The Great Hall was already alive with chatter by the time they pushed through the doors, the scent of roasted chicken and fresh-baked bread filling the air. Sunlight streamed in from the enchanted ceiling, casting a warm afternoon glow over the long house tables. As they approached, Elara adjusted the floating diary under her arm, which had gone suspiciously quiet ever since they'd left the hidden library. She wasn't sure if that was comforting or concerning.
"I still can't believe we found that place," Ron said, rubbing his hands together as he eyed the feast. "Best accidental discovery ever."
"Can't believe we made it out in one piece," Neville muttered.
"Can't believe you all let me leave without swiping 'The Art of Wizarding Pick-Up Lines,'" Seamus added, shaking his head.
"Trust me," Hermione said, "we did you a favor."
"I'm going to catch up with the Puffs," she told the others over her shoulder. "Meet you after lunch for Potions!"
"Bring the book!" Harry called, grinning.
Elara rolled her eyes but tapped the floating diary. "You hear that? Looks like you're coming with me."
"There you are!" Hannah exclaimed as Elara slid onto the bench. "We thought maybe Peeves kidnapped you."
"Or you got lost," Wayne added.
"Or both," Zacharias said.
Elara smirked. "Oh, Iwishit was that simple."
She set the mysterious, slightly sentient book down onto the table, making sure to flip it closed before it couldwrite anything incriminating. "You lot are never going to believe the adventure I've had."
Ernie, Susan, and Justin all leaned in eagerly. "Go on."
"Okay, so remember how Iwasn'tin Potions?"
"Yes," Sally-Anne said, narrowing her eyes. "And Ispecificallytold you tostay alive."
Elara grinned. "Introducing:the most unhinged book in Hogwarts history."
The book twitched. A few of them leaned back.
"…I'm sorry, what?" Susan asked, eyeing it warily.
"Please elaborate," Sally-Anne added, looking equal parts intrigued and concerned.
Elara launched into a retelling of their misadventure—the discovery of theRejected Section, the absurd book titles, the scroll detailing Hogwarts'beta version, and, of course, the moment the gossip book had practicallybeggedto leave with her.
By the time she reached the part about theWorst Professors of All Timelist andSnape's personal response, Wayne had doubled over in laughter, Susan was hiding behind her hands, and Hannah was clutching Ernie's sleeve,wheezing.
"Oh—oh Merlin—Snape knows?! And heleft a note?!"
"The absoluteaudacity," Ernie said, grinning. "He had to respect the list enough to respond, though."
Zacharias, who had been listening with narrowed eyes, folded his arms. "Alright, fine. I'll admit it. That's actuallyimpressive."
Susan, still recovering, peeked at the book cautiously. "So… what exactlyisit?"
Elara grinned and tapped the cover. The diary practically purred in response.
"It's a self-writing gossip book," she explained. "It recordsdrama, thrives onscandal, and apparently has no moral compass."
A few of them inched away.
"…And you brought it to lunch," Zacharias said flatly.
Susan's jaw dropped. "You just—tookit?"
"Well, technically, itlatched onto mefirst."
"Of course it did," Ernie muttered.
Sally-Anne, meanwhile, snatched the book off the table and held it close to her chest. "I need this in my life."
"Okay, okay," Elara laughed, prying it back. "I promise we'll figure out what else it does later, butfirst—" She leaned forward, eyes sparkling. "I need to hear aboutyourday. Tell meeverythingI missed in Potions."
There was a moment of silence as they exchanged glances, then, the table immediately erupted into chaotic storytelling, everyone talking over each other:
"Snape just—appearedout of nowhere."
"Didn't even sayhello. Just startedinsulting people."
"His voice issomuch scarier in person."
"Ernie made afatal mistake."
Elara turned to Ernie. "Oh, no. What did you do?"
"I—" Ernie put his head in his hands. "I thought he made a mistake in his ingredient list."
Hannah and Susan winced.
Elara's eyes went wide. "Youcorrected Snape?"
The entire Hufflepuff table fell silent.
Justin looked away.
Wayne made the sign of the cross.
Zacharias just shook his head. "Rest in peace, mate."
Susan sighed heavily. "It was nice knowing you."
Ernie groaned. "I didn'tcorrecthim—I just—I pointed out what the book said—"
"Which was thelast mistake you'll ever make," Sally-Anne muttered.
"Oh, he eviscerated him," Zacharias added. "Ernie wasreduced to atoms."
Hannah shuddered. "He stared at him for a full ten seconds before speaking."
Elara gasped. "TEN?!That's worse than yelling!"
Justin mimicked Snape's drawl, "'If incompetence were an ingredient, this classroom would be brewingfailure.'"
Wayne put a hand over his heart. "Poetry."
Elara collapsed onto the table laughing.
"Oh, we'renotdone," Susan said dramatically. "Snape tookpointsfrom Gryffindor. Forbreathing."
"No," Elara wheezed.
"Yes," Justin said. "Technically, he said 'for wasting my oxygen.'"
SCRITCH. SCRATCH.
The entire table froze.
Elara blinked. "What was that?"
Slowly, she turned to the book.
It was open.
Its pages flipping on their own.
Ink was forming sentences right before their eyes.
"So. You wish to hear about Potions, do you?"
