The dungeons were as cold and dim as ever, but Blaise Zabini's sigh somehow made the air feel heavier.
"If Snape assigns me to crush anything today, I swear I'm dropping my wand into the cauldron and calling it divine intervention," he muttered as he and Cassian made their way toward the Potions classroom.
Cassian gave a dry smirk. "I'll be sure to let him know your fingers are far too delicate for such labor."
Blaise hummed in agreement. "Finally some recognition."
They reached the classroom early—by design. Cassian preferred it that way. Early meant quiet. Quiet meant not having to deal with fools.
The room was still empty, save for the faint crackle of torches and the scent of stale herbs and something metallic. Cauldrons were already laid out, instructions scrawled on the blackboard in Snape's elegant, pointed script.
Cassian slid into their usual table near the back wall. Blaise sat beside him, already pulling out his quill and ink like it was part of a ritual.
The brief peace was shattered as Draco Malfoy entered, his footsteps sharp, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. He glanced around, his eyes landing squarely on Cassian—and narrowed.
"Didn't realize this was the unofficial halfway house for traitors," Draco said smoothly, looking from Cassian to Blaise and back again. "Is Loony Lovegood going to be joining us too? Maybe she'll bring one of her imaginary creatures to stir the cauldron."
Cassian didn't look up. "Still bitter you can't trust these trolls with any actual work?
I'm sure if you asked nicely she could recommend some creatures that look a little nicer."
Draco's lips curled. "Please. Like I'd listen to someone who talls like they spend their off hours in St. Mungos. Though I suppose you like them a bit unhinged these days, Rookwood."
Cassian's eyes flicked upward. "Insult her like that again and I'll unhinge something you can't grow back."
Blaise turned a page with deliberate calm. "Careful, Malfoy. He's had pudding and emotional trauma today. Bad combination."
Draco snorted. "Blood traitors never have any class."
The classroom door creaked open before Cassian could reply.
Snape swept inside, black robes billowing behind him, face unreadable but already exuding quiet disdain. He paused for a breath, glanced around the room, and said smoothly:
"Sit. Now. And try not to waste my time."
Students scrambled to their seats. Draco shot one last sneer toward Cassian before sliding into a table near the front—of course.
Cassian exhaled slowly.
"He's really going for it this year," he muttered to Blaise.
Blaise uncorked his inkwell. "He thinks you're soft. Proving him wrong is your department."
Before Cassian could reply, the door slammed again. Harry and Ron stumbled in, breathless and just on the edge of tardy. Their clothes were ruffled and, in Ron's case, littered with stains.
Snape's eyes narrowed to slits.
"How fortunate," he said, his voice colder than the stone floor. "I was beginning to worry I wouldn't have the pleasure of docking points from Gryffindor today. Five each—for such an unsightly appearance."
Harry's jaw clenched and Ron grumbled as they found seats on the opposite side of the room. Hermione sat between them, already pulling out her materials. Harry leaned slightly over to Ron, whispering something with a half-smile on his face.
Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ron glance at him. Once. Then again. And again—just long enough to be obvious.
He wasn't even trying to be subtle. Every time Cassian looked up, Ron turned quickly to Harry, whispered something, and grinned.
Harry chuckled once, covering it with a cough. Hermione glanced between them with a furrowed brow but didn't say anything.
Cassian's stomach twisted in fury.
He didn't know what they were saying, but he didn't have to. That was the thing about being a Slytherin-you learn how to read the situation.
His hand clenched under the desk.
Blaise didn't look up, but his voice was low. "Ignore them."
"They're laughing at me."
"I noticed."
Cassian stared at his parchment, jaw tight.
"They dare mock me? After what he took from me?"
"They're immature," Blaise lightly reprimanded. "Not to mention they're Gryffindors. Weasley will never understand nor will he try to, and Potter just goes along with him. We are Slytherins. We are better."
Cassian took a calming breath before nodding. At the front of the room, Snape's voice cracked like a whip.
"We will be brewing the Draught of Peace today. How appropriate. Some of you, Merlin help us, might actually benefit from it."
He sighed at the irony since he hasn't been at peace for days now.
Cassian gathered the ingredients without a word. He moved with quiet precision—grinding dried valerian root, adding the syrup of hellebore, careful not to let the juice spill. His every motion was efficient, controlled.
Across the table, Blaise flicked his wand to ignite their flame, adjusting it with a casual twist of his wrist.
"Three clockwise stirs, one counter," Blaise murmured, reading from the instructions. "Let it simmer until the liquid turns pale blue."
Cassian nodded, dropping the crushed root into the cauldron. The liquid hissed and shimmered.
Other students shuffled about clumsily, bumping vials, sloshing water, getting scolded by Snape for holding their knives incorrectly. But not them. Blaise and Cassian worked in sync—quiet, focused, practiced.
From the front of the room, Snape's voice rang out, slicing through the low murmurs.
"Miss Brown, that's not powdered moonstone. It's salt. If you're trying to poison someone, at least have the decency to do it outside class."
Cassian didn't look up, but he smirked faintly.
"Bet she wished she didn't choose Patil as a partner," Blaise muttered.
Cassian was about to respond when something flicked past the edge of his vision—barely noticeable. A quick movement from Malfoy's table, a slight wand twitch in his lap, and the faintest ripple in the air.
Cassian's eyes narrowed.
His gaze dropped to their cauldron.
It was still fine. But there was a thin, oily shimmer just starting to bloom across the surface—wrong. The potion wasn't supposed to look like that yet.
"What the hell…" he whispered.
Blaise caught the shift too. "Something's off."
Cassian leaned closer, sniffed.
"Fluxweed. Just a trace. Slows the reaction. Makes the color stay wrong longer. Not enough to ruin it, but enough to drop our grade."
He didn't need to say who did it. Malfoy didn't even bother hiding the smug glance he threw over his shoulder.
Cassian's hand twitched toward his wand.
"Don't," Blaise said quietly. "Snape's right there."
Cassian forced himself to breathe.
He dipped a silver spoon into the cauldron and flicked it through the mixture, muttering a soft cleansing charm to correct the reaction.
The potion shivered, then calmed. The shimmer faded.
Blaise raised a brow. "You always this good at un-ruining potions?"
"No," Cassian muttered. "But I've had practice lately fixing things other people ruin lately."
At the front, Snape moved from table to table like a shadow, making sharp notes on his clipboard and occasionally snapping at a student for clumsy hands.
When he reached them, his eyes bored holes into Cassian's head. There was always something about Snape's eyes when they landed on him—an unmistakable mix of disdain and suspicion. He used to think it was because of his association with Potter, but he hasn't let up all year since they stopped communicating.
A streak of terror ran through Cassian as an idea came to mind. What if he knew who his father was? Snape made no secret of his disdain for Sirius Black in Cassian's second year when they rescued him.
The man's eyes fell on their potion, now swirling into a perfectly smooth pale blue.
His lips twitched—almost a frown.
"Hm. Passable."
Cassian didn't bother replying.
Snape turned away, but not before casting a longer look at Draco's cauldron, then at Cassian, as if something didn't sit right.
Cassian held the stare for just a second too long.
Blaise cleared his throat, dragging his attention to him, "Calm down, you look like Snape's about to hex you."
"Wouldn't surprise me," Cassian muttered.
"True," Blaise chuckled, "But unlikely. Now let's go watch Snape force himself to give us an O."