A/N: Sorry for the long wait! On to the next chapter!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Some parts of this chapter are taken from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. Do not report for copyright infringement. Don't say I didn't warn you.
Hermione bid goodbye to her Professors and headed to the Great Hall. It was just barely filling up with students, and, as she had assumed, neither Harry nor Ron were there. It figured that they were late-risers.
She ate quickly, and checked her schedule again. Charms first.
It's taught by Filius Flitwick, the tiniest Professor I've ever seen. He is old, and very talented. I believe he has some Goblin blood running through his veins.
I must go, Father. I will speak to you later. Please do not attempt to reach me during class. You know how I get when I'm studying hard.
Tom laughed. I understand, my daughter. Reach out to me if you require any help.
I will, Hermione promised.
"Hey, Enna!" Lavender exclaimed, sliding onto the bench beside Hermione—or Enna, as she was to be publicly known.
"Good morning, Lavender," Enna greeted politely. "Are you excited for class? What do you have first?"
"Oh, I'm thrilled! I have Charms first." She peeked over Enna's shoulder to read her schedule. "Oh, you have it, too!"
"I'll see you there, then," Enna said. "I have to go. See you later, Lavender."
The blonde girl waved, then directed her attention to her plate.
Enna dawdled at the library until it was time for Charms class. She spotted Harry and Ron walking down the corridor, and brushed past them.
Charms class was very interesting. Professor Flitwick had to stand on top of several thick books perched on a chair just to be able to see over his desk. "Hello, class," he greeted in a high, squeaky voice. "We will be learning the Wand-Lighting charm today. Everyone take out your wand. Repeat after me: 'Lumos.'"
"Lumos," the class repeated.
"Now hold your wand vertically and say the charm—clearly."
Everyone held their wands vertically and pronounced the charm, with varying levels of success. Enna got it on the third try. It took Harry a few attempts, but he managed it finally, even though his light was rather weak. Ron got it on his tenth try, but the light flickered on and off, until it finally stopped at off.
The entire lesson was spent on that charm, much to Enna's disappointment.
The next class was Transfiguration, and Professor McGonagall looked even more severe when teaching, if possible. She had a way of capturing the class's interest and making sure that no one spoke.
She turned her desk into a pig as demonstration, then set the class attempting to turn matches into needles.
Enna flicked her wand and turned her match shiny, but didn't need quite make it into a needle. Neither Harry nor Ron could do it, though Ron did a bit better than his friend, managing to turn the red end of his match pointy (ish).
Finally, McGonagall let them go, but not without assigning a foot-long essay on the history of Transfiguration.
And finally, the class that Enna had been waiting for: Potions.
Professor Snape looked every inch the Slytherin intimidator. He stalked up and down the aisles, his black robes billowing behind him in a dramatic fashion.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word—like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "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, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
"Potter!" Snape said suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry looked bemused, while Enna's hand shot straight into the air. I bitterly regret Lily's death, she thought. Or Drought of Living Death.
"I don't know, sir," Harry said.
Snape's lips curled into a sneer.
"Tut, tut—fame clearly isn't everything." He ignored Enna's hand.
"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
Enna wiggled in her seat, hand stretched towards the ceiling. The stomach of a goat! It can save one from poison.
"I don't know, sir," Harry said quietly.
"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, hmm, Potter?" The Slytherins were all hooting with laughter, both at Harry's ignorance and Enna's furiously waving hand.
"What is the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?" Snape continued interrogating Harry.
It's the same thing, also known as Aconite, Enna thought, finally standing up, her hand still stretched as high towards the dungeon ceiling as it would go.
"I don't know," said Harry quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her." The Gryffindor side of the room laughed, but quickly quieted when Snape glared their way.
"Sit down," he snapped at Enna. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?" There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter."
Things did not get any better as class went on. Neville managed to melt Seamus's cauldron, and covered himself in angry red boils. Another point was taken 'for sheer lack of intelligence', and Snape dismissed the class while he escorted the poor boy to the hospital wing.
A/N: This is true. According to Victorian Flower Language, asphodel is a type of lily meaning 'My regrets follow you to the grave' and wormwood means 'absence' and also typically symbolized bitter sorrow. If you combine that, it meant 'I bitterly regret Lily's death'.