, all first years, get sorted; everyone looked eager to start eating as Dumbledore took the podium once again.

"To our newcomers - welcome! To our old hands - welcome back. There is time for speech-making, but this is not. Tuck in!"

The hall broke out into a burst of appreciative laughter and applause as the food appeared out of nowhere.

Margaret could easily bet that it was some of the best food she'd ever had, pies and dishes of vegetables, bread, sauces, and flagons of pumpkin juice. Everything was absolutely delicious; the bowls of various treats filled themselves to the brim every time the food in them finished and the hard work of the house-elves in the kitchens paid off when every single student enjoyed the food to the very last bite. No one talked, only asking to pass stuff here and there, all too busy in munching down the dinner.

Everyone looked positively drowsy at the end of the satisfactory feast. As the noise level in the hall was starting to creep upward again, Dumbledore got to his feet once more. The talking ceased immediately as all turned to face the headmaster.

Margaret's eyes shifted behind to the woman dressed in all pink, sitting amongst the teachers, a smile on her toad-like face. The girl rested her head in her palm, knowing what was coming

"Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices," starts Dumbledore.

"First years ought to know that the forest in the grounds is out of bounds to students - and a few of our older students ought to know by now too."

Margaret shot the trio a knowing look, noticing the smirks they exchanged.

"We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons while Professor Hagrid is on leave; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

It was obvious to everyone that this Umbridge did not know what she was getting herself into. For the past four years, the Defense Against the Dark Arts position seemed to have been cursed, with all the teachers at that post suffering a worst fate than their predecessor.

Dumbledore continues, "Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the-"

He paused, and there was a moment when nobody understood why Dumbledore had stopped talking, but then Professor Umbridge says, "Hem, hem," and it became clear that she had got to her feet - not much taller than she was while sitting - and was intending to make a speech.

Dumbledore only looked taken aback for a moment; then he sat back down neatly and looked alertly at Professor Umbridge as though he desired nothing better than to listen to her talk.

Margaret could only wish that she could learn to behave the way the wise Headmaster did, the practised perfection of pretending.

Others were not as skilled at hiding their surprise. Professor Sprout's eyebrows had disappeared into her hair, and Professor McGonagall's mouth was as thin as it could be. Many of the students were smirking; this woman clearly did not know how things were done at Hogwarts.

"Thank you, Headmaster," Professor Umbridge says, smiling and revealing very pointy teeth, "for those warm words of welcome." Her voice was high-pitched, breathy, and like that of a little girl.

"She was at my hearing," Harry tells Hermione, Ron and Margaret, "At the ministry. She was one of the few who were against clearing all the charges."

Before either of them could reply, they were interrupted by another saccharine "Hem, hem."

Umbridge continues, "Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, and to see such happy little faces smiling back at me!"

Following Umbridge's words, Margaret suddenly turned to Harry with an exaggerated sarcastic grin. He pursed his lips to not laugh as a few people around him saw her too. She flashed them the same smile, resulting in muffled chuckling. She turned back to the front with a blank expression before Umbridge could notice.

"I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I'm sure we'll all be very good friends!"

"That's likely," Fred and George mutter in unison.

Professor Umbridge cleared her throat again, "Hem, hem," but when she continued, some of the breathiness had vanished from her voice. She sounded much more businesslike and now her words were much more learned-by-heart sounding.

"The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction... The treasure trove of magical knowledge combined by our ancestors must be protected, replenished, and refined by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching... Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school."

Professor Umbridge then paused, not turning her head to look at the Headmaster, but bowing in his direction. Dumbledore curtsied back.

She continues, "And that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for the sake of progress must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation..."

Students were starting to go glassy-eyed, some of them had even begun to yawn and tried to stretch without drawing attention towards them. But Professor Umbridge did not notice the restlessness of her audience. There could've been a stampede of centaurs and she'd have still finished her well-rehearsed speech.

Harry saw that the teachers, however, were still listening very attentively, and Hermione and Margaret seemed to be drinking in every word Umbridge spoke, though judging by the former's expression, they were not at all to her taste, and the later looked like she had heard this way too many times before.

"...because some changes will be for the better. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness, and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited."

She sat back down. Dumbledore clapped. The staff followed his lead, though several of them brought their hands together only once or twice before stopping. A few students joined in, but most seem as if they were just tuning in to the present time. Margaret clapped too, not for the toad, but in respect for Dumbledore's ability to not be bothered by the toad.

"Thank you, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating," he says to her. "Now, as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held..."

"Yes, it certainly was illuminating," says Hermione in a low voice.

"Don't tell me you enjoyed it?" Ron says quietly but exasperatedly. "That was about the dullest speech I've ever heard, and I grew up with Percy."

"Well, there's one more thing common between her and your brother apart from being dull," Margaret whispers back. "They both work for the Ministry."

"Exactly," Hermione agrees. "I said illuminating, not enjoyable. It explained a lot."

"Did it?" Harry asks in surprise.

