Dennis's Secret

The days went on, and surprisingly soon, the Hogwarts castle started seeming very much like home to Celena. She became quite friendly with most of the staff members, especially Hagrid, and Professors Flitwick, Sprout, and Trelawney. Professor McGonagall was nice too, in her own stern way; but as Headmistress she was a bit distant. The castle itself seemed more welcoming too – she stopped getting lost on her way to the dungeons or the staff room, and Peeves found it more difficult to surprise her now.
What's more, the students ceased interrogating her about being related to Nicholas Flamel, or about whether she had the faintest idea about how to make a Philosopher's Stone, and started appreciating her lessons on their own accord. They learned that the standards she used to evaluate their homework were pretty high, but still she was much more agreeable than Professor Snape, and the dungeons were so much nicer these days.
Snape, maybe because of his natural nastiness, or maybe from the dismay it caused him to hear that the subject of Potions grew much more popular than when it was taught by him, continued making his sly, acid-dripping comments whenever he could, hinting he still thinks Celena isn't skilled and experienced enough to teach – but in such a subtle way all she could do was fume silently. He did it most often in front of the compassionate audience of students from his own house, Slytherin. Indeed, the Slytherins didn't seem quite as fond of Professor Costello as the rest of the school, but didn't dare to show it openly.
Neither Uncle Remus nor the others made the slightest suggestion they were still doing work on the behalf of the Order, although Celena could swear she saw her uncle frown with hidden knowledge when she told him about the prophecy Firenze made to them in the Forbidden Forest. She decided to let it be for now. She also spent a few more times in the company of Firenze, who was the wisest and most gracious of all beings she knew. They had long discussions unlike any conversation she had before.
A couple of times she met the gargoyles again, accompanied by Hagrid, but didn't enjoy these visits as much as he did, even though Goliath, Angela and Korian were starting to grow on her.
She spent her weekends reading countless essays on the properties of moonstone and potion-preserving, visiting Hagrid in his cabin, strolling down the neat little streets of Hogsmeade with her fellow teachers. Several times she traveled home by Floo Powder.
She finally saw Timothy, even more than once, but never for long – he seemed busy. He hinted there was an important project he was involved in, an excellent opportunity. She understood. After all, she was absorbed in her work as well, and it was rewarding to know her students were doing well. To her great relief, most of her sixth-year N.E.W.T students were now more or less at the same level, and she promised the ones who have been doing extra homework that this measure will soon be stopped.
It was even more surprising, after she made this announcement – which caused an unmasked outburst of delight - in class, to receive a request for extra lessons from Dennis Creevey, who didn't have to do additional homework in the first place, and who seemed to be doing fine, except for an occasional fit of clumsiness from time to time.
She was in her office when it happened. It was the night before Halloween, and the house-elves have just finished decorating the castle for next day's feast. Hagrid grew some of the largest pumpkins Celena had ever seen, and dozens of splendid Jack-o-lanterns illuminated the Great Hall. A smaller one even stood on the desk in Celena's office, adding to the festive atmosphere. A Hogsmeade visit was to take place the next day, and Celena was happily anticipating it. She could go to Hogsmeade every weekend if she liked, of course, but it was somehow so much merrier with all the students around. She fancied a cup in The Three Broomsticks with the other teachers, and thought she'd look at some winter robes, because the mornings were becoming steadily frostier.
She was contemplating that when she heard a knock on her office's door. She threw a glance at the clock; it was getting late, about time for all the students to return to their common rooms, and she was surprised to see Dennis when she opened the door.
- Good evening, Professor Costello, - he said timidly, - may I have a word?
- Come in, Mr. Creevey. How can I help you? Would you like a cup of tea, perhaps? But be brief, unless you fancy being caught and given detention by Mr. Filch for breaking curfew. – Er, no, thank you, Professor, - mumbled Dennis. – I'll make it quick… I need your help, Professor; I think I could do with some private lessons, if you have the time… perhaps once a week? – He said hopefully, and then added as an afterthought, - whenever you find it most convenient.
- Extra lessons? – Celena frowned. – Are you certain you need them, Mr. Creevey? Sure, I could make some time for you, but I find your work in class satisfactory, and the essays you hand in are nothing short of excellent. I'm very pleased with you.
- That's the thing, Professor, - replied Dennis, blushing for some reason and looking not at Celena, but rather at the pumpkin on her desk. – I think I've learned the theory off by heart, but it doesn't help to really polish my practical work, and what's Potion-Making without a skilled hand?
Celena sighed.
- In that case, Mr. Creevey, we have no reason to put it off. If you want to truly perfect your work, I am, of course, more than willing to help you… we shall start next week, Monday night, seven o'clock, the Potions classroom. It might be a bit cold down there, but I daresay it's roomier than my office. Now off you go, Mr. Creevey, it's getting rather late.
- Thanks, Professor! – Dennis said excitedly and hurried off to Gryffindor tower, careful to avoid Filch.
… - Extra lessons? – Martin Nordholm gaped at him in disbelief, - you are taking extra lessons?
Dennis first blushed, then said defiantly:
- Yeah, I am. Celena agreed to start next Monday.
- Celena? – Martin sounded astonished. Then he said in a flat voice, - you fancy her! I don't believe it – you actually fancy her!
- Shut up! – Dennis hissed, looking around, but they were quite alone in the common room, except for two second-year girls who sat absorbed in a game of wizard chess.
- I should have known, - Martin continued in a quieter voice, - from the very moment I saw you in the Potions class. You hated Potions, you always did. You would never continue if Snape stayed –
- Oh yes I would, - argued Dennis, - I need it, a N.E.W.T in Potions is required in loads of places.
- So is a N.E.W.T in other subjects, but I never see you spend half the night working on your homework for those! I mean, you give her two rolls of parchment when she asks for twelve inches…
- Oh, shut up, - repeated Dennis exasperatedly.
- And you shouldn't forget we have the first Quidditch game in no time, and I'm sure you don't want to lose to Slytherin, and the new Beater we have, that Saunders guy, is doing lamely so far, and your cozy private lessons mean one practice less every week –
He broke off, noticing that Dennis didn't take in a word of what he was saying.
- Listen, - he said impatiently, and Dennis finally turned his head towards him, a dreamy, misty look in his eyes, - Professor Costello is cool and not half bad, but she's a teacher, do you get it? You don't think you could really –
Dennis opened his mouth to speak, but Martin raised a hand.
- Don't bother, - he said, - but whatever you do, please don't call her Celena.

