IV. I Horribly Ruin a First Impression

New places always made me nervous. I didn't know where any of the best hiding spots or quickest escape routes were, and I always feared I would get lost. It didn't help that navigating Hogwarts was twice as confusing as navigating Malfoy Manor. The castle was constantly changing. Hermione had woken up early to locate all of our classes, but a couple of hours later, nothing was as she had planned. Portraits had switched frames, doors had disappeared, and the staircases were always moving. Everything that had once set the corridors apart from each other was now different. I wanted to hex whoever built this place.

The caretaker, Filch, wasn't much help either. Hermione tried to ask him for help, but he only yelled at her to get to class. And his cat, Mrs. Norris, was even worse. If she spotted you doing so much as walking on the wrong side of the corridor, she would glare at you with her red demon eyes and run off for Filch.

With perseverance and the help of Nearly Headless Nick, Hermione and I eventually arrived at each of our classes.

Astronomy, taught by Professor Sinistra, was one of my favorites since it gave me an excuse to stay up past midnight. Every Wednesday, we would go to the Astronomy Tower at nightfall and study the stars through our telescopes. However, I didn't care about the learning part as much as the stargazing, and I was too tired to process the information she fed us anyway.

Professor Sprout was a wonderful Herbology professor, but I wished we only had one lesson on plants a week instead of three. It took place every other morning in the Hogwarts greenhouse, filled with plants of varying danger levels. We learned how to tend to and the proper uses of everything from dried nettles to Devil's Snare.

Charms was taught by a tiny wizard, Professor Flitwick, who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. Despite his size, he was a superb professor, and he wasn't timid at all. Quirrell was the timid one.

Quirrell was a shy, feeble wizard whose apprehension showed he had no experience in public speaking, let alone teaching. A stutter never failed to cling to the beginnings of his words during his Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons, and he was always shaking, as if he was scared of us. The stories he told about defeating zombies and vampires were too magnificent to be about him, and the fact that he always seemed angry at me didn't help him gain my approval. He would glare at me at least twice per class, and on the rare occasions he summoned the courage to take points from students, it was almost always me. Even though he hadn't made the best first impression on me, I had to admit it could've been worse. We could've had Gilderoy Lockhart for a teacher.

McGonagall's class, Transfiguration, was the exact opposite of Quirrell's.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she warned us before beginning our first lesson. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back."

She may sound strict, but her hard-core, headstrong personality quickly gained my admiration. Plus, she liked me, something people tend not to do. Maybe she noticed how I stood up against Draco's offensive comments in Diagon Alley, or maybe she was just willing to give me a chance. Whatever the reason, McGonagall inevitably compelled me to love Transfiguration. We spent our first class learning how to turn matches into needles, and Hermione was the first student to sharpen the tip of her match and transform the wood into metal. A soft smile formed on McGonagall's stern face as Hermione mastered the spell.

History of Magic was the most boring class. Nearly Headless Nick and Peeves were always spirited and lively, despite being dead, but Professor Binns was a very different ghost. His endless droning of names and dates was so dull that we might as well have been doing nothing at all. According to Percy, Professor Binns had fallen asleep while grading tests many years ago and woke up to discover that he was a ghost. Sometimes, sitting through his class made me wish I could die that easily.

By Friday morning, there was only one class that I had yet to experience, and its teacher was none other than Professor Snape. The sheer thought of meeting him filled me with anxiety. No matter how many times I tried not to judge him based on appearance, his cold, emotionless stare reminded me why I was so worried. He had the same effect on Quirrell—who looked much older than him—that Lucius had on me, and his harsh expression was no different. Snape looked as if he would be just as strict and merciless as Lucius was. I could only hope that Snape didn't have a grudge against Silverwoods.

"What've we got today?" Harry asked at breakfast.

"Double Potions with the Slytherins," Ron said with a hint of disgust.

Double Potions? With the Slytherins? Of course the class with Snape and Draco was the class I had to take twice in a row.

"Snape's Head of Slytherin," Ron continued. "They say he always favors them."

"Wish McGonagall favored us," Harry muttered. McGonagall was Head of Gryffindor, but that didn't stop her from bombarding us with homework.

At that moment, the mail arrived. Hundreds of owls flew from above, all carrying envelopes in their beaks or holding small boxes wrapped with decorative paper in their talons. I wasn't expecting to receive anything, yet the sight of all the other students receiving a letter filled me with envy. Even Harry's owl, Hedwig, dropped an envelope next to his fork.

