Snape didn't glance up when the knock came. He was in the middle of reviewing an essay that had mistaken Polyjuice Potion for a viable tactic. He didn't have the strength to be surprised anymore. He blamed Barty Jr., Hogwarts, Dumbledore and damned Rosier.
"Come in," he said, eyes still on the parchment.
The door opened. Theo Nott crossed the room, a slim stack of papers in one hand. Draco and Blaise lingered near the door.
Theo placed the reports on the desk. "Slytherin weekly logs, sir."
Snape made a sound, skimmed the top sheet, excellent writing and margins. Typical of Nott.
Theo didn't move. Brooding with those eyes that were too old for him. Snape marked a note in the margin of the parchment and finally looked up.
"Something else, Nott?"
Theo paused, then gave a slow shake of the head. "No, sir. Good day."
He turned. Took two steps. Then stopped.
"If I may... sir," Theo said, almost a whisper, "what is luck?"
Snape's eye twitched.
He then squinted "What's this about?"
Theo shifted his weight, gaze steady. "The potion you taught last week, sir, Felix Felicis. I've been wondering... what luck actually is. If it can be changed. What happens if two people take it at once, but want opposite things. Does it cancel out? Does someone win anyway? Is it stronger if your intent is clearer? Or if your magic's stronger? And what if the potion says something's lucky, but it's awful later, was it still luck then?"
Somewhere behind the question, he heard a hateful voice, the too-fast rhythm of a certain cursed professor unravelling something ridiculous at top speed.
"This is Rosier's fault." He muttered.
Theo blinked. Draco lifted an eyebrow. Blaise looked faintly amused.
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and pushed the essays aside.
"Sit," he muttered.
Theo did, sliding into the chair across from the desk. Draco and Blaise exchanged a glance, then joined him without a word.
Snape leaned back slightly, folding his arms.
"Luck," he said, "is not a metaphysical force that bends the world into place. It is not chaos with your best interests in mind. Nor is it a spell, a blessing, or an accident made charming."
All three looked interested.
Snape carried on.
"What people call luck is most often a combination of factors... probability, preparedness, and instinct. Magic complicates it, of course. As it does everything."
He opened a drawer and pulled out a small flask, placing it on the desk.
Felix Felicis. Pale gold. Sluggish. The liquid clung to the glass, tempting three boys to snatch and dash.
"This, for instance."
All three boys leaned forward slightly.
Snape gave them a flat look. "Don't get excited. It's not for you."
Draco muttered something under his breath. Blaise kicked his ankle.
Snape tapped the flask.
"Felix Felicis is a controlled substance. Dangerous in the wrong hands, expensive in all hands, and notoriously difficult to brew without vomiting up your organs halfway through."
Theo squinted. "But it works."
"Oh, it works," Snape said. "But not how people think."
He turned the bottle slowly between his fingers.
"It doesn't create luck. It doesn't force outcomes. What it does is sharpen instinct, heighten your response time, open your senses to a degree most people can't sustain. It makes you act without hesitation and with such precision that the world seems to shift around you."
He paused. "The difference is subtle. But important."
Draco frowned. "So it's not actually making things happen. You are."
"Precisely."
Theo nodded, slow. "Then... the potion's not luck. It just lets you use what's already there."
"More or less." Snape glanced at him, unreadable. "There is a magical field some theorists call instinctive divination. It's not sight or prophecy. Nothing as clear as the Seers pretend to be. It's more like... your magic anticipating a threat. Or sensing an opportunity. The potion amplifies that. And for those few minutes, you trust yourself absolutely. That trust makes the difference."
Blaise spoke after a long frown. "So the reason people succeed on it is because they stop second-guessing?"
Snape nodded. "Yes. They react at the right moment. Choose without hesitation. Most of us make decisions clogged by fear, doubt, memory, desire. Felix clears that. What's left feels like luck because you're no longer moving against yourself."
Theo looked thoughtful. "But that's still you. Your magic, your choices."
"It is."
Snape rested his hand on the desk. "Which is why those who rely on Felix too often begin to rot from the inside. They start believing the outcome belongs to the bottle. They give up their instinct, their skill, their judgment, and wait for the gold to fix it."
His fingers rested against the glass. "This is an amplifier, not a rescue."
Draco didn't speak, eyes fixed on the glass.
Theo leaned forward. "And people who are lucky without Felix?"
"Same pattern," Snape said. "Usually. Most of the time, it's someone whose magic leans toward synchronicity. A knack. A current they've trained into a habit. Or it's someone who listens to their instinct often enough that it sharpens without needing a push."
He looked between them. "True luck, the kind that bends in your favour without obvious cause, is rare. Most of what we call luck is skill, dressed up to look easy."
