Even under normal circumstances, Hogwarts would have been a fright for Oliver, with its darkened corridors, creepy portraits that scowled down at the students and creaky walls that seemed to talk to him. Even the Fat Friar, the jolly Hufflepuff ghost, gave the impression of something dastardly and base. Sleep would have been next-to-impossible, even without the added excitement of start-of-term classes.
As if worried that his schedule would change just like the stairwells leading to the house Common Rooms, Oliver repeatedly reached for the nightstand next to his four-poster, grabbing his schedule and reading it over and over under the light of the moon.
Monday
Transfiguration – McGonagall
Charms – Flitwick
Double Potions – Snape
Oh, the things Oliver would learn! And he wanted to learn it all, to be the best wizard he could be! He would keep his nose clean, bury himself in his books, and learn everything there is to know about magick!
Morning came quick. Buried deep under his duvet, Oliver felt hands pushing on him and the distinctive high-pitched, squeaky voice of Percy Weasley piercing his sleep.
"Come on, Oliver... we'll be late for breakfast!"
"Sod off!" Oliver replied.
"Very well! You asked for it," Percy said, warningly.
Suddenly, Percy shouted 'contremisco' and the four-poster began to shake violently, until Oliver fell bodily to the floor.
Oliver stood in a huff, after detangling himself from his duvet and sheets.
"Wotcha do that for?" he demanded.
With an insufferable smirk on his face, Percy simply walked out of the room saying, "Now that you're up, maybe we can get some food before it's all gone."
§
"Where d'you learn that spell?"
Oliver's anger towards Percy faded quickly enough; food tends to do that to a lad. There were toast and preserves, eggs and porridge, pumpkin juice, and even black pudding and tomato, a Scottish dish that reminded Oliver of home.
Percy even ate prim and proper, dignified like an adult. Already wearing his robes, his sleeves were neatly folded back to minimize creases. Oliver watched him spread marmalade over his toast with grace that reminded him of tales of royalty. He looked at his own hands, clutching the butter knife as though he were ready to stab a wild beast for its meat.
"Oh, 'contremisco', you mean?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, you tend to pick things up when Bill and Charlie are around."
Percy looked up as if gazing at something far off. An expression of slight trepidation stretched across his face.
"I dread the day The Twins come to Hogwarts..."
"The twins?"
"Oh, yes. Fred and George. They're nine, now. Be here in three years."
He shook his head, ruefully before continuing, "But Bill and Charlie are always one for a bit of a goof." He turned to face Oliver, leaning in close. "Wait until you see them play table wars."
"Table wars?" Oliver asked with a mouthful of sausage.
"I'm sure you'll see soon enough," Percy said with a snigger.
§
"Transfiguration is one of the most powerful and complex disciplines of magick you will ever learn..."
Oliver, Percy, and the rest of the Gryffindors had Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration class with the Ravenclaw first-years. He expected Percy to sit with him. Instead, Penelope Clearwater, a pretty girl with flowing auburn hair, caught his attention. That left Oliver to share his table with Cory Pundis, a stout young man with deep, brown skin and unfortunate breath. Despite the near-pernicious smell, Cory seemed a pleasant enough lad.
The class 'ooh'-ed and 'ahh'-ed as Professor McGonagall transformed her table into a falcon and back again. The majority of the students clutched at their wands, eager to learn and anxious to get started.
"Don't think you will be doing things of that sort so early in your education," Professor McGonagall advised, "you must first learn the small things before you move on to grander demonstrations."
Cory's arm shot up in the air. Oliver was glad that only his breath smelled bad.
"Yes, Mr. Pundis?"
"Ma'am, if you please," Cory said, with almost sickening sweet politeness, "My Gran conjures things from thin air... will we learn that?"
"True conjuration is no longer taught at Hogwarts, Mr. Pundis," Professor McGonagall said with a stern, almost disapproving look on her face. "It involves the invoking of spirits to do a wizards' bidding."
