The next day.
Harley sat in the slightly chilly Potions classroom, half-listening while chatting idly with Ron.
Ron was retelling yet another legendary tale about Professor Viktor that he'd heard from the Hufflepuffs. Harley couldn't help but feel a pang of admiration.
Hermione, meanwhile, was buried in a massive tome, reading with fierce concentration.
Every so often she'd interrupt to correct one of Ron's more exaggerated details.
Which of course made Ron argue back indignantly.
And every single time, Hermione dismantled his protests with calm, book-cited logic until he was left speechless and red-faced.
Listening to her two best friends bicker, Harley found her mind drifting.
Maybe Tom had been right—girls really were kind of… likable.
In just one day she'd already noticed the shift in how everyone treated her—professors and students alike.
Take Malfoy, for example. Right now he was at the front, bragging to Crabbe and Goyle about some vague "family connection" to Professor Viktor.
This morning in the corridor after breakfast, she'd given him her usual glare as they passed.
But for once… nothing.
No sneering comment. No drawling insult.
She'd walked on with Ron for several steps before glancing back.
Malfoy was just standing there, face twisted in obvious conflict, like he couldn't decide whether to speak or not.
Even more shocking had been Snape.
Last night she'd dragged her feet all the way to detention, steeling herself for the usual torrent of venom the moment she stepped through the office door.
But she'd stood in the doorway for ages… and nothing.
No cutting remark. No sneer.
And the detention itself? Not the disgusting jobs she'd braced for—no flobberworm mucus scraping, no toad-dissection.
Instead, Snape had her prepare fresh moondew—perfectly normal potion-ingredient handling.
He even corrected her technique now and then—explaining the proper way to slice, stir, or crush.
His tone was still cold, still laced with the occasional sarcastic jab.
But the old, personal hostility—the strange, targeted malice—was gone.
Strangest of all, buried somewhere in his precise, serious instructions, Harley thought she caught the faintest trace of… guilt?
Under this new, almost unrecognizable Snape, she actually started to enjoy the work.
By the end of detention she was wondering—maybe, possibly—she might actually like Potions after all.
Watching Snape now, intently studying the test tube of potion Tom had handed him yesterday, Harley could finally see what he meant by the "allure" of the subject.
His eyes were focused, almost reverent.
Listening to Ron retell (for the third time) his brother's letter about Viktor and Tom teaming up to subdue a dragon in Romania, Harley thought:
Maybe brewing potions could be interesting too… If Snape doesn't single me out today, maybe I'll actually try.
"Silence!"
Just as Ron reached the dramatic climax—arms waving—Snape swept into the room like a giant bat, robes billowing.
The instant his voice cut through the air, the classroom went deathly quiet.
Even Ron—mid-sentence—snapped his mouth shut, face scarlet, head ducked low to avoid Snape's glare.
Snape stood at the front, eyes sweeping the room like a hawk.
When his gaze landed on Harley, she flinched instinctively—then straightened her back, trying to look alert and attentive.
But the expected "Potter, why aren't you sitting up properly? Five points from Gryffindor!" never came.
The sharp, dark stare lingered on her for only a moment before sliding to Ron—whose face was now practically glowing with embarrassment.
"Mr. Weasley appears to enjoy storytelling. For disrupting my class with your noise—two points from Gryffindor."
Ron's blush deepened to an alarming shade.
Harley thought: Okay, that's definitely anger this time.
With two more Gryffindor points gone, Snape reminded everyone exactly who ruled this dungeon.
Then he launched straight into the lesson.
"After a full summer holiday, I can only assume your troll-sized brains have emptied themselves completely."
"Watch me brew a simple Scabies Potion. If any of you ruin yours later… hmph."
Those two soft, ominous hmphs sent a collective shiver through the Gryffindors.
Even some Slytherins looked uneasy.
No one doubted for a second that Snape would cheerfully force-feed them their own failed brew.
Instantly, every student—including Harley—snapped to full attention.
They watched, riveted, as Snape demonstrated the simplest Scabies Potion with fluid, elegant precision.
Harley found herself leaning forward, unconsciously matching her breathing to his movements.
Maybe it was last night's patient instruction.
Maybe it was the absence of hostility today.
Whatever it was, she was mesmerized.
She studied every flick of his knife, every measured stir, comparing it silently to what he'd taught her the night before.
When Snape finally lifted the cauldron off the flame, added two porcupine quills, stirred five clockwise turns with his wand, and finished with a graceful final flourish—
Harley let out a long, quiet breath.
She stared at the soft pink smoke curling up from Snape's perfect potion.
Then down at her own ingredients.
For the first time, a small thought flickered:
…Maybe brewing potions isn't actually that hard?
With that in mind, when Snape gave the order, Harley began.
She picked up her knife and—without thinking—started copying Snape's exact movements from the demonstration.
Slice here. Crush there. Add in precise order.
When pink smoke finally rose from her and Ron's cauldron—and the potion inside glowed a clear, sky-blue—Harley froze.
She stared.
Did… we actually make this?
While she and Ron were still gaping at their unexpectedly perfect brew,
A low, calm voice spoke from directly behind them.
"Not bad potion work. Gryffindor gains ten points."
The entire dungeon went silent except for the soft bubbling of cauldrons.
Every head turned.
Every eye widened in disbelief.
They stared at the stunned Harley and Ron.
And at Snape—standing behind them, calmly regarding their cauldron.
In that frozen moment, the same thought echoed through every mind in the room:
We're all going to die.
Because they had just heard the impossible.
Snape.
Gave.
Gryffindor.
Points.
The world was clearly ending.