The group of three boys started laughing loudly, roughly patting the platinum blond on the back -  the boy jerking forwards with each powerful slap.
"Never took you to be the type to boss people around, tiny person like you bro."
Cicero gave a playful scowl before crossing his arms, nodding over to the brunet beside him.

"Whatever, anyways. Losers this is Five Hargreeves, an academic prodigy with great motor skills - you should let him play in this class game. Five, these are some of the players on our quidditch team - two chasers and a beater." 
Five gave a brief light tipped grin, deep dimples standing out even more than before.

"Morning."

The others smiled mischievously, one of the teens foolishly reaching out to poke the gap, a sharp slap sounding as the old teen gripped his wrist tightly - stopping the curious hand from going anywhere near his face.
He flashed another sarcastic smile, jaw clenching ever so slightly - he dropped the arm.

"Woah - he's a feisty one. Power bottom you are. Anyways, sure - we can let him play, he can have a go at seeker. But when he gets seriously injured, it wasn't our fault."
Cicero snickered lightly adjusting his black rimmed glasses with an impish smirk.

"Cool. Now let's go and thrash those filthy Gryffindors."

---

"Are you sure you've never played quidditch before Five?"

"Dude you're a natural, never seen anyone play like that first time."

"You need to join our team."
Questions and praise were showered over the bored teen, many others panting as they sprawled themselves over the slightly damp grass - slick with sweat from the many games they had just played.

The class games ended with Slytherin coming out victorious with every match, completely obliterating the opposing house in a matter of minutes.
The whole team did excellently, and the old teen had captured the golden snitch with quick succession over and over again, sometimes cutting off the Gryffindor seeker just as they spotted the little round ball glinting in the dim sunlight - simply to piss them off.

Just as a true Slytherin would.

Five scoffed, his hands in his trouser pockets again.

"I don't have time for this, so I'll have to pass on that offer."
The group of boys groaned and pressed on.

"But you'd be such a great asset to the team!" 
The brunet shot them a bored glare, and a raised eyebrow.
A smirk made its way to his face, one filled with complete annoyance.
"You pea brains really just don't understand, don't you?"

He sighed and retrieved his leather satchel, leaving the three boys through the large wooden doors without uttering another word - Cicero trailing behind him, giving an apologetic look.

---

"Good morning class! Welcome to another year of potions, Mr Hargreeves - welcome to your first lesson!"
A man with a gingery blond moustache and thick, straw-coloured hair welcomed the class, before turning to the brunet.
The old timer simply gave a fraud smile, nodding from his position at the middle front of the small room.

The stone walls seemed to be non existent in the area, hundreds of wooden shelves and a single cabinet occupying the space instead.
Thousands of glass jars with thin layers of grime coating the outside of them sat on those shelves, the strange contents both colourful and dull filling each one - some looking particularly depressing in their half filled state.

Inside the old birch cabinet were rows of books, neatly stacked on top of each other.
Many of the covers looked worn out, some holding weird, coloured stains that ate up the silver headings and corners.

A strange odour wafted throughout the room, light puffs of fog and smoke drifting up from the three cauldrons at the front.
Hufflepuffs and Slytherins voluntarily separated themselves from each other, soft canary yellow on one side of the room - and brilliant forest green occupying the other.

The professor clasped his hands excitedly, his old face holding a rather wide and energetic smile.
"Now, let's get straight into this lesson - Draught of Living Death. Now, you're not supposed to be learning this until your sixth year of Hogwarts - but I think that your brilliant minds are prepared for this. Now, would anyone like to describe to me what it is exactly."

Two hands shot up, Tom's going up a split second later than Five's.
"Five, my boy, would you like to explain to the class?"
Tom's eyes narrowed at the old teen, who spoke with a loud and clear voice that ram smoothly like silk.

"The Draught of Living Death brings upon its drinker a very powerful sleep that can last indefinitely. This draught is an extremely dangerous potion that is to be executed with maximum caution."

"Well done, perfectly phrased - however, you did miss one thing. Tom, would you like to tell us what colour it takes whilst it is being made?"
The ebony haired boy grinned and spoke with equal fluency from his desk, which happened to be beside Five's.

"It takes a pale lilac hue whilst being brewed, the finishing product should be clear."
Slughorn gave an approving nod before turning to the rest of his class, telling them their next instructions - which was to collect their equipment and start brewing.

Two of the teens in the classroom gave each other a glance, emerald staring deeply into azure once again.

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