As the Gryffindor's made their way up the shifting staircase to their dormitory, Hilda dropped behind to the back of the crowd. "Professor McGonagall?" she asked the Head of House.

"Yes, Miss Dahl, is something troubling you?"

Hilda sighed. "I'm worried about my friends. We were separated into different houses-"

"—And you're afraid that means you'll be forced to compete against them or be pressured not to stay friends with them?" McGonagall finished, arching her brow. "Miss Dahl, though the house rivalries have gotten particularly competitive these last few years, house placement does not determine who you can and cannot socialize with. If your friends care for you as much as you care for them, then there should be no problems there."

"What about what the rest of my house thinks?"

"Miss Dahl—Hilda, if anyone in Gryffindor gives you any trouble over your choice of friends, then you come to me immediately." She stopped. "One of my dearest friends was a Slytherin, did you know that? Back in my day, the animosity between Gryffindor and Lotte's house was quite toxic. But Lotte stuck by me and I stuck by her, and in the end it didn't matter to us what anyone else thought."

"Are you still friends with her?"

McGonagall shook her head, her expression softening. "Well, Lotte died during the First Wizarding War."

Hilda blushed. "I'm sorry, Professor," she said, rubbing her arm.

McGonagall nodded, but she seemed to be a thousand miles away. She shook herself out of the past, her face returning to its gruff demeanor. "You'd better run along to catch up with the others. I have to return to my rooms. Goodnight, Hilda, and I'll see you in class tomorrow." With that, she turned and began to descend the staircase. Hilda watched her go, then turned and hurried towards Gryffindor Tower.

Hilda slept fitfully, despite the comfort of her warm, soft four-poster bed. Alfur made himself a comfortable nest in a drawer in the adjacent side table. His little snores kept several first-years girls up all night as they looked in vain for the source.

The next morning, Hilda walked down the stairs and into the Great Hall, taking a seat at the Gryffindor table and morosely beginning to butter a piece of toast. She didn't look up when someone slid onto the bench beside her. "Good morning, Hilda. Sleep well?"

Hilda glanced up and broke into a grin. "Frida."

"Hey, you can't sit here!" A third-year Gryffindor said, noticing the Ravenclaw.

"Why not?"

"...Because your table is over there?"

Frida noticed Professor Flitwick coming down the center aisle and hailed his attention. "Professor, is there any rule saying we have to sit at our house table for meals?"

"Not at all, Miss Aiken. Although it's not common practice, students are actually encouraged to mingle among each other."

Frida turned and smirked at the third year. "There, there's no problem. Please pass the orange juice."

"Sorry I'm late," David appeared, taking a seat on the other side of Hilda. "I got lost on my way up from the Hufflepuff dormitory. I ended up in the dungeons."

"Spooky," Hilda remarked, crunching on her toast. "Did you see any ghosts?"

"Well, yes, actually."

"Really?" Frida asked.

"They weren't like the ghosts back home," David elaborated. "He was very nice, although he showed me how his head was almost entirely separated from his body, which was sort of scary."

"That's why they call me Nearly-Headless Nick!" An incorporeal figure drifted up through the center of the table, stopping several feet above to look down on the students. Several students cried out in surprise, some ducked under the table in fright. "A rotten nickname, but an apt description, I admit. Mr. Andersen, I see you followed my directions perfectly!"

"Yes, thank you, Sir Nicholas. I'd've been lost for days if you hadn't helped me."

"No trouble at all, young man. Incidentally, there's a spider on your shoulder." He straightened himself up and smiled. "New first years! Look at you, three different houses, and all sitting together. Reminds me of the days before the Great Wizarding War! Well, I must be off. Ta!" With that, he flew away across the hall, passing effortlessly through a solid stone wall on the far side of the room.

"What a nice man," Hilda remarked. "Er, I mean, ghost."

They ate quietly for a few minutes before Harry Potter and Ron Weasley trudged into the hall and collapsed onto the bench across from the three first years. "Hi, Harry, Ron," Hilda said, passing Ron a muffin. "Where were you two yesterday? You weren't on the train, and you missed the feast."

"It's a long, painful story," Harry said, rubbing his side.

"They flew Dad's car into the Whomping Willow." Ginny and Luna had joined them at the table, Luna's presence attracting more gasps of disbelief from the third-year Gryffindor.

Ron snorted pumpkin juice out through his nose. "Thanks, Ginny. Have you been telling the whole school?" he asked, wiping his face with his sleeve.

"It is pretty funny," Hermione said, chuckling for a moment before remembering her role as the voice of reason. "I mean, you could've gotten killed. What made you attempt such a stupid stunt?"

