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List three potions that take less than 3 hours to brew.

I can't believe this. I know the answer, but for some reason, my mind is just refusing to stay focused. This has never happened to me before. But then again, I've never really had a friend…let alone talked to many people. I don't know what this feeling is, but

I can't shake it loose. I let myself sneak a sideways glance at Riddle. Potions is the only other class I have with Slytherin other than Transfiguration. He's focused (unlike me) on his exam, his elbows on the desk with his fingers at his temples. I don't know

how long I was looking at him, but he looks up so suddenly that I find myself frozen. Part of me is telling me to just look away, but the other part just wants to melt into those dark, mysterious eyes…

And then I hear Professor Slughorn.

"Alright, tests in!" His voice breaks into my mind, reality forcing its way in. I glanced down at my blank paper. Blank as an undecorated Christmas tree. You've got to be kidding me.

The next thing I do is panic—because I'm Minerva McGonagall, one of the brightest witches out of all the students of Hogwarts, someone who has never missed more than one or two points on any test—because I just failed this test. 0/ 24, I'm sure. All

because of Riddle. I can feel my hand shaking as I hand the parchment in to Slughorn. He takes one look at my test parchment, and his face morphs from his normally friendly face to baffled, faster than you could say Lumos.

"Miss McGonagall," he started, voice coated with obvious disappointment, "I'd like to see you after class.

Embarrassed and humiliated, I took a seat by the door and awkwardly kept my gaze away from the departing students.

"McGonagall?" I heard them whisper, wondering what I did to be held back from leaving. I felt like a criminal put on trial with everyone I had ever known, judging me. I know it doesn't seem like a big deal, but really—for me, this is horrible. Terrifying. As Riddle

passes by, I just know that he's probably smirking; laughing inwardly, just because he's Riddle, and I'm McGonagall, but I keep my head down.

Once everyone is gone, Slughorn calls me over to his table. I lift up my head, and I realize that Thomas Crouch is also there. Thomas Crouch has an older brother, Barty Crouch, I think. He's a prefect with perfect marks and has a passion for studying that

surpasses even my own. In other words, he's the opposite of Thomas. Thomas is someone that devotes his life to quidditch, and quite frankly, he has an unpleasant I -don't-give-a-shit attitude.

"Well. You both know why you're here. Mister Crouch; I'm sure you're familiar with the routine. As for you, Miss McGonagall—ah, Mister Crouch, would you care to explain?" Slughorn asked.

Crouch sighed and ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

"Scores 70% to 80%, test corrections. Scores lower than 70%, test corrections and detention."

"After learning hours, I'd like it if you both could come by my classroom for about an hour or so. As for now, take this time to correct your mistakes."

Slughorn heaved himself up and walked to his office, muttering under his breath. Crouch and I took our seats, and after an awkward ten minutes, he spoke up, to my surprise.

"So what'd you get on your test?" He asked.

"0 out of 24." I said. What he did next surprised me even more. He let out a loud laugh—not unpleasant, not in a way that I felt that he was laughing at me, but in a way that he was laughing with me. I cracked a little smile.

"What about you?"

"13 out of 24."

"Oh."

"What's question 15?" He asked me, picking up his parchment and taking a seat next to me. I glanced at it quickly.

List three potions that take less than 3 hours to brew.

This time the answers came flooding to my head.

"Oh that's easy," I replied, and I wondered why before, I didn't know any of the answers. I was sure that it had to do with a certain someone called Tom Riddle, invading my mind.

During Transfiguration, as I was working on transfiguring a book with the few minutes left before class, I noticed that a pair of pale hands holding a sheet of paper were resting on my desk. Pale hands that had always caught my eye. Riddle.

"I believe this belongs to you." He handed me the Transfiguration homework from the day before. I averted my eyes, in case something as embarrassing as what had happened in Potions occurred again.

"Yeah, thanks."

"You're still angry at me? I have nothing to apologize for, Minerva."

Minerva? Now, it's Minerva?

"Neither do I, Tom." I replied, lifting my head and giving him a cold look. He has this way of smiling, you know—that's so mocking, a sneer, almost, but it's a still smile, I guess. If that makes any sense.

"Don't call me that." His tone didn't match the look on his face. "Riddle I can take, but don't ever call me Tom."

"Then don't call me Minerva!" I retorted, annoyed.

"This goes way deeper than first names, McGonagall."

I watched as he walked back to his Slytherin followers, who were all staring at me with curious eyes. They were all watching me, as well as Riddle, so I cleared my throat and stared down at my homework, pretending to be distracted. But of course, I could

never focus on schoolwork. Not with him on my mind. I didn't understand what he had meant, and I was determined to find out.

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