The atmosphere in Potions was more brittle than usual. The bubbling cauldrons hissed and steamed under Snape's ever-watchful eye, and yet there was a lingering tension even he couldn't ignore. The usually cold dungeon air felt tighter, more electric. Rumors of the Petrified students had already reached every corridor of the castle, and nerves were fraying.
Harry stirred his potion counterclockwise as instructed, trying to ignore the weight of Snape's gaze. His eyes flicked across the room to Draco, who stood several tables away, hunched slightly over his own cauldron.
The other boy had kept his distance lately—less smirking, more silence. Not hostility, but not friendship either. Just something... off. Harry couldn't decide whether he missed the verbal sparring or was grateful for the pause.
Hermione leaned closer and whispered, "Did you double-check the steps? It's not turning the right shade."
Harry frowned and glanced back down. She was right. The mixture should've been turquoise. His was more violet.
"I followed the instructions exactly," he muttered.
Across the room, another cauldron suddenly let off a loud pop.
Gasps filled the room as red smoke billowed into the air. The potion had exploded—boiled over and vanished, leaving only scorch marks across the desk.
Snape was already on his feet, cloak billowing. "Everyone out. Now!"
Students scrambled out of the room, coughing and shouting. Only Harry, Hermione, and Draco stayed rooted.
"It wasn't me!" cried a frightened third-year at the back. "I didn't touch anything!"
Snape waved his wand, clearing the smoke. His eyes locked onto Harry. Then Draco. Then the cauldron.
"This was tampered with," he said coldly.
Hermione stepped forward. "Professor, could it have been a misstep? It didn't seem like an intentional error."
Snape's lip curled. "Miss Granger, you know as well as I do—this is advanced potion-making. That much volatility does not occur without interference."
Draco surprised everyone by stepping forward, his voice clear. "It wasn't Potter."
Snape's eyebrows rose a fraction. "No? Then who?"
There was a pause. No one spoke. Even the third-year who had been closest to the cauldron was now silent, shrinking under Snape's stare.
Harry looked at Draco, startled. Why did he defend him?
Snape turned back to the cauldron. "I will find out. And when I do…"
His words trailed off into an unspoken warning. He swept past the students, muttering spells under his breath to analyze the remaining residue. His brow furrowed.
"This was not a student's mistake," he finally said. "This was sabotage."
---
That evening in the Gryffindor common room, Ron flopped into an armchair with a groan. "Blimey. If this is how second year's going to be, I miss Fluffy the three-headed dog."
Hermione looked up from a thick tome. "That potion had dark residue. Someone wanted it to explode."
"Why, though?" Harry asked quietly. "What would that even accomplish?"
Ron shrugged. "Send someone to the hospital wing? Cover for something else?"
Hermione's brows pulled together. "I think it was a distraction."
Harry sat quietly by the fire, mind elsewhere. He hadn't missed the way Draco had looked at him. Or the brief flicker of worry in Snape's eyes.
It wasn't just the attack in Potions. Something else was building. A tension that had nothing to do with exploding cauldrons and everything to do with secrets.
Upstairs, in the Slytherin common room, Draco sat by the green-lit fireplace. He pretended to read, but his eyes didn't follow the text.
He thought about the potion.
And how, in the middle of it all, he'd found himself defending Potter.
"Stupid," he muttered to himself. "Absolutely stupid."
But something inside him twisted at the memory. Not regret. Not exactly. Just... unease. And something deeper.
---
Snape sat in his office late into the night, reviewing the potion residue under magical light. The traces he found were worrying.
Not just because they were advanced. But because they were familiar.
He narrowed his eyes.
Someone was interfering with his classroom.
And if that same someone was tied to the attacks on students—then he needed to act.
Soon.