"Someone sealed off the entrance to Platform 9 ¾," Ron explained. "We took my dad's car to try and catch up. By the way, why are there Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws at the Gryffindor table? Your tables are over there."

Hilda, Frida, David and Luna rolled their eyes and continued eating. "Have you looked over your schedule, Hilda?" Frida asked.

"Yep, I've got it all memorized...

"First class: Potions," Hilda said, choosing a stool behind one of the lab tables.

"I'm nervous," David said, joining her (Unlike the second years grouped with Slytherin, the first year Gryffindor's had been partnered up with the Hufflepuffs for Potions class). Professor Snape mentioned at orientation that there were accidents in his class."

"I'm sure he was being dramatic," Hilda said, waving it off.

The potion door swung open, letting in Professor Snape, who swept down the center aisle to the front of the class. "Welcome, first years, to potions," he said, turning to face the class. With a wave of his wand, he summoned a stack of papers, which were then distributed across the tables. "You are here to learn the very fine, very precise skill of crafting potions. Properly trained, you will be able to cure common ailments, ensnare your heart's desire, even attain liquid luck. I shall warn you only once: this is a delicate craft. Any mistake could prove…" he fixed his gaze on David. "Unfortunate for those responsible." David gulped and tried to sink under the table.

"Before I begin, some housekeeping. Miss Hilda Dahl has generously accrued thirty demerit points from Gryffindor, an impressive feat, as she achieved this before she even set foot on Hogwarts property. I shall deduct the points from Gryffindor accordingly." Fifteen pairs of eyes narrowed and focused on the blue-haired first year. Hilda smiled sheepishly and waved. Snape smirked before continuing. "Now, on with the lesson: you are to prepare a simple boil treatment salve. Instructions are on the parchments I have handed out. You have an hour and a half-do follow the instructions carefully. I would hate for someone to break Neville Longbottom's record for fastest injury acquired in my class. Ingredients are in the cupboard behind me, take only as much as the recipe calls for: Begin!"

"Dahl, Andersen, please remain behind," Snape said, rising from his chair. David and Hilda remained seated as the rest of their class filed out of the door. Snape picked up a vial from the pile of submitted potions and brought it over to them. "Look at this vial and tell me what is wrong with it?"

Hilda looked at it carefully. "It's yellow?"

"Indeed, Miss Dahl. Were you to apply this salve to a boil, it would indeed remove the boil, along with any skin it makes contact with." Snape walked over to the contaminant sink and poured the vial into it, where the mixture began to smoke. "I'm afraid you fail the assignment. Fifty points from Gryffindor."

"But professor, we followed the instructions to the letter," Hilda objected.

"Did you?" Snape walked over to their cleaned and emptied cauldron and peered into it. "Whose is this?" David raised his hand. "You left the price sticker affixed to the bottom of the cauldron," the professor said, reaching in and scraping out some remnant of adhesive. "You did indeed follow my instructions, but you failed to properly examine your equipment."

"Is there any way we can make up for this?" David asked, sagging in his chair.

"I'm afraid not. There are no second chances here, Mr. Andersen."

"But that's not fair!" Hilda grumbled.

Snape sighed and stood up. "Do you remember my speech at the beginning of class, Miss Dahl? Potion-making is a delicate art: everything must be done exactly as specified. There is no room for mistakes. Were your potion to be used on a student or anyone else, they would be severely burned. Despite what you may have heard from certain other students, I take the safety of my students very seriously. Though I wish I could eject any incompetent students from my class, I cannot do so until my OWL-level class in the fifth year-Mr. Longbottom can attest to that. To repeat myself, there must be no cutting corners, no mistakes, no oversights. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir," David and Hilda replied.

"Good. By the way, ten points from Hufflepuff, Mr. Andersen-your Transfiguration class started two minutes ago, and you are late."

"Yes, sir," David muttered, collecting his bag and hurrying out of the door.

"You didn't have to be so mean to him," Hilda said, glaring at Snape as she stuffed her things into her own knapsack.

"Perhaps not, but I have a reputation to upkeep," the professor replied, the trace of a smile crossing over his face. "Run along, Miss Dahl. I'm sure your house would not appreciate any further lost points."

"What an awful man," Hilda grumbled, pushing her kidney pie around her plate.

"He was just trying to teach you a lesson," Frida said, not looking up from her Transfigurations textbook as she spooned porridge into her mouth.

"I'm surprised he wasn't worse," Ron noted through a stuffed mouth. He paused to swallow before continuing. "He's a complete prat to our year. Picks on Harry all of the time."

