Setting the mystery of the apparently randomly rushing third year aside, Frisk finished her trek to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, and took her seat among the otherwise fully assembled class. Lupin stood at his desk, apparently counting noses until he was satisfied that everyone was present. "Today, class, we're..."

To Frisk's right, one of her classmates put up his hand. "Excuse me, sir? Professor Lupin?" Lupin looked away from the book he was about to pick up, and turned to look at the students. "Yes, Walter?"

"At the opening speech, Headmaster Dumbledore said that Dementors were patrolling the outside of the castle grounds, and I'm sure I saw one on the train here, but what is a Dementor?"

Professor Lupin's face sprouted a wry grin for a moment before turning serious. "I expected to have this discussion last week, actually. But they're still here, so it's still important. So let's see who knows what about Dementors. First of all, where were they first discovered? Anyone?"

A few students put up their hands. Lupin cast his gaze across the classroom, and nodded at one student. "Go ahead, Keith."

"Azkaban island," Keith said. "Where the prison is."

"Correct, take five points," the Professor said. "The prison itself was constructed because of the Dementors..." he went on to give a brief history of Azkaban prison, about how it was built in the early 18th century by a forgotten wizard, and how it was now used to house the worst of magic's criminals. "But that provides the question," he continued, "Why are Dementors such potent guards?"

Nobody had an answer to this. They'd all encountered Dementors on the train, but none of them wanted to think about what had happened after that. Not one hand went in the air. "No one wants to even hazard a guess?" said Lupin, surprised. "I don't blame you. Dementors attack by sucking all happy thoughts out of a person, leaving you with only your most miserable of memories. Even the air around them simply goes cold."

Frisk felt her blood run cold, as well. How was that safe? Clearly some of her classmates were having similar thoughts, as she could see anxious faces on many of them. Walter put up his hand again, "But.. if you're around them for any length of time, sir, wouldn't that..." his voice faltered. Frisk felt as horrified as he looked.

"Drive people insane," Lupin confirmed. "Yes."

"That's horrible," Frisk said aloud. "How can people possibly think..."

Lupin gave the class a very tight smile. "There are some people, certain aurors, that think dark wizards deserve such treatment. To make sure they never hurt others again."

"Everyone deserves a second chance," Frisk whispered.

The class as a whole was silent for a minute or two, all lost in the idea of what it would be like, surrounded by Dementors, unable to have a single happy thought. Finally, Walter put up his hand a third time. "What's under a Dementor's hood?" he asked.

"Nobody really knows," Lupin said. "They only lower the hood for one reason, to perform what's called 'The Dementor's Kiss'.". The class stared up at him, wondering what fresh nightmare he was about to impart. "They take the soul of their victim, drawing it out by their mouth."

"What happens," asked Walter, and his voiced trembled, "To someone without a soul?"

Frisk clamped her eyes shut. "They continue on," she said. Her voice seemed to echo through the classroom. She wasn't sure why she was answering the question, but she knew the answer. "It's... still them, kind of. They keep their memories, some semblance of their personality. But... but... but..." Frisk swallowed. She wanted to stop, but the words fell out anyway. "They lose everything that connects them to other people. They can't feel hope, they can't feel compassion... they lose the ability to love others, to feel love from others. They're... they're just a shell..." Frisk opened her eyes again to see the class staring at her.

"That's if they have the will to keep living," Lupin added. "Most don't. Dementors take that from you, too." He looked at Frisk, and she could see worry lines around his eyes. But he didn't say anything to her, instead he addressed the class, "Does anyone have any other questions about Dementors?"

Silence.

"I was expecting one more question," Lupin admitted. "I'm kind of disappointed nobody asked about a defense against them. There is one, the patronous charm. It designed to focus a happy memory outside the body, so it will defend the casting wizard and repel Dementors, attacking them directly."

Professor Lupin glanced up at a clock on the wall. "Alright, so what I'd intended to cover today, Ghosts, seems like it would continue darkening our class, and it's still too early in the fall for that. So, instead, we will instead up light up the class with one of the most practical spells, the wand lighting charm... please pull out your wands." The class did so. "Consider this your first battle in the war against darkness."