Wayne's eyes widened. "Wait. Wait, hold on. You don't mean—"
The book vibrated smugly."Oh, I always know."
Hannah gasped. "Wait—it's been spying on our Potions class?!"
The book's pages flipped, the ink swirling into crisp lettering:
*"Day One Report:
Professor Snape has already deducted 15 points before lunch.
The Gryffindors look traumatized.
A Hufflepuff dropped their cauldron. Disaster. Chaos. Spilled ingredients everywhere.
AHufflepuff tried to correct Snape. They are no longer with us (they are—but they wish they weren't)."*
Waynefroze. "…That wasme."
Elara blinked. "Wait—youdropped the cauldron?"
Wayne groaned and buried his face in his arms. "It slipped! Everything went everywhere! Iswearhe was about to start docking points by the handful, but then Susan cast a cleaning charmbeforehe could say anything."
Susan gave a self-satisfied nod. "Small victories."
The book's ink swirled dramatically before continuing:
*"A few notable quotes from today's lesson:
'If incompetence were an ingredient, this classroom would be brewing failure.'
'Five points from Gryffindor for wasting my oxygen.'
'If you ever feel tempted to speak without thinking, resist. For everyone's sake.'"*
Hannahlost it.
"This book issavage," she gasped. "Iloveit."
Ernie groaned, head in hands. "I hate everything."
"Imagine if it startsnarrating our lives," Sally-Anne said. "Like, 'Hufflepuff table: Currently deciding whether to start a cult for this book or throw it into the lake.'"
"I vote cult," Wayne said immediately.
Zacharias smirked. "No offense, but this book might be the best thing to happen to you."
The book practically purred in agreement.
Elara grinned, settling into the warm, easy energy of the Hufflepuff table. Lunch had barely begun, and already, the day was shaping up to be far more entertaining than she'd ever expected.
And though she hadn't been able to attend Potions herself yet (thanks to her MIX class), the book's gossip-filled retelling of the first class with Snape had more than made up for it.
Her curiosity about Snape had only deepened, and while the day had only just begun, Elara knew that the real fun was still to come.
The Great Hall was still alive with conversation as students trickled out, but Elara barely noticed—her mind was already occupied with what was coming next.
Potions.
In the dungeons.
With Snape.
With an entirely random class grouping that had been decided by Hogwarts itself, because apparently, that was a thing now.
As she rejoined Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Seamus, she could feel the collective tension radiating off of them. Even Hermione—who usuallythrivedin academic settings—looked unsettled.
"So," Seamus said as they passed the Entrance Hall and began their descent toward the dungeon corridor, "anyone figure out how exactly these MIX classes work? Or are we just going in blind?"
"Blind," Neville muttered. "Completely, utterly blind."
"Brilliant," Ron sighed. "Love that for us."
"You'd think they'd at least give us a syllabus," Hermione huffed, adjusting her bag. "Orsomethingto prepare."
"They did," Harry pointed out. "It just said, 'Come to class.'"
"That's not a syllabus, Harry. That's athreat," she shot back.
Elara chuckled, shifting her bag higher on her shoulder. She couldn't tell if she was more nervous or intrigued, but either way, the anticipation was electric.
Leaving the Great Hall felt like stepping from warmth into shadow. The castle always had a way of feelingdifferentdepending on where you were headed, and now, with Potions looming, the air seemed heavier—like the castleitselfknew what awaited them.
"So," Ron started, glancing around at the others, "does anyone actually know how to get to the dungeons?"
A pause.
A long pause.
Elara's stomach dropped slightly.
"…We don't know where the dungeons are?"
Harry scratched the back of his neck. "I mean, wedo—technically."
Neville frowned. "Technically?"
"We know they'redown," Seamus said helpfully, pointing at the stone floor.
Ron threw up his hands. "Oh, brilliant! I'll just startdigging, then, shall I?"
Hermione let out a long-suffering sigh. "Honestly, didseriouslynone of you evenread'Hogwarts: A History'?" This was the second time she had asked that now.
Four blank stares.
She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Of course not."
Elara, trying not to laugh, raised a tentative hand. "Iskimmedit?"
Hermione looked at her like she had just personally saved a litter of kittens.
"Thank you,Elara. At leastsomeoneattempted to be prepared."
Ron groaned. "Great, another one."
"Alright, fine,howdo we get there?" Neville asked.
Hermione straightened. "The dungeons are beneath the castle—obviously—but they're accessed through a series of staircasesnotattached to the main stairwell. There are at least three different ways to get down there, but the most direct path is through the corridor past the main staircase—turn left at the suit of armor missing an arm, then take the passage that looks like a dead end."
"…The passage that looks like awhat?" Seamus repeated.
Hermione ignored him and pressed on. "Once we're there, the hallway should naturally slope downward. That will lead us straight to the classroom."
Ron blinked at her. "You justmemorizedall that?"
Hermione gave him a look.
Elara, grinning, nudged him. "We should be grateful. Otherwise, we'd be wandering until next class."
With Hermione leading the way, they set off through the entrance hall, weaving past other students who were heading in all directions. As they approached the main staircase, the castle seemed to stretch and darken—not in anyphysicalway, but infeeling.
The torches here burned dimmer. The air was cooler. And somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of dripping water echoed from unseen corridors.
When they reached the suit of armor missing an arm, Hermione barely slowed. "Left here."
