I woke up. Habits and routines had persisted to this life. Tracey was fast asleep on her bed.

  It had been a nice night of talking with her. A little bit of everything, favorite foods, tv shows, what our parents were like. For a moment, I'd forgotten who I had been.

  I got out of my bed, brushed my teeth, dressed.

  I liked the whole robes thing, it hid my missing arm well. I equipped my wand, -hello there, passenger- and ventured out.

  Hogwarts was supposed to be a maze, magic made sure of that. According to the books, the castle played many whimsical tricks to make navigation a pain in the ass.

  Back at Bet, I'd left that to my bugs. It had been downright impossible after a while to get lost or hesitate about my way when I could scout out a few city blocks all around me. I didn't have that here, so learning the ins and outs of the castle early would be beneficial. Also, I wanted fresh air. We lived under the fricking ground.

  Our common room was empty. Seemed like I was the earliest riser here.

  It was suprisingly easy to reach the surface, honestly. I'd expected more.

  Scottish weather in September was... different. The Sun was rising, but it wasn't very bright with all the clouds covering it.

  I stepped on the soil. Wet from the storm yesterday.

  It had been a debate back at the PRT, about how we were supposed to exercise. The experts argued routinely about which exercises were ideal for our performance.

  I didn't know, but I had an attachment to low tempo runs ever since I started doing them. I wouldn't stop doing them even if the biggest sprinting advocates ganged up on me.

  I threw my robe to the ground, tacked my wand to my belt, and just started running. For minutes, there was only the wind I was cutting through, the forgiving soil I was stomping on, the sound of my slowly speeding up breathing. I forgot the school, the magic, the school, reincarnation, dad, Bet, Lisa.

  I went back inside when I saw some other students get out. Running around had been embarrassing at first back in Brockton Bay, it was even weirder when people actually found it unusual. Personally, I thought wizards exercised too little.

  My next destination was the Great Hall. I found breakfast being served, sat down to grab a bite. I watched for Harry and Ron as I ate, but they didn't show. Had they gotten lost?

  Well, sucks. I wanted a quick shower. I went back to the dungeons. A skinny guy gave me a funny look as I walked past him, but he politely gave me space. Good. Snape's words seemed to carry weight. Or maybe the guy was polite himself. Or maybe he didn't want to be close to the muggleborn. Whatever.

  I also saw Blackwood and two girls talking before the dorms. I wanted to avoid them.

  "Wait, isn't that our little hatstall?" one of the girls with Blackwood exclaimed. No cigar, I guess. They hurried over to me and Blackwood followed them with a bemused shake of her head. "Hi, shortstack! We wanted to see you up close!" The other said. She had straight jet black hair and the other had curly brown hair. I guessed they were the prefect's yearmates.

  "Hatstall?" I inquired. It wasn't hard to infer what it was from its name, but I was suprised it was a common enough phenomenon that it had a name. I felt upset had having gathered enough attention by it that people would come over to me, but was relieved a little that it wasn't completely unattested. "What's that?"

  "Well," Curls started, "whichever firstie takes more than five minutes to get sorted, is deemed a hatstall."

  "No, no," Jet Black contested, "Five minutes? That's just arbitrary bullshit someone made up because they wanted a neat criteria and caught on. That's not how it works."

  "Huh? But that's what Davy said?"

  "And Davy heard it from someone else. It's hearsay. Meaningless."

  "How is it decided then?" I interrupted. They looked at me. "Who's a hatstall and who isn't, I mean."

  "It's not an official thing," Jet Black said, and I was inclined to trust her. "It's more like a trend the students noticed and it isn't clear cut. The longer it takes for you to get Sorted, the more hatstall you become. In my opinion, under half a minute is firmly in the normal territory. People who pass that aren't called hatstalls, but they are noticed. There have been plenty this year."

  "All of them went to Gryffindor, though. Even Potter," said curls.