Just as everyone around me began to open their letters, something fell next to my plate. I glanced up to see Firefly join the flock of owls heading back to the Owlery. My eyes drifted back to the table: Two letters lay in front of me.

Surprised, I turned over the first letter in my hand. I couldn't make out the words written on the back, but I recognized Manuel's elegant calligraphy all the same. Writing was his talent—and not just handwriting. He truly had a way with words. Sometimes, he would write short stories for me, fables, mysteries, action, everything except romance—romance made me want to vomit. And even though the letters would scramble themselves around to prevent me from understanding, and Manuel often had to read it aloud with me, the beauty of the words was no less. He could paint beautiful pictures in your mind, write complex characters, and give words more power than I knew was possible. His dream was to become a famous author, and if he only had the money to publish his books, he would be a bestseller in no time. But he would never accept any money I offered him. He had no idea how much he deserved it.

I ripped the envelope open and stared at the letter inside, baffled. I tried sounding out the letters under my breath, but they didn't seem to make any real words. All of the consonants were jumbled together, and the few vowels there were scattered themselves in the strangest places. It made no sense.

The Malfoys had never bothered to teach me how to read and write, so when Manuel discovered this during one of our first Spanish lessons, he set out to teach me. It was hard enough since I was seven (of course Draco had learned when he was four), and I was left-handed so I wrote everything backwards at first, but the real obstacle was that I had something Manuel called "dyslexia." The letters would always switch around and the words would never be spaced correctly, and the fact that English was the least phonetic thing on the planet didn't help at all. So, I learned Spanish orally from then on, and we focused on reading and writing only in English. I could manage to read regular print if I tried hard enough, but Manuel's handwriting was too connected and loopy for me to make out.

Hermione was sitting next to me, opening a present from her parents. It was a box of chocolates of all shapes and sizes, some decorated with frosting and others covered in sprinkles. Of course, I was jealous, but I suppressed my urge to ask her if I could have one.

"Hey, Hermione," I said tentatively, "would you mind reading this letter to me?"

"Sure, why?" she said with a concerned look on her face.

"I have dyslexia," I blurted. My face turned bright scarlet, but Hermione only reacted with an understanding nod.

"'Dear Sadie,'" Hermione began, "'How was your first week at Hogwarts? I heard you were sorted into Gryffindor, and I'm so proud of you! I wish you were in Hufflepuff, though… Anyways, are you making friends all right? And how are the teachers treating you? Tell me if you need help with anything, or any general advice. Also, Mr. Malfoy sent you a Howler for getting into Gryffindor, so I wanted to prepare you for that when it comes. I tried to talk him out of it, I promise. On that note, good luck. Love, Manuel.'" She handed the letter back to me.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

"No problem," Hermione said with a reassuring smile. "Who's Manuel? And what's a Howler?"

"Manuel works at the Manor, he's the butler or Lucius's private servant or something," I explained. "And a Howler is…" I began to process what Manuel had said in the letter—the Malfoys had sent me a Howler. I looked back at the other envelope in front of my plate, and surely enough, it was a bright, threatening crimson.

It didn't make sense. The only way Lucius and Narcissa could have found out I was in Gryffindor would be…

Draco.

Being so caught up in school, I had almost forgotten about our argument at the banquet. And now, because of him, I had gotten a Howler. First Snape, and now this… I was foolish to think I could ever escape the Malfoys.

I picked up the Howler to examine it. No matter how much I tried to convince myself it was a normal letter that just so happened to have a red envelope, I thought back to Manuel's warning. It wasn't just any letter.

"Is that a…" Ron asked, leaving his question unfinished.

"Yes, yes it is," I answered, my voice shaking.

"What are you talking about?" Harry jumped in. The Howler must have looked like a normal letter to him.

Hermione stared at my trembling hand, her brow furrowed. "Yeah, what's wrong?" she questioned.

"That's a Howler," Percy jumped in, suddenly interested in the conversation.

"A what?" Harry asked with a quizzical look.

"It's a voice-recorded card that yells at you and then bursts into flames, basically," Percy answered, concerning Harry and Hermione. "The temperature increases so much upon delivery that, after twenty-four hours, it becomes so hot it explodes."

"Physically and verbally," I added, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I'll stick with Muggle cards, thanks," Harry said.

"Why would someone send you one?" Percy inquired.

"For getting into Gryffindor, because that's so awful." I could taste my own bitterness on my tongue. "Or maybe Manuel was wrong and it's because I haven't managed to die yet."

Percy eyed the letter with concern. "You better open it soon. Madam Pince won't be too happy if it blows up in the library."

