Chapter 1: Late Arrival

The Hogwarts Express had already gone silent by the time she stepped onto the platform. No first-years scrambling for their trunks, no prefects herding students toward the carriages. Just empty stretches of stone and the faint smell of coal smoke hanging in the September air.

She gripped the handle of her trunk and looked up toward the castle. Every window seemed to glow against the darkening sky. The feast had started without her, which meant explanations would be required soon enough.

Track maintenance outside London had delayed the entire train by nearly two hours. The conductor had explained this through a crackling intercom system that made his voice sound like gravel scraping against metal. Most students had treated the delay as an adventure of sorts, leaning out of compartment windows to watch the repair crews work. She had stayed in her seat, counting down the minutes and knowing exactly what kind of reception awaited her.

The platform looked strange when emptied like this. She had never seen it so quiet before, not in six previous years of arrivals. Walking toward the station exit felt like trespassing somehow, though she had every right to be there.

Her robes were still packed in the trunk. The practical thing would have been to change on the train, but hindsight offered little help now. She wore Muggle clothes that felt completely wrong the moment the castle came into view, a reminder that she existed between two worlds that never quite aligned properly.

The path up to the school stretched longer than she remembered. Hauling the trunk made every step a negotiation between determination and the growing ache in her shoulder. She could have used magic to levitate it, but that seemed like admitting defeat somehow. Besides, arriving late was bad enough without adding casual spell-work outside of supervised settings.

The castle doors stood open when she finally reached them. Sound spilled out from somewhere deep inside, the muffled noise of hundreds of students packed into the Great Hall. Laughter echoed down the corridors in waves that made her feel even more isolated out here in the entrance area.

She left her trunk near the staircase and started walking toward the noise. The stone floors had been recently cleaned, still slightly damp in places where the house-elves had scrubbed away summer's accumulation of dust. Everything smelled like lemon oil and old wood.

The corridor leading to the Great Hall stretched ahead of her. She could hear individual voices now, not just the general roar of conversation. Someone was telling a story about their summer in France, and another voice was complaining about the Sorting Hat's song. Normal start-of-term chaos that she had missed completely.

She was perhaps ten feet from the entrance when a voice cut through the ambient noise.

"Stop right there."

Filch emerged from a side passage, moving with that peculiar shuffling gait that somehow allowed him to appear anywhere students least wanted him. Mrs. Norris wound between his ankles, her lamp-like eyes fixed on the new arrival with evident suspicion.

"Feast's already started," Filch said. He sounded almost pleased about catching someone out of place. "Students are meant to be seated by now."

"The train was delayed," she said. Explaining felt pointless even as the words left her mouth. Filch didn't care about reasons, only infractions. "Track maintenance outside London."

"Delayed or not, you've missed the Welcome Feast." He stepped closer, blocking her path to the Great Hall entrance. "That's a mandatory school event, that is. Can't just waltz in whenever you please."

Mrs. Norris made a sound somewhere between a purr and a growl. The cat had always unnerved her, something about those eyes that seemed to see more than an animal should.

"I'll need to take you to your Head of House," Filch continued. He looked genuinely delighted now, as though late arrivals were a personal gift. "Come along then. Don't dawdle."

She considered arguing but recognized futility when it stared her in the face. Filch had already turned around, clearly expecting her to follow. Mrs. Norris brought up the rear like some kind of feline prison guard.

The walk to Professor McGonagall's office took them away from the Great Hall and up two flights of stairs. Filch maintained a running commentary about students these days, how they showed no respect for schedules or authority. She stopped listening after the first landing.

McGonagall's office door stood slightly ajar. Filch knocked anyway, three sharp raps that announced his presence with unnecessary force.

"Come in."

The office looked exactly as she remembered it from previous visits, lined with books and smelling faintly of parchment and ink. McGonagall sat behind her desk, clearly in the middle of reviewing some kind of document. She looked up when they entered, her expression shifting from mild curiosity to recognition.

"Miss..." McGonagall paused, setting down her quill. "I wasn't expecting any stragglers this evening."

"Found her trying to sneak into the Great Hall," Filch announced. He made it sound like she'd been attempting armed robbery. "After the feast had already begun, mind you."

"Thank you, Mr. Filch." McGonagall's tone suggested dismissal. "I'll handle this from here."

Filch looked disappointed but shuffled out regardless, Mrs. Norris trailing behind him. The door clicked shut, leaving the student and professor in sudden silence.

McGonagall gestured to the chair across from her desk. "Sit down, please. And explain why you've arrived two hours late on the first evening of term."

She sat, trying to organize her thoughts into something resembling a coherent explanation. "The train was delayed. Track maintenance outside London caused some kind of backup. The conductor said it couldn't be helped."

"Track maintenance," McGonagall repeated the words as though testing their validity. "I see. And I suppose the entire train was affected by this delay?"

"Everyone on board, yes."

"Then I expect we'll be seeing quite a few late arrivals shortly." McGonagall picked up her quill again, making a note on the parchment in front of her. "Though you appear to be the first to actually reach the castle."

That didn't make sense. She had been in one of the rear carriages, had taken her time collecting her things. Other students should have arrived before her, unless they'd stopped somewhere along the way.

McGonagall seemed to read her confusion. "The carriages were held at the station to transport everyone together. You, however, appear to have made your own way up to the castle. Am I correct?"

"I walked." It hadn't occurred to her to wait for a carriage that might never come. "My trunk is downstairs near the entrance."

