Daphne Greengrass hadn't magically appeared in our dorm during the night, and when morning rolled in the bed next to mine was still eerily intact, the bedspread smooth and untouched, the four-poster's curtains properly tucked in, no trunk to be found by its foot. It felt deeply wrong, and it took me a few seconds until I realised that it was because I'd never seen an unused Hogwarts bed before: the house-elves made sure our trunks were always waiting for us by the time we first entered our dorm at the beginning of term, and took them to the train after we'd already left for breakfast. The empty spot next to Daphne's bed was... ominous.

The other girls must have been thinking something along those same lines, because the mood in our dorm —the next door over from the one we'd occupied last year— was just a tad too quiet that first morning; even accounting for the tiredness of the previous day's trip and banquet. Too expectant, all silent stares and avoidant gazes.

Even Parkinson seemed to be caught flat-footed at the princess' absence. With Greengrass missing, she was now the highest status witch among the five of us sharing the dorm —as per Slytherin's absurd traditions. I highly doubted she wasn't very aware of that; but oddly enough she wasn't taking advantage of the situation. No ordering us around, no establishing new humiliating rules for us poor half-bloods to follow, no nothing.

Not yet, at least. Perhaps she was simply bidding her time.

I tried to gather some information on the matter when we eventually descended towards the common room. Prefect Farley stood in the middle of a circle of a dozen or so firsties, her hair tied in her usual ponytail, her eyes sharp as she towered over the newest crop of snakes; explaining to them the basics of daily life at Hogwarts that she hadn't the night before:

"—but never between classes, only in your free periods. Now, today I will show you the way to the Great Hall, so keep close to me if you want to eat your breakfast in time. But if you get lost some other day, simply remember to look for the Grand Staircase: it does connect to the dungeons not far from here —I will show you where— so that's always a safe bet even if it's a longer walk. And I can see you hovering there, Sarramond, what it is that you want? It's only our first day!"

"Ah, morning Gemma," I said. And sure, we weren't in first name basis, but I figured it would be good if the firsties thought that we were. When the Prefect didn't seem to mind it, I continued: "I was wondering: do you have any idea of what happened to Greengrass? When she'll arrive?"

The older girl took a quick step towards me, lowering her tone into a more private conversation: "You don't know? I figured you would, being part of her circle."

"Know what?"

She shrugged. "Well, I don't know, myself. Only that apparently she had a matter of some importance come up; but Professor Snape didn't feel like sharing the details."

Or maybe he didn't know them himself either. Hell, I hoped he didn't; it would be horrible for Snape to know what was going on in my sort-of-friend's life when I had no idea myself. Still, I had to wonder why Daphne wouldn't have sent her owl with a quick letter to any of us girls, tell us what's what.

"Did he say when she'd be back, at least?" I asked.

"No, but he gave us the impression it shouldn't take too long; that's why her bed is still in your dormitory. And now, if you don't mind... I do have to bring this lot to the Great Hall, and I can see they're starting to disperse again." With that, she turned sharply towards one of the young boys who was walking up to the stairs back to the dorms. "Oi! Where do you think you're going, Berrow? Come back here!"

I left the Prefect to her tasks and joined Tracey and Perks, recounting what little I'd learned on the way to the Great Hall, where we were welcomed by a foggy morning of grey skies, the usual Hogwarts breakfast fare, and the little show of Ron Weasley receiving a howler from his mother, scolding him for stealing a certain car. This caused a loud wave of jeers to come out of the Slytherin table, to which I gladly joined. But I couldn't avoid feeling a slight, stupid twang of envy directed at the redhead, chagrined boy; simply because I knew I had nobody back home who would ever care enough to send me a howler.

Whatever. We were also welcomed by our new schedules, and I examined mine idly while spreading a heavy amount of butter on my toast. I wasn't the only one among my housemates to groan when we discovered our first class of the day would be Transfiguration –McGonagall didn't subscribe to the idea that the first class of the year should be a low-intensity, introductory affair. But hey, at least it wasn't Potions, right?

No. Potions would be our last class for the day, a class that we still shared with the Gryffindors. As we did Defence Against the Dark Arts too, which last year we'd attended alongside the Ravenclaws. We now shared Flying with the house of the eagles instead, appropriately enough.

Now that was a change, and I had to wonder if it was an expected one according to the timeline, or one somehow caused by my own intromissions. I couldn't remember that level of detail from my fore-memories, though, and that was without taking into account the differences between the books and films. So I would have to play it by ear.