"Think about it, Harry," begins Margaret, "she was at your hearing and she voted against you. Which means she probably doesn't believe your and Dumbledore's claims."

"She believes The Daily Prophet," Harry deduces.

"Not to mention, 'progress for sake of progress must be discouraged' How about 'pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited'," Hermione recites.

"And that means?" Ron asks impatiently.

Margaret and Hermione shared a look.

"That means that the Ministry's interfering at Hogwarts."

There was an immense clattering and banging all around them, meaning that Dumbledore had just dismissed the school. Everyone was standing up, ready to leave the Hall and Hermione jumped up, looking flustered.

"Ron, we're supposed to show the first years where to go!"

As both the Gryffindor Prefects scurried to their feet, calling out to the First Years, Margaret turned to Harry.

"Now, I have a rough idea that the Gryffindor common room is behind the portrait of the Fat Lady, but you'd have to help me out here. I am not scanning each painting for a 'fat lady'."

Harry shot her a bemused look. "Imagine that..."

"First Years that way, Margie," Fred and George tell her simultaneously as they walk past her, pointing in the direction where Ron and Hermione were trying to line up the 11-year-olds in a single row.

"Oh, shut up," she rolls her eyes.

"You don't have to go with them. Come on," Harry says, smiling.

Margaret could not stop looking around, waving at paintings and peaking at the architecture inside of the castle. Harry helpfully pointed out the paths she'd need to take to get to the Great Hall or the Grand Staircases or the dungeons from the Gryffindor Tower. During her month at the Grimmauld Place, Margaret had borrowed Hermione's copy for Hogwarts: A History and recognized many things that were mentioned in it, even though the castle changed for every academic year.

At some point, Fred and George had found their ways back to the two, dragging along their two friends that they introduced.

"Lee, Angelina," Fred says, "This is Margie."

"I'm Margaret Xenakis," she corrects.

"Margie," George presses, smirking, "these are Lee Jordon and Angelina Johnson."

Both of the seventh years shook Margaret's hand, smiling at the new girl. Margaret, of course, already knew them, and she knew that the twins were smart enough not to mention that. She knew that Lee was the quidditch commentator and Angelina was likely the captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team now that Oliver Woods had graduated.

"What school did you attend before?" Lee askes conversationally, falling into step with her.

"Ilvermorny," she replies politely.

"Cool! What house were you in?"

"Er... um. Wampus," she says quickly, remembering reading something about in her world when Ilvermorny was first introduced. "It's equivalent to Gryffindor."

"Ah, that makes sense," Angelina remarks.

"What is a wampus though?" Harry asks from behind and Margaret slowed down in her walk to fall into step with him again, seeing as Lee was on her other side and it would not seem rude.

"A wampus is a cat-like creature in American folklore. Its demonstrations can go from terrific to terrifying."

"What were the other houses?" Angelina asks curiously as Fred drops his arm around her, hoping to distract her. It hardly worked but she did smile up at him.

"Um, there was the Horned Serpent, same as Ravenclaw here; then... Pukwudgie, which is equivalent to... Hufflepuff. Yeah, Hufflepuff... Lastly, Thunderbird, same as Slytherin," Margaret replies, eyes narrowed in concentration as she thought of the houses of Ilvermorny.

She had not considered being interrogated about the school she claimed she went to before Hogwarts but was more than glad for her memory of the things she had simply read as a fan.

"A more important question is, who came up with the names and why were they allowed to keep it?" George asks, almost rhetorically, his lip turned up.

Everyone laughed and Margaret shook her head to herself.

"It's one thing telling people you're a Gryffindor, but it's a whole another situation trying to explain how you're a Wampus and why," says she her face scrunched up as if she could really relate to the horror. "Considering that wampus means lunatic in slangs in some places..."

The five of them burst out laughing, causing some students around them to shoot confused looks at them.

"Imagine... Imagine introducing someone- introducing yourself to someone," Lee speaks in between laughs, his voice an octave higher.

Margaret pictured it in her head and snorted. She lowered her voice so that it sounded deeper and imitated a British accent. "'Ello, my name is Lee Jordon and I'm a Wampus. How you doin'?"

"Oi!"

The rest of them laughed even harder at her impression of Lee. Margaret knew he could take a joke, and he could because he grinned back at her mischievously as his shoulders shook.

"You asked," she shrugs.

Before Lee could come up with a clever response, they passed a large landscape painting on the sidewall of the Grand Staircases that they were now ascending and one of the painted people shouted at them cheerfully.

"Hallo! Wie waren die Feiertage?" (Hello! How were your holidays?) the man questions happily, looking at each one of them. When he was only met with confused faces of the students, his face fell. The paintings, depending on who it was based on, spoke different languages (mostly English, though) and that was nothing new to the students of Hogwarts.

"Die Ferien waren gut, danke," (The holidays were good, thank you,) replies Margaret, the German man's face lighting up once again.

"Ah! Sie sind der erste, der seit jahren antwortet!" (Ah! You are the first to answer in years!) the man exclaims gleefully. "Dein name?" (Your name?)