"Are we sure about this?" Neville mumbled, eyeing the shadowed passage ahead.
"Nope," Ron answered.
"Yes," Hermione corrected.
They turned, and the corridor grew noticeably narrower. The stone walls pressed in a little closer, the ceiling just a little lower.
The supposed 'dead-end' was ahead now—a stretch of solid stone wall, featureless and unremarkable.
Ron stopped short. "Right. Well. Good effort, everyone. We tried."
Hermione rolled her eyes and strode forward—then, without hesitation, pressed her palm against the wall.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
A deep, lowrumblevibrated through the stone. Dust trickled from the ceiling. And slowly, the wall melted away, revealing a darkened staircase that spiraled downward into nothingness.
"…That's unsettling," Elara murmured.
Seamus let out a low whistle. "I take back everything I said. Youareterrifyingly brilliant, Hermione."
Hermione, clearly trying to suppress a smile, motioned for them to follow.
The steps beneath their feet were cold and uneven, worn smooth by centuries of students making this exact descent. The deeper they went, the colder the air became. The flickering sconces on the walls cast their shadows in odd, shifting angles.
No one spoke.
It was almost too quiet down here—no distant chatter from the Great Hall, no sounds of shifting staircases, no life beyond their own hesitant footfalls.
Elara wasn't sure how long they walked, but after what felt like an eternity, the passage leveled out into a proper hallway. The floor sloped downward slightly, leading them into a long, arched corridor.
The moment they reached the classroom door, they realized just how strange this class was going to be.
Because peering inside…
Was a room full of Slytherins.
Draco Malfoy leaned lazily against a desk near the center, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle like a living fortress. Blaise Zabini sat near the back, arms crossed, looking as though he'd rather be anywhere else. Pansy Parkinson twirled a lock of dark hair around her finger, whispering something to Draco with an exaggerated giggle.
That wasfiveSlytherins accounted for.
Elara's eyes drifted past them, searching for any sign of familiar faces.
OnlyoneRavenclaw sat among them.
Luna.
She was perched at a desk near the left wall, idly spinning a quill between her fingers. She didn't appear bothered by the odd company, her dreamy gaze fixed on something in the air above her head, as if watching a creature no one else could see.
Elara's stomach did an uncomfortable flip.
There were five Gryffindors. Five Slytherins. One Ravenclaw.
And just one Hufflepuff.
Her.
"Oh, brilliant," Ron muttered. "This is going to beloadsof fun."
Seamus elbowed him. "C'mon, at least we outnumber them."
Harry, however, looked wary. He and Draco locked eyes across the room, and an unspoken challenge passed between them.
Elara had barely taken this in when something in the air shifted.
A presence.
A weight.
Notloud—not like McGonagall's commanding authority or Dumbledore's quiet wisdom—but somethingcolder. Subtler. It pressed into the room like the creeping chill of a shadow stretching across stone.
The faintestswishof robes whispered through the corridor behind them, the sound barely more than a breath against the silence. And then—
A voice.
Silken, smooth as rolling ink, yet edged like the honed blade of a dagger. A voice that did notshoutto command attention but rather drew it in, trapping it in the hush of expectation.
Low. Measured. Dangerous.
"Are you planning tolurkin the hallway all afternoon?"
The words curled through the air, slow and deliberate, like the coils of a snake tightening around prey.
Elara froze.
A chill ran down her spine, her pulse skipping before settling into a steady, uncomfortable thrum.
The others stiffened beside her. Even Ron—who had never met a professor he couldn't complain about—was silent.
Elara didn't have to turn around.
She alreadyknewwho it was.
But she did anyway.
Snape stood in the shadows just beyond the doorway, half-shrouded in the flickering torchlight. His black robes hung like a second skin, motionless despite the faint draft that stirred through the dungeons. His arms were folded, one hand half-hidden in his sleeve, his dark eyes—black as onyx, black as ink spilled across parchment—fixed on them with an expression that could curdle fresh milk.
But what struck her most was not his appearance.
It was the way he made the air feelthicker.
The way his presenceshiftedthe atmosphere, altering something unseen.
Elara had never heard a voice like his before. It wasn't loud, yet it filled the space, commanding silence with something even more powerful than volume.
Expectation.
Disdain.
Danger.
And the strangest thing was—
It wascaptivating.
The pause stretched, thick and uncomfortable, before Snape finally arched a single brow.
"Well?" His voice dipped, colder now. "Must Irepeatmyself?"
Elara felt Ron swallow beside her.
She realized, quite suddenly, that Potions was about to be unlike any class she had ever taken before.
The moment the last student scrambled into their seat, the classroom fell into a tense, expectant silence.
And then, like a shadow unspooling from the darkness, Snape strode to the front of the room. His black robes billowed behind him as though conjured by an unseen wind, flowing with every measured step. The air seemed to shift in his presence—cooling, thickening, waiting.
"There will be nofoolishwand-waving orsillyincantations in this class," he drawled, his voice slicing through the silence like a blade wrapped in silk.
Elara felt a flicker of relief at that, seeing as wand work hadn't been her strong suit so far.
Snape came to a sudden stop, clasping his hands in front of him. With a crisp, deliberate turn, he pivoted to face them, his robes swirling around him with an elegance that felt more supernatural than accidental. His dark gaze swept the room, unreadable and searching, before settling into something colder.
