were engrossed in front of their mirrors, meticulously applying make-up.

Heading for the furthest mirror and sink, Michaela washed her face and brushed her teeth. Feeling very refreshed, Michaela headed back to the bedchamber.

"Ready to head to breakfast?" Hermione asked as she adjusted her schoolbag.

"Um, yeah, hold on." Michaela rummaged through her trunk, looking her backpack. She found it, filled with her schoolbooks. Pulling out her planner, she found that Dumbledore had given her specific instructions inside but there would be time enough to read them later.

Swinging her own backpack over her shoulder, she headed out with Hermione to breakfast. Breakfast in the Great Hall was a bit unnerving for Michaela's first morning. She that wizards used owls for mail, but didn't expect about a hundred of them to come suddenly swooping through the hall.

Fred—or was it George?—laughed as she covered her head. "It's only the post, Michaela."

"Uh, right," she said, uncovering her head, now feeling a bit embarrassed.

The rest of the of breakfast passed uneventfully unless you counted the twins' accounts of their fifth year O.W.L.'s which, by all accounts, sounded worse than the SAT and ACT tests that Michaela had taken in her junior year.

After breakfast, they headed up for their first class, which was History of Magic. A ghost named Professor Binns taught it and while that caught Michaela's interest at first, she became bored out of her mind after about five minutes. She picked up her planner to see what Dumbledore had written her.

Michaela, he wrote,

I will convey all of your assignments in this planner, both classroom and homework. If you look through the planner, you will see that there is a section marked for each of your classes--Michaela saw several colored tags attached—and within those a sort of projection (as Muggles might say) that will give you a 3D image of your classes. This projection is obviously not life-sized, but is big enough for you to see everything that is going on. Unfortunately, you won't be able to take your yearbook class--What? Crap! I can't believe this! My senior year . . . No yearbook . . . Oh, God, what am I going to do? Maybe once Mom and Dad get back (Michaela hadn't let herself think "if they got back"), they can put a Memory Charm or something like that on Mrs. Fogherty.

It was only a temporary measurement, Michaela assured herself, but how much of her senior year in high school would she have to miss? Football games were starting now and she knew that Homecoming was in a matter of weeks. Waves of self-pity flushed through her and she felt bad enough to cry.

Stop that! Stop that, you hear? Your parents are in Voldemort's hands and all you can think about are your stupid football games. The whole world may be taken over by an evil wizard and you—

So I'm not supposed to think of myself, is that it? another piece of her mind argued. What about me?

Yeah, you think about yourself, but you don't go wallowing in self-pity. You can't change your present situation; all you can do now is work with what you have . . . and what you have is worth more than ten homecoming dances or a hundred football games--you've got love, health, safety, and a chance to attend a school that others will never set foot inside. All of that and you still want more?

Damn! That conscience of mine, Michaela thought. These mind arguments always left her feeling guilty. Sure they were almost always right and she was much the better for them but they still irritated her. Sighing, she turned back to Dumbeldore's letter.

—your yearbook class, TA, and ceramics class. You may well choose to do nothing in their stead, but I am granting you the opportunity to take a class at Hogwarts. Now before you think that your old uncle has lost his mind—Not likely, though Michaela, smiling, despite herself. The day Dumbledore loses his mind would be the day that Usama bin Laden becomes an American citizen—just read on. Not all classes at Hogwarts require a person to naturally possess magic within them, namely History of Magic, Potions, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, Study of the Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy. I suggest you pay attention to these classes for the first few days and decide if you would like to take any. If you have any questions, Miss Granger can direct you to my office. The password is "Butterbeer" (Please use your discretion in the use of this information).

Albus Dumbledore

Wow, Michaela thought. Imagine me, a Squib, taking classes at Hogwarts! It didn't make up for missing part of her senior year, but it was also no small consolation prize. She'd dreamed of taking classes at a Wizarding school when she was little. Granted that she wasn't actually going to do magic—that'd be impossible—learning about related subjects genuinely interested her.

Then her past memories of teasing suddenly descended down upon her. It's not going to be like that, she told herself firmly. And if it is, I can take it and dish it back out. I'm older now, without my total self-consciousness about being a Squib.

With that comforting thought, the signal sounded for class to end. Michaela put her planner back in her bag and joined Hermione who was arguing with Ron and Harry about taking notes.

". . . you'd deserve it. You don't even try to listen to him, do you?"

"We do try," Ron said indignantly. "We just haven't got your brains or your memory or your concentration—you're just cleverer than we are—is it nice to rub it in?"

"Oh, don't give me that rubbish."

"Hey, uh, guess what," Michaela said, sensing an end to the argument. "Uncle Albus is going to let me take classes at Hogwarts!"

