In the time of the Order of the Phoenix, a mysterious transfer student from the United States of America comes to Hogwarts. With hair to rival Hermione's, and a tongue to rival Draco's, the suspicions and tensions rise in Professor Snape's classroom. And we thought Dolores Umbridge was the problem...

This story will be told in many different parts, in many different times. It will jump from the years at Hogwarts to the years after the war, and it'll be up to you to figure out the puzzle.

Ella 16

Ella woke up at 5 am, like always. She rose to the smell of flowers, which were still hanging over her canopy, growing up the posts of her bed; it was concrete proof that she hadn't dreamt last night. Oh, and look—her friends were still sleeping open-mouthed in a dog pile on Daphne's bed. Hilarious.

Stretching and deciding to simply brush her teeth and let them sleep for another hour or two, she changed into her exercise clothes and running shoes. She ran out of the dungeons and the very second she saw daylight, she changed into her raven form and soared upwards, out of the indoor corridors and up and out through the courtyard.

The September air was thrilling to fly in, so crisp, like a golden apple from Nana's garden back in Putnam County. A chilly gust lifted her high the very moment she peaked over Hogwarts castle's pitched roof, so high she wondered if the barrier would hit her on the head. With her raven eyes, she could see glimpses, shimmers of the magical barrier that was protecting them from Death Eaters at all times. Hogwarts was extremely dangerous, and she was likely foolish to be there—even more foolish for telling her father that it was perfectly safe and that she preferred it over Ilvermorny—but Ella was honestly too curious to not see this thing through until the end.

Ella glided over the lake, close to the water, which was an amenity that she was happy to have. Mount Greylock was a heavily forested mountain which was very fun to fly through and lovely to fly over, but it wasn't Hogwarts lake, which froze over in the winter so you could ice skate with your friends. Ella's favorite season was winter, if only because of ice skating; some of her favorite childhood memories were of her parents holding her hands on either side as they skated on the lake at Nana's house. They would come inside for caramel apple cheesecake and Nana would put Ella in a handmade apron to match her own while they'd bake Christmas cookies together. Sadly, the all-American Christmas hadn't been the same since Mama had died, and her first French Christmas hadn't necessarily been better.

Last Christmas, she and Meme went off to Paris to visit with friends and attended so many glamorous parties that it would make any girl's head spin. It had been Ella's first time in Paris, and there was absolutely everything that a girl could want: fancy, sparkling cocktail dresses and handsome French wizards to dance the night away with until your feet hurt, grossly expensive cigars and champagne, carols under silver pine trees that were so tall you could scarcely see the top of them... Meme was so happy that she could finally share her glamorous life with her only granddaughter, it drowned out most of missing her mother, but it certainly didn't help that all of Meme's friends kept on commenting how there hadn't been much resemblance between the two of them at all.

'I take after my father' is what Ella would say while Meme would say 'Nonsense! She 'as 'er muzzer's eyes! 'er smile!' or 'Ze Christophes are Mediterranian and she 'as ze beautiful coloring. Just look at zat gorgeous black 'air of 'ers! Zat skin!' Ella didn't think that Mediterranian people had freckles or almond-shaped eyes, necessarily, but her father was convinced that Ella was his carbon copy.

'She has my eyes!' was one of her father's pet sayings when describing Ella's looks. Daddy did have sort of almond-shaped, narrow-ish eyes, but his eyes were hazel and Mama's eyes were dark brown. Daddy also had a dark complexion and full cheeks, which Ella shared, but she didn't have his dimples or his giant teeth, which she was secretly grateful for.

Ella always grew up wanting her mother's looks. Penelope Zamora was truly a beautiful witch and she remembered everything about her face: pale white skin, doe-eyed with longer eyelashes than anybody should ever have, heart-shaped face and perfect eyebrows and perfect silky black hair, all the time, even when she had just woken up.

'I wish I looked like you, Mama,' Ella had once said when she watched her mother putting on long opera gloves and diamond earrings for some glamorous New York party she was readying herself for. She had been sitting at her mother's vanity, watching her powder her nose and spritz on perfume from a crystal bottle. Ella had meant it to be a compliment, but her mother seemed appalled at her statement, which she clearly vocalized in her combination British-Southern twang by saying:

'Why in the name of God's green earth would you want to look like me when you could look like you?'

Ella wasn't sure why, but those words were the backbone of her memories with her mother. It wasn't the sunny garden or the tomatoes in the greenhouse or even the animals they cared for. It wasn't the palmiers or the deep-fried sweetbreads. It wasn't even the smell of her perfume and her white-carpeted closet, or even dancing to country swing in the middle of the night when they couldn't sleep. All of it was in that sentence, which was ultimately telling her to be proud of herself, to own her looks, and to never envy others…she guessed.