Forest Dwellers

Hagrid strode towards his cabin's door, Fang following him. Buckbeak continued to snooze in front of the fire. Celena went after Hagrid and Fang, out of the cabin and towards the dark shadow of the Forbidden Forest.
- Are we going in there? – She asked with a hint of trepidation in her voice.
- Yeah, - said Hagrid, - aren't afraid, are yeh?
- Oh, not at all, - said Celena, thinking privately it will be all right as long as they stay away from gremlins and acromantula that, as she heard, were lurking somewhere in the depths of the Forest.
They followed a winding path under the dark shadows of ancient trees, their wands alight. The path looked as though it was made recently by a large animal that fought its way through thick bushes.
- Is it far yet? – Celena asked, panting and drawing her cloak tighter around her shoulders. She liked forests, but this one seemed very eerie. She thought she could hear two pine trees behind them bending closer and whispering to each other, but thought it would be best not to mention it.
And then, there was a sound of hooves and a very strange being stepped into the clearing from between two trees. He had a lean, muscular torso of a man and a palomino body of a horse. There was a bow and quiverful of arrows attached to one of his shoulders.
- Hullo, Firenze, - said Hagrid. The centaur inclined his magnificent golden head in welcome. Indeed, it was Firenze, who after the final battle with Voldemort was mercifully forgiven by his herd for "meddling in affairs of humans" and allowed to return to the Forest.
Celena looked at him in awe. She had never seen a centaur before, but of course she knew all about them. She approached and stretched out a hand. Firenze took it, and two pairs of equally dazzling blue eyes met.
- Tha's Celena Costello, Firenze, - said Hagrid. – She's a teacher at the school, on'y just started.
Firenze continued looking intently at Celena, with his sparkling, penetrating gaze, as if he could see something no one else could. He seemed to find her just as interesting as she found him.
- The stars have spoken, Hagrid. – He said finally, after a long pause. – Wizardkind will have to follow, yet again, a dark and twisting road, although the danger isn't quite like it was last time – not yet, at least.
- If there's one thing I wish, - interrupted Hagrid, looking unimpressed, - an' I mean, on'y one thing – it's that the stars'd be more specific when they speak. He Who Must Not Be Named is gone –
- Past and future, blended together, - continued Firenze, paying little attention to Hagrid's words. – A great opportunity and a great peril. The humans might not have noticed it yet, but every single tree in this Forest speaks about it in the rustle of its leaves.
He looked directly at Celena when he said this, and she looked back and gave the tiniest of nods.
She was wondering if the whole point of going this deep into the Forest was to meet Firenze, who was of course fascinating, but provided no explanation to why Snape had a disagreement with Professor McGonagall. But then Hagrid cleared his throat and asked:
- Anyway, Firenze, we were going ter go a bit further in. I hope somebody's there?
- They woke at dusk and went hunting, - replied Firenze, - I think Ronan and Magorian went to show them our best spots. I believe I heard Goliath come back a little while ago, though.
After saying this phrase, of which Celena understood very little, he raised a hand in goodbye and disappeared once more into the trees.
Celena decided not to ask anything, and they went on along the winding path. After a few minutes, she thought she saw a flickering light, and then they stepped onto another clearing, much larger than the one where they met Firenze. There was a bright fire burning in the middle of it, and someone sat in front of it, devouring something raw and bloody Celena didn't wish to examine from a closer distance. She turned to Hagrid and opened her mouth only to find out speech has temporarily left her. She looked instead at the creature that now got up and approached to greet them.
It was clear he wasn't a man, although his face was almost human, with a broad jaw and a wide, low forehead. As tall and wide as Hagrid, wearing nothing but a loincloth held by a thick leather belt, he looked somewhat frightening. Celena saw now that what was wrapped around his shoulders was not a cloak, but his own enormous, bat-like wings. His long, neatly braided hair fell almost to his waist.
There was something definitely reptilian about him; his lavender skin was scaly, and Celena noticed with a jolt he had a mighty lizardish tail. At the same time, there was something feline about his hands and feet with sharp, tiger-like talons.
- Hello, Hagrid, - he said in a deep, booming voice. – Good to meet you again. I see you brought a friend along?
- Yeah, - Hagrid said casually, as if they were talking over drinks at a cocktail party, and shook one of the enormous taloned hands. – I thought she's like ter meet yeh. Celena, tha's Goliath.
Celena was never prejudiced against different races, but Goliath, whatever he was, looked positively wild. She thought she was starting to understand what the conflict between Professors Snape and McGonagall was about. She resisted, however, the temptation to round on Hagrid and ask, "What is he?" – Instead, she turned to the lavender, scaly creature and asked:
- Who are you?
- I am the leader of this clan, - he said, - residing now in this forest with the kind permission of Professor McGonagall, the Headmistress of Hogwarts.
- Oh, - she was unable to say anything else. Goliath looked, in fact, quite friendly if she ignored his menacing, powerful tail that swished from side to side, his sharp talons and his love for raw meat, but she could privately understand why Snape wasn't exactly eager to have an entire clan – she wondered how numerous – of huge lizard-like men prowling the school grounds.
She looked at him, trying to figure out where she might have seen something like him before, having a weird feeling it was something very basic and obvious she was failing to recognize.
- Goliath's a gargoyle, Celena, - Hagrid finally said, peering at her face and seeing no comprehension.
- Oh! – Celena exclaimed, taking a step back and looking at the lavender giant's face. – Of course!
She knew now. She must have head of these creatures, if not seen them, at least once. But where? And then, she remembered - Fleur and Bill's wedding, over a year ago, a freckly, good-natured face, hands covered with burns and scratches…
- You don't happen to know Charlie Weasley, do you? – She asked tentatively.
To her surprise, Goliath gave her what was undoubtedly a wide smile. She noticed with a shudder his mouth was full of long, sharp, pearly-white teeth that were now covered with blood from his interrupted meal. She felt her knees weaken but pulled herself together. Goliath seemed to have noticed it too, because she licked his teeth with a flexible, cat-like tongue.
- I met and befriended Charles Weasley years ago, when I wasn't a leader of this clan yet. – He said, staring absent-mindedly at Fang, who was now devouring what remained of his dinner. – He gathered knowledge and researched different creatures that can be found in Wyvern Wood, where we resided until recently. I helped him. He is a good man, and it was him I turned to when I realized our clan needs a new place to stay in.
- What happened, then? – Celena asked. Hagrid looked like he was already familiar with the story.
- There were attacks. – Goliath replied darkly. – One of our numbers was killed, and two were kidnapped. We never found them or the attacker.
- But who could?! – Celena was puzzled. Who in their right mind would risk attacking the likes of Goliath, who not only were armed with steely talons, fangs and muscles, but who could also fly? And the scaly skin, she figured, would probably provide protection against most spells and jinxes. Well, a dragon could beat them, she supposed, but that wouldn't be so hard to figure out…
- Could have been the supporters of He Who Must Not Be Named, - said Goliath, patting Fang, who was now sniffing hopefully at his heels. – They knew we were not on their side during the two Wars. We fought against them. They might have come to seek revenge. But that's just one suggestion – we never found out, because it happened during daytime.
- Yeh see, Celena, the special thing abou' gargoyles's that they freeze ter stone with the firs' ray o' sunshine an' stay that way 'til sunset, - explained Hagrid, seeing the puzzled expression on her face.
- Oh! – Celena nodded in comprehension, - I understand, then – but it leaves you in a very vulnerable position, doesn't it?
- Indeed, - Goliath inclined his head in agreement. – Unless we have something or someone to protect us during daytime, we choose the darkest, deepest, most secret hiding places. What happened was a blow, but we didn't lose hope. We didn't want to leave Wyvern Wood, where our ancestors, hunters and warriors, led happy lives for centuries. We went into the very depths of the forest and lived there for a while longer. We were very careful. We spread around for our day hibernation, in twos and threes, so that the enemy, if he reached us again, wouldn't at least find all of us at once.
- But then something else happened, right? – Celena asked, her attention involuntarily captured by the story. – Because eventually you left Wyvern, right?
- The enemy, whoever he was, found our rookery. One night, there were three eggs – the other night, they were gone.
Celena opened her mouth to ask, but then thought it makes sense, considering their reptilian appearance, that gargoyles lay eggs, like dragons or salamanders.
- So I knew it was not a time for pride, - continued Goliath. – I contacted Charles Weasley. I flew to Wales to see him and he promised to help us. He mobilized a few of his friends, to protect us during daytime, while he was negotiating and making arrangements with the Headmistress of Hogwarts to allow us to live here. Minerva McGonagall met me and told me we may live here, if we treat the other creatures of this forest with kindness and respect. In return, we patrol the Forest, the school grounds, and Hogsmeade. We miss Wyvern Wood, but it's not bad here. The centaurs have been generous enough to share their hunting places with us. And hopefully, more eggs will soon appear in our new rookery…
Goliath was interrupted by a group of his fellow gargoyles, who emerged into the clearing carrying deer, birds and even snakes – apparently, tonight's hunt was profitable.
Celena was relieved to see that Goliath was easily the largest of them. No one else was quite as tall and broad, although most of the gargoyles were taller and clearly stronger than humans. There were many of them, males and females, elders and hatchlings, with different colors of skin and hair. Celena also noticed that not all of them looked as human-like as Goliath. Many had beak-like faces or horns.
The clearing was now very crowded; the gargoyles spoke to each other (with strong Scottish accent), examining each other's prey and glancing curiously at Hagrid, Celena, Fang and Goliath. Three of the gargoyles approached them. Two of them were clearly siblings, a male and a female with delicately blue skin, ruby-red hair and of a fair, light complexion, much shorter and smaller than Goliath. The third was a young female who was built along the same lines as the first two, but actually resembled the gargoyle leader with her lavender skin and a long, wild mane of black hair. Celena noticed that despite the variety of sizes and colors, all the gargoyles had the same slanted, black eyes. The blue, red-haired male looked the friendliest of the lot, and somehow the most civilized, although just like the rest, he wore only a loincloth on his hips (the females also wore something like a halter-top), and was carrying several large chunks of raw meat spiked on a sharp stick. He stretched out a hand and Hagrid shook it.
- Hello, Korian, - he said.
- We are one clan, - said Goliath, - but that is my closest family. Here's my wife, Demona, - he gestured towards the female with blue skin and red hair, who was holding what looked like a sack of dead birds, - my daughter, Angela, - the young female gave Celena a friendly nod, - and my wife's blood brother, Korian.
- Humans, - hissed Demona, looking up at her husband and leader and ignoring the rest of them, the end of her long, flexible tail twitching. – Humans were the ones who forced us into hiding, yet you, Goliath, still seek the protection of humans and insist on inviting them here, into our midst…
- You must remember Hagrid, my heart, - said Goliath, all of a sudden not looking that big anymore.
- I remember him, - said Demona, shooting a nasty glance at Hagrid. – But not her. Who is this human female? – She asked, glaring openly at Celena.
Celena was forcefully reminded of the welcome she received from Snape.
- That's Celena Costello, Demona, - said Hagrid, looking rather taken aback. – She's a teacher up at the school…
But he stopped, because he saw Demona was staring at Goliath, and he was glaring back.
- I thought it was discussed by all of us, - said Goliath, towering over his wife, who drew herself to her full height but still looked tiny next to him, - and I thought we all agreed that humans and gargoyles, despite stupid old-age misunderstandings, are natural allies!
- We didn't all agree with that, oh no, - said Demona, baring her teeth, he eyes flashing dangerously. Angela and Korian wisely retreated.
- And I thought, - Goliath spoke louder, - that Professor McGonagall and her fellows, who offer us shelter, are our friends with whom we are linked by bonds of mutual protection, not intruders who –
- Um, well, now yeh've met Celena an' all, - said Hagrid, who was clearly starting to feel uncomfortable, - an' we'll drop by sometimes… so… bye for now, Goliath.
But the pair of gargoyles paid no attention to him. Goliath and Demona were deeply in what looked like one of many rows, hissing and spitting like a pair of angry cats. Demona actually looked more like a feline than a reptile. Her skin didn't resemble dragon hide so much, and her movements were graceful. She would be quite pretty for a gargoyle, Celena thought, if not that contorted, Snape-ish expression, and those sharp, bared teeth.
They left the clearing unnoticed and went back by the narrow, winding path, Fang at their heels.
- So, how'd' yeh find them? – Hagrid asked, looking rather pleased with himself now that they have left the scene of fight.
- Um, alright, I mean, Goliath is just fine, Korian and Angela seemed quite nice too…
- Demona's a bit rough, - he admitted, - yeh see, one o' the eggs that have bin stolen was theirs, Goliath told me, an' she took it pretty hard –
- Understandable, - Celena nodded.
- Yeah, an' she's mad at Goliath fer not makin' her his Second, an' she's prejudiced agains' humans jus' like some o' us wizards are against them gargoyles. Some make a link between them an' vampires, just because gargoyles hunt at night…
As she wished Hagrid goodnight at the doors of his cabin and walked through the dark, cold grounds and upstairs to her office, Celena thought it was very unlikely she would ever visit the gargoyles on her own. True, Goliath seemed somewhat like Hagrid - big and mean-looking, but of a much kinder nature than you could think – Demona, however, was not someone you'd like to corner in the darkness.
It was very late already – the stroll took more time than she thought it would – but she didn't go to bed right away. Instead, she sat down at her desk, lost in thought. She left the window open before she left, but no sign of Wilbert's visit could be seen. He didn't come. There was still no word from Timothy. Disturbed, her head heavy, she finally went off to bed.

Tea with Hagrid

Madam Pomfrey managed to get rid of Celena's flowery appearance fairly quickly. The rest of the first week of term wasn't quite that exciting. The students were much more respectful, she thought, than they could be expected to be to such a young and inexperienced teacher. Celena's relation to Nicholas Flamel, the only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone, played a part in that of course. Many of the students were familiar with "Costello Concoctions", the older ones might have even seen her behind the counter a few summers ago. Her classes were interesting – she tried to leave most of the theoretical part for homework (which, she admitted, placed a rather large load on her students), and during her lessons she gave occasional fun treats that weren't included in the study program.

On her third day as a Hogwarts teacher, she gave a detention for the very first time, an act she hoped to put off longer; there was no choice, though. A third-year Hufflepuff boy thought it would be fun to make his classmate's cauldron explode, and believed his involvement would go unnoticed if he pointed his wand from under his desk and muttered the incantation quietly. It was lucky that the Shrinking Solution they were making wasn't ready yet, because the bubbling liquid spluttered the walls, floor, ceiling and most of the students and their possessions. No real damage was done, but the guilty Hufflepuff student was made to scrub the mess off all by himself, without using magic, which took most of the evening and left Argus Filch, the caretaker, absolutely delighted.

She had no post all week, since Remus Lupin's and her parents' short notes, but on Friday afternoon two owls arrived, tapping their beaks impatiently on the window of her office, and holding a large parcel between them. The parcel contained a large quantity of homemade pies and a few jars of her mother's excellent fudge. There was also a letter from her parents, written by her father, telling nothing but that everything was as usual at home, and asking her about all the details they could possibly think of.

For a long minute, she gazed out of her window, vaguely hoping to see another owl, a handsome tawny named Wilbert that belonged to her fiancé, Timothy. But there was no sign of Wilbert on the clear horizon. Why hasn't he written? She knew Timothy was very busy at the moment with the perspectives of his new job at the regulation and control of cauldron-making industry, and that was why she resolved not to pester him with owls every day. She expected him to send her a word that day, though, inquiring how her first week in Hogwarts had gone, and possibly attempting to arrange the next time they meet, for exciting discussions of wedding preparations – the guests, the dress, the cake, the musicians and the party.