"Wow, that's great!" Harry said. "But how, if—"

"Not classes that require magic, just things like Care of Magical Creatures, Potions, and Herbology. I'm going to come today to see if I like them."

"Like Potions? You've never met Snape, you just wait, Michaela," Ron said darkly.

They trudged through the hallways discussing Snape. From what Michaela picked out, Snape was either just a very hard teacher or just plain mean—it depended upon whose version you believed—Hermione's or Ron and Harry's.

They met a Hogwarts student along the way named Cho, who Harry had an obvious crush on. Ron did kind of spoil their conversation by going on about how she supported some superficial Quidditch team and Hermione let him have it after Cho left.

"You are so tactless!"

"What? I only asked her if—"

Another argument? Jeez! Michaela fell into step behind the bickering couple with Harry. "Do they always fight like this?" she asked Harry.

"Yeah," he said gloomily.

"You know, that might be a sign . . . maybe they have a thing for each other."

Harry burst out laughing. "Hermione and Ron? No, of course not."

"Well, if you say so . . ."

They finally reached the dungeons. Michaela set her backpack by Hermione's table in the back and looked around for Snape. After a quick search, she found no one who looked old enough to qualify. She did, however, catch looks from the other students. One guy with blond hair went so far as to point and snicker at her.

Okay. First test. Michaela ignored the boy, pretending she hadn't seen him pointing to her, until he strode over to her, flanked by two football player-sized students.

"Get lost, Malfoy," Ron said immediately.

"Manners, Weasley. I just wanted to meet your new little friend," said the boy, saying "friend" as though it were something nasty. "The rumor is that she's just a filthy Squib."

Harry and Ron started to make a move towards him, but Michaela stopped them by saying, "Yes, you heard correctly, but I have a name, you know. Michaela Woodburn, and may I ask as to why you seem to have an attitude problem?"

"I really don't want to be seen conversing with a Squib, Michael," he drawled.

Michael! She hated that name. Keeping her cool, "It's Michaela, if you didn't catch it. I'm also sorry to hear that you cannot sink yourself so low as to be a decent human being and treat me with dignity, but you know, to each their own."

The two boys around the blond-haired boy, while large in size, seemed to have opposite sizes in intellectual competency because they just gave her blank stares. The boy, however, didn't.

"Listen you—"

"Leave her alone, Malfoy." Harry stepped up once again beside Michaela.

"Make me."

What promised to be a huge tussle quickly evaporated as the door to the dungeon was shut and a tall figure walked inside. The students went to their seats quickly, except for Michaela who stood, staring at the teacher.

"Mr. Snape? I'm—"

"That's Professor Snape, girl, and I suggest you go to your seat. I will speak with you later I trust that was not a fight that I almost witnessed?"

"No, just some friendly introductions, sir." With that, Michaela sat down in a chair as Snape explained the day's lesson as well as Potion O.W.L.'s. After dismissing the class to make the Draught of Peace (which the boy named Neville looked as though he needed) Michaela once again strode towards Snape.

"Yes?"

"Well, I thought I'd introduce myself as Uncle Albus said that I could take a few non-magical classes at Hogwarts—"

"Are you insinuating that to make a potion is not a magic in itself? I would not expect for you, having lived among Muggles, to know how exact or artfully this task must be done—"

"Well, I've made smoothies before."

Snape looked disgusted. "If you wish to attend a Potions class, you will have to do so at the first year level and you will not get any special treatment, do you understand?"

"Yeah, thanks, I'll think about it." Whoa! Somebody's got a bug up their ass. She headed back to Hermione. "Is there a reason why Snape dislikes me?"

"No, don't worry. That's just the way Snape is," Hermione assured.

"But . . . why?"

"Well, he's Head of Slytherin and we're in Gryffindor, but he especially doesn't like us because we're friends of Harry."

"And . . .?"

"Harry's dad and Snape were rivals when they went to Hogwarts together," Hermione supplied.

"But, that's um, really stupid, isn't it?"

"Don't think I haven't said that either," Harry said, joining the conversation. But it was hastily stopped as Snape started to walk around the classroom, inspecting the students' potions.

By the end of the class, Michaela was bored out of her mind. She couldn't help anyone since the students were getting a grade for the potion nor could she do her own schoolwork because frankly, there was nowhere to do it. The tables were littered with ingredients and the floor looked exceptionally dingy. She wanted to go to the library, but didn't know the way and couldn't ask Hermione to take while Hermione was occupied with her potion.

Michaela was relieved when the bell rang for lunch. It was a quiet affair; Harry was mad (and rightfully so) at Snape who had given him a zero and so he left half-way through lunch after Ron and Hermione had another argument.

Tired of their arguments as well, she got directions to the library and decided to see what she could do about doing her schoolwork.