As soon as her thoughts were clear and her mind fully awake, she realized she'd made two laps around the Hogwarts grounds instead of her usual one. She flew up to the Astronomy tower and dove down through the open door, down the spiraling staircase, down through the corridors, down further through the dungeons, and finally reverting back to her human form in time to greet the Slytherin portrait.

"Password?" it demanded.

"Sanctity," Ella said, and it opened. Blaise was just coming up from the Boy's dormitory, dressed in freshly-pressed Quidditch robes. "Good morning, Blaise!" She glanced at the clock. "You sure are up early," she commented. "Are you exfoliating this morning?"

"I woke up around four and couldn't get back to sleep, so I already did it." he confessed. Ella looked a bit crestfallen.

"And you didn't think to wake me?" she pouted.

Blaise smirked. "Ha. Ha." Ella rolled her eyes with a grin. "Actually, I thought I'd have a quick fly around the Quidditch pitch before breakfast. Would you care to join me?"

"Sadly, I just came back from my morning flight; the weather is just perfect right now."

"Do you fly every morning?" he asked, somehow surprised with himself that he didn't know she did.

"Every morning," she said. "I wake up at five, have a forty-five minute flight, come back and do my skincare routine and then I can get ready for breakfast by seven-thirty."

He nodded and adopted a mock-serious tone. "I fear the time difference from England and France has set our clocks awry. Alas, we are out of sync." Ella loved Blaise; he was just as sarcastic and vain as she was.

Ella laughed through her nose. There was a tiny pause. "You know that you're my best friend, right?" He frowned suddenly, confused. "I know that sounds weird to say out loud, but…you really are my best friend."

Blaise nodded pointedly towards the girl's dormitory door. "What about your roommates?" he asked.

"They're great. Really," she insisted, putting her hands up in a defensive manor. "But they don't get me. You do." A beat. "I just wanted you to know that."

Blaise narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Why?"

Ella shrugged, her face neutral.

"Something happened between you and Draco last night, didn't it?" Ella's eyes shifted as she bit her lip. "Tell me." Ella held up her left hand. "Sweet. Salazar's. Tits." She shrugged again and shook her head. "He didn't." Ella shifted her weight from one leg to the other, and ran her tongue across her teeth. "And you said yes?"

"I said I'd wear the ring," she specified, a finger in the air.

"And why are you telling me, specifically?"

"Because Phoebus is a worse gossip than literally every girl in this school, and the last thing I need is to hear a bunch of birds talking about my love life."

"So it's all because I can keep a secret."

Ella smiled. "Historically," she replied.

Blaise rolled his eyes and rubbed his temples with his perfectly manicured fingers. "Do you want advice?"

Ella sort of shifted and twitched her nose in thought. "I think I just wanted to tell somebody." The dark-skinned wizard nodded in understanding. "Anyway, I don't want to keep you from your flight." A beat. "Thanks for listening to me."

He waved a hand dismissively. "What are friends for?" Ella nodded with a grin and patted him on the shoulder as she walked away. "You know—" she pivoted on her heel to look back to her friend "—it's really not my place to say, but frankly I like you much more than I like Draco—"

"—everyone likes me more than everyone else—" quipped Ella with a snarky laugh.

"—but he's mentioned giving the Seeker position to Harper this year." Ella frowned. "No, you can't give away the position, but Harper's the second-string Seeker anyhow, and Draco said he was pulling out."

Ella was shocked. "Why? Draco loves playing Quidditch—"

"Truthfully I think he likes showing off better than Quidditch—I" Ella shot him a tired look "—but he claims to have 'more important matters' to focus on this year." The young Slytherin frowned in thought. "While I'll admit that he's got extremely keen eyes, Harper's got sawdust for brains and I don't like the thought of relying on him for our victories." A beat. "Slytherin need brains, not brawn, and frankly Montague hasn't been right since that toilet-apparition fiasco."

"Graham's captain this year?" whispered Ella, horrified. "That's so stupid! Draco should be the captain and everyone knows it!"

Blaise shrugged, obviously tired with the entire ordeal. "I don't know, but between Montague, Crabbe, and Goyle, the Slytherin team is just a mindless pack of bludgers with arms," he said. "As your friend, I'm asking if you'll at least find out what these 'more important matters' are to Draco?"

"And at most?"

"Convince him to keep his position on the team so we can continue winning."

"Of course I will—"

"—But be subtle—"

"—'Subtle' is my middle name—"

"—I know that's a lie because you refuse to tell me your middle name—"

"—And I never will. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to exfoliate."

Blaise smiled and rolled his eyes. "See you at breakfast." The two of them about-faced and went on their separate ways; Ella passed a few first-years on the stair before deciding to fly straight down to the bottom, where her dormitory was. The glowing green lights and sounds of water bubbling through the windows were oddly soothing in their cozy dungeon dorm, and the girls woke up from their not-so-graceful slumber just as Ella was finishing her skincare routine and hair styling.

"Good morning, sleepyheads!" chirped Ella as she pulled off her bath robe and searched for a bra. "Sleep well?"

