Mia Potter was the other Potter. Looking almost identical to her mother, she was a force to be reckoned with. But there was only one person who could reckon with her, and his name was Draco Malfoy.
In which the youngest Potter twin finds herself fa...
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History of Magic was by common consent the most boring subject ever devised by Wizard-kind. Professor Binns, their ghost teacher, had a wheezy, droning voice that was almost guaranteed to cause severe drowsiness within ten minutes, five in warm weather. He never varied the form of their lessons but lectured them without pausing while they took notes, or rather, gazed sleepily into space. Mia, Harry and Ron had so far managed to scrape passes in this subject only by copying Hermione's notes before exams; she alone seemed able to resist the soporific power of Binns's voice.
Today they suffered through three-quarters of an hour's droning on the subject of giant wars. Mia heard just enough within the first ten minutes to appreciate dimly that in another teacher's hands, this subject might have been mildly interesting, but then her brain disengaged.
Harry was playing Hangman on a corner of his parchment with Ron while Mia was staring out the window, noticing the worried looks Hermione, Harry and Ron were giving her. At the same time, Hermione shot the boy's filthy looks out of the corner of her eye.
"How would it be," she asked them coldly as they left the classroom for a break (Binns drifting away through the blackboard), "if I refused to lend you my notes this year?"
"We'd fail our O.W.L.s," said Ron. "If you want that on your conscience, Hermione. . . ."
"Well, you'd deserve it," she snapped. "You don't even try to listen to him, do you?"
"We do try," said Ron. "We just haven't got your brains or your memory or your concentration, you're just cleverer than we are, is it nice to rub it in?"
"Oh, don't give me that rubbish," said Hermione, but she looked slightly mollified as she led the way out into the damp courtyard.
A fine misty drizzle was falling, so that the people standing in huddles around the yard looked blurred at the edges. Mia, Harry, Ron, and Hermione chose a secluded corner under a heavily dripping balcony, turning up the collars of their robes against the chilly September air and talking about what Snape was likely to set them in the first lesson of the year. Mia, however, stood in silence while staring at the ground.
"Are you alright?" Hermione asked in a worried voice, looking at Mia like she was going to break.
"I've got the stuff from Madam Pomfrey, I'll be fine," Mia said. She looked up at the others and sighed. "Can you all just stop looking at me like that?" she asked, looking at her friends in slight annoyance as she slightly tilted her head.
Before anyone could reply, someone walked around the corner toward them.
"Hello, Harry!"
It was Cho Chang and what was more, she was on her own again. This was most unusual. Cho was almost always surrounded by a gang of giggling girls.
"Hi," said Harry, feeling his face grow hot.
Mia rolled her eyes before walking off and making her way down to Snape's dungeon. Mia stood in the queue lining up outside Snape's classroom door and about fifteen minutes later, Harry, Ron and Hermione joined her, the latter two arguing. Mia didn't say anything to them as the ominous sound of Snape's dungeon door creaked open. Mia and Harry filed into the classroom behind Ron and Hermione. They followed them to their usual table at the back, ignoring the huffy, irritable noises now issuing from both of them.
"Settle down," said Snape coldly, shutting the door behind him. There was no real need for the call to order; the moment the class had heard the door close, quiet had fallen and all fidgeting stopped. Snape's mere presence was usually enough to ensure a class's silence.
"Before we begin today's lesson," said Snape, sweeping over to his desk and staring around at them all, "I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an 'Acceptable' in your O.W.L., or suffer my. . . . displeasure."
His gaze lingered this time upon Neville, who gulped.
"After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me," Snape went on.
"I take only the very best into my N.E.W.T. Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying good-bye."
His eyes rested on Harry and his lip curled while Mia sat there, a cloudy look in her eyes.
"But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell," said Snape softly, "so whether you are intending to attemptN.E.W.T. or not, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high-pass level I have come to expect from my O.W.L. students. Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. Be warned: If you are too heavy-handed with the ingredients you will put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep, so you will need to pay close attention to what you are doing."
On Mia's left, Hermione sat up a little straighter, her expression one of the utmost attentiveness.
"The ingredients and method. . . ."
Snape flicked his wand.
". . . .are on the blackboard. . . ."
They appeared there.
"You will find everything you need. . . ."
He flicked his wand again.
"In the store cupboard. . . ."
The door of the said cupboard sprang open.
"You have an hour and a half. . . . Start."
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When at long last the bell rang, Harry was first out of the dungeon and had already started his lunch by the time Mia, Ron and Hermione joined him in the Great Hall. The ceiling had turned an even murkier grey during the morning. Rain was lashing the high windows as Mia looked at her plate and pushed it away.
"Why aren't you eating?" Harry asked as Mia looked at him.
"Not hungry," she said.
"Mia, you really need to eat," Hermione said, "you're getting thinner each day."
"Okay, and?" Mia snapped. "I'm sick of you all looking at me like I'm some fragile little thing. Stop it!"
"Mia, we. . . ."
"No, just stop!" the ginger girl said, "seriously! I can't even breath without someone looking at me like I'm going to break."
And abandoning her cold shepherd's pie, she swung her schoolbag back over her shoulder and left them sitting there.