She and Timothy met when she was fresh out of Beauxbatons Academy. With only vague plans as to what she should do next, she was spending time with her parents, helping them at "Costello Concoctions". Brewing potions was natural and easy for her, so she hummed merrily on one rainy day, when the shop was empty, without the promise of too many customers. She prepared for long, undisturbed hours of counting supplies, balancing books, and replenishing stocks, when the doorbell suddenly rang and a tall, handsome young wizard entered, his traveling cloak dripping water all over the floor. He threw back the hood of his cloak and gave her a charming smile that made her feel as though her knees were made of marshmallow, soft and about to bend any moment. She was determined not to let him notice, though. She steadied herself against the counter and tried to sound businesslike and efficient as she said:

- How can I help you, young man?
- I came to ask a few questions about the cauldrons you use here in your shop, - he replied. He had a very rich, very male voice that made her feel as though her heart was beating in her throat. – But not before you tell me your name, my lady!

… Timothy came every day of that week, making more and more notes about cauldrons on a clipboard he always carried with him. He charmed Celena and her parents, and when his pretexts for visiting ran out, he continued coming anyway. Celena, with her beauty – which wasn't obscured even in Beauxbatons by the constant presence of Fleur, a dazzling part-Veela, near her – was used to male attention, but no one courted her as persistently and artistically as Timothy had. He proposed to her several times, but she felt something was stopping her. I'm too young; she tried to explain, even though she had to privately admit to herself this wasn't the whole story, maybe not even the most significant part of it – what was it, then? Why did she decline the proposal of a man who took hold of her thoughts from the moment she saw him? She didn't have a clear answer. Only during the summer before she started her job in Hogwarts, she accepted Timothy's proposal and was now engaged to be married to him. The wedding was supposed to be held next summer. Why didn't he write?

Celena placed the letter from her parents on top of the stack of essays she was supposed to check and rate that weekend. She decided to leave both the essays and the letter for tomorrow morning, and now go and visit Hagrid. She could see the light in his cabin through her window.
A magnificent sunset colored the sky gold and scarlet while she walked across the grounds towards the crude, large cabin where Hagrid lived. It was a warm evening for the season, but she took her cloak just in case she would stay out for a long time and it would get chilly as night falls.

- C'min, c'min, - said Hagrid after he peered through the half-open door to see who this was. He looked clearly pleased to see her, which she was rather relieved to see, as she got no invitation.
Everything in Hagrid's cabin seemed about twice the size it would be for a normal man. The quilt-covered bed could accommodate at least three people. A bucket-sized cup stood on the vast wooden desk, and Hagrid's enormous boots, wide and deep enough for a child to hide in, stood by the door. His boarhound, Fang, was looking strangely small here, even though he was almost equal to Celena in height when he stood on his hind legs in an attempt to lick her face.
Celena knew, of course, that Hagrid had giant blood – his mother was none other than the fearsome giantess Fridwulfa, who went into hiding many years ago. She didn't mind the chair she sat on was so high for her that her feet were actually dangling from it, unable to touch the ground – in fact, she felt almost the same way whenever she visited Madame Maxime's office in Beauxbatons…

- Oh! – she exclaimed, glancing at the huge, winged, sharp-beaked grey creature curled up on a rug in front of the fire and looking upon her with one of his fierce, orange eyes. Celena, getting a grip on herself and remembering what she was supposed to do, gave a small bow, more like a nod. The creature returned it and seemed satisfied.
- Uncle Remus told me you keep a Hippogriff here, - Celena told. Hagrid beamed.
- Tha's Buckbeak, - he said, - we've bin tergether fer years. 'Course, he stayed with Sirius Black fer a while… until…

There was a moment when none of them could think of anything else to say. Celena never had the chance to meet Sirius Black, but she, of course, knew all about one of her uncle's best friends, unjustly accused of mass murder, imprisoned in Azkaban for many years, forced into hiding and eventually killed by one of Voldemort's most faithful supporters…

- My mother sent sweets, Hagrid, look, - she said finally, showing him the parcel she got earlier. – Only it's boring to eat them alone. Why don't you make tea and we try some of these?
- Lookin' good, - Hagrid said eagerly and busied himself with the kettle. When Celena was given a mug of boiling tea she could drown herself in if she tried really hard, she took a strawberry-jam filled tart and bit into it. It was fresh-made and delicious. Hagrid swallowed his in one mighty bite and reached for another one.

- So, how was yer firs' week as a teacher? – He asked through a mouthful of tart. Celena thought of the cauldronful of half-brewed Shrinking Solution smeared all over the classroom, of her flowery appearance after the application of Beauty Balm, of Snape's snide remarks and of being interrogated non-stop about being a great-great-great granddaughter of Nicholas Flamel.
- It was as fine as I could expect, I guess, - she finally said, smiling brightly. – What about you, Hagrid? Is it difficult, being Head of House?

- Well, I always got along fine with them Gryffindors, - said Hagrid thickly, for her just took another pie from the pile in front of him, - my old House, ye see. But it's one hell of a responsibility, ye have ter sort all sorts o' problems an' make decisions, an' if anyone gets in trouble with one of the teachers they get sent straight ter me an' I'm supposed ter decide what next… what with classes an' bein' gamekeeper, there's quite enough ter be goin' on with, as ye can imagine. But this is somethin' I've dreamed of fer years.

- Have you considered moving into the castle and finding someone else for the gamekeeping duties? – Celena asked.
- Nah, nobody's up ter the job, - Hagrid waved an enormous hand in dismissal, - Charlie Weasley mighta done it, but he's too busy righ' now, with…
He stopped abruptly, and the part of his face that wasn't covered by tangled black beard or hair reddened slightly. Celena pretended to not have noticed, although it confirmed something she had been thinking about all week, ever since she received that note from Uncle Remus. She continued talking as if she didn't hear anything interesting.
- We didn't have houses in Beauxbatons, you know, - she said, - it spared a good deal of rivalry and competition that exists between the different Houses here, and instead we could dedicate ourselves to gaining knowledge and mastering our magical skills… not that it's not an interesting tradition, the Sorting and everything. But I think the pupils whose names are down to Ravenclaw for example are crafted more or less of the same material anyway, it's all about intelligence and determination…
- I think ye'd be in Ravenclaw if ye went ter Hogwarts, - observed Hagrid, drinking deeply from his mug of tea. – They're like yeh, all intelligent an' serious, trust their brains more'n anythin' else.
- I like the Ravenclaws. – Celena agreed, nodding. – I've noticed it's them who try the hardest and take classes more seriously. I just don't understand what's the reason of pairing their classes with the Hufflepuffs, they don't get along really well… and Gryffindor and Slytherin students clearly dislike each other, and they're always paired up too.
- I think 'tis part o' the strategy o' bringin' the different Houses closer. Create bonds, more like… have them make friends with each other… pity it's not workin'.

Both of them pondered this while they ate and drank some more. And then, all of a sudden, Celena asked:
- Hagrid, why does Professor Snape dislike me so much?
Hagrid choked on his tea, then chuckled.
- What's so funny? – Celena demanded.
- Hasn' bin nice ter anyone, s'long as I know him, now, has he? I remember Snape as a kid, lonely an' broodin', up his neck in the Dark Arts. Talented, no doubt 'bout that, but a nasty little piece o' work all the same.
- What's he got with me, though? – Celena frowned. – He ignored me most of the time and I'm fine with that, but sometimes he tries to make me look bad in front of my students. It's clear he was against my appointment in the first place. And he always favors the Slytherins.
- Not any fairer than nice, - said Hagrid. – Yeah, I s'pose he thought yeh're too young ter teach. An' he sees yeh do things differently than he used to do – givin' everyone a chance and encouragin' everyone – an' people like it, an' it irritates him. I know he thinks tha's a bad move.
- Professor Snape underestimates me. – Celena said. – I know more than he thinks about Potions.
- With a family like yours, how could yeh not? Don't mind Snape an' go on with yer business. Besides, he's bin in bad spirits fer another reason as well… they had a disagreement with Professor McGonagall.

There was a look in Hagrid's eyes that stated only too clearly he is dying to tell more, but is waiting to be persuaded.
- Please, go ahead, Hagrid. – Celena encouraged him. – I won't tell anybody, I promise.
She didn't say anything else, but privately thought it might have something to do with what her uncle and another member of the Order, Fleur's brother-in-law Charlie Weasley, were up to in the past weeks. She was very eager to know. And Hagrid cracked.
- Oh, all righ'. I'll show yeh. Let's go.

The Beauty Balm

She used the free period she had before lunch to prepare for her next class. Those were going to be older students, students who already had five years of magical education behind them, completed their O.W.Ls and were about to begin their N.E.W.T classes. She wanted to throw in an impressive first lesson, advanced yet fun, colorful and sophisticated but not difficult enough to be discouraging – and then, she felt as though a light was turned on inside her mind, and she set to working.
She went down to lunch a couple of hours later in a very good mood and settled in a seat next to Hagrid, just like the night before.

- Havin' a good firs' day o' term, Celena? – Hagrid asked her through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.
- I think I like it here, - she said happily, helping herself to potatoes and salad too.
- I've always wondered why yer parents decided ter send yeh to Beauxbatons instead o' Hogwarts, - he observed, picked a bone from a chicken's leg.
- Well, - Celena tilted her head to the side slightly, her fork in mid-air. – Mom always thought there's nothing quite like the traditional French education, you see. And it really was good – excellent teachers, beautiful castle, fancy food. I made friendships with the most interesting people; I learned to speak fluent French. And you must know there's nothing like spending some time in a foreign country and setting bonds with people of a different culture to expand your horizons…
- Yeah… - Hagrid nodded, his expression suddenly dreamy. Celena suppressed a grin, but continued her musings:
- I got Fleur as my best friend, that's priceless. She's really the best anyone could ever have. We were always together; the two most popular girls in our year, and when the Triwizard Tournament was held, we both applied and came here in the Beauxbatons delegation… I suppose you don't remember me from that time?

- Yeh looked familiar when I met yeh at Remus's some time later, - said Hagrid, shrugging. – But not really, no.
- Well, that's hardly anything to be surprised about, is it, given the fact that we didn't even get to spend much time inside the castle. I mean, we spent about eight months here back then and now I barely recognize the place! It was our final year, and we had to study for our final examinations mostly by ourselves, with very little help from Madame Maxime. We took the exams about a month later than everyone else, though.
- Did ye get disappointed when yeh weren' chosen for the Tournament?
- Well, - she paused, frowning slightly - I suppose we all were a bit disappointed – but you see, we had a pact made with Fleur; we agreed that if the Goblet chooses one of us, me or her, the other will not be jealous, but would stay here and be supportive. So I did my best. And you know, Hagrid, thinking of the disaster that Tournament turned into, I'm glad I wasn't chosen for it. I'm not sure I would have handled it half as well as Fleur.
- Yeah, - said Hagrid. – Those were dark times. We're so lucky ter have it all behind us.
- You definitely think it's all over, then? – Celena asked hesitantly, lowering her voice a little. – Because, you know, Uncle Remus acts kind of odd lately, and I know he's in the Ord-
- Yeah, well, yeh can't expect all evil ter be erased from this world just like tha', - Hagrid cast an anxious look around him, lowering his voice as well, but the other teachers were all too busy with their plates, and the scraping of knives and forks was too loud for anyone to hear anything. – There's still plenty o' slime out there. I think the main source of it is gone, though, an' the rest, well, the rest we can deal with.

