A Weasley in Slytherin

Ophelia couldn't wait to have her first Potions class, since she knew Ron would be in it, and she was desperate to talk to him. They hadn't talked ever since they'd been in Dumbledore's office.

 She walked into the classroom and saw the bright red haired boy sitting next to Harry again. She walked over to him, and their conversation immediately stopped.

"Hi, Ron! How are you?" Ophelia asked brightly.

Ron looked at her in a way she'd never been looked at before. It was if he saw her as a stranger now, not the sister he'd grown up with for the last 11 years.

"I'm fine" he said shortly, then resumed his conversation with an uncomfortable Harry.

Ophelia furrowed her eyebrows. Usually, he would have gushed to her about the last few days.

"Um...okay" she answered. "How about you, Harry?"

"I'm alright, thanks" Harry said nervously.

"So...do you guys have a favorite class so far?" She asked, trying to make conversation.

"No, we don't" Ron said firmly before Harry was going to respond. Ophelia didn't understand why he was being so curt. Actually, deep in her heart, she did understand, but she was begging for it not to be right.

However, before she could say anything more, a frigid voice from behind her said: "Ms.Weasley, sit down. Anyone with common sense should know-"

She turned, and Severus stopped talking. His eyes widened. He nearly tripped, and his arms gripped his desk behind him for support.

Everyone looked at his reaction, perplexed. They'd never seen him so shocked.

After a moment of silence, he finally cleared his throat and stood back up.

"As I was saying, go sit down. Class has started"

Draco waved at her, and she sat down next to him.

"Did you see the way Snape looked at you when you turned?" Draco whispered to her, excited. "It was like he'd never seen a redhead before," he added, and they both laughed quietly.

Snape instead turned his attention towards Harry. Once again, he became the teacher they'd seen before-the one who seemed bored but malicious, as if every single person in the room had done him wrong. His eyes were black and glittering, like obsidian, and cold and empty like a bottomless pit.

As he did roll call (hastily muttering Ophelia's name before moving on, although Ophelia didn't think too much of it), he said "Ah, yes,"

"Harry Potter. Our new—celebrity".

Ophelia wrinkled her nose. She knew if her mother had been in the class she would have demanded to know what he implied by that little comment. At that moment, Ophelia decided she didn't like Snape too much.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," Snape began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word—like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. However, considering how he'd acted like a scared cat upon seeing Ophelia, his intimidation didn't affect her as much as the others.

"As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."