a/n; Thanks everyone for the reviews, favorites, and alerts! I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Sorry about the lateness; at first I was lazy, and then I had to get stitches in my tongue. Long story. Just be very careful when you're numbed at the dentist. Enjoy!

disclaimer; I don't own Harry Potter.

the fabulously vintage world of holly potter

—seventh: how to start off on the wrong foot

Holly found herself followed by whispers the second she stepped into the entrance hall the next day. She had been met by an onslaught of people just outside her dormitory as well, but the Hufflepuffs were all well-mannered enough to step up and start a conversation with her, not point and whisper behind their hands to each other the way everyone else seemed to do.

Holly walked to the Great Hall with Oliver Rivers and Melody Watson. Oliver was vaguely Hispanic and already tall; he had curly black hair that he kept mostly tamed and dark eyes. He was friendly and talkative and ever so polite: he was, in fact, a perfect gentleman. Holly was glad to know him. She thought she'd like to have him as a friend.

Melody was short and tan, with a cute button nose and big green eyes. She had auburn hair that was in a perpetual messy bun, and she wore black-framed glasses. Holly wondered if Melody could get her eyes fixed magically. Melody didn't seem to mind, though. She was happy to tag along with Holly and Oliver and chat with them about the various strange Hogwarts sightings as they went.

Holly was grateful for this two-people cover when she entered the Great Hall, because nearly everyone turned to look at her. "Oh, what on Earth," said Oliver rather loudly, staring right back at everyone. Melody giggled and Holly shot Oliver a thankful smile. "I don't know about these people," Oliver said gravely, leading the way over to the Hufflepuff table for breakfast. "You'd think they'd never seen a redhead before."

Throughout breakfast the three of them discussed their timetables; they were all exactly the same. "How odd," Holly remarked, leaning over to look at Melody's schedule. "You're right, they really are precisely the same."

Ernie Macmillan chose that moment to sit down beside Holly. "I bet you mine's different," he said, reaching for a pitcher of orange juice. As he poured himself a goblet, he continued: "It seems to me that they've separated us out by our surnames."

Holly wondered why surnames were so bloody important to the wizarding world. It was unfathomable and childish. Anyone could have lied about what their surname was and everyone else would have thought they were important. All this fuss about names was making Holly increasingly frustrated; but she kept this to herself, as she knew bringing it up would do nothing.

So Holly found herself setting off to class with her two new friends, Oliver and Melody. They had to figure out how to navigate the corridors and the staircases themselves. As they climbed up the marble stairs and tried to decide where to go on the directions of a Ravenclaw prefect they'd just asked, Holly looked about and wondered how on Earth anything was organized here.

There were portraits everywhere that could have been landmarks, but they all moved and switched places. The frames themselves never moved, but the figures inside them could be found cavorting about all over the castle. This was made even worse because the stairs moved as well. You could be heading upstairs to the right one next and then suddenly be turning to the left without meaning to.

The building, Holly had decided, was sentient. It was a trickster sort of building; perfect for the Weasley twins, she imagined. She also amused herself by considering what Dudley might have done trying to make his way around in this place. Probably given up and had a temper tantrum on one of the moving staircases, she supposed. He also probably would have been told off by the caretaker, Mr. Filch.

Mr. Filch was as filthy as his name suggested. Those damn names again, Holly thought as it occurred to her. Once, that very first morning, he found all of Holly, Oliver, and Melody trying to force their way through a mysteriously locked door; they'd all thought that the rest of the building was weird enough, why not have a class through an impassable door? As it turned out the door actually led to the out of bounds third floor corridor.

The ghosts might have helped you along—if you found the right ghost. There was one particularly annoying poltergeist named Peeves who actively tried to steer first years off course. In fact, he seemed to take great pleasure in hurling small items at them; Holly and Melody were rushing down to the Great Hall on Wednesday morning of their first week, both rather afraid they'd be late, when Peeves had popped up out of nowhere on the hall with the kitchens and started hurling inkwells at them and cackling maniacally as he did.

