after having sufficient breakfast since she skipped dinner last night - way before any of the other students had. She was in the process of napping on her folded arms fifteen minutes later when someone promptly perched on the bench beside her.

Looking up, she discovered it to be none other than a concerned-looking Hermione Granger.

"You didn't come back to the common room last night," Hermione states, getting straight to the point. Then she frowns, glancing down at Margaret's crinkled robes and gasps inaudibly. "You didn't come back at all last night!"

"It's fine, Hermione," Margaret sighs, dropping her head on her arms again. She then continues, her voice muffled, "I am fine."

"Did she..." Hermione looks around, spotting a couple of their classmates sitting about the class, talking lowly. She drops her voice, leaning closer. "Did Umbridge... make you do lines too?"

Margaret's left hand was thankfully under her chin; she instinctively fisted it and nodded curtly. There was no point in lying. Hermione didn't speak again but Margaret could feel the anger rolling off of her in waves.

Hermione was not happy that Umbridge had hurt two of her friends in such a terrible manner. She had never seen Margaret look so tired before, and as the lecture started, Hermione could see that she was trying to pretend to pay attention whilst blinking heavily.

When Professor Flitwick assigned them the charm they'd need to practise this lecture and climbed down from his stack of books on the desk to make rounds around the classroom, Hermione exhaled sharply and turned discretely to Margaret.

"If you, er, need someone... I'm here, okay?" she says, more like commands rather awkwardly in a low voice. Margaret looks at her, mildly startled, but then nods.

"Thanks," she mumbles, distractedly doodling on the top of the textbook page.

If she was being honest, she couldn't remember the last time someone had said that to her.

In Transfiguration half an hour later, all the students spotted the very pink Dolores Umbridge in the front corner of the bright classroom as soon as they entered.

"Excellent," Ron mutters, eyes wide with excitement. "Let's see Umbridge get what she deserves."

Margaret slowed down when she spotted Daphne Greengrass on their usual bench up front, reading something in what looked like a reference book, her hair typically curtaining her face. She could not help but look at Daphne differently after witnessing her kindness towards the young Slytherin girl; rather than just think of her as Pansy Parkinson's timid sidekick.

She looked away before taking a seat, not wanting to seem obvious.

Professor McGonagall marched into the room without giving the slightest indication that she knew Umbridge was there and silence fell immediately, causing Umbridge to glance up from her clipboard.

"Mister Finnigan, kindly come here and hand back the homework - Miss Brown, please take this box of mice; don't be silly, girl, they won't hurt you. Hand one to each student-" When Lavender Brown nearly dropped the box and uttered a small scream of fright, McGonagall pursed her lips. "Miss Xenakis, would you lend a hand to Miss Brown-"

Margaret was up on her feet before Professor McGonagall finished her sentence; offering to pick up the mice if Lavender carried the box, to which she nodded gratefully. Margaret made sure to use her right hand only as they started their way around the class.

"Hem, hem," interrupts the silly little cough of Professor Umbridge.

Professor McGonagall ignored her.

Margaret and Lavender handed small white mice to the first half of the class as McGonagall spoke something about how the class should be able to do better in their homework from now on. The two girls reached the infamous backbenchers who were, surprise-surprise, the Slytherins.

Margaret gave a mouse to them each, ignoring their sniggers and looks aimed at her. However, the mice didn't seem to like the 'snakes'. They squirmed and shifted in her hand and by the time she reached the last bench, she could no longer keep a hold on the particularly wriggly one with a single hand and brought her left hand forward to hold it as gently as possible to avoid dropping it.

When she looked up, wondering why the person wasn't taking their mouse since Lavender had returned back to the front of the classroom with the empty box, Margaret saw Draco Malfoy staring at her hand with a frown. Not only was he gripping his wand under the table, Margaret noticed, but his friends, Crabbe and Goyle, were trying and failing to look intimidating.

That wasn't it. The red scarred words – I must not believe liars – were on full display, and Draco had his narrowed eyes glued to them.