"Margaret Xenakis."

"Schön, Sie kennenzulernen, Margaret Xenakis. Ich bin Rudolph Spielman. Gute nacht!" (Nice to meet you, Margaret Xenakis. I am Rudolph Spielman. Good night!) the man says, waving as the girl moved forward.

"What was-" George breaks off as Margaret replies.

"German."

"You speak German?!" Harry asks, slightly impressed.

"Yeah, I took it in school. I haven't spoken it in a while though, so my pronunciation was probably off," she says with a frown.

"Full of surprises, you are," Fred compliments. "Anything else we should know about? For future reference, perhaps?"

"Uh, no. I would like to keep my surprise streak going on, thank you very much."

"I like that," Angelina says, nodding her head as they reach the crowd in front of the Fat Lady portrait.

"Bitteroot," says Hermione in the front of the line of students. The Fat Lady rolled her eyes and opened the portrait door, letting everyone through.

"So, are you interested in quidditch?" Angelina asks conversationally.

"Well, I haven't really tried it. To be honest, I would like to focus on getting used to Hogwarts this year. Maybe in the future, perhaps," Margaret replies with an apologetic look.

Angelina nodded. "That's understandable. Well, if you would like to, you can come watch the tryouts for the Gryffindor team."

"Oh, I would love to!"

"Alrighty then, Margaret. It was nice to meet you; I'm going to call it a day. So, good night," Angelina says kindly, waving goodbye and heading up the spiral staircases as soon as they reach the common room.

Margaret waves back before turning around to admire the Gryffindor common room.

The common room had the homiest feelings than any other place Margaret had seen in the castle. The hearth was alight by roaring orange and yellow flames that provided the warmth to the room, the fireplace was also adorned with the portrait of a lion, stuffed armchairs, couches and tables dotted around the circular room, there were a few notice boards and quidditch posters on the scarlet and gold wallpapers and there were many windows that looked out onto the grounds of the school.

When they reached the common room, the small group had separated. Lee had ventured off to talk to someone, dragging the twins with him. Harry took notice of the whispering and pointing aimed at him and looked apologetically towards Margaret.

"It's alright, go on. I'll see you in the morning," she tells him.

Harry nods gratefully. "Good night."

After he had disappeared up the stairs, Margaret took a seat on an empty armchair, waiting for the Prefects to return from helping First Years so that she could know where her dorm was.

When a tired-looking Hermione returned fifteen minutes later, she was quick to spot the new girl.

"Margaret?"

The said girl paused her subtle observation of her housemates and closed her novel that she had taken out a while ago. She glanced over her shoulder to look at the frizzy-haired witch.

"Yes?"

"Since you're new and we don't usually get transfer students, you have your own room on the second level. It's the fifth door at the end of the hall, easy to spot. Your trunk must have already arrived there," she informs with a smile.

"Oh, alright. Thank you," the girl smiles.

"That is awesome!" A girl squeals. She had a bandana tied around her light coloured curls and her face was adorned with a permanent smile. Her sudden outburst caused those remained in the common room to turn to her in question. She was curled up next to the Parvati Patil on the couch next to Margaret and she recognised her to be Lavender Brown.

"You get your own room! Imagine the things you could do," she wiggles her brow teasingly.

Despite only just meeting the girl, Margaret quickly realised why Hermione did not have a particular liking for her.

"Likely decorate it in black and green and hang up posters of snakes with a Permanent Sticking Charm," Margaret replies flatly, causing the smirk to drop from Lavender's face and instead appear on the identical faces of the Weasley twins. Hermione also bit her lip to stifle a giggle.

However, Margaret remembered the tragic end that the bubbly girl met in the Battle of Hogwarts. That was the sole reason why she shot the annoying piece of Gryffindor specimen a teasing smile followed by a sly wink. Seeing that the new girl didn't mean to be rude, Lavender only rolled her eyes.

"Alright, I'm off to bed. Thank you for your warm welcome, everyone. Sweet dreams," she addressed the Gryffindors, most of whom smiled at her words and chorussed 'good night's.

"I'll see you in the morning, 'Mione," she says as she passes her friend, who nods.

Doing just what she said she would, Margaret retired to her new room. Even though she was prepared to share a room with a few other girls, she was much happier about getting her own space. She had a feeling that Dumbledore had something to do with it.

She entered through the heavy wooden door and almost gasped. The room seemed far too big for just herself.

A single light floated in the centre of the ceiling, illuminating the furniture of the room - a sturdy wardrobe next to the door, a comfortable looking single four-poster bed with red and gold sheets and duvet and curtains around, complete with two nightstands on either side of the bed.

Milky moonlight flooded in from the double glass windows with intricate designs on the opposite side of the door, a scarlet cushioned windowsill seat similar to the one she had back at her own home in Quebec, and a writing desk and chair beside it.

Margaret spotted her trunk in front of the bed taking off her shoulder bag and throwing it on the top of it.