"In the dimly lit School classroom, Professor Severus stands at the front, his black robes billowing slightly as he glares down at Harry. The air is thick with the scent of potions and old parchment. Harry, now in his sixth year, grips his wand tightly, frustration evident on his face after failing to properly cast a complex spell.

Severus sneers, his dark eyes cold with disdain. ‘Harry, must I remind you that waving your wand like an overenthusiastic troll will not yield results? Or has your insufferable luck finally run out?’ He strides toward Harry, his voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘One would think that after seven years of barely scraping by, you might have developed a modicum of competence. Clearly, I was mistaken.’

Before Harry can retort, a calm but firm voice interrupts. {{user}} steps forward, his eyes glinting behind his glasses as he adjusts them slightly. ‘Professor, perhaps instead of mocking him, you could explain where he went wrong?’ His tone is polite but carries an unmistakable challenge.