"…Zabini, Blaise?"
A casual, velvety "Here," floated from the back like the boy was allergic to giving a damn. Blaise flicked an immaculate curl from his forehead with the precision of a luxury watch ad and looked so unimpressed he could've been selling his own brand of cologne.
Apathy by Blaise. For when life tries too hard.
Professor Flitwick, perched atop a wobbling tower of books like a goblin king holding court, gave a pleased little tch-tch and tapped his quill tip to the parchment.
"And that's everyone!" he chirped, capping his ink bottle with a pop and dusting his hands like he'd just filed away the last piece of red tape in the Ministry. "Well then! Welcome, my bright-eyed beginners, to Charms!"
Tonks, currently wrapped around Neville's legs like a confused ferret mid-transformation, waved enthusiastically. "We're pumped!"
"We are?" Ron asked, mid-chew, his sandwich now looking like it had fought in the Battle of Hogwarts and lost.
Hermione shot him a look so sharp it could've been used to trim topiary. "Yes, Ronald. Charms is foundational."
Ron rolled his eyes. "Foundational. Right. So like… 'fluffy wand tricks for people afraid of dragons.'"
"Just because it doesn't go boom or try to eat your face doesn't mean it's not magic," Hermione snapped, her quill already at attention like a soldier awaiting orders.
"Actually," Harry drawled from beside them, spinning his wand like it was a drumstick and he was about to drop a solo, "some charms do go boom. Ever heard of Confringo?"
Ron brightened like he'd been told he could blow something up legally. "Wait, we're learning that?"
"No, Ron," Hermione said with the exhausted patience of someone who'd explained algebra to a rock. "You're not allowed to learn anything that involves fire, explosions, or potential bodily harm."
Harry grinned. "So basically… you just canceled his whole weekend."
"Oi!"
"Children," Flitwick said, clapping his hands once—soft, but somehow it echoed like a spell across the room. "Wands and minds forward, please!"
The class hushed. Not because they were afraid, but because when Flitwick stood tall (well, relatively) atop his book stack, with his bright eyes gleaming behind his spectacles and that quiet authority radiating off him like a magical soundwave, even the pranksters sat up.
"Now," he said, voice low but laced with anticipation, "as this is our very first Charms lesson, let us begin with the what and the why. You see, Charms is not just the foundation of your magical education—it is the soul of spellcasting. From the chanting druids of ancient Gaul to the scroll-makers of magical Byzantium, Charms has been our art of enhancement, empowerment, and enchantment."
Tonks mouthed, "Ooooh," like she was picturing spells made of candy and glitter.
"Where Transfiguration changes what something is," Flitwick continued, pacing like a master conductor preparing for the overture, "Charms changes how something behaves. It is the poetry of magic."
Dean raised his hand. "So like… if Transfiguration is surgery, Charms is… special effects?"
Flitwick beamed like he'd just been gifted a phoenix feather quill. "Marvelously put, Mr. Thomas! Very apt indeed!"
Lavender turned to Parvati with sparkly eyes. "I wanna enchant my hair to change color with my mood like Tonks."
Parvati snorted. "You'd fry your fringe with that attention span."
Tracey groaned from two rows behind. "Please tell me we're not doing makeover magic."
Daphne, lounging next to her like she was bored in five dimensions, gave a lazy smirk. "We could always cast a Silencing Charm on them."
"Now that's a useful spell," Tracey muttered, inspecting her wand like it owed her money.
Flitwick lifted his wand with a flick so smooth even Daphne arched a brow in appreciation.
"Today's spell," he said, with a smile, "is one you may already know. But don't mistake it for basic."
Ron leaned over. "Bet it's that light spell."
"'Lumos,'" Harry said, already conjuring a bright orb of white light at his wand tip like it was second nature. The glow danced in his eyes. "Most useful spell you'll ever know, trust me. Especially in dark places full of face-eating creatures."
Neville made a squeaky noise and dropped his wand holster, which somehow tangled itself around his sleeve. Again.
"Why is everything I own trying to betray me?" he whispered.
Tonks gave him a thumbs-up. "At least it's not your kneecaps today!"
