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Nothing.

This chapter is dedicated to Callista, my most dedicated reviewer. (P.S. check out her awesome stories under Callista MacLeod)

Chapter Three- Potions Class and Mysterious Disappearances

Well, it turns out that I'm pretty decent at potions. I really just don't understand how people can mess them up... all you do is follow directions.

Not that I'm usually that great at following directions, considering how much they resemble rules, and the whole world knows how bad I am at following rules.

But, anyway, as I was saying, Potions just seems to come naturally to me. It's my favorite time of day, Potions class. For one thing, it's the only class we have with the Slytherins, and, truth be told, I'm infinitely more comfortable around them than I am the Gryffindors. I get to partner up with Severus, which is a relief, because he's the only person here at Hogwarts I can really talk to.

The other boys in my dorm don't get along with me. The one- Potter's his name- is an arrogant berk, and he always says rude things about my family when he thinks I can't hear him. Someone should tell him that he's not exactly the smoothest or most discreet person in the world. Plus, he insists that he's the best Quidditch player Hogwarts has ever seen.

Well.

We'll have to see about that.

I can't wait to wipe that bloody perpetual grin off his little pointed face.

The fuzzy kid- Lupin- is strange. No polite words can describe his oddness. He's a bit off-center. He never talks and when he does it's in sort of a high pitched, fast voice, like he's nervous about even talking to other human beings. Plus, he's got a habit of blinking far, far too much and he listens to swing music. And he wears jumpers, neat little button-downs that probably came from his father's old school trunk. Definitely of a different breed.

The other one, Peter, never seems to be around the dorm. Once, I saw him running down the hall away from Filch, who was screaming something about Exploding Jacks. Now, that kid may not be too bad. I'll have to find out more about him. The only problem with him is that he talks constantly. Even in his sleep. Yes, that might get a bit annoying after a while.

So, I suppose I'm stuck friendless and alone, except in Potions where I can finally be with my own kind.

I owled home about my getting in Gryffindor, and, while the folks seemed as though they wished I were in Slytherin (I'm beginning to, myself, because I've noticed all the strange kids go into Gryffindor) they seemed pleasantly relieved that I didn't get dumped into Hufflepuff. They thought I was going to, you know. Especially father. He doesn't think I'm very bright or brave or cunning, and you could tell from the day I got my Hogwarts letter that that was all he could think about.

"Daft duffer of a son. I'll bet a million galleons he gets thrown in Hufflepuff. Do you think Child Services would be after me if I disowned an eleven-year old?"

Yes, that was almost definitely his internal monologue. He did say in his letter, though,

"Sirius, even though you've been unfortunately separated from your friends and family, I want you to remember that you can still go to them for advice any time you need it. I'm sure they'd be glad to help you. After all, you may not be Slytherin or a Ravenclaw material, but at least you didn't land in Hufflepuff."

The muggle-born next to me, Henry Ackerly, spills his mandrake root, interrupting my thought process. I roll my eyes. Well, it's not like muggle-borns shouldn't come to Hogwarts or anything; I mean, they have rights too, but perhaps they should be in beginners' classes, so they don't accidentally give us all boils or something. Yes, I think that might be a good idea. I stir my Dentist Solaris draft twice clockwise and watch it congeal slowly and turn a mint-green. Done. Severus finishes ten seconds after I do, and I half-smile to myself. A silly, juvenile part of me insists that I won. I finished first, so he lost. I'm proud of myself for upholding my record as the best student in the class.

Ackerly's still trying to clean up his mess, and his potion's a runny fluorescent orange. I suggest to him that perhaps he should add his slug antennae before it's too late, and Severus gives me a look. You know, that look I described before, that almost-scowl that makes his forehead scrunch up like an accordion.

"What?" I ask.

"Why are you helping him? If he's that bad, he deserves the bad grade he'll get."

I stare at Severus. I know that he's the person at Hogwarts who understands me best, but sometimes we are simply on completely different wavelengths.

"It's not a test," I say, "Why shouldn't I help him?"

He stares at me pointedly.

I don't get him sometimes.

The professor collects the samples of potions for grading next time, and I look around and realize that most of the class got theirs at least close to right. Of course, most of them were just a shade or two off. Like Evans's for example. Almost right, but it's just a hair too thin. Another half a raven's claw would have done it. Still, she was close. I only see a handful of people who seem to have really messed up. Even Ackerly's seems to be decent. Potter, though, had trouble. His potion is emitting steam and smells like burnt tires, not to mention the fact that it's a sickly pink color.

Lovely.

I smirk and show him my own vial of perfect solution, and he rolls his eyes, but looks suitably ashamed.

Good.

He could do with being humiliated once in a while, to pull him down off his pedestal.

When I get to the Great Hall for dinner (Potions is our last class of the day), I see that Lupin isn't there. I wonder why. He was just in Potions five minutes ago. My insatiable curiosity has been set loose, and now I have to know. It's vital to my very survival, my very existence. It shall drive me to insanity if I do not find...

It's not my fault I'm overly dramatic. It's Andromeda's fault, I swear. She's the one who's terribly into theatre and the dramatic arts. I can't help what I've been raised around. Oh the woes of youth.

Well, all my internal monologues aren't helping me find the answer to where the Lupin kid has gone, so I ask Peter.

He shrugs and goes back to his shepherd's pie without a word. I see Potter smiling like the proverbial cat with the bloody proverbial canary shoved right into his wide mouth.

"What? You know?"

He looks triumphant and attempts to return mysteriously back to sipping his Pumpkin Juice, but he keeps glancing over to see how desperate I am to find out the coveted information.

I'm not stupid, and so I'm not going to fall for it. I simply nod as though I don't really care and serve myself another helping of carrots.

It's killing him. He wants to tell me. He wants me to want him to tell me. His face is about to explode. His ears are practically steaming. He'll blurt it out in

Five...

Four...

Three...

Two...

One...

"Family emergency- he left right after Potions"

I smile internally. This amateur has a lot to learn.

"Oh, is that so?" I ask, disinterestedly.

Potter is crushed. He wishes he could lord over me the fact that he knew and I didn't, but that only works when the other person appears painfully interested.

Which I don't.

One more point for Mr. Black.

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