That day, I didn't go out for a run. I lamented the loss of filling my lungs with fresh air to start the day, but Tracey had held me up talking and I had let her because I had honestly run enough this week. My program would set in a few days, doing cardio sometimes and working out for explosive strength other times. Plus, it was raining again today, and I didn't feel like getting wet.

  True, I was less disciplined than I'd been back in Bet.

  It was okay. Nothing was ending in two years.

  "What do you think it'll be like?" Tracey asked me as I raised a knee to my chest. The topic of the conversation was our upcoming potions class.

  "What do you think?" I huffed back as I rose from my squat position.

  She raised a brow at the sarcasm in my voice. "Right," she said sheepishly. Being one-armed, it was a struggle to perform even everyday tasks. It was beyond skill or physical ability: When a limb was missing, the lack of it was felt, no matter how much you tried to cover for it. Even cooking was a hassle, and a hands-on subject like herbology had proven to be a nightmare. And I actually predicted potions would be harder, because it would demand a lot more motor control to prepare the ingredients precisely, lest the potion turn bad or even dangerous, in comparison to herbology where I could put a lot less thought and focus into it to yank the stupid dancing vegetables out of the ground. My ranking was that magical chemistry slash cooking was worse than magical gardening which was barely worse than normal cooking.

  "But I'm asking about the other stuff," she continued, and an anticipating look came over her. "Professor Snape, the drinks we'll make," that made it sound like we'd brew alcohol. "and a class with Gryffindor! I heard there is always tension between us and them when he have class together. They are our rivals."

  I didn't reply right away, because I was busy gearing up for what I assumed to be my last rep of this morning.

  "Ughh," I breathed out as I slowly straightened my leg. "Yaay," Tracey cheered, with a few claps, her feet dangling from her bed. "Nice effort."

  "Thanks," I said, between breaths. "Personally, I don't," a breath, "want any problems. No fighting, nothing."

  Her smile fell. "You're already tense enough with what's going on between you and the rest of the house."

  "You noticed?"

  "Of course," she said as she rolled her eyes. "Anyone would. Breakfast?"

  "Let's." We continued speaking as we got dressed and left our dorm. "But it's not that. I don't want any trouble, and I have friends in Gryffindor. I couldn't care less about Draco whispering insults at me or Greengrass ignoring me."

  "Yeah," Tracey answered. "I noticed. You are tough." She gave me a puzzling look.

  "What's up?"

  "I'm worried, Taylor. It wouldn't be that big of a deal if it was just the people in our year, but even the seniors seem to be joining in... You don't even look bothered, which makes it even more confusing, but I'm your friend, and I wouldn't want to see you hurt."

  My heart ached at the worry in her voice. I sniffled.

  "Taylor? Erm, did I say something wrong?"

  "No, no," I said, wiping my eyes. "I get sentimental."

  "Cute." I felt that she was grinning.

  "Shut up.."

  ...

  We entered the Great Hall.

  "Do you have the way memorized?" she asked me. "I couldn't come here in double the time we did."

  I shrugged. I wasn't doing anything special.

  "And nothing tripped us up either. I wanna come here together every morning from now on."

  "Fine by me... Oh!"

  Harry and Ron had made it to breakfast early for once, it seemed, as they were eating already.

  "I'm going over there. Barely seen them all week," I said as I pointed at them.

  Tracey followed my finger to give an exaggerated reaction: "Your Gryffindor friend is Harry Potter?!"

  "Yeah...? He's just a normal kid. A little quiet."

  "Right, right, makes sense." She was nodding, but she still had a look of suprise. Okay. I'm going to our table?"

  "Whatever you prefer."

  "All right. Have fun."

  "See you." With that, I walked over to the Gryffindor table.

  They had their backs turned to me as I was approaching from behind. "S'up," I greeted as I put my hand on Harry's shoulder and sat down, making him give a little jump.

  "Taylor! Hi!"

  "Hello."

  I gave a little wave at Ron from behind Harry. I was smiling so wide it hurt. "Good to see you guys! We were barely able to talk in the corridors! How's it going?"

  "The castle's a bit confusing," et tu, Harry? "and the classes are hard, but I like it. Magic's fun, and the food..." He bit down on his pastry. I grabbed a pear to do the very same.