"As such..." He resumed, each word laced with quiet disdain, "I don't expect many of you toappreciatethesubtle scienceandexact artthat is potion-making."
A beat of silence.
"However... for thoseselect few..."
His eyes flicked toward Draco then, a knowing, almost indulgent acknowledgment, as if Malfoy alone had any potential in his classroom.
"...who possess thepredisposition..." with a slow, fluid movement, he crossed his arms, wrapping the edges of his cloak around himself like a vampire retreating into the shadows.
"I can teach you how tobewitchthe mind... andensnarethe senses..." His voice dropped lower, richer, each word threading through the air like an incantation of its own.
He took a single step forward, his presence an unspoken force pressing against the room.
"I can tell you how tobottlefame... andbrewglory..." His voice curled around the words, coaxing something almost hypnotic from them. And then, finally—
"...and even put astopperin death."
The words hung there, weighty and unshakable, seeping into the silence like an incantation left to settle. A slow chill crept down Elara's spine. She wasn't sure if it was fear, intrigue, or something else entirely—but one thing was certain.
This was not a man to be underestimated.
Across the room, Draco sat in quiet awe, leaning forward in his seat. Harry, meanwhile, had his head bowed, quill scratching softly against parchment as he scribbled down notes.
From Snape's vantage point, however, it simply looked like Potter was the only studentnotpaying attention.
A shadow flickered behind his eyes, and then, in a voice suddenly edged with ice, he broke the silence.
"Then again..." His gaze locked onto Harry with a piercing intensity, his pause deliberate, stretching just long enough to coil the tension in the air. "Perhapssomeof you arrived at Hogwarts already possessing abilitiesso formidable..."
His voice sharpened now, each word clipped and pronounced, rising slightly in volume like the slow tightening of a noose.
"that you feelconfidentenough..." He took a single step forward, robes whispering against the stone floor.
"To. not. pay. attention."
The words landed like the crack of a whip.
Hermione sucked in a breath and hastily nudged Harry with her elbow. He blinked up at Snape, belatedly realizing his mistake, and hurriedly set his quill aside.
A moment of silence.
"Mr. Potter..." Snape's voice sliced through the murmurs like a blade. A pause. Then, with deliberate ease, he leaned one arm against the stone wall, his gaze settling on Harry with quiet disdain.
"Our newcelebrity."
The word dripped with derision.
He let the silence stretch just long enough to coil the discomfort before speaking again, stringing his next words together like a challenge waiting to be crushed.
"Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Hermione's hand shot into the air, her eyes alight with anticipation, but Harry only stared, caught off guard.
He shook his head.
"Youdon'tknow?" Snape echoed flatly, though it wasn't a question—it was a quiet condemnation. A confirmation of his low expectations.
"Well then, let's try again—where,Mr. Potter, would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"
Hermione nearly left her seat in her eagerness to be called on, her hand stretching even higher, but Harry, still stunned by the attack, could only murmur, "I... I don't know, sir."
Snape's expression didn't shift. Not a flicker.
"And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
The question was sharper this time, a well-placed strike rather than an idle taunt. He was making a point. And he was succeeding.
Hermione looked ready to explode, practically vibrating in her seat.
"I don't know, sir," Harry repeated, quieter now, lowering his gaze.
Snape inhaled slowly, his disappointment as palpable as the cold dungeon air.
"Pity..." he mused, drawing the word out like a lingering note. Then, with slow precision, "Clearly...fame isn't it, Mr. Potter?"
The words settled like dust after an explosion. Draco smirked in delight.
But Harry had had enough.
"ClearlyHermioneknows," he shot back, his voice edged with frustration. "Seems apitynot to askher." He threw Snape's own choice of words back at him, his voice raising slightly in volume.
A ripple of chuckles swept through the room.
Snape's eyes flashed.
"Silence," he drawled, his voice lowering into something almost soft—but no less dangerous. His gaze swept the room, quieting them instantly, then honed in on Harry with a sharpened intensity.
In a single, fluid motion, he pushed off the wall and strode between the desks, his robes whispering in his wake.
"Put your hand down, yousilly girl," he murmured to Hermione without sparing her a glance. She obeyed instantly, her face burning.
Then, in one seamless motion, Snape sank into the seat directly across from Harry, folding his arms as he leaned in.
"For your information,Potter..." His voice was a low, silken thread, his words precise as a dagger. "Asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potionsopowerful it is known as theDraught of the Living Death."
A pause. Just long enough for the words to sink in.
"Abezoaris a stone taken from thestomachof a goat. It will save you frommostpoisons." Another pause, measured and deliberate.
"As for monkshood and wolfsbane..." His gaze didn't waver. "They are thesameplant, which also goes by the nameaconite."
His words were swift, sharp, unrelenting. A calculated blow.
And still—he did not break eye contact.
Harry's jaw tightened, his narrowed eyes locked onto Snape's. Neither moved.
A silence stretched between them, brittle and charged.
Then, without breaking his gaze, Snape spoke again.
"Well..." He exhaled the word, his voice dipping into something almost amused.
"Whyaren'tyou all copying this down?" he asked, his voice raised in a calm threat.
