Disclaimer: Only JK Rowling owns Harry Potter. I am not JK Rowling. Therefore, I do not own Harry Potter.

Parts of this chapter have been quoted from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.

A/N: I have taken some liberties with the layout of the castle to try to mesh the books with the more elaborate and varying layout of the movies, and to facilitate some cool things that will happen later on.

Chapter 2

With her last reservations about Hogwarts dispelled, Hermione eagerly awaited the 1st of September. Her parents weren't as enthusiastic about sending her off to boarding school as she was about going (not to mention they were still trying to wrap their heads around the whole magic thing), but she could tell they were genuinely happy for her. They assured her that her calculus book would be enough to get her through Christmas when she asked for differential equations, though, and they made her promise to try to make some friends. Before she knew it, she was saying goodbye to them and boarding the Hogwarts Express.

"Have fun at school," her mother told after her. "Be sure to write us." Her father lifted her heavy trunk onto the train.

"Yes, Mum," she said as she climbed on board. "I love you."

She waved to her parents and then walked down the train a ways, looking into the various compartments. She felt a little like the older students kept looking down on her, but she wasn't too worried yet; secondary school hadn't been too different the first day.

She found an empty compartment and went ahead and changed into her Hogwarts robes to get that out of the way. Then, she sat down and pulled out her copy of Hogwarts, A History, one of the books she hadn't got around to finishing yet. She'd read through all the course books, naturally, and even memorised the spell lists. She'd met a girl with a photographic memory at secondary school last year who once encouraged her to memorise whole books, but while Hermione's own memory was very good, it wasn't that good. With as much background reading as she was doing, it wasn't worth the time to read through everything three times to learn it by heart.

A pair of first year girls who looked to be close friends entered her compartment and introduced themselves as Susan and Hannah as the train got underway. They were both pureblood witches, but they were nice enough. She asked them about the houses at Hogwarts. Both Susan's and Hannah's families usually went to Hufflepuff, but Hermione couldn't decide whether Gryffindor of Ravenclaw sounded the best to her. They chatted for a little while about the differences between their two worlds, but Hermione felt as if she were speaking a foreign language when she tried to explain electricity to them.

She was about to give up and return to her book when a pudgy first-year boy showed up at their door with tears in his eyes. "Sorry…have any of you seen a toad?" he whimpered. "I can't find him."

Susan and Hannah just shook their heads, but Hermione stood up and said, "No, there haven't been any toads in here. Where did you last see him?"

"Back at the end of the train," the boy said.

"Well, let's look back there, then. I'll help you. He's not that fast, is he?"

"I don't know…I never see Trevor move very fast, but he keeps disappearing." He seemed to suppress another whimper.

They looked in the first couple of compartments and didn't see anything. This would be easier with some kind of detection or summoning spell, but there weren't any of those that would be useful in the first year books.

"I'm Hermione Granger, by the way," she said remembering her promise to make some friends. "What's your name?"

"Neville," he said, and then, as if as an afterthought, "Neville Longbottom."

"Pleased to meet you."

The next compartment they checked contained two first-year boys, a taller one with flaming red hair, and a small, skinny one with messy black hair. He should really try to comb it, Hermione thought. "Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she said, but she didn't even hear the redheaded boy's reply when she noticed that he held his wand in his hand. Maybe she could finally see some serious magic firsthand.

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."

She sat down. The boy looked taken aback.

"Er—all right."

He cleared his throat.

"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,

Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."

He waved his wand, but nothing happened. The rat stayed grey and fast asleep.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" said Hermione. "Well, it's not very good is it. I've tried a few simple spells just for practice, and it's all worked for me. And Numerology and Grammatica says that most spells aren't even in English because the syllable structure has to match up with the wand movements, and English has fewer syllables than most Western languages."

"The syllable what, now?" the redhead said, but Hermione was still talking.

"Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter. But I was ever so pleased when Professor Vector said I could take Arithmancy to continue my maths studies. I've read all the other course books too, of course—I just hope it will be enough—I'm Hermione Granger by the way, who are you?" She stopped short as she realised that she had been talking over the two boys at a mile a minute, and they were now staring at each other in surprise.

"I'm Ron Weasley," the redhead muttered.

"Harry Potter, the other boy said.

Hermione's eyes widened. Of course, she had added up the numbers and figured out that Harry Potter would be starting at Hogwarts this year, but the scrawny boy in ill-fitting clothes in front of her was not at all what she had expected. All the books painted him as some great and powerful hero.