  "Anyways," Jet Black continued, "McGonagall is a pretty notable example of an actual one, I don't know her time, but she is the pillar holding up this hatstall story around here. As a sixth year, I haven't seen anyone I'd call a hatstall in my time here, but I remember the seventh years when I'd been a first year insisting they've seen one Ravenclaw took nine minutes." She grinned at me. "Personally, I'd always thought it was meaningless, the name and the five minute mark, I mean, cause what's the difference between someone who takes four and a half minutes and someone who takes five minutes? I was on the verge of dropping it and writing an article about it on the school newspaper. That was until you came along of course."

  This seemd to be more of an opinion Jet Black held about the concept instead of solid information about who counted as a hatstall and who didn't. Whatever, so it was very eye-catching, at least within the student body. "So I'm absolutely one, aren't I?" I didn't really know how much time I had taken, other than it being more than the others had, and I hadn't bothered to calculate.

  "Are you kidding? You redefined the concept! Twenty five minutes, thirty three seconds! This has been the longest start-of-the-term feast I have been at! I think no one else even deserves to call themselves one after this! No doubt everyone's talking about you!"

  Shit. It wouldn't be such a problem if I really deserved to demand such attention, but I had no concrete pull here, whether it be money, connections or actual power. I didn't want anyone to come at me because of this. Wait, wasn't that exactly what was happening at the moment?

  Blackwood put a hand on her friends' shoulders. "Guys, don't give the firstie a big head." She flashed a smile at me. She liked doing that, I got the feeling she liked being perceived as dependable. I also got the feeling that she was interrupting the others' rant not because she wanted to stop them feeding my ego, but because she noticed I was worried. "It's really not that big of a deal, Taylor. Can I call you that?"

  I nodded.

  "You're pretty unusual, but that's not coming with expectations. You'll be treated like any other student."

  "Well, she's so unusual, I bet most don't even know what to expect," Curls came back online. "But those of us with half a brain, can tell it means something. We are Sorted according to our qualities, but no brat is going to be exceptionally brave or exceptionally genius or exceptionally ambitious. Those traits, you get as you grow up and live life."

  Jet Black, who'd been nodding along, opened her mouth. "Or, in the rare occasion they are, a trait is so overwhelming, they are Sorted immediately. Camouflaged by the masses who get Sorted at the same speed."

  "But," Curls again, "when one takes this much time? It tells me that you are Sorted wherever to despite very, very good arguments for other houses. It tells me that you are quite brave, quite intelligent, quite loyal perhaps, but you are a true Slytherin in the face of all that. It tells me that you have potential."

  "Merlin, she is just a first year," Blackwood muttered as she rolled her eyes. She grabbed at their hairs and squeezed and shook a little as the girls made sounds of protest. "Sorry Taylor, these two have been bored out of their minds and have been looking for something to blow out of proportion. You're just their first victim."

  Putting the unwanted attention aside for a moment, I felt bad because I was feeling like a fraud. Partly because I was actually Hufflepuff and these girls thought me the Slytherin or something, but mostly because I wasn't actually a hatstall, certainly not to the extent they were describing. I had no doubt most of those twenty five minutes had been for the secret meeting the hat had with my passenger. Being rumor woman would be tolerable if I could back my reputation up, walk the talk and all that jazz. Wait.

  "School paper?" That was interesting. "Will you write about me?" I didn't want that.

  "Nope," Blackwood said, and her voice brooked no argument. "She won't."

  "Hey!"

  "You won't," Blackwood told her, "we bothered her enough already. C'mon, we are going to class." The girls grumbled. "What class do you have, Taylor?"

  "Transfiguration."

  "Nice first lesson," Curls commented. "Will you be able to find where it's held?"

  I shrugged. Even if I couldn't, I didn't want to spend any more time here. "I think I'll manage."

  "All right, good luck!" Curls greeted me off. "Bye," Jet Black said, and Blackwood merely nodded. They walked off.

  So far, no one had acted like a racist to me in the school grounds. Not hurling slurs was one thing, but coming over for small talk? That was good. Granted, it was the second day. First?

  I would return to my room and go to the classroom with Tracey.

  ...

  Hadn't been hard at all to find the classroom. Did the wizards just collectively have shitty sense of direction? Hogwarts' tricks had nothing on me.

