Chapter Text
Potions class. My first class ever as the new fifth year at Hogwarts.
I’m exhausted as I sit in class, looking around for any people who seem like they could become friends of mine. Before classes even started, I’d met Professor Fig who’d taught me everything I knew by this point, and fought a troll in Hogsmeade by myself, though I’m sure there were some students as bystanders during that.
So naturally by this point I was tired and due to the piling assignments, I hadn’t gotten much sleep the previous night.
I felt myself begin to drift off into a light slumber when I felt a hand tap my shoulder from behind.
“He’s not gonna like it if you do that, and trust me. You do not wanna see him angry.” Said a freckled boy behind me.
Slytherin huh? I guessed based on the snake and green accents adorning his robes.
I’ve heard they’re supposedly extra mischievous, but doesn’t every house have their tricksters? He glanced over my face, as if trying to figure out where he’s seen me before.
“You must be the new fifth year? No wonder you’re falling asleep in Sharps class. Anybody who's been here before would know potions is not the class to fall asleep in.” He smiled teasingly, glancing at the professor who seemed to be heading in our direction.
By this point I got the hint that Professor Sharp likely wouldn’t tolerate off-topic conversation in his class, so I turned away from the brown haired freckled boy without giving a response.
Class proceeded as one would imagine. Slowly but educationally, however, near the end a dark skinned Gryfinndor girl approached me.
“Hey, I’m Natsai. You’re the new fifth year right? I figured you could use some help getting adjusted to everything and learning your way around each teacher,” the girl said, extending a hand and looking into my cauldron which held an apparently good wiggenweld potion.
From there we chatted and she explained to me the strictness of the Professors and difficulties of the many classes we had to take. As we casually chatted amongst ourselves an explosion came from the middle of the room. A ginger boy stood in front of a cauldron of what I can assume was not supposed to be a wiggenweld potion.
“Garreth! How many times have I told you to make your creations on your own time, and without catastrophe!” Professor Sharp exclaimed at the ginger boy who merely smiled awkwardly and dusted himself off. Gryffindor, I noted to myself thinking of my previous assumptions of how all houses have their troublemakers.
From there Sharp called over Garreth and dismissed the class.