Blaise gave a small nod. "Makes sense."
Theo folded his arms on the edge of the desk. "So you don't believe in fate, then?"
Snape gave him a long look.
"Fate," he said, "is a crutch. Magicks use it to excuse cowardice. To avoid making decisions. If you blame the stars, you don't have to take responsibility."
Draco said nothing, but his expression shifted.
Snape glanced at him. "Something to say?"
Draco hesitated. Then, quietly, "What about prophecy?"
Snape's brow twitched.
"Prophecies are vague suggestions wrapped in drama. They speak to potential. Many take it as conclusion. The minute you believe you're locked into one, you start acting like it. And then you prove it true."
He looked tired as he thought.
"Your choices still matter," he said. "Even when you think they don't. Especially then. Even if the prophecy isn't about you... even if you're not the one it names, if you act on it, you make it real. You give it shape. Weight. It only needs one person to believe in it for it to start pulling the world around."
Silence hung between them for a moment.
Blaise broke it. "So you'd say luck's real, but not reliable?"
Snape's voice lowered.
"Luck is... a ripple. Not a tide. You might catch one. Ride it a bit. But if you think you can live in it, you'll drown."
Theo blinked. "That's grim."
Snape raised an eyebrow. "That'd be your dog Professor."
Blaise suppressed laughter, while Draco smiled.
"What if two opposing people took it at the same time?" Draco then asked. "Wouldn't their instincts clash?"
"They'd both act at the best possible moment," Snape said. "Doesn't mean they'd win."
"So it'd cancel out?"
"No." Snape answered. "It'd come down to which of them trusts their magic more. That's the part Felix can't fake. Practice, knowledge, magic, talent... whoever excels, will win."
Snape picked up the Felix bottle again and returned it to the drawer.
"Now," he said, "if that concludes today's existential crisis, I suggest you leave before Rosier barges in to accuse me of poisoning your optimism."
Theo stood. Draco followed. Blaise paused at the edge of the desk.
"You've brewed it, haven't you?"
Snape looked up. "More than once."
"Do you keep any for yourself?"
A long pause.
"No."
Blaise arched a brow.
Snape met his gaze. "Because I don't need it."
Theo made a small sound. "You're lucky already."
Snape gave him a dry look.
"No, Nott. I'm competent."
He turned back to the essays.
"Out."
They left without argument.
The door clicked shut.
Snape picked up his quill again, marked a line in red across the page, and muttered, "Still Rosier's fault."
***
As they stepped out into the corridor, Blaise gave Theo a sideways glance.
"What was all that about?"
Theo shrugged. "Been thinking about things lately. After Professor R talked about Light and Dark magic, I wondered what else could shape spellwork besides emotion. I thought about luck, but it didn't make much sense."
Draco glanced between them. "What else?"
Theo looked ahead, slowed down as he thought. "Well... fear's obvious. Grief too. That's half the reason curses happen. But there's other things, isn't there? Memory. Belief. Confidence. Doubt. Things no one talks about."
Blaise hummed. "Professor R did say magic listens to what you feed it."
"Exactly." Theo's hands tucked into his pockets. "So what if someone casts the same spell with the same intent, same movement, but one of them's scared it'll fail?"
Draco frowned. "Then it probably does."
"Right," Theo said. "So doubt disrupts it. That's not emotion. It's... state. Mindset. You could cast Lumos and still end up with a flicker if you think it won't work."
Blaise looked thoughtful. "So it's less about what you feel and more about what you think you're allowed to feel."
"Yeah," Theo muttered. "Sort of like the spell listens to your spine more than your wand."
Draco glanced at him. "You think too much."
Theo didn't deny it.
They turned the corner together.
"Alright," Blaise said. "So what's your theory then?"
Theo shook his head. "I don't have one. Yet. Just questions. Like, if luck's instinct sharpened by belief, Felix mimics it with a potion? Trick their magic into thinking they're lucky?"
Draco scoffed. "Fake it till you cast it?"
"Maybe," Theo said. "If you believe you'll win, and your magic believes it too, maybe the spell lands cleaner."
Blaise glanced between them. "So we're back to Professor R's whole 'magic is petty' argument."
Theo smirked. "Petty, but clever. Think about it, Professor Snape said Felix works because it clears interference. All the noise. What if we trained to do that without drinking liquid gold?"
Draco muttered, "You'd have to be a monk."
"You'd have to be quiet," Blaise corrected. "Which rules you out."
Theo rolled his eyes. "I'm serious."
"I know," Blaise said. "That's what worries me."
They passed under the archway, students filtering in and out ahead. Theo didn't say anything else for a while.
He was still thinking.
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