On Wednesday nights they had astronomy, which Holly wished would only be once a month, as it was entirely exhausting. They had it at midnight: Holly couldn't be sure whether it was a better idea to try and get some sleep before class and show up still tired or just go to class without having had any sleep at all. She supposed she'd soon find out for herself.

They also had Herbology, which was as uninteresting a subject as Holly had ever taken. Oliver seemed to like it for unknown reasons. At least their professor was wonderful: Professor Pomona Sprout, the head of Hufflepuff. She was very pleasant and kind and ready to help anyone who really had no idea what they were doing.

Holly's favorite class thus far was a toss-up between Transfiguration and History of Magic. Transfiguration was taught by Professor McGonagall. She was very strict, but seemed to like it when students asked astute questions. On the other hand, she seemed even sterner than usual when students asked obtuse questions, such as ones that required her to repeat something she'd said only a moment ago.

Transfiguration itself was an incredibly intriguing topic. It involved the changing of objects into other objects, and sometimes even the changing of animals into objects—or, in the case of Professor McGonagall herself, the changing of people into animals and vice versa. Professor McGonagall could turn herself into a gray tabby cat and back again before you could blink and figure out what had happened.

History of Magic was taught by a professor who was much less interesting than Professor McGonagall. Professor Binns was the only ghost professor, as far as Holly knew, and he had a very dry, monotone voice. The subject, though, was something Holly adored: history. She'd always loved learning about how people used to live. She loved knowing when the first printing press was made and how much gasoline used to cost in the 1940s. All the little details about society and standards of living just seemed so interesting. Professor Binns was a ghost, too, which meant that he had been around for a very long time, and likely knew all sorts of little tidbits about different eras of history.

Charms was another class Holly liked, because it was more fun than anything. Professor Flitwick taught it; he was a cute little elderly wizard who had to stand on a stack of books to address the class. The spells he taught them were fun and Holly thought she might like to show a few of them to Aunt Petunia, if she were allowed.

The only class Holly disliked was Defense Against the Dark Arts. This was rather absurd, considering she was, apparently, in three anti-Dark books herself. Professor Quirrell stammered all over the place and although he seemed at least vaguely knowledgeable he did not seem competent enough to actually give the students the information. His classroom also always smelled strongly of garlic.

There were a variety of rumors about the peculiar Professor Quirrell. The most popular one by far was that he had been attacked by vampires in Albania and had never gotten over it. He tried to ward them off now by stuffing garlic into his purple turban. It was true: Holly had never seen him without it. In fact, she'd never seen any hair peeking out of it, either, so he must have been bald. Maybe he was self-conscious, or perhaps it had something to do with his religion.

Religion brought up another point that Holly disliked. Directly after one of her Transfiguration classes Holly approached Professor McGonagall to ask her a question. She glanced back to wave Oliver and Melody on before turning toward Professor McGonagall, who was eyeing her curiously. "I'm sorry, Professor," said Holly, "but I've had a question at the back of my mind for several days."

"Yes, Ms. Potter?" asked Professor McGonagall.

"How shall any of us get to church?" Holly inquired. "I don't know about anyone else, but personally I am Catholic, and I should like to go to Mass every Sunday if it is possible." She thought she could ask about a piano and a ballet studio later.

"Well," said Professor McGonagall, "I think there is a group that goes to a church in Hogsmeade Village on Sundays." She frowned thoughtfully. "I'm not sure first years are allowed. Usually students aren't allowed to visit Hogsmeade until third year."

"Mass is very important to me, Professor," Holly said.

"Well, yes, I can understand why," Professor McGonagall answered. "I suppose you can speak with the leader of the group yourself and find out—you'll have to talk to Jeremy Stretton. He's a sixth year Ravenclaw."

"Thank you very much, Professor," Holly said, flashing Professor McGonagall a smile. "Have a good afternoon!"

"The same to you, Ms. Potter," said Professor McGonagall, as Holly turned and strode back out of the Transfiguration classroom.

Holly was quite looking forward to Friday. She'd always loved Fridays; people were usually more relaxed those days, looking forward to the weekend. She knew she was looking forward to the weekend: she'd finally have a chance to sit down and finish writing a letter to Aunt Petunia she'd started penning two days ago. She'd gotten lost so often in this senselessly organized castle that she'd lost quite a few hours wandering around, feeling increasingly dense.