A possible explanation for why they'd switched the houses around became apparent later that very same morning, when we gathered on the grounds outside for our first Flying lesson of the year:

"What does she mean, we're going to play Quidditch?!" I asked Tracey, my voice alarmed as I eyed the traitorous Madam Hooch. The woman didn't look at all like she was making a poor taste joke; and she in fact was brazen enough to signal us to follow her as she shot towards the Quidditch pitch atop her own broomstick.

"Relax, it's going to be fun!" replied Tracey, smiling like a lunatic. "Honest, I was dreading this year would be like the last one, always doing laps."

"Laps are great," I muttered, mounting my broom and rising carefully in the air. "Nobody ends up with broken limbs when we're doing laps. I like laps."

But my opinion seemed to be in the minority, and I soon had to increase my speed not to fall behind the pack. We landed at the centre of the Quidditch pitch's oval and next to a box of equipment; the stands and towers around us completely empty of spectators. I bit my lip and grasped my broomstick's handle with a tight hand, trying my best not to tremble as Madam Hooch used her wand to reposition and conjure brand new duplicates of the goalposts above our heads.

"There are simply too many of you for a single match," she explained, "so we'll need to split the field in two separate matches. Slytherin boys will play against Ravenclaw boys on the left side, and you girls will do the same on the right side, over there. Now, since the matches will last for the entire duration of our class, there won't a need for having a snitch in play, or seekers for that matter–"

That was met with a wall of groans and mutterings, Draco's very loud 'Just what poor excuse for Quidditch is this?' among them. I was sure Madam Hooch must have heard it, but she forged ahead as if nobody had spoken:

"And since most of you are still learning how to master your broomsticks, we will make it a little easier on you, with only one bludger in each match. Is that clear?" She opened the box and extracted the bats, quaffles and bludgers, closing it again before the little snitch inside had time to escape. "Now, arrange the team positions among yourselves and pick up the equipment, quickly!"

I walked robotically to meet with the rest of the Slytherin girls, dragging my broom after me as I eyed the two iron balls resting on the grass; wondering if there was some excuse I could use to get out of having to play. But none came to mind in the five steps that it took me to reach my huddling housemates. My teammates too now, I guessed.

Hooch hadn't said anything about choosing a captain, but Parkinson had eagerly taken that role upon herself, assigning the positions to the rest of us: "Millicent, you are the beater. I reckon we'll only need one with a single bludger; and besides, we're missing a player. Davis, you can be the keeper; and–"

"I want to play chaser," interrupted Tracey, who was bouncing on her feet as if wanting to get over all this talk and just jump into the air already.

Parkinson didn't seem to like it, but she nodded after a beat. "Fine. You play keeper then, Sarramond."

"Isn't the keeper the one who is supposed to intercept the quaffle with... you know, with their own body?" I asked. "I think I'd rather play as... well, as anything else, really. Why can't Bulstrode play keeper instead? She is... uh... she has a stronger build than me."

Bulstrode shot me a narrow look, but it was Parkinson who seemed determined to deny my pretty reasonable request, with an ugly sneer on her ugly face:

"Tough luck, Sarramond. You're the only one too poor to afford your own broom," she commented offhandedly, pointing at the school broomstick in my hands —that was missing about half its bristles. "Flying that thing you'll be too slow to be of any use in any other position, really."

It grated, having her point out the obvious truth to the others: now that we were second years, the prohibition of not bringing brooms into Hogwarts didn't apply to us any longer. And so the rest of the students had all brought their own, higher quality broomsticks from home, all slick aerodynamic shapes and varnished woods. All except for me, of course; I was the only one still using the school provided ones.

I looked at the other girls, but none spoke in my defence. Even Tracey had her gaze lost on the grass, as if she were looking for a Galleon she'd dropped or something.

Traitors, the whole lot of them.

I shrugged, trying to look impassive and as if it made no difference to me at all, and I ambled my way to the equipment box to grab the protective helmet and pads, no longer interested in the discussion. I felt ridiculous putting on the weather-stained helmet, but yeah... it was better than having a bloody iron ball hit my noggin, right?

Oh, how I hated this sport.

