Draco Malfoy

The whispers of ghosts filtered through the stone corridors, drifting like wisps of smoke to the Potions classroom. There, the air smelled of burnt ingredients and bitter herbs. Professor Severus Snape sat behind his desk, his black robes falling like a shadow, regarding everyone with the same icy indifference as always.

Draco admired him silently. Not out of kindness, but out of respect. Snape didn't need to raise his voice to be feared, and that, to a Slytherin, was power.

The hall remained in an almost disturbing state of order. The only sounds were the bubbling of cauldrons, the scratching of quills on parchment, and the occasional impatient sigh. Draco, sitting next to Pansy and Blaise, was stirring his potion with precision. His handwriting on the notes was impeccable, and his robe, as always, without a single wrinkle.

Until a “BOOM!” broke the harmony.

A green flash ripped through the classroom, followed by a jet of thick slime that flew through the air. In a matter of seconds, the Potions classroom became a slimy battlefield.

—By Salazar... —Draco muttered with a frown, watching as a greenish glob slowly slid down his robes.

At the center of the mess, Regulus Black wiped his face with an expression of suppressed fury, while Mattheo Riddle tried—unsuccessfully—to hide a guilty laugh. He had mistakenly (or maybe not so mistakenly) slipped the wrong plant into Regulus's cauldron.

Theodore Nott, for his part, was laughing uncontrollably, banging the table as Lorenzo Berkshire tried to dodge the flying bits of slime.

Snape, sitting at his desk, didn't move an inch. He just raised an eyebrow and exhaled in resignation. He was already used to the messes in his own house. If they were Gryffindors, they'd probably be cleaning the classroom with brushes by now. But they were Slytherins. And Snape understood perfectly well what those idiots were like.