SABAISM | H. POTTER

FOUR. | FIRST DAY OF CLASSES

Gemini had always been a heavy sleeper. She intended to use that as her excuse, praying that Professor McGonagall—Minnie, as she affectionately called her in her head—wouldn't decapitate her for being late. The morning sunlight streamed through the high, stained-glass windows of Gryffindor Tower, painting the walls with shifting patterns of gold and crimson. But the beauty of the scene was lost on Gemini as she dashed through the corridors, her untied shoelaces thudding against the ancient stone floor with every frantic step. The echoes of her footfalls chased her through the castle, mingling with the distant tolling of the bell that signaled the start of the first class.

Ron and Harry trailed closely behind, their faces flushed with exertion and anxiety. They had all converged in the common room by pure chance, each one running late and each blaming the other for their collective tardiness. Gemini's hair was a wild halo of curls, bouncing with every stride, and her robe was only half buttoned, flapping behind her like a scarlet banner. Ron's tie was askew, and Harry's glasses were slightly crooked, fogged up from the exertion.

They were precisely twenty minutes late to Transfiguration—the first lesson of the year, no less. Gemini was certain Hermione had tried to wake her, but in all her life, only her father had ever succeeded in rousing her from the depths of sleep. She could almost hear his voice now, gentle but insistent, coaxing her out of her dreams.

As they skidded around the last corner, the heavy oak door to the Transfiguration classroom loomed ahead, slightly ajar. Gemini's heart hammered in her chest, her nerves jangling. Of course, Gryffindor's first lesson of the year had to be with Professor McGonagall, the strictest and most formidable teacher in the school. There was no hope of slipping in unnoticed.

They burst through the door, breathless and disheveled. The classroom was silent, every head turning to stare at them. Gemini's eyes landed on the familiar tabby cat lounging on a mahogany desk at the front of the room, its tail flicking with apparent irritation. She winced at the sight, knowing exactly what was coming.

"Whew," Ron started, trying to sound casual despite his panting, "Can you imagine the look on old McGonagall's face if we were late?"

Gemini grimaced; what a dunderhead. Before she could respond, the tabby cat leapt gracefully from the desk, landing with barely a sound. In an instant, its form shimmered and twisted, elongating and reshaping until, with a ripple of magic, Professor McGonagall stood before them, her lips pressed into a thin, unimpressed line.

The boys gaped in awe, their mouths hanging open. Gemini, however, mustered a bright, sheepish smile for her favorite professor, hoping to charm her way out of trouble.

"Thank you for that assessment, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said coolly, her Scottish brogue crisp and precise. "But perhaps if I were to transfigure Mr. Potter or Miss Lupin-Black into a pocket watch, one of you might arrive on time."

Well, there went that lie. Gemini's cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and she ducked her head, muttering, "Sorry, Minnie," under her breath. The use of the nickname was automatic, a slip from her childhood, and she hoped McGonagall wouldn't notice. The professor's eyes narrowed, but she let it pass.

They hurried to find seats, eager to avoid any more negative attention. Hermione, ever the diligent friend, had saved Gemini a spot at the front of the class—of course she had. Gemini slid into the seat, shooting Hermione a grateful look. Hermione's expression was a mixture of relief and exasperation, her foot tapping impatiently beneath the desk.

Once the class had settled, McGonagall began her lecture. She stood tall and regal, her tartan robes immaculate, her hair pulled back into a severe bun. Her eyes, sharp as a hawk's, swept over the students.