Minerva arrived at school by Floo that first Sunday evening along with her friends—Gig, Dugald, Raymie Sykes, Magnus MacDonald, and Susannah Yorke, and various neighbors and distant relatives--Scrimgeours, Broadmoors, Dearborns, Kirkes, McKinnons, Macnairs. For all the Perthites it would have been taking the long way round to use the Hogwarts Express, but they didn’t begrudge the southrons that exciting trip.

They were greeted by two tall figures—a stern-looking witch and wizard, dressed to the nines in high-collared black robes with sleeves slashed in the Elizabethan style like cousin Rowdie’s doublet, showing insets of vermilion and green, and starched lace at the cuffs. Minerva thought at first that they must be teachers, but then she heard Magnus address the wizard familiarly as ‘Con’, and realized this sobersides in the fancy get-up was Petey Macnair’s oldest brother Conall. His underrobe was of Slytherin green, and, Magnus explained in a whisper as they moved slowly down a winding stone stairway, he was Head Boy for the whole year, whatever that was. The girl was Cordelia Bones of Ravenclaw--apparently there was also a brainy branch of Boneses--and she was Head Girl. Minerva was impressed by their bearing if not their titles. They looked stylish and superior in their textured bombazine and plushy velvet, much like her ancestors in the portrait gallery back home.

As their guides led them along the corridors, Minerva wondered briefly if Miss Bones was Conall’s girlfriend. He seemed such a somber git at home, all study and no fun. All the same, she wouldn’t have recognized Con MacNair in this elegant get-up, strutting through galleries and hallways, commanding doors to open and close, as if the place belonged to him.

Minerva was immediately overwhelmed by her new surroundings. Hogwarts Castle with its gray stone walls and winding stairways was not unlike Connghaill Keep. But it had many more levels, chock full of statuary and paintings, rows of locked doors, and dark side passages. Her jaw dropped as she took in a tapestry of a Unicorn, a Gorgon, and a Manticore that covered an entire wall. And a group of ghosts saluted the students as they passed. She wondered if one of them was Rowdie’s friend, poor Sir Nicholas what’s-his-face.

But she buried her awe when she heard her name mentioned in a heated discussion, going on among the older students ahead of her. She recognized Conall Macnair’s brother Walden talking with his classmates and quickened her pace to stay within earshot.

“…have to keep an eye on her. She’s the reason my stupid brother’s been sent off to Durmstrang.”

“Petey’s at Durmstrang? They’re all about the Dark Arts, aren’t they?”

“Maybe, but I got the feeling my Dad just didn’t want him hanging around that conniving wench and her idiot friend Giggles—or whatever her name is.”

They all laughed at this.

“Hey Waldo, how is the old man?”

“Mind your manners, Scrimgeour.”

“Sorry, I mean—your father, the Thane. Has he acquired any more interesting creatures lately?”

“Naw, naw, not since that last trip to Tibet. But he’s perfected a new method of bringing them in. You know they’ve tightened up the import and collection laws. Only creatures smaller than a garden gnome allowed in. And there’s a ‘Dangerous Species list’ now. No importation of those, whatso-bloody-ever.”

“A mort inconvenient for your Dad, hey Waldo?”

“Nah. You know the Laird. Close a door, he opens a portal. He’s experimenting with a form of Shrivel-Drying to bring them in.”

“Like shrinking heads, is it?”

“Aye, straight out of Africa.”

“I heard that only works on itty-bitty beasties.”

“If you want them alive. But Dad mostly just wants to stuff the heads and such. With the Shrivelling Potion, he could smuggle in fifty Erumpents at one go, in his sporran. And the interesting thing is, every so often, one of them makes it through the process—” he paused for effect “—alive!”

The reaction—gasps and gawks--was impressive.

“But how does he get them back up to size? Engorgement Charm?”

“Oh, it’s much simpler than that…”

At that moment, someone grabbed Minerva’s arm from behind. It was Magnus McDonald. He pulled her to the side.

“I know what you’re doing, Minerva.”

“And just what is that?”

“Spying on the Slytherins, trying to find out where Durmstrang is. But nobody knows, not even Old Dippy. It’s a closely guarded secret. And you don’t want Waldo catching you poking your nose into his family’s business. He’ll give you a raft of detentions—or worse.”

“I’m not afraid of him.”

“You should be. He’s a Prefect.”

“So what?”

“Don’t you know what that is? It’s like a being a junior Hit-Wizard.”

“For the Ministry?”

“No, for the school. But he can do almost the same things—like order you around, make you do stuff—and have you punished if you put a toe out of line.”

