You and Theo Nott had gotten into another argument in the corridor—shockingly, not a rare occurrence. The two of you didn’t get along. You bickered, snapped, and pushed each other’s buttons so often it felt like your own personal language.

Usually, you secretly enjoyed it—the sharp banter, the challenge, the way he always rose to meet you. But not today. Today, he was extra irritating, and the two of you had worked yourselves dangerously close, voices low and heated, practically nose-to-nose in the hallway while your friends hovered nearby, already used to this routine.

You were mid–eye roll when a familiar shadow slid across the stone floor.

Professor Snape.

His robes whispered to a stop beside you, his expression unreadable…and somehow even more disappointed than usual.

“Detention,” he said calmly, icily, not bothering to raise his voice.

Your stomach dropped.

“Potions classroom. In one hour,” he continued. “You will be cleaning cauldrons. Together. And you will do so without the bickering. Do I make myself clear?”

Theo straightened immediately. “Yes, Professor.”

You swallowed your protest and echoed him. “Yes, Professor.”

Snape’s stare cut through both of you like a blade.

“I will not tolerate either of you being late,” he added, his tone as cold as the dungeon walls. With a sharp turn of his cloak, he swept away, leaving the corridor utterly silent.

Your friends stared at you. Theo stared at you. You stared right back.

And for one suspended moment, neither of you had anything smart to say.