"Any slower and you'd have wrinkles," she snaps, mind laced with panic, as Draco finally meets her gaze and scowls. He grabbed the mouse in one hand, their skin brushing briefly, hers warmer against his. To Margaret's surprise, the mouse calmed down instantly.

Huffing and straightening her robes, her eyes caught the suspicious gaze of the cocoa-skinned boy - whom she now recognised to be Blaise Zabini - and she glared back for a split second before turning on her heel and stalking back to her seat.

Transfiguration homework was returned and Margaret had received an 'E' - Exceeds Expectations. She sighed in relief, before noticing that Neville looked rather pale. He was sat across from her in the third row and Margaret had to lean forward because Daphne Greengrass and her blonde-ness was obscuring her view.

"Right then, everyone, listen closely - Dean Thomas, if you do that to the mouse again I shall put you in detention - most of you have now successfully vanished your snails and even those who were left with a certain amount of shell have the gist of the spell," Professor McGonagall says as she walks past the front benches to glare at some students who were harassing their mice.

Margaret glanced at Umbridge, finding her to be busy with her clipboard, and took the chance to ask Neville what was wrong.

"Psst, Neville" she whispers sharply.

She watched as he slowly turned his head towards her, his eyes wide. Wordlessly, he turned his essay for her to see. On the top right was scrawled a longhand 'A' - Acceptable, as well as a comment from McGonagall that said 'Keep it up!'

Margaret grinned at him and shot him a thumbs up, but was unable to say anything because McGonagall appeared back at the front of the classroom. It was then Margaret noticed that Daphne had seen her interaction with Neville and had a puzzled look on her face.

When Margaret turned to her, however, Daphne glared and snapped her head the other way, her hair covering her face again. Margaret scoffed, not thinking much of it.

Professor McGonagall continues, "Today we shall be-"

"Hem, hem," says Umbridge.

"Yes?" Professor McGonagall says sharply, turning around, her eyebrows so close together they seemed to form one long, severe line.

"I was just wondering, Professor, whether you received my note telling you of the date and time of your inspec-"

"Obviously I received it, or I would have asked you what you are doing in my classroom," McGonagall replies, turning her back firmly on Umbridge. Many of the students exchanged looks of glee and Margaret pressed her lips together to suppress her grin. "As I was saying, today we shall be practising the far more difficult vanishment of mice. Now, the Vanishing Spell-"

"Hem, hem."

"I wonder," McGonagall says in cold fury, turning on Umbridge, "how do you expect to gain an idea of my usual teaching methods if you continue to interrupt me? You see, I do not generally permit people to talk when I am talking."

Professor Umbridge looked as though she had just been slapped across the face. She did not speak, but straightened the parchment on her clipboard and began scribbling furiously. Seemingly unconcerned, Professor McGonagall addressed the class once more.

"As I was saying, the Vanishing Spell becomes more difficult with the complexity of the animal to have vanished..."

Margaret sniggered silently behind her hand, turning her head to exchange a delighted look with Harry, both happy that Umbridge was being put into her place.

Professor Umbridge did not heckle Professor McGonagall again; perhaps she thought that Professor McGonagall would not permit it. She did, however, take many more notes while she sat in her corner like an annoying fly, and when McGonagall finally told them all to pack away, she rose with a sour expression on her face.

Margaret looked sideways at small white rear-end and wiggling tail of the mouse Daphne was working on, with a perplexed expression as Lavender started passing around the box. Margaret's mouse had vanished and she had no clue where it was, making her wonder how Hogwarts was not infested with random 'non-being' mice.

As they filed out of the classroom, Harry saw Professor Umbridge approach the teacher's desk; he nudged Ron on one side and Margaret on another; Ron nudged Hermione in turn, and the four of them deliberately fell back to eavesdrop.

"How long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?" Umbridge asks.

"Thirty-nine years this December," replies Professor McGonagall bluntly, snapping her bag shut.

Professor Umbridge made a note.

"Very well," she says, "you will receive the results of your inspection in ten days' time."

"I can hardly wait," states Professor McGonagall in a coldly unenthusiastic voice, as she strides off toward the door. "Hurry up, you four," she adds, sweeping Harry, Ron, Hermione and Margaret before her. Margaret saw Harry giving McGonagall a faint smile and could have sworn he got one in return.