At least it wasn't windy, or so foggy anymore, or raining, or freezing cold. I feared what Hooch might have in store for us for the rest of this year. The only reprieve was that Flying wasn't one of the most important classes, and so it didn't take as much precedence in our schedule as say, Potions or Transfiguration. Which thankfully meant I would have time to recover after today before I'd need to go through this nightmare again.

And by that time, Greengrass would certainly be back with us. So perhaps I could drop the keeper position on her shoulders —even though the very idea of the high-born girl ever wearing the protective gear I'd just donned was so unlikely as to be doomed from the start, simply out of sheer unbelievability.

So yeah, I was probably stuck as keeper now for the rest of the year. Great.

On the plus side, our rivals weren't the Gryffindors. And I figured that would be the possible explanation as to why the school had seen fit to switch us around, if Hooch had warned the powers that be of her plan of having us play friendly matches. Because there was no way in hell that a Quidditch match between us and the lions could ever be called 'friendly'.

Or between us and the Hufflepuffs, after what happened last year. The Ravenclaws were probably the only safe option here, truth be told. And that suited me just fine now, as the girls that faced us —as we gathered and mounted our brooms under Hooch's piercing yellow eyes— didn't look like the most athletic bunch.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle, released the balls, and we all rose into the air to our respective positions. I parked myself in front of the middle hoop, and realised with some surprise that the rings were much wider up close than what they'd always seemed to me from back on the ground —large enough for myself to pass through, with plenty of space left over. So in other words: they were wide enough that I had no hope to block them entirely with just my tiny twelve year old body.

And that was one more reason why Bulstrode should have been keeper, not me. Ugh!

A few minutes into the match my nerves were finally starting to calm down, though the old broom I was riding still shook slightly as I manoeuvred myself, as if reflecting my insecurity as I turned in mid-air to go from one ring to the next in a lazy patrol path. So far I hadn't needed to intervene at all, in fact. Thanks in no small part to Bulstrode, who was enjoying her role as beater perhaps a bit too much, truth be told; she hit the bludger and sent it careening towards any Ravenclaw who dared enter our side of the field with a savage, brutal intensity.

But the calm didn't last, and soon enough Bulstrode miscalculated and let Sue Li pass through. Sue Li, who was flying straight at me with the quaffle well secured in her hand, a determined intention written all over her focused face.

I wasn't sure what to do, other than trying my best at getting in the middle of her flight path and being a general nuisance. But still, I had to fight my well-honed survival instincts to do so: the idea of purposefully getting in the way of someone flying straight at you at speed was antithetical to the survivalist part of my lizard brain who was screaming internally: 'No! You dodge things that come at you, not get in their way, you idiot!'

It did the trick, though, forcing Li to course-correct if she didn't want to crash straight into me, plunging the both of us to our deaths below. She flew to the side and lost her window of opportunity, passing the quaffle to the Patil girl, who promptly lost it to Perks when a bludger hit her side.

With that I let out a relieved breath. I had saved the first attack, at least. Perhaps this wouldn't be as hard, right?

Well, wrong.

It happened pretty fast. One moment they were fighting next to the Ravenclaw side, and the next moment someone threw the quaffle straight towards the top hoop of the three I was supposed to guard. I pushed my broom upwards, but I was already way too late, and the ball passed cleanly through the ring.

It wouldn't have been that bad, if not because bloody Sue Li had seen what had happened and quickly realised that my broom —and my flying too, probably; but let's stick to the broom here, okay?— wasn't up to par. Too slow to react, to arrest my momentum and switch from one hoop to the next in time when the circumstances changed.

So when she approached our side again a couple of minutes later, she aimed herself straight towards the top ring, waited until I was half-way there and then fell downwards with a spiralling pirouette I had no hope to match, sending the quaffle through the now unprotected bottom ring.

It happened again some time later; and then twice more, and again with Lisa Turpin. That time I'd been expecting it and had feinted my first move; but even then it wasn't enough. I stretched my arm, felt my fingers graze the quaffle as it passed right in front of me, and saw it sail through the goalpost.

"Fuck!" I shouted, earning a 'Language!' from Madam Hooch below us.

"Will you get your head in the game already, Sarramond?" asked Parkinson, approaching me all high and mighty. "It's like we don't have a keeper at all!"

"Perhaps you want to trade brooms, Pansy?" I shot back. "Maybe this one will fit you better: it's slow and clumsy... so just like you."

