Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
“Today we will be making the Draught of Peace” Professor Snape announced, the obvious stoic look on his face as he eyed the class.
The dungeon was filled with the sharp scent of crushed herbs and bubbling potions, the occasional pop of something volatile reacting poorly in a nearby cauldron. The low murmur of students filled the space, but Percy wasn’t paying attention to any of it.
Professor Snape had announced the pairs with a tone of absolute boredom, not even pretending to care that some of them were doomed to fail before they’d even begun.
”And lastly…Weasley and Malfoy” Professor Snape said, his tone uninterested as usual before closing the parchment.
When Percy had heard his name followed by Malfoy, he had nearly protested right then and there.
Of all the people he could have been paired with for this assignment, of course it had to be her.
"Try not to mess up, Weasley," Lyra said lazily, examining her nails like this was all terribly beneath her. "I’d hate to have your incompetence bring me down."
Percy inhaled sharply through his nose. "My incompetence?" he repeated, forcing himself to focus on slicing the asphodel root with perfect precision. "I’m not the one who nearly set my cauldron on fire last week."
Lyra tutted, shaking her head. "That was an experiment."
Percy scoffed. "That was reckless."
"Same thing."
"It really isn’t."
Lyra just smirked, stirring their shared cauldron with what Percy could only describe as utter carelessness.
He bit back a comment about proper stirring technique and returned to his ingredients. He wasn’t going to let her bait him. Not this time.
They were brewing a particularly complex Draught of Peace, and while Percy had no doubt he could do it perfectly on his own, he was also painfully aware that Lyra was one of the only people in their year who might be able to match him. As much as he hated to admit it, she was good.
Infuriating, but good.
Which meant this was going to be a battle of patience.
"Careful with the powdered moonstone," Percy said, watching as she reached for the vial. "Too much and—"
"—it’ll dilute the calming properties," Lyra finished smoothly, rolling her eyes. "I know, Weasley. Believe it or not, I do read."
Percy gritted his teeth. "Then maybe act like it."
Lyra smiled, slow and dangerous. "Oh, Weasley. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were nervous."
"I am not nervous."
"Are you sure?" She tapped a finger against the side of her cauldron. "Because your hands are shaking."
Percy knew she was lying, but that didn’t stop him from immediately looking down at his hands. They were perfectly steady.
When he glanced up, Lyra’s smirk was pure victory.
Oh, she was insufferable.
"Do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?" he asked, dryly.
"Not when I have such an entertaining audience," she shot back.
Percy exhaled sharply through his nose, counting to ten in his head. He was not going to let her get to him.
For the next few minutes, they worked in relative silence—relative because Lyra hummed while she stirred, and Percy was pretty sure she was doing it just to annoy him.
But as much as he hated to admit it, their potion was actually coming along perfectly.
That is—until Lyra decided to get creative.
"What are you doing?" Percy snapped, watching in horror as she reached for an extra pinch of powdered unicorn horn.
"Enhancing the effect," Lyra said breezily. "It’ll make it work faster."
"That’s not how this works!"
"How do you know?" She tilted her head, watching him with something almost goading in her expression.
"Because I read the instructions," Percy said through gritted teeth. "Unlike you."
Lyra shrugged, then, to Percy’s absolute horror, dropped the extra powder into the cauldron.
For a single, terrifying moment—nothing happened.
Then—
BOOM.
The cauldron erupted with a thick, silver mist, spreading rapidly across the table in a wave of shimmering fog. Percy jerked back, coughing violently as it engulfed him.
Around them, students gasped, a few laughing as the mist rolled across the floor.
When it finally cleared, Percy stood frozen, his hair and robes now dusted with a fine, glittering powder.
Silence.
Then—
"Oh, Weasley," Lyra murmured, voice thick with barely contained laughter. "You sparkle."
A ripple of snickers spread through the classroom.
Percy—hands clenched at his sides, eyes burning with absolute *murderous rage*—slowly turned to face her.
"Malfoy," he said, his voice dangerously calm.