“How’d he get that job? Probably the Laird…”

“Not this time. Word is he got the honor by default. The other chaps in his year are even dumber than he is: Dung Fletcher…Warty Harris…Will something-or-other. They’re all within an ace of flunking out. But no matter--you just watch your step if you don’t want Black Waldo after you.”

They started walking again to catch up with their friends. “Magnus, why is he…Waldo…Why is he so nasty all the time? I mean…I heard he likes to hurt things...animals and such.”

“Well, you’d be a bit out of sorts, wouldn’t you, if your father was always throwing your genius older brother up to you and your mother was always taking up for the baby. Petey gets away with murder all the time. But not Waldo. So watch yourself, okay?”

Minerva shrugged and tagged along behind a group of older students, who were boasting about all the forbidden magic they’d gotten away with over the summer.

~*~

After what seemed an endless trek through curving passageways and hidden doors, down steep steps, past all too many confusing forks and turns, they arrived at the Dining Hall. Like the Great Hall at Connghaill, it looked to be used mostly for eating and meetings and the occasional celebration with its long tables and dais. But this place had banners and pennants hanging about the walls, windows of colored glass, and gargoyles holding up the roof. And it was lit by magic---floating candles and a ceiling that mimicked the star-flecked sky outside with an elegant crystal chandelier at its center. The Keep hall had only clerestory windows and sconced torches. Minerva, proud daughter of a Highland Lord, felt oppressed and small under its heady grandeur.

Petey had long ago warned her about the Sorting Ceremony. Before they could start dinner that night, all the First Years had to stand up in front of the whole assembly. They placed a moldy old hat on your head and it whispered insults at you for a while. Then it shouted out which House you were in. And, oh yes, you always got Sorted into your parents’ House.

But as each candidate had the Hat placed on his or her head, Minerva didn’t see anything like anger or disgust on any of their faces, mostly fear at first, then pleasurable surprise. She wondered what the Hat could have said to Petey to set him off. Maybe he didn’t like it that the Hat put him in Slytherin. Or maybe he was just trying to get her goat. That would be just like Petey.

The major surprise of the evening was Dugald Macmillan being chosen for Gryffindor. All the Macmillans ever born had been Sorted into Hufflepuff. Dugald seemed a clone of his father—beefy and taciturn and stubborn and deliberate—a perfect Badger. Gryffindors were supposed to be brave and resourceful. She guessed goal-tending for a bunch of Quidditch-crazy kids all summer qualified as courage of a sort. It did take a while for the Hat to place him, as if it and Dugald were having some kind of silent argument. Dugald seemed not much concerned as he took his place at the Gryffindor table, although the usual flush of embarrassment played about his cheeks and neck.

Minerva herself had a bit of a scare with the Hat. It paused for a long time over her, whispering about her being not what she seemed. She was terrified that she would end up in Slytherin with the Flynts and Scrimgeours and Macnairs. It was bad enough that lot were blaming her for Petey’s trouble. She didn’t need to be hearing about it day and night. So she sent up a heartfelt plea to be placed anywhere but Slytherin, and in the end, the Sorting Hat put her in Gryffindor. McGonagalls always got placed either there or in Ravenclaw, so she was relieved for her family’s sake as well.

~*~

She and Susannah Yorke were in the same dorm, along with three southrons: Hildy Bagshot, Mina Grubbly, and Poppy Pomfrey. Mina and Suze each brought a pet. Suze introduced her cat Tyger, a large lynx-like fellow, who looked extremely well fed and acted as though he deserved it.

“I raised him from a kitten," said Suze in answer to questions, "He’s part Manx and part Kneazle.” Minerva wanted no part of him. She’d always been afraid of felines, ever since she’d tried to get between a mother cat and her litter. The poor kittens had been mewing piteously, and it seemed to the four-year-old witchling that their mother was biting them. So Minerva tried to rescue them. The mother cat took umbrage--and quite a bit of Minerva’s skin. So she was mortally afraid of cats, though she still had a soft spot for their young.

Mina had a great horned owl named Bubo, an import from the Americas. He kept flapping his wings, showing off his impressive wingspan. Bubo looked strong enough to be able to make off with Tyger, and Minerva half hoped he might.

Poppy, who seemed to be a bit of a health nut, announced that she would have to check both pets for Tikkles, Flees, and Chizpurfles, the most common magical parasites. She was undaunted by either the cat's sharp claws or the owl's snapping beak and examined them both--every feather and tuft--with a Dragon's Eye Magnifier and an Acromntula Leg Comb from a little black bag she called her Healer's kit. Finally, in spite of much growling and hissing and hooting and flapping from her patients, she was able to pronounce them both safe to share the dorm with her and her new friends.