Pansy aimed herself straight towards me, showing me her teeth in an angry rictus. But before she could say or do anything, Tracey noticed the escalating tension and shot towards us with a quick, agile manoeuvrer: "Hey, stop it, you two! Remember, we are in the same house; we don't show disagreement in public!"

She aimed that mostly at me, judging by her knowing look, something which I found tremendously unjust. But still I nodded and then said to Parkinson: "Right. Not much I can do if my broom is slower than theirs," which was quite true, since I wasn't Harry bloody Potter to compensate for inferior gear with amazing flying skills. "But tell Bulstrode to wait until they get closer to the hoops before sending the bludger at them. If they have to dodge, that will give me some more time."

She looked like she wanted to argue the point further, but we couldn't exactly stay put there and debate with the game still going on; and so the girl parted ways with a reluctant nod, passing by Bulstrode in her way back to —hopefully— relay the new instructions. At least I hoped it was that, and she wouldn't be instructing her friend to send the bludger at my face instead.

"Just keep calm and loose, like we talked about last year," said Tracey to me after Pansy left, in a lower voice. "You're not going to fall, Sylvia. You're past that point already."

"Yeah."

"And... uhm... try to stop the quaffle too?"

"Yeah. Go back, Tracey, they need you there."

She hesitated for a moment, then gave me a sharp nod and turned to join the fray at speed. She intercepted a pass from Patil and sent the quaffle swiftly towards the opposite goalpost. Unfortunately, it was stopped by the Ravenclaw keeper, who didn't appear to be having any of the same difficulties with her own broom as I did with mine.

The game continued, and the next time Sue Li charged at me and tried her little misdirection trick, Bulstrode was prepared: a murderous bludger impacted the girl's right leg with a loud, nasty crunch. She exclaimed in pain, wobbling for a moment before throwing the quaffle at my ring; a ring that by that point I was already in front of. Not that it was necessary, because her aim was so off that the ball flew inoffensively past my side.

And I must have celebrated that a bit too effusively, because Li flashed me a single raised finger as she returned to her side of the field. And yeah, I hoped nobody would dare give me those talks again about how healthy sports were, how they bred camaraderie and such.

There were a couple further attacks, one by her and another by Turpin, both of them foiled in no small part by Bulstrode's proactive violence: she sent another cannonball-like bludger at Turpin, and then simply charged at Li, trying to club her with the bat. Something that would have surely caused Madam Hooch to intervene if she wasn't already too busy dealing with Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle over by the other end of the pitch. Li managed to outmanoeuvre her, though, launching the quaffle at the hoops; but I was already there and ready to stop it. I reached with my padded gloved hand, and for a critical second I thought it would slip past, but then the ball hit my palm and bounced away obediently.

Finally! I was still riding the success when Madam Hooch's whistle sounded at last a few minutes later and we all descended to the ground, only to learn that our strategy had came too little too late, and the Ravenclaw girls had indeed won the match.

"It's a stupid sport anyway," I muttered angrily as we walked back towards the castle. "I just hope it won't be like this the whole year."

"Losing?" asked Malfoy, who was strutting around after the boys had won their own match —illegally, according to the Ravenclaws. "It will, if you insist in flying that old thing and dragging your team back. I saw you in Diagon Alley, why didn't you just purchase a new broomstick then?"

"Because she's too poor for that, of course," commented Parkinson, with a malicious smile on her face.

"Oh, of course," agreed Malfoy. "Merlin knows which misery she lives around, in that Muggle orphanage!"

"One: not an orphanage, and two: don't be dense, Parkinson; I can afford a bloody broom. I just didn't think I'd need one for this year." I shrugged and added: "Besides, it's not like I'd get that many opportunities to fly it outside of school, no?... so why bother?"

"Well, you better find one and quickly," she snapped back. "I just refuse to be humiliated again by that upstart Sue Li, and that mudblood Turpin!"

I rolled my eyes, but she was right that I needed something better if this was going to be a common occurrence; I didn't enjoy being humiliated either, or treated as a hindrance to the team. But being forced to use my hard-earned money to purchase a broom out of all things, it irked me.

Although perhaps there was another, better option there.

I'd need to come back to it later, though. Because then there was Potions.

It was the last class of our schedule for the day, and we and the Gryffindors entered the empty classroom with the uneasy anticipation of being in the general neighbourhood of Severus Snape, never knowing what his mood would be like when he deigned joined us. And while most of the other students mechanically walked up to the same desks they'd used the previous year, my situation wasn't as straightforward: because I wasn't a pariah anymore.

