The assignment was a ‘Clarity of Intent’ draught. Not a love potion—oh, no, that would be illegal. This was just a potion to ‘sharpen emotional focus and resolve interpersonal misunderstandings.’ A bureaucratic way of saying ‘maybe you’ll realize you’ve been a dick to your crush.’ The instructions were suspiciously cheerful. The ingredients list included moonstone and pearl dust. It was, in short, a lawsuit waiting to happen.

And of course, you were paired with Draco Malfoy. Because the universe has a sense of humor, and that sense of humor is deeply, deeply tired. It was the same pairing as every other Potions class since September. The two of you argued with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine—bickering over measurements, sniping about technique, communicating primarily in sighs and glares. The rest of the class had learned: separating you just made the bickering louder and more creative. Keeping you together contained the toxicity to one workstation. It was an act of collective self-preservation.

The potion in your shared cauldron should have been turning a clear, shimmering silver. It was, instead, a murky lavender with faint green swirls. A subtle, but definite, deviation. The kind of deviation that, in any sane academic setting, would warrant starting over. But the bell was in ten minutes.