To Anne, one of the most challenging aspects of being a Hogwarts third-year was Double Potions. It wasn't that she hated the class, but having two blocks of potions had been tedious so far. Most of their time now was spent in brewing complicated potions that took more than one class period, sometimes leaving what was in their cauldron stewing for days. You had to come back to the classroom throughout the day at times and make sure whatever was brewing hadn't hardened up or gone too soggy.

What Anne did like about Double Potions was Professor Sharp. Some students thought him crotchety, but to her he was similar to Uncle Solomon—good hearted but with the personality of an Auror. It had occurred to Anne sometime last year that Aurors had seen some of the worst of humankind, and thus it wasn't surprising that both Uncle Solomon and Professor Sharp had a certain edge to them. Professor Sharp had also been wounded and left with a permanent limp. Still, she had begun considering that becoming an Auror might be a good career choice, especially because every time she wheedled a tale out of Uncle Solomon about his Auror days she found his stories so thrilling. Protecting the wizarding world from all things dark and horrible seemed so noble. Besides, you got a shiny, braw badge to wear.

Sharp had begun the current Potions class lecturing about the usage of common poisons by Dark Wizards. Simply because they were common did not mean they weren't useful, quite the contrary. A well-placed poisonous insect or magical creature could infect a wizard before he even knew what was happening, rendering him at the least distracted and at the most unconsciousness. A compromised wizard was more vulnerable to attack. Thus, today, they would learn to brew the Antidote to Common Poisons.

The trouble was, the crushing of ingredients was the most time-consuming aspect of the potion. Once you had completed pestling the ingredients and poured them into a cauldron, you had to wait for the potion to brew which could take between 30 to 40 minutes depending on your type of cauldron. Anne had a brass cauldron, and her recipe called for 34 minutes of waiting and watching to assure the brew didn't harden.

'So, who are you really hoping takes you to the ball?' Priscilla spoke quietly beside her over the soft bubbling and hissing that filled the room.

Anne stifled a sigh and continued to gaze into her cauldron. She was excited for the Halloween Ball and enjoyed talking about it at times, but Priscilla had talked about it almost constantly since it had been announced at the beginning of the year. 'I don't know.'

'How daring are you?'

Anne lifted a quizzical gaze to her friend.

Priscilla nodded across the room. 'Garreth Weasley. He's always looking at you during class.'

Anne abruptly turned her head. For a moment, Garreth was staring right at her, then he ducked his head and buried his nose in his potions book. Anne's stomach flipped uncomfortably. 'I…hardly talk to him.'

'That doesn't mean a boy doesn't pay attention.'

'But…Sebastian doesn't like him.'

'So? Who cares what your brother thinks. Whoever you choose to be with doesn't need to be approved by your brother.'

'I don't like him, either.'

'Oh?'

'I don't hate him, I mean, I don't like him like…like they say you're supposed to like someone if you're going to a ball.'

'Oh, you don't have to like someone much to go to a ball,' Priscilla said, glancing down at her own potion a moment. 'It's not like your choice has to mean anything. You simply go with someone who will be fun. I bet Garreth is loads of fun.'

Anne stole a furtive glance at Garreth again. He was still buried in his potions book, a very unusual sight; he was good at potions and already knew the book backwards and forwards. What would it be like to go with Garreth? A ball was simply a series of dances, not courting or anything, but a boy Sebastion didn't like for her first choice going to a ball still felt like it bordered on more than friendship.

Anne checked her potion again. Anyway, she couldn't have much in common with Garreth. She had more in common with… Her mouth went dry, and she dared to glance across at the table where Garreth was brewing, only her eyes slipped to the boy across from him who sat with his back to her, Ominis. Was Priscilla right? Did boys always pay attention?

Did Ominis guess that she had been the one to convince Sebastian they needed to buy him the gloves? That she had watched him in Potions being burned almost every class either by an accidental touch of his cauldron or ingredients flung out of a boiling brew? Ominis had complained about the burns for as long as they knew him; his wand-sight wasn't helpful in brewing. From what Anne understood, he could make out the shape of some objects but not much more than that. That's why in class she always saw him carefully lifting ingredients to touch and smell them. He could deduce the identity of almost any ingredient after handling it once.

Anne appreciated Ominis' steadiness in Potions. Garreth might have been skilled, but she personally felt Ominis was more so. The methodical way he went about preparing ingredients meant his results were almost always perfect, though he tended to focus on every flaw and mistake as minute as it might be. Ominis may have worked slower—Professor Sharp had allowed him to brew into lunch several times—but in Anne's estimation he produced better-quality potions than Garreth ever would.

'You should tell Garreth you won't mind if he wants to go with you to the ball,' Priscilla said.

Anne abruptly looked back at her friend, aware she had spent too much time gazing across the room and Priscilla had made assumptions. 'I'm not going to tell him that.'

'But—'

Anne fixed Priscilla with a fierce gaze. 'I don't want to go with him and I don't want to hear about it again.'

Priscilla huffed a breath and went back to her potion.

Anne contemplated the boiling teal liquid of her antidote. Priscilla was probably wrong. Ominis hadn't noticed anything. Sebastian had, though. He had called her a mother a dozen times this summer, and she'd snapped her wand at him each time. Trouble was, she did kind of feel motherly; she couldn't help it. Sebastian had lost their mother when he was little, and Ominis' mother had barely been a mother. For some reason, she had started to naturally fill the gap. She didn't want to smother them, but she felt…compelled to take care of them. Who else was going to do it?

Anne sighed. Was this part of growing up? Maturing? The girls had started to contemplate all the signs of 'coming of age,' twittering about it like Priscilla…well, maybe not Imelda. She didn't seem to care about anything but Quidditch.

Anne let her eyes fall on Ominis' back. Sebastian to his left was regaling him with some tale as Ominis laid his newly gloved hands alongside his cauldron without fear of being burned. Poor Ominis. Anne knew he wouldn't go to the ball anyway. He wouldn't be able to dance and hold his wand at the same time, and she knew no amount of cajoling would convince him to appear so awkward in front of the whole school.

Anne pushed all thoughts of boys out of her head. Her brew had cured. Time for the next step.