"I will. But first, there's something I have to do." I stood up from the bench.

"Where are you going?" Percy glared at me.

"Showing Draco something I like to call the Silverwood Smackdown," I said. Harry, Ron, and Hermione lit up and rose from their seats to join me.

"Sorry," Percy interjected, "but as a Gryffindor Prefect, I can't allow you to smack anyone—Hey, wait!"

I didn't bother replying and instead set off for the Slytherin table with Harry, Ron, and Hermione following close behind. Over the course of the past week, Percy had realized that I wasn't an insane death machine. Although he still didn't like to initiate conversation with me, he didn't necessarily avoid me. He treated me how a Prefect would treat any other first year, and that would suffice.

"Wait, what are we doing again?" Ron whispered as we approached the Slytherins.

"Giving Draco a stern talking-to," I said through gritted teeth. Ron seemed a bit disappointed; perhaps he did want to smack Draco. I did too, but I also didn't want to lose points for Gryffindor. Draco would enjoy that too much.

We arrived at the Slytherin table and closed in on Draco.

"You told him," I said, my fists clenched in anger. He whipped around and his eyes flew to the letter.

"Oh, is this a Howler? From Father?" he teased. My face turned as red as the envelope. "Let's see what's inside, shall we?" Before I had time to react, he snatched it out of my hand.

"Give it back!" I reached for the Howler, but Draco held it behind his back and laughed. He was about to hand it to Crabbe, but just as Crabbe grabbed hold of the card, Hermione raised her wand:

"JELLY LEGS JINX!"

Crabbe dropped the Howler as his legs began spasming every which way. Draco bent down to reach for it, but Ron kicked him in the stomach, causing him to fall backwards and crash into Crabbe. Harry swiped the letter off the floor before anyone else could and handed it back to me. I stuffed it in my messenger bag, a triumphant smirk forming on my lips.

"What is going on here?"

Everyone froze. McGonagall was standing in front of us, her nostrils flaring.

"Unjellify." A green light shot out of her wand and towards Crabbe, allowing him to regain his balance.

"Weasley kicked me, Professor," Draco said, pointing an accusing finger at Ron.

"No, he didn't," I lied, trying not to smile.

"But—"

"Sadie got a Howler," Harry interjected. I looked down at my feet. "Malfoy took it and tried to open it. We were just trying to get it back, Professor."

Not knowing who to believe, McGonagall shook her head and sighed. "Malfoy, leave Silverwood alone. And you four," she glared at Harry, Ron, Hermione, and me, "go back to your table." The four of us hurried away from the crime scene before McGonagall could think up any consequences.

"Thanks," I said, laughing. "You guys are the best."

"Anytime," Hermione said with a smug smile on her face. I had no idea she could produce such a spell, or shout that loud, and I was impressed. And a little scared.

After breakfast and a lecture from Percy I paid no attention to, we ventured off to the Potions room. Despite getting lost multiple times, we eventually arrived in the dim, gloomy classroom near the dungeons, filled with cauldrons and animal parts I hoped we wouldn't be using as ingredients. I sat at one of the long, black tables between Ron and Hermione, and Harry squeezed past us to sit on the other side of Ron. The two of them still weren't great friends with Hermione.

"I can't believe I couldn't figure out the countercurse was just 'unjellify'!" I heard Draco say as he entered the room with Crabbe and Goyle. Crabbe cast a glare Hermione's way, and the three of them took their seats at the opposite side of the room. Then, class started.

Manuel had always told me not to judge a book by its cover, but that was proving difficult. At this point, I'm pretty sure Manuel was lying about the whole "the Potions professor is so great" thing just to ease my nerves. But, as Snape began his start-of-term speech, my anxiety was worse than ever.

"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 said in a cold monotone. Harry and Ron exchanged judging looks, but Hermione was already copying down every word of what he was saying. In order to keep myself from drifting off into thought, I started doodling an eye on my parchment. Snape's redundant spiel didn't seem important enough to be writing down.

"Potter!" Snape shouted, making us all jump. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Hermione's hand shot into the air, but Harry just sat there, bewildered.

"I don't know, sir," Harry said.

"Fame isn't everything, I see," Snape sneered. "Let's try again, Potter. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter? Now, what's the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"I don't know, sir. But I think Hermione does, so why don't you ask her?"