It took about a moment for that thought to percolate through the class. While a few people, including Frisk, applauded the pun, most of the class emitted a collective groan. They spent the rest of the period practicing the charm. It wasn't a difficult one, and Frisk got her wand tip to glow with a pleasant yellow light within three tries.

"My pardon, Frisk," the Professor said as the bell rang and the class headed down towards dinner. "I was just curious; do you know someone who's been kissed by a Dementor?" he asked softly.

Frisk shook her head violently.

"Maybe you've been spending time around Hermione then," Lupin said, passing it off with a smile. "Have a good afternoon." Frisk hurried away, with the professor watching her leave with an odd expression on his face.

That weekend, the cool breeze that passed over the lake reminded Hogwarts firmly that any last gasp of summer had given way to fall. Luna, Ginny, Opal, and Frisk had assembled near the school's broom closet to meet up with Madam Hooch. Luna and Ginny had accepted Frisk's bribe of cookies in order to join in the broom tutoring.

"It's good of you to recognize that you're falling behind the rest of your classmates," Madam Hooch said. "Usually I have to encourage such people to take extra practice, but here you are. Remember, no more than one or two feet off the ground. I'll be watching. And... Luna?" she asked with a tone of resignation.

"Yes?" Luna asked, her unfocused gaze turning towards the flying instructor.

"Please don't tell her to ride like you do. I don't care how ladylike you think it is, people need to master a normal grip first."

Frisk was improving, slowly. This time her broom came up on the third demand. She promptly adopted a vice like grip on the handle, and turned to look at the others. To her absolute astonishment, Luna didn't have the broom between her legs, but had sat on her broom as if it was a chair.

Madam Hooch had nothing to worry about.

"Alright, Frisk," Opal said. "Why don't we do some laps around the edge of the quidditch pitch, before practice starts?"

Frisk was glad they kept it low, because she continued the trend from this week's flying lesson, and fell, twice. Once again, the most damaged thing was her ego. The ego, on the other hand was severely damaged by the sound of mocking laughter coming from the other side of the pitch. A number of students clad in green Slytherin robes had come to practice. The one in the lead, a blond-haired boy with his arm in a sling, was laughing the loudest.

"What's the matter?" he shouted. "The little monster friend doesn't seem to belong in the air, does she? She should go back in the earth with the rest of them!"

That hurt. Frisk could take people insulting her, but suggesting her friends should be trapped again? How could anyone say something like that? Frisk stood up, symbolically dusting off her clothes. She was about to respond when Ginny swooped down next to her, and beat her to it. "The only monsters I see, Draco, are the ones you had to buy yourself to be a part of," Ginny told him.

Frisk reached up, pulling on Ginny's robe, shaking her head. She met Draco's eyes, and spoke softly. "You've not even met them, any of them, have you?" she asked. "You don't know what it's like to be lost, cold, alone, and have someone who isn't even the same race come and look after you. To give you help, because you asked for it?"

"I don't need help," Draco sneered.

Luna looked over to him with an interested expression. "So you'll be able to play Gryffindor's team by yourself? Can I watch that?"

Opal and Ginny laughed, and Frisk felt her mouth twitch. Luna's seriousness is what sold it. She had taken Draco perfectly at face value, and turned it right back at him.

Draco's sneer turned to a look of anger, and Frisk didn't think he'd heard her own question. He seemed ready to come after Luna, but he could see Madam Hooch not far away, or maybe he remembered he was wearing a cast. "We'll see who's laughing after the cup's awarded," he growled, turning back to his teammates. Frisk watched him leave, feeling distinctly unhappy. He seemed so intent on remaining apart from people.

"We better go, I'm sure they've scheduled the pitch, and they won't take watchers very kindly," Opal said. "It's too bad. I'll bet any other team would have been happy to give us a brief primer." Frisk remounted her broom, as she was determined to get up more than she fell off, and they flew back in the direction of the cupboard.

