ALEXA CARSON
My legs swung idly from the edge of the bridge, staring down into the murky water below. I’d been sitting here, crying, for what felt like hours. I must have missed the first lesson of the day. With a sigh, I pushed myself up, smoothed down my robes, and walked toward the Potions classroom.
The classroom was already filling with students. I spotted a space next to a Gryffindor I didn’t recognize, and quickly slid into the seat before a Slytherin could claim it. Better to sit with an unknown Gryffindor than risk sharing a bench with any of *them*. The boy beside me glanced my way, then returned to his conversation. My friends were across the room, and there wasn’t a single empty space near them.
A giggle snaked from behind me, and I instantly regretted choosing this seat.
Malfoy, Parkinson, Goyle, and Crabbe were clustered together, their faces contorted in mocking amusement. Probably at my expense.
“And what’s your problem, dickheads?” I snapped, unable to let it go.
Malfoy’s face flushed with rage. “Don’t you *dare* speak to me like that, Carson.” I simply flipped him the middle finger and turned back around, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
“No wonder her parents hate her, she’s such a nuisance,” he muttered under his breath. That was it. I was done. I surged to my feet, wand already in my grip, pointing it directly at him. He mirrored my action.
“Say that again, Malfoy, and I’ll blast you through that wall,” I spat, my voice tight with fury. “Looks like we upset the cow.” Before he could respond, I shouted “Stupefy!” and sent a jet of red light hurtling toward him. The impact sent him crashing into the wall, causing a sizable chunk of plaster to crumble. The entire class stared, wide-eyed.
Malfoy scrambled to his feet, sputtering curses. He unleashed a blinding white light, which struck me square in the chest. I flew backward, crashing into a cupboard, shattering the wood, and collapsing in a heap. Damn, he’d hit me hard.
I glanced at my arm. A jagged shard of wood had sliced through my skin, and blood was already pooling in the wound. Ignoring the pain, I braced myself to hex him again. Just as I was about to launch another spell, my wand was ripped from my grasp.
Standing in the doorway, radiating fury, was Snape. Oops.
“Both of you, here now!” he barked. I and Malfoy walked to the front of the classroom where Snape was standing. “Exactly what were you two doing?” he said in his monotone voice. We both started blabbering at once and it was obvious no one could hear anything. “Stop it,” he said a little louder.
“Meet me after class,” he said and walked to the front of the classroom. We start to walk back to our seats but then Snape says " everyone stand up and at the back of the class Now".
Everyone rushed to the back of the class. " Now the teachers have arranged your seating arrangement because we can't have you sitting where ever you want as that causes distraction like any of you even want to study" he mutters the last part but we obviously heard it.
He then started calling names, pairing Slytherins with Gryffindors. Some were lucky, like Harry, Seamus, Dean, and Ginny. Others, like several Slytherins, weren’t.
“Ms. Granger and Mr. Zabini here…. Then Mr. Goyle and Ms. Parkinson here…. Ms. Bell and Mr. Crabbe…” He continued until only two people remained standing: me and Malfoy. Which meant…
“Ms. Carson and Mr. Malfoy,” he said, dropping the list. “I don’t wanna sit with that git,” I muttered. “I don’t wanna sit with her horrid face too,” Malfoy retorted. Snape silenced us with a glare, and we reluctantly took the last seats. I sighed, and Malfoy just ignored me.
Snape smirked, enjoying our discomfort, and then launched into the lesson. “Open your books to page 234. A Draught of Peace,” he said, scribbling the title on the board. Realization dawned: I didn’t have my bag. I remembered leaving it in the cupboard after crashing into it.
“What’s wrong, Carson? Don’t tell me your daddy didn’t buy you books,” Malfoy sneered. I ignored him and raised my head. “Yes, Ms. Carson?” Snape asked, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Um, can I get my bag from the… cupboard?” I stammered. He nodded, and I received sympathetic looks from my friends as I walked towards the wreckage.
I retrieved my bag and returned to my seat, rummaging through it. The bag brushed against my open wound, and I winced. Malfoy noticed. He looked at my cut, and asked “what’s that?” But his voice wasn’t filled with loath or disgust. It was genuine.
“Nothing,” I mumbled, hiding my arm and opening the book to the correct page. Malfoy rolled his eyes, and we both focused on the lesson, pointedly ignoring each other.