Tracey seemed to be aware of that, and that the most natural pairing right now would be for her to sit with me; but I could see her hesitation at the thought of informing Perks —her partner last year— that they'd no longer share a desk. It should have been fine —Perks could always sit with Greengrass, yet another logical pairing— but of course the heiress wasn't here. And I didn't think Zabini —Daphne's previous partner— would take the loss and being forced to sit with one of the Gryffindors with grace; without attempting something first. Not if his suspicious look at us three girls as he approached his usual desk was anything to go by.

And it would be just too easy of a play, because Snape being like he was he wouldn't tolerate both Zabini and Perks sitting on their own for even a single class, just because Daphne wasn't here. No, he would certainly demand that either they sit together —which would be devastating to us three girls, once Greengrass returned to discover that we'd collectively managed to expel her from the Slytherin side of the room— or that one of them sit with a Gryffindor. And that one would end up being Perks —because half-blood.

It was amazing, the level of casual politicking already expected out of us snakes; the Gryffindors probably didn't have these issues. Tracey looked at me expectantly, biting her lip. I suspected she actually wanted to sit with me; it was just that she didn't want to be the one to tell Perks.

And Perks was of course also very aware of this, of the whole situation. I could see her working through it, probably trying to come up with a counter-scheme in case I said anything now. You didn't last long in Slytherin if you didn't develop a sixth sense for this kind of thing. Or at least, didn't last long if you weren't a pure-blood. People like Crabbe and Goyle could afford to spend their lives walking around without ever looking at anything in close detail.

Not me, though. And yeah, it was suddenly a very thorny, delicate situation I found myself in. I had all the right in the world to ask Tracey to sit with me —nobody could ever fault me for that!— but at the same time it risked toppling that line of dominoes that ended with me losing face in Greengrass' little circle; a circle I pretty much needed. Because I simply refused to go back to the outcast's life.

I said: "So... uhm..."

It was Hermione Granger who saved us, in the end. I stopped when I saw her approaching us, her bag of books and other assorted school paraphernalia clasped in her arms. She hesitated for a moment upon meeting our combined gazes, but then she visibly steeled herself and walked up to me.

"Hello," she said. "Er– would you... would you like to be Potions partners this year too, Sarramond?"

Which I had not been expecting; because sure, I did help the Trio defeat Quirrell, but I also was a stinking snake who did a lot of shit to them last year that I knew they didn't approve of. More so Hermione, with how morally rigid and holier-than-thou she could be.

I guess my widened eyes and stunned silence made her nervous, because she started talking very quickly: "I mean, we did well last year, didn't we? I got an Outstanding, what about you? I was the only one in Gryffindor to get one. And... er– I'm guessing Professor Snape will want me to sit with one of the Slytherins in any case, so I thought that... seeing as we already know each other and can work together well..."

"Better the devil you know?" I asked with a smirk.

That took the wind straight out of her sails: "Oh... uhm– well, if you don't want..."

Wait... was this what she'd been wanting to say to me all those times before? In the train too? Bloody hell, talk about making a mountain out of a molehill.

"No... I mean, yes, it's fine. We could do that," I said, turning to look at the two other girls next to me. "Right? You could sit together too, like last year."

Perks nodded eagerly, possible thanking the heavens for Hermione's intercession. Tracey, though, she looked disappointed, and I saw her bracelet flash blue —I had to warn her about that, it wasn't the wisest thing to wear around the other Slytherins— but then gave me a hesitant nod.

Yeah... she wasn't an idiot, though. She probably understood this worked best for me; even if it might come as something of a disappointment.

But in fact, it worked great for me on a number of levels, I realised as I sit next to the frizzy haired girl —in the exact same seats we had occupied the entire last year. This meant I would definitely get another 'Outstanding' in Potions by the end of this year too, as long as I didn't flunk the exam completely; and also guaranteed that I would retain some level of indirect access to the comings and goings of the Golden Trio, which couldn't hurt either.

"So, uhm... did you have a good summer, Granger?" I asked her, trying my best at being social and nice and beginning that long road of worming myself back into her good graces.

She paused in her flipping through the course textbook, looking at me with some surprise. Then said: "Oh... yes. We went to France, my parents and me. We–"

I beamed at her. "Really? Where to in France? Paris?"

