Disclaimer: JKR. Not Mine. Got it? AVERT YOUR EYES FROM THE HORROR THAT IS THE MARY SUE!

Chapter Four: Prove This

To say that I had a rough night would be kind. By the time I woke up the next morning it felt like the entire cast of 'Riverdance' was doing a number on my skull. All night I tossed and turned thinking about classes. I dreamt that I made a Potion that blew up the school and turned Professor McGonagall into a half-lion, half-woman creature that chased me all the way to Hogwarts Express. Needless to say, when I met Harry downstairs for breakfast in the morning, I wasn't exactly up to snuff.

"You don't look so good," Harry said. He was wearing a white shirt with black slacks and a crimson and gold tie. I swear I will never get used to those damn robes.

"Really?" I said, stifling a yawn, "I thought I looked like shit, but 'not so good' sounds better to me."

Harry gave a little laugh, "At least you still have a sense of humor about it."

By the time we got down to the Great Hall I was personality free—at least as far as my appearance went. Ron and Hermione were already down there—Hermione munching on some toast as she poured over an enormous book; Ron flipping through the pages of The Daily Prophet. They perked up as Harry and I came over.

"Hey, Harry. Hey, Reggie," Ron said as we flopped down.

"Hey, Ron," I yawned again as I reached for a bagel, "Please tell me that getting up this early is only for the first day."

Hermione scoffed, "'Afraid not. I think you'll find classes a tad more vigorous here than in America."

I raised an eyebrow. Was she encouraging me or insulting me? With Hermione, I was finding it hard to tell. I could tell she was incredibly smart just from the few hours I'd spent with her. She had one of those photographic memories I'd always hoped for so I could barely crack a book and still stay at the head of the class. True, she didn't exactly have any tact when it came to flaunting her brains, but she seemed to have good intentions. She may be a star here, but she would've ended up on the business end of a butt-whoopin' back home. Still, I liked her for no other reason than she seemed to like my dark humor and was proving helpful getting around my first day.

"What time did your classes start, Reg?" Harry asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee. I motioned for him to pass it along.

"We started about nine," I said. Ron's eyes looked like they would bug out of his head, "but we got out around four. It's not like a big change because I still had to get up early enough to catch the subway to get down to the school."

"I'd give anything for a later day," Ron muttered, "Seven am classes are brutal."

Harry rolled his eyes, "Just wait until Quidditch practice starts up," he said. Ron moaned, "Did you play?"

"A little," I confessed, "I was a Beater for awhile, but I ended up having to quit the team because of…um…"

"What?" Hermione asked as she cocked her head.

" Let's call them strategic differences," I said. I immediately shifted glances to my schedule in front of me. My old captain, Alicia Sollowski, had a tendency of screaming and belittling everyone on the team so they would get out of her way so she could be the Quidditch star. Huge ego. Nothing I thought a swift Bludger to the head wouldn't cure. Didn't go over so well for the rest of the team—or the principal for that matter.

Harry shot me another questioning look. I raised my eyebrow as if to say, Don't ask. He just smiled and shook his head, seeming to understand. He glanced down at his watch and his eyes widened.

"Shoot, we've gotta go! See ya, Ron! Hermione!" Harry shouted as he grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the hall.

Harry and I wound our way through countless hallways so fast I didn't have a chance to catch my bearings. It'll take me months to get used to this place, I thought despairingly. I could picture myself months from now camped out down some god-forsaken hallway using my robe as a tent and burning my textbooks to keep warm. I was thinking about which one of my books would burn the longest when we finally turned into a classroom.

Harry pulled me into a seat near the middle, "This is Professor McGonagall's class. She's tough…real tough. But she's fair. She's the head of Gryffindor house."

"What was the last thing you worked on last year?" I asked, taking out a piece of parchment and a quill.

"Frogs into a vase," he replied, "I finally got it on the exam. What did you do?"

I had a flashback of Transfiguration Three back at the Academy. Our last task had been turning cats into candles. Turning the cat into the candle wasn't the problem—the problem was turning it back. Flaming cats are a real bitch to catch.

"Cats into candles," I said, "But mine didn't turn out so well. I set mine on fire."

Harry's eyes went wide and looked like he was about to explode with laughter when Professor McGonagall took her place at the front of the classroom and cleared her throat.

"Welcome, class, to another year in Transfiguration. At the end of last term we began changing small animals into simple objects such as jars and boxes. This year, we shall focus on larger animals to complex objects…"

Hmmm. I wonder if I could turn a cat into a six-disk stereo…

"Miss Bradshaw?" McGonagall asked.

I jumped, "Yes, professor?"

She looked down, sternly at me, "For today, if you wish, you may observe more than participate. I would like for you to make an effort, but I realize that some of these spells might be slightly advanced from where you left off."

Woman, are you challenging me? I nodded, but decided right then and there that I was going to do whatever she asked. Advanced my arse. Who does she think she is?

