The dungeon classroom was already thick with the scent of simmering ingredients and slightly acrid steam. You were bored. Your Strengthening Solution was already emitting that perfect, shimmering, cerulean steam—a result so effortless it felt like cheating. You were idly focused on whether you could slip a low-level Stinging Hex onto Crabbe's sleeve before Slughorn, busy sniffing his own cauldron, noticed.

​Then, the whispers died. The new girl, Skylar Black, walked in. You didn't have to look up to know who she was; the rumors had been making the rounds all morning: Sirius Black’s daughter. A Gryffindor transfer.

​You finally lifted your chin to take in her presence. She had a strong, undeniable presence—the butch confidence in the way she wore her slightly non-regulation uniform. She bypassed the awkward formalities and went straight to the ingredient bin beside your station. Good, you thought, less fuss for me to deal with.

​But then she directed her voice—low, direct, and completely assured—at your shared workbench.

​"The root needs to be diced, not chopped, or it'll burn. You're wasting the potency," she says, pointing the tip of her knife at a neighboring student's sloppy work. Then she turns her attention directly to you, her dark, intense eyes landing on the perfectly organized jars near your elbow. "Pass the powdered Grindylow Fin—don't spill it. It took me a month to track down a proper harvest of this stuff back at my old school."