"W-What happened?" mumbled Tracey as she wiped drool off her cheek, a comical cowlick taking up half of her honey blonde bob.

Shrugging, Ella said "You all passed out, remember? You must've all been exhausted from the train ride." She clasped her bra and pulled out a pair of black stockings, which she skillfully rolled up her long legs. "Actually, it's kind of convenient. You all don't even have to get dressed."

Milly stirred as Christiana hopped on the bed and patted her face. Ella grinned as she pulled her skirt up her thighs and zipped it up. "Ohh," Milly sighed. "Oh I had the nicest dream…" She yawned. "I dreamt I went on a holiday to India."

Ella smiled. Her newest invention worked, at least, on Milly. "My Nana always told me that if you say a dream before you eat breakfast it's sure to come true," she commented, slipping on her white dress shirt and buttoning it up. "Tracey, did you dream anything?"

Tracey was the first on her feet, and didn't seem to be experiencing any grogginess at all. She smiled and stretched. "Actually, yes…" She went and flopped on her own bed to stretch out nice and long. "I dreamt that I—" Her face suddenly flushed pink. "A-Actually, it wasn't anything special. Never mind." She curled her toes and went into her trunk to busy herself.

Ella nodded with a smug grin. "Right," she said, leaning over and giving Daphne a slap on her thigh. "Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!"

Daphne quickly shot up, her elegant blonde waves now unceremoniously tangled. She immediately pointed a finger at Ella. "You!" she thrilled. "You drugged us!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ella replied.

"You did—I remember—you had this blue powder and then this dragon came out and destroyed the Muggle studies classroom…" Daphne suddenly stopped and looked thoughtful. "And then the dragon and I went off together to Madam Puddifoot's…" Milly snickered through her nose.

"That sounds like a fun dream," she commented.

"Get off my bed!" snapped Daphne, who gave her roommate a kick.

Ella snorted, and began to tie a double Windsor knot in her green striped tie as she slipped on her enchanted shoes, which were still in emerald green slipper form. She tapped the dance move to make them change, and the stylish black oxfords laced themselves up with precision. "I wonder if I should buy some black shoes just for school," she pondered aloud. "An enchanted object can only take so much before becoming sentient."

She glanced up to her friends, who were still getting sorted for the day. Ella mentally noted that grogginess seemed to be a side-effect of Polvosueño, and would record it when she was alone.

She looked back at her bed as she gathered her things; it was still covered from top to bottom with fragrant blooms. Ella plucked a red morning glory from its stem and tucked it behind her left ear for safekeeping. "Well, you all look like you're still dusting cobwebs off…" She grabbed her bookbag, which she'd packed the night before, and threw on her black robes with the shimmering Slytherin emblem on the breast. "See you in the Great Hall!"

Without waiting, she bounded up the stairs to the commonroom, where Draco and Pansy were having a rather heated discussion. Pansy had her back to Ella, and was clenching her fists rather tightly. Draco looked tired, both from the conversation and the lack of sleep, Ella guessed. She silently strolled up behind Pansy and waited for someone to notice her.

"She cannot just go 'round doing anything she wants!" Pansy growled in a voice that was both low and shrill at once, if at all possible. "I'm her Prefect and she needs to respect me—Little Miss Perfect already had her chance to be in that position and she turned it down. How do you feel about that?"

"Aw, Pansy, you think I'm perfect? That's so nice of you." Pansy spun around in shock. Ella gave a chilling grin as she fiddled the silver locket Draco gave her with her left hand.

"This is a conversation between Prefects," she snarled.

"Pansy, enough." Both of them looked up at Draco, who looked more than exhausted with this entire situation. "I frankly couldn't care less what happened between the two of you. Should you have a problem, do something about it on your own and leave me out of it."

Ella frowned; that was unlike him. "Draco's right," she said, deciding not to let her thoughts dictate her immediate actions. "Leave him out of it. Either deal with me or take it to Professor Snape."

"Fine," snapped Pansy, who whipped her head around at her like a cobra. "Detention, Zamora."

Draco's eyes widened in shock; Ella didn't falter. "Your grounds for this punishment?" queried she.

"You mean aside from your constant cheek and disrespect—?"

"—My "constant cheek and disrespect" are highly subjective and therefore would not hold up in a court of law. You can't just give me detention for disliking me—this isn't the American military."

"That excessive destruction and modification of your dormitory, then!" Pansy snapped.

"Oh, please! They're flowers—flowers that were, by the way, created through a very skillfully done herbological charm of conjuring. There is no soil or sun in this dungeon, so therefore the flowers are existing on a sheer magical influence. Now, if you would like to take it up to Professor Snape, our Head of House, that I have enchanted flowers in the dormitory—"

"—It's a disturbance to the other students—"

"—And which 'other students' are you referring to? My roommates? The ones you bullied just last night?"