"Why is that?" David asked, turning to Harry.

"He hated my Dad," Harry replied. "So he takes it out on me."

"I'm sure that's not the entire truth," Frida said, finally closing her book. "Things are rarely so black-and-white."

"With Snape, it is."

Frida rolled her eyes and began to put her book away. "How was Transfiguration?" Hilda asked her.

"Fine. A word of warning: Mrs. McGonagall can turn into a cat. She'll probably appear in front of you and transform-put the fear upon you."

"She must do that every year," Hermione said.

"Thanks for the heads up."

Sure enough, a skinny tabby sat on McGonagall's desk eyeing the incoming students like a roc over a flock of sheep. Hilda walked up and smiled. "Morning, professor."

The cat's eyes widened, and it gave Hilda a look that said Don't you dare ruin this for me. Hilda put a hand to the side of her nose and took her seat.

"Miss Dahl, why haven't you turned your snail back into a button?" McGonagall walked up the row to Hilda's table and looked down at her work.

"I don't want to," Hilda said, tapping at the snail with her wand.

"Why on earth not?"

"I just created life from nothing, and now I have to reverse it. Aren't I basically killing the snail?"

"Miss Dahl, while I commend your compassion, transfiguration doesn't create life. That snail may look like a snail, but if you were to dissect it, you'd find an empty husk powered by magic. If you were to wait an hour, the snail would turn back into a button on its own."

"How do you know? Have you ever asked the snail if it's alive? When I put my wand in front of its path, it moves around it. Doesn't that mean it can think?"

McGonagall sighed. "Hilda, I assure you, you are not killing the snail by returning it to its original form."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Hilda looked down at the snail, then waved her wand, watching the creature's features vanish. A small brass button rolled to a stop near her hand. McGonagall patted her on the shoulder. "Very good, Hilda. I'm proud of you. Ten points to Gryffindor; let's see if you can earn back all the points you've lost by the end of the week, shall we?" she asked, winking. Hilda smiled.

"Are you still thinking about the button?" Frida asked, on their way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

"I just feel bad for it," Hilda said.

"Professor McGonagall said it was all right. You have to trust here."

"I guess so," Hilda grumbled.

"How do you think Lockhart's class is going to go?"

"If his book signing was anything to go by, it's going to be all 'Me, Me, Me!'."

Frida stifled a laugh. "I'm sure it's not that bad."

"Yes, it's me!" Lockhart said, vaulting to the front of the class, arms outstretched. Hilda resisted the urge to slam her head on her desk. "Welcome, students, to Defense Against the Dark Arts. The world is a dangerous place—if you'd read my books, which I'm sure you all have, you'd know. In this class, you must learn to use your wits and your wand to defeat any dark adversary you encounter, man or beast. Fortunately, you have me to guide you along the way! But first, a pop quiz! Just to test that you've done the assigned reading."

Hilda groaned as she read the first few questions. "Good grief."

Lockhart sat atop his desk and read through the gathered quizzes. "Let's see. Yes, Miss. Jennings, my favorite flavor ice cream is double-fudge swirl, ten points to Ravenclaw. No, Mr. Dodd, my shoe size is not 9 but 7: all the better for my dancing skills. Hmm," he said, coming to the last quiz. "Miss Dahl, I'm afraid you've gotten every question on the quiz wrong. My favorite food is not 'humble pie', and my biggest fan is not 'myself'. Well, better luck next time, I'm afraid."

Professor Lockhart set the paper's down and stood up. "Well, class, for my first lesson I was going to show you all some Cornish pixies that I had brought in, but I'm afraid during my second year class with Gryffindor and Slytherin, there was an, ah… unfortunate jailbreak. As such, I have found an excellent replacement." He reached behind his desk and pulled up a cage covered in a red tablecloth and emitting an oniony smell. "Please turn to page 130 of Gadding with Ghouls."

Hilda and the other students obeyed. Hilda read the chapter's title and frowned. "Vittra?"

"That is correct, Miss Dahl!" With a flourish, Lockhart drew away the tablecloth to reveal a short, upset looking creature with a head like a tulip bulb. It rattled the cage bars, wide eyes darting around the room frantically as it whimpered and cried out in a small, high-pitched voice. "Don't come too close, children. While Vittra don't look particularly dangerous, this full-grown specimen here can tear a wizard to bits in the blink of an eye."

"No they can't!" Hilda sprung from her chair. "That's not even a fully grown Vittra, it's only a baby. It's probably terrified after being pulled up from the ground by a strange man."

