Harry's POV

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to the tall kid with the red hair."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"With her bangs pulled back?"

"Did you see their faces?"

"Did you see their scars?"

Whispers followed Cassia and I from the moment we left our dormitories the next day. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at us, or doubled back to pass us in the corridors again, staring. I wished they wouldn't, because we (mainly me) were trying to concentrate on finding our way to classes.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where everything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot.

The ghosts didn't help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Nearly Headless Nick was always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right direction, but Peeves the Poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!"

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Me and Ron managed to get on the wrong side of him on our very first morning. Filch found us trying to force our way through a door that unluckily turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. He wouldn't believe that we were lost, was sure we were trying to break into it on purpose, and was threatening to lock us in the dungeons when we were rescued by Professor Quirrell, who was passing.

Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-colored creature with bulging, lamp-like eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a good kick.

And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the classes themselves. There was a lot more to magic, as I quickly found out, than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

We had to study the night skies through our telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. Three times a week we went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout, where we learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for. Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while we scribbled down names and dates, and got Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of our first class he took the roll call, and when he reached mine and Cassia's names he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Cassia wasn't kidding when she said she wasn't a teacher you wanted to mess with. Strict and clever, she gave us a talking-to the moment we sat down  her first class.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. We were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized we weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes, we were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only my sister and Hermione Granger had made any difference to their matches; Professor McGonagall showed the class how they had gone all silver and pointy and gave Cassia and Hermione a rare smile.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told us, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but we weren't sure we believed this story. For one thing, when Seamus Finnegan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, we had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

I was very relieved to find that I wasn't miles behind everyone else. Lots of people had come from Muggle families and, like me, hadn't had any idea they were witches and wizards. There was so much to learn that even people like Ron didn't have much of a head start.

Cassia's POV

I sighed in annoyance as I rounded a corner, having just caught another group of students staring and whispering about me as I walked past them on my way to Transfiguration. This had been going on since the first day of classes, even at breakfast, and it was really getting on my nerves. I had no doubt in my mind that Harry felt the same way. Speaking of which, Harry never showed up for breakfast. Neither had Ron. Where are they? Oh, no, did they get lost again?!

Harry and Ron have had trouble navigating the castle for the past few days. The worst, Harry had told me, was when classes first started up -- he and Ron had stumbled upon the door to the forbidden third floor corridor and tried to pull it open, thinking it was the door to a classroom. I can only imagine what Filch would have done to them if Quirrell hadn't been passing through and managed to bail them out. I felt sorry for Harry and Ron, even though it felt like I shouldn't. It was their fault for getting lost, but at the same time, they didn't mean for it to happen. It is a big school, after all. Dora had told me she'd lost count of how many times she had gotten lost trying to find her way to classes.

My train of thought was cut off when I smacked into something hard. I was so distracted that I had forgotten to watch where I was walking. My quills, parchment, and ink bottle all fell out of my hands. Shards of broken glass covered the floor, some obscured by puddles of ink.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!" I apologized quickly, bending down to pick up my belongings while also trying not to accidentally cut myself on the broken glass. "I should have been paying better attention."

"No, no, it's my fault. I wasn't paying much attention either," the other person said. "Here, let me help you, Cassia." I immediately looked up to see who I had just bumped into. My green eyes met a pair of dark grey ones, belonging to an older boy -- I assumed he was around thirteen or fourteen. The yellow and black striped tie and badger emblem marking the left side of his chest told me that he was a Hufflepuff. He was considerably taller than me, with blonde hair so dark it was almost brown, and chiseled features. He was incredibly handsome. Whoa, whoa, whoa! Back up! You're eleven, he's thirteen or fourteen! You should NOT be thinking of him that way, Cassia!

I shook my head to get rid of those thoughts. As I did, the quills I had started to gather fell to the floor. Ignoring it for the moment, I looked the boy in the eyes again. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said. He picked up the fallen quills and gently placed them back into my hand. I quickly put them in my bag and turned my attention to the parchment all over the floor. I picked each piece up and checked it over to see how badly it had been splattered with ink. Luckily, only two pages were ruined. I patted them dry as best as I could with the sleeve of my robes before rolling it all up and putting it in a far corner of my bag. I pulled out my wand and pointed it at the broken glass of the ink bottle.

"Reparo." The glass repaired itself, but it was now empty of ink. Hopefully Hermione will let me borrow some of hers.

The boy looked at the bottle for a moment, and then his face brightened. He rummaged through his bag before pulling out a full bottle of ink. "Here, you can take mine."

"Are you sure?" I asked, looking skeptically at him. "I-I mean, I know we both need ink, but --"

The boy cut me off. "Take it. You need it more than I do. I've got a free period now anyway, so I can just zip down to my dorm and grab an extra -- I always keep a spare one in my trunk."

"Lucky thing," I commented, taking the ink bottle and placing it gingerly inside my bag. "Thanks again, er..." It was then that I remembered, I never got his name.

"Cedric," he said, offering a hand for me to shake. "Cedric Diggory. Most of my friends just call me Ced." I reached my hand out in return and grasped his fingers. He stood up and pulled me to his feet, making me let out a giggle.

"You know you didn't have to help me up," I said.

Cedric chuckled. "Yeah, I know. I just wanted to." His response made me giggle again. "So where are you heading?"

"Transfiguration," I answered. "Why?"

"Well, I just came from there, so I'd be more than happy to walk you," Cedric offered. "I mean, if you'd like me to."

I smiled. "I think I'd like that."

