Harry simply wouldn't believe that Thalia could stop Snape from making his year as hellish as the previous four. The next morning, as he ran down into the dungeons, holding in his teeth his daily breakfast composed of three cold toasts, he tried picturing a smiling potions master, warmly welcoming him into the classroom. The mere thought of this unreal sight made Harry laugh, and as he did so he nearly choked on his morning meal. He finally swallowed the dry bread, and he sprinted the last meters separating him from Snape's designated local. He finally sat down next to Ron as the bell loudly rang. Snape walked in the class, looking as angry as usual, and rapidly stepped up to his desk. "Greetings, everyone," he said, looking at the class sitting before him, "and welcome to your first potions class. Now it seems that I have been very clear the last few years about the behavior I will and will not accept in this class." As his mouth slowly pronounced these words, his cold eyes wandered through the class, fixing students at random – well, Gryffondor students at random. Harry felt the intense gaze fall upon him for a few seconds, but the teacher quickly looked away, terrifying other students instead of Harry. Puzzled, he didn't really know what to think: up to know, Snape had acted exactly as he had expected. Not knowing if this was a good or a bad sign, Harry reached for his bag and started looking for a quill. Not that he needed any one: Snape's classes rarely necessitated taking notes of any sort. Simply, during the summer, Harry had taken the habit of making important decisions by entirely trusting faith, or simple luck. This time, this system would predict the future: if the quill he picked was black, then he would know Thalia had failed and Snape would be as unfair and unpleasant as his reputation promised, but if he picked a white quill, then it would be a sign that Thalia had succeeded and that he would finally experience an entire year without suffering from any harassment whatsoever. As he ventured into the deep abysses of his leather bag, he heard the words "Mister Potter" coming from the front of the class.

He had finally put hand on a quill, but he had no use taking it out of his bag: he already knew it was black. "Yes, sir?" Harry calmly asked. He had to admit this was not a big deception: he knew deep down in his heart that nothing would ever change Snape's mind or attitude. He was mentally preparing himself to receive a particularly degrading insult when he heard Snape talk. At first, he wasn't sure he had heard correctly, but the surprised look on his friend's faces – and the astonished faces of his enemies – confirmed to him that he had heard right. Now this was clear, Harry replayed Snape's command in his relieved brain.

"Would you mind bringing me the vials found to your left?" the deep voice had said. Harry turned his head and saw a row of flasks waiting on a nearby counter. The boy quickly looked around: he seemed to be the student sitting the closest to the flasks, and it was therefore normal for the teacher to ask him to bring them up. He quickly raised from the seat he had been slouched on, and as he did so the quill he was holding fell to the floor. He ignored it and walked up to the row of vials. He placed them rapidly in a nearby stand and then deposited them on the potions master's desk. He even overheard a muttered "Thank you" emanating from his teacher. He addressed the man a small smirk and nearly ran back down to his place near his friend. As he did so, the redhead put something in his hands, quietly whispering "You dropped this." Later on, during the class, Harry took a look at what Ron had given him: it was a white quill.

"I just can't believe she managed to convince him to be nicer to me!" Harry nearly shouted for the fifth time that night. The common room was quite full, and since nobody had received any homework during the first week of school, all the Gryffondor's were busy talking, laughing, and making it a loud and noisy place. Actually, the small circular chamber was so filled with noises of all sorts that almost nobody had heard Harry's scream. The only exception to this was Fred Weasley, who had been eavesdropping on Harry, Ron and Hermione for a little while. Hearing this, he jumped out of nowhere on the couch the three friends were occupying. "I guess," he mentioned as a huge grin appeared on his face, "that she is really good in bed." Before any image had time to enter his already traumatized mind, Harry started concentrating on the image of a white daisy. When he finally managed to open his eyes without seeing things he did not want to see, he observed that Ron was hiding into the red pillows adorning the couch and that Hermione was staring at a laughing Fred with a severe look. The Weasley went on. "No really, I mean once you take a guy by the guts…"

"All I mean," Harry interrupted, "is that I'm surprised a Slytherin did as much to help a Gryffondor."

"What?" asked the newly arrived George, who had joined the group in order to ruin his younger brother's mental sanity a little more.

"Well, it must have been really hard to convince Snape to like me! Dumbledore never even managed to, and he has a huge influence on…"

"Dumbeldore probably doesn't look as good in those dresses," said George with a wink.

"Or out of them!" added Fred.

"All I mean," Harry nearly yelled, trying to cover up the twin's giggles, "is that I don't understand why an ancient Slytherin would go through so much trouble for a Gryffondor student."

"Wait, Harry," Fred suddenly said, abandoning his childish jokes, which finally permitted Ron to leave the refugee of the red and golden pillows surrounding him, "Thalia isn't a Slytherin."

"Are you kidding me? She's an ancient Death Eater, how could she not be in Slytherin!?" he laughed. "The Sorting Hat definitely went wrong somewhere. So what house was she in? Ravenclaw?"

"She was a Gryffondor."

