Watching the blond figure walk away with Snape, Pansy's expression grew strangely conflicted.
Her hesitant, uncertain look made it clear she was torn—deeply curious about why Snape had sought out Astoria, yet also uneasy about his peculiar attitude toward her.
A godfather, especially one from a noble wizarding family, carried significant influence. At critical moments, Snape's words could easily sway some of Draco's decisions. That, more than anything, was what made Pansy nervous.
Though, in truth, Draco didn't always listen to Snape anyway...
...
Following Snape's lead, Astoria arrived at the Potions Office—a place most students regarded as mysterious and slightly terrifying.
The mystery came from how few knew what lay inside, while the fear, naturally, stemmed from Snape's volatile temperament.
Compared to the well-liked Professor Lupin, any place associated with Snape was practically a dragon's den. No student entered willingly.
In fact, over the past few years, aside from Draco—who coveted Snape's private collection—and Ron Weasley, who had once snuck in to brew Polyjuice Potion, the number of students who had stepped foot here could be counted on one hand.
In some ways, it was as off-limits as the Forbidden Forest.
You could say Snape had achieved his own unique kind of notoriety.
Still, it was impossible not to gasp in awe upon entering the room.
Astoria was no exception.
"All these rare potion ingredients and specialized tools... Is this what a true potions master's workshop looks like?"
Though she maintained her noble composure, her wide, curious eyes betrayed her fascination with the surroundings.
It was clear she held a deep interest in potion-making.
After finally pulling her gaze away from the rare ingredients, her attention inevitably drifted to the large cauldron at the center of the room, no longer bubbling but still faintly warm.
That scent and color... Could it be Wolfsbane Potion?!
Her eyes widened, gleaming with excitement as if she had just discovered something extraordinary.
The Wolfsbane Potion—recently discovered and notoriously difficult to brew—was a high-level potion with extremely limited use. Beyond allowing werewolves to retain their sanity during transformation, it served no practical purpose.
Because of that, it sold poorly, and few wizards were willing to spend the time learning to make it.
That rarity was exactly what thrilled Astoria.
But what truly surprised her was seeing a completed Wolfsbane Potion here, right before her eyes...
"Miss Greengrass, if I were you, I'd sit down immediately—rather than stand there like a fool drooling over my potion."
"...Sorry, Professor."
Astoria had wanted to defend herself—that she wasn't a fool, nor had she been drooling—but one look at Snape's lifeless expression made her abandon the idea entirely.
With a stiff smile, she sat at the only desk in the office. Lowering her head to stare at her shoes, she began to understand why Professor Snape wasn't exactly popular.
"Now," Snape said coldly, setting something in front of her, "drink this. Every last drop."
"..."
Astoria glanced down at the unfamiliar potion, faint smoke curling from its odd-colored surface. She looked up, curious and wary.
But Snape gave her no explanation—he simply turned his back and resumed stirring another cauldron in silence.
Left with no choice, Astoria picked up the cup. As she brought it to her lips, hesitation flickered across her face.
And just as doubt began to creep in, Snape's cold voice sliced through the air.
"Being cautious is good," Snape said coldly, "but if I didn't owe your father a favor, I'd have thrown you out of here already."
He turned, holding a freshly prepared potion in one hand. His eyes flicked over Astoria with thinly veiled mockery, as if to say, if I wanted to deal with you, I wouldn't need to go through all this trouble.
And indeed, if Snape truly meant her harm, there would be far easier ways.
"Of course," he added, "if you have a way to cure the blood curse yourself, then by all means—set the potion down and get out."
At the mention of that phrase—blood curse—Astoria, who always carried herself with perfect composure, suddenly froze. The polite smile she so often wore vanished, replaced by a tight, trembling silence.
Her lips pressed together, delicate and pale—like a snowflake melting in the sun.
...
Slytherin Common Room.
After Astoria had left with Snape, Goyle suddenly remembered something.
"Draco, I already registered you."
"Registered? You mean for Hogsmeade Village?"
Their exchange caught Pansy's attention, and she moved closer to join the conversation.
"Yeah... there's something I need to handle. A few things I can't confirm while I'm here."
"But Draco," Pansy said quickly, frowning, "if I'm not mistaken, Hogsmeade is crawling with Dementors now. Are you seriously going alone? You can't even cast basic spells at the moment."
Her concern wasn't misplaced. This was, without question, Draco's weakest period—and Dementors could only be driven back by the Patronus Charm, a spell far beyond his current reach. Pansy couldn't perform it either, but that didn't make her any less worried.
"Relax," Draco said. "The wizard I'm meeting will make sure I'm safe. And as for their magical skill—let's just say they once held the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor."
"Defence Against the Dark Arts professor?"
"To be precise... a former one."
Former?
A flicker of recognition flashed through Pansy's mind—an image of a flamboyantly dressed man, full of pomp and empty boasting...