Another thing that Holly never thought she would ever think was normal was the usual swooping in of the owls at breakfast. They all came in and dropped off packages for their owners. Holly had gotten a book from home wrapped in brown paper—a copy of Pride and Prejudice. There was a little note inside from Aunt Petunia, reminding her of her advice and telling her that this would be a potentially difficult but altogether rewarding read. It was also set in the Regency historical era, which was one of Holly's favorites, besides the 1920s and the French Revolution.

On Friday morning Holly received another little note. Hedwig flew in and landed on the table right beside Holly's plate. "Well, good morning," Holly said fondly to the owl, rubbing Hedwig's head. "What have you got this morning?"

"You get all sorts of things," remarked Oliver. "I haven't gotten anything yet."

"This is only my second item," Holly replied. "Don't look at the Slytherin or Gryffindor tables—their parents or relatives must all shower them with affection at all times when they're home."

It was true; everyone at those tables always seemed to have a smattering of gifts. Holly had noticed Draco Malfoy receiving four just this week, which she thought was somewhat foolish. Then she realized he probably missed home and made time to write often.

This time Hedwig had brought Holly a letter. It read in somewhat messy handwriting:

Dear Holly,

I know you get Friday afternoon off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three?

I want to hear all about your first week. Send an answer back with Hedwig.

Hagrid

Holly smiled at the letter and realized how fond she'd already grown of the large, unintentionally impolite man. "Who's that from?" Melody asked, as Hedwig affectionately nipped Holly's ear. Holly dug a pen she'd smuggled into Hogwarts with her out of her bag and wrote out a response to Hagrid while she answered.

"It's from Hagrid," said Holly. "He took me to Diagon Alley a few days after I accepted the invitation to attend here." She glanced up. Hedwig had hopped over to see Oliver, who was offering her bits of his toast. Melody was looking at a copy of the wizards' most popular newspaper, The Daily Prophet. "Anything interesting in the news today?"

"Not particularly," said Melody, flipping a page. Holly reached over to tie her response to Hedwig's leg. "The Ministry seems about ready to crack down about the Statue of Secrecy, though."

The Statue of Secrecy, Holly had learned, was the rule that said wizards had to keep their and magic's existence a secret from Muggles. Holly still wasn't entirely sure why this was a law, but she didn't know who to ask about it; Professor McGonagall had likely already had enough of her questions.

Oliver gave Hedwig one final pat on the head before the snowy owl took off again, having been informed of whom she was delivering her letter to. Oliver finished off what toast he had left before pulling his neatly-folded timetable out of his pocket and checking it. "Oh, Merlin," he said. "We've got double Potions with the Slytherins today."

"What have you heard about Potions?" asked Holly. Oliver actively tried to avoid discriminating against other houses, so his complaint couldn't have been about the Slytherins.

"Professor Snape is positively evil," said Melody, setting down her newspaper. She started to pour herself a bowl of cereal. Her expression was quite grim. "He's the head of Slytherin house, and he favors them and hates the rest of us."

Holly frowned. "That's peculiar," she said. "I thought Slytherin was for the cunning and ambitious. Openly detesting a large number of students is probably not the best idea." She thought she remembered multiple times in French history in particular where students riled themselves up and tried to start wars.

Oliver snorted. "Try telling him that," he said, shaking his head. "Wayne Hopkins told me the other day all about how Snape deducted house points for no reason other than him not moving out of the way fast enough."

This was rather depressing, if for no other reason than the fact that Hufflepuff's house points were already quite low in the running. Holly didn't particularly care, though; as far as she could see, winning the house cup only gave the winner bragging rights, and nobody in Hufflepuff cared enough to brag. If there had been an actual prize they might have all tried a bit harder.

Their Potions lesson was down in the cool, drafty dungeons, where the Slytherins' dormitories were. Holly sat beside Oliver while Melody sat with Leanne at the next table over. Everyone chattered for a while, their voices echoing around the dungeon; Holly was neatly setting up her books on the table, while Oliver jokingly harassed Ernie Macmillan, when Draco Malfoy called her out.

