Chapter Two:

Anne returned to the Great Hall for the distribution of class schedules after most of the students had left. As the head of Slytherin House, it was up to Severus Snape to confirm that everyone had achieved the required O.W.L. grades to continue with their chosen N.E.W.T.s. When Anne approached him, he congratulated her on achieving Outstanding in all of her O.W.L.s and cleared her to continue with Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, Potions, Arithmancy, and Astronomy. He tapped a blank parchment with his wand and offered Anne her new class schedule.

"I'm glad you're teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year, Severus," she remarked, taking the schedule from him.

"Yes," he nodded. "However, I will remind you to address me as your professor while you are here."

"Of course, sir," Anne replied with a smirk. "Oh, and, I'd like to play for the House Quidditch team this year," she added while perusing her schedule, noting that she had a free period before Severus's first class as the newly-appointed teacher of her favorite subject.

"I will let Urquhart know that you are interested," he promised, dismissing her so that he could finish distributing the rest of the students' schedules.

•¥•

An hour later, Anne made her way up to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom on the third floor. There was already a line formed in the corridor full of students conversing anxiously about what Snape's class might be like. Just then, the door opened and Severus stepped into the corridor, silencing the students at once.

"Inside," he commanded.

Anne noticed that the room looked a lot gloomier than it had in past years. Severus had drawn the curtains, blocking out the sun, and the room was instead illuminated solely by candlelight. Unlike the self-obsessed Gilderoy Lockhart, who had taught the subject during their second year and filled the room with portraits of himself, Snape had elected to display gruesome photographs depicting the effects of various curses and maladies.

"I have not asked you to take out your books," Snape said as he walked toward his desk and turned to face the class.

Several students hastily dropped their textbooks back into their bags and sat at attention. Severus was one of the few teachers capable of maintaining order in his classroom without effort. When he spoke, everyone listened. Everyone, except for Anne. She sat silently, her mind on other things, while Snape lectured the students, hearing only snippets of his introductory speech.

"The Dark Arts, are…" he was saying, speaking in a low voice as he walked around the edge of the room, "…like fighting a many-headed monster."

Anne wished he wouldn't talk so much. She had little patience for lectures and was eager to get into the practical aspect of this class, having already learned much of the material that would be covered throughout the year.

"Your defenses…" Snape continued, speaking a bit louder as he made his way back to the front of the room. "Now, I believe you are complete novices in the use of nonverbal spells."

Finally, Anne thought, sitting up straighter and facing Severus, who had returned to his desk and was now addressing them more directly.

"What is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?" he asked, looking around the entire room before calling on the only girl who had raised her hand. "Very well… Miss Granger?"

Hermione Granger provided the class with a textbook answer, which Severus dismissed as such before continuing with the lesson. Anne knew that if she had answered the question instead, Severus would have awarded points to Slytherin out of favoritism.

"You will now divide into pairs," he told them. "One of you will attempt to jinx the other, without speaking, and the other will attempt to repel the jinx, in equal silence. Carry on."

By the end of the period, Hermione and Anne alone had successfully completed the task, a feat for which only the latter earned twenty points for her House.

•¥•

After Defense Against the Dark Arts, Anne used the following free period to get a start on the homework Snape had assigned. Next she had Arithmancy (more homework), and then lunch.

The Great Hall was buzzing with the chatter of the hundreds of students who were discussing the start of term, among them, the new crop of first years who were simultaneously excited and terrified. Anne was adding notes to her copy of Advanced Potion Making when Draco showed up late for lunch, alone. Anne thought it odd that he was once again without his usual company and was about to ask if Crabbe and Goyle had already managed to get another detention when she noticed the look in his eyes.

"W— You look awful," she observed, putting down her quill and examining him more closely as he sat next to her on the bench.

He huffed and shook his head, turning to look at her, but words seemed to fail him.

"What?" she teased, "Parkinson got your tongue?"

He breathed out a laugh, "Funny, Anne."

He hadn't called her anything but 'Prince' since fourth year. She tried to hide her surprise by reaching for her goblet of cider and taking a sip.

"Are you ill?" she asked. Draco did appear paler than usual, and preoccupied. She waved her goblet in front of his face to get his attention. "Draco?"

He blinked.

"Welcome back," she said, replacing her drink on the table and gazing at her reflection in the liquid, her long black hair falling in a curtain in front of her. "I read about your father in the Prophet," she mentioned quietly. "Is everything alright at home? I mean, how's Narcissa?" Anne was nearly whispering then.

"Mother's been…" he trailed off. He seemed to be battling with himself about something. "Everything is fine," he stated firmly.

