Whispers followed Mary from the moment she left her dormitory. People lined up in doorways and along corridors, standing on tiptoe to get a look at her. The attention was truly stifling.
After breakfast in The Great Hall, she and Ron banded together with a couple other first years, so nobody would be stranded alone. She also hoped that she might obscure herself in the troupe. Safety in numbers.
"One hundred and forty-two staircases," Ron panted, "and none of them stays still!"
Mary was nearly sprinting to keep up with his long strides.
"Off-limits wing is that way, right?" she asked, gesticulating eastward. "I think that means," she tugged Ron's sleeve when they reached the top of a staircase, "History of Magic is that way." She pointed down another staircase.
A couple first years groaned and slumped to the floor, one glaring at Mary as though it were her fault. She could then take credit for finding Neville at the bottom of the staircase, who was red in the face and heading in the opposite direction.
They made it to class with time to spare, but Hermione Granger looked at them as though they were grievously tardy.
This lecture hall had long rows of tables with name tags to mark each student, which included every first-year from each House. Assigned seating had never bothered Mary, since it stopped classmates from avoiding her, in her previous school. She never blamed them, seeing as any sign of favor for her would make her cousin angry. This morning, she exchanged resentful expressions with her companions, and they dispersed.
Mary slipped past fellow Gryffindor L. Moon, ignored Slytherins T. Nott and P. Parkinson, said good morning to the Patel twins, and fell into her seat between an "S.A. Perks" and "A. Runcorn". Perks introduced herself as Sally-Anne ("Friends from primary school call me Essay…"), but Runcorn was folded under hat and robes, softly snoring. The student didn't stir when the hour bell chimed, but woke with a start when others gasped at a ghost drifting in through the chalkboard. Mary surmised that not every magical family had a common acquaintance amongst ghosts, but this was their teacher.
By no fair competition, Professor Binns was the oldest professor in Hogwarts. Legend told that he'd fallen asleep in front of the staffroom fireplace, one night, and left his body behind when he got up to teach, the next morning. He had a very dull way of presenting his own story to the class, contrasting with the theatric manner in which he proceeded to present the day's lecture.
History had always been a dreadfully boring subject, in Mary's experience. Her teachers would drone on and on about names and dates, without explaining why any of it was relevant. Foreboding gave way to fascination, as Professor Binns waved a hand over the chalkboard to display the dreaded list of names and dates in spectral lines.
"Copy these down or don't. Now, can anyone tell me why your first lesson of the semester is History of Magic?"
Mary chose to copy as her classmates whispered amongst themselves, some speaking out, as though by rote, "Those who don't learn history are doomed to repeat it."
"Nobody's earning points for that answer," said Professor Binns, waving the old adage in bold lettering across the top of the chalkboard. "Your first essay, due by Halloween, will explain what this means. Cite events that we cover in the next two months, with supplementary reading."
Mary affected a glare at Sally-Anne, and the two smothered laughter as Professor Binns began a lecture on early blood magic.
As Mary learned that there was more to magic than waving a wand and saying funny-sounding words, she realized that Hogwarts was very different from her previous academic experiences. Throughout nearly all of her classes, there was a murmur of discussion among the students, and they openly passed notes! Most contained tidbits relevant to the lesson, a stray joke, or the specialty for that day's lunch. At first, Mary had thought it odd practice, but after that first class with Professor Binns, the studying never stopped.
One of the Hogwarts turrets was an observatory, where Gryffindor studied the night skies every Wednesday at midnight. And then, three times a week before sunrise, they gathered with Hufflepuff in one of the greenhouses for Herbology. A squat little witch called Professor Sprout, already covered head-to-toe in dirt, taught them about strange plants and fungi, and what types of magic they could be used for.
"But why so early?" Lavender Brown asked, struggling to keep her eyes open.
"Only for this semester, my dear," Professor Sprout chipperly explained, "unless you enroll in any of my advanced or supplementary seminars. Come, come! Look here!"
Everyone gathered closely to look at a wide tray of…moss?
"Now, this looks like ordinary moss, but if it catches sunlight at just the right time of day…"
"…morning," Lily Moon quietly grumbled.
Small white blossoms yawned open and a few students grew more alert.
