Professor Bartholomew Trent has declared we are not JK Rowling, nor shall we ever be!
Lydia had been looking forward to Potions since she opened the textbook at her aunt's. Naturally, she hadn't glanced twice at any of her other books, but this one had seemed interesting. Poor thing had been worn down by the time she was done with it- covered with notes and dog-eared pages. She slipped enthusiastically into her seat, and took in her surroundings, only to be met with the least welcoming face she'd ever seen in her life.
Marcus Flint.
"What are you doing here?" Lydia spat, edging away even though he was at the table next to hers, "Aren't you a second year?"
"Shut up, Gray; I don't have to explain myself to an ickle firstie," He sneered, showing crooked, if clean, teeth, "Just because Bridget Gonahue is your mentor doesn't mean anything. She probably chose you out of pity."
"Even though that might be why your mentor chose you doesn't mean you should project it onto everyone else," Lydia frowned, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Actually, several people wanted me since I happen to be one of the best chasers to grace this sad excuse for a school in a long time," Marcus dismissed her, turning away, "Why don't you shut your trap- actually go ahead and keep jabbering. I'm sure Professor Snape will really appreciate it."
Lydia huffed, but remained silent as the last few students trickled in for the Gryffindor-Slytherin class. She wasn't sure who to turn her back on since Fred sat at the table to her left. Why had she chosen the center of the room again?
The doors opened with a bang and Snape stalked down the aisle, his voluminous cloak billowing ominously behind him. As he started to lecture, Lydia scrambled to take notes, remembering exactly why she'd chosen to sit front and center again.
She couldn't help but notice that Flint seemed more than a little lost, but she brushed it off. All the better if I beat him in this class, she thought, ignoring a pang of conscience, since he'll probably beat me on a broomstick no matter what I do.
Katherine, on the other side of the school, was wishing she could flee to the very dungeons her sister was scowling in. The Defense against the Dark Arts teacher was absolutely terrifying.
"Whoa," Marie breathed after the spine-tingling, hair-raising lecture had ended, "Professor Trent's seen it all, Katherine. He's really been there, you know? You can tell from the way he describes that woman's head popping off-"
Katherine raised her hand hastily, "Don't even. Not. Another. Word." Marie pouted so Katherine elaborated with a shiver, "I will be reliving this speech in my nightmares for weeks. I don't need any reminders now."
A few portraits the Defense teacher had brought with him to hang outside the classroom jeered and Marie stuck out her tongue at them. "Fine," She conceded reluctantly, "We'll just go to Transfiguration then..."
Seeing Marie's disappointment, Katherine shuddered, "Alright, talk." With a sharper tone she added, "But this is the only time we will ever speak of Defense against the Dark Arts outside of studying ever again."
Marie bounced happily on the balls of her feet and babbled about Professor Trent's awesomeness all the way to Transfiguration.