Sia slid onto the usual bench beside Andromeda as the classroom slowly filled with the bubbling murmur of students settling into place.
"You did the right thing, you know," Andromeda said, carefully unrolling her parchment.
Sia glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "By snitching?"
"By reporting them," Andromeda corrected. "If no one calls them out, they'll only keep doing it. You might have just saved the next person from something worse."
Sia huffed. "That's a very optimistic way of looking at it."
Andromeda smirked. "I try."
A pause.
Then—hesitant, almost guilty—Andromeda added, "I should probably mention—I am glad about my sister."
Sia tensed. "Bellatrix?"
"Yes. I suppose I should thank you for getting her in trouble."
Sia blinked in surprise. "I thought you Black sisters stuck together."
Andromeda gave a wry smile. "Bellatrix is… Bellatrix. She's the youngest, and our mother dotes on her the most. It's made her the closest to her."
Sia frowned. "And that's a bad thing?"
Andromeda let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "Imagine Bellatrix's mentality—now multiply that by a thousand."
Sia stared. She didn't want to imagine that.
Instead, she changed the subject. "What about Narcissa?"
"She's… indifferent to most things," Andromeda mused. "She still believes in all that bloodline nonsense, though. Not as openly as Bellatrix, but it's there. She was raised on it, after all."
Sia studied her curiously. "And you? Why do your opinions differ?"
There.
Just the slightest flicker of pink across Andromeda's cheeks. So faint that if Sia hadn't been watching, she might've missed it entirely.
A smirk tugged at her lips. "Is it a boy?"
Andromeda's blush deepened by a fraction. "No."
Sia wasn't convinced.
"My opinions were like this before, anyway," Andromeda added, hastily changing the subject.
"Before what?" Sia pressed, amusement dancing in her eyes.
Andromeda opened her mouth to reply—but before she could, the classroom door swung open.
Slughorn entered, his vast belly preceding him as he bustled to the front of the room.
"Good afternoon, class! Good afternoon!" he boomed, his usual joviality in full force.
The chatter died down as students straightened in their seats.
"Today," Slughorn announced, rubbing his hands together, "we will be brewing the Somnum Serenum Draught—a particularly complex sleeping potion. One that induces not just rest, but a dreamless, undisturbed sleep for exactly twelve hours."
A few students perked up at that.
"It is commonly used in St. Mungo's to treat cases of severe insomnia and magical exhaustion," Slughorn continued. "However, a mistake in brewing could result in… well, let's just say you wouldn't want to drink it."
He tapped his wand against the board, and ingredients appeared in neat, looping script:
1. Crushed Valerian Root
2. Powdered Unicorn Hoof (a pinch)
3. Dried Hellebore Leaves
4. Infused Ashwinder Scales
5. Essence of Nightshade (two drops, no more)
6. Fresh Moondew
"Pay close attention to the instructions," Slughorn warned. "A misstep could result in anything from waking nightmares to a coma. And we wouldn't want that, would we?"
The class set to work.
Sia fell into rhythm almost immediately. Measuring, grinding, stirring—her movements were precise, methodical. Her mind thrived in potions, the familiar steps soothing in a way nothing else was.
Beside her, Andromeda frowned at her cauldron.
"You're stirring it wrong," Sia said without looking up.
Andromeda blinked. "Am I?"
Sia reached over and adjusted her grip, guiding her hand through the proper motion.
"Counterclockwise, five times, then one clockwise stir before adding the Ashwinder Scales."
"Why?"
"Because if you stir only counterclockwise, the infusion weakens and the potion turns unstable. You'll end up with a sleep so deep you might not wake up."
Andromeda huffed. "Of course you know that."
Sia smirked, eyes still on her work.
She didn't notice the two pairs of eyes watching her.
Slughorn, ever the careful observer, had been keeping a close watch on her from across the room.
Dumbledore had spoken to him personally about Sia Ashford.
"A promising student, Horace," the Headmaster had said. "But one who has been through more than she lets on. If you would be so kind, keep an eye on her."
So Slughorn did.