"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione, who was nearly out of her seat from excitement. "Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is found in the stomach of a goat. Monkshood and wolfsbane are colloquial terms for the same thing. And I'll take a point from Gryffindor for your cheek. Well, why aren't you all writing this down?" Everyone immediately rummaged in their bags for parchment and began taking notes. I already despised Snape. Who asks a first year trick questions to humiliate them, especially one who grew up in the Muggle world?

The quill I was using to draw was a thought-to-text converting quill. Manuel gave it to me to write with at Hogwarts since, of course, he wouldn't be there to help me. All I had to do was set the quill to the paper and will it to write what I wanted to say. There are also speech-to-text converting quills, but Manuel figured McGonagall wouldn't appreciate me repeating everything she says during her lectures, so he opted for the alternative. I dipped the quill in ink, set it to the paper, and let it jot down the answers to Harry's personal pop quiz. Once I was finished, I grabbed hold of the quill and went back to drawing by hand, now turning the eye into a face. My gaze shot up when I heard fingers snap in front of my face.

"Drawing in class?" Snape was towering before me, fuming. I winced at the thought of being in trouble.

"It helps me focus, sir," I explained timidly.

"You do know that's against the rules, correct?"

"I didn't, sir," I said, hoping I haven't already earned myself detention. "And I wrote everything down."

"I'll have to take five points from Gryffindor," Snape declared, a hint of enjoyment lingering in his voice. He picked up the parchment to examine it. "The facial proportions aren't even correct."

"Your facial proportions aren't even correct," I blurted.

And that, my friends, is the story of how I signed my first death warrant.

Snape slammed the parchment back down on the table. "That'll be another five points."

"That's fair, sir," I mumbled, staring at the table. The quill solemnly drew an X over my well-proportioned sketch and copied every word Snape said. I felt the glares of the other Gryffindors on my back—I couldn't afford another screw-up.

Why did I say that? We hadn't even started class, and I had already lost ten points and made a teacher my enemy. Gryffindor already despised me enough, and now I had given them a reason to get rid of me. What would Percy do? McGonagall? Dumbledore? I decided I would keep my mouth shut in Snape's class from now on.

For the rest of the never-ending lesson, I worked with Hermione to make a boil-curing potion. Ours was perfect, since Hermione did most of the work, but Snape still found a way to criticize it. He even took a point from Gryffindor for our smoke not being the right shade of green. In fact, he criticized everyone except Draco, whose smoke was the exact same acid color as ours.

After what felt like three years, we climbed out of the dungeon and Hermione rushed off to the library to do homework. Being the procrastinator I am, I walked with Harry and Ron to the common rooms instead.

"Sadie, do you want to come with me and Ron to Hagrid's?" Harry asked me on the way back. "He invited us for tea."

"Sure," I said. I figured it would help me get my mind off the Howler, which I been worried about all day.

My bag felt lighter than usual, so I checked it to make sure I hadn't forgot anything in the Potions classroom. To my dismay, I had: my quill and inkwell. In my rush to escape Snape and his lesson, I had been utterly careless and earned myself another visit.

"I left something in the Potions room; I'll be right back," I grumbled before hurrying back to the dungeons, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible. I prayed to Merlin that my forgetfulness wouldn't lose me any more house points.

With the help of a reluctant Bloody Baron, I reached the Potions classroom. I was about knock on the door when I heard voices coming from inside.

"I knew Silverwood would be a problem." Snape's depressing drone was unmistakable. "We shouldn't have let her come here in the first place."

"I don't think drawing in class is expulsion-worthy, Severus," came Dumbledore's wise voice. My spirits rose at his words. Snape couldn't argue with the headmaster.

Oh, but he would certainly try.

"She said my facial proportions aren't correct," Snape pointed out. I cringed at my own impulsiveness.

"I don't like to punish honesty here at Hogwarts."

"But, Albus, you can't deny her background," Snape testified. I had to restrain myself from barging into the classroom to prove my innocence. "You know who her father is. And her mother was a nightmare." Nightmare? I did not learn the entire Spanish language to find out my mother was a nightmare.

"There are plenty of children of Death Eaters here, and I don't see you trying to get any of them expelled," Dumbledore said calmly. Really calmly. "Beside, you've spent your time in that realm yourself, so I can't seem to understand your worries about an innocent eleven-year-old." Finally, someone who understood. I gained a newfound appreciation for my surplus of Dumbledore's Chocolate Frog cards. And I must, once again, note the respectable calmness in his voice.

But what was he saying about Snape "spending some time in that realm himself"? I remembered what Percy had said at the banquet: Knows a lot about the Dark Arts, Snape. If Snape was anything like Lucius, he would be a former Death Eater himself—no, Dumbledore wouldn't have hired a known Dark wizard. I was being ridiculous. Right?

