Greg sat up sharply in his bed, realising with a start that his breathing was hurried, and his bedsheets covered in sweat.

'Bloody hell...' he whispered to himself as he remembered the dream that had woken him moments before. He shook his head, reaching behind his back to feel the damp that had covered his skin, before edging the drapes around his bed slowly open.

As his eyes adjusted to the gloomy dormitory, the pale green glow of the clock in the corner of the room told him that dawn was still several hours away. Closer by, however, another set of open curtains let him know that he wasn't the only first-year who was struggling to sleep.

Thanking his older friends for having taught the first-years a silencing charm, in order to help them get around the castle after their late evening Quidditch practices, Greg edged to his feet. He crept towards the exit of the dormitory, before tiptoeing to the ornate staircase that led up to the common room, now lit only by flickering lantern-light.

'Did you see his face when I said about that song?' Greg overheard a voice that could only have belonged to Isaac. He felt his heart begin to pound against his chest, and crouched down against the edge of the stairwell, hiding away as he waited for the reply that he knew would have to come.

'Well what did you expect?' Theo's voice rung out, and Greg felt a surge of relief as he heard his best friend's words.

'But...' Isaac protested, 'it's like he's never done anything wrong in his whole life.'

'So what?' Theo countered. 'Why should he be ashamed of that? He didn't call anyone a dirtly little mudblood.'

'Piss off,' Isaac snapped. 'Neither did I. I'm not the one who thinks that all the Indians should go back home, either. Are you going to tell Jai that tomorrow, too?'

'Oh, shut up,' Theo raised his voice as Greg chose the moment to reveal himself.

'How long have you been spying on us for?' Isaac stood up, his eyes flashing.

'I wasn't spying!' Greg defended himself. 'Or have you forgotten, I never do anything wrong!'

'So why are you out of bed, then? Isaac fixed his glare on the other first-year.

'Why are you?' Greg flushed. 'I couldn't sleep... I had, I had...'

'What?' Isaac sneered. 'Did you have a scary nightmare?'

'Yes,' Greg took a handful of unsteady strides towards the other boy. 'I did have a nightmare. I dreamed that I was with Lucas and Jai, and we were surrounded by Death Eaters...' He felt his eyes begin to water. 'That wasn't the worst thing, though,' he swallowed. 'You and Theo were two of the Death Eaters.' Greg could hold his gaze no longer, and crumpled onto the low black sofa beside the common room fireplace.

Theo's eyes followed his best friend as he slumped into the corner of the chair, before looking back to Isaac's tense frame. 'Slytherins stick together, Isaac,' he whispered, before sitting down alongside Greg. 'Unless you really want to become a Death Eater?'

'I don't want to become a bloody Death Eater!' Isaac yelled, grabbing for the wand in the pocket of his pyjama bottoms and pointing it towards Theo's bare chest.

'So why are you pointing your bloody wand at me, then?' Theo's eyes narrowed.

'Stop – bloody – swearing at each other!' Greg lifted his head from his left palm. 'Haven't we got enough enemies?'

'Sorry,' Isaac lowered his wand.

'Bloody sorry,' Theo added, and the other two first-years couldn't stop themselves from snorting a laugh.

'I know you don't want to be a Death Eater, Zac.' Greg spoke quietly as the other boy settled onto an armchair beside the occupied sofa. 'But the dream...'

'Don't,' Isaac interrupted. 'I don't want to hear about it. It's never gonna happen, I promise. I didn't mean that song; I don't think you're a... you know what. I only said it because of what Oscar said, about the way things started off.'

'I know,' Greg nodded. 'Football songs are like that, too: you say things you don't really mean. I shouldn't have had a go at you about it...'

'I'm not racist,' Theo repeated, speaking to nobody in particular, 'but I know what Ossie meant.'

'He's right,' Isaac confirmed. 'People worry that mud-,' he winced, realising what he was saying before correcting himself, 'muggle-borns won't continue wizarding traditions, won't play Quidditch, will break the Statute of Secrecy.'

'That's not true,' Theo argued.

'It's easy to believe, though, isn't it?' Greg shook his head. 'Then every time you hear someone in London who isn't speaking English, or a muggle-born wizard who won't join in with Quidditch, you just believe it even more.'

'Well, we can prove it wrong,' Theo's voice grew insistent. 'A Quidditch team that's full of mudbloods. Just wait until we win a game.'

'I wasn't trying to catch the snitch, Dawlish,' Neal Kennedy sat on the front of the teacher's desk in the ground floor classroom ahead of the History study lesson. 'I was making sure Langford never got near it. We were forty points up, and they were never going to score enough goals to beat us, so the only way they could win was the snitch.'

'Yeah, but if you got it, then you'd have won by more,' Spencer Dawlish answered back.