Pansy guffawed. "I-I didn't—"

"—You didn't what, bully my roommates? Threaten them? Or did you not talk to them in regards of my 'distracting' enchanted flowers, so are therefore assuming that they dislike sleeping next to them? Wow, I didn't know you could do occlumency, especially considering your grades are a little less than stellar..."

Appalled, Pansy opened her mouth to scream at Ella, but Ella saw Draco's pleading gaze over her shoulder so she decided to put an end to this.

"Don't you have First Years to rouse or something?"

"Yo—What?"

"The First Year Slytherin Girls. Aren't you going to wake them up and take them to breakfast?" A beat. "You know, ensure that everyone gets to classes on time? Help monitor the halls?" Another beat. "It's exactly 6:30 right now—you have to start knocking on doors to make sure they're all going to be awake. Honestly."

"She's right, Pansy—" Draco started.

"—Are you taking her side or mine?!" Pansy all but shrieked. "I'm telling Professor Snape—"

"—No." Ella drawled. "I'm telling Professor Snape."

"Pansy, please," begged Draco. "Ella's done nothing to you. I'll thank you to leave her be. Just go rouse the first year girls, will you?" The tension was almost choking. Wordlessly, Pansy acquiesced and huffed off to the Slytherin girls' dormitory. Draco gave Ella a weary look.

"I didn't start this one, she did," said Ella before he could speak. With slumped shoulders, Draco rolled his eyes. "What can I do?"

"You could make it easier on me," he said.

"By what? Just laying back and taking it?" Draco suddenly smirked at the phrasing. "Hush, you." Ella quelled. She walked up to him and grabbed his tie in her fist. "Good morning, sleepy head," she sang playfully as she pulled him into a kiss, which he happily returned. A tiny shiver went up her back when the taste on his tongue revealed that his toothpaste was a hot cinnamon flavor.

He pulled away, dazed. "It is now," he agreed. Draco sighed through his nose and closed his eyes, swaying. Ella tilted her brows up in concern.

"Did you sleep?" she asked. He bent his head and rubbed the space between his eyes with his fingers. "I guess that's a 'no'," she said as she loosened and then re-tightened his tie to fix the dimple, which was oddly too far to the left, a telltale sign that something was weighing on his mind. His Prefect pin, which she also unpinned and then repined, was also tilted anti-clockwise and a little too loosely on his chest, which was a sign that he was feeling that his position at school was likely far from his line of conscious thought. "Let's get some coffee in you."

"If you'd ever been to Italy, you'd know not to suggest the coffee here," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"Sadly, I've only ever been to Spain, outside of France and America..." Ella circled her arm around his and they began to walk together. "Have you had the coffee since I've been here?" He shook his head. "Then try it again. Trust me."

"You fixed it?" he asked. Ella nodded. "How?"

"I managed to snatch a House Elf by the ear," she admitted with a tiny laugh. "And if you knew how much I hated house elves, you'd think that was miraculous."

"House Elves are useful servants," Draco argued.

"So long as you don't have to look at them," Ella agreed. "They're just so weird-looking with their freaky tiny fingers and their freaky bug eyes and their freaky wrinkly skin that looks like it once belonged to a human but got dried up and soaked in a river or something." A laugh spurted from Draco's pursed lips.

"You certainly have a way with words," he said.

Ella laughed. "Well, when you study theater, it tends to rub off on you." Draco nodded silently. She wasn't certain if he was simply dead on his feet from the last night or if something were on his mind. It was most-likely the latter, as Draco never had nothing to say. "I suppose we have mostly our same classes together?" He nodded with a yawn. That's one point towards 'dead on his feet,' thought Ella. "I'm excited to take Defense Against the Dark Arts this morning with Professor Snape," she commented. He smiled at her and continued walking, silently. "I suspect that you have Potions, too, with Snailhorn?"

"Slughorn," Draco corrected. At least he's listening, thought Ella. "Horace Slughorn." Ella nodded and watched his face; there was something he was thinking about quite hard but attempting to not let it show. Draco an admittedly one of the hardest reads in the school, but Ella knew that, by the tone of his voice, it somehow had to do with his father. Dumbledore had said Slughorn 'returned' to Hogwarts, which—judging by his age—the old lumpy Wizard likely taught his father. There was a tinge of jealousy there, too, for the way Draco's throat had tensed, and the fact that he had a big Adam's apple made it even more obvious.

"When are the Slytherin Quidditch tryouts?" Draco was trying to keep his face neutral, but his lack of sleep was obviously hindering that.

"Are you planning on going out for the team?" he asked as they climbed the spiraling stairs to the ground floor.

"No, Professor Snape gave me permission to use his classroom as a meeting place for my Dueling Club, so I'm afraid I can't be involved in both."

"You must be thrilled about that." That was his first 'Draco' smile of the morning, with those words. It was the kind of smile that was a combination of smiling and knowing glances and that eyebrow raise thing he did. It could be either interpreted as sarcastic or endearing, but Ella couldn't see why it couldn't be both. Ella really did like Draco; he was her brand of sass.