  "It's even weirder than what Fred and George used to tell me, but I like it," Ron said. "Not so sure about our classmates, especially Granger."

  Ron, from what I had gathered, had tons of siblings. Growing up in an environment like that, socializing to the core, I could understand him having problems with single-child Hermione, who'd probably grown up allowed to cultivate her... unusual personality, at least to people like Ron, from our interactions in the train. I wanted to defend her.

  "Why? What's up with her?"

  He shook his head. "Just a know-it-all, and a teacher's pet, is all. She doesn't think about what she'll say before speaking because she thinks too much about homework."

  "Well, maybe she doesn't know how she comes across? Don't be harsh, Ron."

  He shrugged.

  "Well, we are a bit jealous with how much better she does than us in class," Harry said with a smile.

  "She does better than everyone, not just us."

  "Still."

  "Better than everyone? I detest that," I said. "I bet I'm progressing faster than her."

  Ron groaned. "Bookworms everywhere... Did you pull off the spell?"

  "Yep! I think you guys should join me, we can study outside together when the weather gets warmer."

  "Pass for now," Ron said as Harry spoke, "Maybe later, Taylor. Our brains can't even handle this many lessons, after-school study would be too much. Sorry."

  "It's all right, guys. Don't sulk when I leave you two in the dust in the exams though!"

  Ron picked a pear for himself. "I bet I'll leave you in the dust finishing a pear. You up?"

  I grabbed another one. "Bet."

  He was a fast eater, but he panicked at witnessing the speed I was devouring my fruit, and got a piece stuck in his throat. Seeing him devolve into a fit of coughs but breathing, I didn't show mercy, didn't stop in the name of sportmanship. By the time he could get back to eating, I had already said my piece.

  "I want a rematch. I was unlucky!" he said.

  "Another time, another place, another breakfast. We'll meet to decide who's the fastest."

  "So be it," he said. He had a serious expression on his lips but his eyes were smiling.

  "That was impressive," Harry spoke. "Congrats, Taylor. So..."

  None of us spoke, for a moment.

  "How is life in Slytherin?"

  I let that question sit.

  "It's... different. Living underground, watching the lake as I go to sleep. But you aren't asking about that, are you?"

  "He isn't," Ron said. His face had grown serious.

  "Okay." Suddenly, I was disturblingly aware of the presence of my housemates on the other end of the Great Hall was. "It hasn't been a full week."

  "And Malfoy didn't even wait to get to the school to bother you."

  "That's true..." I looked over the two of them. "But it's no where near as bad as what you guys probably cooked up in your minds. I can tell many of them don't like me, and some act weird near me, but it's no trouble so far."

  "Are you sure?" Harry asked.

  "I am."

  "Really?"

  "Yes."

  "For certain?"

  "Certain." I gave a bored sigh. "Thanks, but I can look after myself. If they ever pull some dumb stuff, you'll be the first I'll tell you about, but don't hen me!"

  "Okay, okay," he gave a placating gesture with his hands. "But tell us about it when someone bothers you."

  I glared at him. "I already made a friend, for your information. They aren't all bad! No need to worry."

  "Not sure about that," Ron mumbled.

  Harry actually had the gall to look suprised. "What? Who?"

  "Tracey, my roommate. Nice girl, fun talking to."

  "That's how they get you," Ron said. Before I could protest, "By the way," he cut in, "what do you think the potions class will be like?"

  That was something I have been thinking for a while. I let his previous comment slide. "I hate cooking, so it'll be terrible."

  "I'm not sure about the class itself." Harry answered. "I'm more afraid the teacher, Snape, doesn't like me."

  "Why's that?"

  "He seemed to glare at me back at the start-of-the-year-feast." He put his hand on his forehead. "And my scar hurt when our eyes met."

  "Oh?" That sounded serious. "Did that ever happen again?"

  He shook his head.

  "Your scar's.... mysterious. You should look into it, maybe ask a professor, or try to find a book about it. Personally, I wouldn't think Snape's the cause of that, I met him and he's a bit aloof, but he seemed... thoughtful." I showed them the badge Snape gave me.

  "So it'll call him if you press it? What if he is sleeping?"

