Pansy's view

My heart is pounding in my throat as. The dimly lit corridor stretches ahead, its flickering torches casting restless shadows along the stone walls. My footsteps echo against the cold floor, too loud in the suffocating silence. A tight knot coils in my stomach as I weave through the empty hallway, my hands curled into fists at my sides. The air smells of old parchment and candle wax, familiar yet somehow suffocating tonight. Every breath feels shallow, every step hesitant.

Somewhere ahead, Reginald is waiting—unaware that I am coming, unaware that I am about to ask something I am not even sure I have the courage to say.

As I turn the corner, I spot him. Reginald stands near one of the arched windows, his back to me, bathed in the dim glow of moonlight filtering through the glass. His posture is relaxed, one hand resting casually against the stone ledge, the other tucked into the pocket of his robes. For a brief moment, I hesitate, my pulse hammering against my ribs. He hasn't noticed me yet. I could still turn around, walk away, pretend I never intended to speak to him at all. But my feet refuse to move, and before I can second-guess myself, I inhale sharply and take a step forward.

I glance at Sofia, then let out a slow breath. – Reginald – he turns around at the sound of his name, his expression already set in irritation.

- What the fuck do you want? – he snaps.

I clench my jaw, forcing my to stay calm. - Okay, I deserved this. Can we talk?

- I don't have time for this. Sprout hates late students – he shifts his weight, already preparing to walk away.

- Than what about tonight? Eight o'clock, Astronomy Tower?

Reginald exhales deeply, eyes narrowing as if he's already regretting his next words. – I'm a fucking idiot for saying this, but…fine. We can talk.

Relief loosens my shoulders. – Thank you – a small, almost hesitant smile tugs at my lips.

Shouldn't you both be in class? – McGonagall's tone is crisp, unwavering.

Reginald straightens. – Yes, Professor. We're going.

She gives us a pointed look before turning away. I exchange a glance with him last time before we head in opposite directions, the weight of our impending conversation settling in my chest.

I walk beside Sofia in silence, the weight of my thoughts pressing heavily on my chest. Neither of us speaks as we make our way toward the classroom, the only sound our footsteps echoing in the corridor. When we reach the door, Sofia suddenly turns to me and wraps her arms around me in a tight embrace. I freeze for a moment before exhaling, sinking into the comfort of her presence. No words are needed.

Just then, Professor Snape strides in, his sharp gaze landing on us. He raises an eyebrow, questioning, but neither of us offers an explanation. Instead, we simply nod—because we understand, even if no one else does.

- Today, we will be working in groups - Professor Snape announces, his voice cutting through the quiet murmur of the class. – The best team will get "excellent" as there grade.

Without a word, Elara, Sofia, and I exchange a quick glance. It's one of those moments where no words are needed—instinctively, we know we'll be working together. We don't even have to discuss it. Our eyes meet, and it's settled.

I can almost hear Sofia's silent smirk, and Elara's faint nod. Together, we're an unstoppable team, and we all know it. As we gather around the table, we look up at the recipe written neatly on the board. The ingredients are simple, but we've done this a hundred times before. It's just a matter of following the steps, and we'll have the best potion in the room.

The others might struggle with the complexities, but not us. We've got this. This is ours to win. As we begin to gather the ingredients, a sense of focus settles over the table. Sofia carefully measures the powdered moonstone, her fingers precise as she adds it to the cauldron, while Elara stirs the mixture with practiced ease. I start crushing the dried nettles, my mind already ahead, thinking about the final step. Everything feels effortless—smooth, like we've done this countless times before, like we were born to work together in this moment.

All of them fumbling with their measurements, glancing nervously at their cauldrons, but we move with a quiet confidence. No one is going to beat us today. We don't even need to look at them to know they're struggling. We're already ahead, and we haven't even started the final ingredients yet.

- What do you think the lunch will be? – Elara asks.

A smile creeps up on my face when I see Granger's face as he listens to how easily we talk. - I don't know, but I hope it's something delicious, because instead we'll definitely go for a walk.

- Shall I go too? I promise I'll be a good third wheel.

- Of course, come on. We might even have a threesome – I say, smirking.

We start giggling when Hermione's eyes widen in horror. Her mouth opens and closes like a fish struggling for air, before she finally manages to speak. – You are absolutely disgusting – she hisses, her voice dripping with disdain. – I should have known better than to expect anything remotely decent from you lot.

Elara clutches her chest dramatically. – Oh no, girls, she thinks we're indecent! Whatever shall we do?

- I suppose we could start knitting sweaters and baking cookies – I say, tapping my chin thoughtfully. – That's what decent people do, right?

Sofia snorts, and we all burst into laughter again. Hermione, however, is still fuming, her face and unhealthy shade of red. – You're insufferable – she snaps, spinning on her heel. – I don't have time for this nonsense.

- Yet here you are, listening every word – I call after her.

She storms off, muttering something under her breath, and wipes away a fake tear. – I think we broke her.

- Nah – Sofia grins. – She was already broken – we cackle as we continue the potion, entertained by the little encounter.

A few minutes later, we can barely hold back our grins as our potion bubbles perfectly in the cauldron. Elara stirs it with satisfaction, while Sofia nudges my arm, tilting her head towards the struggling students around us. The Gryffindors' cauldrons emit suspiciously coloured smoke, someone is desperately trying to salvage their thickened sludge, and three Hufflepuffs watch in horror as their potion turns into a creeping, sticky mess.

Draco and his group finish shortly after us and saunter over, smirking as they take in the disaster unfolding across the room. – This is painful to watch – Theo murmurs, crossing his arms.

- It's entertaining, though - Draco adds, his eyes gleaming with amusement as one of the Ravenclaws frantically fans their cauldron in vain.

Before we can laugh, Professor Snape sweeps through the classroom, his cold gaze scanning the various failed attempts, his expression one of barely concealed disgust. He finally stops in front of us, looking down into our cauldron. With a sharp nod, he mutters. – At least two group in this class is capable of following instructions."

He pauses, then adds begrudgingly. – Ten points to Slytherin.

Sofia stifles a giggle and whispers – I know he's secretly proud of us.

- Most of the Slytherin teams managed to produce a decent potion – he states coldly for the class. – As for the rest… their results are so disastrous that I would rather not go into details – His gaze sweeps over the room, lingering for a moment on the worst failures before finally settling back on us. – And the best potion was made by Parkinson, Miller, and Smith.

I simply grin wider, watching as Hermione's face contorts like she just bit into a lemon.