"My point is," Ella began with a happy grin, "I want to know when to clear time to see the tryouts." Draco said nothing. "I was thinking of having the Dueling club meetings on Wednesdays but I didn't want it to interfere with the Slytherin Quidditch practices. That way I can still find time to watch you play."

They reached the courtyard and Ella noticed red sparks coming from the corner of her eye. She gasped and swatted at it, but she felt only a fragrant puff of air where her red morning glory had been. She glanced around and wondered if she had dropped it somewhere on the stone path.

"The enchantment," said Draco, "only lasts until the sunlight hits it." A beat. "If that's what you're wondering," he said.

A grin then crept on Ella's face. "So, that means, with my dorm room being so far underwater…?" Draco shrugged, giving that damn irresistible smile as an answer. You clever-ass son of a bitch, thought Ella. She bumped his hip with hers, which caused him to laugh and take her hand and kiss her where he'd placed his Slytherin ring. "Seriously, when are tryouts and practices? I don't want to miss watching you."

He sighed and looked away. "I'm not going out for the team this year."

Ella stopped in her tracks and did her best to act as shocked as possible. "Why?"

He didn't make eye contact when he shook his head and said "I have too much to do this year." He was hiding something, and it wasn't his studies. "NEWT classes are exhausting," he continued, trying to strengthen his case. "We don't get all this free time for leisure, you know. It's all supposed to be to keep up with homework. My mother wants me to keep my grades up."

"I know for a fact that you love playing Quidditch! I see how you play; I see your face before the games… You shouldn't deny yourself something that you love," she argued. Draco began to walk away when she caught his hand. He glanced over his shoulder; she tilted her brows up. "Listen, you're a great Seeker. You won the House Cup for Slytherin last year, for God's sake! If that's not definitive proof that the Slytherin Quidditch team needs you, then I don't know what is. You're easily the smartest wizard in the whole House—" he seemed to smile at that "—and the team needs brains, not brawn. Please reconsider leaving the team, if not for the sake of yourself then for the sake of your friends that need you?" Ella felt a tiny twinge on the nerve of his wrist at the word 'friends.' "Yeah. 'Friends,'" said Ella with a smile. "You have friends."

A beat. "What about you?"

"I'm your friend first, of course, before anything else," said Ella with a shrug. "I'll support your decision no matter the conclusion. I just hope that you'll consider the feelings of those you'll be, possibly, letting down."

Draco looked either confused or concerned, but Ella wasn't about to let that break her smile, even though she realized how much she sounded like her dad in that moment(and it truthfully creeped her out to no end). She could see the wheels in his head turning behind those eyes. She liked Draco's eyes; they were pale gray one day and then they'd be pale blue another day. Today, they were gray.

"What, you don't want to be my friend?" With the look in those eyes she wondered if he wondered if a romantic partner could be anything akin to friendly. He likely separated this relationship, convinced that friendship and romance couldn't coexist, which spoke volumes about the model his parents put up for him.

"Just..." He began. "I didn't know you liked Quidditch that much," he said.

"I don't like Quidditch; I like you. Big difference."

Ella knew his parents had an arranged marriage, of course, and she wouldn't expect much room for passion or romance, unless forced… Force, no matter how concealed, begets resistance. She wondered about his father and what kind of man he was, if he was as gentle and loving to Narcissa when he was a young man, too. Ella recalled his portrait in the gallery at Malfoy Manor, looking down that chiseled nose at her…

Something opened; she heard the crackling of a new book's spine being creased in the corners of her mind. The sound of a page being turned echoed in her ears, and she became lost in a sort of gray mist; it smelled like a foggy hillside. Flashes of Draco's childhood, of him crying in the corner of that big empty house, of being lonely all came and went in shadows. Suddenly, she was back in the corridor, standing near the courtyard, and they were still staring at each other. Did we…?

His stomach growled, causing his pale cheeks to go a bit pink. He gave a shy smile. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. He didn't seem to quite know what she was doing, but he reluctantly hugged her back, loosely. He seemed confused.

"This is a hug, Draco. I'm hugging you," she said.

"I can see that."

"It means that I'm okay with showing the world that I mean to wrap my arms around you; on purpose." She couldn't see his face, but she could feel him frowning in confusion. She hugged him tighter in response.

"You're being weird…"

"Sorry to annoy you with my unwavering affection," she said, smiling into his shoulder.

"You smell different when you're awake." Ella quickly retracted and jumped backwards a fair distance. Draco laughed heartily. Realizing she'd been had, Ella snorted with open-mouthed glee.

She slapped him on the arm. "I hate you!" she laughed.

Draco stopped laughing, his eyes wide with shock. "Y-You do?"

"No-no-no, not like that!" Ella quickly insisted with much waving of her hands. "I don't hate you like "I hate you", I hate you like…I love you and you're my best friend in the whole wide world."