… There was still a little time before the start of afternoon classes, so Celena walked in the direction of the dungeons in a quiet, dignified sort of way – as befits a Hogwarts teacher, she thought, pleased with herself. Just then, however, she heard quick footsteps behind her, and someone calling out for her:
- Professor Costello! Professor Costello! Can I have a word with you?

She turned around and saw a boy of sixteen or seventeen standing in front of her, quite skinny but otherwise good-looking, with light-brown hair, clear grey eyes and a rather pale complexion. Right now, however, he was red and shiny in the face from running, his hair was ruffled and his bag was thrown hastily over his shoulder.
- Dennis Creevey, from Gryffindor, Professor, - he said, panting.
- How can I help you, then, Mr. Creevey? – She asked, and added. – Do try to make it quick, though. I don't want to be late for my next class.
- It's just that, your next class, Professor! – he said hastily. – You see, I – I took my O.W.L exams last year, and I got "Exceeds Expectations" on Potions, and I knew Snape – Professor Snape, I mean – doesn't accept anyone into his N.E.W.T class with anything but an "Outstanding", so I didn't even bother signing up for Potions this year. But this morning, Professor McGonagall told us you even accept those who finished with an "Acceptable", and I, er, I really want to continue taking Potions, but I – I didn't buy any books or ingredients or anything, and I was wondering if I still can – if it's all right –

He blurted it all out in about ten seconds, and it took Celena another ten seconds to register what he was trying to say.
- Oh, it's quite alright, Mr. Creevey, - she smiled at him encouragingly. – I thought there might be some confusion with the new arrangement. Come with me, the class begins now. I will add you to the name list and I can lend you some supplies until you can make your order. And please, by all means, if you know of anyone else in a similar situation, tell them that they are welcome in my class even if they didn't sign up on time.

But the news already spread around the school on their own, and when Celena opened the dungeon's heavy door, she faced what she knew to be the biggest N.E.W.T Potions class in many years.
During the break, Celena wondered whether it would be wiser to just abandon the gloomy dungeon and find a big enough classroom on one of the upper floors, but she was pleasantly surprised. She saw Dobby and his fellow house-elves did a wonderful job. The desks were sparkling clean, the floors spotless. The sinister torches were replaced by shiny bronze chandeliers, and the stone walls were now draped with colorful tapestries and pictures. The old, rigid chairs were gone and replaced by stools, a flowery cushion attached to the seat of each one. A soft, squashy armchair stood in front of the teacher's desk. The old store-cupboard was hastily repainted white, and a smell of fresh paint and cleanliness hung in the air, instead of the musty, cold, unpleasant smells that usually lingered here. Celena grinned from ear to ear and made a mental note to send Dobby a pair of socks as a present.

The students – especially the Gryffindors, who tried to find seats closer to the teacher's desk – looked pleased. They kept glancing around and whispering excitedly, clearly in awe of the enormous difference made to their old Potions classroom. The Slytherins, on the other hand, sat closer to the back of the class and showed little emotion.
Celena approached the teacher's desk, but didn't sit down. She looked into the students' faces. She was not that much older than they were, and could remember clearly her own very first N.E.W.T class. She felt just as excited now. And many of the students, it was easy to notice, felt lucky to be there at all.

- Welcome, - she said, - to your N.E.W.T Potions class. My name is Professor Costello, and I will guide you through this most challenging and exciting part of Potion-making studies. Silence fell. Everybody, even the Slytherins, looked eager.
- The books that will be our guideline through the next two years are "Advanced Potion-Making" by Libatius Borage, the first part of which we are supposed to cover this year, and the book that has accompanied you from your very first Potions class – "One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi". In addition, sometime later this year I will give you authorization to read "Moste Potente Potions", which can only be found in the Restricted Section in the library, and will assist us in getting to know some less conventional potions and poisons.
As for the subjects we are going to cover this year, they include recognizing various poisons and brewing antidotes, learning to distinguish several illegal potions in their various disguises, several Healing potions and a few other subjects I will reserve for our last term. Today, however, I have something special planned for you. Any questions so far?

And, expecting it this time, she saw a pretty girl with long, shiny black hair raise her hand.
- Melissa Hanson, Professor. I know it doesn't really have anything to do with the subject, but is it true that you are a descendant of the man who made the only known Philosopher's st-
- Yes, Miss Hanson. – Celena said exasperatedly. – I am indeed one of the descendants of Nicholas Flamel. However - sorry if this disappoints you – Nicholas didn't pass the secret of the Philosopher's Stone to anyone, and we certainly won't be making it here.
A few students grinned. Others started loudly whispering into their neighbors' ears.
- And now, I have one more comment to make before we proceed.
The class, that has been buzzing excitedly, fell silent once more.

- As you already know, when I took the position of Potions Master in this school, I decided anyone who passed their O.W.L examination, even with only an "Acceptable", should be given the chance to continue to N.E.W.T level. However, due to the concern expressed by the Headmistress about the capability of weaker students to cope with the amount of new knowledge they are supposed to acquire, those who got an "Acceptable" O.W.L will be given extra homework each time we meet, until I am quite sure they are at the same level as the rest of the class.

At the sound of this, some students looked crestfallen. Others muttered to each other fervently. After a second's pause, Celena continued:
- Today, we will be making a potion which isn't, strictly speaking, included in your study program, but which is both advanced and interesting, and that's why I thought it would be a good project for our first meeting. I am speaking of the Beauty Balm.
Several people gasped; some gave a soft "wow", and a few girls giggled. Dennis Creevey, who sat at the very front and middle, gaped at her with his mouth open.
- But those are really valuable! – said Melissa Hanson. – They are quite expensive if ordered through "Witch Weekly".
- They are, Miss Hanson, - Celena nodded. – If made correctly. Now, most of the ingredients needed for making of the Beauty Balm will not be found in your basic kits, so take them from the store cupboard and use them sparingly, especially unicorn hair and Dragonweed. The instructions, - she waved her wand – are on the blackboard. Tricky, but an hour should suffice. Fire away.

There was an immediate rush of action – people were setting fire beneath their cauldrons, cutting valerian roots, measuring exact amounts of clear water and Elf-tree juice and rushing to the store cupboard. Celena was getting ready to walk around the class, examine people's work and make sure the unicorn hair is indeed being used sparingly, when the dungeon's door opened and a man walked in – the very last man Celena wished to see in the middle of her very first N.E.W.T class, the greasy-haired, clad in black robes and wearing and unpleasant smirk, Professor Snape.

- Well, well, well, - he raised his eyebrows, looking around. – What an impressive decoration change here! Did you do it all by yourself, Professor Costello, or did you have to blackmail the house-elves? They never even cleaned here properly, as far as I can remember there were cobwebs in that corner for the last five years or so…
- Good afternoon, Professor Snape, - she said in her most dignified voice, while several Slytherins sniggered. – Is there any special reason..?
- Oh, certainly, - he said dryly, indicating the box h was holding in his arms. – I brought you an extra supply of Wormgrass. The Headmistress thought you'd need some more, because your class, you see, - he looked around, then paused, then continued, - is rather larger than usual…
- Thank you, - Celena said stiffly, taking the box from him and placing it on her desk. – Now, if you will excuse me, Professor Snape, I think I should…
And then she stopped, because the cold expression on Snape's face was replaced by a rather unplanned, blood-chilling twist of his thin lips that was the least welcome smile Celena ever saw.
- Creevey? – he whispered, looking at the boy, who now stopped chopping his Dragonweed and glared back. – You have Creevey in your class, Professor Costello?
- That's quite right, Professor Snape, - said Celena in a ringing voice, feeling an uncomfortable flush in her face, but raising herself to her full height nevertheless. – As you very well know, anyone who didn't fail their O.W.L is welcome in my class.
- Oh, I am well aware of the fact you decided to teach those I would never let in my class, - he cut across her in a low voice that sounded as though it was dripping with venom. – But Creevey… - he hissed towards the boy, - you always loathed Potions… you got a detention last year for telling me insolently to my face you find my subject useless and will not carry on with it even for a prize of a thousand Galleons…

Dennis stood up now, his back stiff, his face scarlet and his fists clenched, while his potion bubbled and steamed, forgotten, emitting puffs of grey vapor because of the uncontrolled fire beneath the cauldron. A corner of Snape's mouth twitched.
- But of course, - he said in a dangerous, silky voice, and cast Celena a very nasty glance. – I could never be quite so… charming.
There was no point pretending not to hear; the students were all listening to the low, malevolent voice. Dennis was a shade of magenta now, mute with indignation, and Celena was fighting back the urge to draw her wand. The Slytherins looked as though Christmas had come early.
- The Beauty Balm, - sneered Snape, growing more and more confident every moment, with the obvious support of his pet students, as he looked at the instructions on the blackboard. – Wise choice, Professor Costello… some of us certainly could do with a few drops, - he looked pointedly at Melissa Hanson, whose face was rather freckly, then turned around and walked out of the classroom without saying another word.
Melissa looked on the verge of tears.

- Some of us, - said Melissa's friend, Samantha Gardner, in a very good, hissing imitation of Professor Snape, - could do with washing their hair, and keeping their overlarge nose out of a classroom that is no longer theirs!
Melissa gave her a weak, grateful grin and continued working on her potion, her hands now shaking slightly.
At the desk next to the girls', a handsome boy was shooting incredulous looks towards Dennis, stirring his potion carefully at the same time.
- What is it? – said Dennis out of the corner of his mouth.
- It's just, well – mate, don't get mad at me or anything, but Snape was right in a way… I mean, it's true that you always hated Potions, and not like the rest of us; only because of Snape… it really was your least favorite class. So how come..?
Dennis turned an even more brilliant shade of magenta and continued working without saying a word.
Celena, in the meantime, walked along the rows, fuming, but didn't say anything until time was up.
- Well, stop working now, and let me see what you have done… ooh, I see most of you did fairly well, although I see that some of your solutions are too watery…
- Mine isn't too watery, - said an annoyed, plump Slytherin girl, prodding the congealed mass inside her cauldron that looked more like beeswax than anything else.
- The Beauty Balm, ideally, should be of a light yellow shade, thick and oily; - Celena ladled some of the solution Denis's friend made. – What is your name, young man?
- Martin Nordholm, from Gryffindor, - he replied.
- Good job, then, Mr. Nordholm… oh, and I see Miss Hanson did very well too. I wouldn't dare to use yours, though, Mr. Creevey, it's a bit too dark and I think it might be because you added too much knotgrass.
- Are we going to try it right now, then? – Melissa asked enthusiastically, apparently not upset at all anymore.
- Oh, yes, that's the most exciting part of today's lesson, - said Celena. – You see, the special thing about the Beauty Balm is that it doesn't change your entire appearance at will, but instead acts upon the feature you would like to change most. For example, if one's ears are overlarge, and one is bothered by it and maybe even teased because of it, they would be the feature that changes with the application of Beauty Balm. And if one finds oneself perfect, the Beauty Balm will not take effect, even if this impression isn't entirely true… now, you may try your Balm, Miss Hanson, and you, Mr. Nordholm, and you, Miss..?
- Brinkley, - said a surly, watery-eyed Slytherin girl.
- Go ahead, now, rub a fair amount of Beauty Balm behind your ears, don't worry, even if the effect is not quite what you desire, it will wear off in a couple of hours…
- Ooh, Professor! – Melissa Hanson exclaimed excitedly, gazing at her reflection in a small mirror she pulled out of her bag. – Look!