  I took notes alongside my fellow Slytherins and the Hufflepuffs who were taking this class together with us.

  It was kind of annoying we needed to use quills and parchment, extra after having tasted the comfort of pens. Magic allowed wizards to get away with leading less technologically advanced lives, but I would have expected they'd take small commodities like this. They'd certainly taken trains and railroads. Maybe pens weren't on-brand.

  It wasn't just writing with something hard to use. Having gone through years of practice, I could write like any natural leftie, heck, quite better than the average even. But I hadn't cared about the side of my hand sliding on the surface of the paper before, even though it got darkened all over, because it wouldn't mess up my notes. Now though, if I didn't pay attention, I felt like I could accidentally smear my hard work into unintelligable paint. I bet some other kids were having a hard time in this very class, too.

  An interesting experience, that. Going through life as a left-handed person, one was likely to come across some obstacles small enough to go unnoticed but big enough to sour the mood. Most tools were constructed for right-handed use, and it was hard to tell the difference until you either tried it out with your right hand or got the tool's for-left-handed-people-equivalent. Even I had gotten scissors like that after mom watched me struggle with ones we had. Beyond practical problems like that, there were the cultural implications, too. All over the world, older traditions and religions denounced using your left hand for basic actions like eating, writing or engaging in any work. For a moment, I stared at my remaining hand. The wizarding society was highly conservative. Were there opinions about which hand were to be used here as well?

  "Now," McGonagall said, after we finished writing. The notes were irrelevant stuff, outlaying the basic goals of the class, except unnecessarily detailed. "Theory is important, but practice is our actual path. A demonstration." She waved her wand and her desk turned into a bright pink, clean pig. We cried out in suprise and excitement. It oinked.

  McGonagall waved her wand again and the pig turned back into the desk. She wore a stern expression. "Transfiguration is among the most complex magical branches you will learn here at Hogwarts. It is not a subject that could be taken lightly, unless one is determined to pay the price. Anyone who thinks they'll have a lack of interest or an inability to take the lesson seriously may and should leave my class."

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  No one spoke.

  "All right. Now that we got that out of the way..."

  I was sure the other kids didn't think much of her words, assuming them to be of part of the usual serious educator persona, but they got me thinking. One of the most complex magical branches and pay the price... What did that mean? I'd taken a look at our schedule and read up about the lessons offered at Hogwarts. Herbology and potions were quite clear parallels to human practices. Charms, from what I understood, stocked the bulk of basic wandwork. They differed consistently in methods taught. defence against the dark arts most likely included a bit of everything, but that class made the most sense to me. Especially for muggle children, who were newcomers in the magical world, who had no allies or guardians or allies, the ability to identify and protect themselves from the dangers of the supernatural could be vital. Though I thought the naming was a bit... ideological? The lesson was to include any danger, but the name made it sound like it was specific to "evil wizards" wielding the worst their magic had to offer. Then again, maybe the biggest threat would be the occasional odd malicious wizard, worse than dragons or evil spirits. Yes, this line of thought was making sense. Because while this society was conservative, it wasn't authoritarian. Not out of the goodness of their hearts, of course. Population of people who wielded magic was really, really low. With magic allowing people to not depend on anyone else for travel, food, riches, the importance of the individual was much higher here than in the normal society. They simply couldn't enforce anything as effectively. If someone decided to go south, be a sick fuck, murder a few people I had no doubt they could disappear off the face of Britain and live a full life without facing consequences on the other side of the globe. Of course, the good guys also had every resource the sick fuck had but the sick fuck had the advantage of making the first move, of preparing well and deciding the rules of the engagement.

  ...That sounded a lot like how I used to describe the modus operandi of Undersiders.

  I was being paranoid, viewing this world which I knew next to nothing about from the lens of my previous world.

  Back on track. Classes and methods, right. To cut it short, main subjects seemed to be divided via methodology. Why wasn't transfiguration, essentially wandwork, paired up with charms, was the question in my mind. Or rather, how was it so important within this group that no other wandwork subject was offered to us seperately? Did it differ in methods from the rest in some way? Or were the material so great, it got this treatment? Was it extra advanced?

