Chapter One

-

Feelings

"Something important's going to happen," Hermione Granger announced, as soon as Professor Snape had closed the door of the classroom behind him. Their potions teacher hand not been called out of the classroom for some trivial reason. Hermione was certain of that.

Draco Malfoy snorted. "Here we go again," he said, looking smugly around the classroom.

Nevile Longbottom ignored him. "Like what, Hermione?" he asked, his round face lit with interest.

"I'm not sure," Hermione said, "but it's going to change things."

Nevile leaned forward in his chair. "What things?" he asked.

Hermione sighed. "Just… things, Nevile. I don't know what things."

A curious murmur swept through the class. Professor Snape often left the classroom, leaving one of the students in charge (always a slimy Slytherin). Usually, he came back in a few minutes with fresh beetles' eyes, boomslang skin or snake fangs from the potion store room out in the hall. Occasionally he left just to be alone for a moment whenever the class got too rowdy. Whatever the reason, it was never important. As usual, Snape had left his most trusted student, Malfoy, in charge.

"Where'd you get your information?" Blaise Zambini asked nastily.

"Yeah," Malfoy sneered. "How do you know?"

Hermione cleared her throat anxiously. She couldn't let them win. She knew she should ignore the boys' challenge, but, at the same time, she felt the need to defend herself. "I… have a…"

She glanced at Harry. He shook his head slightly as if to warn her not to say another word, but it was too late.

"…feeling," she finished.

Harry rolled his bright green eyes and slid down in his chair so that all Hermione could see of him was the side of his head. She winced, realising she had made a mistake.

Malfoy's eyes widened into two uneven circles. "Hear that, everybody?" he said. "The mudblood has a feeling." Pretending to bite his fingernails anxiously, he added, "Oh, wow! That really scares me," in a high-pitched voice. The Slytherins laughed.

A warm flush spread across Hermione's face to her ears. But she couldn't give in to her embarrassment. She had a responsibility here, feelings or no. "We're supposed to be doing potions," she scolded, and opened her book.

Malfoy swaggered to the front of the class arrogantly. "Let's take a vote," he said. "Who wants to do potions?"

A wave of moaning broke over the class. No one, evidently, wanted to do potions. Harry gave Malfoy a loathing look.

"I've got an idea." Malfoy turned to Hermione. "Why don't you just make our potions for us? Save everybody some time."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. "That wouldn't be fair," she said. "Besides, I don't know how to make it."

Malfoy looked shocked. "You don't know how?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. She was the smartest person in her class, but to expect her to memorize exactly how to make a potion that she had never come across before was asking too much. "No one knows how to until they read the procedure."

"Really?" Malfoy's expression was serious, but Hermione saw a teasing glint in his blue eyes. "I had a feeling you might have a feeling how to make it."

Pansy Parkinson snickered. "Honestly, Hermione, you and your feelings."

Hermione's ears throbbed with heat. She untucked her brown hair from behind them and let it fall forward.

Harry glared at Pansy, his eyes sparking with anger. "You're just jealous because you don't have any feelings," he accused Pansy.

Hermione sighed gratefully. She and Harry had been friends for a long time, since they were little first years. She could always depend on him to stick by her, even when she'd set herself up for a fall as she had just done.

Pansy's mouth narrowed to the size of a pencil line. "I do so have feelings! Real feelings about real things!" She threw her workbook at Harry.

He ducked. The book sailed past him. Malfoy raised his arm to deflect it. The manual seemed to hover in midair before changing direction. Horrified, the class watched it fly right for Professor Snape's table of beakers. It narrowly missed, but a glass vial smashed to the ground.

A low whistle escaped the cage of Harry's teeth. "I have a feeling that Hermione was right," he said.

Everyone knew what he meant. When Professor Snape saw what had happened, something out of the ordinary would definitely happen.

"Here he comes!" Seamus Finnigan announced.

Retrieving her workbook from the windowsill, Pansy nudged the broken glass under the table. Everyone else scurried to their places and opened their potions books.

Professor Snape paused outside the room. Through the window in the door, the class watched his greasy hair bob up and down. He was talking to someone. Someone short.

Finally, he threw open the door and strode into the classroom, his long black cloak billowing behind him. Snape's eyes flitted about the room suspiciously, then settled on the traces of broken vial on the ground. "Reparo," he muttered, and it instantly fitted itself back together again.

"Well, it sounds like you've all been working hard," he remarked dryly. The class straightened up automatically and chorused, "Yes, Professor Snape," obviously not detecting the sarcasm.

"Class, I have a pleasant surprise for you." Snape glanced to his left. Then, he whirled to look behind him. "Ginny, come here," he said exasperatedly. Muttering, he walked to the doorway and appeared to coax someone inside. Hermione recognised the name Ginny… but she couldn't quite put her finger on exactly who it was. She sat back in her chair and waited like the rest of the class.

After an expectant pause, a petite redhead stepped into the room in – of all things – a dress! With puffed sleeves! Hermione smiled. Ginny Weasley! Ron's little sister. She went to wave in a friendly manner, but suppressed it when Snape glared at her.

"This, everyone, is Ginny Weasley. She is your new classmate."