"Hey, Potter!" Malfoy hissed across the dungeon. "I see what tie you're wearing! D'you think you can find anything interesting about that?" He and his two cronies—Crabbe and Goyle—snickered.

Holly was unamused. It had only been a week and she already knew that the majority of the school joked about Hufflepuffs only being able to 'find' things, because of their symbol being a badger, and some old lines in the Sorting Hat's song. She glanced over at Malfoy. "Good morning," she answered calmly. "All my tie color tells me is that I am in Hufflepuff. Thank you for reminding me, Draco; I might have forgotten otherwise."

She thought she might have been slightly too sarcastic for politeness to permit, but she did not have to think about it a moment longer, as Professor Snape entered the room. He entered with a billowing of his black robes, and he strode up to the desk at the front of the room, where he suddenly halted and whirled around. He surveyed the students for a moment—then his dark eyes landed on Holly.

She had thought perhaps there would be a repeat of the flash of pain in her scar at the start-of-term banquet. Instead, he only looked at her for a brief moment, and then walked around his desk. He didn't sit down; he picked up his roll sheet and started to call out names. Holly had thought she was in the clear. But Professor Snape paused at her name. "Ah, yes," he drawled softly. "Holly Potter. Our new—celebrity."

Everyone in the room was quiet, waiting with anticipation to see what Snape would say or do next. Instead of adding any commentary, though, Snape finished the roll call, and then began to lecture.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he said. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

He managed to sound both enthusiastic about his subject and completely uninterested all at once. It strongly reminded Holly of Malfoy in Madam Malkin's, all disinterested even with his own conversation. She wasn't sure how she felt about any of this yet, though. Potions sounded intriguing and useful in itself, but she didn't think professors were supposed to insult their students so openly. She thought that might get them reported and fired in the Muggle world.

Professor Snape looked around the room again. Then, quite suddenly, he looked directly at Holly. "Miss Potter," he snapped.

"Yes, sir?" Holly asked.

"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Holly blinked at him. "I haven't any idea, sir." She thought she might have seen those things mentioned in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, but it was ludicrous to expect her to remember on the first day of class. Besides—she'd only read it because she wanted to; what if Snape had called on a student who hadn't wanted to read, and had no idea at all of what was coming?

Professor Snape sneered slightly. "Tut, tut—clearly fame isn't everything."

Holly glanced at Oliver, who shrugged, and then back to Professor Snape. How senseless, how ridiculous, how dull was this, to pick on the student who had anything other than 'first year' to her name? It occurred to Holly that perhaps he disliked her for what she stood for—the end of the Dark Arts, or the fall of a Dark wizard. Snape certainly looked as though he would fit right into the Dark Arts.

Furthermore, it was utterly trivial of him to expect her to have both known about her own fame and enjoyed it. In fact, she didn't much care for it; it was nice to be able to have some sort of weight when she spoke with people, but it also would have been nice not to be stared at as if she had seven heads. "I wholeheartedly agree, sir," Holly said presently to Professor Snape, trying to remain her politest.

"Well, then, let's try again, Ms. Potter," said Professor Snape. "Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

That one rang some sort of bell in the back of her mind. "I think it may turn up in the stomach of some medium-sized animal," Holly said. "I'm sorry, sir, but I can't quite remember which one."

Professor Snape stared at her. For a second it almost seemed as if he didn't detest the sight of her; then he said, "Thought you'd barely need to open a book before coming, eh, Ms. Potter?"

Holly was indignant. How rude of him to imply she was so dense! She was dying to correct him, but she thought it would be intolerably impolite, and there was no way she would sink to his level. Sadly, he wasn't finished yet; he didn't give her a chance to respond before asking, "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"Honestly, sir," said Holly, voice taut, "I haven't any inkling. I was raised in a Muggle household, not a wizarding one, and I personally understand just how far behind I am in my knowledge of the wizarding world; however, I hope to learn more about it soon enough. I do not intend to neglect my studies."

For that was the only mildly reasonable conclusion that Holly could come to: that Professor Snape continued to ask her questions and seemed to dislike her because he assumed she knew next to nothing and had come from a brilliant wizarding household of some sort.