  I shrugged. "Not sure about the specifics, but I did some research. He probably has his own badge or object to hold on to when I use it. Might alert him by light, sound, so on, depends on the flavour of magic used. And I'll need to press it with magical intent, so just physical contact wouldn't trigger it out of nowhere."

  "Wouldn't it be better if it did, like when a bully pushing you to the wall on your shoulder?" Harry asked.

  Huh. "Makes sense," I told him. That sounded like a somewhat specific scenerio. I had suspected Harry was bullied in his former school, and even worse in his aunt's house by his cousin, but he hadn't ever given examples. "Anyways, I don't think you guys need to be scared of him."

  "I'll sit on that until after the class," Ron said. "He is a Slytherin, after all."

  "Well, I am from Slytherin too. Should you be scared of me as well?"

  He smirked. "That remains to be seen." I couldn't tell if he was joking. I gave him my best bitch face. He did an exaggerated shrug. "Sometimes people go to houses you wouldn't expect. I don't like Slytherins, but you've been pretty decent Tay, and you're like the opposite of sneaky," Harry's head snapped back, the two boys having a staring contest for a moment from what I could tell before Ron continued, "but it's not just Slytherin we are pissy about when it comes to Snape."

  Ron seemed to not be entirely on board with me being where I was, but whatever. He was dealing with it. "Oh?"

  "My brothers told us Snape's pretty terrible to anyone not in Slytherin. Docking points left and right, picking the side of his house in arguments, bullying Gryffindor students... And he has a shady background's the word on the corridor, too."

  "Shady how?"

  He leaned over to whisper: "They say he knows awful a lot of dark arts. I heard he has wanted Quirrell's position for a long time now."

  "Why would Dumbledore deny him the position for someone like Quirrell?" Harry added in. "Being here for this long, surely he'd have gotten the opportunity to try teaching the class, at least."

  I really wasn't sure about the significance of the concept of dark arts yet. Instead, I joked: "Maybe he used to work for Voldemort or something?"

  They reeled back, Ron more pure horror and Harry more disbelief. "No way!" they chorused.

  I laughed. "Joking, joking. There's no way that's possible."

  "No, no, it makes sense... that's how he hurt Harry from afar!" They weren't listening to me.

  I sighed. "Just... let's go to the classroom. We'll see how he is like, won't be."

  "I don't wanna go anymore," Ron said. Harry one-shot his cranberry juice and got up. "Let's go see who he is."

  ...

  Tracey waved at me as we entered, me leading Ron and Harry to the familiar dungeons.

  "The friend you made?" Harry asked.

  "Yep."

  We sat right on the border between the two houses, with Tracey to my right and Harry to my left. She waved at my friends from my side. They waved back.

  Snape entered a second later, preventing any small talk. He had the same aura of authority back at that first night I spoke to him, except it was ice cold this time. He had an unpleasant look on his face as he surveyed the classroom with his hawk-like eyes. I'd guess he was downright terrifying to my eleven year old classmates.

  Snape gave no greeting or any acknowledgement of our presence, proceeding straight to a roll call. He paused when he reached Harry's name.

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  "Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new... celebrity."

  And that moment, was crowned as the instance when I decided I disliked Snape.

  His tone, his expression, his words. All of it had made it immediately clear that he viewed Harry negatively.

  And an adult, a teacher no less, openly hating on an eleven year old child? That put him in my bad books right at that moment.

  One could have said I was being rash, I mean, he hadn't done anything yet. And it didn't make sense. Why would an adult be antagonistic to a kid he, by all accounts, had never met? But I had a knack for recognizing a bully when I saw one, and bullies were often illogical.

  As the class went on, my assumptions were proven right.

  Snape started off with rambling about the charms of potion making, which made me wonder if he really wanted the defense against the dark arts position. He seemed passionate enough about the subject he had, which I liked seeing, but it was stained by the insulting attitude he had towards us. This guy definitely wasn't suited to be a teacher.

  "I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death- if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

  It was interesting to hear about the doors potions opened up, no doubt, even if the narration was a little sensational. But it was overshadowed by the rest of it. It was as if he was expecting us to fail his class, no, he was setting us up to fail, to expect failure and program us for it mentally. If he could tell to our faces that, "he didn't expect us to see the appeal of potion brewing," how were we supposed to retain interest ourselves?

