The far table at the end erupted in enthusiastic cheers as yet another student was added to their clique. Though she was just a newcomer, they would take all that they could get. She bounced across the Great Hall amidst stares – or could those be glares? – from the other tables while they hardly clapped. She seated herself between two students and glanced up at a small group who had their eyes on her. One looked vaguely familiar. Then again, everyone knew him. But this…this felt much deeper than just a knowledge of the story of The Boy who Lived.

Iliana Hawkins shoved her way through the crowd to get to Transfiguration. If word was true, Professor Minerva McGonagall was hardly a force to be reckoned with. There was only one empty desk near the front – She took it. The stern-faced woman rapped her wand on the edge of the table; everyone immediately quieted. Iliana had to admit that she was duly impressed. Even her mum couldn't silence the twelve scholars she taught in the refuge of the Hawkins residence. She settled into her chair with a inaudible sigh and rested her chin in the palm of her hand. She could only hope class wasn't too long.

After lunch came her least favourite class: Potions. Iliana was a terrible potions-maker, and many a cauldron had been melted and destroyed by her hand. She was one of the first into the dungeons; she stood by the doorway, waiting until someone would give her a clue as to where to sit. Slowly but steadily, more and more students filed in and took their seats. She was just about to give up hope when one, clad in black with a badge bearing a serpent and green and silver, stopped beside her.

"You're the new kid, aren't you?"

"Yea, Iliana. You are?"

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." He gave what was apparently supposed to be a winning grin. "There's a spot up there, right next to me."

She nodded slightly, mentally rolling her eyes. Sure, she supposed it wouldn't hurt to have friends, but the so-called smooth approach he'd taken was less than welcome to Iliana. But judging by his entourage that hovered only dozens of steps away, rejecting him wouldn't be too brilliant of an idea. She swallowed her snide remarks and followed him to a table and dropped her bag to the floor. A dark presence invaded the room as the door slammed behind the sallow-faced, hook-nosed professor. She shuddered involuntarily at the sight of his jet-black hair, black cloak, and seemingly emotionless black eyes. His voice when he spoke hypnotised yet repulsed her. Instructions were given, and the class immersed themselves in the task at hand.

Iliana took this time to gaze around at the students. The class had been doubled up with Gryffindor. Oh, joy, she thought grimly as she stirred the concoction in the cauldron. There was that boy again. She knew she'd seen him from somewhere. But where? He was much more recognisable than just the legend. She sensed she had once had more to do with him, than she could recall. A little voice in the back of her brain nagged, Think hard. Who is he? She just couldn't figure it out.

Professor Snape hung over her as if he could read her mind, and so she forced herself to push thoughts of the boy from her head and concentrate on the potion. Finally, the lesson ended; everyone swiftly cleaned up, practically running out of the cold dungeon to the warmth of the floors above. She was still trying to zip her bag as she headed down the corridor. Her lack of paying attention caused her to run into…

Him.

"Watch it."

All it took was a quick look into his green eyes, and she felt her mind trying to bring memories to the surface. She pushed past him, sprinted away from the dungeons, and eventually found herself outside on the sprawling lawn, collapsing beneath a large oak. She knew. She just couldn't remember.