"Lumos!" Flitwick said, and light bloomed from his wand like the dawn over the Great Lake. Golden, warm, and elegant. "Simple. Powerful. A cornerstone of control. Magic, after all, is light. Never forget that."
Hermione had her wand in hand before he finished the sentence, her posture perfect, eyes wide and reverent.
Tonks was holding hers backward and grinning.
Tracey looked like she was considering biting hers just to see if it would react.
Ron still had sandwich crumbs on his wand. "Er… should it smell like cheese?"
Flitwick clapped once more. "Pairs, please! Focus, concentrate, and remember: It's not just willpower. It's intention. Precision. Control."
Dean elbowed Seamus. "Bet I get it first."
Seamus grinned. "Bet you light your eyebrows on fire."
"Challenge accepted."
Daphne didn't even look up. "Tracey?"
Tracey yawned. "Let's get this over with."
Lavender and Parvati squealed, "BESTIES' LIGHT SHOW!"
Neville's wand sparked a sad little puff of gray smoke that made his fringe wilt.
Tonks's wand sparked purple glitter into the air and singed her sleeve. "Oops!"
Harry leaned toward Hermione. "Winner gets to hex Ron's sandwich."
Hermione didn't blink. "You're on."
Ron looked up, alarmed. "Wait—what?! What did my sandwich do?!"
"You mean besides being a war crime?" Harry quipped, lazily flicking his wand as his light orb grew brighter.
Ron stared. "Mate, it's tuna and treacle. It's experimental."
"It's a biohazard, Ron."
Daphne's wand lit smoothly, no fuss, no drama. She nodded once. Tracey's flickered and sputtered like it had an attitude problem, which, to be fair, fit her aesthetic.
Dean and Seamus were arguing about whether shouting LUMOS MAXIMA counted as cheating.
Parvati's wand was flashing in rhythmic pulses, and Lavender's had somehow turned hers pink.
Neville sneezed, and his light fizzled out. "Sorry! Allergic to stress."
Tonks gave him an encouraging pat. "You're doing better than my cousin Sirius did. He accidentally blinded a goat."
"He what—?"
"Long story. Involved a butterbeer barrel and a dare."
Flitwick surveyed the room like a proud general watching his chaotic battalion discover fire for the first time. Flickers of light danced across the walls. Some steady, some wild, some more like disco strobe lights than lanterns.
And through it all, Harry's wand glowed the brightest—calm, focused, steady—casting long shadows behind him as if he was born to hold it.
Flitwick clasped his hands, eyes misty.
"Ah," he sighed contentedly, watching magic in motion. "Now this… is why we teach."
—
As the flickering lights of first-year attempts at Lumos danced across the classroom like drunken fireflies, Professor Flitwick tiptoed between desks with the balance of a tightrope walker and the cheery pride of a grandfather watching toddlers take their first steps.
"Excellent, Mr. Potter! Ten points to Gryffindor for wand control," Flitwick beamed, clapping his tiny hands. "Miss Greengrass, elegant execution. Miss Granger… flawless as expected."
Hermione practically levitated with pride, her wand still glowing. "Thank you, Professor!"
Flitwick's expression turned delicately sympathetic as he approached Ron, whose wand was billowing smoke like a busted chimney. "Ronald… perhaps less force and more focus?"
Ron coughed dramatically, flapping the smoke away. "I was focused. I was thinking really hard."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "About what?"
Ron hesitated, sheepish. "...The sandwich."
There was a full beat of silence.
"Honestly, Ron," Hermione groaned.
Harry didn't miss a beat. "Respect where it's due. Priorities: food, survival, magic. In that order."
Ron gave him a thumbs up, looking far too pleased with himself. "Exactly! Thank you."
Flitwick chuckled and raised both hands like a maestro. "Switch partners, please! Charms is best learned through variety. Magic behaves differently around different auras. Let's shake things up, shall we?"
Groans echoed. Blaise and Daphne high-fived like it was a business transaction, then split with matching expressions of bored royalty. Lavender bounced over to Parvati, only to be intercepted by Tonks, who looked like she'd just mainlined three Butterbeers and a bag of sherbet lemons.
"Let's make rainbow light!" Tonks declared, bouncing on her toes.
Parvati blinked. "Oh Merlin."