All her freckles were gone, and she looked even prettier than before. Martin Nordholm's face didn't change at all, but he grew a few inches taller right in front of everyone's eyes, so that his robes now revealed a stretch of brown wool socks; a few girls gaped in astonishment. The Slytherin girl, Brinkley, now had enormous emerald green eyes with long eyelashes instead of her small watery ones, and was looking very pleased as she saw her reflection in the corner of Melissa's mirror.
- Well done! – Celena said approvingly. – You may keep your Balm, everybody who managed to do it correctly, that'll leave you with a small stock you can use once in a while… be careful not to exaggerate, though, or the effect might become different if you use it too often, and I'm sure you don't want half a face freckled, Miss Hanson…

- Would you like to try some of my Beauty Balm, Professor? – offered Melissa, and everybody looked at her curiously, because Celena was indeed so pretty that it was difficult to imagine what about her would change under the effect of Beauty Balm.
- Oh, I suppose this can't hurt, can it, Miss Hanson? – Celena said light-headedly, scooped some of the thick, yellowish oil from Melissa's cauldron and rubbed it in behind her ears.
She felt a strange, prickling sensation at the sides of her head. She knew it was just not right when she saw the astonished faces of her students.
- It's – it's not so bad, really, Professor… - said Melissa in a very small voice and handed her mirror to Celena.
There were now leaves and wildflowers growing out of her head in a very neat line, like some bizarre wreath. It didn't look ugly, indeed, but it was quite a shock nevertheless.

- This Beauty Balm works wonders, doesn't it! – whispered Amanda Brinkley to her fellow Slytherins. – I mean, who wouldn't want to look like a flowering shrub?
The Slytherin girls giggled unpleasantly.
- Yes, well, - said Celena, deep in thought, examining herself in the small mirror. – I should have foreseen something like this might happen, yes… side effects… not to worry, though, Miss Hanson, I see your Balm worked just fine on you, so you keep it. Well, that's it for today. Extra homework for those who need it is on the blackboard, and for the rest of you – a roll of parchment about the properties of unicorn hair and its uses in Potion-making, to be handed in next time.
Relieved, the students picked up their things, washed their hands and went off to their common rooms, while Celena started walking in the direction of the hospital wing.

First Lessons

When she woke up and got dressed next morning, feeling nicely refreshed after a long, undisturbed sleep in a comfortable bed, Celena found a piece of parchment waiting for her on top of her shiny desk. It was neatly rolled up and sealed; when she opened it, she saw it contains her teaching timetable. She spent much time preparing for the program of each year, of course, but still she was happy to discover she had the first-years, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, on her first lesson of that morning. She felt nervous and excited just like those boys and girls who tried on the Sorting Hat last night.

The way down to the Great Hall for breakfast took a long time, and she found it by pure luck: running into a crowd of Gryffindor students and following them.
It was quite early, but nearly all the staff members were already at the table. Professor McGonagall was sipping her tea in a dignified manner; Hagrid was eating his way through a pile of fried eggs and sausages; Professor Flitwick was spreading marmalade on his toast; Professor Sprout was tucking into a bowl of porridge with butter and honey; Snape, apparently, had already eaten and was fiddling with his napkin, looking as unpleasant as the night before.

Thankfully, the seat between Hagrid and Professor Sprout was empty, and Celena edged towards it, timidly greeting everyone. She sat down and started ladling porridge into her bowl, when breakfast was interrupted by the arrival of morning owls. They soared through the windows, looking for their owners or recipients, then diving to deliver letters and packages.
A screech owl landed on top of Professor McGonagall's empty plate, "The Daily Prophet" clammed tightly in its beak, and held out a scaly leg with a leather pouch attached to it. Professor McGonagall rummaged in her robes for a few seconds, then extracted a bronze Knut and deposited it in the owl's pouch. It clicked its beak impatiently, dropped the newspaper and took off at once.

Celena didn't expect any post, because yesterday, before going to bed, she sent an owl to her parents and Timothy to tell them she arrived as planned. She knew Timothy would be too busy in the morning to write any letters. However, she received a note from her uncle, Remus Lupin. While her attention was drawn to the note, the brown owl that delivered it flew off with the remainder of her toast in its beak.
Remus' letter was short:

"Dear Celena,
I hope you arrived in Hogwarts yesterday as was planned, to a good start of term and a warm welcome.
I am in London right now, but I'm not staying with Romina and Umberto, so don't write home if you want to find me.
Dora and little Teddy send their love. Write when you can, and tell me about your first week as a teacher.
Uncle Remus"

Celena raised her eyebrows. What might her uncle be doing in London, and why isn't he staying with her parents in "Costello Concoctions" like he has always done? However intrigued by the mystery of this letter, she snorted. "Warm welcome" – it seemed as though her uncle somehow knew there was at least one teacher at the staff table who looked ready to jinx her from the moment she arrived. Then again, Uncle Remus spent a year teaching in Hogwarts himself, she remembered.

When she finished breakfast, she was glad she still had some time to swing by her office and pick up the books and name list she needed for her first class. She knew the ingredients for potion-making were already in the store cupboard in the dungeons where she was to teach. She asked Hagrid for elaborate instructions on how to get there, and hoped she would not have to run into Peeves the poltergeist again on the way.

… She knew there was no mistake – Hagrid's explanations were accurate, and indeed she was going deeper and deeper down. Yet the corridor leading to the dungeons gave her such a strong sense of foreboding that she felt somehow she wasn't supposed to be there.
The pathway was wide, and the uneven ancient stones of the floor echoed loudly with every step she took. The walls were grey and grimy, the orange, flickering light of torches dancing on them, penetrating the darkness and casting huge, misshapen shadows.
The vast dungeon room in which Potions classes were to be held wasn't looking any more welcoming – the same bare grey walls, the same flickering torches poorly illuminating it. In addition, it was very cold.

An old, dusty store cupboard and about a dozen desks were the only furniture. Celena drew her robes tighter around her shoulders, placed her books and notes on the teacher's desk, sat down and waited for her students to come in.
They arrived a couple of minutes later, some of them casting worried looks around the gloomy classroom. In groups of four, students huddled around the desks (Celena noticed the Ravenclaws tried to sit right in front of the classroom, while Hufflepuffs occupied the back seats), but nobody sat down yet.
Celena rose to greet them and smiled, trying to look more confident than she really felt. Their very first lesson – and mine, too, she thought.

- Good morning, class. – she said. – I am Professor Costello, and starting from today, I will be teaching you the subtle art of potion-making.
There was a general murmur of "good morning, Professor Costello" around the class, and she continued.
- The art of Potions differs from other magical disciplines by the amount of attention and concentration that must be present during the entire time of your work. One wrong ingredient, one stir in the wrong direction – and the product which took hours or days to prepare, and days or weeks to mature, might be lost. However, even though all of you cannot be equally, naturally talented, potion-making can be learned – to the necessary extent – by just about anyone, with some patience and preservation.

And since there were many whispers and looks of incredulity on the faces of boys and girls, she added:
- Despite anything you might have heard. Now, I hope you all have standard-sized cauldrons, scales, the basic set of ingredients and the two books that will be guiding us through this year: "One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi" by Arsenius Jigger, and "Potion-making for Beginners" by Libatius Borage. The book of Arsenius Jigger will tell us all we need to know about various potion ingredients used even in the most complicated potions, while Libatius Borage will explain more on the techniques of potion-making and its safety rules. Any questions so far?
She thought there probably wouldn't be any, but to her surprise, a blonde, curly-haired girl sitting at the front desk raised her hand. Celena remembered vaguely she had been sorted into Ravenclaw the night before.

- Yes, Miss..?
- White, Professor. Kimberly White. Please, Professor, is it true that you are related to Nicholas Flamel?
Well, she should have seen it coming, really, Celena thought, frowning slightly. There was such a murmur of curiosity around the class, though, that she decided not to leave Kimberly's question unanswered.
- As a matter of fact, Miss White, I am. Nicholas Flamel was one of my ancestors, and the very first Potions teacher I had, long before I began my formal magical education.
The murmurs and whispering stopped, and the class broke into gasps and "ooh"s.
- Today, - continued Celena, - to give you a taste of what potion-making feels like, we will prepare the very first potion, the very basic one, that I was taught to make by Great-Uncle Flamel when I was five. It's quick and easy, and I'm sure it would have been very useful to many of you last night, when you stood at the Great Hall, about to be sorted. I am referring, of course, to the Calming Draught.

There was appreciative laughter around the class and the atmosphere eased considerably.
- For instructions, - said Celena, - you will open page twenty-four in "Potion-Making for Beginners". The ingredients that aren't included in your basic kits can be found in the store cupboard. You will start now.

There was an immediate rustle of pages and setting of fires beneath cauldrons.
It is the first time they are doing this; Celena reminded herself when she saw daisy roots, unclean and roughly cut, thrown into a cauldron, or when someone kept extinguishing their fire by stirring fervently and spilling half of their potion. The ideal half-stage for Calming Draught was supposed to look like orange juice, but instead of the clear orange shade, the liquid bubbling in most cauldrons was yellow or reddish brown – that is, if the student managed not to smash his or her cauldron or set their robes on fire.

When it was five minutes to the end of the double period, Celena told everyone to stop working and walked around the class, examining everybody's potions, which were supposed to turn by now to a clear, greenish liquid smelling slightly like pines.
The results, of course, weren't very impressive. Not many people achieved anything that resembled the desired potion even slightly. Some had bubbling bogey-like goo in their cauldrons, others' potions smelled like rotten eggs or smoked so much the entire desk was obscured and students backed away from it, coughing; some pupils, however, seemed naturally gifted.
- Oh, very good, Miss White! – Celena said enthusiastically, ladling some of Kimberly's perfect, fresh-smelling, clear potion and letting it spill back into her cauldron, so that everyone could see. – Ten points to Ravenclaw. And – oh, this one is just as nice! Good work, - she kindly said to a small, timid-looking boy at the very back of the class. – Your name is..?
- Brian O'Connor, from Hufflepuff, Professor.
- Ten points to Hufflepuff too, then, excellent! Now, - she continued, emptying all the cauldrons with one wave of her wand and leaving them sparkling clean again. – It's your first day, so you will not receive marks for today's work – that was just to give you a taste of what potion-making really feels like! You will, however, be rated for your very first piece of homework, which you will hand in next time we meet, on Thursday morning. I want a twelve-inch-long essay on the safety measures during potion-making and what can happen if you don't follow them. A simple, accurate summary of Chapter One from Libatius Borage will do. You may leave now.