"Miss Dahl, while I appreciate your concern, I assure you I know what I am talking about. I have tangled with these monsters on many an occasion, and they are anything but harmless. Fortunately, they have one weakness:" He produced his wand with a flourish. "Fire!"

"No!" Hilda ran down the aisle and dove for the cage, right as Lockhart began to cast a fire spell. The flames singed the top of Hilda's beret, but she grabbed the Vittra's cage and somersaulted over the desk, landing on her feet. "You're an idiot!" she shouted, pointing at Lockhart accusingly. "I'm putting this little one back where he belongs!"

"Miss Dahl!—"

Before anyone could stop her, she ran from the room, down the Grand Staircase, and out the front door. Looking around, she suddenly realized the folly of what she'd done. "Oh, cruddlesticks," she whispered, using one of David's favorite phrases.

"Hilda!" a deep, familiar voice called out. Hagrid lumbered up the path towards her, followed by a massive bloodhound. "What are you doing out of class?"

"I need to get this Vittra back to its family," Hilda said, holding the cage out in front of her for the half-giant to see.

"Well, look at that. What's that little feller doing so far from my vegetable patch?"

"Lockhart took it. He was about to set it on fire in front of our class!"

"That explains yer smoking hat." Hagrid plucked the beret from Hilda's head and waved it in the air, putting out the slow burn. "What does Lockhart think he's doing, abductin' Vittra? Everyone knows they're only dangerous when one of their own is threatened." It was then that the two became aware of the sound of dozens of little feet running, growing steadily louder and closer. Hagrid turned, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head. "Oh, ruddy heck."

A battalion of Vittra stormed towards them screaming a war cry, each holding a farm implement before them as a weapon. "Revenge!" they screamed, drawing closer and closer.

"Hilda, go back inside. I'll try'n scare them off!" Hagrid said, stepping in between the charging mob and the girl.

Fifty yards from the two, the Vittra stopped. The leader strode forward, face painted like a Highlander. "Slingers! Fire!" A dozen rocks-pebbles, really-flew over the Vittra's heads towards Hilda and Hagrid. Fortunately, their range was off, and the rocks bounced on the ground harmlessly ten feet from them. The Vittra leader harrumphed. "Archers! At the ready!"

"Now, now, Chief Clodya," Hagrid began, slowly stepping towards the army. "Let's be reasonable; this is all just a simple misunderstandin'—" a second later, an arrow the size of a cocktail toothpick embedded itself into the half-giant's right knee. Hagrid glanced down at it, then back up at the Vittra. "Oi! Who did that!"

"On my signal," the Vittra chief shouted, raising her hand.

"Wait!" Hilda cried, running out from behind Hagrid and towards the mob. She stopped ten feet from the army and held up the cage. "I'm sorry we took your child. It was wrong and stupid. On behalf of the school, I apologize." She set the cage down and unlocked it, then took a step back. The infant Vittra pushed open the door and scrambled across the grass, jumping into the arms of the Vittra chief with a cry of joy. Mudclaudia hugged her child tight, then glared up at Hilda. "Victory! Retreat!" she yelled, and the other Vittra obeyed, running back towards where they had come from.

Hagrid walked up, stopping next to the first-year. "That was a very fine thing you did there, Hilda," he said. He patted her on the back, nearly knocking her over. "I'm mighty proud of you. If Lockhart or any other professor tries to give you trouble for what you did, refer them to me, and I'll set the record straight."

"Thank you, Hagrid."

"Don't mention it. Oh, and Hilda?" the half-giant winked. "Two-hunnerd points to Gryffindor."

"Well, Rubeus has explained to me what happened," McGonagall began, rubbing her temple with her hand. Hilda and the professor were seated in her office, the setting sun throwing its last rays through the window. "I agree with you that Professor Lockhart's actions today were… unwise, he is very upset that you insulted him in front of the entire class."

"I'm sorry his ego took a beating," Hilda said, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair smugly.

"Do be serious, Miss Dahl. Insulting a professor is not tolerated at Hogwarts. I will not deduct any points for your behavior, but I must appease Professor Lockhart's… ego," McGonagall said, having tried and failed to come up with an appropriate euphemism. "I am assigning you detention with Lockhart this evening. You are to report to his classroom after dinner and follow his instructions."

"Yes, Professor," Hilda said.

"Hilda, you have a big heart, but you must learn to control your mouth. Being truthful is admirable, but, to sound like a Slytherin for a moment, telling the truth at the right time is also a valuable skill."

"Did Lotte teach you that?"

McGonagall's face softened. "As a matter of fact, she did. Run along, now, Miss Dahl."