She pivoted straight to Seamus, who offered a wink and said, "I blow things up, just FYI."
"You're so reassuring," she deadpanned.
Neville shuffled nervously beside Tracey Davis, who sized him up like a cat inspecting a wilting plant. "Just don't explode."
Neville managed a shaky smile. "I'll try not to?"
Daphne ended up with Dean, who flashed her a charming grin. "Ready to light up the world, Ice Queen?"
She rolled her eyes but smirked. "Just try not to melt in the process, Hotshot."
Fifteen minutes later, the room was a chaotic aurora of sparks, mistimed spells, and accidental lightshows. Ron accidentally cast Lumos on his own nose, which glowed like a ruddy torch.
"It's like having a flashlight in my brain!" he yelped.
Harry, twirling his wand lazily, narrowed his light beam into a sharp, focused glow. With surgical precision, he carved the words "Kick me" onto the back of Malfoy's robes.
Dean whistled. "That's some Picasso-level pettiness."
Hermione didn't look up. "Do it and I'm not covering for you again."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Harry said innocently.
Flitwick clapped twice—firm, like a parent catching their toddler heading for the knives drawer.
"Wands away, my bright young sparks!"
Some students kept their lights flickering a moment longer, showing off. Tonks's spell popped like bubblegum, releasing a faint scent of cinnamon and glitter.
Flitwick clapped his hands again. "Now, before you rush off to that sacred ritual of pumpkin juice and an alarming number of sandwiches—homework!"
Collective groans.
Flitwick, undeterred, grinned. "A short essay. Twelve inches of parchment. On the theory behind the Lumos charm—how intent affects magical manifestation, and why light is more than just, well, light. Bonus points for historical or cultural applications. Due next class!"
Hermione's quill was already scribbling like a possessed Howler.
Ron looked horrified. "Will there be an essay every time?"
"Only when I want you to learn," Flitwick said cheerily.
Harry leaned over to Ron. "You're lucky he's adorable, mate. Makes the brain trauma feel worth it."
With a flick of his wand, Flitwick tapped the bronze bell. A sonorous bong echoed like salvation.
"Class dismissed!"
Chaos.
Wands vanished. Bags slung. Ron vaulted a desk with the energy of a man chasing bacon.
"LUNCH! SANDWICH ROUND TWO, BABY!"
Seamus whooped behind him. Dean high-fived a confused Hufflepuff.
Tonks tripped over absolutely nothing, somersaulted across the floor, and popped up with both thumbs up. "Nailed it!"
Neville followed her cautiously, clutching his wand like it might attack him.
Tracey ghosted out silently, hoodie over her head, earbuds (non-magical, smuggled from home) tucked in. Daphne adjusted her robes like she was stepping onto the runway in Milan.
Harry lingered, wand twirling, catching the last glimmer of light.
"Well done today, Mr. Potter," Flitwick said with a bow. "Controlled magic is a mark of a strong wizard."
Harry gave a half-smile, sharp and just a bit smug. "Thanks, Professor. Good lighting's everything, right?"
He turned to Hermione. "Race you to the pudding table."
Her eyes narrowed. "You're on. And I'm not above tripping you."
"That's the spirit."
And just like that, the Boy Who Lived bolted out of the classroom like a Seeker chasing the Snitch, with Hermione hot on his heels, a storm of sugar, sass, and chaos trailing behind them.
—
The Great Hall was, as usual, a circus disguised as a dining room. Laughter echoed like misfired spells, the clatter of cutlery competed with the hum of a hundred conversations, and something that might've once been chicken flew past Harry's head. He didn't even flinch.
Harry sat at the Gryffindor table like a general surveying his battalion. To his left was Hermione, already muttering about portion sizes and dietary fiber. To his right sat Tonks—her hair a rebellious shade of bubblegum pink today—leaning back on the bench as if gravity were just a polite suggestion. Across from them, Ron was engineering a monument of roast beef sandwiches so unstable it was either a cry for help or a desperate attempt to make the Prophet's front page.
"Honestly," Hermione said, watching Ron stack what must have been his sixth sandwich with the precision of a Jenga grandmaster, "can't we have one peaceful lunch without someone attempting culinary suicide?"
