and her breathing was trying to keep up with the incessant beeping. She didn't know why.

She closed her eyes for a moment, hoping whatever this was would go away. When she opened her eyes again, she felt the floor underneath her. She looked around, scared, feeling her limbs too heavy to lift.

People. People surrounded her. People passed her. No one paid her any mind. Then hands grabbed her shoulders.

She was prying away from them before she could think twice. She got up to her feet, pushing past people... reaching out towards the bed.

The continuous beeping turned into a long piercing sound.

Everything stopped.

Someone screamed.

Margaret jerked awake in a cold sweat, tangled up in the red and gold sheets. Her breathing was ragged and she vaguely noticed all stray objects in her room floating around but didn't have the energy to care.

She buried her head in her hands, choked sobs escaping her lips as she tried the hardest she could to gain control over her breathing. She haphazardly pushed away from the covers just as all stray items clattered around the room simultaneously, causing a huge clang. But she didn't care.

Margaret pushed up to her feet hastily, leaning on one of the bedposts when black dots covered her red-tinted vision. She counted down from 10, focusing on her breathing.

Once she was sure that her legs wouldn't give away, she stumbled to the adjoined bathroom, stood under the shower ceiling and pictured a gentle waterfall. With the chaos going on in her mind, she was surprised that she wasn't flooded.

The water materialised out of the ceiling, just the right temperature of cold, as she stood underneath it, her pearl white nightgown still on and the lights still off. She felt oddly foul after the nightmare; like she had to wash away the pictures her subconscious forced her to see.

Leaning back against the wall, it wasn't long before she slid down it, knowing very well that it was only a matter of minutes before she'd crumble again.

Margaret stayed like that until she heard the chirping of birds outside getting louder, her mind empty of all thoughts and eyes glowing red in the darkness as the water disguised her tears.

No matter how much time passed, the pain, it seemed, never left. Each nightmare felt real; each time she saw it, it felt like she was reliving it for the first time all over again. Each time it pulled her from reality. Each time it broke her and left her to pick up her pieces again.

She wondered how she could feel the connection between them sever but still feel it as strongly as if it was never broken... How could she possible start to let go while still feeling that way?

Whatever it was, it was obvious that Professor Trelawney was going to get anything but truth from Margaret when it came to the homework Dream Journal.

That morning, the weather reflected Margaret's mood. The gloomy clouds and pelting rain seemed nothing new to the students of Hogwarts as they gathered around in the Great Hall for breakfast. Hagrid was still absent from the teacher's table.

"On the plus side, no Snape today," Ron shrugs.

Hermione yawned as she poured herself some coffee. She looked mildly pleased about something, and when Ron asked her what she had to be so happy about, she simply says, "The hats have gone. Seems the house-elves do want freedom after all."

"Congratulations," Margaret smiles at the girl from beside her, even though she really wasn't that into S.P.E.W.

"I wouldn't bet on it," Ron snaps. "They might not count them as clothes. They looked more like woolly bladders."

Margaret snorted into her tea, nearly choking on it. Hermione proceeded to not speak to Ron all morning.

That morning, they spent more than an hour reviewing Summoning Charms, which according to Professor Flitwick, were bound to come up in their O.W.L., and he rounded off the lesson by setting them the largest amount of Charms homework ever.

Margaret was thoroughly surprised when she was able to perform the Summoning Charm on her third try, having learnt the basics from Remus and given a few tips from Flitwick, who clapped happily and awarded bonus five points to Gryffindor.

It was the same in Transfiguration.

"You cannot pass an O.W.L. without serious application, practice, and study. I see no reason why everybody in this class should not achieve an O.W.L. in Transfiguration as long as they put in the work. So... today we are starting Vanishing Spells. They are among the most difficult magic you will be tested on in your O.W.L."

McGonagall was quite right, Margaret found the Vanishing Spells horribly difficult. At some point she had convinced herself that she wasn't a witch, after all; that or her wand was broken.

But at least, neither Harry nor Ron had managed to vanish the snails on which they were practising; meaning that Margaret hadn't lost her magic.