"You know, we used to be friends, Draco" she reminded him while she resealed her bottle of invisible ink and gathered her things into her bag. "Oh, here comes your girlfriend," she informed him, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she stood to leave.

Draco glanced up from his empty plate. Pansy was indeed headed in their direction.

"Where have you been?" Pansy squawked.

"I'll see you later," Anne told them, tucking her hair behind her ear. She looked back at Draco with mild concern before leaving the odd couple to their muffled argument and returning to the common room to finish the rest of her homework.

•¥•

Double Potions was the last class on Anne's schedule for the day. The new Potions Master, Horace Slughorn, was a rotund man with a bushy walrus-like mustache. His belly preceded him through the door when he stepped out to greet the small group of students who had advanced to N.E.W.T. level, among which were Draco and Zabini, another Slytherin named Theodore Nott, three Gryffindors (including Hermione Granger), four Ravenclaws, and a pompous Hufflepuff boy. Everyone immediately segregated themselves by House, leaving the lone Hufflepuff to share a table with the Gryffindors.

"Now, I've prepared a few potions for you to look at," he began by pointing out a cauldron in front of the Slytherin table, "Anyone tell me what this one is?"

Slughorn seemed to take an immediate liking to Hermione Granger's quick answers and after introducing the variety of potions he had prepared, he set them the task of brewing the Draught of Living Death. He promised the student with the best result a tiny vial of Felix Felicis—twelve hours worth of liquid luck.

"Sir, I think you knew my grandfather…" Draco was saying.

"Yes…" Slughorn replied dismissively, walking around the tables inspecting the students' work, "…time's up! Stop stirring, please!"

Professor Slughorn was the polar opposite of Snape in his approach to teaching. Not only had he ignored Draco's attempts to gain favor, but where Severus loathed the Potter boy, Slughorn doted on him.

"The clear winner!" he beamed upon reaching the Gryffindor's table after peering into everyone's cauldrons.

While Anne was mildly surprised that Harry Potter appeared to have brewed a near-perfect potion on his first attempt despite coming to class unprepared, she was not as genuinely disappointed as Draco seemed to be.

Why does Draco need luck? she wondered on the way to dinner.

•¥•

"Can you believe Potter's luck?" Zabini directed the question at Anne, "Yours didn't look far off from what the book described, Prince."

She shrugged and pushed aside her dinner plate to make room for her textbooks.

"Aren't you going to eat anything?" Blaise worried, pointing out the lavish buffet of food before them on the table.

Without looking up from her notes, Anne assured him that although she appreciated his concern, she wasn't really hungry.

"What are you writing in there anyway?" he inquired, trying to read over her shoulder as she scribbled out some unseen annotation in the margins of Confronting the Faceless. This was nearly impossible for him to do as Anne's hair was once again a curtain in front of her as she stooped over her work.

She sighed and raised her head to gaze at the bemused boy, shutting her book and dropping her quill lightly into the inkpot.

"What do you want, Zabini?" she asked as she ran her fingers through her hair in an exasperated attempt to keep it out of her face.

"You still haven't told me your name," he commented now that he had her attention.

Just as she was about to tell him what he could do with his curiosity, Pansy approached them frantically.

"Anne," she gasped, "have you seen Draco?"

Great timing, Parkinson, Anne cursed her internally.

"No, Pansy, I have not seen him since we left Potions. I thought you two were having dinner with Crabbe and Goyle."

"But I don't know where they are, either!" she panted. "I've looked everywhere."

"Well, they aren't here," Anne snapped. "Go away, Parkinson." And she hastily reopened her book, grateful for the cover her hair provided.

•¥•

Zabini was smirking victoriously as they trudged the familiar path to the Slytherin dungeon.

"Anne," he tested the name out loud, "Anne Prince. I told you I would find out your name," he said.

"It wasn't much of a challenge, Zabini," she contended icily.

He conceded that Pansy had definitely facilitated the task for him.

"Tch. It's not as if it's classified information," Anne countered, yawning as they reached the stretch of wall that concealed the entrance to the common room.

"Salazar," Blaise muttered, stepping to the side and offering Anne first passage through the doorway. "Ladies first."

She yawned again once they were both inside the hall, the coals burning out in the fireplace. It was later than she thought. Most of the students had gone to bed, but a few stragglers still remained scattered among the array of high-backed leather chairs and plush green velvet sofas that furnished the room, mainly sixth and seventh-year students still adjusting to the already-overwhelming workload.

"Well, goodnight, Blaise," she excused herself from his company, once again walking away from him before he could utter more than a syllable.

"Good—night, Anne," he finished quietly.