And what he saw intrigued him.
Miss Ashford was a natural. The way she moved, the way she understood the process—it was effortless. Rarely did a student possess such instinct.
And yet, there was something else.
Something off.
She worked as though it was second nature, and yet she seemed completely unaware of her own skill.
She was utterly absorbed in her task.
Oblivious to the attention she had drawn.
Oblivious to Slughorn's quiet scrutiny.
And—more interestingly—oblivious to the boy who kept glancing her way.
Severus Snape watched from his usual seat, expression unreadable.
His dark eyes flickered toward Sia more than once, though never for long enough to be obvious.
He was analyzing. Assessing.
There was something… peculiar about her.
He had seen her break the night before. Had felt the raw, volatile power crackling in the air.
And yet, here she was, calm and composed.
Strange.
Stranger still was how easily she interacted with Andromeda.
Severus had never seen her speak so freely before.
She was always distant. Always cold.
And yet now, with Andromeda, she looked—
Comfortable.
He scowled, forcing his attention back to his cauldron.
Severus had not expected her to go to Dumbledore.
Even when Slughorn had come to the common room that morning, pulling aside Avery, Rosier, Macnair, Bellatrix, Emily—and himself—Severus had been certain it was a mistake.
But it wasn't.
Dumbledore had been waiting for them. His disappointment had been palpable, though his words remained infuriatingly calm.
"Bullying among housemates is rather unbecoming, don't you think?" he had said, his blue eyes sweeping over them all.
No punishments—nothing official, at least. Just a simple warning:
"Miss Ashford is to be left alone. Unless, of course, you are inclined to offer her an apology."
That had stung.
Severus had not spoken. He had not apologized.
Neither had the others.
He hadn't thought she would go to Dumbledore. He hadn't thought she would need to.
And yet…
Last night had changed everything.
Now, he knew.
The power existed.
He had felt it.
For months, he had suspected there was something strange about her—something beneath the surface. But last night had confirmed it.
What was it?
He had spent the entire morning trying to dissect it, but nothing fit.
Then—laughter.
A bright, familiar sound that cut through his thoughts like a blade.
He turned, heart jolting before he could stop it.
Lily.
She was laughing at something Lupin had said, her green eyes alight with amusement. She had stopped smiling at him now. So this was rare occasion where he could see her smile again.
His mind emptied. His questions, his intrigue, his irritation—all of it vanished.
There was only her.
Only Lily.
It was in that moment, just as he sat frozen—gazing at her, utterly lost—that Sia allowed herself a glance at him.
Her eyes flickered over, and for the first time, she caught him unaware.
She saw him not watching her, but staring at Lily.
The potion was completed.
Sia surveyed her cauldron, satisfied with the silvery-blue liquid that shimmered within.
Slughorn made his rounds, examining each brew with critical enthusiasm.
"Ah! Excellent work, Miss Ashford!" he beamed, peering into her cauldron. "Textbook perfect. Top three, my dear!"
Sia only nodded, her thoughts elsewhere.
"And Miss Black! Very well done indeed—top five!"
Andromeda—no, An, Sia corrected herself—grinned, pleased.
As they packed up, Sia turned to her. "Your name's a bit of a mouthful, don't you think?"
Andromeda arched a brow. "And?"
"Can I give you a nickname?"
"Depends. What are you thinking?"
"An."
There was a pause.
Then, Andromeda smirked. "An. Hm. I suppose I can live with that."
Sia grinned.
They made their way out of the dungeons, and Sia shifted topics.
"Quidditch. Should I apply?"
Andromeda—An—looked intrigued. "You play?"
"Haven't in a while, but I was decent," Sia admitted. "Who's on the team? Anyone I should avoid?"
"Well, I'm a Chaser," Andromeda said smugly. "And as for the rest… Macnair's a Beater. But he doesn't have enough say to block you from trying out."
"Good. When's the next trial?"
"This evening. If you show up, you'll be tested tomorrow—Sunday morning."
Sia considered it.
Then, a slow, determined smirk spread across her face.
"Alright. Count me in."