'Really? You don't say...' the seventh-year rolled his eyes, 'and we'd have also lost it if Langford had managed to get it.'

'That's boring,' Dawlish complained, as Holly Davies echoed his moan.

'Probably,' Neal shrugged, 'but sometimes you've just got to take the win. It's called playing the percentages,' he glanced conspiratorially towards the Slytherin boys, who had gathered around a corner table, 'but I wouldn't expect a Gryffindor to understand that.'

The seventh-year smirked, pushing himself up from his desk and beginning to stride down the centre of the classroom. 'So,' he began, before anyone could come up with a retort, 'today's lesson. I am assuming Binns spent last Friday gabbling on about Beasts and Beings, or something like that?'

The assembled children mumbled their agreement with the older boy's assertion, the Slytherins still grinning as they watched Spencer Dawlish stare thunderously at the Ravenclaw.

'I also assume you never want to hear any further mention of Grogan Stump or the 1811 Classification Act?' Neal grinned as he heard his class groan. 'So let that be sufficient. The Act was all about the names – Beasts or Beings – that we would give to various creatures, but a name can be a great deal more powerful than you might imagine.' The seventh-year paused, only for his introduction to be interrupted as the classroom door creaked open as Ciaran Abercrombie stumbled through it.

'Oh, do you mean like look at that complete loser?' Dawlish sneered as the sandy-haired boy wordlessly accepted his insult, sinking dejectedly into an empty seat in the corner of the room.

'I can't believe people just get away with talking about him like that,' Greg muttered as he watched Neal shake his head.

'Tregeagle's Head of House, mate,' Theo reasoned. 'I don't think he's bothered, judging by how our defence lessons go.'

'Who cares?' Lucas hissed. 'Have you forgotten what he said to me in that flying lesson?'

'But that shouldn't mean...' Greg began to protest, but Isaac cut him off.

'Remember what Matt said,' the brown-haired boy spoke matter-of-factly. 'Life's not as simple as you thought.'

There was no time for the first-years to dwell on their conversation, however, as Neal was back into his stride. 'Yes, Dawlish,' he glowered. 'Like that. Or, you've got a mouth the size of a manticore and all the tact of a blast-ended skrewt.' He slammed the classroom door shut, before perching on the end of a bookcase at the side of the room. 'Short of shooting insults at defenceless targets, though, there is still much more that a name can do. Who has heard of the tale of Rumpelstiltskin?'

A scattering of hands raised themselves, and Neal pointed to a short, black-haired girl, who began to tell the story. 'There's a woman, and she gets told she has to spin thread into gold or the king will cut her head off,' the Gryffindor ventured, 'but then this little man appears and does it for her so long as she promises him her baby. So she agrees, but one year later the man comes back and she has to give up the baby, only he says he will leave her alone if she guesses his name.'

Neal nodded. 'Please continue, Chloe.'

The girl smiled. 'Of course, she has no idea, and her first two tries are wrong, but on the third day, one of the woman's friends overhears the little man saying his name out in the woods, and then she tells the woman, so she can guess that it's Rumpelstiltskin...'

'...and they all lived happily ever after.' The seventh-year completed the cliché. 'So go the stories of Tom Tit Tot, of Kugerl and Zirkzirk in Germany, Tarandando in Italy, and Gwarwyn-a-throt in Wales. Then there's King Olaf of Norway and the giant Skaane, Esbern Snare and the giant Finn, not forgetting the night-marts of Prussia. To muggles, they are fairytale, but to wizards, there is history there as well.'

Neal continued, discussing the reasons that led to the same tale spreading across Northern Europe. 'As recently as the reign of Tom Riddle – or Lord Voldemort, as he preferred to be called – people feared the mention of the name almost as much as the wizard himself. Even today, there are surnames that conjure thoughts in our minds before we even meet their owners: Potter, Weasley, Malfoy, Lestrange. Our history is full of the same lesson: a name can be the most powerful weapon of all.'

The seventh-year reached his conclusion, leaving his class to note down their thoughts – and contemplate a Christmas holiday project to research a significant name in magical history – as he sat himself down beside Ciaran. It was towards this corner of the room that Greg ventured as the bell for morning break rang out.

'Thanks for the lesson, sir,' the first-year began.

'Neal,' the Ravenclaw corrected him. 'I'm not a professor, Greg.'

'Sorry,' Greg swallowed, stopping himself from adding 'sir' once again, before hesitating as he considered his next words.

'What's the problem, mate?'

'Well,' Greg stuttered, 'I just wondered if,' he lowered his voice, 'if he was alright,' the Slytherin nodded towards Ciaran.

'Ciaran?' Neal raised his eyebrows. 'Why don't you ask him yourself?'

The sandy-haired Gryffindor looked up at the older boy, eyes wide, before gathering up his belongings and hurriedly leaving the classroom.

'That's why,' Greg shook his head.

