𝑨𝒎𝒖𝒍𝒆𝒕 - ʜᴊᴘ x ᴏᴄ [𝐌𝐀𝐉𝐎𝐑 𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆&𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆]

𝟖

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴏᴛɪᴏɴ-ᴍᴀᴋɪɴɢ

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Cassiopeia's POV

The next morning, Cassie strolled out of the Slytherin dormitory with Pansy, Daphne, and Katherine, navigating the castle's winding corridors. They got lost a few times, but that was half the fun. She'd never admit it, though—getting lost didn't suit her image.

It was Friday, and finally, they had Potions. Cassie adored Potions. There was something about the art of brewing—how it required precision yet had room for instinct—that called to her. She had read countless books on the subject, absorbing knowledge like a sponge. And, of course, the class was taught by Severus Snape, the Head of Slytherin. It was only later that she realized he was the professor who had given her a sympathetic look during the Sorting Ceremony, watching her clash with Harry. That was... unexpected.

The Great Hall buzzed with early morning chatter as Cassie slid into her usual seat between Draco and Katherine. Pansy perched beside Draco, her eyes practically glittering in adoration. Cassie had only just learned about Pansy's crush on him, and frankly, she thought it was disgusting. Draco was many things, but appealing? Not even a little. Across from them, Blaise, Daphne, Theodore, and Tracey sat picking at their breakfast.

Just then, the familiar flutter of wings filled the hall. The morning post had arrived. Cassie looked up just as a sleek black owl swooped down, dropping a letter onto her plate. Hades.

She untied the parchment, unfolding her neat handwriting, so precise and perfect that one would mistake that it is printed.

𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘊𝘢𝘴, 

𝘐 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦. 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬? 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴? 𝘋𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭—𝘥𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦. 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴—𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘏𝘰𝘨𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘊𝘢𝘴. 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱-𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥... 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦? 𝘐 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵. 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘹. 𝘒𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦. 𝘕𝘰𝘸, 𝘧𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦, 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘳 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘺.

𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦, 

𝘈𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘦.

Cassie set the letter down, curiosity prickling at her fingertips. She lifted the velvet box and flipped it open. Inside lay a ring. Silver, slightly worn with age, but unmistakably important. She slid it onto her finger, but it was too big. A quiet sigh escaped her. She would wear it on a chain instead. It felt like the right thing to do—like it belonged there.

Aurie always told her she was like her father, but most people disagreed. Even her grandparents scoffed at the idea. Regulus Black had been refined, disciplined—everything Cassie wasn't. If there was an opposite for well-mannered, it was her. 

Taking a break from her thoughts, she unclasped her necklace, sliding the ring onto it before fastening it back around her neck. The weight of it against her skin was oddly comforting. A tether to something that felt both distant and deeply personal.

Later, Cassie walked with Katherine, Crabbe, Goyle, Draco, and Pansy to Potions. Pansy was practically glued to Draco's side, clutching his arm like a lifeline.

They filed into the dungeon classroom and took their seats. Cassie sat beside Katherine, her fingers instinctively brushing over the ring beneath her uniform.

Professor Snape swept into the room, his black robes billowing behind him. He called the register, pausing when he reached Harry's name.

"Ah yes," he said, voice silken with something unreadable. "Harry Potter. Our new celebrity."

Draco and his minions sniggered. Cassie rolled her eyes. Honestly, how immature could they be?

Snape began his usual introduction, speaking about the "subtle science and exact art" of potion-making. His voice was smooth, practiced, calculated. Cassie leaned forward despite herself, caught up in the way he spoke. He had a way of making Potions sound almost poetic, weaving words together like an incantation.

And yet, beneath it all, she felt an itch of irritation. A feeling she couldn't quite place—like a whisper from the past, telling her she wasn't supposed to like him. Hating Snape almost felt like a natural instinct, as if it was something her ancestors had etched into her blood. Maybe it was.

Then, his gaze snapped to Harry.

"Potter," Snape drawled, his voice slicing through the silence like a blade. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Cassie knew the answer. Of course, she did. But Aurie had warned her—Snape hated know-it-alls, and she had no intention of making herself a target this early in the term.

Granger, however, clearly hadn't gotten the memo. Her hand shot up, nearly touching the ceiling. Snape ignored her. Expected.

"I don't know, sir," Harry admitted.

Snape tutted, voice thick with disdain. "Fame clearly isn't everything."

Cassie rolled her eyes. The man had a one-track mind. It was almost embarrassing.

He moved on, asking Harry about bezoars. Again, Harry didn't know. Snape's face didn't shift, but his eyes gleamed with something Cassie recognized instantly—he wanted Harry to fail.

She should feel bad. Maybe she did. But when Harry, ever the Gryffindor, shot back with something both deserved and mildly insolent, she had to fight to keep a straight face.

"I think Hermione does, though," Harry said. "Why don't you try her?"

Cassie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Alright, that was funny.

Snape's lip curled. "Sit down," he snapped at Granger.

Cassie barely suppressed her smirk. Hypocritical, she knew—she had just called Draco immature for the same thing not five minutes ago—but she didn't care. Granger had spent the entire week glaring at her every time she so much as looked at the Gryffindor table to talk to Harry or Ron. Apparently, even acknowledging their existence was some kind of crime. Please.

Snape's gaze swept the room. "Now, can anybody from Slytherin tell me the answer to this question?"

Cassie tapped her fingers against the desk, the cool weight of the ring pressing against her collarbone. Then, with a lazy smirk, she leaned back in her chair.

"Sir," she called, her voice dripping with practiced confidence.