Hermione, on the other hand, had successfully vanished her snail on the third attempt, earning her a ten-point bonus for Gryffindor from Professor McGonagall.

She was the only person not given homework; everybody else was told to practice the spell overnight, ready for a fresh attempt on their snails the following afternoon. Margaret knew that she'd be keeping Granger up tonight until she managed to vanish a snail.

It was only the second day. Margaret wondered how she'd ever pass O.W.Ls at this rate, even though she kept telling herself that exams weren't her top priority, and surely, Dumbledore wouldn't decline her to move on to the next grade. Still, her inner learner was seriously starting to panic.

The thought of dealing with Hermione Granger's disappointment didn't help much either.

Harry and Ron had also started to dread the truckload of homework and they had spent their lunch hour in the library looking up the uses of moonstones in potion-making. They had asked if Margaret and Hermione wanted to join them but the girls only waved their finished homework in reply, much to the boys' horror.

"They looked like we just told them that we ate all their Halloween candy," Margaret comments, cutting into some vegetable on her plate.

Hermione perks up, "Oh I used to love muggle Halloween..." She then rolls her eyes. "Why should we be bothered, again? We told them to start on their homework last night - did they listen? No."

"You're just mad about the fact that Ron insulted your knitting skills," Margaret raises a brow at her. Hermione huffed in reply, taking a bite of her lunch and effectively ending the conversation.

The two of them ate without speaking, the silence filled by the low chatter of students around them. Hermione was reading some kind of a reference book and Margaret's mind was wandering far away from Hogwarts.

She didn't notice when she finished eating the food on her plate, which on any other occasion would be tremendously delicious but today it just tasted bland. It was only when the long bell rang, did Margaret snap out of her reverie, noticing the confused look Hermione was giving her while packing her things.

Margaret got up from the bench, throwing her bag over her shoulder and making her way towards the doors. The two of them reunited in the corridor again, making their way outside for Care of Magical Creatures.

"Hey, are you alright?" Hermione asks carefully as they descend down the sloping lawn towards Hagrid's cabin on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

"Sure, yeah, I'm fine," Margaret replies, shrugging casually. She had the most unbothered look on her face that made Hermione question if she had misread something. When Margaret twisted to look at her with a smile, Hermione was sure that she was fine.

The day had become cool and breezy and they felt the occasional drop of rain on their faces. Professor Grubbly-Plank stood waiting for the class some ten yards from Hagrid's front door, a long trestle table in front of her, laden with many twigs.

As Harry and Ron reached their two friends, a loud shout of laughter sounded behind them; turning, they saw Draco Malfoy striding towards them, surrounded by his usual gang of Slytherin cronies.

He had clearly just said something highly amusing, because Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, and the rest continued to snigger heartily as they gathered around the trestle table. On the adjacent side, Theodore Nott was squinting at a weird-looking butterfly sitting on Daphne's palm and Blaise stood stiffly, a foot away from them.

"Everyone here?" Professor Grubbly-Plank yells, once all the Slytherins and Gryffindors had arrived. "Let's crack on then - who can tell me what these things are called?"

She indicated the heap of twigs in front of her. Hermione's hand shot into the air. Behind her back, Malfoy did a buck-toothed imitation of her jumping up and down in eagerness to answer a question.

Pansy Parkinson gave a shriek of laughter that turned into a scream as the twigs on the table leapt into the air and revealed themselves to be what looked like tiny pixieish creatures made of wood, each with knobbly brown arms and legs, two twiglike fingers at the end of each hand, and a funny, flat, barklike face in which a pair of beetle-brown eyes glittered.

"Oooooh!" Parvati and Lavender stretch.

Margaret rolled her eyes at the annoying pieces of Gryffindor specimens. Anyone would have thought that Hagrid never showed them impressive creatures; however, anything was truly better than a walking stickman.

"Keep your voices down, girls!" Professor Grubbly- Plank hollers sharply, scattering a handful of what looked like brown rice among the stick-creatures, who immediately fell upon the food. "So, anyone know the names of these creatures? Miss Granger?"

"Bowtruckles," answers Hermione. "They're tree-guardians, usually live in wand-trees."