Lyra, for once, had the decency to look vaguely guilty.
"…Yes?"
"What," Percy said very, very slowly, "did I just say about following the instructions?"
Lyra cleared her throat, as if trying very hard not to laugh. "In my defense—"
"There is no defense!"
She grinned. "Oh, come now, Weasley, it’s not that bad."
"Not that—not that bad?" Percy gestured furiously to his entire existence. "I look like a fairy!"
Lyra studied him for a moment, then nodded. "A very pretty fairy."
Percy seethed.
Snape, who had appeared at some point during the chaos, looked between them with pure loathing. "Detention," he said icily.
Percy opened his mouth—because surely, surely Snape could see that this was not his fault—but the professor’s glare dared him to argue.
Instead, Percy took a long, slow breath and exhaled sharply through his nose.
When he turned back to Lyra, she was smirking.
Percy was going to kill her.
Right after he scrubbed every last fleck of glitter off his robes.
He stormed out of the Potions classroom the moment Snape dismissed them, ignoring the muffled snickers from the other students as he stomped toward the Gryffindor common room. He could *still* hear Lyra’s voice ringing in his ears—
"Oh, Weasley, you sparkle."
He hated her. He hated her more than he had ever hated anyone in his life. More than Fred and George when they used his Prefect badge as a coatrack. More than Peeves when he upended an entire bucket of ink onto his homework.
More than anyone.
"Oi, Perce!"
Percy should have kept walking. Should have pretended he hadn’t heard. But Fred and George were physically incapable of being ignored, and within seconds, they had flanked him on either side.
"Nice new look," Fred said, giving him an exaggerated once-over. "Didn’t know you were going for the enchanted fairy aesthetic."
Percy glowered . "Go away."
George reached out and flicked a bit of glitter off Percy’s sleeve, watching as it immediately replaced itself with even more. "Blimey, it’s endless. I think it’s actually multiplying."
"Must be some strong magic," Fred mused. "Who’s responsible?"
Percy gritted his teeth.
George’s eyes lit up. "Oh no. Don’t tell me—"
"Malfoy," Percy spat.
Fred and George immediately howled with laughter. "Merlin’s beard, Perce," Fred wheezed. "You mean Lyra Malfoy did this to you?" George wiped a tear from his eye. "Head Boy Weasley versus Head Girl Malfoy—the greatest rivalry of our time."
"This isn’t funny," Percy snapped, still furiously brushing at his robes.
Fred clapped him on the shoulder. "It’s a little funny."
"It’s not," Percy said darkly. "She’s an absolute menace. She never follows the rules, she never listens, and she delights in making my life miserable."
George nodded sagely. "So, she’s brilliant."
Percy’s head snapped toward him. "She is not brilliant."
Fred grinned. "Then why do you talk about her so much?"
"I do not—"
"You do, though," George interrupted, grinning. "We’re starting to think you enjoy it."
Percy turned the deepest shade of red imaginable. "I hate her."
Fred smirked. "Sure, Perce. Whatever you say."
Percy opened his mouth to argue, but before he could, Oliver appeared, dropping into step beside them.
"Alright, what’s all this about?" Oliver asked, eyeing Percy with amusement. "And why does he look like he’s been hexed by a particularly aggressive fairy?"
"Malfoy," Fred and George said in unison.
Oliver’s eyebrows shot up. "Lyra?"
Percy growled. "Why does everyone say her name like that?"
Oliver shrugged. "I dunno. Just sounds like she gets to you."
"She does not get to me," Percy gritted out.
"Right," Oliver said, completely unconvinced.
Percy clenched his fists. "I loathe her."
"Obviously," Fred said, nodding solemnly.
"Hate her so much you can’t stop thinking about her," George added.
"Don’t you dare—"
"Hate her so much you can’t stand being near her—"
"Shut up—"
"Hate her so much you’ll probably marry her someday—"
Percy let out an incoherent sound of rage and stormed off.
Fred and George doubled over laughing.
Oliver just shook his head, grinning. "This is gonna be fun to watch."