He raised one eyebrow in question and furrowed the other into a frown. "Well…" He began. "I…hate you, too?" They broke into a laugh together. The other students were obviously roused, now, and the corridors were beginning to flood.

"Let's eat."

Breakfast in the Great Hall was well met with friends. It was lots of fun being the Power-couple of Slytherin; Ella was Queen Bee, and Draco was her King. Her mission with the MACUSA was over; this year was going to be fun, and nothing and no one was going to stop it.

Sixteen is an amazing age to be, especially for Witches and Wizards like them. This year was meant to be scholastically exhausting, of course, but so long as she kept herself as organized as possible, it wouldn't be bad. She'll keep up with the study groups, organize the Dueling club, keep on top of her studies, and still make time on weekends to go to Honeydukes and watch the Quidditch games. Maybe on fairly un-windy days she could do her homework while she watched the practices?

Ever mindful of the hour, Draco got up first to go to Potions, their first class of the day, followed closely by Defense Against the Dark Arts. She wasn't sure if she was looking forward to the class with Professor Slughorn or not, but she definitely didn't like the book they were given. She had looked over all of her books the night they'd bought them, and Advanced Potion-Making didn't seem to be anything special…and, like many other old books, the recipes were sometimes wrong.

They arrived in the potions room to see that barely a dozen students had made it to the N.E.W.T. levels. Hermione, of course, was there, as well as a handful of Gryffindors, a Ravenclaw she didn't recognize, and a good bit of Slytherins—considering Vincent and Gregory were there, though, it certainly meant that Professor Slughorn was more lenient than Professor Snape with his prerequisites. She and Draco set up their stations next to Blaise's and went up to the head of the class to listen to his lecture.

Good lord, the man looked like a stuffy armchair. His cheeks were rather bulbous, as was the tip of his nose…he sort of reminded her of what a Santa Clause figurine might look like were it without the beard. She really was trying to pay attention, but the way he wore his trousers so high over his protruding belly button was just too distracting. He was going on about his potions and their curriculum when Harry and Ron came barging in.

"Ah, Harry m'boy, I was beginning to worry—and we've brought someone with us, I see?" said Sluggy.

"Ron Weasley, sir. But I'm dead-awful with Potions—a menace, actually, so I'll just be—" Ron obviously didn't want to be there, which was sort of amusing in its own way.

"—Nonsense, we'll sort you out. Any friend of Harry's is a friend of mine. Get your books out—"

"—Er, sorry, sir," began Harry, "I've not gotten my book, yet, and neither has Ron…"

"Not to worry, get what you like from the cupboard." Sluggy turned back to the class and motioned to the simmering cauldrons that were on the table. "Now, as I was saying, I've prepared some concoctions for this morning… Any idea what these might be?"

Ella's hand shot up, as did Hermione's. They looked at each other and exchanged looks; just like last year, Ella inwardly groaned.

"Well," Sluggy laughed, obviously amused by the two girls. "Let's see, hmm, let's hear from—"

"AAAH!—Aaahh—I, er—ahem—" Ella tried her very best to regain her composure after that sort of shrieking wail, realizing all too late that it was because Draco had reached under her skirt and pinched her backside. She gave him a quick look before she stepped forward, her cheeks red.

"Ah, yes, the American? Very excited about potions, I see!"

She laughed nervously. "My name is Ella Zamora, sir," she said, looking at the potions. The one closest to her was a muddy, thick, nasty-smelling concoction that looked like sludge. "This is Polyjuice potion. Extremely time-consuming, it's main ingredient—the lacewing fly—must be stewed for twenty-one days before one even begins brewing. The final addition of the person you wish to transform into will cause the finished potion to vary in color and taste. It can transform you into any person, across ages and genders, but cross-species transformations aren't recommended."

"Very good, Miss Zamora!" praised Sluggy, his belly shaking like a bowl full of jelly. He pointed to Hermione. "And, now, you, Miss—?"

"Granger, sir—" Hermione stepped forward. "This one here is Veritaserum," she said, standing in front of the cauldron which contained a liquid that appeared to be boiling water. "It's a truth-telling serum, strictly controlled by the Ministry of Magic. Because it's effects can sometimes be resisted, it is not used in courts of law."

Ella tensed a little; before she could speak, Hermione had moved on to the third cauldron, even though it was quite clearly Ella's turn—!