"You're at Hogwarts, love," Tonks said, balancing a spoon on her nose with all the focus of a neurosurgeon. "That's adorable."
Seamus and Dean were whispering furiously beside Ron, placing bets on whether the meat monstrosity would fall before Ron managed a bite. Lavender was recording the chaos in a pink notebook with hearts doodled in the margins. Likely for her future tell-all memoir: I Dated a Sandwich Architect.
Harry stabbed his suspicious-looking trifle with a bit more aggression than necessary. He was halfway to declaring war on it when two shadows fell across the table.
Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis sat down without preamble, as if Hogwarts' social norms didn't apply to them. Which, frankly, they didn't. Daphne was the type of girl who looked like she woke up with perfect eyeliner and a backup plan to overthrow the Ministry. Tracey, all dry sarcasm and resting murder face, followed her lead like they were starring in a Slytherin remake of Thelma & Louise.
"Hope you don't mind," Daphne said to Hermione with a polite smile that screamed I don't actually care if you do.
Hermione blinked. "No—no, of course not."
Ron, trying to chew and speak at the same time—never a winning combination—grumbled, "You didn't even ask—"
"You've got three sandwiches in your mouth, Weasley," Tracey cut in, her tone as sharp as a cursed blade. "Nobody cares what you think."
Ron paused, considered her words, then shrugged. "Fair."
Daphne tilted her head toward a tall boy standing just behind her. His dark skin glowed under the enchanted ceiling light, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, and his expression hovered somewhere between bored and mildly judgmental.
"This is Blaise Zabini," she said. "He's decided the company in Slytherin—"
"Malfoy," Tracey coughed theatrically into her fist.
"—is a bit one-dimensional. So he's expanding his horizons."
Blaise gave a shallow bow, mouth twitching into a grin. "Guilty as charged."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "You're voluntarily sitting with Gryffindors? You do realize this is how horror stories begin, right?"
"I'm a trailblazer," Blaise said with faux solemnity. "My mother's already prepping a scandalous headline for Witch Weekly."
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "And you're not... spying for Malfoy?"
Blaise looked legitimately offended. "Please. If I wanted to hear whining and weak facial hair commentary, I'd sit next to Draco during breakfast."
Ron snorted so hard he nearly launched a pickle.
"Okay," Ron wheezed, "I like him."
"Careful, Zabini," Tonks warned, grinning. "That's how it starts. Next thing you know, you're dodging Bat-Bogey Hexes and setting things on fire with Neville."
Neville blinked. "That happened one time—"
"Twice," Harry corrected, mouth full. "But we don't talk about the toad incident."
"I maintain it was self-defense," Neville muttered.
Blaise slid onto the bench next to him with effortless cool. "Honestly, sounds more productive than listening to Crabbe chew. I've seen trolls with more engaging conversation skills."
Neville smiled awkwardly. "You're surprisingly normal."
"Give it time," Blaise replied, smirking.
"We already vouched for him," Tracey said, popping a grape into her mouth. "We're spending more time with Harry's crew now. Cedric's still on probation, though."
Across the hall, Cedric Diggory—tall, broad, stupidly handsome and probably carved by angels—raised his goblet from the Hufflepuff table. Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott waved like they were in a teen soap opera.
"Naturally," Harry nodded. "We don't let just anyone into the chaos. There's a vetting process. Spontaneous sarcasm. Competence with hexes. An appreciation for breakfast."
"What's the initiation?" Blaise asked. "Giant chess game? Solving a cursed riddle? Kissing Ron's sandwich tower goodbye?"
Ron scowled. "No one kisses the sandwich tower."
"Well," Tracey muttered, "that just killed the mood."
"You do realize we're becoming an actual coalition, right?" Tonks asked, her eyes flitting between the houses represented at the table.
Harry grinned. "The Mischief Alliance?"
Hermione groaned into her hands. "Please don't name it."
"Too late," Seamus chirped. "We're getting badges."
"Merlin help us all," Blaise muttered.
And just like that, Blaise took a bite of a Gryffindor meat pie and crossed into dangerous territory—friendship. And potentially food poisoning. Seamus had definitely touched that platter.
"If I die," Blaise said with eerie calm, "tell my mother I joined the right side. And also to burn my fourth stepfather's shoes. He knows why."
