Poor Hogwarts

Dumbledore was gone. He had clearly been eating in the Great Hall that morning, yet by the afternoon he had run off to who knew where.

Pomona needed to find a signed permit to read in the Restricted Section. Her own Head of House was absent—who could she go to besides Professor McGonagall?

She had no idea what sort of scheming games the adults were playing. She only knew that dragging an ignorant child into it was irresponsible—and that ignorant child happened to be herself, which made her anger all the more deeply etched.

For heaven's sake, it was her first day of school!

Making the Whomping Willow calm down again in front of everyone had made her somewhat famous. The stares in the corridors made her uncomfortable. She was a low-key Hufflepuff, not a Slytherin or Gryffindor. This feeling of floating on clouds left her deeply unsettled. She wanted to go home, just like those Muggle first-years crying in the corridors.

"Love is like lightning, it catches you so completely off guard..."

There was a radio in Professor McGonagall's office too, and it was playing that song. For some reason, Pomona felt the urge to ride a broomstick and jump off Gryffindor Tower.

Ha ha ha, how exhilarating that would be. The thoughts of a mad Hufflepuff girl were just that crazy.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Come in." Professor McGonagall's voice came from inside after the knock. Pomona pushed open the door. McGonagall was seated behind her desk, writing and drawing, while the radio that had been singing moments ago had been switched off.

"Professor, I have a question for you." Pomona closed the door as she spoke.

"Of course. Ask whatever you like." McGonagall set down her quill and looked at her expectantly.

"Can I transfer schools?" Pomona said solemnly. "I have the right to withdraw, don't I?"

"Many first-years have trouble adjusting, just like you, Miss Martin. But as long as you try to fit in, you'll find school life very interesting."

Pomona slumped into the chair opposite Professor McGonagall. Ever since receiving her first wand, her life had been changing drastically. She felt as though she were about to lose control, just like the Whomping Willow.

"What is troubling you, Miss Martin?" Professor McGonagall asked softly.

"I think there must be something wrong with me." Pomona stared at McGonagall.

"Why do you say that?"

"Sometimes I see visions." More precisely, she did not "see" them; they appeared in the depths of her mind—a pitch-black shadow in dense fog. "And I've constantly had a bad feeling."

"I think that's normal." Professor McGonagall stood and poured Pomona a glass of water. "Young wizards your age all have unstable magic. That is why you must learn to use magic."

Pomona did not think McGonagall's answer solved her problem. She still felt restless and uneasy.

"However, it's also possible that your condition is related to your bloodline." After placing the glass before Pomona, McGonagall sat opposite her. "Veela can sometimes make predictions, just like Centaurs. When Hagrid first enrolled, his emotions were unstable for a time as well. Then he went to the Forbidden Forest once, and he got better."

"Are you encouraging me to go to the Forbidden Forest?" Pomona opened her mouth in shock. "Didn't you and the headmaster say that students were forbidden from entering it?"

"Students, of course." Professor McGonagall smiled oddly. "But your situation is different from theirs. Have you ever considered staying at school and becoming a teacher, Pomona?"

Pomona felt as though she had been struck by lightning again.

"Half-giants, half-goblins—I believe you know who I mean. Herbology truly lacks a qualified professor at present. Besides, you spoke with Professor Slughorn before. Potions requires a great deal of ingredients, many of them rare and expensive. Our budget is limited. If we could make use of our greenhouses, we could save a considerable sum. You may have noticed that, including the Heads of House and Hagrid, the Gamekeeper, our staff totals only twenty-four people. Besides teaching 1,034 students, we must manage thousands of acres of property, as well as a castle that has stood for over a thousand years. When the Four Founders chose this site, they signed many agreements with other races. Simply put, our school needs someone with your talents."

Pomona said woodenly, "But I'm only eleven this year..."

"Yes, you have seven years to decide whether you want to stay. Herbology is a compulsory subject in the Ordinary Wizarding Levels, and we hope the students' grades can improve from their current level. The professors are your teachers now, but they will be your colleagues in the future. If you have any problems later on, you can speak up directly, just as you did now. Hogwarts is not only the students' home, but the staff's home as well..."

"Do you owe people money right now?" Pomona interrupted McGonagall.

"We do have a slight disagreement regarding our sponsors." Professor McGonagall maintained her perfect smile. "But it has not reached the point of debt."

"May I ask why?"

"Can you keep a secret?"

Pomona considered it for a moment, then nodded solemnly.

"You know that we have an old alumnus. He was originally named Tom Riddle, but people now call him the Dark Lord. He once asked Dumbledore for the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, but Dumbledore refused. Now he has considerable influence among the wizarding aristocracy, and with the Minister for Magic's recent suspicions toward Dumbledore, we..."

"I understand." Pomona interrupted Professor McGonagall. "Then can we cut back on food expenses?"

"I'm afraid not." Professor McGonagall removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "You can never know just how much teenage boys can eat."

Snape, whom she had encountered in the Slytherin dungeons earlier, flashed through Pomona's mind again. Sirius Black was clearly much more handsome than him, yet he had not left as deep an impression on her as Snape had.

Was a teenage boy supposed to be like him?

"I'll think about it." Pomona stood up. "Oh, Professor McGonagall, I need to look up some information in the Restricted Section. Can you write me a permit?"

"How do you know what you're looking for is in the Restricted Section?"

"Trust me, there is absolutely no relevant knowledge in a seventh-year Herbology textbook."

"But you're still a first-year. I can't make an exception for you."

Pomona's expression darkened. "If you hadn't been in such a hurry to transplant the Whomping Willow here, there wouldn't be so much trouble. I don't want to sacrifice my rest time to deal with a problem that a student should not have to handle."

"Don't be angry, Pomona. This is Hogwarts. Books aren't found only in the library."

Professor McGonagall smiled. "You can go ask Nearly Headless Nick. He usually floats around the eighth floor of the castle, near the Tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. Perhaps you'll make an unexpected discovery."

Something was wrong.

Pomona's instincts told her that Professor McGonagall's words carried another meaning, but she was only Dumbledore's assistant. The one who truly had a problem was that seemingly kind and amiable headmaster.

"Any other questions, Miss Martin?"

"No."

"Then good luck." Professor McGonagall lowered her head and began writing, no longer paying Pomona any attention.