"Yes, and–"

"Of course. I guessed so, everybody goes to Paris. Did you try the crêpes?"

"Er–"

"The Montparnasse district is possibly best for them, but I'd give it all to be at one of those kiosks at the Jardin du Luxembourg right now, rather than here. With some music, too... and... some people too..." I shook my head, as if I was a dog trying to rid myself of the unbidden memory.

"Oh, have you–?"

"I got one of the house-elves in the kitchens to cook French dishes for me last year," I misdirected instead. "Plixiette. It was great while it lasted, but after Potter developed that case of... you know... poisoning?"

"Yes. Of co–"

"Well, I was forced to go back to the same boring sh– uhm, stuff as everybody else. But I was thinking, maybe you could ask the Headmaster?"

"Ask the–?"

"He favours you, you know." I shrugged. "You, Potter and Weasley. So if you go to him and petition to have French cuisine reinstated... well, I reckon you'd have a good chance at it. Better you than me, at any rate. And you'd make Plixiette happy too. You like house-elves being happy, don't you? So yeah... just drop some mentions to that, and how it would remind you of the oh-so-very-happy memories you made with your parents at summer? That would help too; the word to remember here is 'happy'."

"What?"

"Yeah; it's like Dumbledore is a lock and 'happy' is its key. It's pavlovian, I think. And that would–"

"Silence!" shouted Snape, entering the Potions classroom and looking at each of us in turn, as if curious whether somebody would be enough of an idiot as to keep talking. Potter, maybe. I shut my own mouth with a snap. "Today, you will brew a Manegro potion. Weasley! Under what other name can you find this potion in your book?"

A tense silence.

"No? Five points from Gryffindor. I see it's too much to ask for you dimwits to open your textbooks. Does anybody here know the answer?"

Nobody moved, except for Hermione next to me, who raised her hand. I had figured she'd know better by now, but I guessed old habits must die hard.

Snape, of course, pretended like she didn't exist. But then his eyes landed on me.

"Sarramond?" he asked, the complete git.

"Uhm..."

"Hair..." whispered Hermione.

"Hair-growing Potion!" I burst out.

Snape narrowed his eyes at me for a moment, then said: "...Correct... Ten points to Slytherin. What are you waiting for, then? Open your books and start preparing the ingredients! We don't have all day!"

"Thanks," I muttered to Hermione once my Head of House was out of hearing range; even though it was her fault for attracting the bitter bat's attention in the first place.

She simply nodded. "Should we split the tasks like last year, then?"

"I'd rather do more of the actual brewing this time," I admitted. It was more work, and more delicate work, but I didn't want to reach the end of year's exam and find out Hermione had been carrying me on her shoulders all those months, find myself unable to complete whatever assignment Snape challenged us with. "Maybe we can turn this year?"

She hesitated for a moment, but then nodded, switching positions with me. "Very well. I'll go and gather the ingredients, then. You can get started with the boiling."

"Uh-huh," I muttered, reaching under the cauldron to start the fire.

"Oh, remember to–"

"Set the fire low at first; yeah, Granger, I know that."

"Yes. Of course."

Still, I noticed she pretended to be reading the list of ingredients off the book for a while longer than strictly necessary —which in her case was no time at all, as I was sure she probably had it memorised already— as she waited for me to finish setting the fire before leaving for the cupboard.

I shook my head, smiling to myself. Hopefully it wouldn't be like this the entire year. Would it?

I busied myself with the cauldron, measuring the temperature again and again; and so I barely noticed when she came back and dropped all the ingredients on the table. She went to the book again, flipping back and forth, then moved some of the ingredients around, then back to the book...

"What's the issue?" I whispered.

"Oh... It's just..."

"What?"

But rather than telling me, she stood up, hand raised and facing Snape. When the professor didn't acknowledge her, she spoke aloud anyway: "Excuse me, professor: the list of ingredients for the hair-growing potion includes puffer-fish eyes; but I couldn't find any in the classroom's cupboard, and they're not in our ingredients kit either."

I snapped my head to look at Pansy Parkinson's table, certain that this would be some sort of sabotage —it was too early in the year for that, but maybe our Quidditch loss had impacted her at a deeper level than I thought— but no. She didn't have any puffer-fish eyes herself. In fact, it looked like nobody in the classroom had them.

"I have removed the puffer-fish eyes from the cupboard," replied Snape distractedly, to a stunned audience.