Harry leaned back, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips. "Welcome to the fun side, Zabini. Hope you packed your sarcasm. You're gonna need it."
Blaise raised his goblet. "To chaos."
"To chaos," the table echoed, and for one bright moment in the madness that was Hogwarts, everything felt exactly right.
—
Harry stood, slinging his bag over one shoulder with the easy confidence of someone who knew he could drop a troll with a flick of his wand and a well-timed insult. His green eyes twinkled as he looked at Blaise, one brow arched in challenge.
"You walking to Potions with the rest of your House of Discount Villains," he said casually, "or do you want to risk your reputation and take your life into your own hands by walking with actual functional people?"
Blaise Zabini—dressed like he'd just stepped off the cover of Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelors—glanced over at the Slytherin table. Draco was doing something that looked like interpretive wand-waving while Pansy hung off his arm like a clingy Mandrake in heat. Crabbe was deep-throating a bread roll like it owed him money, and Goyle… Goyle was holding a spoon like it was a divining rod and muttering incantations that sounded suspiciously like "soupio".
It was, frankly, embarrassing.
"I think I'll risk it," Blaise drawled, grabbing his bag. "My will is in order. My wardrobe is color-coded. And if I die, at least I won't be remembered as the guy who thought a spoon could be a wand."
"Bold of you," said Tracey with a smirk, patting his arm. "Especially considering Ron's sandwich tower over there may have already claimed two first-years and a Hufflepuff's dignity."
"Oi!" Ron's mouth was full, his face flushed as he tried to balance what was definitely an entire roast dinner between two slices of stale bread. He made a strangled sound as a lone roast potato slipped out and rolled down the table like it was trying to escape the culinary crime scene.
The table stared. Lavender clutched Parvati's arm like they were watching a horror movie.
Dean, eyes wide, muttered, "It just moved."
"I swear it blinked," Seamus whispered back, eyes locked on the stack like it might grow legs and charge.
"I named it Greg," Seamus added solemnly.
Harry didn't miss a beat. "Tell Greg goodbye for me," he said dramatically, clapping a hand over his heart. "May he rest in peas."
Parvati choked on her pumpkin juice.
Ron scowled. "It's a sandwich, not a murder plot!"
"Mate," Neville said kindly, "you added three types of gravy and a deviled egg. That's not a sandwich. That's a cry for help."
"I think it's performance art," Tonks piped in, twirling her wand between her fingers as she stood, hair flickering between electric blue and highlighter pink. "Tragic. Beautiful. A metaphor for masculinity under pressure."
"Could've just said 'Ron,'" Daphne murmured to Tracey, deadpan.
"Har har," Ron grumbled, cramming another bite into his mouth like it owed him a favor.
The group—Harry, Hermione, Neville, Tonks, Daphne, Tracey, and now Blaise—exited the Great Hall with the sort of coordinated chaos usually reserved for heist movies or very stylish cults.
They had just rounded the third staircase when BOOM—a rain of glitter exploded above them like a unicorn's sneeze.
"Merlin's sequin-covered socks!" Tonks yelped, doing an impressively graceful dodge roll to avoid a banana peel that definitely hadn't been there a second ago.
Daphne raised a brow. "The twins?"
Tonks bent down to examine the offending fruit, wand glowing softly. "Nope. Fred and George use tangerines. Peeves prefers bananas. He says they 'slide better.'"
Hermione sighed so hard it could've powered a windmill. "It's barely afternoon."
Neville just offered her a napkin like the emotionally competent king he was. "That's Hogwarts for you. Constant danger, occasional glitter, and zero health inspections."
As they made their way toward the dungeons, the stares followed them like curious cats. Gryffindors walking with Slytherins? Smiling? Laughing? Existing in the same timeline without hexing each other?
Scandalous.
Blaise noticed but didn't break stride, keeping pace with Harry like he belonged there—which, by now, he kinda did.
"Just so I'm clear," he said, flicking an imaginary speck of lint from his designer robes, "do we sit wherever in Snape's class or do I get to dramatically throw my books down and claim a desk like the main character in a trashy American teen drama?"
