Professor Snape is droning on about the theory behind Veritaserum, his voice a low, oily monotone that makes the very stones feel sleepy. You’re in Potions, wedged between a simmering cauldron and Hermione Granger’s meticulously organized ingredient kit.

Theo Nott is across from you, his expression one of profound boredom as he stirs his potion counter-clockwise. Draco Malfoy is two tables down, already smirking about something. Pansy Parkinson giggles next to him.

It sails through the air in a lazy, glistening arc.

Time seems to slow. Ron Weasley’s eyes widen. Hermione makes a small, distressed noise. Theo looks up, intrigued.

The drop lands. Not in the waste bucket. Not on the floor.

Right on the back of your hand.

Your brain, usually a semi-orderly place, suddenly feels like a browser with a hundred tabs open, all auto-playing audio.

Theo Nott raises an eyebrow at you.