"Initiative, though perhaps misplaced in this instance." McGonagall set her quill down again, folding her hands on the desk. "The Welcome Feast is a mandatory event for all students. Missing it, regardless of the reason, requires consequence."

She had expected this, but the confirmation still landed heavily.

"You'll serve detention tonight," McGonagall continued. "Report to Professor Snape in the Potions classroom immediately after you've changed into your robes. I trust you remember where to find it."

Of course, it would be Snape. Some perverse law of the universe ensured that bad situations always found ways to become worse. Seven years of school had taught her that lesson repeatedly.

"Yes, Professor." Her voice came out steadier than she felt. "How long should I expect the detention to last?"

"That will be Professor Snape's decision." McGonagall pulled a blank piece of parchment toward her, writing something quickly. "Give him this note when you arrive. And in the future, Miss, I suggest you wait for proper transportation rather than striking out on your own."

The dismissal was clear. She stood, accepted the folded note, and left the office before any further complications could arise.

The corridor outside felt colder than before. Or maybe that was just anticipation of what came next, the particular dread that accompanied any interaction with the Potions Master. He had never liked her, though to be fair, he didn't seem to like anyone much. Seven years of observations had confirmed that his general approach to students ranged from cold indifference to active hostility.

Her trunk still waited where she'd left it, unmolested by passing prefects or curious first-years. She hauled it up the stairs toward her House dormitory, grateful that most students were still occupied with the feast. The last thing she needed was a crowd of questions about why she'd arrived late and where she was going now.

The common room stood empty when she finally reached it. The fire had been lit, crackling away to itself in the silence. She dragged her trunk to her dormitory and dug through the contents until she found her robes.

The uniform felt strange after months of Muggle clothing. She had spent the summer working in her mother's shop, wearing jeans and simple shirts that didn't carry the weight of house colors or academic expectations. The robes transformed her back into a student, a role that had always fit awkwardly despite seven years of practice.

Her reflection in the dormitory mirror showed someone who looked tired, slightly disheveled from the journey. She tried to smooth down her hair but gave up after a few attempts. Snape wouldn't care what she looked like, would probably find fault regardless.

The walk down to the dungeons took longer than it should have. She kept her pace deliberately slow, postponing the inevitable. Other students had begun filtering back from the feast, their voices echoing through the corridors in cheerful bursts. She avoided eye contact, not wanting to explain where she was headed or why.

The dungeon stairs descended into increasing cold. Temperature always dropped the deeper you went into the castle, but the Potions classroom occupied a particularly frigid section of the lower levels. Something about the stone down here seemed to actively absorb warmth, leaving the air perpetually chilled.

She stopped outside the classroom door and checked her watch. Twenty minutes had passed since leaving McGonagall's office, perhaps slightly more. Close enough to "immediately after" to avoid additional criticism.

The door looked more imposing than usual in the dim corridor lighting. She raised her hand and knocked twice, the sound seeming to disappear into the thick wood.

"Enter."

Snape's voice carried clearly despite the barrier between them. She turned the handle and pushed the door open, stepping into the classroom that had been the site of countless humiliations over the years.

The space looked different when empty of students. Desks stood in precise rows, their surfaces clean and ready for tomorrow's first lesson. The blackboard had been wiped clear, showing nothing but faint chalk residue. Ingredient jars lined the shelves along the back wall, their contents catching the light from strategically placed torches.

Snape sat at his desk near the front of the room, a stack of parchment spread before him and a quill moving steadily across one page. He didn't look up when she entered, just continued writing as though she didn't exist yet.

She closed the door behind her and waited. Experience had taught her that interrupting Snape while he was focused on something else guaranteed a cutting response. Better to stand quietly until he acknowledged her presence on his own terms.

The seconds stretched out uncomfortably. She could hear the scratch of his quill against parchment, the occasional rustle when he moved one wordle aside to begin marking another. Somewhere in the castle above them, students were probably settling into their dormitories, comparing schedules and catching up on summer gossip. She stood in a cold dungeon classroom, watching a professor write papers.

Finally, Snape set down his quill. He looked up, and his expression darkened the moment his eyes landed on her.

"Miss." He said it like an accusation. "I was informed you would be joining me this evening. How unfortunate for us both."

She held out McGonagall's note rather than attempting a response. Snape took it, unfolded the parchment, and read the contents in what appeared to be a single glance. His mouth thinned slightly, the only visible reaction before he set the note aside.

"Track maintenance," he said. The words dripped with skepticism. "How remarkably convenient."

"It wasn't convenient at all, actually." The response came out before she could stop it. "We sat outside London for two hours while repair crews worked on the rails."

Snape's eyebrow rose fractionally. "I don't recall requesting your opinion on the matter."

She bit down on any further comments. Antagonizing him within the first minute would only extend the detention into the early morning hours.

"The supply cupboard requires reorganization." Snape gestured vaguely toward a door at the back of the classroom. "You will arrange all ingredients alphabetically and dispose of any materials that have exceeded their useful life. I trust this task falls within your capabilities?"

The question was designed to insult, implying that even basic organization might prove too challenging. She nodded instead of rising to the bait.

"Excellent." Snape picked up his quill again. "You may begin. And do try to work quietly. Some of us have actual responsibilities that require concentration."

She crossed the classroom to the supply cupboard, opened the door, and surveyed the chaos inside. Surely a long time will be required.