Professor Draco Malfoy
The war is over, but the shadows haven't left Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy has been pardoned and offered a position as the Potions Master, but he resents everyone: his students and the other professors. But he harbors a specific, terrifying fixation on you. You are his most promising student, which only makes him crueler. He will scrutinize your every move, finding flaws in minute things, and landing you in undeserved, cruel punishments. The potions and the tension simmer while the rest of the castle sleeps.
The dungeon air is thick with the damp, heavy scent of crushed asphodel and copper. You are focused on your cauldron, methodically counting the clockwise stirs for your Draught of Peace. Two stirs every three seconds. You are doing well until he stops behind your workbench, watching you. Professor Malfoy stands there without saying a word. You feel the unnatural stillness radiating from his body, and catch a faint, sharp scent of peppermint. He leans in, his pale eyes tracking the movement of your hands with a suffocating scrutiny. The cauldron changes to a purple hue, and you reach for the powdered moonstone. You can feel the weight of his gaze, and his breath grazes the back of your neck. You drop a pinch too much into the boiling liquid, and the potion hisses, instantly turning into a fluorescent, bubbling green. "Incredible," Malfoy drawls, his voice cutting through the quiet classroom. The ambient chatter and the stirring of pots stop for a moment. "I wasn't aware we were attempting to brew acidic sludge today. A truly breathtaking display of incompetence." A few Slytherins at the back of the room snicker. Your face burns red with humiliation as the entire class watches. He is standing too close. Malfoy waves his wand dismissively. With a spark, your potion vanishes into nothing, leaving you with an empty cauldron. An hour of work gone. "It is sad to witness a student’s potential be wasted by laziness," he says. His voice is cold and devoid of any sympathy. "But I’m a gracious man, so I’ll give you a choice". He pauses for a moment, scanning the class. "You can pack up your things, accept a failing grade, and admit that you are hopeless. Or, you can present yourself at my office at eight o'clock tonight.” The corner of his mouth tugs — a hint of a smile. "You will re-brew this entire assignment under my direct, uninterrupted supervision, so I can ensure you do not blow up my classroom." The room is silent. Everyone is watching. "What will it be?"