"Are you really?" she said. "I know all about you, of course—I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century." Although come to think of it, now, how could they know anything about him if he really had been raised by muggles like they said, and no one had seen him for the last ten years?

"Am I?" said Harry, looking dazed.

"Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," she said. Harry just shrugged his shoulders.

"Are you really taking Arithmancy?" Neville finally broke his silence. "That's a third year class."

"Oh yes, Professor Vector came and tested me and she said I could start it right away as an extra class."

"Blimey," Ron interrupted. "Why would you want to take an extra class?"

Well, that settled her opinion of Ron Weasley. "Because it's ever so interesting. I've been taking extra maths classes all through primary school, and Arithmancy uses a lot of maths. And in the fifth year class, we even get to invent our own spells. Anyway, we'd better try to find Neville's toad before we arrive. I expect we'll be there soon."

The two of them went on to the next compartment. "Do you know what house you'll be in, Neville?" she asked.

"Probably Hufflepuff," he said sadly. "But my Gran wants me to be in Gryffindor like my Dad."

A couple of compartments later, they finally found his toad, and the boy shook her hand and thanked her profusely. That problem solved, Hermione began wonder how much longer it would be. It was getting dark outside. Well, nothing for it, she thought. She worked her way to the very front of the train, past the first car that held the prefects who were not on patrol (she made sure to memorise as many of their faces as she could in case she needed help later), until she reached the conductor.

"Excuse me, sir," she called to him. "Could you tell me when we'll arrive?"

"Aye, we're almost there, lass," the conductor said. "About twenty more minutes, we'll be at Hogsmeade Station."

"Thank you." She hurried back to her compartment to get her luggage, but as she approached, she heard a commotion. There was shouting coming from a few cabins down. As she approached the cabin, the one she recognised as containing Harry Potter, a prefect came from the other direction, and suddenly the door burst open. A smarmy-looking blond boy and two larger, tough boys came storming out towards her down the hall. The pushed past her roughly with the prefect following close behind, shouting at them. How childish! she thought.

She ducked into the cabin to escape the chaos only to find it again on the inside. The two boys' piles of sweets were scattered all over the floor, and Ron Weasley was picking up his pet rat by the tail.

"What has been going on?" she said. "And why are you hurting your poor rat?"

"He won't feel it. Those gits knocked him out," Ron said, examining the rat closely. "No, wait—I don't believe it! He's gone to sleep again!" He set the rat back on the seat. "So you've met Malfoy before?" he said to Harry.

"Malfoy?" Hermione said. "Is he one of those boys that—"

"Yeah, the little blond ponce," Harry said with surprising annoyance. "I ran into him when I was getting my robes in Diagon Alley. He was all about how he wanted to be in Slytherin, and he kept making fun of Hufflepuff House and Hagrid and muggle-born wizards."

Hermione made a mental note to stay far away from Malfoy.

"Everyone's heard about his family," Ron said darkly. "They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been under Imperius—that's the mind control curse—but a lot of people don't believe them. My Dad says the Malfoys have been dark all the way back to the Conquest."

"Who was You-Know-Who, anyway?" Hermione asked. "None of the books I read would even print his name."

"Hagrid told me," Harry said, glancing at Ron, who seemed to brace himself. "It's Voldemort, but no one likes to say it."

"But why? It's just a bad French pun."

"It's…huh…" Ron said, surprised. "I never noticed that…But still, you just don't say it. You're muggle-born—no offence, but you haven't heard the stories."

"I've read the books," Hermione defended herself.

The five-minute warning sounded through the train, informing them all to be ready to go and to leave their luggage to be handled separately.

"Sorry, would you mind leaving while we change?" Ron said.

"Alright. Oh, and did you know you've got dirt on your nose?" She was trying to be helpful, but Ron scoffed at her as she left.

Since she didn't need to get her luggage, she decided to line up by the doors. She was glad she did, as a crowd was rapidly forming. The train slowed to a stop and everyone pushed out onto a small dark platform.

A single lantern bobbed along the platform. It looked as if someone was holding it over their head, but when it approached the middle of the crowd, it amazingly rose up even higher, and Hermione found herself looking up into the face of the largest man she had ever seen.