The room filled instantly with the frantic scratching of quills—parchment shifting, inkpots clinking, students scrambling to catch up as his eyes flicked, slow and sweeping, over the class.
And then—he stopped.
His gaze landed on Elara.
Unlike the others, caught in the charged moment, she was already writing.
Neatly, methodically, and—he realized with a flicker of surprise—without hesitation.
The room filled instantly with the frantic scratching of quills—parchment shifting, inkpots clinking, students scrambling to catch up.
And then—he noticed.
Elara.
Unlike the others, who were just now scrambling to jot down his words, she hadalreadybeen writing.
Neatly, methodically, and—he realized with a flicker of surprise—without hesitation.
She had not missed a single word.
Snape's expression remained unreadable, but something in his gaze sharpened—assessing, calculating. A quiet, flickering thought crossed his mind—before he dismissed it just as quickly.
Without a word, he moved on, striding back to the front of the room, his robes sweeping behind him like a shadow.
"AndGryffindors..." He settled into his chair with deliberate ease, dipping his quill into the inkwell. His voice was silk and ice. "Notethat five points will be taken from your house for your classmate'scheek."
His gaze locked onto Harry, cold and dangerous, the weight of his displeasure sinking into the space between them. A silence stretched—sharp, expectant—before he finally looked away and began to write.
Draco and his friends snickered, their laughter hushed but smug.
Harry, however, didn't move. His hands clenched slightly against the desk as he kept staring at Snape, his jaw tight.
Snape, sensing it, flicked his gaze up once more. A single glance—detached, dismissive—before he returned to his parchment, as though Harry weren't even worth the effort of further acknowledgment.
Snape had just dipped his quill back into the inkwell when Hermione, unable to restrain herself any longer, abruptly raised her hand.
Snape did not look up.
Her hand inched higher.
Still, he continued writing.
At last, she cleared her throat. "Professor Snape—"
The scratching of the quill came to an abrupt halt. Snape did not sigh, but thesilenceafter her interruption carried all the weight of one. He lifted his gaze, fixing Hermione with the kind of look that could make even ghosts think twice before speaking.
"What," he said smoothly, "couldpossiblybe so urgent, Miss Granger, that you felt the need to disturb my work?"
Hermione faltered, but only slightly. "Professor, I just—well, I couldn't help but notice that this class doesn't follow the normal structure of Hogwarts lessons."
Snape said nothing.
Hermione, taking his silence as permission to continue (a dangerous assumption), hurried on. "I mean—Potions is always supposed to be with another house, and yet we have students fromeveryhouse here! But only one from each aside from Slytherin and Gryffindor! And—and why aren't we having Potions withthe restof our first-year classmates? Shouldn't we be with them instead of in thisrandomly assignedgroup?"
Every single student perked up—even the ones who normally didn't care for academics. Whether it was curiosity, concern, or just a desire to understand why they—out of all the other first-years—had beenplucked from their houses and dumped into this strange class together, no one could deny that they were intrigued.
At that, a flicker of something passed through Snape's eyes. He tilted his head slightly, as if deciding whether he even felt like responding.
Then, without answering, he went back to writing.
The silence stretched.
Hermione hesitated. "Professor, I—"
Snapesighed through his nose.
Then, and only then, did he lean back in his chair. Completely unbothered. Utterly in control.
His dark gaze flicked lazily over the classroom, as ifjust nowacknowledging that every student was hanging onto the moment, waiting for him to explain himself.
A smirk—barely there—touched his lips.
"How verytiresome," he mused.
His voice was barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the room with surgical precision.
The Gryffindors stiffened. The Slytherins smirked.
But Snape wasn't finished.
"You seem to be under the tragic misapprehension," he continued, tone now rich with mockery, "that Hogwarts operates under rules that I ambeholdento follow."
A slow, deliberate pause.
"Allow me to correct you." he continued, watching her like a predator indulging the foolish questions of its prey.
He stood, his robes unfurling like ink spilling across parchment, and strode forward, prowling between the desks.
"If I decide that my curriculum should be different, then it will be. If I decide that certain students should be separated from the rest, then they will be." His gaze swept the room—sharp, all-knowing, assessing.
"I,"he said, eyes flashing,"do as I please."
No one dared to breathe.
He let the weight of his words settle before adding, smoothly, "And as you are all sitting in this room, I suggest you ask yourselves therealquestion."
His smirk deepened.
"Why you?"
The tension crackled.
Hermione and Luna looked thoughtful. Blaise was watching Snape closely. Pansy shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Draco's smirk faltered just slightly. Ron and Seamus lookedextremelyuncomfortable. Neville seemed downright horrified. Crabbe and Goyle, usually unfazed by things that required thinking, were no longer grinning. Harry, for all his earlier defiance, kept unnervingly quiet. And Elara, though silent, was analyzing every word.
Snape swept back to the front of the room in one smooth motion, his coat flaring dramatically as he turned on his heel.
Without another word, he sat back down. Picked up his quill. And continued writing.
The subject?Closed.
With the classroom now steeped in simmering tension, Snape dipped his quill into the ink well one final time before setting it aside with a deliberate slowness. Then, in a voice cool and detached, as though the last exchange had never happened, he said, "You will now pair up. Instructions are on the board. Follow themexactly."
At once, the room buzzed with movement as students scrambled to find partners.
