Chapter Text
Harry and Theo strolled down the corridor toward the dungeons, their matching green ties loose, robes unbuttoned, and both of them looking far too relaxed for students about to suffer a double period of Potions.
"You do realize Snape is going to hex us into next week if we walk in even a second late," Theo said, grinning.
"Oh, absolutely," Harry replied. "But that's why I brought him this." He pulled a chocolate frog from his robe pocket. "Bribery works best when you pretend it's thoughtful."
Theo snorted. "Look at you. A true Slytherin already."
They turned the corner—and froze.
Ron Weasley was storming up the corridor toward them, red-faced and visibly furious. Hermione trailed behind, her brow furrowed, clearly trying to convince him not to do exactly what he was about to do.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Theo muttered.
"Harry!" Ron barked, ignoring Theo completely. "You knew, didn't you? You knew you were going to switch houses?"
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Nice to see you too, Ron."
"Don't deflect!" Ron snapped. "You didn't even say anything! You just—what, strutted over to the snake pit like it's where you belonged all along?"
"Maybe because it is," Harry said calmly.
Hermione finally caught up, placing a hand lightly on Ron's arm. "Ron, maybe this isn't—"
"Oh, come on, Hermione! He's practically turning dark, can't you see it?"
Harry's eyes narrowed. "Dark? Because I switched Houses?"
"Because you've been different for months! Moody, secretive—snapping at everyone. Now you're suddenly best friends with Malfoy?"
Theo folded his arms. "He's not best friends with—"
Harry held up a hand, silencing Theo. "You think I'm evil because I'm not doing exactly what you want anymore."
Ron scoffed. "No, I think you're evil because you're acting like him! Like You-Know-Who!"
Hermione winced.
"Right," Harry said flatly. "Because being a Slytherin automatically makes me Voldemort's heir."
Theo raised a hand, deadpan. "Technically, you kind of are. You are Slytherin's heir—literally. Voldemort was one too, and you're from the same magical bloodline. Everyone knows that, it's not even a secret anymore. Parseltongue, magical legacy, all that creepy chamber stuff—check, check, check, check."
"Mr. Weasley!" Snape's voice cracked through the corridor like a whip.
Ron spun, startled.
"Twenty points from Gryffindor," Snape said, his robes billowing behind him as he stalked closer. "For being loud, disruptive, and—let's be honest—staggeringly dull. You should be seated in class. Not standing in the hallway shouting slander at your classmates like a tabloid columnist."
Ron opened his mouth, then shut it.
"Inside. Now," Snape added. "Before I decide to make it forty."
Ron stomped past them, grumbling under his breath. Hermione gave Harry an apologetic look before following.
Theo waited until they were out of earshot before saying, "What a bloody—"
"Mr. Nott," Snape cut in smoothly, not even looking at him, "Slytherin is fortunate I haven't taken points from them. Do try not to ruin our streak."
Theo threw his hands up in surrender. "Understood, sir."
"Inside. Take your seat."
Theo disappeared into the classroom. Snape paused and turned slightly toward Harry.
"Did you know?" he asked, voice unreadable.
Harry nodded. "Yeah."
"Planned it?"
Harry paused. "Yeah. I did."
Snape's gaze sharpened. "Explain."
Harry looked him in the eye. "It wasn't about revenge or theatrics. It was about finally being somewhere I felt like I belonged. I asked Dumbledore to consider a re-Sorting. Told him people had changed. That it could help bring unity. He liked the idea. But he didn't know where I'd end up."
Snape studied him. "And you knew it would be Slytherin."
Harry nodded once. "I've always known. The Hat wanted to put me here in first year. I talked it out of it. But I'm not that kid anymore."
Snape said nothing for a long beat, but the flicker of something—respect, maybe—crossed his face.
"Welcome to Slytherin, Potter," he said at last. "Get to class."
"Thanks," Harry said. Then after a pause, added, "For stopping Ron."
Snape didn't respond. But something in his expression softened just a hair before he turned and swept into the classroom.
Inside the Potions classroom, cauldrons bubbled and the room smelled like crushed knotgrass and scorched wormwood. On the board in Snape's elegant scrawl: Polyjuice Potion — Brewing: Day 1 of 31.