There was scraping of chairs and a great deal of noise as the students threw their things pell-mell into their bags and hurried off from the gloomy dungeon to a morning break in the sunlit grounds.
Well, all in all, it wasn't as bas as it could have been - Celena thought. Some of the students, however, seemed prejudiced against the entire subject of Potions, perhaps because of what they were told by older siblings or parents – and although Celena didn't want to do too much guesswork, she thought she had a shrewd idea that could be because of a certain Potions Master with an unusually high rate of students failing his exams year after year.

The look of the classroom, she had to admit, wasn't exactly welcoming either. Maybe students could get used to the bare walls and the gloomy smoking torches, but in Beauxbatons she learned that pleasant, comfortable surroundings were not the least important factor on the way to academic achievement.
And then, all of a sudden, she had an idea. She cleared her throat and called tentatively –
- Dobby?
And at that very second, with a loud "pop", the house-elf appeared, wearing the same lurid clothes from the night before and positively beaming.
- Miss Costello called? – He asked in his high-pitched voice.
- Yes, Dobby, - said Celena. – Tell me, something – has it ever occurred to you that this place looks a bit gloomy?
Dobby looked around, at the bare stone walls, the grimy windows, the flickering, dull light of torches; "a bit gloomy" was something of an understatement.
- I would say so, yes, Miss Costello! – Dobby nodded enthusiastically, his long ears flapping. – We house-elves clean here… sometimes; - he cast a quick look upon the stained desks and the dusty stone floor. – But it is – it was – Professor Snape's classroom, Miss Costello, and we don't like to have too much to do with Professor Snape, Miss Costello, we don't!

- Well, times have changed, - said Celena. – It will be my classroom from this day on, Dobby, and I wish it could look more welcoming, so that the students would not feel it's torture to spend time here, especially the younger ones. Do you think there is something you can do for me, Dobby? You did such wonderful work in my office yesterday.
Dobby gave a great "whoop" and jumped, nearly touching his backside with his little heels.
- Dobby will call some house-elves, Miss Costello, and we'll do everything to make this dungeon a nicer place, we will! We will clean properly and bring spare carpets and other things! All we need is a couple of hours, Miss!
- Can you do it now, Dobby? – Celena asked, - I don't have any classes until after lunch.

The Sorting

Celena followed Professor McGonagall down a couple of corridors and into a plain room with a desk and a chair, bare walls and dirty windows. The fireplace was cold, extinguished and full of soot, and the room was crammed with trunks, plentiful of boxes and a cage containing a sulky-looking cat with fierce orange eyes, furry and black, except for a white elegant patch on his chest.
- Oh, Lenvik! – exclaimed the young witch. – He has been locked up for such a long time! May I?..

- By all means. – Minerva McGonagall flicked her wand casually, and a fire was set ablaze in the grate. The office suddenly acquired a much more welcoming look. – I know it's not something, - she said, gesturing towards the dusty desk and the dingy windows. – But the house elves will clean it up while we're down at the Great Hall, and your bedroom is ready, it's right here at the back of the office and I think you'll find it quite comfortable. Now tell me, Celena, how is Remus?
- Uncle Remus is just fine, - said Celena. – Works hard, and Dora has her hands full with little Teddy. But you probably know that already, you're both in the Ord-
- Shh! – McGonagall pressed a finger to her lips and gave Celena a disgruntled look. – I didn't know Remus told you we are still operating!
- He did, - Celena said timidly. – But I don't quite understand why –

- This is not the time to discuss it, - said McGonagall. – I will have to have a word with Remus… now, a few more questions before I leave you to start getting ready for the Feast. You have, of course, carefully studied our basic curriculum through the books of Arsenius Jigger and Libatius Borage?
- Oh, I spent half the summer reading them and planning the program accordingly! – Celena said happily. – And I think I have a few ideas of my own, just to make classes more interesting, an occasional treat, you know.
- That's settled, then. – said Professor McGonagall, looking pleased. – Now, about your older students, what is your standard for the N.E.W.T class?
- An "Acceptable" O.W.L, - said Celena. – I think that should do.

Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows.
- "Acceptable?" Are you sure that will be enough? I must remind you that Professor Snape didn't accept students into his N.E.W.T class without anything other than an "Outstanding" O.W.L. Now, I admit I used to think he's a bit harsh, but I thought you'd at least demand an "Exceeds Expectations" mark… - her voice trailed off in a tone of polite incredulity.
- Uncle Remus told me about Professor Snape's standards. But you see – I thought everyone who passes should be allowed a try. They can drop the subject later, or even fail the examination, but at least it won't be like they weren't given a chance in the first place.
She looked straight at Professor McGonagall, who seemed strangely, quietly pleased with this answer. That was encouraging, especially after Professor Snape's welcome, which made her feel she was pushed headfirst into a bucket of cold water. Uncle Remus told her to expect no better, though.

- Now, time to get ready. – said the Headmistress. – The Welcoming Feast is an excellent opportunity for you to meet all the staff members; you know some of them already, of course, for instance I remember you from Bill Weasley's wedding.
- Ah, now, - Celena smiled, - Fleur Delacour is a very good friend of mine, we went to Beauxbatons together. And we still keep in touch; she and Bill have got such a beautiful little place…
- I had no idea. Then again, I don't know Fleur very well. I will wait for you while you change, Celena, and then we can go down to the Feast together.

The Great Hall was magnificently decorated for the start-of-term feast, with its usual hundreds of candles floating in mid-air, the four House tables and the high staff table covered with white linen and hundreds of gleaming gold plates, forks, knives and goblets. The walls were draped in banisters carrying the symbols of all four Hogwarts houses – the gold and red Gryffindor lion, yellow and black Hufflepuff badger, blue and bronze Ravenclaw eagle, and finally, the green and silver serpent of Slytherin.

The first years were crossing the lake, as it was a tradition before Sorting could take place, but the older students were already sitting at the four long tables, the translucent House ghosts floating graciously above and between them. An object which looked a bit out of place in the midst of all this splendor was a plain wooden three-legged stool, which stood in the middle of the Hall. The old, patched hat from Professor McGonagall's office was resting upon it.
The Headmistress' throne was obviously empty, as she was approaching together with Celena, and there were two more vacant seats at the staff table, side by side – one is mine, of course, Celena realized – and who else is missing? There was a murmur of excitement as Professor McGonagall entered, Celena at her heels.

Professor McGonagall looked quite the same as ever at that type of feasts, in her tartan dress robes and her hair in a tight bun. Celena, however, now only was unfamiliar to the students, but now looked quite different from the pretty but simple woman she was an hour ago, when she emerged from Professor McGonagall's fireplace.

She wore a set of dress robes of fine indigo velvet, which clung tightly to her slender waist but left her neck open, strikingly white against the dark velvet, a magnificent dove-egg sized sapphire on a fine golden chain resting upon it. Matching sapphire earrings, a family heirloom, adorned her ears, and her glittering, sharp heels carried her forward with a grace unexpected of the schoolgirl she resembled not long ago. She took off her gloves, so that her white arms were shown in all their beauty against her dark robes. Her hair was let out of its plain knot and now gleamed in sleek chestnut waves that fell almost to her knees.

She walked between the tables, smiling slightly, across the Hall. On to the staff table she went, and stared at the two vacant chairs. She was sure the one next to Professor McGonagall was meant for someone more important, so instead she sat two seats apart, between the empty chair and a tiny wizard whose feet didn't quite reach the floor, and who gave her a friendly, encouraging nod. Snape was sitting on Professor McGonagall's other side, wearing his usual black robes and a sour expression.

The moment they took their seats, the doors of the Great Hall burst open, and a group of terrified-looking first-years shuffled in, followed by a figure of a man who was about three times as tall as any of them, with a tangle of hair and beard that looked positively alarming to a stranger. Celena, however, beamed and waved.

- Hi, Hagrid! – she called, beside herself with excitement that the empty chair by her side will soon be occupied by the big, friendly man she has come to know and like through Uncle Remus. He waved an enormous grubby hand in return and grinned. They have met several times before, when Hagrid visited her uncle, and grew quite fond of each other. Professor Flitwick, the tiny wizard on Celena's right, wasn't a complete stranger either – she remembered him from Bill and Fleur's wedding. It was encouraging to be surrounded by familiar faces, she thought. She didn't have much time to ponder this, though, because all of a sudden, a brim at the side of the old hat opened like a mouth and it burst into song – Celena gave a small jump and squeak in her chair, but it looked as though everyone else were expecting it to happen. There was scattered applause around the Hall, and then everyone went silent, to hear better the words of the Sorting Hat.

When Hogwarts freshly founded stood,
When teaching only started,
Four friends were joined by brotherhood,
Thought never to be parted.
Great Gryffindor, he taught those who
Were brave, with hearts of fire,
Wise Ravenclaw, she took those who
For knowledge had desire;
Good Hufflepuff, she taught all those
Who said it was their wishin' –
And Slytherin, he seeked pure blood
And merciless ambition.
You know it all, they fell apart,
Without a further mention;
And never since been wizardkind
Free of this burning question:
Which House do I belong to? Well,
If only that – I'll tell you,
But it's with greatest pain I do
Divide you and expel you
From all the rest of Houses, for
The danger's not yet parted –
We should be vigilant and more
Befriended and united!

The Hall was silent for a moment after the Hat had finished its song, and then everyone broke into applause. Celena clapped more enthusiastically than anybody, perhaps because it was the first Sorting she witnessed. She heard of the Sorting Hat from her uncle, of course, but she never imagined it actually reciting self-made poems.
- Not at all up to its usual standard, not at all! – squeaked the little Professor Flitwick on her side. – Short, and some vague warnings again!

In the meantime, Hagrid was rising to occupy the last free chair at the staff table, and everyone's attention was fixed upon the first-years, who looked, if possible, even more frightened. The Headmistress addressed them loudly and clearly, but it still seemed as though at least some of them weren't taking in a word of what she was saying:
- The task you need to perform in order to find out which of the four Houses you belong to is really quite simple. All you need to do is sit down on the stool and try the Hat on when your name is called out. The Hat will then tell which house you are to go in, and you will join the appropriate table.