Madam Hooch was observing Frisk's form. She nodded. "Better, though you need to learn to hang on more with your knees, and use a lighter touch on the neck. That will give you better control on your ascents and your turns. And that will come with more practice."

"Would you mind if we do this again next week?" Frisk asked.

"That might cost you another cookie," Ginny told her. "I'm kidding, sure. It was fun."

Opal nodded her agreement. "I love flying. I'd do it all day if I could." They finished putting the brooms away, and began to trek back toward the castle, the wind directing a few fallen brown leaves in their general direction. A couple of owls coasted on the air, probably with mail to deliver.

"By the way, are they all like that?" Opal asked the two older girls.

"The Slytherins?" replied Ginny. "Seems that way most days. Malfoy's the worst of a bad lot, and Flint's more of a brute than a skilled player," she said dismissively.

"So, what is Quidditch?" Frisk asked, intent on changing the subject. This was apparently the wrong question to ask, as both Opal and Ginny launched into excited details all about the sport itself, the positions, the balls, and its most common strategies.

Frisk felt overwhelmed. Maybe the game would make more sense when Slytherin played Gryffindor in a couple weeks. But, for the moment, it was all going over her head. They were just heading through the main doors to the great hall when Luna suddenly looked crestfallen. "You mean I won't get to see Draco trying to play the game by himself?"

September gave way to October, and the patterns of class life had really fallen into place for Frisk. She spent many of her evenings either working on homework, spending time with Opal, Ginny, and/or Luna, or writing another letter back home. They went outside as often as possible, but the Scottish weather was making it difficult. It was frequently cold, and it seemed to have conspired to rain each and every weekend.

The letters that came back were the best part. While most monsters had gold from the underground, many of them were trying to integrate, if not into the human world, at least the wizarding world. Asgore and Toriel were keeping busy smoothing ruffled fur.

Mettaton was having the worst of it. He wanted to be a star, and the confinement away from greater human society was hitting him really hard. Alphys was trying to set him up with a wizardly radio show, but it was a far cry from the TV show he'd had in the underground. Frisk wasn't without doubts on how good "Cooking with a Killer Robot" would play above ground, but she wished the ghost in the robot shell the best.

The letter that came about midway through October had a curious post script. "Hopefully, we'll see you sooner than either of us thought." Frisk looked at the vague note a second time, having no idea what it meant.

The first clue came the next night, as she was practicing the levitation charm, a large crowd gathered along the battered notice board that stood next to the portrait hole. She turned away from the feather that she was trying to make stay still in the air, "What's going on?" she asked nobody in particular.

"First Hogsmeade visit," Ginny told her, sliding into the seat next to her, watching the floating feather with a knowing expression. "Third years and above are allowed to leave the Castle on certain Saturdays and go visit Hogsmaede."

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Frisk declared, flourishing her wand, forcing the feather up once more. "What's Hogsmeade?" she asked.

"It's the only wizarding-only village in Britain," Ginny explained. "So people go in and visit the sweet shop, among other places, and spend pocket money.

"Third year and up?" Frisk asked, "Too bad. It would have been nice to leave the castle for a while."

"I suppose..." Ginny began with a shrug, but they were interrupted by a shout from a nearby table.

"OY! GET OFF YOU STUPID ANIMAL!" Frisk's feather forgotten, she looked around. Crookshanks was aggressively attacking the bag that belonged to Ginny's brother. After a moment, an absolutely terrified looking rat popped out of and made a beeline for a piece of furniture right next to them. The cat followed suit, dodging Frisk's attempt to intercept it.

Hermione looked almost white as she pulled the orange cat from where it was still trying to reach under the bookcase to catch the rodent. Ron, on the other hand, was a near a boiling red rage as he coaxed his rat back into his possession, and ran up the stairs to the boys' dormitory.

"He must feel terrible," Frisk said to Ginny, quietly.

"Him? Ron? Why?" Ginny asked.

"He's scared for his pet," Frisk said, still in a quiet voice, aware there was muttered conversation around the common room. "He just wants protect his friend, and there was a moment he thought he was going to lose him. How long has Ron had... what was his name? Scabbers?"

