The next morning, the sun was blocked out by the overcast of clouds and Clara could see the flutters of snow in the window from her cot. She awoke feeling the best she had felt since she arrived and that was in part due to the full head of hair she once again had. It was a frightful mess and needed a good brushing—but the mass of ashy brown hair was hers again and that was what mattered. It fell nearly to her back, making it the longest it had ever been.

When she asked Madame Pomphrey to conjure her a hair brush, the nurse did her even better—she gave Clara a wand. The weight of it in her hand filled a hollowness she didn't realize she had and she promptly threw herself at the nurse for a hug of gratitude. It didn't matter that the wand felt clunky and awkward compared to her original—she truly felt like a witch again.

Madame Pomphrey was attempting to tell Clara of the wands origins when they were interrupted by Clara's new Head of House.

Professor Sprout looked dramatically younger compared to her peers; Clara almost didn't recognize her when she first came to greet her in the Hospital Wing. She had been informed of a transfer student's late arrival and came to preform her Head of House Duties. Clara, admittedly, only half listened to the kind herbology professor's ramble's about the school. It was hard to feign ignorance about the school she had attended since she was 11 years old.

When Professor Sprout went over her class schedule, it was easier to pay attention, though it was practically the same coursework she had just taken the year prior. Today would be Herbology with Sprout, followed by Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall. Lastly, she'd have Potions with Professor Slughorn. She longed for the feelings of excitement she felt the first time around but she simply didn't have it in herself.

Before long she was led to her common room. Professor Sprout remarked that it was good that their house was situated so close to the Great Hall—she would never be late to a meal. In truth, the common room was located immediately outside of the castle's kitchens. Clara had to hold back a snort when Professor Sprout used her wand to pound out a rhythm on a barrel to reveal the doorway. She always thought that was a rumor.

Her heart fluttered with a mixture of anxiety and curiosity as she stood before the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room. The large barrel near the kitchens had just opened to reveal a cozy, welcoming space. Stepping inside, she was greeted by a warm, honeyed glow that emanated from the circular room's earthy walls.

The common room was adorned with nature-inspired décor — a rustic haven that felt like a hidden sanctuary. Soft, plush couches and armchairs in various shades of earthy brown and yellow were neatly arranged around the circular room, inviting students to unwind after a long day of classes.

Large windows decorated with cheerful yellow and black curtains allowed the morning sunlight to spill in, casting a gentle glow across the wooden floors. The windows provided glimpses of the lush grounds and the gentle rustling of leaves in the nearby gardens.

Clara's gaze was drawn to the low, wooden ceiling adorned with intricate carvings of plants and animals, giving the room a whimsical touch. A friendly fireplace crackled at one end of the room, its hearth decorated with a cozy rug that was soft beneath her feet.

Despite her worries, she couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging wash over her. The Hufflepuff common room radiated a welcoming charm that spoke to her heart, promising loyal friendships and a cozy place to call a temporary home.

There was a distinct lack of students about the common room, however, Clara imagined that was because it was simply too early. Breakfast wasn't to start for another hour and Hufflepuff's weren't exactly known for being prompt. Patient, sure. But never prompt.

Clara had given up on looking for students when she saw movement from one of the plush armchairs before the fire. A boy with a familiar face she couldn't quite place came into view; His sandy hair was cropped short and his eyes were light blue. He wore his school uniform sharply with his Head Boy badge on proud display.

"Ah, Mr. Diggory." Professor Sprout greeted, "I'd like to introduce you to our newest Hufflepuff—a late arrival from Ilvermory; This is Clara Galen. Clara, this is Amos Diggory, Hufflepuff Head Boy. He and our Head Girl, Fiona McRae, will help you get acclimated to our school."

Clara forced a smile across her face but inside she was screaming—she wasn't particularly close with Cedric Diggory but meeting his father at an age his son wouldn't live to see unnerved her greatly. He must have taken her anxiety for shyness and smiled warmly back at her. When Clara saw his eyes linger on her scars she unconsciously tucked her head lower and averted her eyes.

"Pleasure to meet you, Galen." He said cheerfully, "Always good to have another honey badger—" He looked to Professor Sprout sheepishly, "Fiona should be here soon; She must be having a lie in, I—"

"Not to worry, Mr. Diggory, not to worry." She interrupted. She clasped her hands together excitedly before continuing, "Well, I best be off. Ms. Galen, I leave you in good hands and I trust you'll contact me if you're ever in need. See you at your first class!"