"The petals can be harvested for a curative tonic," Professor Sprout explained. "There is no visible difference between the closed petals and their surroundings, and attempting to use them wholesale in the same tonic will render any healing properties inert."
Before dismissing the class for breakfast, Professor Sprout gave each student a short sheet of parchment with basic mathematical formulas.
"As those are foundational, you will want to memorize them as quickly as possible. Your textbook has a page of equations for you to practice, with explanations detailing what can happen if you get them wrong in application. Let's not make too many trips to the hospital wing, shall we?"
Breakfast was served in the Great Hall, which was followed by Charms with Ravenclaw, taught by Professor Flitwick. The diminutive teacher needed to stand on a stack of books to see over his own desk. At the start of their first class, he took attendance, matching names with faces. Upon reaching Mary's name, he jumped in surprise and toppled out of sight.
Transfiguration was taught by Professor McGonagall, whom Mary was sure had never been surprised by anything in her life.
"This is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she warned. "Anyone messing around in my class will be permanently dismissed, and you will begin this same lesson again next semester, am I understood?"
Everyone nodded, to which the professor replied, "We shall see."
She had everyone's rapt attention, which withered upon their first assignment. They were each given a single match, and instructed to turn it into a needle. By the end of the class, only Hermione Granger had made any progress. Her pride visibly diminished as Professor McGonagall clinically described what the girl had done correctly, and where she'd gone wrong. Hermione's confidence was restored when Professor McGonagall returned the silvery sliver and said, with a rare smile, "This was very well done for a first attempt. Five points to Gryffindor."
Mary had imagined Defense Against the Dark Arts as some sort of magical karate class. Instead, it was a complete joke. Professor Quirrell's classroom, located in the dungeons of Hogwarts, smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was meant to ward off a vampire he'd crossed in Romania.
"Always mind your manners when dealing with vampires," he'd told them, but didn't speak to the strong odor.
Zombies were another matter, entirely. Professor Quirrell told them about an infestation he'd cleared up that had spanned several countries in Northern Africa. He received his trademark turban as a royal thank-you gift for the trouble, but nobody was sure if this story was true. The Weasley twins didn't care, insisting that it was stuffed with garlic so that Quirrell would be protected wherever he went.
"Do zombies have a problem with garlic?" Mary asked them.
They shrugged off the question and told her not to ruin a good story with silly questions.
"Seriously!" Mary said to Ron, between classes. "How am I supposed to know if it's a silly question? All of this is still new to me!"
"They're only teasing you for as long as they can get away with it," Ron assured her.
"Why?" Mary asked, bewildered and mildly distressed. She thought they liked her! Had she done something to cross them?
"It's…just their way of being friendly," he said, in a long-suffering tone. "You'll get used to it."
Over lunch, Mary received a message from Hagrid. It arrived on a small strip of parchment rolled up in a young tawny owl's talons. She dropped the note in Mary's lap and landed on her head, awaiting a treat.
"Maybe that's why we wear pointy hats," Lavender mused, pulling hers out from under the bench.
Mary laughed. "I don't mind. At least she found me."
"Your hair is more forgiving than ours," said Hermione.
"Fair point," Mary conceded, giving the owlet a strip of ham.
"What does the note say?" Ron asked.
"Nosy," said Mary.
He rolled his eyes. "It isn't even tied shut."
Smiling, Mary flattened the parchment so they could both read the message:
Dear Mary,
I know you get Friday afternoons 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.
Hagrid
Mary borrowed Ron's quill and scratched on the back of the parchment: Yes, please! See you later. She curled it into a tight roll and handed it up to the owlet, who then took off for Hagrid's hut. The invitation was something to look forward to, as her final class of the day would be a doozy.
Mary had leafed through all of her textbooks and reasoned that Potions was magical chemistry. Her muggle school had shown videos in science classes that sometimes involved a beaker that needed to be heated and cooled at specific intervals to achieve the desired effect, and Potions could be just as strict. The number of times you stirred a solution, and at what time of day you were concocting it could yield wildly different results in a brew. She'd dismissed her first remote interaction with Professor Snape as a fluke, and looked forward to their first lesson.