  "Potter!" he said suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

  What?

  "I don't know, sir," Harry said, after worried glances at Ron and I. Hermione's hand had shot up to the air. She clearly know the answer.

  Snape's face hit the most intense sneer I had ever seen, as if he was repulsed by Harry's ignorance.

  "Tut, tut, fame clearly isn't everything."

  Wha- what a fucking asshole.

  "Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

  I relucantly raised my hand, it bothered me to see Harry struggle as much as it angered me to watch Snape bully him. Hermione was almost doing stretches where she was sat. Malfoy and his goons were trying to keep themselves from laughing.

  As if those idiots knew the answer. It was one thing to find Harry's suffering fun, but did they have no sense of self-preservation? What if Snape had turned on them to ask these questions?

  Well, he wouldn't. Probably because they were Slytherin and Harry was Gryffindor, the rumours Ron had told were true... but not just that, Snape's vendetta against Harry was something more. I could feel it.

  "I don't know, sir."

  "Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"

  Matter of fact, we had. We had rummaged through the books during the time Harry had stayed at us. But you couldn't expect someone to memorize entire works before a lesson was ever held! Not to mention, with how aggressive and sudden Snape's questions had been, Harry was bound to forget whatever he knew.

  "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

  This one even I didn't know. The answer to the first question I had kept in mind because the mixture would bore an extremely strong sleeping potion known as the Draught of Living Death. Names and titles like that were serious, and I liked to keep track of stuff like that. The second question was in some ways the opposite, while the first one I remembered as a threat, the second I remembered as an emergency lifeline. A bezoar was a stone taken from the stomach of a goat, that could save a person from majority of the known poisons. It was actually one of the items I wanted to acquire urgently in the magical world. The answer to the third question, likely being a bit mundane, hadn't registered in my mind. I let my arm drop.

  The first question I was taken by suprise, and hadn't raised my hand. The second, I had, but it was obvious Snape wasn't asking this questions in good spirits. I wished I had whispered the answer for the bezoar, at least, but this guy clearly wasn't one to take that kindly.

  "I don't know," said Harry quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

  I hadn't noticed, but Hermione had stood up. I would almost commend her eagerness if not for the bitter taste the situation had left in my mouth, and her blindness to see it. Snape wasn't going to let her answer, and she could only anger him.

  "Sit down," he snapped at Hermione. I felt bad for her as she struck down on her chair. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

  People rushed to their parchments and quills, but I was trapped within white noise. I had been getting angry throughout this circus, the heat had been building up in my head. My experience with bad teachers had been about their negligence, not... whatever insanity this was.

  "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter."

  The blood roaring in my ears reached a crescendo and the temperature of my body made me sweat. My hand hovered over the badge, ready to rip it out. I opened my mouth as I shook with anger-

  And Harry kicked me in the leg. I looked at him, and he closed his eyes.

  He didn't want me to say anything. In any other scenerio, I might have dismissed his protest, but I had been a bullied kid once, and from his perspective, the only thing I was going to do was make it worse.

  So I settled for seething in the inside, teeth clacking, eye twitching, staring up at Snape.

  We came eye to eye.

  He raised a brow.

  I almost tore the badge out of my shoulder right then and there.

  But no. It could still be useful. While I had no delusions about the morality of Snape's character left in my mind, the badge could still be useful.

  Snape put us all into pairs, mine being Tracey with a very worried expression on her face, and gave instructions for a potion that could cure boils, cysts, pimples and similar things.

  I wasn't listening much, though. It didn't do me wonders keeping my anger in check. I swimmed through the class, breathing heavily, disconnected.

  I sweated terribly, going through all of that as I tried to prepare the ingredients. The snake teeth, just out of the jar, were very wet and very soft, unexpectedly. It slipped all over the table, and I gave up on crushing it as I failed the third time, leaving it to Tracey. I'd expected this class would be harder, thanks to my missing arm, but my brain boiling with anger had certainly made it worse. I made note of Snape passing by my side to criticize another poor student with just a glance spared at me, which was curious. Had he not have any complaints about our work? What kind of teacher mocked his students' work without offering advice anyways?

