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.

But Alya would not listen to reason.

"I will improve, I promise! I will study day and night to catch up. I'll work hard at the cost of spitting blood! But, I beg you professor, don't kick me out of Potions! My family would not forgive me such... failure," pleaded young Black, on the verge of despair.

Slughorn stared at her in silence for a few seconds, pitying her.

"Let's do this: after Easter break, I plan to offer the students in your class a test, to assess their level. You will have to prepare a potion from those studied during the year. Each student will have a different potion from the others, chosen arbitrarily on the spot. I will give you time to prepare properly and improve your performance until that day. If you are unable to perform the exercise assigned to you correctly during the test, I will be forced to exclude you permanently from the Potions course. And I will personally send an owl to your parents to inform them of the situation. This is the last chance I give you, Miss Black," proposed Slughorn, in a grave tone.

"I will treasure this opportunity, Professor. I will not disappoint you!" promised Alya confidently, relieved to have bought some more time to resolve the matter.

Slughorn nodded, giving the girl a look a little too understanding for her liking. It was evident that he didn't hold too much faith in Alya's possible successes.

"Then we are agreed, Miss Black. Now off you go, so you won't be late for your next class. Goodbye and good work." concluded Slughorn, thus ending the discussion.

Alya took her leave and thanked him again for the opportunity she had been given. She quickly left the Potions dungeon and hurried to the upper floors of the castle.

As she anxiously climbed the steps, the young Black was seized with anxiety; after a quick mental calculation of the weeks until the fateful test announced by the teacher, Alya realised that she had little more than a month to reach an adequate level for the test that awaited her.

If she wanted to have even the slightest hope of successfully passing the test, she had to get to work immediately and not waste any time.

***

16 March, 1977. Hogwarts, Forbidden Forest.

The following day, James and Alya had arranged to meet in the Forbidden Forest, after the curfew had been broken, as usual. However, Alya decided to enter the dense forest before the Gryffindor boy.

Alya slipped out of the castle before dinner, armed with a large bag, much heavier than usual and clinking with glass cruets.

Dusk hadn't yet set in and a timid light bathed the slender Slytherin figure opaquely as she sank stealthy steps into the great park of Hogwarts. In the distance, the waters of the Black Lake still sparkled brightly from the golden glare of the sun, which was dying slowly and placidly on the horizon.

Once past the edge of the forest, the landscape darkened instantly, as if an early night had fallen. The sun's rays barely filtered through the tangle of branches and leaves, which acted as an impenetrable roof in that part of the park, and the air itself suddenly became colder and sharper.

Frightened by the sudden change in temperature, Alya clutched herself in the cloak that wrapped her body broadly, while with determined strides she walked along a freshly traced path.

On the way, the girl did her best to pick up a few dry branches and a few patches of wood. She finally reached the small clearing near the cypress tree where she and James used to meet. It was the ideal place to put into practice what she had in mind. Alya knelt down on the damp turf and extracted from her bag several glass ampoules and vials, a miniature cauldron and her copy of Advanced Potions.

She carefully arranged the flasks containing the ingredients next to her, piled up the collected woods and held her wand, pointing it at the tiny brass pot, resembling a child's toy.

"Engorgio", she pronounced.

The object swelled to the size of a real cauldron. Alya placed it on top of the pile of wood and waved her wand again. A tawny spark gushed from the end, igniting the small brazier.

The girl then grabbed the volume of Potions and gave a long sigh of grim resignation.

"Here's to you and me!" she announced, staring defiantly at the pages of the book, while wrinkles of concentration - and disgust - rippled her forehead.

Trying her hand at potion-making even during her free moments was like inflicting painful torture on herself, but Alya could not do otherwise if she wanted to train in the hated subject and thus have a remote chance of passing the test. She could not afford to be thrown out of Slughorn's class. Her parents would never have forgiven her such humiliation.

