The Tree of Blacks (English version)

The Secret Ingredient

Early March, 1977. Hogwarts, dungeons.

Slytherin and Gryffindor students gasped in the thick vapours rising from their bubbling cauldrons. Professor Slughorn, like every Tuesday morning, was putting them through their paces with the preparation of a very complex potion.

Alya was fumbling in utter despondency; she was as far behind her companions as medlars, yet the concoction slumbering lumpily at the bottom of her brass vessel was already regurgitating foul odours which didn't bode well.

I'll have another Dreadful for sure, thought the exasperated girl, as she observed with sad resignation the result of her work.

Like every Tuesday morning of her sixth year at Hogwarts, Professor Slughorn's nauseating lesson had the rare ability to make Alya in a foul mood, which tended to stick with her for the entire day.

In addition, the fact that from time to time, on the other side of the dungeon, James Potter gave her bitter glances, as if to convey how much he wished he could come to her aid, but was prevented from doing so by the obvious inconvenience, was of no comfort to the proud young Black. On the contrary, this only made her even more annoyed.

Please, not you too, Potter! I don't need your sympathy, growled the Slytherin in her head, as she glowered at James from afar, cleaving with her gaze through the blankets of steam that separated them.

At the end of the lesson, Alya had already started towards the door, determined to get out of the cramped and revolting classroom as soon as possible, when unfortunately the booming voice of Professor Slughorn stopped her.

"Miss Black, would you mind stopping for a moment? I need to talk to you."

The student nodded, with a slight, desolate sigh. She sensed the unmistakable whiff of a lecture.

As she advanced towards the desk, a small group of Gryffindor girls - including Lily Evans - paraded past her, squaring her with disdain. Behind her, Alya clearly heard Evans click her tongue, evidently pleased that a teacher was about to reprimand the snooty Slytherin she resented.

The proud Black, for her part, had to summon all the self-control she possessed to suppress the urge to pull her Gryffindor rival by her red hair, unfailingly styled in a thick ponytail.

Trying to conceal her growing anger as much as possible, Alya reached the desk where Slughorn awaited her with a contrite expression.

"Miss Black, I really regret having to detain you, but I would like to discuss your academic performance with you", burst out the mustachioed lecturer, in a sepulchral voice. "As I'm sure you have noticed yourself, your results seem to have deteriorated tragically, as far as my classes are concerned. If this continues, I fear that you will soon be unable to keep up with the rest of the class."

"What do you recommend I do?" asked Alya, sporting a stoic frown. She expected Slughorn to suggest extra lessons, to catch her up on the program. She didn't like the prospect at all, but she had to admit that the results of her last potions had been disastrous. Some private study could only benefit her.

However, Slughorn's reply came completely unexpected.

"In all sincerity, Miss Black, I think you should seriously consider dropping my class," he sentenced in a mournful but vaguely definitive tone.

Alya felt the ground shake beneath her feet.

"No!" she exclaimed loudly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"She cannot throw me out of the class."

"I'm not throwing you out of the class, Miss Black... I'm just showing you the undeniable reality of the facts. It is established that your level is not advanced enough to continue," Slughorn retorted patiently, trying to reason with the stubborn student.