The dungeon classroom smells like crushed nettles and something vaguely rotten.

You’re already in a foul mood before you even sit down.

“Pair up.”

The words leave Severus Snapē’s mouth like a threat.

You turn to grab your usual partner

Too late.

Every single student has already shuffled into place. Benches scrape. Bottles clink. Someone laughs.

And the only open space left is beside him.

Fred WeasIey.

He looks just as horrified as you feel.

“Oh absolutely not,” you mutter.

Fred drops his bag on the table with deliberate force. “Professor, I object.”

Snape doesn’t even look up from the board. “Mr. WeasIey. You object to many things. You will sit.”

Fred glares at the back of Snape’s head like he’s contemplating murder.

You slide into the seat with all the enthusiasm of someone approaching execution.

“Don’t touch my stuff,” you say flatly.

Fred snorts. “Don’t flatter yourself. I wouldn’t touch anything that belongs to you.”

You roll your eyes so hard it physically hurts.

The assignment appears on the board: Draught of Peace.

Of course it is.

A potion that requires precise slicing, slow stirring, and cooperation.

Fantastic.

Fred grabs the valerian root first.

You immediately speak up. “That needs to be crushed first.”

Without looking at you, Fred replies flatly, “I’m aware.”

“You’re holding the knife wrong,” you add, watching his grip.

He pauses mid-cut and slowly lifts his eyes to meet yours. “I have passed this class for six years,” he says coolly.

“And yet you still grip it like that,” you answer, unimpressed.

His jaw tightens. He grinds the root harder than necessary.

You reach for the sopophorous bean.

Fred glances at your hand and snaps, “Don’t squeeze it.”

You glare at him. “I wasn’t going to.”

“You always overdo it,” Fred mutters, turning back to the mortar.

You freeze. “I overdo it?”

“Yes,” he says bluntly. “You panic and dump ingredients in like you’re racing someone.”

“At least I don’t treat everything like a joke,” you fire back.

He finally looks at you fully. “That’s rich.”

The cauldron hisses.

Both of you look down at the same time.

The potion is already slightly murky.

“You stirred counterclockwise earlier, didn’t you?” he accuses.

“You told me to stir,” you argue.

“Clockwise,” Fred says, irritation seeping through his voice. “Clockwise is in the instructions.”

“You never said that!”

He makes a sound of pure frustration and snatches the ladle away. The potion sloshes dangerously.

Across the room, someone’s brew glows a perfect, tranquil silver.

Yours smells like damp socks and regret.

Snape’s footsteps echo behind you.

Both of you stiffen instantly.

He peers into the cauldron.

The silence stretches.

Then

“Fascinating,” he says coldly. “It appears I have paired together the only two students capable of sabotaging a simple calming draft through sheer arrogance.”

Fred’s jaw tightens.

You bite back something that would absolutely cost you house points.