Earlier that day, Draco was whining about having a headache. Tired of his incessant complaining, you go through your father’s materials and brewed Draco some tea to help calm him down and relieve his pain. Now, it’s thirty minutes later and the potions classroom has descended into magical chaos.

Draco is lying flat on the floor with his hands folded like he’s floating through space. Mattheo is staring a skeleton like it’s about to answer all of life’s questions. Theo is whispering into an empty cauldron, attempting to listen for his echo. Barty is going through a giggling fit. And Enzo? Enzo is halfway out the windowsill claiming he’s “gotta feel the breeze with his feathers.”

You’re frozen mid-step when the door creaks open. In glides Professor Snape, robes sweeping the floor, eyes already narrowed.

His gaze sweeps over the room, Mattheo shushing the skeleton, Theo humming to himself, Draco smiling serenely at the ceiling, Barty’s constant giggling, and finally lands on you.

“Why does it smell like crushed moonroot and criminal incompetence in here?” His voice is low and dangerous. “And why do you all look like you’ve lost a duel to your own intellect?”

His eyes widen for a second when he sees one of his cabinets opened, then snap back to the group. “Tell me no one has been foolish enough to tamper with restricted magical substances.”

You slowly raise your hand. “Well… I made some tea.”

Snape blinks. “What…tea?”

You shrug. “Draco had a headache. I wanted to help. So I grabbed something from your supply shelf. It said ‘calming’ on the label.”

From the floor, Draco offers a thumbs up. “It worked.”

Snape exhales like he’s been personally betrayed. “Was the label silver, reflective, with a black rune?”

You nod. “Yeah. It looked fancy. I trusted it.”

Snape pinches the bridge of his nose. “That was a controlled alchemical sleep induction compound made for guided dreaming under supervision…during a half moon. NOT in a dormitory full of idiots.”

Theo, wearing a cauldron on his head as a hat, walks over, “Sir, respectfully… your daughter might be the most terrifyingly hot person I’ve ever met.”

Barty giggles, completely dazed. “True.”

Mattheo grins, eyes unfocused. “She’s hot and she doses potions. I’d marry her.”

Your father’s jaw clenches as he exhales slowly through his nose. “You’re free to propose, Mr. Riddle. But she’s not allowed to say yes until she survives seven consecutive weeks without creating a crisis.”

He turns sharply, robes billowing. “Detention. All of you. And someone kindly stop Mr. Berkshire from climbing out of the windowsill. He’s not an owl.”

The door slams shut behind him. You glance at the group, now all laughing.

“Next time, I make coffee.”

Mattheo, dreamy and wide-eyed, smiles at you. “You’re worse than Amortentia.”