"And this is Amortentia, the most-powerful love potion in the world," she said, standing over a light-colored potion with a mother-of-pearl sheen. "It's rumored to smell different to each person, depending on what attracts them. For example, I smell…" Hermione's cheeks got rather flushed, her eyes glazed over a bit. "…Freshly-mowed grass and…new parchment, and…spearmint…toothpaste…"

Not about to be shown-up, Ella stepped in front of Hermione to address Sluggy. "Real love," she began, "cannot be recreated through artificial means, and because of Amortentia's effects of extremely powerful obsession and infatuation, it is better categorized as a love poison, not potion." She shot Hermione a look before continuing. "In the states of Rhode island, Maine, and New York, it's considered among those substances known as "date rape drugs" and the retail sale of such potions are punishable by law…" Ella caught a whiff of mouth-watering, hot, buttery popcorn, which made her stop mid-sentence. "Ahm…" she gulped. "I-In 1967 the Supreme Court ruled that the brewing of Amortentia should be strictly prohibited in schools…" The thick scent of leather swirled in through her lungs, up between her thighs and crawled up her back, dancing with something woody, almost like the walnut desk in her father's office, and even the smell of Cognac and cigars. "…a-and only in 1972 did Ilvermorny's council decide to teach how to brew Amortentia, if only to show—side-by-side—the antidote for it…" Her tie felt pleasantly tight, her toes curled in her shoes, and the smell of sharp, crisp, cool green apple washed over and inside her. She swallowed and quickly retreated to the back of the classroom, her cheeks feeling more than hot. She fanned herself with her book, keeping an eye on the professor, who had gone on some other tangent about Amortentia.

A Gryffindor girl that she didn't know the name of asked about the tiny phial, which contained a glimmering, silvery-gold liquid. Ella frowned and took a few steps closer.

"What you see before you, ladies and gentlemen, is a curious little potion—"

"—That's Felix Felicis!" said Ella, her voice unintentionally cracking.

"Why, yes, Miss Zamora! Also known as—"

"—Liquid luck!" said Hermione.

"Yes, Miss Granger; 'Liquid Luck.'" He grinned, a twinkle in his eye. "Desperately tricky to make—" No, it's not, thought Ella. "—disastrous should you get it wrong—" Which I never would, thought Ella. "—One sip and you'll find that all your endeavors succeed…at least until the effects wear off." He paced around the room. "So this is what I offer today, to be awarded to the student that, in the hour that remains, produces an acceptable Draught of Living Death, the recipe for which can be found on page ten of your books." The students all quickly opened their books. "I should warn you, however, that only once has a student been able to procure a sufficient draught enough to claim this prize…nevertheless, good luck to you all."

Draught of Living Death. Good. She'd made that when she was ten for the Junior Potioneering Regional Championships as a representative of Putnam County. She won Regional, of course, and went on to Nationals, where she'd won the Golden Cauldron four years in a row. She flipped her hair back, threw her robes to the floor, heated her copper cauldron and gathered her ingredients. She opened the book for reference, but quickly closed it when she saw that it instructed to "cut up one Sopophorous bean"; you don't "cut" those things, you crush them...everybody knows that. Honestly, how could anyone be expected to make a sufficient potion with that recipe when the author of this textbook was clearly an ignoramus and a cad with simply no grasp of even the fundamentals? She thought angrily as she smashed the sopophorous bean with the blade of her Chef knife, much like how Mama used to smash garlic cloves and roughly chop them up.

She puffed her bangs up with annoyance as she diced the valerian root into cubes, her African sea salt resting in the water. Amortentia, she angrily mused as she measured the essence of wormwood, honestly who thinks to bring that garbage into a classroom full of horny teenagers? What a joke. Suddenly Draco's clenched fist appeared right in front of her eyes, causing her to gasp.

"What the...?" He opened his clenched palm to reveal a sopophorous bean, which had clearly flown across the classroom by some mouth-breathing Philistine that had actually decided to follow this stupid instruction of cutting the beans, even though crushing them was most-obviously the right way to extract any kind of juice. She looked to her left to meet his eyes, now fully awake. "How did you catch that if you were so dead on your feet this morning?" she asked as she stirred.

His brow was furrowed into a frown, but his lips were smiling. "Are you okay?" The way he asked made it quite clear that it was not what he meant. She quickly turned away and busied herself with her work. He leaned in. "You seem flustered," he whispered.

"Crush the beans with the side of your blade, don't cut," she said shortly, motioning to his cutting board. As she added her sea salt water, she noticed that everyone at her table was following Draco's actions as she orated them. Hm, maybe I could be a Potions Master someday... She poured in the wormwood essence slowly in a spiral pattern, and as it simmered it turned the color of black currant jam. Good. Stay focused. Ella knew how to brew Draught of Living Death in her sleep, so it was likely the responsible thing to do warn the classroom that she wasn't going off the book, especially considering that all of her classmates had been copying her movements and gestures since she'd arrived at Hogwarts. Truthfully, she never minded.