She pulled out a roll of parchment from the inside of her robes, straightened her spectacles and read out the first name:
- Allenby, Allan!
A thin, blond boy wrenched himself out of the crowd and walked shakily towards the stool. He took the Sorting Hat in his hands, sat down and placed it on top of his head. The Hat easily fell over his ears, covering half his small face. There was a moment of silence, and then the Hat shouted, "Hufflepuff!"
There was loud cheering and applause at the Hufflepuff table when Alan, blushing and light-headed with relief of having it gone so smoothly, went to join them.
- Atkins, Elizabeth!
A pretty girl with a long plait approached the stool much more confidently. The Hat didn't pause this time; the moment it touched her head, it roared, "Gryffindor!"; there was an uproar at the Gryffindor table as Elizabeth went to sit with them.
Professor McGonagall continued reading. "Buckery, Eve"; "Dragonfly, Simon"; "Lloyd, Linda"; "Manson, Henry"; "O'Railey, Rose". Some students tried to approach the stool casually. Others didn't attempt to conceal their apprehensiveness. "Tanner, Daniel" dropped the Hat twice before finally managing to put it on his head and being sorted into Ravenclaw (Professor Flitwick clapped loudly), and "Zorinsky, Natalie" tripped over the stool before becoming a Slytherin.

She was the last, however. Professor McGonagall then stood up, and all was quiet again.
- I welcome our students and staff members to another year of magical education at Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, - she began, and silence fell around the Hall, punctured only occasionally by excited whispers. – There are some things to be said and announcements to be made, but according to the tradition set by Professor Dumbledore, it can all wait until after we have enjoyed this splendid feast.

There was a wave of murmurs at the mention of Dumbledore's name, but it soon was extinguished as the plates and jugs filled themselves with everything an excited and hungry person might wish for.
- Excellent, I'm starving, - said Celena, drowning her roast potatoes in gravy and adding salad to her plate. Hagrid nodded approvingly, tapping a dozen chicken legs onto his plate and tearing a huge chunk off one of them with his teeth.
- Have some shepherd's pie, Miss Costello – I mean, Professor Costello, - said Professor Flitwick, smiling.

Over the clunking of knives and forks, talking was very comfortable. Celena was introduced to several of the other teachers, most of whom seemed very nice, especially Pomona Sprout, the cheery little witch who taught Herbology, and Professor Vector, the Arithmancy teacher.
Sybill Trelawney, the Divination teacher, seemed to have taken a particular liking to Celena, and was talking to her in a soft, mystical voice:

- My Inner Eye sees pangs of love inflicted upon your pretty features, dear, by a handsome but treacherous man, - she said confidently.
- Quite the contrary, - Celena tried to refrain from laughing. – I got engaged recently, and next summer you might just be invited to my wedding -
Professor Trelawney looked rather taken aback, but fortunately, a diversion came in form of Hagrid who chocked on a huge bit of chicken. Celena and Professor McGonagall started clapping him on the back, which seemed to make little effect. Finally, after two painful minutes in which his face had gone beet red, Hagrid sat straight again, clutching his throat and wiping tears out of his eyes.

- Bin out in the grounds all day, - he croaked. – Las'-minute preparations, see… tha's why I'm so hungry now – need more ale fer washin' it all down – why don't you pass me that flagon, Celena, that's a good lass.
- Here, have some bread with that, Hagrid, - Celena said kindly and reached for a plate of rolls to pass him.
Finally, everybody felt full to burst, and the clinking of silverware was getting duller. All the food had vanished from the plates, leaving them empty, gleaming and clean for a second, to be filled the next moments with pies, tarts, puddings, éclairs and ice-cream of every flavor one could possibly imagine.

Celena helped herself eagerly to about ten different flavors of ice-cream at once. She then looked into her plate, as if contemplating it, biting her lip in concentration – and all of a sudden, the gigantic portion of ice-cream was covered with a mound of whipped cream with a cherry on top. Then she grabbed a spoon and started eating; Hagrid looked amused, not noticing there were flecks of white whipped cream above his bushy eyebrows. He was tucking into a delicious-looking treacle tart; Professor Flitwick was delicately eating a chocolate éclair; Professor McGonagall managed a third helping of strawberry pie, and only Snape hadn't eaten any pudding at all.

- Hagrid, is there anything at all wrong with this man? – Celena whispered, gesturing discreetly towards Professor Snape and trying to sound casual.
- Nah, - Hagrid replied cheerfully, - He always looks as though he was jus' made ter eat dung.
When everyone ate as much pudding as they could, the plates and goblets emptied and Professor McGonagall stood up. The chattering and laughter died out in an instant, and every face was turned towards her, apprehensive. It was obvious that she was a woman of great inner power, used to be listened to when she talks, very confident. She might not have glory of the former Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, but beyond a doubt, she was respected by the students and staff members, and at the moment, had everybody's full attention.

- Now that we all ate and drank, I would like to open this term with a couple of words. The war is over, and I am happy to tell you that parents aren't afraid anymore to send their children Hogwarts, where young witches and wizards receive the finest magical education.
There was scattered applause, but McGonagall raised a hand and it stopped immediately.
- I must remind you, however, that these are the first steps of shaky peace after a long and exhausting war, the outcome of which was unclear until its very end. We must remember many of the supporters of He Who Must Not Be Named haven't been caught – or, as I am sorry to admit, even discovered. It is our duty, therefore, to maintain – like Alastor Moody used to say – constant vigilance. They cannot bring Him Who Must Not Be Named back, but they may still plot, and scheme, and seek revenge. We ought to hold on to each other, and take care of each other, more than ever. We owe it to the memory of Professor Dumbledore, and many other fine, noble people who should have been enjoying the end of war with us.

Once more, a murmur ran around the Hall and people whispered and nodded.
- I must therefore remind our new and old students that the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds, and no student is to leave the grounds to visit Hogsmeade without the permission of a parent or guardian. Students below third year aren't allowed into Hogsmeade at all.
A few students looked crestfallen. A second-year girl whispered in her neighbor: "I hoped she might forget to say that!"

- I must also remind you that no magic is allowed in corridors between classes. Dark objects are of course banned, as are more products of Zonko's, including Fanged Frisbees, Exploding Yo-yos and three-hundred and twenty six other objects, the detailed list of which can be found on the door inside of Mr. Filch's office, where you can browse it at your leisure.
There were a few giggles no one really bothered to hide. Not paying attention to that, Professor McGonagall continued:
- This year, the ranks of our teachers underwent some changes. First, our Deputy Headmaster and Master of Potions until last year, Professor Snape, will not be teaching Potions anymore, but takes instead the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.
Snape looked very pleased with himself. He waved to the cheering Slytherins and straightened the front of his robes.

- The Potions Master position will instead be occupied by Professor Celena Costello, who will, I am sure, draw a splendid performance.
The clapping and cheering grew louder, and it didn't issue only from the Slytherin table this time; encouraged, Celena beamed and waved at the students.
- And the final, and most important notice: since I have now taken the chair of Headmistress of Hogwarts, it is impossible for me to continue being Head of Gryffindor house at the same time. It is with greatest pain, therefore, that I renounce being Head of House –

Professor McGonagall's words were drowned in indignant exclamations from the Gryffindor table; most of the students were white with shock, some still sitting down and mouthing speechlessly, positively outraged, some of them on their feet, shouting something heatedly.
- The Head of Gryffindor house, - continued Professor McGonagall very loudly, over all the tumult. - Will be no other than our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, Rubeus Hagrid, who accepted this difficult and challenging task in addition to his teacher and gamekeeper duties.
For a second, there was ringing silence. The Gryffindors simply stood or sat, whatever position Professor McGonagall's words caught them in, looking at each other, comprehension slowly dawning upon their faces. And then, the red and gold table erupted in such an uproar of applause that the windows rattled. Hagrid, absolutely beside himself with delight, waved at the students, fat tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes and disappearing in his tangled beard.
- Well done, Hagrid! – beamed Celena.

Hagrid's new job was, of course, settled in advance between him and Professor McGonagall, and even Celena knew about it from Uncle Remus. But hearing the words spoken out loud in front of all the students created such an overwhelming load of happiness Hagrid could hardly handle it.
- Can' believe it, - he croaked, wiping his tears on his sleeve and knocking Professor Flitwick out of his chair with an accidental shove of an enormous elbow. Professor Flitwick toppled out of view, reappearing from under the table a second later, looking cheerful nevertheless.

- Congratulations, Hagrid! – He squeaked.
In the meantime, Professor McGonagall continued talking:
- Quidditch trials will be held at the second week of term, so those of you who are interested should apply promptly. Classes begin tomorrow morning, at half past eight. And now, I believe it is high time we all went to bed. Off you go!

Deafening screeching and scraping of benches followed as hundreds of well-fed, excited and tired students hurried off to their dormitories. The teachers followed in a dignified, slow walk.
- Lemme take you to yer office, Celena, - said Hagrid. – I believe 'tis on the seventh floor, and you don't know the castle too well.
Celena accepted the offer gratefully. Hogwarts seemed much bigger than the Beauxbatons castle, and not so well-planned, as if some parts of it were added later than others – which, she reminded herself, they probably were.

And so she let Hagrid lead her, upstairs, through many corridors and shortcuts, past many pictures, statues and suits of armor, looking around and trying to memorize the way.
They couldn't be far now, Celena thought, panting, as she ascended landing after landing. Apparition was impossible inside the castle and grounds – a reasonable safety measure that has proved itself more than once – but it didn't make the task of getting from the ground floor to the seventh floor any easier.

And then, all of a sudden, the strangest thing happened – Celena and Hagrid both collapsed in a heap on the floor. For a second, Celena thought they must have missed one of those trick stairs that could be encountered so often on the many stairways of Hogwarts. But then she realized the carpet was simply snatched from under their feet – by a round little man hovering in mid-air, wearing a ludicrous orange bow-tie.

- Peeves! – roared Hagrid in indignation, getting up to his feet after what seemed like a small earthquake. – You wait; I'm going ter call Filch and he'll have you this time, fer playin' tricks on two teachers.
The expression that spread across Peeves' malevolent face was, if anything, of delight.
- Tut, tut, is that a teacher? I thought it was a wee student, lost and alone…
- The Bloody Baron is around the corner, you wretched poltergeist!

Celena was yet to meet the Bloody Baron, Slytherin's ghost, silent, gaunt and frightening, covered in stains of silver blood. He always stood apart from the other ghosts and was, indeed, the only one who could frighten Peeves, the havoc-loving poltergeist. Now, however, Peeves did not seem impressed; he merely made a very rude hand-gesture and departed, cackling.
- I wonder why, - mused Celena, looking bewildered and trying to straighten her hair, - a poltergeist is allowed here?
Hagrid shrugged. Fortunately, Celena's office and quarters were right behind the corner, and when they reached it, they bid each other good night and Hagrid departed.

