The dungeon was as dreary as ever, but Astra Potter, Gryffindor’s resident troublemaker, entered with a bounce in her step and a grin that could rival a Cheshire cat. She dropped into her seat at the back of the room, lazily flicking her wand to make her quill spin in midair.
Professor Snape, already looking like he regretted his career choice, fixed her with a glare. “Potter,” he drawled, “must you always arrive as though you own the place?”
“Of course, Professor,” Astra replied brightly. “I figure someone has to bring some life to this dungeon, and you certainly aren’t doing it.”
The room stifled a collective gasp. Snape’s nostrils flared. “Ten points from Gryffindor.”
“Oh no, not Gryffindor’s precious points!” Astra gasped, clutching her chest theatrically. “Whatever will we do without those ten points? How ever will I sleep at night?”
“Another ten points for your insolence,” Snape snapped.
“Keep going,” Astra said, pulling a scrap of parchment out of her bag. “I’m starting a tally. Let’s see if we can break my personal record by the end of class!”
Snape’s jaw tightened as he turned to the board and flicked his wand. Ingredients for a Confusing Concoction appeared in spidery handwriting. “Follow the instructions precisely, or you’ll end up poisoning someone. Although,” he added with a pointed look at Astra, “I wouldn’t expect you to manage even that.”
Astra raised her hand. “Professor, are you saying I’m so bad at potions I couldn’t even poison someone properly? Because I feel like that’s both an insult and a challenge.”
The Slytherins and Gryffindors alike broke into barely-contained laughter. Snape turned slowly, his glare like a thundercloud. “Twenty points, Potter.”
“Wow,” Astra said, scribbling furiously on her parchment. “We’re at forty already. This might be a record-breaking class!”
As everyone began brewing, Snape prowled the aisles, his black robes billowing. Astra, naturally, took every opportunity to provoke him.
“Professor,” she called, “if you weren’t a teacher, what career do you think you’d have? Professional brooder? Or maybe you’d start a haircare line: Grease Lightning, by Severus Snape.”
The dungeon erupted. Even Draco Malfoy snorted, though he quickly tried to cover it up with a cough.
“Fifty points from Gryffindor,” Snape snarled, his voice dangerously low.
Astra nodded thoughtfully. “Fair enough. But I think Grease Lightning has potential. Want me to mock up a logo for you?”
Snape didn’t respond. Instead, he loomed over her cauldron, which was predictably a disaster. Bright purple smoke spiraled from the potion, and a few ominous sparks fizzled at the surface.
“What is this abomination?” he hissed.
Astra leaned forward, peering into the cauldron. “Art,” she said, as though it were obvious.
“This is a potion, Potter,” Snape snapped. “Not a canvas.”
“Sure, but don’t you think potions would be more fun if they were pretty?” Astra gestured to her bubbling masterpiece. “It’s like glitter, but with more danger. I’m calling it Astra’s Bedazzled Brew.”
Snape closed his eyes, his patience clearly on its last thread. “Detention,” he said flatly.
“Tonight?” Astra asked, already jotting it down on her parchment. “Should I bring snacks? Maybe some hot cocoa? You seem like the kind of guy who could use a nice warm beverage.”
Snape’s eye twitched. “Leave.”
“But class isn’t over yet!” Astra protested.
“I don’t care,” Snape hissed. “Get. Out.”
Astra shrugged, packing up her things. As she passed his desk, she paused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “You know, Professor, you might actually be kind of good-looking if you smiled more. Or if you got some sunlight. Maybe invest in a nice moisturizer?”
Snape didn’t even look up. “Potter, if you do not leave this dungeon immediately, I will personally ensure your detention lasts the rest of the year.”
“Got it,” Astra said cheerfully. “See you tonight, Professor! We’ll workshop the Grease Lightning idea.”
She breezed out of the room, leaving behind a trail of glittery purple smoke and a professor on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
Draco Malfoy turned to Blaise Zabini, his voice hushed. “Do you think Snape’s going to survive the year?”
Snape’s quill snapped in half, and the dungeon fell silent.