Alya therefore concentrated on the complicated instructions described in the pages of Advanced Potions and plunged into preparation. Time passed quickly, and without the young Black noticing, outside the Forbidden Forest the sun set, bloodying the sky darkened by the impending twilight with scarlet light. Night then came, covering the vast confines of Hogwarts with its black cloak. But Alya did not notice, immersed in the darkness offered by the dense forest vegetation.

Engrossed as she was in her study, she did not even hear James' arrival. When the Gryffindor had reached the clearing, she spotted Alya leaning over a steaming cauldron, totally concentrated on stirring.

Due to the heat from the cauldron and the simmering potion, the girl's face was visibly purple and beaded with sweat. Although her appearance was slightly unkempt, James still found her beautiful. He got even moved, seeing her struggling with something that was apparently putting her through the wringer.

"Hey, Black! Are you going to set fire to the forest?", he teased her good-naturedly, making his presence known.

Alya, caught off guard, gasped, turning impulsively towards the forest. When she saw James emerge from the vegetation, she sketched a vague smile on her lips.

"No, I'm just practicing", she retorted, then, curling her mouth into a grimace of disgust. "Slughorn said that my grades are disastrous and that if I don't pass the next test scheduled after the Easter holidays, he'll kick me out of the class", she whined.

"Bad deal", commented James. "What are you preparing?"

"Pepperup Potion"

"Do you want a hand? I'm pretty good with Potions", the Gryffindor offered.

"No, thanks. I can do just fine on my own", replied Alya, strutting over. James got the impression that she was offended. He leaned towards the cauldron, to spy on its contents.

"Are you sure about that? Actually, I think you've skipped a step and reversed the administration of a couple of ingredients... At this point, the potion should appear bright green and give off a pleasant fragrance of mint and eucalyptus", he explained, looking unconvinced at the grey liquid thickening at the bottom of the cauldron.

"I told you I don't need any help!", blurted Alya, now clearly irritated.

At that moment, as if to contradict her, the cauldron puffed noisily, spewing a stream of black smoke from its brass jaws. A pungent smell of burnt coal wafted into the small clearing, flooding the nostrils of the two students.

James coughed, giving the girl the typical 'I-told-you-so' look.

Undaunted by the evidence of her own failure, Alya reacted roughly: she grabbed the ampoules and shoved them back into her bag. With frantic strokes of her wand she cleaned out the cauldron and extinguished the fire.

"What are you doing? Throwing in the towel already?", the Gryffindor prodded her, slightly amused by young Black's impatient temper.

"I don't think I have a choice. You can see I'm a wimp too!", blurted out Alya in response, as she shrunk the cauldron with magic again, before picking it up from the ground.

"Look, you're not so bad. If you'd just listen to me, I could..."

"You could what, Potter?", the Slytherin interrupted him brusquely. "Tease me with more stupid jokes?"

"No! If you would just let me talk...", replied James, in a conciliatory tone. But Alya didn't listen to him, now in the grip of a wave of anger and frustration.

"You're just like all the other Gryffindors! I know how you have fun behind my back every time I fail at Potions!"

"I don't have any fun at all!", objected James, seriously.

"Your mates do! Not to mention that insulting ninny girlfriend of yours."

"Now I'm confused... Who's my ninny girlfriend?", asked James calmly, but visibly confused.

"Lily Evans", hissed Alya, dryly, instantly assuming a defiant attitude.

James winced, before realising what was incredibly happening before his eyes. He couldn't hold back a giggle as he looked at Alya with the typical know-it-all expression.

"I can't believe it! Black, you're jealous of Evans?", he asked, all smug.

It was like throwing a bucket of petrol on the fire: Alya's anger exploded explosively.

"I'M NOT JEALOUS!" she barked furiously, hurling her tiny cauldron straight into the face of James, who, thanks to the alertness of his snappy reflexes, managed to dodge the object by a hair. After all, he was well accustomed to avoiding Bludgers on the pitch during Quidditch matches.
The miniature glided over the ground, rolling ruefully towards a hedge. James cast the cauldron a pitying glance, before turning to Alya; unperturbed by the Slytherin's impetuous gesture, the boy with the round glasses continued to peer at her with an amused grin.