  Or maybe, it was dangerous in a way that it demanded a specialized tutor. Warping objects into one other, turning a desk into a living being... Magic wasn't automatic or instinctual like powers had been. What could have happened had someone else tried McGonagall's trick? Create a half-desk half-pig monstrosity, killing the animal due to an incomplete attempt, with maybe even vital organs missing entirely? Or create a few seconds of pure torture for it? What if we directed that at ourselves? I had seen enough gore and power fuckery back home to tell it would've been a terrible idea. I felt it tracked, because why would they send someone like McGonagall, a senior and respected teacher, to break the news to muggleborns? Worst case scenerio would be accidental magic firing out to alter a body part or hurt a person, give them a pig tail or something. McGonagall would be the most qualified to be the first responder to something like that, I bet.

  Whatever. I'd learn as I went. I was sure many of my theorizings would fall apart with further context I didn't know yet.

  Still though, the previous thing remained on my mind. Potions being a different class, could I assume there were things witches couldn't do with their wands but could with poisons? Or maybe potions were just easier, convenient. If I were to compare potions with tinker tools back in Bet-

  "Attention, Ms. Hebert."

  Oh. Right. Matches had appeared in front of each of us, in front of every first year from Slytherin and Hufflepuff. I looked at her.

  "What did I say?" she asked.

  "Um..." Honestly? I hadn't heard. Draco, a girl and others giggled in the back. Annoying. Having arrived last, I was forced to sit at the front. I hated that. "We will change the matches to," guess time, "toothpicks."

  Full blown laughs rose from the back as McGonagall shook her head. "A point from Slytherin, Ms. Hebert. Not listening to the first lesson? What will you be like at the end of the year if you're starting out like this?" She stared behind me, but didn't speak. The laughter died down. "Another point from Slytherin. Now, to repeat myself, I'm asking you to turn your matches to nails. The spell is..."

  I paid full attention this time. After gettin my powers, it had gotten shockingly easy to keep track of things, focus on multiple different things at once through my bugs. Multitasking, the PRT scientists had said. It was also what I bet Number Man to had implied with the talk of me double triggering. Back then, I could prepare breakfast with my two hands as I carried conversations and fought battles at the same time. Now, I couldn't even keep myself from daydreaming in class.

  I was a shadow of my former self.

  Or was I related to her at all, or enough to say stuff like that? Was I just some girl who got Taylor Hebert's memories and her name by coincidence?

  I pulled out my wand to swing it at the match and utter the incantation, but my heart wasn't at it. Nothing happened. Looking to my right, Tracey was trying and failing to do anything to the match as well. Hell, it seemed to be the whole class. I swung the wand again. No result.

  Peeking at McGonagall, she didn't seem particularly disappointed with this extremely untalented batch of students, so I guessed it was normal.

  Another few swings for the lip service, and I let my wand rest on the desk, still holding onto it. Through my contact with the stick, my passenger's presence loomed around and above.

  Well, that was a thing. If I wasn't Taylor Hebert, why did I have her name, her face at eleven, her mother, her passenger?

  I closed my eyes. Shallow breaths. Trying to ignore the sound of wands whipping through the air and the rustle of muttering of a crowd, there was only me and my passenger.

  I had memories of using thousands of powers. Parahuman abilities worked differently from magic. Many were like switches implanted inside our brains, our passengers handled the inner workings of the trick. I'd assumed magic was unrelated to Scion and his mate, that I was the only one with a passenger here.

  Could I use that to my advantage? It hadn't done anything other than to watch back when I was experimenting with Harry, but that spell had been much simple.

  Can you do something about this? I thought.

  It responded, not with words, but with movement. Attention.

  I jumped in my seat. Something rose in my chest. I was going to make something happen.

  "Are you okay?" Tracey asked. She had an annoyed frown.

  "I'm fine," I said. "How is it going?"

  "It's not," she sighed. "My dad made this look much easier."

  "Think I found something."

  "Oh?"