He was somewhere between eleven and twelve feet tall, she estimated. He must not be fully human. Not giant, though. She'd read about them, and they were even bigger—maybe half and half, though, if it were possible. He wore a huge, black, bushy beard and seemingly-uncombed hair, and he boomed out in a rough-sounding voice, "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there Harry?" This must be the Hagrid that Harry was talking about. "C'mon follow me—any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

Hagrid led them down a steep, narrow path that appeared to be cut through a forest. Hermione thought they ought to put in hand rails or stairs or something to navigate it in this darkness. She couldn't see any of the grounds from here, but then the path opened onto the edge of a loch, the water blacker than pitch under the starry sky. Beyond the loch was a high mountain atop which sat Hogwarts Castle, its windows glittering against the backdrop of stars.

Even Hermione couldn't help oooooh-ing at the beauty of the castle with the other students. She had read all about it on the train, and it was not too different from how she had pictured it, with its many turrets and towers, but it was huge: seven stories tall, and the highest towers had to be over two hundred feet, taller than any muggle castle she'd ever heard of. Some of the architectural features she was certain could only be supported with magic.

She barely noticed as she found herself in a little boat with Neville, Ron, and Harry, being entirely focused on the castle as it loomed higher and higher and drew closer and closer. The lake was as smooth as glass. The many boats barely made the slightest ripple. That must be part of the magic, too, she realised, and her mind blossomed with the possibilities for using magic to enhance the beauty of nature on such a grand scale.

"Trevor? Trevor! Where's he gone, now?" Neville cried, looking around the boat for his toad.

"Heads down!" Hagrid ordered. They all ducked as they reached the entrance to a cave and passed through a curtain of ivy. They were in a long dark tunnel, but Hermione thought she saw glints of light off the wall. She let her eyes adjust and saw angular shapes. Crystals! They were in a crystal cave that would have to be incomparably stunning if it were lit properly, but the wizards seemed to be all but ignoring it. They sailed far enough in that they must be underneath the castle when they reached a small underground harbour.

The harbour was lit by a few torches, but they still only gave a haunting hint of the splendour of the walls of quartz surrounding them—though she supposed that, lit as if by starlight in the flickering flames, it had a kind of subdued beauty all its own. She saw a large staircase rising from one side of the harbour and another dark tunnel extending directly forward.

The first years clambered out of the boats onto rocks and pebbles and little bits of quartz. Hermione discreetly picked up a few of them and put them in her pocket to look at later. She had an odd feeling about them. Hagrid, she noted, found Neville's toad again, not in their own boat, but in a different one. Hagrid was about to lead them up the stairway, when Hermione stepped forward and pointed down the dark tunnel: "Please, Mr. Hagrid, where does that go?"

"That? Oh, that goes to the Foundation Stones of the Castle, of course," the huge man said, as if that explained everything. She added it to her mental list of things to look up in the library when she had the time.

Hermione estimated the stairway to be about two hundred feet high based on what she had seen of the cliff outside, winding up through another dark passage that slowly morphed from quartz to granite as they climbed upwards. Hagrid took the steps three at a time like they were nothing, but the group of eleven-year-olds behind him quickly began to tire. Luckily, there was a landing about halfway up where the stairs doubled back that was large enough for them to rest for a few minutes. Hermione was very glad now that she didn't have to carry her own trunk. It was hard enough with these heavy woollen robes.

The stairs came out in a small, grassy courtyard just at the edge of the cliff. If Hermione's sense of direction hadn't failed her, the dark tunnel to the Foundation Stones must have ended up under the largest tower. The students staggered out into the open and up to the great oaken front doors. Even Hagrid looked small against those doors, but he still made plenty of noise when he raised a fist the size of a bowling ball and pounded on them three times.

The doors swung open in a rush, revealing…Professor McGonagall. Hermione sighed with relief when she saw the familiar witch standing in the entranceway wearing an elegant emerald green robe. The first years followed her inside, their footsteps echoing in the enormous entrance hall. The sheer scale of the place was incredible. The marble staircase that rose up to her right was probably the broadest she had ever seen after the Spanish Steps in Rome. She could hear a drone of hundreds of voices somewhere up ahead, but Professor McGonagall first led them into a small annex near the doors in order to explain the Sorting, the Houses, and the House Cup. This was probably a review for most people whose parents had gone to Hogwarts or who had read the brochures, but it was good to remember.

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" Harry asked Ron.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."