There was something ominous about the classroom as they filed in. The professor hadn't arrived, yet, but something already told the first years that this wouldn't be a place of steady chatter and doodling. All the same, Mary took off her glasses and put her head down for a brief rest.
"Is anyone sitting here?" someone whispered, minutes later.
Mary looked up and recognized Lavender Brown through blurry eyes.
"No, all yours," Mary replied, gesturing at the open seats on her left.
She was a fellow Gryffindor, though she'd had a mild hope of being in Hufflepuff.
"Yellow works better with my complexion," Lavender had laughed. Mary thought Gryffindor's colors were just as complementary for her, while she felt ghostly in contrast with the maroon. Ron pointed out that it clashed with his red hair, with which Sally-Anne could sympathize between her golden locks and Hufflepuff's yellow. It was all trivial, but learning these details about her classmates was fun, and a lot easier without Dudley causing trouble for her.
Two more girls filed in and dropped into the seats next to Lavender as the dungeon doors slammed closed at the back of the dungeon.
Professor Snape was at the front of the room before the echos faded, and Mary already knew that her best chance in the class was to keep her head down.
"You are here to learn the subtle science of potion-making," he declared, before taking attendance. "There will be no foolish wand-waving in this class, so you will hardly believe that this is magic. I doubt you will truly understand the beauty of this art, but I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper death."
He then pulled parchment out of his podium and smoothed it open to conduct roll call. His mouth quirked as he read Mary's name, murmuring, "Yes, our new celebrity," eliciting a titter from Malfoy and his cronies. Things only went downhill from there.
"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Mary cried when they were well away from the dungeon.
Ron snorted. "You remembered all that?"
"No!" Mary snapped. "I mean, maybe? I had no clue what he was saying! Did you get some agenda that I missed? How could I prevent Neville from melting Seamus's cauldron?" She belatedly whipped around to make sure Neville wasn't near enough to hear her. "And I lost us points for Neville's mistake?"
"Cheer up," said Ron, "Snape's taking points off Fred and George all the time."
As though they'd been summoned by name, the twins bracketed Mary between them and swung her around.
"Welcome to the team!" they crowed.
"That doesn't help," she sighed.
"It isn't all bad," Fred assured her. "We've got detention with Hagrid, today."
"Mary has tea with Hagrid, today," said Ron. "Mind if I join you, Mary?"
At two-thirty, Mary and Ron watched Hagrid lead the twins through a series of instructions. Their punishment wasn't any different from an assignment a group of third year Hufflepuffs were doing.
"That's convenient," said Ron.
"For who?" asked Mary.
"Yes."
"What did your brothers even do to get detention this early in the year?"
Ron shrugged.
At the top of the hour, they were settled in Hagrid's hut, tea in hand, and a brutish-looking dog begging for a muffin from their plates.
"Fang is hopeless," said Hagrid. "He makes a racket when someone comes to the door, but this is all he'll do if a burglar broke in. Wish I still had Charlie to help work with him. That lad's got a way with animals."
Mary smiled and scratched Fang behind the ears, while Ron leaned away from the drooling beast.
"And you're the latest from the Weasley clan, are ya? Your parents must have planned to keep a team of you on your twin brothers."
"My sister will be joining us, next year."
"How many after her?"
"Ginny's the last one."
"No kiddin'? Hopefully one of your cousins will send us a Weasley before she graduates. I'm starting to think Hogwarts isn't right without one. And how's your first week treated ya? Gett'n along all right?"
Both Mary and Ron launched into tales of moving staircases, missing corridors, and crazy class scheduling. Mary was sure she'd never heard of a muggle school that had midnight classes, and Ron insisted classes before sunrise were criminal.
"At least the professors are friendly," said Mary. "Snape definitely hates me."
"He hates everyone!" Ron insisted.
"He called me a celebrity!"
"Now, now," Hagrid interjected. "Professor Snape is a rough soul, but you'll learn a lot from him. If he gives you detention, now and then, I'll schedule you alongside Fred and George."
Mary caught a mischievous glint in Hagrid's eyes as Ron vehemently protested this promise, so she didn't press her case. Something about Snape's regard for her gave her the feeling that she'd had an enemy at Hogwarts before she ever arrived.