Some chose quickly—Draco immediately turned to Blaise, while Crabbe and Goyle stuck together without a thought. Hermione all but seized Neville by the robes before he could get himself into trouble, and Seamus lunged for Ron before Harry could so much as blink, leaving Harry momentarily stranded. Pansy, with an air of mild disdain, crossed her arms before finally conceding to pair with him.
Elara, meanwhile, found herself momentarily adrift—until she caught sight of Luna, who sat calmly at her table, looking at Elara as though she'd already known they'd be working together before anyone else did.
Elara gave a small smile and took the seat beside her.
Across the room, Snape flicked his wand. The chalk at the board scrawled a list of ingredients in elegant, precise script:
Cure for Boils
Dried nettles (6 grams)
Crushed snake fangs (4 grams)
Stewed horned slugs (2)
Porcupine quills (4, added only after cauldron is removed from heat)
Method:Heat cauldron to a simmer, add crushed snake fangs, then nettles. Stir counterclockwise five times…
The list continued in careful detail.
Snape surveyed the room with his usual air of silent judgment, watching as students hesitantly approached the ingredients table. He did not bother to remind them to hurry—his presence alone was enough to create a sense of urgency.
Elara read the instructions closely, feeling a mix of curiosity and focus settle over her. Potions were an exact science, an art—something that, unlike spellwork, didn't require the reckless flicking of a wand. She liked that. Especially since wandwork wasn't proving to be her specialty so far.
But just as she and Luna began measuring out the dried nettles, Snape's voice sliced through the air once again—this time directed at none other than Neville Longbottom.
"What are you doing, Longbottom?"he said coolly, pausing at the boy's table like a predator circling its prey.
Neville, who had just upended an entire container of snake fangs into his cauldron instead of the required four grams, went rigid. His face burned as he stammered, "I—I thought—"
"Youthought?" Snape repeated with mock incredulity, arching a slow brow. "Tell me, Longbottom, do you often find yourself rewarded for such an optimistic approach?"
Hermione, already reaching to correct Neville's mistake, went still under Snape's warning glare.
Snape exhaled through his nose, his patience visibly thinning. "If I had the slightest bit of confidence in your abilities, Longbottom, I might allow you to finish this potion without intervention. Unfortunately forbothof us, I donot." His voice dripped with disappointment. "Let me make this easy for you—if there isso much as a wispof smoke coming from your cauldron by the time I return, I will personally ensure you remember this failure for the rest of your miserable time in my classroom."
Elara, who had kept her head down throughout the exchange, couldn't help but glance up at Snape. His expression was unreadable, but there was something sharp behind his words, something more than just cruelty.
Luna, unfazed, simply crushed the snake fangs into fine powder with graceful precision.
"He's harsh," Elara murmured under her breath, more to herself than anything.
"Yes," Luna agreed lightly. "But he's not lying."
Elara blinked, caught off guard by the matter-of-fact response. But there was no time to dwell on it—Snape was already moving through the room again, his dark robes whispering over the stone floor as he passed.
As Snape's robes billowed past, the tension in the room seemed to settle like an uneasy mist. Pairs turned back to their cauldrons, stirring, measuring, and—at least in Neville's case—desperately trying not to ruin anything further.
Elara refocused, steadying her hands as she carefully measured six grams of dried nettles. Luna, dreamlike but precise, had already ground the snake fangs into an even, fine powder.
They worked in near silence, the bubbling of potions and the occasional scrape of a ladle against a cauldron filling the space where words might have been.
At the table beside them, Harry and Pansy were not working in silence.
"No, Potter, you're going to botch the entire thing—give me that."
Pansy snatched the stirring rod from Harry's hand with a glare, looking thoroughly unimpressed as she took over.
Harry, jaw tightening, muttered something under his breath and glanced longingly toward Ron and Seamus, who, unlike him, seemed to be working in relatively companionable peace.
On the other side of the room, Hermione and Neville weren't faring much better.
"Just let me handle it," Hermione whispered furiously, her fingers itching toward Neville's ladle. "It says counterclockwise, Neville, not whatever chaotic direction that is—"
"I am stirring counterclockwise!" Neville whispered back, looking increasingly flustered.
Across the room, Snape cut a sharp look in their direction, and Hermione snapped her mouth shut.
Elara, quietly amused, continued her work. She and Luna had already added the crushed snake fangs, their potion a shimmering shade of murky green. They were ahead of nearly every other pair—except, of course, for Draco and Blaise, who worked with practiced ease and matching smirks.
Elara caught Draco casting a pointed look at Harry's cauldron, raising an eyebrow before whispering something to Blaise. Blaise smirked, and the two turned back to their potion, radiating smugness.
They were up to something.
Before Elara could decide if it was worth investigating, a sudden hiss of steam erupted from Neville's cauldron.
A smell like burnt cabbage filled the air.
The entire class froze.
Then—
"Longbottom."
Snape's voice cut through the room like a blade, soft and deadly.
Neville turned slowly, looking like he wanted nothing more than to disappear.
Snape approached, arms folding as he loomed over the table. He peered into the cauldron, his expression unreadable.
Then, with chilling calm, he spoke.
"Tell me, Longbottom—was it your intent to create a potion or a particularly aggressive sewage leak?"
Draco snorted. Several Slytherins choked on laughter. Even Ron looked vaguely sympathetic.
