Together (A Harry Potter love story) 1

10

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to Jake Donovan's daughter."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"Did you see her face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

Whispers followed Harry and I from the moment we left the dormitory the next day. People queuing outside classrooms stood on tiptoes to get a better look, or doubled back to pass us again in the corridors, staring. I wish they wouldn't. I was trying to concentrate on finding my way to class. According to Mione, there were a hundred and forty two staircases at Hogwarts, which kept moving every five seconds. We found, even worse than Peeves, was the caretaker. Argus Filch. Harry, Ron and I had managed to get on the wrong side of him on the very first morning, trying to force our way through a door which unluckily turned out to be the entrance to the out of bounds third floor. He wouldn't believe we were lost, and was threatening to lock us in the dungeons when we were rescued by Professor Quirrell, who was passing. All the teachers were very different to one another; the history of magic teacher, Professor Binns, who is by far the most boring, or Professor McGonagall who gave us a talking to the moment we sat down in 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. I was amazed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realised we weren't going to be changing any furniture into animals for a long time. Instead, after making 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 Mione and I had managed to make any difference in our matches, which got us both a rare smile from Professor McGonagall.

The class I'd most been looking forward to was defence against the dark arts, but Quirrells lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelt 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 any day soon. His turban, he told us, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank you for getting rid of a zombie, but I didn't believe him. For one thing, when I asked eagerly to hear how he had fought it off, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather.

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