"Now," she said, waving her wand. Caged appeared on all the desks containing rats. There were several choruses of 'yuck' going around the room. These were babies compared to the horse sized ones I'd seen back home. What better way to start off the new year than with a reminder of home, I thought sarcastically.

"Today we will be turning your rats into shoes like so," She produced a rat from her desk and tapped it three times before it quivered a little bit and turned into a boot, "Now, I'll be looking for the complexity of the shoe. Laces, clasps, designs, padding inside the shoe—so please try to concentrate." She motioned for the class to begin.

I looked at Harry and raised an eyebrow. He just shrugged and began his attempts. I looked back at my rat. What are you looking at, I thought. I scowled at it as it wriggled its nose at me. Too complex, huh? I'll show you. I rolled up my sleeves and pointed my wand at it. I conjured up a picture of a tennis shoe in my head—a running shoe I'd seen in a window back in London. I held my breath and tapped the rat three times. It seemed to jump for a moment then almost convulse. When it stopped moving I thought for sure I'd killed it—then it slowly morphed into a white tennis shoe. With whiskers and a tail. I sighed, propped head on my right hand. This was going to be a long year.

Potions was next and, thankfully, all three of them were in this class, too. I'd heard nothing but horror stories about this man and, quite frankly, I felt like hurling. When I heard the doors open with a bang as he glided into the room I knew that all the rumors had been true. He was a sallow looking man—like he hadn't seen the sun…ever. His black hair was greasy and I could've sworn his eyes were as black as his head. He was dressed in all black, too—head to toe. His eyes narrowed on me as he took the front of the class. I tried to gulp quietly, but I had a feeling everyone heard it.

"Well, well," he droned coolly, "Our new American cousin come to show us how well Potions are taught overseas."

I could see where this was going. "Tell me, Miss Bradshaw, what would I get if I combined plyberry essence and redgrass?"

I sat up straight in my chair. Transfigurations might not be my forte, but Potions was another matter. I looked him straight on, praying my eyes looked as knowing as I hoped they would, "It would produce a yellowish mixture known as Scar Juice used for treating minor cuts and scrapes." Boo-yah!

His eyes narrowed into tiny slits. He obviously hadn't been expecting an answer, "Very well—what is the difference between helbane and a polloak?"

"Helbane is bark from a Helbantas tree, which is usually found in the southern regions of the Brazilian rainforests. Polloak is a fleshy, orange plant usually found in the western region of India."

Now he was sneering. I could hear Hermione take a sharp breath behind me. So I answered his questions! He wanted to see if he could make an ass out of me and he couldn't. Score one for the Yank! USA! USA!

His lips curled up in what I assumed to be some sort of smirk, "The polloak is found in the eastern region of India. Lucky for us we won't be sending you out looking for any or else we might be here all year. Though, I can't imagine your knowledge of plants and potions to be that comprehensive. You being American and all—"

I knew my face was turning bright red even before I felt Harry's hand over mine, "Don't," he whispered, "He's just trying to get a rise. Just ignore him."

Snape continued droning on, "Americans and their pitiful excuses for Potion Laboratories. It's amazing you people can tell the difference between crushed bicorn and aspirin…"

By this point, I was flat out glaring at the man. What the hell did I do! There's belittling and then there's full-blown, go-for-the-jugular, trampling of the self-esteem. There was no reason for this.

"Professor, if you'd like to discuss the shortcomings of American Potions studies can I suggest we do it after class?" I asked. There were sharp intakes of breath all around the room. My eyes darted next to me where Harry looked like he was wincing. I suddenly remembered the part about Snape taking off points from Gryffindor for any little indiscretion.

Crap.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for your useless herbology knowledge and another ten points for your tongue." Snape barked, "Clearly you never learned the basic points of proper classroom etiquette when addressing your professors." He turned to his desk.

I wasn't about to take this lying down, "Clearly, I don't have the patience to deal with people blatantly insulting American educational standards." I could swear I heard Ron whimpering behind me. Harry was closing his eyes at this point.

Snape spun on me again. Hey, he does have color in his face—bright red. "Another ten points! By all means, Miss Bradshaw, do continue. I'm sure the rest of your classmates are eager to watch you sink your house to the bottom running for the House Cup before the year has even begun."

I clamped my jaw so tight I thought my back molars would shatter. We kept our gazes locked for what seemed forever before he turned back to the chalkboard. With a wave of his wand a potion recipe appeared on the board and he sat at his desk, burying himself in paperwork. Oh, he is sooo on my hit list for this year, I seethed. For a moment I lowered my head to my desk giving myself a light bang on the forehead for not keeping myself in line. In my right ear I could hear snickering. I turned to the side and saw Draco Malfoy snickering with his two nitwit companions. He looked over at me and sneered as he laughed. I glared at him and finally hoisted my head up to look at the potion on the board. At least it was something I had done before. I smirked to myself as I began dropping ingredients into my heated cauldron.

If Snape and Malfoy wanted a war this year they were going to get one