  "Watch." I wasn't one to brag, but I couldn't deny that excitement had me talking weird.

  "Oh?"

  I didn't respond. Focus.

  Energy. It was giving to me. Power, fuel, heat.

  For a little, there was only me, my passenger, the match and the heat. I wondered if Tracey was feeling it too, or if it was something within me only.

  Brute. It wanted me to force my way. Huh. Did that mean magic was a blackbox to it, or did this have other implications entirely?

  How? I had no idea.

  Manifest.

  A touch of irritation there. How?

  Experience. Annoyance.

  In my mind's eye, a feminine figure rose, dressed in green. She had platinum hair and her face was warping, various forms of terrains and shapes coming out and going back in. Labyrinth.

  She was the greatest shaker I knew. A bit too great, maybe.

  Safe?

  Safe. Inspiration.

  Inspiration, not imitation. Got it. Don't get angry, jeez.

  I swung my wand once again, eyes still closed. The heat pulled out of my body to my wand, but it slid back before it could break free, falling back to me like a heavy blanket that'd tire you out trying to fold it.

  Okay, that was a lousy attempt. Harder, faster, pushing more, I tried again. The heat traveled a little further, almost reaching the tip of my wand.

  Holy shit was that tiring. Not much different than trying to crush an apple with your bare hands... Pure effort. On to the next one. I felt that the incantation was a distraction.

  I cast silently, and the heat jumped out of the end of my wand, quickly, lightly like a butterfly flying for the first time out of the cocoon. The heat tore itself out of my chest and surged through my hand to my wand to outside.

  My breath caught. Uhhh, that was like the final rep of a set of squats. My forehead hit the table as I collapsed where I sat out of exhaustion, but my head didn't crush the match like I'd expect.

  Ughh. I breathed heavily.

  Satisfaction.

  Didn't even see what happened.

  My passenger retreated back into nonchalance, observing but not looking, listening but not answering.

  "Woah, Taylor!" I heard Tracey exclaim, alongside some sounds of suprise and some giggles from those at the back. "You did... it?"

  I raised my head. On the air was suspended a needle-like shape, metallic like a nail, although that was where the similarities ended. Lines of pointy pins had grown out of its body, bending sideways in the shape of a spiral.

  McGonagall had her wand in the air, having walked towards us, side-eyeing my match with a considering expression.

  That's not a nail... I guess I get the spiral idea, but it isn't.

  Again, no reply. I wouldn't be drawing anything out of my passenger for a while.

  "What in the," McGonagall hummed. "Did you do this, Ms. Hebert?"

  "Yes, Professor, I did."

  "You're breathing heavy, and you just hit your head. Do you know why?"

  "Because I pushed too much?"

  "Precisely. Magic exhaustion," she stated. "Happens when one drains their magic capacity. Extremely, extremely rare for a witch to be able to do this, to be able to bypass the finesse of the matter. Could be dangerous if abused, but a huge advantage as well if utilized well. Hmm," McGonagall hummed. "Two... no, three points to Slytherin."

  "But it's not a nail!" Someone cried out.

  "No, it isn't. But it's much more than any first year have managed to do in all my years of teaching here. Good job, Ms. Hebert." She was still staring at my... pointy shape? I bet that was the only reason whoever had just screamed didn't get punished. "Although..."

  I noticed it at that moment. The newly acquired spikes? They were still growing, getting more extreme in the shape they had taken.

  "Albus," our transfiguration professor muttered and my match disappeared. "He'll see this."

  Then she turned to us. "What are you doing? Continue!" The class hurried to get back to their fruitless work.

  "You really did it," Tracey whispered to me. "That was great!"

  "It was," McGonagall answered in my place. "And now it's your turn, Ms. Davis. In the meantime, I'll take Ms. Hebert to the hospital wing."

  I kinda had other plans, but I wasn't going to say no to her, and it wasn't like I had any energy left to continue.

  This had been fun. Visualizing something and going through with it to succeed, at least a little, raised my mood a lot.

  But still, this while thing had left me with more questions than it answered.

  I got up and followed McGonagall through the door.