Funny. Margaret had half-expected the creature to fold it's twig arms and yell 'I am Groot!'

"Five points for Gryffindor," says Professor Grubbly-Plank, "Yes, these are bowtruckles and, as Miss Granger rightly says, they generally live in trees whose wood is of wand quality. Anybody know what they eat?"

"Woodlice," says Hermione, "But fairy eggs if they can get them."

"Good girl, take another five points."

At this rate, Margaret didn't know how Gryffindor lost the house cup this year...

Professor Grubbly-Plank continues, "So whenever you need leaves or wood from a tree in which a bowtruckle lodges in, it is wise to have a gift of woodlice ready to distract it. They may not look dangerous, but if angered they will gouge out human eyes with their fingers, which, as you can see, are very sharp and not at all desirable near the eyeballs. So if you'd like to gather closer, take a few woodlice and a bowtruckle - I have enough here for one between three. I want a sketch from each of you with all the body parts labelled by the end of the lesson."

The class surged forward around the trestle table. Harry offered to be the one to go get a bowtruckle for their group. Margaret decided that she wasn't going to bother sorting out into another group since all she really had to do was sketch a detailed version of a stickman.

She pulled out a roll of blank parchment and, not wanting to bother trying to set down a bottle of ink and attempt to draw with a quill, she opened her pencil case and took out a drawing pencil.

Harry hurried back to where the three of them were squatting on the grass, the urgency in his expression making Margaret frown.

"Malfoy said something about Hagrid getting injured by something 'a little too big.' Do you reckon he's okay?" Harry whispers. "His father is a Death Eater, after all; what if he has information about Hagrid's fate that hasn't reached the Order?"

"Dumbledore would know if something had happened to Hagrid," replies Hermione at once without looking up at him, busy drawing a part of the bowtruckle. "We've got to ignore Malfoy, Harry. Here, hold the bowtruckle for a moment, so I can draw its face..."

"The only thing too big here," Margaret says, a little too loudly on purpose, "is Malfoy's ego for his head. I'm surprised it isn't inflated yet."

"What did you just say?!" came Malfoy's yell for the nearest group, "Fifty points from Gryffindor!"

Turns out, because of Margaret, there wasn't even the slightest chance that Gryffindor would win the house cup this year.

Speaking of which, the other Gryffindors around them started an uproar at once.

"Fifty points?! For what exactly; telling the bloody truth?" Ron shouts back.

"Aye, shush!" Professor Grubbly-Plank snaps crossly, causing the chatter to die down. "Mr Malfoy, what seems to be the problem?"

"Nothing, Professor. Simply disciplining some foolish new students," he says charmingly even though his silver eyes glared daggers into the back of Margaret's head.

She rolled her eyes.

"Refrain from showing authority in my class, Mr Malfoy; whether or not you're a Prefect," the Professor replies sharply. "Go back to your work everyone."

"Margaret, you shouldn't try to get on his bad side on purpose. Trust me, he's not worth it. Especially now that he's a Prefect," Hermione whispers and then glances up with a small smile. "That was a good jab though..."

Margaret sighs, rolling her parchment up and deciding she wasn't in the right headspace to try and do classwork.

"We'll get back at him," Ron promises. "I can't wait to get Crabbe or Goyle for something... I'm taking extra points away for that."

"Ron-"

Whatever Hermione was going to say was cut off when the bell echoed distantly over the grounds.

"If he calls Hagrid a moron one more time..." Harry snarls.

"Harry, you too, don't go picking a row with Malfoy. He's a Prefect now, he could make life difficult for you..."

"Wow, I wonder what it'd be like to have a difficult life?" Harry mutters sarcastically. Ron laughed, but Hermione frowned, and Margaret just ignored them.

She knew all too well about his 'difficult life' and how worse it was going to get in the future. Guilt bubbled up in the pit of her stomach. She wouldn't be able to save him from everything, despite how much she wished she could...

Together they traipsed across the vegetable patch to get to Herbology. The sky still appeared unable to make up its mind whether it wanted to rain or not; the grey clouds covering the sun, making it seem like it was much later in the afternoon than it actually was.