Neville said nothing.
Snape exhaled, clearly restraining himself. "And tell me, Longbottom, which part of the instructions encouraged you to—" he flicked his wand, and a slimy chunk of something unnatural floated to the surface of the cauldron, barely holding its shape—"contribute… whatever that is?"
Neville let out a distressed squeak.
Hermione, beside him, looked one second away from combusting.
"It—it's just a mistake, Professor—" she began.
Snape turned to her with the slow, deliberate precision of someone who did not appreciate being spoken to without permission.
"And, Miss Granger, do you often find yourself making excuses for incompetence?"
Hermione's mouth snapped shut.
"Thought not."
Snape waved his wand over Neville's cauldron. Instantly, the potion vanished. Neville looked ready to sink through the floor.
"Ten points from Gryffindor."
Harry stiffened. "That's not—"
Snape's gaze whipped to him.
"Would you care to finish that sentence, Potter?"
Harry shut up.
Elara, watching silently, pushed down her amusement to analyze Snape momentarily.
There was something different in the way Snape handled Harry. A personal edge.
Snape lingered a second longer, then turned away, his robes sweeping behind him. "Continue your work."
The classroom exhaled.
Luna, unfazed, continued stirring their potion.
Elara, after another glance at Snape, picked up her ladle and did the same.
Snape was already back at the front of the room, watching the students with an air of quiet satisfaction as the tension in the air thickened. He made no move to check on anyone else's progress—no, it seemed he was waiting forsomething.
As Elara carefully added the crushed snake fangs to her cauldron, the air in the room seemed to grow colder, the shadows cast by Snape's dark robes lengthening in the dim light. His gaze flickered over each table, lingering just long enough to make anyone working under it feel the pressure of his unspoken scrutiny.
"Five minutes, students," he called, his voice suddenly sharp, making the silence even more suffocating. "I will return to inspect your work."
A collective shudder passed through the room as Snape's presence alone had a magnetic pull. Elara glanced up briefly and caught Luna's gaze—a quiet nod exchanged between them, a silent understanding.
As the minutes ticked by, Snape's eyes never strayed far from the students. He circled the room slowly, as though savoring the way the room seemed to fold around him. His robes swirled with each step, creating the illusion of something both grand and foreboding. He looked... almost predatory, and it was impossible to ignore the effect it had on everyone around him.
Then, his gaze landed on Neville's cauldron, the one that had been producing little puffs of smoke ever since Snape's warning.
"Longbottom!" Snape's voice cut through the air like a knife. "Do I need to remind you about the consequences of failing to follow instructions? Perhaps anotherpersonal demonstrationis in order?" His sneer was evident, the challenge dripping from his words as he moved toward Neville's table, his footsteps sharp and deliberate.
Neville looked up at Snape with a mixture of fear and disbelief, his hand trembling as he clutched the handle of his cauldron. "I... I'm sorry, sir, I—I'll fix it, I swear."
"Sorry?" Snape repeated, leaning down to peer into the cauldron with a disdainful glance. "You've made a mess of it, Longbottom. It's not an apology you need. It's competence." He straightened, his eyes narrowing to thin slits as he surveyed the entire room. "Now... does anyone here wish to avoid a similar fate?"
The students, who had been watching nervously as Snape circled Neville like a hawk, hastily returned to their work, their eyes darting from their cauldrons to the professor. Elara's grip on her stirring rod tightened slightly, but she remained focused on her task, steady and deliberate.
Snape's gaze slid over the room once more. His eyes lingered just a moment longer than necessary on Elara, then Luna, before he turned his attention back to Neville.
"Consider this your final warning, Longbottom," he said coldly, before flicking his wand to remedy the cauldron's disastrous contents. A ripple of magic spread from the tip of his wand, and the bubbling mixture immediately settled into a calm simmer. "Don't make me repeat myself."
As he straightened, his eyes swept the room once more, taking in the progress—or lack thereof—of his students. He paused at Draco's table, the smirk already playing at the edge of Draco's mouth as he stirred his potion expertly.
"Well, Mr. Malfoy," Snape's voice was smooth, almost appreciative, "at least someone here is capable of following instructions."
Draco's grin widened, but Elara couldn't help but notice the brief flicker of something darker behind Snape's gaze, something not quite as pleased as he let on.
"Let's see if the rest of you can match his... effort," Snape murmured, his eyes narrowing as he turned to survey the rest of the class. His tone was like a challenge thrown into the air, daring anyone to rise to meet it.
The room seemed to shrink under his stare.
"Five minutes, students," he repeated, his voice dangerously low. "If your potion is not simmering properly by the time I return, I will beverydisappointed. And as you've already seen today, I'm not one for disappointment."
Elara reached for the next ingredient—thestewed horned slugs.
The moment her fingers brushed the cool surface of the jar, she felt it—that faint, living hum of magic beneath her touch. It wasn't like the dried nettles or the crushed snake fangs, whose energy had been reduced to remnants of their former vitality. The slugs, though preserved and stewed, still held an odd sort ofresistance, their magic sluggish but potent, waiting to be drawn out.
She carefully tipped the jar over, letting one slug slide into her palm, then another. Their weight was heavier than she expected, dense with somethingold, something reluctant.
