Zara copied the ingredients with care, checking herself against the professor's scrawling handwriting no less than three times. Below that, she transcribed the brewing instructions. Only once she was sure she had everything down did she rise from her seat and make her way to the pantry in the front, off the side of the classroom.

Nearly everyone else had grabbed their ingredients, leaving her in the cramped space with only one other student. She hesitated at the door for a brief moment, darting in when the gargoyle's body language indicated she couldn't care less about Zara's presence. 

Zara filled her arms with the body parts of various magical creatures and plants, hurrying back to the relative safety of her table. She stopped dead, arms still loaded down, staring at her cauldron.

A small fire crackled merrily beneath it, cheerful blue flames licking the silver sides without leaving so much as a scorch mark on the table beneath. Slowly putting her things down, she looked at the white-haired boy filling his own cauldron with water. He met her gaze, eyes like pale moonstones.

"If your temperature isn't correct, I'll die vomiting blood." 

Sufficient explanation. Zara was less inclined to question a motive of self-preservation than a motive of kindness. Still, she had learned the hard way about trusting monsters. Digging her hand into her bag, she felt a smooth stone slip into her fingers. Tossing the rock into the center of the flame, she waited until it turned a bright orange-gold, the color holding steady even as first a minute, then another ticked by. 

The boy really had put the fire at the right temperature. Quick as a snake she darted her hand into the flames, snagging the rock and sticking it back into her bag. Rubbing her fingers together, she found them only lightly singed from contact with the firestone. She had been quicker than the flames. 

"Ah." 

Zara glanced up at the soft sound of understanding. The boy offered a sideways smile that was more charming that necessary. "I see. I won't worry about it next time."

There didn't seem to be any response to that, so Zara just dumped the water that had already been provided as a base for the potion into the cauldron and checked her ingredients again. 

Zara wasn't a fastidious person by nature. She generally felt she was more suited to the flow and motion of chaos, her mind disinclined to care about small details and planning. However, she had learned long ago how to bully her brain into caring about each step and little detail where potion-making was concerned. Now, she was almost compulsive as she checked and re-checked, read and re-read instructions, measured twice, thrice. 

Even humans could used potions if they were meticulous enough. Even she could use this magic if she worked hard enough. 

The potion was one she had made before. It was a simple tonic that she had used before, one that slightly altered all features of one's face, allowing them some anonymity in a crowd if necessary. A tonic that could become wildly toxic if so much as one extra unicorn eyelash was added. 

As Zara worked, she could feel eyes on her. It wasn't an unfamiliar sensation, but it was and always would be an uncomfortable one. Whenever she looked up to see who it was, though, she found all eyes trained on the work before them. 

Zara relaxed her gaze slightly as she chopped fresh vervain into a fine mash. There. In her peripheral, she found a student two tables over turn their head multiple times in her direction. She watched them for a while, wracking her brain to remember if there had been anyone she recognized in the class. She was hesitant to look at them directly, not wanting them to know just yet that she knew they were watching, but couldn't discern any detail of their features from the corner of her vision.

"Morrigan!"

Zara jolted back, raising the small, silver chopping knife up in front of her before she realized it was her tablemate who had yelled at her. Startled and angry, she bared her teeth at him in a small snarl. "What?"

"Your blood mixed in vervain isn't anywhere in the instructions," he said, voice flat. 

Appalled, Zara looked down to find she had very neatly sliced the knife across the back of her index finger. Blood pulsed sluggishly from the cut, turning the green mash into a sludgy brown. She swallowed against a dry throat, pulse thumping hard in her neck as she looked down at the mess.

Irritating.

A pale hand grabbed hers and Zara reacted without thinking. The knife flashed in the firelight, followed by a startled hiss of pain. A beat passed, and it was like a mist lifted, allowing her to see clearly the consequences of her actions. The pale boy cradled his hand, watching in disbelief as blood trickled from the deep cut on the back of his hand.

"Don't touch me," she said, careful to keep her voice smooth, her face emotionless.

He laughed under his breath. "I was just going to fix the cut. If you'd rather bleed all over everything that's your prerogative, I suppose." He passed his other hand over the cut, magic flaring ice-blue beneath his palm. 

Zara watched as his flesh knit itself back together. Her heart still pounded hard against the backs of her ribs. She didn't feel guilty, necessarily. It had certainly been an overreaction, but her nerves had been stretching thin all day. 

He shouldn't have touched her without permission first. 

Silently, she reached into the bag at her waist, fishing a roll of bandages out of the depths. With practiced ease, she wrapped the finger, using the knife to cut the end before she tied a small bow. Still feeling shaky, she began to scoop the ruined vervain off the table into her palm. 

Movement from the corner of her eye barely warned her. Zara lifted her arms, the brunt of the potion spilling across the sleeves of her shirt. Droplets flecked her neck and face as she flung herself over the table, rolling across the flat surface and barely managing to avoid dumping her own cauldron's contents. 

Dark fluid dripped from the dragon scales covering her sleeves, steam beginning to rise gently as it evaporated off the impermeable surface. Zara slowly lowered her arms, staring at the girl across the table.

The white-haired boy stood abruptly, backing away until he was slightly behind Zara.

Puzzled by this turn of events, Zara gave the girl another once over, her hand resting comfortably in the pouch on her belt. White hair, blood-red lips, severe angles.

They could have been twins.

"Ah. Sorry. I missed," the girl said with a venomous smile, cauldron still in her hands. 

Not as sorry as you're about to be, Zara thought, hand digging deeper into the bag. 

"Enough!" A cold voice suddenly barked from across the room. "All of you sit and finish your work. Miss Morrigan, you should clean that off your skin before it poisons you."

Zara could feel where the droplets that had landed on her neck and a bit of her face and hands was starting to burn. But...

"My assignment, Professor?"

The witch grimaced, looking like it physically pained her to say, "You will be allowed to complete it later today. Come back this evening at six." Her eyes flicked to the other girl, her expression softening a bit. "Start again, Miss Blanche. You are running out of time."

The girl nodded, gracefully turning back to her table

Zara didn't show it as relief flooded her. She had an impressive tolerance to poison, but didn't feel like testing the limits.

"I will go with her," her tablemate suddenly said. "She should go to the nurse for an antidote. I will make sure she doesn't pass out from poisoning first."

"I--"

Zara was cut off before she could mount an objection.

"Fine," the professor waved her hand, rings glittering in the light. "You will not be afforded extra time."

The boy gave a mask-like smile. "I'm already done, madam." He held up a small flask filled with clear liquid. Opening his palm, he allowed the glass container to float across the room until it landed gently on the professor's desk. "I will escort Miss Morrigan."

Without another word, he turned to her, gesturing for her to lead the way out of the room.

Intrigued and encouraged by the intense burning on the skin of her hands, Zara turned on her heel and strode from the room, making sure to mark the offender's face. 

Zara wasn't about to give her another chance. 

Word Count: 1428

Total: 6,526