The first class was Transfiguration, and Ron dashed into the classroom at the last minute, breathless.
He scanned the room, turned towards Harry, but as he reached Harry's side, his steps faltered.
His feet seemed glued to the floor, frozen in place, as he stared wide-eyed at the platinum-blond head beside Harry.
Draco, who had arrived early to claim the seat next to Harry, shot Ron a contemptuous glance and let out a disdainful snort through his nose.
He turned his head and mouthed nastily at Ron: "Poor loser!"
Ron's face flushed crimson, his fists clenching as he glared at Draco as if trying to bore a hole through him.
Harry, caught between the two locked in their standoff, calmly continued reading his textbook.
Just as a fight seemed about to break out, the tabby cat on the podium suddenly leaped down and transformed into an elderly witch in green robes.
It was Professor McGonagall.
She glared at Draco and Ron. "Mr. Weasley, class is about to begin. Please find your seat immediately."
Ron shot Draco one last fierce glare before plopping down on Harry's other side, facing off with the Chosen One as the buffer between him and Malfoy.
Professor McGonagall had initially wanted to reprimand Ron for arriving at the last second.
Now, she glanced worriedly at the two heirs from feuding families, sandwiching the Boy Who Lived, and could only hope they wouldn't come to blows right there in her class.
If they had to fight, they could do it outside, as long as they didn't accidentally hit Harry.
With that thought, Professor McGonagall's gaze shifted to Harry, who was still reading his textbook, and her expression softened slightly.
Looking at those green eyes, she couldn't help but recall that warm-hearted, kind, cheerful, and lively girl; even after years of teaching, Lily was one of the brightest students she had ever seen.
As for that troublesome young lad who seemed to itch for mischief.
Thinking of James Potter, McGonagall's face hardened. Better not to mention him.
Professor McGonagall began class by demonstrating Transfiguration as usual, transforming her podium into a pig, drawing gasps of astonishment from the young witches and wizards.
She then distributed matches to the students and instructed them to turn theirs into a needle.
Harry looked left and right; Draco and Ron were leaning forward, glaring at each other across him, before quickly snapping their gazes back to their own matches and jabbing at them furiously with their wands.
The chanting of incantations merged into a din, burrowing into Harry's head from both sides.
Not only that, but these two hopeless cases kept raising their voices, as if the loudest one would be the winner.
Sparks flew from Ron's wand as it struck the table, yet his match remained completely unchanged, while Draco's match had one end slightly pointed, but it was still clearly a match.
Harry felt like his head was about to explode, filled with a constant buzzing, and McGonagall kept glancing their way; he could see the worry in her eyes.
He rolled his own, tapped his match with his wand, and softly uttered the incantation; the match silently transformed into a silver needle.
The two idiots, so focused on their rivalry, failed to notice entirely.
Professor McGonagall, however, did notice. She quickly turned and walked over, deliberately raising her voice. "Mr. Potter was the first to turn his match into a silver needle. Excellent! Five points for Gryffindor!"
The frantic chanting from Draco and Ron, which had seemed about to pierce the ceiling, came to an abrupt halt.
They both stared at the silver needle in front of Harry, then glared at each other, looking away in mutual disgust with a simultaneous "Hmph."
Then Draco pushed his stool back and, twisting into a very awkward position, extended his foot across Harry and delivered a hard kick to Ron's backside.
Ron leaped up with a yelp. "Ow! Malfoy! Are you asking for it?"
Draco ignored him, instead slapping his wand down in front of Harry, demanding imperiously, "You teach me!"
Ron was livid. He pointed a finger at Draco's nose and opened his mouth to curse him out.
Professor McGonagall sighed inwardly, glancing their way, and Ron found his mouth clamping shut involuntarily.
But he was still furious.
Harry rolled his eyes. "Do you even know how to ask someone for a favor?"
Draco's eyes widened in disbelief. "You refuse to teach me?"
Harry's face was expressionless. "If you want something from someone, show a little respect."
Now Draco was angry too. "I am a Malfoy, for Merlin's sake!"
Harry asked, "And where exactly does the nobility lie? Is there any merit to that head of yours besides being blond?"
Ron was quick on the uptake this time; he covered his mouth with a snicker and muttered, "Yeah, even noble Malfoys had to bow and scrape for You-Know-Who…"
Draco was speechless.
The young heir was furious, but more than that, he was terrified.
Seeing Draco go pale, the color draining from his face at an alarming speed, Harry offered a helpful reminder. "When you want something, you say 'please,' young master."
Draco forgot his pride for the moment; Voldemort's very name was enough to silence children across the wizarding world.
Draco just wanted this topic dropped immediately.
His expression sour, he pushed his wand a little closer to Harry and gritted his teeth. "Please! Great Savior! Teach! Me!"
Ron was gleeful, but Harry remained impassive.
If, in Professor McGonagall's generally fair class, he couldn't argue with these two loudmouths or do much else,
then in Snape's class, known for its blatant favoritism, Draco found his chance to strut.
Harry had been singled out by Snape, endured the professor's fatal triple-question assault, and then, for not immediately jotting down the answers as notes, had three points deducted.
Harry let out a humorless laugh.
Addicted to deducting points, are you?
Still, they were in class. Harry shot a venomous look towards the podium, at the cauldron belonging to Snape, but ultimately held back.
Snape prowled through the classroom, and the young witches and wizards he swept past cowered, staring intently at their own cauldrons.
Neville was timid, trembling under Snape's gloomy stare, and with a shaky hand, he dropped his porcupine quills into his cauldron, which immediately began making strange gurgling sounds.
Snape spun around, rushed over, and with a flick of his wand vanished the contents of Neville's cauldron, then roared in fury.
Neville was ashen-faced, while Ron tried to make himself as small as possible, praying Snape would overlook him.
But then Draco raised his hand and announced loudly, "Professor Snape, Weasley was about to put his porcupine quills into his cauldron too!"
Ron's eyes widened in disbelief as he glared at Draco, but then a shadow fell over him, and all his anger died in his throat.
Trembling, Ron looked up at Snape's terrifying face. "P-Professor S-Snape, I-I didn't…"
Snape glanced darkly at the porcupine quills in his hand; Ron snatched his hand back with a yelp, staring at Snape in terror.
Snape snorted through his nose and declared coldly, "Mr. Weasley, for your reckless stupidity, five points from Gryffindor."
"And please address me as Professor Snape, not Professor S-S-Snape. For your unauthorized alteration of a professor's surname, and for disrespecting a professor, another five points from Gryffindor."
Ron stood frozen, dumbfounded.
Even so, Snape seemed unsatisfied; his gaze shifted to Harry, who was silently chopping ingredients without looking up.
Harry felt the weight of that stare and his heart sank.
Sure enough.
The next second, Snape's silky voice sounded above his head. "As for you, Mr. Potter."
"For failing to prevent Mr. Longbottom, five points from Gryffindor."
Harry was speechless.