Harry didn't even pause. "If you can do it with enough flair to make Malfoy cry, I'll get you a standing ovation and a gift basket."
"Tempting," Blaise mused. "Last time I did that, Theo Nott shed a single tear."
"It was a manly tear," Tracey added.
"It was a dramatic tear," Daphne corrected. "It rolled down his cheek like he was in a soap opera and had just found out his twin was also his uncle."
Tonks wheezed. "I love you people."
Neville grinned. "We are a sitcom."
"You wish this was a sitcom," Harry said, glancing over his shoulder with a grin sharp enough to slice through arrogance. "This is Hogwarts. We've got dragons, trolls, secret tunnels, sentient furniture, and a Dark Lord with attachment issues. It's less sitcom and more... high-budget fever dream."
Hermione adjusted her bag with a frown. "You forgot the murder ghosts and the stairs that commit hate crimes."
"Also Ron," Tracey threw in.
Harry nodded solemnly. "Also Ron."
"Hey!" Ron's distant voice echoed from behind them. "Greg and I are doing just fine!"
"Blink once if Greg's holding you hostage!" Dean yelled back.
Parvati giggled. "Too late, Dean. Greg is Ron now."
As they reached the classroom door, Harry nudged Blaise with his elbow.
"Welcome to chaos, Zabini. We'll save you a seat. Probably near the back. You know, in case Snape starts assigning cursed potions ingredients based on how many syllables are in your name."
Blaise gave a lazy smirk. "Bring it on, Potter. Let's make this class interesting."
And just like that, the Not-So-Average Coalition of Hogwarts Misfits gained one very well-dressed, snark-powered Slytherin. The dungeons would never be the same.
—
The dungeons were, as always, a bit colder than the rest of Hogwarts. The stone walls seemed to suck up every ounce of warmth, making it feel like you were walking into the belly of some ancient, dragon-guarded vault. There was no sunlight to soften the atmosphere, only flickering torches casting long shadows that could easily hide any number of unsavory creatures—or, in this case, first-year Potions students.
"Let me get this straight," Blaise Zabini drawled, as the group made its way down the cold, slick stone steps into the dungeon, "You're all okay with sitting next to me in a class full of Gryffindors and... what's the politically correct term for this rabble?" He shot a look at Tracey and Daphne, who were both lounging in the way that could only be described as 'I own this dungeon now'—which, knowing them, might not have been far from the truth.
"Feral chaos gremlins," Harry supplied without missing a beat, pulling his robes tighter around him as they reached the bottom of the stairs. "That's what Hermione calls us."
Hermione shot him an eye roll, clearly exasperated. "I've told you a thousand times, Harry, it's not that bad. At least, it wasn't until you brought half of Slytherin along."
"You're welcome," Harry said, grinning. He had the aura of a man who knew exactly what he was doing, which, honestly, was the problem.
Blaise, looking both intrigued and somewhat alarmed, turned his gaze to the other members of their posse—Tonks, Neville, Tracey, and Daphne. Each of them had their own unique vibe, like a chaotic jigsaw puzzle that somehow fit together in the weirdest way.
Neville, for his part, was practically vibrating with nervous energy, as though his quill might somehow spontaneously combust. "So, um... Potions?" he asked, his voice sounding just a little too hopeful, like he was trying to convince himself that this was going to be one of those days where everything went perfectly.
"Oh, this is going to be excellent," Tracey said, her tone smooth and wicked as she examined the dungeon. "I'm honestly just here for the pure drama of it all."
"Ditto," Daphne chimed in, her voice cool but with that unmistakable edge of mischievous anticipation. She had the sort of confidence that made it seem like she was about to walk onto the set of a crime thriller where she was both the hero and the villain, depending on her mood.
"Let me guess," Blaise said, raising an eyebrow at Harry, "you're already planning something, aren't you?"
Harry shot him a sly look, his lips curling into a grin that was equal parts charming and dangerous. "You could say that."
Hermione, who had clearly seen this particular look a hundred times before, sighed deeply. "Please don't do anything stupid today, Harry. We don't need Snape coming after us on the first day."
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Harry shot back, a spark of mischief dancing in his eyes. "C'mon, Hermione, we're here for the chaos. It's literally the reason we exist."