Some might think that copying off another's work was lazy and devious, but Ella didn't see it that way. So, Ella was a fantastic Potioneer, and that was a fact. How did Ella learn? Well, she'd had a mother that cooked, that was also a Potioneer, that came from a long line of Potioneers...the same principles of fine dining and professional cooking carried over into potions: organization, time management, keeping a clear head under pressure. Mama always said that Ella was special, that she'd do great things, all because she could keep a clear head when push came to shove. Ella was focused, instinctual...it was only when she wasn't brewing potions that she got into trouble. As she stirred, her potion turned clear as water, and she added in the diced valerian root. She stirred until it smelled just right, then turned up the heat as she sprinkled the asphodel over the surface, stirring, sprinkling, stirring, sprinkling, stirring, until it was all smooth. She quickly turned off the heat and added in a final cube of Valerian root, popping the lid onto the cauldron and letting out a long breath.

Very good, Ella, you know you've been blessed with a gift! came her mother's voice in the back of her mind, a sign that she had done the potion correctly. She closed her eyes and waited; the hum of the classroom only a faint tingling in the back of her mind. She inhaled and her eyes shot wide open when she smelled a correct brew of Draught of Living Death coming from one of the Gryffindor tables. Normally, it wouldn't be a surprise considering that Hermione was there, but the recipe was absolutely wrong so there was no way anybody could have procured a correct draft from an incorrect recipe, especially this lot of sods. As she suspected, Hermione's hair was all awry and she was near-tears over her cauldron, where Harry was smiling at his book, following it to the letter. Ella frowned.

"Time's up!" came Sluggy's voice over the classroom. "Let's see how you all did." Ella opened her cauldron to reveal a pale pink color, the correct final color of this potion. She raised her hand, which caused Sluggy to hit the Slytherin table first. She glanced over and noticed that Gregory's glass stirrer had somehow warped, and Draco's potion was water-clear, but lacked the pink color. Ella felt a bit bleak, even if she was a little mad at him; his potion would likely knock someone out, but not put them into a coma. She felt even worse when the Professor came and put his stubby-fingered hand on Draco's shoulder, shaking his head at the cauldron.

"Close, Mister Malfoy, very close, but no cigar..." He said the same thing to Blaise, whose potion had turned pink, but it was rather opaque-looking versus clear. He didn't even stop at Gregory's or Vincent's, and went straight to Ella's cauldron. "Now, Miss Zamora, I noticed that you didn't even look at your book!"

"I didn't need it," she answered with a curt grin. Sluggy loomed over her cauldron, his eyes growing wide.

"Merlin's Beard!" he exclaimed. "Extraordinary! Simply extraordinary!" He wafted the scent towards him, then took a dried leaf from his pocket and dropped it into her cauldron. It quickly turned an ember-gold around the edges and dissolved. "And you did all of this from memory?"

"If I've made a potion before, I tend to memorize it," she replied. "This way, if I need to make it again, I can do it quickly without having to sift and sort through a pile of books to do so."

"I should expect great things from you, Miss Zamora." He leaned in. "Your mother, Penelope, was exceptionally gifted, as well. I daresay you've surpassed her!"

Ella blushed a bit at that. "Thank you," she simply said.

Sluggy patted her on the shoulder and went on to his other evaluations. She sighed through her nose and bottled her potion in five glass flasks. She rinsed her cauldron, cleaned her station, and put everything back in her bag. As she made labels and attached them, the work of another student caught her ear.

"Harry...?" she whispered to herself in shock.

"Merlin's beard, it is perfect!" squealed Sluggy. "So perfect, I daresay one drop would kill us all!"

Ella's feathers ruffled and stood on end in a fit of inward fury. How the fuck did Harry Potter make a Draught of Living Death with that book?! Upon a closer look when Slughorn called them both to the head of the classroom, she noticed that it was old and tattered...a different edition, with a better recipe printed inside? She stood across from Harry, who was obviously pleased with himself, but became visibly less pleased when he noticed the way Ella was looking at him. He seemed conflicted, to say the least.

"Now, then, this is most unusual!" said the Professor. "Never in my tenure at Hogwarts, have I seen two such extraordinary students in the same classroom, ready to battle!" He smiled them both, completely unaware that Ella had tossed Hermione out the window as her enemy in her mind and quickly replaced it with Harry. "Now, to decide this battle's outcome, I suggest—"

"—Let Harry have it, Professor," said Ella, locking her eyes with his, which caused more than a few gasps around the classroom.

"Oh?" Sluggy asked, confused.

Ella locked eyes with Harry. "I already know how to make Felix Felicis." And she stormed out of the classroom, passed her Housemates.

"What's the matter with you?!" Draco whispered, infuriated. "We could have used that!" He did not just say 'we' to me right now... fumed Ella. "Ella!" he whispered.

She spun around on her heel and snorted. "Maybe," she whispered back. "You should have thought of that before you pinched my butt!" She snatched her bag up and stormed out of the classroom, down towards Defense Against the Dark Arts.

What a fun chapter! It's a little lighter than the previous one...still fun to write. I love writing for Ella. More to come in the sixth year of her education, and there's MORE twists...stay tuned! BIG thanks and love to HeartofAspen, Pancakestack, and SabrinaJasmine for my reviews...and thanks to all that read and subscribe!