Cedric looped my arm with his and we set off down the corridor. We didn't talk at all until we reached the door to the Transfiguration classroom. I found that a bit awkward. We let our hands go.

"Thanks again for helping me grab my belongings," I said. "And for walking me to class."

"Any time, Cassia." He started to walk away, but turned back toward me again. "I'm sorry, but I have to get to Herbology, but -- er -- I'll see you around, all right?"

I nodded, trying to stifle a laugh at how red his cheeks looked. "Sure. I'll see you around, Cedric."

When I got into the classroom, I saw that everyone was just taking their seats. I slid into a chair next to Neville. We were four rows behind Malfoy, so I wouldn't have to put up with him yet, which was a relief because I was really starting to dislike him. He just came off as a snob -- like he thought he was all that and a bag of chips.

<><><><><>

After lecturing us for about half an hour, Professor McGonagall shifted to her Animagus form and jumped onto her desk. She sat down, glowering at us as we copied down what she had previously written on the blackboard. Even as a cat, she could be quite intimidating.

We were interrupted when the doors flew open, and I glanced up to see Harry and Ron come running into the classroom.

"Phew!" Ron sighed in relief. "We made it. Can you imagine the look on old McGonagall's face if we were late?" He was forced to eat his words when Professor McGonagall leapt off the desk, changing back into a human as she did so.

"That was bloody brilliant," Ron complimented, obviously trying to cover up for his false assumption that Professor McGonagall wasn't in the room.

"Well, thank you for that assessment, Mr. Weasley. Perhaps it would be more useful if I were to transfigure Mr. Potter and yourself into a pocket watch," Professor McGonagall suggested. "That way, one of you would be on time."

"We got lost," Harry said quickly.

"Then perhaps a map? I trust you don't need one to find your seats," Professor McGonagall said. Embarrassed, the two boys took a seat at the desk to my left.

Underneath the desk, I reached out to Harry and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. I felt him squeeze back right away, giving me a small smile in thanks as he did. I knew I shouldn't feel bad for him, but at the same time, I couldn't help it. Yes, it was technically his and Ron's fault for being late to class since they were the ones who got lost, but it was just a mistake. It's not like they meant for it to happen.

On the positive side, the problem was remedied Friday morning, when Harry and Ron showed up for breakfast right on time. Of the three of us, Harry had the biggest grin on his face, but the cheerful vibe didn't last very long, because I saw on my class schedule that we had double Potions with Professor Snape...and even worse, with Malfoy.

"Oh, great..." I muttered. "The two people in the school who absolutely hate us."

"Wait, what do you mean 'two'?" Ron questioned.

"During the Sorting Ceremony, when Harry and I were waiting for our turns, I caught Snape glaring at us, and then he looked at me like I had two heads and I swear I saw him mouth something to himself," I explained.

Harry looked at me, intrigued. "What was it he said?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I couldn't quite make out the words. And I don't know what Harry or I could have done to make him angry at us."

Potions took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Just seconds after we had entered the classroom and taken our seats, Professor Snape came in, causing everyone to fall silent. "There will be no foolish wand waving, or silly incantations in this class," he said.

He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but we caught every word -- like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort.

"As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion making. However, for those select few who possess this predisposition --" he looked at Malfoy, who simply smirked up at him. "-- I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death."

More silence followed this little speech.

Snape glanced at Harry and I. "Then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough to not pay attention." I glanced over at Harry to see he was writing down nearly everything Snape had just said to us. I was about to tell him to pay attention to Snape, but Hermione beat me to it. She nudged Harry in the ribs, causing him to stop writing and look up, meeting our professor's gaze.

"Mr. and Miss Potter," Snape said. I noticed his eyes moved back and forth, alternating between looking at Harry and I. "Our new celebrities..." He locked eyes with Harry. "Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Hermione put her hand up, but Snape ignored her. Harry, on the other hand, looked confused.

"You don't know?" Snape questioned, to which Harry shook his head. "Well, let's try again. Where, Mr. Potter, would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?" Hermione kept her hand in the air, but Snape ignored her, his focus still on Harry.

"I-I don't know, sir," Harry stammered.

"And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?" Snape pressed.

"I-I don't know, sir," Harry repeated.

"Pity. Clearly, fame isn't everything. Is it, Mr. Potter?" he asked. "Perhaps your sister can provide me with the answers you seem to lack." He looked over at me.

I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. "Yes, sir. Asphodel and wormwood are two key ingredients in a powerful sleeping potion known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone found in the stomach of a goat, highly regarded as an antidote to a majority of poisons. And monkswood and wolfsbane are the same plant, commonly referred to as aconite."

Snape blinked in surprise, just as he had done when he looked at me during the Sorting Ceremony. He had that same odd look in his eyes as well. Why was he looking at me like that? Most of my classmates seemed to wonder the same thing, but

"Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potters."

Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put us into pairs and set us to mixing a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching us weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus' cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" Snape snarled, clearing the potion away with a wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire.

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.

"You -- Potter -- why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

Snape inspected mine and Dean's finished potion. I had triple-checked to make sure we hadn't made any mistakes (because, trust me, one melted cauldron was bad enough). Snape didn't give us any verbal criticism, but he sneered at the contents of our cauldron, which I took as a very bad sign. I didn't know why he was sneering, because I knew we had brewed the potion correctly. But I had a feeling he probably just wanted an excuse to pick on me like he'd done with Harry.

Harry would've argued if Ron hadn't kicked him behind their cauldron -- I saw that out of the corner of my eye, since they were working fairly close to me and Dean.

"Don't push it," Ron muttered, "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."

What was Snape's problem? And why was he looking at me like that?