After they had separated from the professor, Neville caught up to Margaret who was walking with Hermione.

"Look!" he says, holding out his essay. "An A! This is the best I've ever done!"

Hermione gasped, "Neville, that's great!"

Margaret smiled at his excitement, nodding to agree with Hermione. "See? This shows you're capable of doing it."

"I honestly wouldn't of done it without the help," Neville mutters sincerely. "Thank you."

"No problem, Neville," she tells him. "Why don't we do this week's homework together too?"

Neville nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you... I, uh, I really appreciate the help. I do."

"You're most welcome. Now, stop thanking me," Margaret chuckles, turning to Hermione. "Would you like to join us? We both could use some help, not gonna lie."

"Oh, yes, of course. How about we meet in the library this weekend?" Hermione says, obviously planning ahead about everything she could think of.

Margaret turned to Neville questioningly; she didn't want him to feel uncomfortable. However, Neville looked surprised, like he couldn't believe they were both willing to help him.

"Er, I- I can't thank you enough-"

"Nevile, come on," Margaret says, half-laughing, "stop thanking us."

"She's right," Hermione adds before sniffing almost disapprovingly, her gaze shifting to the back of Harry and Ron's heads. "At least you're wanting to work on yourself."

Margaret rolled her eyes at her, turning back to the boy next to her with raised brows.

"Yeah, um... on the weekend. In the library," he recites as if trying to make sure he won't forget it. "Got it."

Margaret chuckled at this, feeling lighter than she had all morning.

Margaret had seen enough of Umbridge's toad-like face to last her a lifetime.

Professor Umbridge had shown up to their Care of Magical Creatures lecture with Grubbly-Plank to inspect it, and Draco Malfoy and his cronies had tried to take a boon out of Hagrid's absence. Obviously, not being able to hear about Hagrid being put-down, Harry had retorted, landing him in another detention with Umbridge.

As Margaret sat eating her rice and curry at dinner with Ron and Hermione, she couldn't help but notice how awfully quiet they were. Ron, quite uncharacteristically, was pushing the food around his plate, occasionally taking an uninterested bite; whilst Hermione kept reading and re-reading the same page in her book, having had a little to eat before claiming she was full.

Margaret sighed to herself, but she admired their worries for their friend.

A couple of moments later, Hermione closed her book with a strong thud, making both Ron and Margaret flinch. Before either of them could say something, she had turned around and gotten to her feet.

"Come on," Hermione says, stuffing the book in her bag.

Margaret exchanged an equally bewildered look with Ron before both of them hurried to their feet and followed Hermione out of the Great Hall.

"Slow down, will you?" Ron calls after her as Hermione marches off further away from the Great Hall. "What's the rush?"

Margaret jogged to get beside her friend, leaving Ron to give her a look of disbelief. As she approached her side, he sped up too, falling into step with the two girls.

Only then does Hermione talk, "We're going to the Hospital Wing."

"The Hospital Wing?" Ron asks. "Why?"

"You'll see."

They took the stairs on the side of the castle, past the paved courtyard, and it took a little while to get to the fifth floor. Once atop, they walked down one of the corridors that circled The Quad below, passing a lone portrait of a lost-looking wizard who had his gloves on the wrong hands.

On the portrait's left, hidden behind the edge of a wall, was a high door with no handle or knob.

Upon arriving, Hermione says in a clear voice, "Wormwood."

The door cracked open down the middle with a shimmer of yellow light, revealing that it was a pair of magically sealed double doors. At the same moment, Hermione took out her wand and aimed it at her hand. She whispered something under her breath and a long gash appeared on her palm, instantly starting to bleed.

Margaret's eyes widened at the sight of the blood as Ron gaped.

"Merlin's pants! Are you mental?!" he exclaims.

"Do we have another choice?" Hermione questions rhetorically, pocketing her wand and fisting her hand. Before Ron could ask what she meant, Hermione stepped into the infirmary and was immediately approached by Madam Pomfrey who started fretting over her injury.