Harry couldn't believe it. How could the Gryffondor house, known for it's values of braveness and virtue, ever be soiled by the presence of a Death Eater? "Are… are you sure? How can you know?" Harry quietly stuttered. The twins had not realized that this information had affected him so badly, and were now bringing their attention back on Ron. George still took of his precious time to quickly deliver a coherent answer, which was rare in his case. "She told us last summer at a reunion… You remember Ron, the day she and Snape had arrived a little late…" he added at the intention of his brother, who was now covering his ears with his hands and loudly humming a Christmas song.

The next monday morning, Harry was welcomed in Defense Against the Dark Arts class by an angry looking Malfoy. "Potter, sit at the back," he simply said.

"What?" asked Harry, who would prefer dying than obeying Malfoy's orders.

"Sit at the back of the class, that way I won't have to stand the presence of those Mudbloods polluting the air around me," he said with disgust, staring at someone Harry could not see, but guessed was Hermione.

"Alright," Harry simply answered.

For the first time ever, he understood Malfoy. He had not appreciated Thalia's seating plan, and he was ready to do anything to avoid it: even to collaborate with his sworn enemy. As Malfoy left to warn a group of Gryffondors that had just arrived, Harry heard him mutter. "I just can't believe it."

"What?" Harry asked for the second time in about a minute. He was starting to feel the effects of his lack of sleep on his ability to understand common words and expressions.

"I can't believe she's being such a bitch. She's an old friend of my father, and I thought she would be less conventional than our stupid Headmaster," he turned back to answer.

The boy was about to leave again when he heard Harry giggle. Insulted, he came back to him, tightly clasping his wand. "Why are you laughing?" he asked, silently challenging Harry with his eyes.

"You call that conventional? She's the first teacher who's ever encouraged us to mix up and to ignore the houses." Malfoy, not knowing what to answer, simply stood in front of Harry, his mouth slightly opened. The Gryffondor continued, still grinning. "Actually," he said, "she might even suceed."

"How come?" Malfoy said, finally coming back to his senses.

"Well, she's making us collaborate… in order to stay apart. Don't you realize?" he added at the sight of the Slytherin's puzzled look. "Today, you spoke to Gryffondors just to make sure you wouldn't need to sit beside Gryffondors. You're talking to me… because you can't stand me and you won't take the risk to sit next to me today. You gave in and you abandoned part of your principles so you could save you principles. That woman is wicked smart," he simply added.

"Come on boys," Thalia said, appearing out of nowhere, "the class is about to start, and you can't attend it if you're standing in the corridors."

They both quickly entered the room, finding places near to their respective friends. Harry realized that though the students were less spread out than last class, it was hard to find more than two or three red uniforms together, and it was the same with the green robes. Harry saw Thalia analyze the disposal of the students, and then smile. She had accepted the new seating plan. As she started magically writing down an introduction on the board, Harry could see she was looking at him with an amused look on her face. He smiled back to her, and she finally broke the eye contact they had been holding for about half a minute. Nevertheless, as she walked down the aisle to get a mysterious cage that was at the back of the class, he saw her mouth the words: "Nice going." Harry chuckled alone on his uncomfortable seat, and he brought his eyes on Thalia just in time to see Malfoy was waving his wand in her back. He hit Hermione in the ribs and pointed to her with his chin what he had just seen. They nodded accordingly and they both drew their own wands. But before they could do anything, they saw a flash and Malfoy lying on the ground. Stunned, they looked at their teacher and discovered she had two wands in hand – her own and Malfoy's. She looked angry, but also quite disappointed. "Try using this spell again," she said before he even had time to utter a single word in his defense, "and I'll use it too. You'll discover that in this case the student won't overpass the master." Harry had not seen the spell in action, so he couldn't have said what actions it performed, but he would have bet his left hand that it was dark magic.

Since that day, Thalia had had a very hard time controlling Malfoy. Harry and his friends had thought at first that they would suit each other just fine, based on their cordial greetings and Thalia's apparent fondness for Lucius Malfoy, but they realised quickly enough that Thalia's new methods caused a great displeasure to Draco. Within a few weeks, he had turned nearly mad. In soon four and a half years of living with the boy, Harry had never see him so troublesome. Each and every class, he would do his possible to create chaos – and most of the time he would succeed. Also, Thalia refused to use any common punishments, such as giving out detention or withdrawing House Points. On the contrary, she insisted in assigning the disturbing student odd and painful tasks, when she wasn't plainly threatening them. Sadly, none of these ever manage to stop Malfoy from wrecking each and every class. The boy seemed to believe that anything that wouldn't appear in his student record had no importance at all, and therefore had no impact on his behavior. It was only after a few days that Haary understood his ennemy's logic: what didn't leave any written traces couldn't be shown to the only person Malfoy dreaded: his father. It took Thalia slightly longer to understand this, but when she did, she managed to turn this little fear to her advantage. Actually, to be honest, Malefoy was lucky she had used this avenue: if she had not been under the supervision of Dumbledore, Harry was sure she would have dug him a grave instead.