Shadow of Legacy

Potion class

My first week at Hogwarts had passed in a blur of excitement and uncertainty. The castle was a sprawling labyrinth of stone corridors, hidden rooms, and enchanting sights, each corner whispering tales of magic and history. I felt like a child again, marveling at the wonders around me.
Each morning, I found comfort in the quiet moments spent with Hermione over breakfast. We would rise early, before the rest of the students filled the Great Hall, and take our places at a small, secluded corner of the long table. The hall echoed with the clattering of dishes and the hum of conversation, but here, in the soft glow of the early morning light, it was just the two of us.

"Hermione, I hope you slept well," I said, sipping my pumpkin juice, its sweetness lingering on my tongue.

"Yes, thank you! I haven't felt this relaxed in ages," she replied, her eyes sparkling with the thrill of learning.

"What do we have on the schedule today?" I asked, scanning the parchment that Hermione had pulled from her bag.

"Let's see... Herbology first, then Charms, Potions, and Astronomy tonight," she replied, her voice full of eager anticipation.

Despite my own excitement, a quiet wave of apprehension washed over me. At seventeen, joining the sixth year was a challenge—especially with the N.E.W.T.s looming closer with each passing day. I'd only just begun my studies in earnest, and though Dumbledore had insisted it was the best path for me, I couldn't help but feel out of place among students who had spent years honing their skills.

Before Hogwarts, my magical education had been secret, hidden away from the prying eyes of my parents. They believed a young lady's magic should be devoted to household spells, the art of etiquette, and keeping a proper home. But I had wanted more. When the house was quiet, I would slip away to the library, secretly poring over old tomes filled with advanced charms, combat spells, and histories of great witches and wizards.

Professor Falcon, an old family friend, had become my secret mentor. Under the guise of teaching me household magic, he'd smuggled in spells that I wasn't meant to know—spells to defend myself, to protect others, to fight. But when my parents found out about my secret studies, everything changed. They were furious, and my beloved mentor disappeared without a trace, his fate unknown. The loss of him—of someone who saw me for what I could become, rather than what my family expected—left a deep scar in my heart. I buried that hurt, but it lingered.

"Are you ready for Herbology?" Hermione asked, snapping me from my thoughts.

The day passed in a blur. I struggled through every class, feeling the weight of my newness in each lesson. The professors were kind, and Mrs. Sprout did her best to help me catch up with my peers, but I still felt out of place. Still, I tried to stay focused, reminding myself that this was the start of a new chapter. But nothing could have prepared me for what happened in Potions.

Professor Snape's cold gaze swept over the class as we prepared the Polyjuice Potion. My nerves made me fumble with the ingredients, and before I knew it, I had stirred the mixture five times instead of the required four. The potion fizzed ominously, bubbling into a sickly purple slime. I froze, panic rising in my chest.

"Class dismissed!" Snape's voice cracked through the air like a whip, and the students shuffled out, eager to escape his withering presence.

I remained seated, heart pounding in my chest. The classroom felt unnervingly empty, amplified by the hum of my own anxiety.

"Miss Blackwell," Snape's voice oozed with disdain as he strode toward me, his dark eyes sharp and unforgiving. "Are you incapable of following the simplest of instructions?"

"I'm sorry, sir," I stammered, my face flushed with humiliation.

"You should have been placed in first year," he sneered, stepping closer, his voice low and cruel. "Perhaps your father was right. You're destined to be nothing more than a housewife, aren't you? Are you even capable of that, Miss Blackwell?"

His words stung like a slap. My chest tightened, but a spark of anger flared within me. "That's not true! I'm doing my best!" I said, my voice shaking but stronger than I felt.

Snape's lip curled into a scornful smile, clearly surprised by my defiance. "Trying is not enough, Miss Blackwell. You're wasting my time, and the time of your fellow students."

"If you actually taught, instead of belittling me, maybe I could learn," I blurted, before I had time to stop myself.

The words hung in the air between us. Snape's expression hardened, and he stepped closer, his cold eyes narrowing. "You think you can speak to me that way? This is not some tea party where you can pretend to play house. You will learn respect."

My fists clenched in frustration, my voice trembling. "I remember you promised my father that you'd protect me, so I could be here or am I mistaken, Professor? You made that possible"

His eyes flashed with something I couldn't quite place—irritation, contempt? "What a waste of my time," he muttered. "Is that all, sir? I don't want to take up any more of it," I replied, forcing myself to meet his gaze.

He gave a curt nod. "Leave."

I turned and fled from the classroom, my heart a tangled mess of anger and hurt. The rest of the day passed in a haze, and as I lay in my dormitory that night, the tears came—unbidden, unstoppable. Astronomy was next, but I felt utterly unprepared for anything more.