"I just wish Hagrid would hurry up and get back, that's all," mumbles Harry in a low voice, as they reached the greenhouses. "And don't say that Grubbly-Plank woman's a better teacher!"

"I wasn't going to," Hermione replies calmly.

"Because she'll never be as good as Hagrid," adds Harry firmly.

"Of course not," Margaret speaks up as they neared the greenhouse. "I'm looking forward to meeting Hagrid. I've heard quite good things about him."

At her words, Harry perks up, "Oh, yeah. He's a great man; even a better Professor."

"And obviously underestimated," she appends thoughtfully. "I mean, wasn't he expelled in his third year after being framed? And he still managed to become a Professor in the same school. That has to be the flex of the century."

Surely, her pop-culture term flew right over their heads, but the three of them assumed that she meant well with the way she was smiling.

"Yes, and he broke-" Ron was cut off when someone snapped from behind them.

"That oaf was obviously expelled for good reasons."

The Golden Trio plus one turned on their heels, recognising at once the irritating voice of none other than Draco Malfoy. He looked thoroughly annoyed, and with the way he kept shooting glares at Margaret, it didn't take her much time to realise that she had gotten on his 'bad' side twice in a row.

She internally cringed.

"In that case, you would've been expelled over a few hundred times by this year," Ron retorts cleverly, obviously offended. Some of their classmates stopped to watch them, speaking lowly among each other.

Suddenly, someone else appeared on Draco's side, her arm slipping through his. He tensed slightly and Margaret noticed that, narrowing her eyes.

"Oh look, if it isn't the band of Gryffindork liars."

"Oh look, if it isn't Malfoy walking his dog for once," Margaret says casually. The students surrounding them laughed and some even shot her surprised looks.

It might be her imagination but she observed Draco subtly trying to tug his arm away from Pansy, whose face turned red and her grip turned tight, judging by the flinch Draco gave.

"New girl, you don't want to get on my bad side," she sneers.

Something about Pansy Parkinson made Margaret's skin crawl. Perhaps, it was the fact that she had the personality of an axe demon, or maybe because she had a tendency to bully everyone in a twelve-meter radius from her. But deep down, Margaret knew there was something else that bothered her about Pansy.

She reminded her too much of her past self.

Margaret snorts, "I think I'm looking at it right now. But perhaps, if you tilt your head to the right, your nose wouldn't look so flat-"

"Urgh!" She screeches, her hand coming free from Draco's, her wand out in an instant and pointed straight at Margaret.

At least, Margaret used to be passive-aggressive, not aggressive-aggressive.

She stifles a grin, watching Daphne Greengrass stumble forward to whisper something in Pansy's ear, looking surprisingly afraid of her friend. Reluctantly, Pansy lowered her wand a moment later before seething at Margaret.

"Listen here, freak. I will make your life a living hell."

Margaret raises her brows, non-verbally asking 'Is that so?'

Pansy continues threateningly, "And I will make sure that you and your filthy friends suffer."

Margaret nodded as if listening to an unentertaining radio monologue. Her eyes briefly flickered to the blond boy who looked at Pansy like he couldn't believe she was wasting her breath. As if feeling her gaze on him, Draco looked back at Margaret. His expression morphed into a sneer.

Suddenly, Margaret blinked; her eyes flashed a deadly scarlet; giving Draco only a second to see them before she blinked again and they were back to their normal toffy brown. It happened so fast that no one except Draco noticed but it was enough for a single jolt of fear to flash through him. Margaret acted as if nothing happened even as his eyes widened.

Pansy was still on about something before it finally clicked in her head that she was a Prefect.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor for your misbehaviour with a Prefect! You'll pay for this, you bitch."

With that, she straightened her robes as if she had some dignity left and latched her arm to the limp one of Draco's. "Come on, Drakey."

Ron was cussing something under his breath and Hermione was glaring at the pug-faced girl, both the Gryffindor Prefects knowing that they couldn't do anything.

"Bye Drakey," Margaret drawls teasingly as the two pass them, followed by their usual gang. Draco shot her a look of disgust for a split second before he looked away, uncharacteristically not stopping to retort.