Lost in thought as I was, I didn't realize Dumbledore leaving the room until it was too late.

"Miss Silverwood?!" Dumbledore said, slamming the door in his surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, um," I stuttered, "I left my quill and ink in here, and thought I'd wait till you were done talking…"

A worried expression hung on his face. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Enough," I muttered. "What was that about my mum?"

"Well…" Dumbledore sighed. "Why don't you get your things and then we'll talk?" he suggested instead.

I nodded and cautiously reopened the door to the classroom. I found my quill and inkwell right where I had left them, and hastily screwed the lid on the inkwell and shoved both items in my bag.

"You shouldn't eavesdrop, Silverwood," Snape said without looking up from his desk. I didn't answer him and instead hurried out of the classroom.

"You were saying?" I asked as I exited the dungeon with Dumbledore.

"Well, about your mother," Dumbledore started, "she and Professor Snape went to school together. They were in the same year and house, so they were friends."

"I thought she was a nightmare."

"That wasn't until they were out of school," he continued. "There was a war, as you know, and I'm afraid there was more than one instance of friends betraying each other." So he did have a grudge against Silverwoods. Great.

"What did she do?" I inquired.

Dumbledore glanced at his feet. "That's a story for another time. The point is, he hated her from then on, and the fact that you're the spitting image of her doesn't exactly help."

"So that's the parent he has a problem with?"

He let out a small chuckle. "Yes, Miss Silverwood, that's the parent he has a problem with."

"I"ll take it," I muttered. "And what were you saying about Snape being a Death Eater?"

"I said nothing of the sort," Dumbledore quickly retorted. "And Professor Snape."

"Fair, but you said he 'spent some time in that realm.'"

"I did," Dumbledore admitted. "Look, Professor Snape had a very complicated role in the war that you're far too young to understand."

"So, he was a Death Eater and you don't want me to know that?"

Dumbledore paused. "Miss Silverwood, I'm going to have to ask you not to jump to such outrageous conclusions."

"Sorry, Professor," I muttered.

We stopped in front of a large gargoyle. "Well, I should get back to my office," Dumbledore said. "I have work to do. But first—did you really tell Snape that his facial proportions were incorrect?"

"Yeah," I mumbled, looking down at my feet.

"Did he take points?"

"Yeah, five."

"Well, I'll have to give those five points back," he declared, making my heart leap for joy.

"You—what?"

A humorous glint flashed in Dumbledore's eyes. "It takes true Gryffindor nerve to say something so controversial yet so true." He stepped in front of the large gargoyle. "Acid Pops." At his words, the wall split apart like sliding doors to reveal a golden staircase, which I assumed led to his office. "Have a nice evening," he said plainly before disappearing inside.

Stunned, but delighted, I wandered through the castle until I found my way back to the Gryffindor common room.

"Balderdash," I said to the Fat Lady, and the portrait swung open, allowing me to enter. I crept into the common room as quietly as possible, knowing all of the other first years were pretty upset with me.

I had barely made it through the portrait hole when I was greeted by none other than Percy Weasley. He blocked me from entering the common room any further, and stood in front of me with his arms crossed, looking furious. His angry breath fanned my face. But, to be fair, he had every right to be furious after I had single-handedly lost an entire ten points.

"Hello," I said with a scared smile.

"Don't 'hello' me, Silverwood," Percy retorted. "You know what you did."

"I do, so please don't remind me."

"So you really lost ten points on the first week of school?!" Percy grabbed my shoulders and shook me with every word. The entire common room was focused on us now; even Godric Gryffindor was watching from his portrait.

"I said don't remind me," I mumbled.

"Do I look like I care?" He didn't.

"It was for a good cause, okay?" I pointed out. "And Dumbledore found it hilarious so he gave me five of those points back."

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Percy inquired.

"Well, first of all," I began,"I was drawing in class because it helps me focus and I didn't know it was against the rules," I defended. "And then he had the audacity to criticize the facial proportions of my drawing, so it was only fair to tell him his facial proportions weren't correct either. So, in my defense, he walked right into it." I let out a nervous laugh to soften the blow.

"Legendary," Fred and George said in awe, earning a glare from Percy.

"Just don't let it happen again." Percy tried to hide a smile. Even he was amused, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

After my second Percy lecture of the day, I went straight to the dorm room to reply to Manuel's letter. So, I dipped my special quill in ink and let it write.