It took Hermione a couple of seconds to recover from the shock: "But... please, professor. The instructions–"

"Any fool with two eyes can follow some instructions written on a book's page!" he said, standing up to tower over us. Then he paused, eyeing Neville Longbottom for a beat. "Well... almost any fool. But this year we will sort the wheat from the chaff: you will need to prove that you understand the underlying magical principles, the delicate balance of substances and humours that makes for a proper potion. Contained in that cupboard is everything you will need to complete the assignment..."

I muttered a curse under my breath —and I wasn't the only one. Of course this would happen the first time I actually asked for more work, more responsibility...

"Silence!" shouted Snape at the outburst of groans and murmurs. "You have already wasted more than ten minutes of this class, and I will evaluate you on today's potion. So I suggest you start... brewing."

There was an air of urgent despair permeating the room, very visible in the eyes of some of my classmates. But with no other option or recourse, we all started to work. Hermione quickly wrote down a list of the ingredients available to us in both the cupboard and our kits, and we put both our heads together trying to puzzle out a solution.

"What about beetle eyes, then?" I asked.

She shook her head. "They would be a good substitute to keep the magical balance, yes; but they won't encourage growth."

"Right, right... uhm... bat spleens? They're roundish too, and they're used in the swelling solution, no?"

"Swelling isn't really the same as growing."

I tilted my hand back and forth. "It kind of is, though."

"No, it's not!" she insisted. "It would be better to use something that actually grows; perhaps puffapod seeds."

"Puffapods?!"

"Well, yes. They bloom instantly."

"That isn't the same as growing, either," I protested. "And they're bloody unstable! The potion would end up causing whoever drinks it to turn into a ball of hair or something. Which would be hilarious, you know... so perhaps we could sell the recipe to the Weasley twins after Snape is done failing us."

She frowned, but didn't defend the puffapods anymore. We remained in silence for a few more minutes, going over the list once more.

"Dittany!" Hermione exclaimed suddenly. "It promotes–"

"–skin growth! Yes, that could work. But we'll need something to refocus its magical properties, something hairy. What about... hmm... puffskein hair?"

She hesitated. "It might be a bit too hairy, but we can always cut down on the number of stirrings."

"Yeah, that should work! Great idea!"

"I will go and get everything, then," she said, sounding enthusiastic for the first time in the afternoon. "Can you calculate the stirrings for the new balance?"

"On it."

"Remember that dittany has a lower–"

"I know, Granger. I did our summer homework too."

"Oh, of course," she said, looking a tad sheepish. "I didn't mean to–"

"I know. Go get the ingredients and let's get started. We're running out of time already and we need to crush the leaves first."

She nodded, leaving quickly for the cupboard. I observed her picking up the jar of puffskein hair, and realised we were the first pair of students to actually get some new ingredient —most others were still debating what to do. I noticed Snape was also looking at her curiously. Then, the professor's eyes met mine for an instant, and I quickly averted my gaze, focusing back on my own work.

The brewing process was tense, rushed and stressful —with the distractions caused by some of our classmates' cauldrons bubbling uncontrollably. We had to improvise when exactly to add each of the new ingredients, but I trusted Hermione's intuition on that; and by the end of the class the liquid we bottled and tagged with our names was roughly in the same ballpark than that of the description in the book, colour-wise. So I finally took the vial to place on Snape's desk.

"Does it look... good?" I prompted him in a low voice, after he'd pretty much ignored my walking up to him.

He blinked slowly at me, then at the vial without even turning his head.

"Good?" he drawled. "I suspect I shouldn't have expected anything better, out of this class full of dunderheads. But should an apothecary ever try to sell this, the Ministry of Magic would certainly close the premises, if they didn't send everyone involved in its creation to Azkaban."

"Uh... but wouldn't an apothecary have access to puffer-fish eyes, sir?"

"Go and clean your cauldron, Sarramond."

I nodded, going back to our table where Hermione looked at me, all impatient curiosity.

"He said it's good," I told her, beaming.

I was in a celebratory mood, cleaning up the work surface and emptying the cauldron's contents into the sink. But it didn't last for long, because then I set my gaze on Tracey and Perks —whose half-finished potion didn't look all that much like ours, its consistency all wrong.

But what worried me is that I noticed Tracey looking back at me and Hermione out of the corner of her eye, her lips tight and her bracelet shining a disquieting red.