"I knew Tyger would be clean," said Suze. "He licks himself all the time."

"That doesn't always get them," said Mina. "I had a pet Kneazle once. He brought all kinds of vermin into the house in his fur. That's how we got Bundimuns."

"What are they?" asked Minerva.

"A scurfy, green fungus that smells like vomit," said Poppy. "They secrete this awful slimy ooze that can do terrible things to your skin. And if you inhale that stink..."

"Aw,that's just old hags tales, Poppy," said Mina. "They're not so bad, really, except to wood. They're death on houses."

"But aren't they related to the German Grinde that attack oak trees? I heard they're really dangerous." asked Poppy.

"No, the Grinde are just petty parasites. They cause a kind of scaley flaking of the bark, but it doesn't ever kill the tree. Now Bundimuns can do really heavy damage, especially if they get inside a house. They can rot the foundation and the joists and the rafters down to so much pulp."

"Oh, no," said Minerva. "Did your house just turn to--mush?"

"Hardly. My Dad caught the ones Woozer brought in before they could do much damage."

"How do you know it was your Kneazle brought them in?" asked Suze.

"We found some of their slime in his sleeping-basket. And you know what? After Dad caught them all, he let me have one to dissect."

"Ick!" shouted Suze.

"Sick," murmured Poppy.

"What would you want to do that for?" asked Minerva.

"To find out what they're made of. I want to be a magizoologist when I finish school."

"Is that why you've got that picture of Newt Scamander there on your nightstand?" This came from Hildy Bagshot, who was sprawled out on her bed, paging through a huge book. Minerva had thought she was not listening.

"Wow," said Mina, "You recognized him. I didn't think anyone would..."

"There's a picture of him in my favorite history book." She lifted another thick tome out of her knapsack and leafed through it. "Here. See? That's him in Scotland studying Quintapeds."

"I know about those," said Minerva, crowding around with the rest of the girls. She had been feeling a little dull in the face of Mina's expertise. "That must be the Isle of Drear."

"That's right," said Suze. "We've heard lots of stories about them. They're fierce and blood-thirsty. Nobody ever visits the Isle of Drear and comes back alive. That Salamander fellow must be awfully brave."

"Scamander," corrected Mina. "He's been all over the world, updating his book. It's the same one Signora Cavallo-Grifone uses in Creature Care. I just can't wait until we get that class, but it's not until Second Year." She sat on her bed and sighed.

"You're from Scotland, aren't you, Suzannah?" said Hildy. "You and Minerva."

"Yes, how did you know?"

"Your accent." Minerva and Suze looked at each other. What accent, their eyes seemed to say. "The way you roll your R's." Hildy explained. "It's quite charming actually. I'll have to pick your brains when I start writing about famous Caledonian wizards."

"What?" said Suze. "Do we have homework already?"

"Don't get upset," said Hildy. "It's for this book I'm writing--a history book. It's going to include all the important events in British wizarding history from the very beginnings of magic, on up to the present day."

"A book?" Suze giggled. "But you're only--what? Eleven?"

"I'm twelve actually."

"But still..."

"But there's a lot to cover. All the more reason to get an early start, as my father would say. He's a historian too. Minerva, I believe you might be related to a famous Irish wizard--Fearghas mac...mac..."

"Um...well..." Minerva was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable with this know-it-all and didn't want to give her any encouragement.

"mac Bearach...That's right isn't it? Sech...sech clenni Conn’ghaill," Hildy finished triumphantly.

"That's right," said Minerva, dumb-founded. This southron not only knew her ancestor's name, but pronounced the Gaelic perfectly.

"That's excellent. I'll have some questions to ask you when I get to that chapter--if you don't mind, of course."

"No," said Minerva. "I don't mind." But she went to bed that night feeling a little discomfited that Mina and Hildy--and, it seemed, Poppy too, with her little black bag and her preoccupation with hygiene-- already knew so much, and even had plans for their futures in the wizarding world. It didn't help that Suze didn't. Susannah Yorke was the most unambitious girl Minerva had ever met. But she--Minerva--wasn't much better. What did she know of magic, except for her Quidditch playing. And that hardly qualified anyway. Even the thought that her ancestor Auld Fearghas was famous enough to be known to the budding historian Hildy Bagshot was small comfort. And she'd feel even worse if she found out that Hildy knew more than she did about her own family tree.