𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑃𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑀𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟 | 𝑁𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒 𝐿𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑏𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑜𝑚

Chapter 4 - Neville Longbottom

It felt as though the rest of Helena's day slid by like a picture show set at top speed after lunch--the only time she felt as though it had slowed down was when she'd began to feel hunger pangs near the end of her classes, and simply couldn't wait for supper.

Somehow, between her first class and her fifth, the seventh years had heard the first years talking about Potions class, and seemed uncharacteristically attentive during her lesson. She did not remember any of her classmates from school being so eager to answer questions--most went about their classes in a laze, save for Hermione Granger and sometimes Luna Lovegood. These kids--though she was sure that they were suffering what many might affectionately regard as "senioritis"--seemed to be giving it their all.

There was a particular set of seventh years in which impressed Helena the most; they were a quartet, sitting in close ranks with one another right at the front of the room. Three boys and one girl--a recipe for disaster, Helena had figured upon their initial arrival. However, they quickly disproved her hasty judgment. They worked well together, she thought fondly.

The girl, Anaid Herfinch, was especially adept at reciting recipes from heart. From the parchment that peeked out from her bulging schoolbag, Helena was able to deduce that Anaid took a copious amount of notes, a trait in which she identified with. Her table partner, Fars Melbinger, acted as her other half; he knew how to arrange the recipes, and which ways to cut which ingredients for a brew.

The other two--Tate and Rory Winstaff, twins--served as walls to bounce ideas off of, and raised questions that not many people had considered. The moment they crossed the threshold of the classroom, they had bombarded Helena with questions.

"Is it really all he says it is, or was he just pulling our legs?" Rory, with his enthusiastic green eyes, begged to know.

"I'll bet he was just having a laugh," Tate elbowed his brother. "But just in case--was Elijah lying or not?"

"Elijah?" Helena repeated, trying out the name, searching for a face to match it to in her memories. She hadn't exactly done the expected introductions with her students today.

"A first year," Rory elaborated. "Kind of short, stocky--Slytherin."

A bell went off in Helena's head--she supposed they were talking about the boy who had celebrated with his friend over the points Geradine had scored for their house. "Oh--yes, I know him. . . Is what really all he says it is?"

"Your class!" Rory exclaimed. "He says you were fun--nothing like that git Snape that our parents told us about."

Helena tried to remain humble, but a slight grin had begun to tug itself up at the corners of her mouth. "Well, I would sure hope I live up to the expectations. . . However, neither I nor Elijah can decide if my class is really all he says it is for you. Please, have a seat, and you can have your own verdict by the end of the period."

The material for said lesson consisted of some of Helena's personal favorites in which she felt she got a bit too carried away in talking about; Felix Felicis and Veritaserum and even a bit of banned content, such as Love Potions. She spoke of these subjects so as to refresh their minds and prepare them for the upcoming seventh year, and it was to her most pleasant surprise that most of the class seemed as if they had paid much attention to their previous professor. Helena even felt a bit deflated when the bell rang--despite that she was quite ready for a plate full of food--and was sad to see their lively conversation come to an end.

After the ringing of the bell, she took a few minutes to discipline herself--first she was off to straighten up her desk, then the students' desks, and then eventually herself, gazing in the mirror to tuck some stray hairs behind her ears and wash her hands for dinner.