"Are you… Professor Snape?"
Harry finally let go of Lynn's neck and craned her head up, eyeballing the dude looming in front of them.
Snape's black robe was billowing like it had its own fan club, even ruffling his freshly shampooed, shoulder-length hair. The guy had clearly been on a two-month hygiene glow-up; no more greasy vibes, face looking sharp enough to cut glass. Dude had prepped.
Those deep-set eyes, the hawk nose, the thin lips—he was serving cold, brooding DILF energy. Knock ten years off and the "Prince" in Half-Blood Prince would've been custom-made. If teenage Snape had known this level of drip, James Potter would've had to fight tooth and nail for Lily.
People are shallow everywhere, wizard or Muggle—deal with it.
But Harry? Unfazed. Her emerald-green eyes sparkled with zero fear, lips curling into a crescent-moon grin. That innocent, Lily 2.0 face hit Snape like a goddamn bunker-buster.
His ice fortress? Obliterated.
"L-Lily…"
The name slipped out before his brain caught up. Too late.
"You knew my mom?" Harry tilted her head, curious. "Aunt Petunia says I look just like her. True?"
"Y-Yes…"
Snape staggered back half a step like someone yanked his spine. Had to lean back just to stay upright.
"I knew your mother," he rasped, voice thick with ghosts. "I was… her friend."
"Classmates?"
"Mhm. We came to Hogwarts together."
"So like me and Lynn?"
Harry looped her arm through Lynn's. "Lynn's my ride-or-die."
"Y-Yeah… sure…"
Snape's words tripped over themselves, swallowing a dozen unsaid pleases.
"Anything else, Professor?"
That sweet smile? He couldn't.
"Nothing." He shook his head like it weighed a ton. "Looking for Professor Flitwick."
"Byeee!"
Harry waved, shoved her book into Lynn's bag, and bounced off. "Lynn, hustle! Great Hall's gonna be picked clean!"
Charms ran two hours straight—two classes back-to-back. By 5:30 PM, the Great Hall opened for dinner (6:00–8:00). Show up late and you're stuck with dessert scraps. Real food? Gone.
The place was already buzzing. Harry and Lynn ditched Gryffindor's table and slid into Ravenclaw's—right across from a killer red-wine braised beef that Harry was eyeing like a hawk. Food spawns randomly; gotta camp the good stuff.
"Okay, Cho," Harry stage-whispered, "Lynn's sick. Flitwick diagnosed him: zero childhood. Needs hugs or his charms fizzle. Tragic."
Cho squinted. "That sounds fake as hell."
"Don't listen to her bullshit," Lynn groaned, rolling his eyes. "Flitwick said magic's kid stuff, and I'm a soulless husk. Gotta 'reconnect with peers' to resurrect my murdered inner child."
"Murdered childhood," Cho snorted. "Poetic."
"Need help?"
"Nah." Lynn shrugged.
"He needs your hugs, Cho," Harry grinned. "Might jumpstart his cold, boob-obsessed heart."
Cho raised a brow. "Why not you hug him?"
"Tried. Didn't work. I'm Team Girls. Can't warm a dude who only gets hard for long legs and D-cups."
Lynn bonked her forehead with a spoon. "If I want curves, can't I just flirt with an upperclassman?"
"Hot witches everywhere!"
"Where? Where?!" Harry whipped around. "None beat Cho."
Lynn chin-nodded fifteen meters down: two sixth/seventh-year girls chatting over dinner.
They clocked his stare. One smirked, blew a kiss. The other giggled and tossed one back.
Teasing underclassmen? Senior girl national sport.
"Bad women!" Cho hissed, grabbing Lynn's face and yanking it back. "Don't talk to them. They'll devour you."
"Aren't you my upperclassman, Cho?"
"By one year. Big diff."
"I don't eat apples."
"Then don't!"
"Ow—did you just bite me?!"
Lynn winced at the teeth marks on his arm. Girl rage: 0 to 100, real quick.
"Dog bit me, I bite back."
"Hair in your teeth?"
"Shut up, hmph~"
"Welp, guess I'm screwed."
Lynn shrugged, attacked his plate like a starving raccoon.
"Who says I want your sorry ass?" Cho huffed, appetite gone.
"'Cause I suck at sweet-talk. Don't even wanna date. Guy with no family to offer? Hard pass on relationships."
He stretched, belly full. "But I can apologize."
"Let's hear it." Cho side-eyed him, curiosity winning.
"Can't now. Needs sincerity. Gimme till Christmas—saves me a gift too."
"Cheapskate," she scoffed, glaring.
"If my apology flops, you're done, Lynn!"
"Should I just go hit up the upperclassman?"
"Try it."
"Eat your damn dinner and I won't. Half a slice of bread ain't a meal."
Cho nibbled her treacle tart, mood thawing.
This asshole? Infuriatingly charming when he's a dick.