'It would be nice if someone in his own House was as bothered about him as you seem to be,' Neal put a hand on the first-year's shoulder. 'Not very Slytherin of you, really.'

Greg shook the older boy's arm away. 'Why does that matter?' His eyes flashed. 'If Gryffindors can treat him like that, who wants to be one?'

'Greg...' Neal pleaded, 'I'm sorry. That wasn't what I meant.'

The first-year nodded slowly. 'How is Ciaran...?'

Neal sighed. 'I don't know,' he winced. 'Like I said, I'm not a professor. I'm not an expert. He was adamant that he didn't want me to talk to any of the teachers about it.'

'Tregeagle wouldn't care, anyway,' Greg shrugged. 'He's never stopped them in Defence.'

'Have you ever talked to Ciaran?'

Greg blinked. 'What do you think? You saw what happened then... Lucas tried once, in flying, and he just said he didn't need Slytherin help.'

Neal sighed. 'One day, this school is going to look at a boy like you, and actually see a person and not just the badge on your blazer. Five points to Slytherin,' he smiled, but there was an obvious tinge of sadness in his voice as he headed for the classroom exit, 'and keep trying.'

'Are you sure it's going to be alright?' Lucas sat on his bed, indecisively packing and unpacking his possessions into a travelling trunk. 'I mean, your Mum and Dad have never met another wizard...'

'Lukie,' Greg shook his head, good-naturedly. 'It will be fine. My Mum and Dad know you're coming, and they're looking forward to meeting you.'

'But...' Lucas stuttered.

'But what?'

'What if I don't have enough muggle clothes? What if I can't work out how anything works? What if I do something really stupid and your Mum and Dad hate me...?' He trailed off, biting his bottom lip as he looked apprehensively towards his friend.

'Don't be so bloody daft!' Greg smiled, scampering across the dormitory to jump onto the bunk beside Lucas. 'When have you ever not been able to work something out?' He dropped a playful arm over the redhead's shoulders. 'Anyway, I've got enough muggle clothes for this whole dormitory, so don't worry about that!'

Lucas managed a quiet laugh. 'I'm sorry, Greg, it's just... well...'

'It's your first time, isn't it?' The blond boy spoke more softly. 'I know what you mean. I remember the first time I discovered the wizarding world.'

Lucas nodded. 'Thanks, Greg.'

'It's okay,' the other boy nodded, 'just as long as you promise to help me with our homework.'

'Deal,' Lucas smiled, 'but you know you're better than me at Transfiguration.' He hesitated a moment. 'I am looking forwards to it, really... but I am still going to be a bit nervous.'

'You know what Theo would say right now?'

'No,' Lucas shook his head, 'but I guess it would be about his rugby coach?'

Greg laughed. 'Yeah. He told me this before our first Quidditch match. If you're nervous then it means you're thinking too much!'

Lucas returned his friend's grin. 'I guess that's why Theo never gets nervous then; he never thinks about anything...'

'Hey!' an affronted voice carried from the other side of the room. 'I am in here, you know.'

'Sorry, mate,' Greg stood up, trotting across to the other boy, 'I know what he means, though.'

Theo shrugged. 'At least it means I can eat my breakfast on the morning of a match.'

'I guess,' Greg conceded, 'but it's gonna make your homework hard, isn't it?' A worried look spread instantly across his friend's face as he spoke, and Greg immediately regretted the jibe.

'Tregeagle will love it,' Theo remarked, glumly. 'I bet I get another D, or worse.'

'You'll be alright with the Muggle Studies,' Greg offered. 'Just writing about different sorts of transport. Herbology's easy, too, it's just out the textbook.'

'Charms as well,' Lucas put in, 'all we have to do is review what we've done this term.'

'So why did Neal have to set us that bloody project?' Theo asked, irritated.

'It's better than what Binns would have set us,' Greg mediated. 'You never know, it might be interesting... sure beats learning Gamp's Laws or summarising the properties of different wand woods.'

'We've got three weeks to do it, anyway,' Lucas reasoned, piling the last of the necessary textbooks into one corner of his case.

'You have,' Theo corrected him. 'We're going on holiday almost straight away, for two weeks, and there's no way I'll be able to take my things with me.'

'When do you get back?' Greg asked.

'Why does it matter?'

'Because,' Greg spoke slowly, 'I was gonna suggest that me and Lucas could come up to London a couple of days before the end of the holidays, and try and help you out,' he paused, 'but if it doesn't matter...'

'No,' Theo swallowed, 'that's not what I meant.' He flicked the long fringe of his blond hair away from his eyes. 'That would be really cool. I'll ring you before we go.'

'Cool,' Greg echoed his friend. 'Now, have you guys finished packing yet?' He grinned. 'This is our last chance to have a snowball fight! I promise you it won't be snowing in Chudleigh...'