She began to pace across the room, each student's gaze locked on her with complete fascination.
"Such a discipline is illegal in Great Britain, although other wizarding countries still partake in it. It is dodgy work, conjuration, fraught with the death and dismemberment of many a man who thought they could control what they brought into this realm... and found, to their dismay that they could not."
She stood still as she surveyed the room. The dramatic effect was not lost on the children, some of which shuddered at the notion of being ripped to shreds by angry demons or impish devils. Oliver sank in his seat.
With more ebullience and a slight smile, Professor McGonagall continued, "No, Mr. Pundis. What your grandmother does is a highly advanced form of transfiguration. She simply transforms air into a more solid object. Like so..."
Professor McGonagall held out her wand, waved her wand over it, and whispered "Caelum Scopulus." The air around her outstretched palm crackled with energy that began to collapse on itself. An instant later, a small rock smaller than a fist rested in her hand.
If one looked carefully, they would have seen a slight blush pepper Professor McGonagall's cheeks as the class erupted into a riotous applause. Even Percy looked duly impressed, when he was not looking at Penelope.
Professor McGonagall held up her hands to quiet the class. Yet, the echo of a smile remained.
"If you do well class, study hard and practice, you may make it into my Advance Transfiguration class during your sixth and seventh years. That is when you'll learn how to switch from one matter state to another – gas to liquid without heat, liquid to matter without cold, and so forth. But, I only accept the very best students in my advanced classes," she went on, with intent, "So ... they're will be no monkeying around from you lot."
§
Some time later, Professor McGonagall dismissed the class. The excitement of the start of the lessons did not last. Their attempts to change a cotton ball into a marble were futile, with the exception of Percy and a few other Ravenclaws. Oliver felt slightly discouraged; he managed to change the colour of the cotton ball to a nice shade of blue, but the texture remained soft and fibrous.
He stood up to leave with Percy and Cory when Professor McGonagall called out to him.
"Mr. Wood, if I may have a word with you, please?"
Oliver looked at Percy and Cory, who both managed to give him a forlorn look.
"Never you mind, young men," Professor McGonagall admonished, "I shall return him in one piece. Carry on."
Percy and Cory skittered off in a hurry as Oliver stepped up to Professor McGonagall's desk. Her stern expression grew soft.
"Mr. Wood, how is Odhran fairing these days?" she asked.
"My dad? Oh, he's fine. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, no reason," she replied as she stood, shuffling papers around.
Oliver got the distinct impression that she was nervous.
"How do you know my father, Professor?"
"Oh, we were in school together, right here at Hogwarts. Same year, in fact."
"Gee, that's brilliant," Oliver gasped, with something akin to awe in his voice.
Professor McGonagall stopped fidgeting about her desk and looked directly into Oliver's eyes. There was a kindness there that Oliver found... innerving.
"I just want you to know that if you ever need anything… anything at all… you have but to ask. Hogwarts is to be your home for the majority of your days for the next seven years and I want you to know that..."
She paused and looked about the room as if searching for something.
"... that you're safe."
Oliver's head bowed. He could not bear to look at her anymore. Instead, his eyes darted around the floor, one of his feet tapping incessantly. Did she know? Did she know Oliver's shame? But, how could she? No one knew!
Oliver released the breath he didn't realize he was holding, steeled himself, and looked up at Professor McGonagall with a smile, "Thanks, Professor. May I be excused?"
She gave another pause, however, this time longer.
"Yes, Mr. Wood. You may go."
Oliver turned, threw his messenger bag over his shoulder, and scurried out the classroom. Before he reached the door, he could have sworn he heard a small sob escape his teacher's lips. Oliver felt that familiar shame wash over him like an angry lover's hands. His eyes began to sting and blink uncontrollably. He bit his tongue to stop himself from crying. He could take many things...
... but pity was not one of them.
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