Ruin magic was special to the Gryffindor witch. It was some of the first magic she had ever fully grasped and been able to perform perfectly and it was a key component in her alchemical studies. She took it seriously and after being taught briefly by the late Abraham Botros Aslan had high expectations for whoever thought themselves clever enough to teach ancient ruins.

Professor Sokolov had yet to have earned ether her scorn, or her admiration.

She would, if pressed, had said that he was aesthetically pleasing but that was hardly a shock considering Hogwarts only seemed to employ Professors of a certain level of beauty and Sokolov fit into that slot nicely.

The classroom was already filling up and Aslan didn't see anyone she particularly wanted to sit by. Brian had not yet stepped in (she wasn't sure he was still taking this class at all), Hazel was nowhere to be seen or Esme for that matter. She shouldn't have been much surprised, and she wasn't but there was a lingering feeling. One that had shadowed her ever since the train ride and yet another fateful encounter with Daxton Prince.

It was a feeling she would not name.

But it rhymes with Smolonely.

Perhaps that was why she chose to sit next to Takeru near the front of the class. She offered the younger Slytherin a nod of acknowledgment, but otherwise was silent as she put down her patched book bag before bringing out her quill and parchment.