Snape stared at her. Holly looked back innocently. "Fine," he retorted. "The questions may resume if you get anything less than an O on any of my exams. And for your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden scraping of chairs and flurry of movement as the students rushed to write down everything Professor Snape said. Holly wasn't sure if she had just been let off the hook or if she'd just jumped from the frying pan straight into the fire. Less than an O? Holly wondered. What on Earth were the marks around here?

As the class continued, Professor Snape separated all of them into pairs, going by whom they were seated with. He then set them on creating a potion to cure all boils. There were instructions in the textbook as to how to create the potion; however the instructions seemed slightly contradictory, and it made the task altogether impossible.

Professor Snape spent his time swooping about the room like an overgrown bat, quickly turning around corners to stop and stare as a particular student weighed dried nettles or crushed snake fangs. He always, always found something to criticize: the only student he didn't seem to criticize was Draco Malfoy, which Holly found rather odd. Malfoy was trying very hard but the stench coming from his failed potion swept across the room.

The end of the class couldn't come soon enough. When they were all finally released, the students rushed out at once—even the Slytherins. Holly took her time packing up her things, though; she rather thought that if she showed an ounce of fear, Professor Snape would have won this strange battle of wits. She exited at the same time as Draco Malfoy, who was followed closely by his two friends Crabbe and Goyle. As they all stepped into the corridor, Holly noticed Oliver, Melody, and Ernie waiting at the other end of the hall for her; she waved at them and took a step toward them.

"Listen, Holly," said Malfoy, from just behind her. She turned back.

"Yes?" she asked politely.

Malfoy looked somewhat agitated. "I have no idea what set him off on that." He seemed to want to say something else, but wasn't quite sure how.

Holly decided that this was as good an apology for Snape's behavior as she was going to get. "Yes, well," she said, "I'm sorry too, but there is nothing to be done about it. Thank you for your concern, though." She was quite genuine, saying this. "Have a good afternoon, Draco."

With that, Holly turned around and strode away toward her friends. "You too," Malfoy called after her.

Holly soon rejoined her friends. "That was the strangest bloody class I've ever been in," Ernie remarked. "I didn't think professors were allowed to be so judgmental of students that way."

"Should we report it to someone?" Melody asked, looking concerned.

Oliver looked flatly irritated. "I say we should," he said in a low voice, as they all started down the hallway. "If that continues, anyway. It's just not decent."

"I heartily agree," said Ernie.

"As do I," Holly finally said. "All I could think was that he must have somehow gotten it into his head that I am a pompous brat who thinks she can coast by without even trying."

Melody snorted. Oliver raised his eyes to the ceiling. "How—what's your word, Holly? —how absurd! You're in Hufflepuff! That means that we all work the hardest of anyone else, including the Ravenclaws!"

"And none of those Slytherins seemed to be trying very hard," said Ernie.

At least the rest of the day was wide open for free time and visiting Hagrid. While Oliver went off with Ernie to explore the outdoors by the lake, Holly invited Melody along to go and meet Hagrid. Around three, Holly and Melody left Oliver and Ernie skipping stones into the lake and wandered over a small stone hut on the edge of the dark forest.

There was a spiral of gray smoke twisting up from the chimney. Melody asked as they drew near, walking across the damp lawn: "What on Earth d'you think is in that forest?"

"I haven't any idea," Holly said. "Maybe unicorns or something."

"Do unicorns exist?" inquired Melody; she was half-blood, but her parents were divorced while her brother lived in another country for school, and she had rather been raised the same way as Holly, knowing only about the Muggle side of the world. However she had known that wizards existed from a rather young age.

"I hope so," Holly replied. "They seem like they'd be very sweet."

Melody hummed in agreement as they reached Hagrid's doorstep. There was a crossbow and a massive pair of rain boots to the right of a worn brown welcome mat. Holly stepped forward and knocked on the door; immediately there was a frantic scrabbling sound, followed by Hagrid exclaiming, "Back, Fang—back!"