And she was off, bustling away with a hum. Clara shifted on her feet awkwardly, unsure of what to say or how to act. She cursed Dumbledore in her head, wondering why on earth he thought this might be a good idea. Amos, for his part, seemed completely oblivious to Clara's discomfort; He chirped away about his thoughts on the school and gave her a thorough rundown on their house's current quidditch standing. Once he was on the topic of quidditch, it seemed he couldn't stop. He was still rattling on about it when they were interrupted by a thick highlands accent.

"Ay, ye made a mistake letting 'im bring up quidditch." The girl said, "Amos, don' bore her—n'one's that patient, no' even us Hufflepuffs." She smiled broadly at Clara, "Fiona McRae, Head Girl."

"Clara Galen, new Hufflepuff." Clara replied, forcing a smile.

By the time Clara was escorted to the Great Hall it was already bustling with students eating breakfast and chattering loudly. It was just the same as it was in her time; Each house had its own table and there was very little inter-house mingling. Hufflepuff was second from the left, between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. She sat herself on the bench next to Fiona and stared at the table uncomfortably as her new peers ate.

She bitterly thought that she would be uncomfortable and anxious every instant until she returned home—if she returned home. Students from every house kept glancing at her subtly and it sent shivers up her spine. There had certainly never been a late transfer in all her years at Hogwarts, either, so she imagined she'd be doing the same if the roles were reversed. But it was unnerving—knowing that everyone in the room was stealing looks at her faded and worn school robes and marred skin. She pulled her arms up in her sleeves and hunched forward, wishing herself invisible.

She spent a month locked away in the Hospital Wing wishing to be outside and now that she was outside, all the wanted to do was go running back. Every instant in the Great Hall felt like an eternity and she let out a sigh of relief when it was time to head to her first class. She waved off help from her classmates and trudged to the greenhouse without looking up.

Clara had never been particularly interested in Herbology and it seemed not even burning to death and waking up decades in the past was enough to change that. It didn't help that her class was shared by Ravenclaw's and their insistent array of questions made her grit her teeth. She thought Professor Sprout was pleasant enough and plants were at least sort of interesting; But it simply wasn't as interesting as DADA or Potions. Regardless, she listened attentively to the lecture and refrained from eye rolling.

Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall went particularly well because of the HeadMistress' lack of tolerance for distractions. When her classmates ogled her for too long, Professor McGonagall would conveniently call on them for an answer. They caught on quick and the glances stopped for the remainder of the Vanishing lecture. Clara had learned the Vanishing Spell in her last year but it still felt good when she successfully managed to vanish a mouse on the first try. Her new wand felt stiff but it preformed exactly as she meant it to.

Her last class of the day was Potions with Professor Slughorn down in the dungeons. She felt a bit of sadness in her stomach as she crossed the threshold of her once-favorite class and took in the worn out benches and unlit cauldrons. The sadness didn't last and it was quickly replaced with panic when she saw Slytherin's slipping into the room, including her former potion's master himself. It was downright eerie, seeing her teacher as a student in the classroom that would one day be his.

He had walked right past her without so much as glancing in her direction and seated himself next to another a tall Slytherin with brown hair; Clara didn't have a name for the face but she knew he was, or rather would become, a Death Eater. Clara felt like she wanted to vomit. Professor Slughorn appeared from his office and immediately caught sight of her.

"Ah, you must be Miss Galen!" He chirped, clasping his hands together expressively. "Headmaster Dumbledore told me all about you, my dear."

It seemed every student turned to stare at her at his words and her heart sank. Damn this man's insufferable friendly nature. She was glad she was clutching her leather bag so tightly; It made her shaking less noticeable. Numbly, she smiled as shy a smile as she could muster and nodded.

"The class has been paired up for the term, I'm afraid." Slughorn continued, "But not to worry, dear, I'll put you just here—" He gestured toward an empty bench near his own. "—and I'll see to it myself you don't fall behind."

She moved as quickly as she could to her appointed chair, tossing her bag in the vacant chair next to her. She could feel the eyes of her classmates and she wished she was brave enough to glare back. But she kept her face as blank as she could and sat ramrod straight, eyes averted. But Slughorn wasn't finished drawing attention to her, it seemed.

