Obviously, they must be engaged—even from across the entire corridor, Orli could clearly see the ring glinting on Cho Chang's finger.
She allowed herself precisely one second to mourn Harry's first kiss, but the moment they turned into the corridor leading to Potions, Orli couldn't spare another thought for Harry's romantic woes. Her undigested breakfast sat like lead in her stomach while two voices waged war in her mind.
Barely a week had passed, yet everything that happened in France felt like ancient history.
She would never forget how he'd called her Orli, how they'd danced together song after song, how they'd almost kissed—so close she could still feel the phantom warmth of his breath.
But she would equally never forget his words—he had never loved her, only Lily Evans. The past wouldn't change, and neither would the future.
"But he wouldn't dare show you his Patronus," whispered a treacherous voice in her heart. "Perhaps it's already changed. Perhaps it's no longer a doe. You know he's not completely indifferent to you."
She leaned against the stone wall, head bowed. What was she hoping for exactly? That Snape'sPatronus would somehow become connected to her? Between them, she had already given everything—she was always the one reaching out first. But Snape? He stubbornly pushed her away, again and again.
"He's protecting you," that small voice insisted. "He wants to keep you safe from danger."
But she was already destined for danger—especially after Trelawney's prophecy had spread like wildfire. Why couldn't he understand that perhaps she'd rather face those dangers beside him? She wasn't a child anymore. She'd accomplished more than most Order of the Phoenix members. She wanted to stand at his side, not cower behind him.
"You must be rational. You cannot indulge in childish emotions now," the voice commanded sternly.
She remembered their locked gazes at the opening feast.
Five years. They had developed such profound understanding—they both knew what took priority. Allowing emotions to cloud judgment was catastrophically foolish. Whether this constituted a cold war or something else entirely, neither would let personal turbulence interfere with what truly mattered.
But how should she face him now?
Maintain strict teacher-student boundaries?...
Orli couldn't pursue the thought further because the Potions classroom door groaned open with its characteristic protest. Fifth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins filed inside, settling into their usual arrangements: Ron and Harry at one table, Hermione and Orli as partners—a tradition carved in stone.
Snape raised his hand with a casual flick of his wand. The door slammed shut with finality. In this domain, maintaining order required no effort—his glacial expression alone was sufficient to make everyone hold their breath.
Snape "Before today's lesson commences,"
Snape positioned himself at the front, his dark eyes sweeping the classroom like a predator surveying prey:
Snape "I feel compelled to remind you that in June, you will face a crucial examination designed to assess precisely what you have absorbed during five years of potion theory and practical application."
His gaze settled ominously on Neville:
Snape "Inevitably, every class harbors its share of hopeless dunderheads. I expect such individuals to possess sufficient self-awareness to achieve at minimum a passing grade. Otherwise, I shall be very—very—displeased."
Neville visibly shrank into his robes, his face draining of color.
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