Ginny thought for a bit, "A few years. I think he was Percy's pet before Ron's."

"Were rats on the recommended pet list? I only remember toads, owls, and cats," Frisk said.

Ginny shook her head. "No. Partially for the whole cat and mouse thing, but rats don't really live that long."

"Wait," Frisk said frowning. "Didn't you say Percy had him first? That's got to be pretty old for a rat, then."

"We figure Scabbers has a bit of magic in his bloodline somewhere," Ginny said, though she sounded less than sure of herself. "By the way. Your feather's landed."

Frisk turned back to her feather, casting the levitation charm again, then looked around the common room. "Look at Hermione," Frisk whispered. "She looks terrible. Be right back," and so saying, Frisk stood, walking across the common room to talk to the pale faced girl sitting next to her fort of textbooks. She pulled up a recliner and sat down. Frisk wasn't sure she'd been noticed. "May I hold him?" Frisk asked.

Hermione looked at Frisk as if she was an alien invader from Mars.

"May I hold him? Crookshanks?" Frisk asked again.

Hermione silently held out her large cat, who had ceased struggling.

Frisk took the cat, placing it in her lap, she held one arm over the top of it with one hand, so he couldn't escape. With her other hand, she began to scratch the cat's head. "Are you doing okay?" Frisk asked, after Hermione had time to cool down a bit more.

For a second, Frisk thought Hermione was going to explode in a burst of anger. But she instead looked at Frisk directly in the eyes, as if seeing her for the first time, "He's just being a cat, right? All cats chase rats, right?"

"Maybe, but I'm not worried about Crookshanks. I'm worried about you. How are you doing?"

Hermione looked down at her table full of open books. "I'm alright."

"I'm familiar with that lie," Frisk told her, "I used it so often myself, before I went underground. You were scared, weren't you? Scared that he might actually catch your friend's rat?"

Hermione stared at Frisk. "Yes," she said simply. And Frisk didn't think it was her imagination that she saw a glistening tear in one of Hermione's eyes. "I've never had a pet before... and Crookshanks was all alone before I got him. I don't want to abandon him. But I don't want to hurt Ron, he's my friend too."

Frisk had a memory of a phone call from Papyrus in Waterfall, about trying to keep both friends safe and happy. "Do you hear that, Crookshanks?" she asked the cat. The cat looked up at the mention of its name. "Hermione wants to be friends with both you and Ron. Maybe you could consider not chasing his rat?" Crookshanks stared at her, defiance evident in his yellow eyes.

"Frisk," Hermione said tiredly. "He's just a cat, right?"

Frisk wasn't sure. The cat certainly acted like it understood her. She picked it up, stood up, and put it in the warm spot she had been sitting in, ready to go back to practicing her charm. "I guess," she said. "But I like being polite."

"Frisk?" Hermione said. Frisk looked back at her, and the older girl gave a weary, but grateful smile. "Thanks for knowing I needed someone to talk to."

Frisk held out both her arms. Hermione looked perplexed at the offer for a few moments, and instead reached out to shake Frisk's hand.

About a week later, after Monday's transfiguration lesson, McGonagall again summoned Frisk after class. Frisk twitched in nervous apprehension, wondering what possibly she could have done this time.

"Do you know about Hogsmeade visits, Ms. Dreemurr?" the professor asked her.

Frisk nodded, though she wasn't sure why she was being asked. That was for third years and up, right?

"It's kind of irregular, but Dumbledore is making an exception, due to your unique status." Frisk waited for her to explain herself. "Your adopted mother..." Frisk felt her breath catch, "will be allowed to take you out of the castle that day, and you can spend the day with her in the village."

"You mean it?" Frisk asked, hardly believing her ears.

"I do. It had been, what, two months after you came out of the underground, before school started?"

"Six weeks," Frisk said. "Thank you, thank you! And... thank the Headmaster for me?" she asked.

McGonagall smiled. "I will. Please do not tell other students of this, though. The cry would probably be heard around the school. With that in mind, you can go, Ms. Dreemurr."

This would be the longest week of Frisk's short school career.