"Yeah," Tonks added, adjusting the oversized cuffs on her robes, "If Snape's going to throw a tantrum, I say we at least make it entertaining."
"I'm just trying to figure out why the Head of Slytherin is teaching a bunch of first years Potions," Blaise mused, glancing over at the front of the classroom where a cauldron bubbled ominously. "Seems a little... sadistic, don't you think?"
Hermione gave him a pointed look. "I hear he's always sadistic."
"Well, he's better than that giant of a woman who tried to tutor me in Transfiguration last year," Blaise said, leaning back in his seat and rolling his eyes. "Honestly, I still haven't forgiven her for making me transfigure a desk into a chair and it never worked properly after that."
"Try the whole flying lesson," Harry said. "I'm sure my first year flying involved more near-death experiences than anyone else's."
Tonks snorted loudly. "I mean, you were practically falling off the broom every five seconds."
"I did not fall!" Harry defended, though the glint in his eyes made it clear he was joking. "I was just... testing gravity. You know, for scientific purposes."
"Sure, Harry," Hermione said, clearly not buying it, "and I suppose you are also not planning on testing Snape's patience?"
Harry flashed her a grin, one that could only be described as 'predatory.' "I wouldn't dream of it."
But as the banter continued, something shifted in Harry's expression, and Blaise noticed it. The mischievous twinkle in his eyes sharpened into something more calculating. Something... dangerous. Harry had that way of making everything seem like an elaborate game, and right now, it looked like he was setting up the pieces for something big.
"Okay, what's going on?" Blaise asked, crossing his arms. "You've got that look on your face—the one that says you're about to do something that definitely won't end well."
Harry stood up, his gaze shifting to the door, where the class had yet to fill out completely. "I need you to be on the lookout for me," he said, pulling his wand from his pocket and giving it a casual flick. "I've got a little something up my sleeve."
Blaise glanced around the room, not entirely sure what he was supposed to be looking out for. "What's the little something?"
"Just wait," Harry said, smirking. "It'll be a surprise."
Neville, who had been twisting a piece of parchment in his hands with a certain nervous energy, looked around. "What's happening? You're making me nervous now, Harry."
"Just trust me," Harry said, voice low, but with a definite undercurrent of amusement. "Everything will be fine. Probably."
Hermione's eyebrow twitched. "You're never this calm. What are you really planning?"
"Don't worry, Granger," Harry said, giving her a reassuring wink, "It's not too dangerous. I'm just creating a... magical tripwire. For dramatic effect."
Neville's face turned an interesting shade of green at that, but Harry wasn't paying attention to the look of mild panic on his face. He'd already started weaving his wand in the air, casting the invisible spell with a flick of his wrist. A shimmer of blue light sparked for a second, but only Blaise—who had excellent vision for the subtleties of magic—saw it.
"Is that what I think it is?" Blaise asked, narrowing his eyes at Harry. "A tripwire? In the middle of a class?"
"Yup," Harry replied casually, sliding his wand back into his robes with the same flair as a professional duelist. "Invisible. Undetectable. I learned it from my godfather."
Blaise raised a brow, his arms folded across his chest. "Sirius Black, huh?"
"Yeah. He is full of surprises," Harry said, grinning like a cat who'd just stolen a cream pie. "It's going to be brilliant. Just wait."
Tonks leaned forward on her desk, her usual carefree nature now mixed with a little bit of excitement. "Wait... are you telling me this is going to involve Snape? Is this a 'get back at Snape' kind of thing?"
Harry shot her a look that was equal parts mischievous and dangerous. "Oh, it's going to be brilliant."
Blaise was quiet for a moment, then gave a long, resigned sigh. "I regret this. I really do."
"Don't worry," Harry said. "You'll be fine. It'll just be memorable."
There was a long, drawn-out pause. Then, the sound of footsteps echoed down the dungeon corridor—slow, deliberate. The sound of Snape's boots against the stone floor.
Harry straightened up in his seat, eyes fixed on the door.
"Wait for it," he murmured, like a predator eyeing its prey.
And then, just as Snape's shadow filled the doorway, Harry's lips curled into a grin.
Game on.
Scene ends. Curtain drop. Chaos imminent.
---
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