“When you’re preoccupied, days of the week don’t seem to be of relative importance.” Valeria has to admit that for once, she was enjoying talking to somebody other than herself. Or her owl, for that matter.

It felt nice to know that someone appreciates and acknowledges her skills, no matter how small the situation may be.

Valeria had half-expected Lysander to catch her - since he is standing so close - but these expectations were turned to ashes as she feels the cold stone underneath her bare limbs.

In truth, Valeria is not so much curious about the classes - she’s already read some of her brother’s textbooks to get enough sense of what will be learned - as to just talking to the boy.

For the second time in her life, Valeria feels as if somebody understands her (the first being with Alain, of course). Not in the sympathetic kind of way, which by no doubts is still effective, but not nearly as heart-warming as having actually experienced it.

Oh no, I’ve done it again. Why do I always mess things up? Scrunching her face, Valeria hits herself on the head with her palm.

“Lysander Rathborne. Yeah, I know who you are.”

Valeria is slightly taken aback by the grin Lysander sends her way. Her first self-defensive instinct questions if the boy has any ulterior motives - why else would he be so nice to her? Hardly anybody smiles at her, let alone notices and talks to her for more than a minute.

Ever since she started at Hogwarts - or possibly even before that - Valeria has developed a particular liking and affinity towards Potions. The fact that a small dose of magically-brewed liquid can change lives, either for better or worse, entices her.

She can feel it in her bones, as the wind sends a cool chill down the back of her neck. Winter is just around the corner, a small child peering out from behind the hem of Autumn’s skirt, slowly preparing to show himself.