"Oh, dear! What happened?" she asks, ushering Hermione to one of the beds on the side and making her sit near the end.

"Homework spell gone wrong," Hermione tells her sheepishly and Madam Pomfrey nods.

"Don't worry, dear. We'll fix it in a heartbeat," says the older woman kindly, bring out her wand and pointing at Hermione's palm. "Episkey."

Margaret watched as the cut closed itself, and stopped bleeding, as Hermione's face scrunched up in pain.

"It kind of burns," Hermione tells the matron.

Madam Pomfrey nodded and told her to wait. She wandered to the side and started rummaging through the cabinets on the side of the door, and Margaret took this time to look around another place she had read about so much but was seeing for the time.

It was a long stretch of a room that seemed to be the second biggest chamber in the castle after the Great Hall. There were lines of beds covered with white sheets and in between each bed were privacy screens that hung from an intricate rod attached to the wall. Above each bed, there was a long window and Margaret was sure the place would be alight with sunlight in the daytime.

Madam Pomfrey returned with a small bowl filled with glistening blue liquid, holding it out towards Hermione. "Here, soak your hand in this."

Hermione perks up. "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. Uh, can I return to the common room with this? It's getting late and," she glances at Ron, "we're both Prefects. Some student might need us..."

Margaret knew Poppy Pomfrey was possessive of the students in her care, no matter the size of the injury. As expected, she looked conflicted for a moment before she sighed.

"Very well, then. I shall write you a late pass nonetheless," says the matron, going over to the desk on the left of the double doors. Moments later, she returned with a yellow paper and handed it to a confused Ron.

"Alright, off you go, the three of you. And Miss Granger, don't get carried away with your homework next time," she scolds in a motherly tone and Hermione nods.

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. Have a good night."

As the unlikely trio departed from the infirmary and started ascending the stairs to the seventh floor, Ron immediately turned on Hermione, red in the face.

"What in Merlin's saggy left-"

"Language," Margaret interrupts almost instinctively before her nose scrunches up. "Wait, no, I want to know what you were gonna say. Merlin's what?"

"Never mind that," Ron shakes his head, his mind swimming with confusion about the past twenty minutes. "Why did you hurt yourself? What in Merlin's beard is in that bowl?"

"It was the only way to get murtlap essence for Harry," Hermione replies, being extra careful as they walk down the corridor of the seventh floor to get to the Grand Staircase.

"Oh yeah!" Margaret exclaims, her mind reeling with information. "Strained essence of murtlap tentacles eases pain. Your cut wasn't burning, was it?"

"Nope," Hermione smiles. "It was healed in a heart-beat."

"But... why would you lie then?" Ron questions, scratching his head and Hermione huff in annoyance. Before she could open her mouth to say something, Margaret interrupts.

"Because she wanted to get the essence for Harry. It'll help ease the pain from the blood quill cuts."

"Exactly."

Ron blinked, looking slightly impressed. "I don't know if that's stupid or brilliant..."

Hermione rolled her eyes and Margaret caught the side glance he shot Hermione and his lip twitched upwards. He looked away before she could see him staring and Margaret smiled to herself.

When they reached the Gryffindor common room, Margaret told the two that she was going to be back in a while.

She wanted to change out of her uniform that she had been in for over twenty-four hours. So she returned to her room, looking around to see what a mess it was since she hadn't bothered to clean it up on the weekend. The covers were strewn across the bed, one of the pillows was on the ground, there were random pieces of inky parchments on the floor and the desk on the side was stacked untidily with textbooks and reference books.

The only thing neat was the windowsill seat.

Margaret closed the door and dropped her bag on her trunk at the foot of the bed, taking her wand out to dim the light above. Once the room was shrouded in near-darkness, she took off her robe, letting it fall to the ground beside her shoes and then shed the grey sweater too.

She made a trail of clothes behind her to the bathroom, leaving the room messier than it already was. Her first priority was taking a hot shower.

Once she was refreshed and cleansed again, Margaret put on into a comfortable pair of loose black capris and a white t-shirt that she tucked in.