Astra Potter never intended to start a cult.
It just… sort of happened.
In truth, she wasn’t even trying this time. It all began with a flicker of boredom a state of mind well-known to transform Astra into a whirlwind of chaos.
It was a languid afternoon in the Great Hall, sun filtering through the high arched windows, illuminating the scattered students who were enjoying their early dinner after a long day of classes. Laughter and animated chatter filled the air, creating a perfectly ordinary atmosphere. Then, without warning, watched by the gaze of astonished peers, Astra sprang onto the Ravenclaw table, her feet nearly landing in Terry Boot’s mound of mashed potatoes, and clapped her hands together with theatrical flair.
“Loyal followers! It is time!” she declared, her voice reverberating through the hall.
The massive room fell into an uncanny silence, the lively murmurs evaporating as all eyes turned to Astra. Students and teachers alike halted their conversations, the unexpected drama locking them in place. Professors reacted with a spectrum of emotions: McGonagall wore an expression of exasperated dismay, Flitwick barely concealed a smirk behind his hands, and Snape looked as if he were bracing for the worst.
“What now, Astra?” Theodore Nott drawled, his arms crossed over his chest and a bemused smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
She pointed a dramatic finger in his direction and said, “For greatness, Theo.”
“For what?” Hermione called from the Gryffindor table, her brow furrowed in suspicion and curiosity.
“For chaos, Granger. Try to keep up,” Astra replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
At that moment, Draco Malfoy, who had been mid-sip of his pumpkin juice, abruptly choked and spluttered, earning laughter from those nearby. “You can’t just start a cult, Astra!”
Tilting her head, she asked, “Why not?”
Draco opened his mouth, then closed it again like a fish out of water, finally gesturing vaguely as if searching for words. “Because you just can’t!”
Astra shrugged her shoulders, a glint of rebellion in her eyes. “Says who?”
“Society?” he retorted, incredulity etched into his features.
She scoffed dramatically. “Boring.”
“Wait hold on are you actually starting a cult?” Mattheo asked, raising an eyebrow in genuine concern.
Placing a hand dramatically on her heart, Astra feigned offence. “A cult, Matteo? No, no. A collective of like-minded individuals who share a vision.”
“Astra.”
“Yes?”
“That’s literally a cult.”
Astra paused to contemplate that, then nodded her head in acceptance. “Okay, fair enough.”
From the staff table, McGonagall sighed deeply, her patience worn thin. “Miss Potter, you cannot form a cult at Hogwarts.”
Astra gasped with mock indignation. “Professor! That is blatant discrimination.”
McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting the inevitable headache. “It is not discrimination. It is common sense.”
“Oh, so the Slug Club is perfectly fine,” Astra continued, crossing her arms defiantly, “but my gathering of intellectuals is not?”
“The Slug Club is a recognized social club,” McGonagall said through gritted teeth, her irritation spilling over.
Astra narrowed her eyes teasingly. “Sounds like something a member of a cult would say.”
Mattheo leaned toward Theo, a smirk forming on his face. “How long do you think before McGonagall starts drinking openly?”
Theo pondered with a grin. “I give it two weeks, tops.”
“So!” Astra clapped her hands, re-centring the attention. “Now that oppression has been dealt with..”
“It has not” McGonagall attempted to interject, but Astra keenly steamrolled on.
“..We must decide on a name!”
“The Marauders 2.0?” someone timidly suggested from the back.
Astra snorted dismissively. “James would sue me from beyond the grave.”
“The Order of Chaos?” another voice proposed, this time with eagerness.
“Too official; we want something with flair,” Astra replied, her enthusiasm palpable.
“The Brotherhood?” a brave soul suggested.
Astra shook her head firmly. “Sexist!” she declared, punctuating her point with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“The Church of Unhinged Brilliance?” came another hopeful attempt.
Astra snapped her fingers in delight. “Now that has a ring to it!”
Draco groaned, his forehead meeting the table with a dull thud. “We are not doing this.”
“Oh, but we are,” Astra shot back defiantly, her smile widening.
“We are not..” Draco protested.
“We are,” she replied sweetly, her eyes unwavering.
Staring at her in disbelief, Draco felt his will waning under her relentless optimism. After several long seconds, he sighed heavily, conceding defeat as he dropped his head onto the table.
Blaise, who had been observing the scene unfold with barely restrained amusement, chuckled softly. “Fine. What’s the initiation?”
Astra grinned, practically bouncing with excitement. “Glad you asked, Zabini!” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Maybe we start with a secret handshake. Or a dance! Ooh, or an oath made in blood..”
Hermione shot up from the Gryffindor table, panic evident on her face. “Absolutely not!”
Rolling her eyes in exaggerated exasperation, Astra huffed. “Fine! No blood. Just a verbal agreement to wreak glorious havoc.”
Pansy smirked, almost giddy with mischief. “What about robes every great cult has robes, right?”
Theo nodded vigorously. “I vote for black robes. For maximum dramatic effect!”
Astra flashed him a brilliant smile. “You, sir, have a fantastic mind!”
Amidst the chaos, McGonagall turned to Snape, who had maintained an oddly calm demeanour throughout the unfolding absurdity. “Say something.”
Snape arched a sardonic brow, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “And what, exactly, would you have me say?”
“I don’t know, something wise and helpful?” she suggested in frustration.
Snape sighed, rubbing his temple as if to ward off an impending migraine. “Potter, this is ridiculous.”
Astra’s mischievous grin only widened further. “Is it?”
“Yes,” he replied, his tone flat and disinterested.
“Or is it brilliant?” she countered, tilting her head playfully.
With an exasperated inhale, Snape looked as though he were on the verge of leaving the Great Hall entirely, desperate to escape the madness surrounding him.
“I need a drink,” McGonagall muttered under her breath, and Snape, surprisingly, nodded in agreement.
Back at the Slytherin table, Draco’s face fell into his hands, rubbing his temples in disbelief. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Oh, but it is, Malfoy,” Astra chirped, revelling in her chaotic creation.
By the end of the day, Astra had not only drafted a list of “official members” (comprising mainly individuals too weary to argue with her), but begun designing black robes adorned with quirky symbols (“For dramatic effect!” she had insisted), and scheduled their first “meeting” (“Gathering of the Chosen,” she corrected with a flourish).
And thus, completely by accident yet undeniably flamboyantly, Astra Potter successfully founded The Cult of Chaos.
Across the hall, McGonagall contemplated her life choices, knowing she was going to need several strong drinks to cope.