Hagrid swung open the door and poked his head out. "Hang on," he said, before disappearing back inside for a moment. "Back, Fang," he repeated. Holly had to assume that Fang was a particularly disobedient dog.

He let them in then, pulling the door open the whole way. He was clutching the collar of a large black boarhound: Fang, presumably.

The inside of the hut was only one room. There were hams and pheasants hanging from exposed rafters that made up part of the ceiling. At the fireplace a copper kettle was boiling. There was a large table with four chairs in one corner of the hut; in the opposite corner, beside the back door, there was a monstrous bed with a patchwork quilt.

"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid. He released Fang after he closed the door again. Fang immediately bounded over to lick Melody's nose.

"Good afternoon, Hagrid," said Holly. "I've brought my friend Melody Watson with me; I hope that's all right."

"Oh, yeah, of course," said Hagrid, moving to pour the boiling water into a large teapot. He also began to put some cakes onto a plate. Melody and Holly both struggled into the enormously high chairs and started to talk to Hagrid as he set the refreshments on the table.

As it turned out, Hagrid knew Melody's older brother, Stefan. Stefan had attended Hogwarts for four years before moving to Durmstrang. Melody said that she and Stefan wrote each other rather often. He was apparently very good at giving advice.

The rock cakes were difficult to swallow, and made Holly wonder at their quality, or if she would soon need a bezoar; but for the sake of good manners Holly and Melody both pretended to enjoy them.

When Holly told Hagrid the story of how she, Melody, and Oliver Rivers had been caught accidentally trying to break into the third floor corridor, Hagrid let out a booming laugh and affectionately called Mr. Filch "that old git." Holly was secretly glad that someone agreed with her assessment of the caretaker, although she felt rather badly about it; perhaps he'd been having a bad day, or a bad week, or a bad life.

Holly finally asked Hagrid about Professor Snape. "We've just had the strangest and most indecent class of our lives," Melody reported to Hagrid, whom she had quickly warmed up to, particularly at the mention of Stefan. "Double Potions with Professor Snape and half the Slytherins."

"Really?" asked Hagrid. "Indecent? Now, I can see strange, but…"

"Indeed," Holly agreed grimly. "Professor Snape would not stop asking me questions he knew I wouldn't know the answer to at the start of class. I'm fairly certain he detests me, although all I've done is not memorize One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi."

Hagrid looked distinctly uncomfortable. Holly came to the conclusion that he knew something about Professor Snape he didn't want to say. "He really does hate her," said Melody, nodding and taking a sip of her tea.

"Rubbish!" Hagrid declared. "Why should he?"

Then—as if he didn't already look suspicious enough, glancing from side to side and entirely avoiding Holly's gaze—Hagrid turned to Melody and said, "So did you say how yer brother Stefan's doing? He'd be graduatin' soon, wouldn' he?"

While Melody and Hagrid discussed Stefan's good marks and his recent run-in with a hag, Holly took a long sip of her tea and then looked about the hut again. She noticed this time a corner of paper sticking out from under the tea cozy. She carefully slipped it out; it was a cutting from The Daily Prophet. It read:

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 30 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.

Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.

"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.

How very peculiar! Holly remembered that the 30th of July was the day that she and Hagrid had gone to Gringotts. She pushed the article clipping back under the tea cozy and waited for Melody and Hagrid to finish chortling about Stefan's amusing adventure. When that conversation seemed quite done, Holly burst, "Hagrid! That Gringotts break-in happened the day before my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!"

Hagrid looked—if it was humanly possible—even more suspicious than he had before. He grunted, as if Holly's declaration was simply a vaguely interesting announcement, and offered Holly another rock cake, which she politely declined.

This was immensely intriguing. Holly felt as though she had just stepped into an old noir film where she was the lead detective. She rather imagined George Weasley as the good-looking helpful secretary. The enemy—the perpetrator of the crime—would either be Professor Snape, whom she quite disliked, or Professor Quirrell, who was so incompetent there had to be something deeply disturbed about him.

Now, it was rather silly to be picturing these things, as neither professors were at all related to the break-in at Gringotts. However Holly liked to think of them that way. Then she would have better reasons to dislike them as much as she did. As it was she felt rather rude.