When she entered her office, Celena first gasped, then "oohed", then grinned. It was no longer the dingy, grey room she left only two hours ago. The desk gleamed with cleanliness; all of her possessions were unpacked, the books stood neatly upon the many shelves, together with moving photographs of her parents, Uncle Remus, Dora and her little cousin Teddy. Lenvik was sitting on a cushion in an armchair behind the desk, purring loudly. The doors to the tiny bedroom and bathroom were left open, and Celena could see her robes, folded neatly on top of the spotless bedcovers. The windows were draped in silky, flowery curtains, and the bathroom gave off a fresh scent. Fire as blazing merrily in the grate, and a furry little carpet lay in front of it. Celena gave a great sigh of contentment and sank onto it, wanting to snatch a few peaceful moments by the fire before going to sleep – or rather, she attempted to sit; while she did so, she realized someone was already sitting there, curled up in front of the fire and snoring loudly. Celena gave a stifled cry of surprised, but then saw it was merely a house-elf. Just as she registered it, the elf woke with a start.

- Oh, Miss! – It cried in a squeaky, high-pitched voice, rubbing its enormous, tennis-ball-sized green eyes. – You must be Professor Celena Costello, Miss! Dobby is cleaning your office for you, Miss, while you is downstairs at the feast, but Dobby is alone, because a the other house-elves are in the kitchens, Miss, and there was a lot of work to do, and Dobby is tired, so he falls asleep in front of the fire without noticing , Miss! Dobby mustn't have let this happen, Miss, and begs you to forgive him!

- That's quite alright, - said Celena, rather taken aback by this speech, and eyed the elf, astonished. His appearance was nothing short of bizarre – he wore a maroon jumper on top of checked shorts, at least half a dozen woolly hats on top of his bat-like ears, and odd socks – one was bright red, the other covered in white and orange striped. But the mismatched garments weren't what startled her.

- You're wearing clothes! – She exclaimed. – Real clothes!
Celena's parents, of course, never owned an elf – there was no need to, in the small, crammed apartment above "Costello Concoctions", but she knew elves never wore actual garments of clothing – rather, they draped themselves in towels or pillowcases; presenting a house-elf with clothes would mean breaking the magical bond between the elf and the family, and setting it free.

- Dobby is a free elf, Miss! – The elf squeaked proudly, rolling out a hairy chest. – He gets paid for his work in Hogwarts, Miss, and gets days off, and chooses who to obey! Dobby was employed by Professor Dumbledore –
And as he said it, his enormous eyes filled with tears and his lower lip trembled.
It now registered in Celena's mind that this story was, in fact, oddly familiar, as if someone told is to her a long time ago. She only thought of it vaguely, though, anxiously looking around for something she could offer to comfort the elf. Being unable to think of anything, she bent and patted the elf on the back.

- Thank you for the excellent work, Dobby, - she said kindly. – The place is unrecognizable. I knew Professor Dumbledore a little. He was a great man. Would you like, perhaps, to sit down and rest a bit?
- Oh, you is very kind, Miss Costello! – Said Dobby, his lamp-like eyes now positively brimming with tears. – But Dobby would much rather go to his bed in the room near the kitchens, Miss, and have some sleep, and Dobby was too busy to have any dinner yet, Miss!
- Alright then, Dobby, off you go to the kitchens, and don't forget to grab a bite to eat!
- You are fair and good, Miss Costello! – the elf spoke, making her turn crimson. – If Miss ever needs anything, she can just call Dobby, and Dobby will come and do whatever he can!
And with a loud "crack", he disappeared.

When Celena finally took off her clothes and went to bed, she found a box of mints under her pillow, and a stack of neatly folded handkerchiefs, each one bearing a Hogwarts crest – a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake forming the letter "H".

The New Potions Master

- I can tell when you think I'm wrong, Severus. – She frowned. – And I know you do this time.
- Suppose I do. – The man called Severus replied coldly. – Would it make the slightest difference? I think not, and therefore I would rather keep my opinion to myself.
- You are the second most important person in this school, Severus. – She said exasperatedly. – The War has ended, but if anything at all happens, you will replace me as headmaster. Your opinion matters to me, and as long as we remain united in our goals…
- … It doesn't matter if we disagree on the less-than-major issues. – He interrupted, a note of finality in his voice. – You have told me this before, Headmistress, and yet I do not think it is a matter we can take light-headedly.

- Oh, come on, Snape! – She said rather louder than she meant, and continued more placidly. – You of all people should know they are harmless. It's the same old superstition that exists against werewolves…
Snape's lip curled at the world "werewolves". He continued, however, in a humorless voice:
- I am not talking of that stupidity anymore, Headmistress. I won't say a thing anymore against you allowing them to reside here, as long as they don't actually prowl the grounds or the castle at daytime…
- Which you know perfectly well they won't, - snapped the Headmistress.
- I know, indeed. And I thought you would have guessed it's your other decision I was referring to.

He said that in quite a polite tone, but Minerva McGonagall's face immediately put on a rather irritable expression.
- Not again, Severus! – She exclaimed. – You came here only a few days ago, before the end of summer holidays, and yet we must have discussed this at least a dozen times! I would have thought that, owing to the fact that you got the position you wanted, you wouldn't mind so much seeing the Potions vacancy filled by another person – after all, you can hardly be expected to hold two jobs!

Snape tried to put on his mildest expression, which did hardly anything to soften his sour features, his thin lips and hooked nose. He was lean, reasonably well-built, but that couldn't really be noticed underneath his black, billowing robes. McGonagall was also in her usual tartan, her hair pulled back in a neat, graying bun. Not much has change in the appearance of these two heroes of the Second War, the War during which Lord Voldemort had finally been defeated.
- I don't mind the filling of that vacancy. – He made an impatient gesture. – You make it sound, Minerva, as if I wanted to keep the Potions Master position while I start teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at the same time. I just thought that, being Deputy Headmaster, - he said the last two words rather smugly, - I have the right to worry about where this school is heading, what will happen to our standards, our reputation, our achievements – once we start appointing…

- Wait a minute, Severus, - said Professor McGonagall briskly, watching him intently over the top of her square spectacles. – I think I know what this is about.
- You do? – Snape looked mildly interested.
- Yes, I think I do. – Repeated McGonagall. – You… you underestimate Beauxbatons Academy!
- I beg your pardon? – Snape said coldly.
- Severus, it is no secret you think those who graduate from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic don't have quite the same grasp of the Magical Arts. And while I agree with you that they put a bit too much emphasis on impractical subjects like Divination, I must say I'm quite satisfied with…

- It has nothing to do with that, Headmistress, - he interrupted her again. – It has everything to do, however, with the age and experience of the candidate you have chosen. I thought the policy of this school was not to accept candidates below twenty-five years of age anymore, unless there is specific evidence that they have enough skills and experience to cope with teaching. Do you know this Miss Costello, Minerva? Or does, perhaps, anyone from the staff?

- No, - admitted Minerva McGonagall. – But I interviewed her, and she made a good impression on me. Seemed like quite an expert, as a matter of fact. She has excellent recommendations, too. Madame Maxime, Headmistress of Beauxbatons, praised her. Her parents own the shop "Costello Concoctions" in Diagon Alley, so she was practically born in a cauldron. As I have told you before, she worked in St. Mungo's until last month, and they spoke most highly of her as well, sent me a letter telling that her knowledge in antidotes surpasses that of many older and more experienced wizards and witches. And you mustn't forget, Severus, that Celena Costello is related to, and was taught by Nicholas Flamel, the only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone. I know we decided about an age restriction, but to tell you the truth, I'm wondering if we haven't made a rushed decision in the first place. After all, personal qualities matter much more than a few years more or less. Maybe we should consider canceling it altogether?

- She is related to someone else we know well, too, - added Snape, ignoring her last point, his eyes narrowing maliciously, a trace of a grin on his sulky face. – Are you perhaps prejudiced in her favor, Minerva, because you are fond of her dear uncle, Remus Lupin?
- I think most highly of Remus Lupin. – McGonagall cut across him rather sternly. – As I think of all my fellow members of the Order, and first of all you, Severus. But in appointing Celena Costello as the Master of Potions in Hogwarts, I followed only the unbiased opinion of those who taught her or worked by her side, and my own impression.

For a mere second, they glared at each other – Professor McGonagall, very straight in her dress robes, her hair in a tight bun, her expression frosty; and Snape, Severus Snape, looking like an overgrown bat in his loose black robes, his rather greasy hair still raven-black, with no tinge of grey, hanging loosely at the sides of his pale face, an evil twinkle still in his eyes. Then he shrugged, as if he still thought he knows better, but decided not to argue.

- How is she arriving, anyway? – He asked. – The Hogwarts Express?
McGonagall shook her head.
- She's arriving right here, in my office, by Floo Powder. Her things have already been sent. She should be here any mo-
She never finished the sentence, because at that very moment, the fire in the grate blazed emerald green, and a tall, slim, hooded figure of a young woman appeared. She stepped out unto the carpet, brushing soot off her brown traveling cloak.
- Ah, there's Celena! – Said Professor McGonagall. – Right on time!

The woman threw back the hood of her cloak, revealing a pretty, porcelain-white face and dazzling, bright-blue eyes with long, curled, thick eyelashes. Her chestnut hair was tied back carelessly, into a knot at the back of her head, rather unlike Professor McGonagall's, about to untwist, with several stray locks of hair coming out of it already.
- I came as soon as I could, Headmistress, - she said, bowing her head slightly. – I'm delighted to be here. What a handsome office! – She exclaimed, looking around.

The circular room, its walls covered with many portraits of former Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts, was indeed magnificent. Full of various artifacts, with the fire burning low in the elaborately carved and scrupulously clean fireplace, the polished desk neat and gleaming and a fabulous sunset outside the wide windows – Celena took all that in, looking around. Her eyebrows lifted slightly as she registered Godric Gryffindor's sword and an old, patched hat, but she didn't say another word. Professor McGonagall gave her a small, reassuring smile.

- Surely Madame Maxime's office at the Beauxbatons Academy is quite as impressive, - she said. Celena smiled back shyly. She did look very young.
- Oh, Madame Maxime's office is of course quite large, - she nodded. – But not as elegant as this one.
- Celena, allow me to introduce you to Professor Severus Snape. Professor Snape is Deputy Headmaster and Head of Slytherin house. He used to teach Potions for many years, so if you need any guidance, assistance or advice when you start teaching, don't hesitate to seek the help of Professor Snape.

Celena thought Snape didn't look like the reassuring type of person a novice might turn to for help and advice, but she made a brave decision to ignore that for the time being.
- It's a pleasure to meet you, Professor Snape. – She smiled, revealing very white, rather sharp little teeth. – I am most honored to join the ranks of Hogwarts staff.

She held out her small, gloved hand, but Snape's hands were joined behind his back, and he didn't bother to pull them apart to shake hers. He merely inclined his head, so that his face was half-obscured, shot a rather nasty glance and said:
- Professor Costello.
He then eyed her from head to foot, taking in the gracious smile now fading rapidly from her lips, her outstretched hand in an elegant glove, her shiny boots and her brand-new handbag. One corner of his mouth twitched. Celena flushed. There was a moment of awkward silence, and then he said:
- Got to be off, Headmistress. I must remind you that the Sorting is about to start.
He turned towards the door and was gone in a swish of black robes.

- So, - said Professor McGonagall briskly. – Let me show you your office, Celena. Never mind what Severus said, you still have time to drink a cup of tea and change into your dress robes.