Our classes began the following day, and everything was proving to be absolutely marvelous. Excepting the time that Harry, Ron, and I attempted to walk into the third floor corridor where certain death lingered because we believed it to be our classroom, everything was perfect.

Wednesday nights swiftly became one of my favorite times—that was when we Gryffindor first-years would get to climb up to the top of the Astronomy tower and study the stars. I had always loved stargazing with Robbie, and while the study made me miss him all the more, it was nice to know that I could still have a hobby in my academic life.

Herbology was fairly interesting. Twice a week we would proceed outdoors to the magical greenhouses and study plants with Professor Sprout, who was the Head of Hufflepuff House. She was a nice woman, and very patient and understanding. Although I liked the study of plants, I wasn't the best at it.

Charms class occurred three times a week, and was perhaps the most entertaining class of all. Professor Flitwick, the Head of Ravenclaw House, was excited to meet us, though he proved to be quite eccentric. He was so short, he had to pile books on his chair to see over the desk.

History of Magic was an unfortunate change of pace. It wasn't interesting at all, and was taught by a ghost named Professor Binns. He talked about strange wizards in a monotonus voice, and after the first class, everyone lost interest. We students were often staring out the window, at the clock, or off into space during the majority of the class. Hermione and I were the only ones who tried to pay attention, but it was a difficult endeavor indeed.

Then there was Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Quirrell was strange. There was a lingering smell of garlic in his classroom; he claimed that it was because he'd met a vampire in Romania. He also informed us that his turban had come from an African prince as thanks for getting rid of a zombie, but the story he so elaborately told seemed a bit exaggerated to me… not to mention that Professor Quirrell seemed a bit jumpier than he appeared in his stories. His lessons were practical all the same, never mind his oddities.

My favorite class out of the lot was Transfiguration, taught by none other than Professor McGonagall. She began our first class by declaring, "Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

After she made this declaration, she stunned us all by turning an owl into a pair of binoculars and back. She transfigured her desk into a pig and back again—and quite a few other numbers such as these. I was immeasurably excited to begin performing magic at such a caliber, but alas, we were told that level of magic wouldn't be reached until sixth year.

The only downside to Transfiguration was that we were taking that lesson with the first-year Slytherins… and Professor McGonagall had made us seating charts… and I had been paired to a table with none other than Draco Malfoy.

Just my luck.

When the two of us had approached the table, we glared at each other for a moment. It was he who broke the silence by dramatically gesturing to the seats and exclaiming, "After you, Skylar."

I narrowed my eyes, wondering if he was being sarcastic. Of course, he was—once Professor McGonagall turned her back, he winked at me and made it a point to whisper, "Time to see who wins the favoritism contest, eh?"

"You're on," I grumbled.

And so we silently compared our notes and progress for the day.

All of these classes occurred from Monday through Thursday. It was on Friday morning that I met Harry and Ron for breakfast, just in time for the post to arrive. As I was plopping down at my normal seat beside my friends, I heard Harry exclaim, "It's from Hagrid!"

I glanced his direction to see a squashed envelope residing in Harry's hands. He looked positively delighted to have received some form of post, which ended up making me smile, too.

"Read it aloud!" Ron said.

Harry did so. "Dear Harry, I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around one? I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig. –Hagrid."

"Well, why not go?" I asked, grinning at the prospect of seeing Hagrid again. "That sounds nice!"

Harry nodded and began scrawling on the back of the letter. Hedwig had been waiting patiently for his response; once it was tied to her leg, she was off again.

For the next twenty minutes, we sat and contentedly ate our breakfast. It had been a wonderful first week at Hogwarts, and of course it had my friends and I immensely excited for whatever else was to come.

After we finished eating, it was time to proceed to the last class that we hadn't yet attended: Potions with Professor Severus Snape. We had a double period with the Slytherins again, much to our dismay. Although we wished to be optimistic, the Weasley twins had told us the class wouldn't be nearly as likeable as the others—or rather, they'd warned that it would be insufferable.

Most unfortunately for us, they were proven correct almost the moment we stepped inside the dungeon that passed for a classroom. There were no windows, which meant candlelight was our only way of reading our textbooks. The tables and stools were rickety and uncomfortable. There were some potions bubbling menacingly in the corner. Professor Snape was nowhere to be found.

Noting that there were only three empty seats left on the far side of the classroom, I looked between Harry and Ron and raised an eyebrow. They returned the look right back, and we all seemed to have the same thought: who would be the odd one out?