Dear Manuel, I thought. Hogwarts is actually going a lot better than I expected! First of all, I got into Gryffindor, as you know, so that's great. And I've made a few friends—one of them's Harry Potter! He's not as much of a stuck-up jerk as I thought he would be! And remember that girl I said I hit in Diagon Alley? I'm pretty sure we're friends now. And I'm friends with some of the Weasleys, too. One of them, Ron, is in my year. I think the one who's a prefect, Percy, likes me, but just doesn't want to say so.

I got the Howler at the same time as your letter, so thanks for warning me what's inside. I haven't opened it yet.

The teachers don't seem to hate me. I think Dumbledore might actually like me. Except for Snape, the Potions professor you said was so kind and intelligent and stuff? Maybe you should get your memory checked. He hates me, he's already taken ten points from me. Sure, I insulted his appearance and I definitely deserved it, but still. Ten points. But it's okay, because Dumbledore gave me five of those points back because "it takes true Gryffindor nerve to say something so controversial yet so true"? He's weird. But Snape's weirder. I don't think he has actual emotions.

And then there's Quirrell. He's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, but he seems way too shy to have defeated zombies and dragons and the like… He doesn't seem to like me, either. I don't even know what I did.

But I like all the other teachers for the most part, and I love McGonagall and Flitwick. I think the year will go fine after all.

Love, Sadie."

Harry, Ron, and I left at a quarter to three and set out for Hagrid's wooden hut on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. As we got closer, we could hear a series a barks coming from inside, and someone shouting "Get back, Fang, get back!" Harry banged on the door, and it opened to reveal the same friendly face that guided us to Hogwarts on our first day, along with a black, vicious-looking dog. Hagrid motioned for us to come inside.

"Make yerselves at home," Hagrid said, letting go off of Fang, who ran jumped all over the three of us and licked our faces.

The hut was cramped and cluttered with furniture. Drawer and cabinets lined the walls, and baskets and shoes lay scattered along the floor. Teapots and cups sat on a table off to the side, surrounded by wooden chairs. On the other side there was a large bed, and in the center of the wall was a crackling fireplace.

"This is Ron and Sadie," Harry told Hagrid. We both smiled and waved. "I hope you don't mind that I brought them…"

"Course not, I'm happy to have yeh," He glanced at Ron's hair. "Another Weasley? I spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest." He looked at me next, and the recognition appeared on his face. "Yeh're Liliana Silverwood's niece, aren't yeh? Yeh have her smile, d'yeh know?" he said, beaming. I nodded, pretending to know who he was talking about. For the most part, my mother's side of the family was a mystery to me. All I could assume was that her name was Alba, since that was my middle name.

Hagrid served us tea and rock cakes as we dove into a summary of our first week of classes. We were delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch "that ol' git" and Snape's unfairness "rubbish". He asked Ron how his brother Charlie was doing, and the two of them indulged in a conversation about Charlie's work with dragons.

"Always wanted a dragon meself," Hagrid mused.

Harry nudged me on the shoulder and pointed at a newspaper laying on the nightstand. I recognized the eyesore of a font as belonging to none other than the Daily Prophet.

"I hate The Daily Prophet," I whispered. "It's fake news."

"Nevermind that," he whispered back. "Read the headline!"After rearranging the letters in my mind, I figured out the bold letters at the top of the page read, "GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST." Below the words was a picture of a goblin talking to the Daily Prophet journalist Rita Skeeter, a woman I hated with every inch of my being. She would always write strongly opinionated articles about me, and was the main reason everyone in the wizarding world thought I was a criminal. She didn't care about her subjects, just about how many papers they would sell.

"Hagrid, the paper says a Dark Wizard robbed Gringotts on my birthday!" Harry said. "What if it happened when we were there? And you would've been there too, Sadie!"

"And Hermione," I cringed as I remembered our first meeting in Diagon Alley.

Hagrid avoided the question by handing us more rock cakes.

When we headed back up the hill to the castle later that evening, Harry wouldn't stop asking questions.

"The paper said that someone broke into vault 713, but nothing was stolen," Harry said. "Hagrid took something from that vault the same day! What if that's what they were planning on taking? What if we got there just in time to stop them?"

"What did he take?" Ron asked.

"I don't know, it was some package. But why did he take it?"

"Maybe you shouldn't be worrying about it," I said, annoyed by Harry's endless rambling.

"I'll stop worrying about it when I find out why someone wanted to steal it," he snapped.

I wanted to tell him it wasn't his problem, but he had a point. What would Hagrid have that a Dark Wizard would want?