Luna watched with quiet interest, her gaze as unblinking as ever. "They don't want to let go," she murmured.
Elara glanced at her, surprised—but not really. Luna always noticed the things no one else did.
"No," Elara agreed softly, rolling one slug between her fingers, feeling the last traces of its magic cling stubbornly.
She lowered them into the cauldron with care. The second they touched the potion's surface, the liquid gave the faintest ripple—not just from the impact, but as if the potion itself hadacknowledgedthe addition.
The color darkened slightly, shifting from murky green to something richer, deeper. The slugs dissolved into the mixture with a slow, syrupy movement, their magic releasing at last.
Elara stirred, counterclockwise, five times. The wooden spoon moved through the liquid effortlessly, but shefeltthe change—the way the potion thickened just slightly, the way its energy settled like a deep breath being drawn.
Luna tilted her head, studying the cauldron. "That felt... different."
Elara nodded, her fingers still hovering just above the rim of the cauldron. "It did."
But there was no time to dwell on it—the potion wasn't finished yet.
She removed the cauldron from the flame, feeling the warmth of it fade as the air around them cooled. Then, with the same careful precision, she picked up the final ingredient—theporcupine quills.
Unlike the slugs, these felt sharp in her grip, their energy crisp and definitive. There was no reluctance in them, no lingering resistance. They knew their purpose. They had waited for this exact moment.
Elara added them one by one, letting them sink into the thickened potion.
A soft hiss rose from the surface. The potion shimmered once, then stilled, its color settling into a perfect shade—exactly as the instructions described.
Elara exhaled, feeling a quiet satisfaction settle in her chest.
Luna leaned in, peering into the cauldron with that same serene curiosity. "You listened," she said simply.
Elara blinked at her. "Listened?"
"To the potion," Luna replied, as though it were obvious. "You let it tell you what it needed."
Elara glanced at the cauldron again. She hadn't thought of it that way, but... she supposed Luna wasn't wrong.
Before she could say anything else, a low voice sliced through their quiet moment.
"I trust you've managed not to botch something as simple as this?"
Snape had arrived.
His sharp gaze flicked between them before settling on their potion, scrutinizing it with the kind of intensity that had sent more than a few students into a panic.
Elara didn't flinch.
Luna only smiled.
Snape's expression remained unreadable as he reached for a ladle, scooped a small portion of their potion, and studied its consistency with a practiced eye. He let it slide back into the cauldron, the liquid moving smoothly, flawlessly.
A pause.
Then, the faintest, almost imperceptible narrowing of his eyes.
Elara didn't think most students would have noticed it, but she did.
"Acceptable," he said at last, his voice devoid of praise, but lacking the usual bite of criticism.
He turned away, moving on to the next table without another word, his robes sweeping behind him.
Luna, as unruffled as ever, dipped her spoon into the cauldron and gave the potion one last gentle stir. "I think he liked it," she mused.
Elara smiled in quiet agreement.
As the rest of the class scrambled to finish their potions, Elara sat back, her hands resting lightly on the edge of the table. She didn't fidget, didn't glance around like some of the others who were impatiently waiting for class to end. Instead, she watched.
Unmoving. Unreadable.
Her gaze followed Snape as he moved through the room, weaving between tables with the silent grace of a shadow. His presence alone had an almost gravitational pull, demanding the attention of every student in his vicinity—whether they wanted to give it or not.
But Elara wasn't watching out of fear, nor was she watching with the desperate hope for approval that some students had.
She simply observed.
Snape never hesitated in his movements. Every step, every flick of his wand, every disapproving sneer was executed with precision. He was ruthless in his critiques—barely concealing his disdain when Seamus's cauldron let out a sputteringhiss, or when Neville trembled so violently under his stare that Hermione had to physically stop him from dropping an entire vial of porcupine quills too early.
But beneath the scathing remarks and the ever-present threat of lost house points, there was something else. Something harder to define.
Elara wasn't sure what it was—only that it existed.
She watched the way Snape's gaze flicked over a potion's surfacebeforehe even tasted it, already knowing whether it was correct or not. The way his lip curled in distaste, but his hands remained impossibly steady as he measured a student's failure. The way his voice, no matter how venomous, neverwavered.
This was someone whoknew.
Not just the subject, buthowthings were meant to be.
And he tolerated nothing less.
Then, as he passed her table again, his sharp gaze flicked in her direction.
Elara met his eyes.
A slow, silent shift settled between them, something neither of them acknowledged but both of themfelt.
It was the same look. The same moment. The same unspoken tension that had existed between them during her Sorting, when he had first tried toseeher.
His legilimency had been subtle then, a quiet probe just beneath the surface of her mind. Just enough totesther.
And now, though there was no spell, no intrusion, it was as if they had resumed that same wordless exchange.
Snape's eyes narrowed, just slightly. Calculating. Assessing.
Elara did not look away.
Her expression remained neutral, her mind a careful quiet—not empty, not open, but simplystill.
Snape held the look a moment longer, his gaze flickering just briefly, just enough to suggest the faintest hint of recognition. Of recollection.
Then, without a word, he turned.
And the moment was gone.
Elara remained silent, but she continued watching.
Even as the minutes dragged on and the last students finished their potions, even as Snape's cutting remarks filled the air, even as the class wound toward its inevitable end—
She watched.