  And hadn't we jumped too fast into potion making already? No notes, no preparation? We had multiple charms classes this week and hadn't done any wandwork yet. What was the rush-

  I heard a loud hiss followed by noises of alarm and suprise, and turned to my back as Snape stepped forward immediately.

  Neville, the boy with the frog on the train, was on the ground moaning in pain. A cauldron was in shambles, either his or his partner's, the potion in it having leaked to the ground. I could see people panicking, on the account of droplets having found their way and burning holes onto their clothing. Neville had boils all over his arms and neck, in all the places he was exposed to the liquid. The opposite of the intended effect.

  A calming chill came over me. That could happen? I didn't know whether to be flabbergasted at what mastery potions demanded and the consequences of not meeting it, or to be shocked that we were instructed to do work with risk like this, the recklessness of it.

  "Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

  Shocked, I parted my lips to speak, but no sound came out. He had waltzed in, terrified everyone and froze whatever motivation we had with his cruel words, had thrown us headfirst into brewing a potion, surely not spending the appropriate time to get us ready for it, and didn't inform us on the dangers of this brewing this specific potion wrong. And after all of that, he was blaming Neville, throwing insults while the boy cried in pain on the ground.

  I fucking hated Snape.

  "Take him up to the Hospital Wing," Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.

  He is not going? I had thought it McGonagall hadn't needed to lead me to the Hospital Wing. This situation was the exact opposite of that, and yet...

  "You, Potter, why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

  Motherfricking-

  You should accompany Neville."

  Everyone turned to me. Snape's neck turned to fast I thought it snapped.

  I hadn't realized the voice belonged to me. I was the one who'd spoken and said that. I was suprised at how calm I sounded, especially after the intense rage I experienced throughout the class and the revelations of Tracey about me wearing my emotions up my sleeve.

  Said girl whispered near me, "Sir."

  "You should accompany Neville to the Hospital Wing, sir," I reworded. Silence reigned for a moment, and the staring contest I was having with Snape was a thing of legends, but I think I won. Something moved on the back of those dark eyes, and with whispered words, "That is a logical suggestion," more to himself than any of us here, he followed Neville and Seamus out the door.

  "He really should," said Tracey, and with that voice broke all over the classroom, or should I say dungeonroom? People started talking all about everything, the class, Neville, Snape, and that idiot Malfoy was giggling about something, but I was beyond caring.

  Peeping inside her cauldron, Tracey said, "Seems like he waved away our potions as well. All that work..."

  "Should we go now?" Ron asked.

  "If we do, and he comes back, he'll enact a punishment so terrible, no one will live to tell the tale," answered Tracey. She extended her hand. "Tracey, by the way."

  The trio exchanged greetings, but my mind was occupied. Filled with thoughts and worries about Slytherin, the racist kids, Snape the bully teacher, Harry's past, Neville's injury more. Even things I had buried deep within my mind, my deepest doubts about the wizarding world, were resurfacing.

  "I'll go visit Hagrid, he lives on the edge of the forbidden forest," Harry said, addressing all of us. "Do you want to come?"

  He was asking for me, but honestly, I was tired, drained from all the emotions I hadn't let out, and had a terrible cloud of thoughts hanging over my head.

  "Sorry," I said, smiling apologetically. "I'll pass this time."

  Tracey also refused, though I suspected she was invited more out of courtesy rather than Harry actually wanting her to come. They had come to know one another, which was good, but it was too early for them to be friends or even friendly.

  In the end, Snape did come back, and there were no more trouble. The class ended, and we scattered.

  As Tracey and I walked to our dorm, she mused, "As impressive as magic is, even it can't wave away injury and illness, huh? Snape disappeared the lake of potion from the ground, but he had to send Neville to the Hospital Wing. I can see why mom always wanted me to be a doctor."

  It was an innocent comment, but it crashed inside the couch of my already very full brain.

  Clearly, potions were in high demand, but how much their results overlapped with simple spells? I couldn't help but wonder, after this class had made me realize potions and I would not get along, whether in drinking or brewing.

  And the effects of potions Snape had mentioned, delaying death, trapping victory in a bottle, how many of them could be replicated with spells?