"Today," Snape said from the front, "we begin what may be the most complicated potion you will ever attempt to brew in this class. Polyjuice. If you fail, you will not only waste my time, but risk severe consequences. Disfigurement. Hospitalization. Mild personality dissolution."
The class stared.
"I see I have your attention."
Harry and Theo were paired at one workstation. Draco and Blaise at another. Across the room, Ron grimaced at Harry, while Neville just looked confused, looking over their shared ingredients.
"Lacewing flies, stewed for twenty-one days," Theo muttered, measuring carefully. "Already pre-prepped by Snape. Thank Merlin."
Harry added powdered bicorn horn. "Hey, this is actually going well."
"Don't jinx it."
Across the room, a loud pop and an explosion of green smoke filled the air.
Neville coughed, face covered in soot. Ron was blinking rapidly, his fringe singed.
Draco snickered. "Classic."
Theo let out an unfiltered laugh.
"Oi!" Harry nudged him. "Be nice."
Still, he couldn't keep the grin off his face.
Ron glared across the room. "Oh, of course yours is working. Just because you're in Slytherin now doesn't mean you get some magic potions upgrade!"
That earned chuckles from the Slytherin side of the room.
Snape swept past, examining cauldrons. "Draco and Mr. Zabini—acceptable. Five points to Slytherin."
He paused at Harry and Theo's cauldron. The potion bubbled thickly, its texture perfectly mud-like, steam rising slow and even.
Snape's lip twitched. "Unexpectedly competent." He glanced at Harry. "Mr. Potter. Mr. Nott. Five points."
Harry blinked. "Thanks, sir."
From the Gryffindor table, Ron let out a low, furious grumble.
Snape raised a brow. "Something to add, Mr. Weasley?"
"No, sir," Ron mumbled.
"Good. Then do try not to kill your partner with whatever it is you're brewing."
As the lesson went on, the Slytherin boys whispered and joked between steps. Theo occasionally leaned over to correct Harry's stirring technique, tapping his ladle and muttering about clockwise versus counterclockwise motion like it was sacred law.
"Are you stirring like you're mixing cake batter or trying to brew something that won't explode?" Theo teased.
"Bit of both," Harry muttered, grinning.
Draco, ever the perfectionist, hovered over the thermometer strip like a hawk, adjusting the flame beneath the cauldron by a hair's width, grumbling every time it ticked even a degree too high.
"If you breathe too hard on this flame, Potter, I will hex you," he said without looking up.
"Such faith," Harry deadpanned.
Blaise casually tossed a bit of knotgrass into his cauldron and quipped, "Honestly, I think Draco would marry that thermometer if it said 'yes.'"
"Don't be ridiculous," Draco replied coolly. "It would need to be enchanted first."
The table erupted into muffled laughter. Between steps, they scribbled notes in their books, checking the bubbling pace and recording color and viscosity just like Snape had instructed. Occasionally, one of them would lean over to help another—Harry had to stop Theo from dropping the shredded boomslang skin in too early, and Draco nudged Blaise when he caught him miscounting his stirs.
Halfway through the period, Snape snapped his fingers and summoned their attention. "You will also be writing a two-foot essay on the theory, history, and composition of the Polyjuice Potion, due by the end of the week. If you're incapable of decent handwriting, I suggest you begin immediately."
Theo groaned. "I'd rather drink a batch that hasn't finished brewing."
"You'd end up with six arms and no eyebrows," Draco said, flipping his quill dramatically. "Do it properly or don't bother."
"Easy for you to say," Blaise said, pointing his quill at him. "You write like a calligraphy professor possessed you."
Harry shook his head as he jotted down notes. "What did I get myself into?"
"Excellence, Potter," Draco replied, smirking. "You signed up for excellence."
Theo made a noise in his throat. "You know, you can probably stop calling him 'Potter' now. You lot sleep in the same room. He's in the snake family now. It's Harry."
Blaise leaned back in his chair. "Yeah, it's starting to sound like you're clinging to some kind of dramatic rivalry trope. Let it go, Draco. Call him by his first name."