The last time it had happened was in Charms, and Ron had made the sacrifice to sit elsewhere so Harry and I could be partnered together. I figured that it was now my turn, and so I murmured, "You two take the empty table. I'll pair up with someone else."

"Thanks, Belle," grinned Ron, obviously relieved.

I nodded in response and made my way over to the back of the classroom, squeezing around other tables of first-year Gryffindors and Slytherins. It was difficult to move without budging anyone else since the room was so small—when I saw who was to be my Potions partner, I groaned.

The boy in the seat leered at me and leaned back in his chair.

"If it isn't Belle Skylar. You know, I'm starting to think us being paired up together isn't a coincidence."

"Shut up, Malfoy," I grumbled, plopping my supplies on the table we were going to share.

He just snickered, and I dropped rather unceremoniously into my chair. The moment I did, a door slammed behind me, scaring me out of my wits. I lurched to see who had so brazenly entered the room, but in the process of whirling around, I knocked my ink bottle off the table—

Malfoy lunged to grab the bottle before it could hit and shatter across the classroom floor. He managed to catch it in midair; with a complacent grin, he held it back out to me.

Not sure what else to do, I plucked it from his hands and stammered, "Erm… thanks."

"Anytime," he replied. The smirk on his face wasn't as sarcastic as it had been just a minute ago.

Feeling somewhat awkward, I turned back to see who had entered the class: it was Professor Snape. His beady eyes had been watching my interaction with Malfoy, which made me mildly uncomfortable. Then again, everything about him was making me uncomfortable—the pointedness to his gaze, the long black cloak that obscured his body entirely, the way he loomed in the doorway.

Noting that I was watching him, Professor Snape snapped his eyes elsewhere. He appraised the class for the briefest moment before muttering, "There will be no silly incantations in this class."

The way he spoke made everyone freeze. He could captivate the entire classroom with a whisper, he was so intimidating. And it was clear that he knew it, too, because he stepped forward into the center of the classroom and continued speaking. "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

It was here that he stopped and glared around the room. Something had caused him to pause… the slightest scratching of quill on parchment.

My eyes landed on Harry.

I swallowed hard, knowing that if he didn't realize that the professor had stopped his spiel that he would be in trouble. But there was no way for me to tell him to stop writing without attracting attention to myself—we were too far away for me to whisper to him…

Too late. The Potions Master saw Harry only a few seconds after I did, and his low voice brought attention to him by saying, "Harry Potter. Our new celebrity."

Harry jerked up from whatever he was writing and gazed confusedly at Snape. That confusion only grew as the Potions Master said, "Tell me, Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry blinked once. "I don't know, sir."

"Pity." There was a dark glimmer in Professor Snape's eye that I didn't like at all. "Clearly, fame isn't everything."

With this last statement, the expression on Harry's face swiftly morphed into dislike. He was not the only one: Ron was mirroring that look, as well as a large majority of the other Gryffindors.

Professor Snape smirked ever so slightly, although it was near impossible to see due to the faint light of the dungeon. His voice, low as it was, bounced off of the stone walls. "Let's try again, Potter. What's the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

My eyes narrowed. Clearly, the rumors surrounding Snape's disdain of Gryffindors were true… and Harry was being targeted simply because of his name. That wasn't fair at all—I couldn't help myself from sputtering, "What rubbish!"

The classroom froze; everyone's gaze swiveled to me. I swallowed, immediately shrinking back in my chair. My fellow Gryffindors were gazing at me with shock and awe, whilst the Slytherins were learning forward as if waiting for me to be attacked.

Professor Snape was the last one to turn my way. With a steely gaze, he said, "Skylar. Belle… Skylar, I believe. Yes?"

I stared at the Professor for as long as I dared. It was clear that he would be no more merciful to me than he would Harry—and the same could be said for any other Gryffindor that sat within his classroom.

The idea completely repulsed me. This was the first Professor that I found myself lacking a shred of respect for; figuring that I could hardly dig myself into a deeper hole than I was already in, I shot back, "Yes."

From the corner of my eye, I could see Malfoy staring at me. His eyes were wide—not with anticipation or glee, but what looked like curiosity or perhaps even impressment.

Professor Snape smirked at the venom in my voice. It was the first smile I'd yet seen him wear, and it was a mask. "Let's see if you decided to open a book before you came today, then, Skylar. Where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"

I laughed, but only because I knew that answer. My mother had been a nurse at St. Mungo's when she'd been alive… and she had told me about her work many times. I knew exactly what a bezoar was and where exactly it could be found. "In the stomach of a goat."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "And what does it do?"