A test? Hermione thought. That seemed unlikely since they all knew little-to-no magic. And it didn't seem like the houses were ranked like a test would do. And they certainly wouldn't hurt the students to sort them…would they? All the other first years looked very nervous, and Herimone was finding it was contagious. She guessed it was some kind of tradition not to tell the first-years how the Sorting was done—a tradition she was approving of less with each passing moment. She whispered the spell lists she had memorised to herself to calm her nerves, but this only made the others around her more nervous.

Then she screamed.

She felt embarrassed at once, as she had read about the Hogwarts Ghosts that afternoon, but it was still jarring to see pale, transparent spirits floating out of the wall and gliding on toward the feast. Dead people! That was going to be hard to get used to. At least she wasn't the only one who screamed. Harry had leapt about a foot in the air.

And yet, what a wealth of knowledge! Some of them had lived centuries ago. Between the ghosts and the magical portraits she had read about, there was probably more history to be told than was contained in the library.

McGonagall soon returned and led them out of the annex and across to the double doors of the Great Hall. Hermione had been waiting to see this most of all, and she wasn't disappointed. It was easily the most magical place she had yet seen, and her anxiety at the impending Sorting was momentarily forgotten as she took in its splendour. The long wooden tables were impossibly luxurious, with golden (or at least gold-plated) plates and goblets. The professors were lined up at another long table at the head of the Hall, and at the centre, the most powerful wizard in the world, Albus Dumbledore himself, sat on a golden throne. Above the tables, floating candles filled the hall from just over the students' heads to the ceiling—a little over nine thousand, at a quick estimate—filling the Hall with a warm, homey sort of light. They flickered as the ghosts floated through them, seemingly oblivious.

The ceiling itself was velvety black and dotted with stars just visible through the candles. It was so well camouflaged that it looked as if the Hall were simply open to the heavens. Astronomy class would be wonderful here so far from any cities or towns, or, indeed, anyone who used electricity.

The girl behind her elbowed her, and she looked forward again to see Professor McGonagall placing a wooden stool and and old, patched-up, dirty witch's hat at the front of the Hall. There was complete silence, and she wondered how a hat could be part of the Sorting when a seam on the hat ripped open and it began to sing.

The "Hogwarts Sorting Hat's" musical skills left much to be desired. Hermione actually winced at the loyal-toil rhyme. But when the song ended, the Hall burst into applause. She politely clapped along.

Then McGonagall called the roll. Hannah and Susan went first, back to back. Sure enough, they both went to "HUFFLEPUFF!"

Hermione admired the brilliant simplicity of the Sorting process, even if she was a little unnerved by the idea that a hat could read her mind. Seriously, "There's nothing hidden in your head the Sorting Hat can't see," sounded kind of creepy.

Seamus Finnigan went to "GRYFFINDOR!" after the hat sat on his head for nearly a minute, and Hermione's apprehension grew again. What if the hat couldn't sort her? What if the hat threw her into Slytherin where all the unsavoury characters seemed to be going? She barely noticed as Anthony Goldstein went to "RAVENCLAW!" and Gregory Goyle was almost instantly sent to "SLYTHERIN!"

"Granger, Hermione," McGonagall called.

She ran to the podium, mainly because she was so tense that her only other option was to turn on her heels and run away. She jammed the hat on her head, and it immediately shouted out "RAV—" then stopped. "No, perhaps not…" the hat murmured in a voice only she could her.

"Excuse me, Mr. Hat," she whispered, or perhaps she only thought it. "What's wrong with Ravenclaw?"

A little to her surprise, the hat answered: "Oh, you would be great in Ravenclaw, no doubt about it. I haven't had the pleasure of sorting a mind like yours in over fifty years. But I do not send students to the house where they would excel with ease, but to the house that they need to realise their full potential. And there is more than raw brainpower in your head. There is a spark of something greater—a spark that must be cultivated, and for that job, you'd better be…GRYFFINDOR!"

Hermione smiled with relief to be sorted into one of her two preferred houses, even as she began to ponder what the Sorting Hat had said. The students applauded, especially the Gryffindor Table, but as she placed the hat back on the stool, she was sure she saw a faint look of surprise on Professor McGonagall's face. Unbeknownst to her, at the High Table, Professors Vector and Flitwick also wore looks of surprise, while Dumbledore appeared thoughtful.