"Tell me, have you any experience brewing Shrinking Solutions?"

"Ah, yes sir…" She replied awkwardly. She thought about the process in her head and reckoned she could probably brew a shrinking potion without needing the recipe. She just took this class…

"Excellent, excellent!" He exclaimed, "That's what we'll be doing today. Now, everyone—"

And he was off, onto his lecture about the practical (and not so practical) uses of shrinking solutions and its proper brew methods. With most of the students paying attention to the lecture, Clara took a moment to look around furtively.

She didn't recognize most of the students—but she knew with perfect certainty that many of the Slytherin's on the opposite side of the classroom would go on to be Death Eater's and that sick feeling came back. She couldn't see Snape from where she was seated but he had to have been able to see her; She didn't like how that made her feel—like prey that couldn't see the predator.

Slughorn had moved on from the lecture and tasked each of the students with making their own and she was happy for an assignment that wouldn't leave her much room to think; Potions required constant attention and just the slightest variance could be catastrophic. She always liked the precision that potions demanded—but she loved the potential risks.

Clara carefully measured and combined a precise amount of powdered moonstone and daisy root in her cauldron. As the potion simmered, she added a splash of crushed fairy wings, causing the potion to emit a faint shimmer. She meticulously timed the brewing process, watching for the telltale change in color from turquoise to a pale shade of lilac. With a swift wave of her wand, she whispered the incantation to stabilize the potion's magical properties, and a sense of accomplishment filled her as she witnessed the liquid steadily shrink and condense, signifying her success.

If she had thought it through properly, she might have been more clumsy with her process; At the very least she could have done it slower. But she was so absorbed in the work she didn't realize she had finished before most of the groups around her. A quick glance behind her saw Snape and his partner bottling up their perfectly lilac solution under Slughorn's watchful gaze.

She had begun bottling hers, as well, when Slughorn spoke immediately behind her, nearly making her spill the solution.

"Ah, excellent work Miss Galen! I dare say, it couldn't be more perfect. Iivemory must have very good teachers, indeed."

She hummed noncommittally and offered him the flask of Shrinking Solution. He examined the clear flask momentarily and chuckled.

"Why, Messers Snape and Rosier will finally have some competition, it seems." He remarked laughingly, looking over at the pair.

There were hushed snickers across the room and Clara didn't have to look back to know the two were glaring daggers at the back of her head; Slytherin's didn't like to be challenged, especially when their Head of House instigates it. She thought it ironic that Snape should feel challenged by her potions skills when he himself was responsible for most of her education.

When Slughorn finally walked away from her bench she chanced a glance back and regretted it instantly when she locked eyes with Snape. He was still glaring at her, his black eyes making it particularly threatening. She wanted to look away but she was frozen, like a deer in headlights. Memories flashed before her eyes unbidden, years of lessons and flashes of potions and the acidic smell of brewing smoke—all invoked by his stern gaze. His glare deepened as she stared blankly at him, transfixed.

She had seen that glare countless times in her tenure at Hogwarts—but seeing it in youth, unmarred by the chaos of the second war, knocked the wind out of her. She recalled feeling regretful that she didn't know more about the Rise of Lord Voldemort but it seemed it didn't matter; If she couldn't be sent back, she would see it all firsthand.

Clara retreated to the comforting haven of her Hufflepuff dormitory as quickly as she could. She closed the curtains around her four-poster bed, seeking solace in the tight space. With a heavy heart, she let herself crumble beneath the covers, releasing a torrent of pent-up emotions that had been building throughout the day. The soft sobs echoed gently within the confines of her private space, as she grappled with the overwhelming stress of her predicament.

The image of the young Severus Snape, so familiar yet out of place, haunted her thoughts, sending shivers down her spine. His presence had stirred an unsettling mixture of nostalgia, apprehension, and the uncanny feeling of being a stranger in a time not her own.

But above all, there was fear. Pure, unadulterated fear that clung to her like a shadow. A fear of what Severus Snape would become and the knowledge of the darkness that lay ahead for him—and herself as a result. Clara was not just a time-traveler; she was a witness to a future she couldn't control, and the fear of what lay ahead rattled her soul.