"It sucks out poisons from a person's body. Almost like an antidote."

The class was so silent, a pin could've dropped to the floor and the sound would've been audible. The way he stared at me was cold, as though inviting me to change my answer: but I knew I was right, so I stared back at the Professor as he glazed me over, as if taking stock of what I might actually be made of.

At last, he pulled a thin-lipped smile onto his face. His eyes were unreadable, and his voice carried neither respect nor contempt as he simply said, "Good."

Then he turned away from me and directed the class's attention to the board.

When he began speaking, I couldn't help but exhale hard. I hadn't realized how fast my heart had been beating until I was no longer in the direct line of fire; one hand flew to my throat as my eyes attempted to concentrate on what was written on the blackboard.

I couldn't focus for long, though. Malfoy was sizing me up again. Before I could spit at him to ask him what he wanted, however, he raised a hand and whispered, "Easy. I'm not going to criticize. I just wanted to say—I'm impressed. You're steep competition."

"Steep competition?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Are we competing in Potions now, too?"

Draco's silver eyes glinted. "Oh, Skylar, Potions won't be like Transfiguration. I'm only decent at Transfiguration. But Potions? I'll wipe the floor with you."

Although normally I would've been offended by the certainty of his statement, considering how entertaining our bets were, I found myself mirroring his smirk. Leaning close to ensure Professor Snape couldn't hear, I muttered, "You're on, Malfoy. I can at least try to make you sweat."

Within the next five minutes, we were working both together—and against—each other on a quest to create the most accurate Cure for Boils potion. We would alternate steps, both of us scrutinizing each other's progress, hoping that the other would slip up. Unfortunately for me, Malfoy was every bit as good at Potions as he thought he was—and that meant my job was infinitely harder here than in Transfiguration.

Figuring that it was time to up the ante, I would hover over his shoulder during his steps, asking questions such as, "Are you sure that's the right step?" or "Taking the cauldron off the fire this early?" to see if it would faze him at all.

Sadly, this strategy did not work. If anything, it backfired—Malfoy swiftly began doing the same to me, and it actually made me second-guess my work a couple of times. I knew I couldn't let him get under my skin, though… if he did, he would win.

It wasn't until our potions were complete that I happened to notice Professor Snape observing us with narrowed eyes. He loomed towards us, which made me want to shrink back in my seat again. My heartbeat crashed against my skull as Professor Snape inspected our cauldrons… and then he said, "I am not disappointed. Malfoy, your timing on allowing the potion to steep was impeccable. Skylar, your snake fangs were crushed to an excellent consistency."

"So who won?" asked Malfoy, eagerly awaiting Professor Snape's verdict.

Snape made one more pass over each cauldron before leering and glancing back towards the student that was in his House. "It was close, I will say. But in the end… Malfoy, you have a natural prowess for Potions. Continue to impress me. And you as well, Skylar."

And with that, he stalked off to go scold some of the other Gryffindors.

The moment he was gone, Malfoy turned to me, half of a smirk on his face. "Good fight," he declared.

With a sigh, I conceded, "Good fight." When I glanced at him again, there was a light in his eyes that and a smile to his lips that proved how very relieved he was. Deciding to speak up, I asked, "Is Potions your strongest suit?"

"Something like that. Sort of like Transfiguration is for you."

I nodded. I could respect that. "Well, in that case, I'm glad I did as well as I did. Like you said earlier… you're steep competition."

Malfoy blinked and glanced at me sideways, perhaps wondering whether I was being sarcastic or not. Figuring that I'd give him a little peace of mind, I stuck out a hand for a diplomatic handshake.

He turned and clasped one hand in mine; his hand was cold, but his grip was firm as he shook my own hand once and then swiftly let it go. His face was unreadable for the briefest of moments… but then a sheepish smile slowly crossed his face as he confessed, "This was actually rather… fun. Want to stay Potions partners?"

Frankly, I had enjoyed myself during the lesson too. As crazy as it sounded, Malfoy was the person I most wanted to be partnered with throughout the room.

And so, nodding back at the Slytherin next to me, I answered, "All right. So long as we stay Transfiguration partners, too. I need to beat you at something."

He laughed lightly at that and began pouring our potions into bottles for us to submit for grading at the end of class. Once that was done, we began to clean up our Potions station, all the while joking about how we would be unstoppable if we remained teamed up for long.