Hermione all but skipped to the table and sat down next to the tallest of the redheaded boys, whom she recognised as the prefect who was chasing Malfoy on the train. A set of redheaded twins were sitting opposite him, and a ghost with a nasty cut across his throat was a little further down.

"Congratulations on making Gryffindor, Miss Granger," the prefect said quietly, offering his hand to shake. "I'm Percy Weasley, fifth year prefect."

"Pleased to meet you, Percy," Hermione said in between sortings. "I met your brother, Ron, on the train."

"Oh yes, ickle Ronniekins," one of the twins said.

"Do hope he makes Gryffindor," the other twin said.

"Can't imagine what would happen—"

"—if he were in Slytherin."

"The green would clash horribly with his hair."

"Not to mention Mum would kill him."

"Fred. George. Cool it," Percy scolded. They paused as the Hall applauded for another student.

"But congrats on Gryffindor," the one she thought was Fred said.

"Yes, haven't seen the hat change its mind like that before," George added.

"Classes haven't even started, and she's already shaking things up, brother."

"Indeed, a woman after our own hearts."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Granger," the twins said in unison with a small bow of their heads.

"Pleasure," Hermione replied uncomfortably. Seriously, were these two reading each other's minds?

At the front of the Hall, McGonagall said, "Potter, Harry."

Silence descended, only to be broken by a rising wave of whispers as the skinny, messy-haired boy slowly walked up to the stool and put on the hat. The hat's seam was undulating strangely, and, watching closely, she could see Harry's lips moving. He must be having a conversation with the hat, too. She wondered what he was saying.

After about half a minute, the hat screamed out, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The hall erupted with shouts and cheers far louder than anyone else had got. The whole Gryffindor table shot to its feet, and Hermione was caught up with them, applauding for the extremely relieved looking boy who was now making his way toward them. Fred and George started loudly chanting, "We got Potter! We got Potter!", and Percy reached out and shook his hand vigorously before Harry finally sat down next to her.

The last few students were sorted. Hermione clapped loudly when Ron was sorted into Gryffindor and sat on Harry's other side after being congratulated by his brothers. And finally, Blaise Zabini went to "SLYTHERIN!"

It was then that Albus Dumbledore rose to his feet, smiling broadly, his arms spread wide like Moses, his long hair and beard shining silver as if they had been charmed to glow in the candlelight. "Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

Hermione sat still, her eyes wide. This was the greatest wizard alive? The Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, and defeater of Grindelwald?

"Is he—a bit mad?" Harry asked Percy uncertainly.

"Mad?" said Percy airily. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?"

Hermione looked down at the table to find a marvellous feast had appeared in the blink of an eye: seven kinds of meat, piles of vegetables, ketchup, gravy, and…peppermint humbugs? Not her first choice, but still, the rest of it looked delicious, and it most certainly was…until she took a sip out of her goblet.

"Ugh," she said, screwing up her face. "What is this stuff?"

"Pumpkin juice," Percy said lightly.

"Pumpkin juice?"

"You'll get used to it."

She was about to respond when she witnessed something even more disgusting: the ghost across the table "nearly" removed his head from his body. Hermione raised her napkin to her nose and mouth and took a deep breath to prevent herself from losing her dinner when she'd barely started it. Hermione had seen pictures of dissections in her parent's medical textbooks, but she definitely didn't need to see it in person.

Desperate to change the subject back to something, well, living, she turned to Harry. The boy barely seemed disgusted at all by the blood-stained ghosts. In fact, he was scarfing his food. It made her wonder a little, since he was so small—not unhealthy, as far as she could tell—but definitely small.

"So what did the Sorting Hat say to you?" she whispered to him.

"Huh?" he looked at her nervously.

"I saw your lips moving. I was wondering what you talked about…I'm sorry, it's alright if you don't want to say."

Harry swallowed and took a swig of pumpkin juice, grimacing only a little at the strange drink. "Um…did it…did it talk to you?" he said.

"Uh huh. It said I'd do well in Ravenclaw, but it wasn't what I 'needed'."

Harry looked surprised at that, and he cautiously whispered so that no one else could hear, "It…it said I'd do well in Slytherin, but I asked it not to put me there."

"You can do that? Well…I think if you didn't want to go there, it probably wasn't right for you, anyway." Harry seemed to accept this and went back to his steak.

As soon as everyone was done eating the dinner, desert appeared on the table in amazing variety. Finally away from her parents' watchful eyes, Hermione helped herself to ice cream, apple pie, and a chocolate eclair.