Draco rolled his eyes, but his smirk didn't budge. "Fine. Harry, welcome to the cauldron of mediocrity. I'll raise your standards eventually."
"Ok, Draco." Harry made a face. "Yeah, no, that felt wrong."
"What did?" Draco asked, confused.
"Saying your actual name. It's too... formal. Weird. I don't like it."
Theo perked up. "What, you need a nickname for him now?"
Harry nodded solemnly. "Yup. From now on, you're Doody-Dookums."
There was a beat of silence—then Blaise choked on air and Theo laughed so hard he nearly knocked over their ink bottle.
Draco gave a horrified laugh. "Absolutely not."
Harry grinned. "Too late. Doody-Dookums it is."
"I will spike your potion," Draco threatened, pointing his quill at him.
Harry winked. "Only if you can spell it right in your essay, Dookums."
Draco narrowed his eyes. "You want to play this game, Potter—I mean, Harry—fine. I'll come up with a nickname for you."
Theo leaned in, already grinning. "You're not creative enough to think of one. Want help?"
"Absolutely," Draco said.
Theo pretended to think hard. "What about... Tommo Pot?"
Harry deadpanned. "No."
Blaise snorted. "Okay, yeah, that's terrible. Draco, just skip the clever ones and go for full saccharine horror. You know, call him darling or sweetheart or something. It'll drive Weasley up the wall."
Draco looked at Harry, eyes twinkling. "Darling it is, then."
Harry gave a slow, sarcastic nod. "Perfect. Doody-Dookums and Darling. Hogwarts' worst couple."
Just then, Snape drifted over like a particularly well-groomed storm cloud.
"Are we working, or writing the next tragic romantic comedy?" he said, eyeing the group.
Draco immediately pointed to their cauldron. "Perfectly consistent bubbling, sir."
Theo held up their parchment. "Detailed notes. Everything labeled."
Snape gave a subtle nod and moved on. When he reached Ron and Neville's workstation, his lip curled.
Neville was poking at their cauldron with the wrong end of the stirrer, and Ron had clearly given up, slouched halfway off his stool.
"Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape said with relish. "For complete lack of effort and aesthetic offense."
Harry chuckled under his breath.
Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Not even a flicker of guilt?"
Harry shrugged, still smiling. "I would, but Snape's finally not breathing down my neck anymore, so no. Also, Hermione definitely tried to make Ron study last night. I'd bet ten galleons she gave him a study schedule. If he didn't listen, that's on him."
The Slytherins chuckled, a few smirks and exchanged looks bouncing around the table.
But then—
"This is ridiculous!" Ron suddenly shouted, rising from his seat, face redder than a Howler. "Snape is favoriting him now! Just because he's in Slytherin!"
Snape turned on his heel, raising a warning finger. "Mr. Weasley—"
But Ron kept going, voice rising with every word. "I bet Harry and Malfoy are planning a bloody Death Eater meeting in the common room! I bet all the Slytherins are in on it—cursing him into joining them! And now no one's going to be saved, because he's laughing with them instead of doing anything to stop what's coming!"
Theo leaned into the chaos, smirking. "Imagine if he'd heard Draco call Harry 'darling.' He'd have exploded on the spot."
Blaise nodded solemnly. "Ron is falling for the rage bait so hard, I almost feel bad. Almost."
The Slytherin table burst into stifled laughter.
Ron turned, fuming, and jabbed a finger at Harry. "You don't even see a problem with this, do you? Sitting there, laughing with them! With the enemy!"
Harry stood up slowly. "Ron. I'm laughing. Not plotting to destroy the wizarding world. Calm down."
"Twenty-five points from Gryffindor," Snape cut in, voice cool and sharp. "And Mr. Weasley—you are to report to Headmaster Dumbledore's office. Immediately."
Ron stomped out, practically sparking with rage, and Hermione gave Harry a helpless look before hurrying after him.
Harry leaned in, whispering under his breath, "I kind of want to get a Dark Mark now. Just for the rage bait."
Theo snorted.
Blaise and Draco both turned toward them, eyebrows raised. "What did you just say?" Draco asked.
Theo grinned. "Nothing."
Harry smirked. "Absolutely nothing."