"Black, I understand that it must have been a blow to you and your pride to be told by a professor that you are not the best in a subject. And that noticing that someone else is better than you at something made you - how should I put it? - a little bit irritable..." Alya glowered at him, her pupils dilated with anger. "... But don't you think you're overreacting?" the Gryffindor tried to reason with her.

But the girl replied with glacial muteness, crossing her arms at chest level and turning her nose upwards, offended.

James sighed, trying not to let his exasperation show too much.

"I admit that this sudden passionate outburst of jealousy of yours is partly flattering to me..."

"I.am.jealous.of.no.one." growled Alya through clenched teeth, glancing at the disheveled boy in tralice.

"...But it's completely unjustifiable. And senseless. Your problem is not Lily Evans. It's your pride! That keeps you from asking for help. You know, Black, it wouldn't be the end of the world to admit you need a hand when you're in trouble. A hand that I can give you", James scolded her, deliberately ignoring the threatening glances with which she continued to glower at him.

"I really don't see how you could help me, Potter!" retorted Alya, condescendingly.

James rolled his eyes.

"Well, my father is a well-known potionist, you know. And he taught me quite a few things. I'd have quite a list of tips and tricks to suggest to you. But if you think you can manage on your own... ", he cast another allusive glance at the corpse of the small cauldron lying on the ground a few metres away. "... do as you please, Black!", James concluded, raising his hands in surrender.

Alya stared at him with an impassive expression for a few seconds, although her gaze betrayed the fierce inner battle that had just raged within her, between the evidence of the facts and her innate pride.

"Your father is a very famous and capable potionist, indeed. And you're pretty good with potions too...", she finally conceded, with extreme caution, as pride slowly surrendered to the need to settle the matter. "Do you really want to help me?"

"What a question! But of course! Black, has it ever crossed your mind that even I don't like the idea of you being ousted from Slughorn's class? I mean, it would be one less opportunity to see you, and I'd miss you very much if you could no longer attend it", declared James, gently brushing back a raven lock of hair, which was falling unruly over the Slytherin's face.

That sweet and spontaneous gesture had the effect of permanently annihilating any residual reticence on Alya's part.

"Alright, Potter... You'll help me with those stupid concoctions".

"That's the spirit!"

"And... sorry I didn't think of that... asking for your help", Alya muttered, suddenly finding it extraordinarily interesting to stare at the tips of her toes.

"Don't worry. I'm used to dealing with proud Blacks who are completely incapable of asking for help, too stubborn to show the world how tough they are", James reassured her, with a shrug. "In the six years I've known him, Sirius has only managed to ask me for a favour once, when he ran away from your - well, you get the idea. Anyway, I'm perfectly aware that you Blacks would throw yourselves to the dragons rather than admit to a weakness of your own." commented the Gryffindor fondly.

Alya's heart did a somersault. It happened to her every time Potter unwittingly pointed out some similarity between her and Sirius.

Alya shrugged her shoulders, trying to recompose her imperturbable frown.

"Where do we start?", she asked the Gryffindor, in a practical tone.

"So, first of all, you have to start with the basics. As my father always says, every good potionist must know the supreme ingredient, which is indispensable for the success of any potion, from the simplest to the most complex", exclaimed James, extremely serious, as if he was about to reveal an important secret.

"What ingredient is it?" asked Alya, eagerly. The boy stared at her intensely, from behind his round, glittering lenses, emphasising the solemnity of the revelation. Then, without saying a word, he turned, heading for the hedge beside which still lay helpless the small cauldron which the impetuous Slytherin had hurled at him earlier.

He picked it up from the ground and returned to the girl, who was looking at him more and more curiously.

Finally, James handed the small object to Alya and, with an oblique grin on his face, declared:

"Patience. The secret ingredient every good potionist must know is patience."