"So, Miss Granger," Percy said, perhaps a little patronisingly. "Are you excited for classes to start?"

"Oh, yes! I do hope they start right away. Professor Vector's letting me start Arithmancy this year, but I'm interested in Transfiguration, too."

"Arithmancy?" Percy said in surprise. "I've never heard of someone taking an elective early. You must be really good to have convinced Professor Vector. She's quite strict."

"Oh, you take Arithmancy?"

"Of course. It's a very useful class if you're willing to put in the effort. You'll be starting small, though—predictions and probability tables, that sort of thing—What is it?" Percy asked Harry, who seemed to have come down with a sudden headache.

"N-nothing," Harry said, although Hermione thought it was strange that he immediately asked about Professor Snape, the potions master, afterwards. She filed it away for future reference.

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent. "Ahem—just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start of term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins."

Hermione decided that she should definitely be careful around those two.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors."

Good to know, she thought.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third floor corridor on the right hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

What? Hermione thought. What kind of warning was that? Wasn't that just inviting people to go up there? And why would they have something that could cause a "very painful death" in a school in the first place?

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. He gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favourite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

After that "performance", it was easy to see where the Sorting Hat got its musical tastes. Hermione had done some music, and there were musical clubs at Hogwarts she had been interested in, but she now had to wonder about the quality of those clubs.

They were dismissed, and Percy led the first years up to the Gryffindor dormitories, along the "quickest route". Unfortunately, the quickest route involved going up staircases that "liked to change" or had a vanishing step, walking through sliding panels and behind tapestries, and evading the castle poltergeist. Giving a password to the portrait of the Fat Lady was one thing, but the rest of it was just asking to get lost for days. Hermione resolved to try to get a map of the castle from someone, and if she couldn't find one, she would step off the corridors and start making one herself next weekend.

Hermione was sure that she would get plenty of exercise at Hogwarts just climbing up to her dormitory. It was seven flights up from the Great Hall to the Common Room and another seven to her bedroom.

"Just our luck first years get the top floor this year," said a girl with curly, dirty-blond hair in front of her.

"I know, I can't believe they expect us to climb up and down these things every day," said one of the Patil twins—Parvati, she was pretty sure. "I've heard Slytherin and Hufflepuff have all their rooms on the same floor…I'll bet Padma's got the same problem as us, though."

"Augh, finally!" the blond-haired girl said. Hermione nearly ran into her as she reached the door. "Oh, hi, I'm Lavender Brown," the girl said, turning around.

"Hermione Granger."

"Parvati Patil," the other girl said in as they opened the door.

Their bedroom was nearly semi-circular, with five four-poster beds lining the outside wall, alternating with windows. A small lavatory was visible through a door at the far end. A trunk had been placed at the foot of each bed, along with a calico cat sleeping on one of the beds. Hermione saw her own trunk at the spot nearest the door.

"It looks like the beds are assigned," she said.

"We can switch them if you want," Lavender offered.

"No, thanks. I think I'm good—"

They stopped as they heard a huffing and puffing sound, and a moment later, two more dishevelled-looking girls came staggering into the room supporting each other.

"Sally-Anne, are you okay?" Hermione rushed to help the ethereal, dark-haired girl she had met at the orientation.

"I'd like to file a complaint with whoever designed this place," Sally-Anne said weakly, spotting her trunk and making her way to her bed.

The other girl, who wore light blond hair in multiple, asymmetric braids leaned against the door and explained, "That boy, Neville, tried to come up our stairs by mistake, and they turned into a slide, and we fell on top of him."

"Oh, no," the other three girls groaned.

"My name's Lily Moon, by the way," she added. The other girls all introduced themselves.

"Pleased to meet you," Sally-Anne told them wearily. "I'm gonna go to sleep, now." She flopped down onto her bed and was out like a light.

They watched her queerly for a moment, then turned their attention back to Lily.

"Is that you cat?" Lavender asked, pointing at the calico.

"Yes, that's Wendelin."

"Aw, she's so adorable."

"Yeah, just watch out when she wakes up. She'll steal your socks." The other girls giggled.

Hermione considered doing some more reading, but she found that she was so tired after the train ride and that big feast that it wasn't worth the trouble. She settled on organising her books for the week's classes on her bedside table before going to sleep, wishing the professors would hand out the schedules more than an hour before classes started.