All her teeth are made of razors

✩₊˚.⋆☾╶⃝⃤☽⋆⁺₊✧

𝓐𝓢 the morning sun cast its golden light over Hogwarts, bathing the castle in a warm glow, students gathered in the Herbology greenhouse, their chatter filling the humid air. Ophelia stood beside Neville Longbottom, absently tapping her fingers on the table, her eyes locked across the way at Hermes, who was arranging his materials with an air of quiet confidence.

Just then, Professor Sprout entered, her usual cheerful demeanour in place. "Morning, everyone," she called out, but the class was still murmuring. She tapped on a pot to gain their attention. "Good morning, everyone."

"Good morning, Professor Sprout," the class chorused in response, their attention now fully on her.

Professor Sprout smiled, pleased. "Welcome to Greenhouse Three, second years. Gather around. Today, we're going to re-pot Mandrakes." She lifted a pot containing a scraggly-looking plant, its leaves trembling slightly as if alive. "Who here can tell me the properties of the Mandrake root?"

Immediately, both Ophelia and Hermes shot their hands into the air. Their eyes met, and the competitive spark between them flared. Ophelia quirked an eyebrow, daring him to outshine her, while Hermes offered her a smug half-smile in return, clearly enjoying their unspoken rivalry.

"Mr. Granger?" Professor Sprout pointed at Hermes, who shot Ophelia a victorious look before answering, "Mandrake, or Mandragora, is used to return those who have been Petrified to their original state."

Professor Sprout nodded approvingly. "Correct. 5 Points to Gryffindor."

Not to be outdone, Ophelia raised her chin slightly as Professor Sprout turned to her. "Miss Gaunt?"

"The Mandrake's cry is also dangerous-fatal, actually, to anyone who hears it without protection," she said smoothly, her mist-coloured eyes flicking to Hermes, her lips curling into a sly smile.

"Very good, Miss Gaunt. 5 Points to Slytherin," Professor Sprout added. Ophelia gave Hermes a triumphant look, making him smirk in return as if accepting her challenge for round two.

"As our Mandrakes are still only seedlings, their cries won't kill you yet. But they could knock you out for hours, so I've given you each a pair of earmuffs for protection. Put them on right away. Quickly!"

The class hurried to pull on their earmuffs, and Ophelia ensured hers were snug before she glanced at Hermes, who was watching her with a raised eyebrow. She gave him a wink, her expression playful, as though to say, Let's see if you can keep up.

"Flaps tight down," Professor Sprout instructed. "Now watch closely. You grasp your Mandrake firmly and pull it sharply up by the root."

With a firm tug, she pulled the Mandrake out of its pot, its shrill cry piercing the air, though muffled by the students' earmuffs. The baby Mandrake writhed in her hands as she dunked it into a new pot, pouring soil over it to muffle its cries.

Ophelia followed suit, glancing sideways at Neville, who looked pale and unsteady. Sure enough, as Professor Sprout finished repotting her Mandrake, Neville swayed before collapsing onto the floor in a faint.

Professor Sprout sighed. "Longbottom's been neglecting his earmuffs."

Draco and his cronies snickered as a Gryffindor boy called out, "No, ma'am, he's just fainted."

"Yes, well," Professor Sprout replied dryly. "Just leave him there."

Ophelia bit her lip to hide her grin as she muttered to herself, "Neglected, indeed." She glanced at Hermes, who rolled his eyes, though a trace of amusement lingered in his expression.

As the lesson continued, Ophelia found herself glancing at Hermes more than she'd like to admit. They were rivals, sure, but there was something undeniably entertaining about their constant one-upmanship. He noticed her staring and gave her a challenging look, tilting his head as if to ask, What's next, Gaunt?

Ophelia smirked, replying with a whispered, "You'll have to try harder than that, Granger." There was a subtle warmth to her tone, something that teetered on the edge of affection, though neither of them would dare admit it.

"Don't worry, Ophelia," Hermes whispered back as they both prepared to re-pot another Mandrake. "I always do."

Their competition might have been fierce, but in that moment, there was a shared understanding-a bond beneath the rivalry that neither could quite ignore.

"Right, on we go," Professor Sprout called out. "Plenty of pots to go around. Grasp your Mandrake and pull it up sharply."

The greenhouse filled with the rustling of students reaching for their Mandrakes. As the seedlings were pulled from the soil, the room was soon overwhelmed with the piercing cries of the Mandrakes. The sound, though muffled by earmuffs, still managed to vibrate through the air, making everyone's movements tense and focused.

Ophelia, with a steady hand, yanked her Mandrake out swiftly, its tiny, shrieking form wriggling in her grip. She calmly inspected it, her misty eyes narrowing slightly in amusement as it flailed, kicking dirt everywhere. With practiced ease, she dunked it into its new pot, tapping the soil around its roots.

Across from her, Draco Malfoy wasn't handling his Mandrake quite so gracefully. Instead of repotting it, he leaned in, smirking mischievously as he tickled the creature's chin. The Mandrake paused in its wailing, and Draco, ever the show-off, jabbed his finger into the Mandrake's open mouth. For a second, all seemed fine, until the Mandrake's sharp little teeth clamped down on Draco's finger with surprising force.

"Ow! Bloody-" Draco hissed, shaking his hand violently, trying to dislodge the creature. His face twisted with annoyance as he yanked, but the Mandrake wasn't letting go.

Ophelia, who had just finished re-potting her own Mandrake, caught sight of Draco's struggle. A laugh burst from her lips before she could stop it, a light, mocking sound that caught the attention of a few nearby students.

"Oh, please," Ophelia quipped, her voice laced with playful scorn. "Even the plants can sense your need for attention, Malfoy."

Draco shot her a glare, still wrestling with the stubborn Mandrake. His cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment, but he tried to play it off. "Shut it, Gaunt," he muttered, yanking his finger free with a pop, though the Mandrake continued its furious wailing.

Ophelia's eyes sparkled with amusement, and she placed her hands on her hips, watching Draco fumble. "Perhaps it's just reminding you that not everything in life is going to bend to your will," she added, arching an eyebrow.

Draco scowled, his pride stung, but before he could snap back, Professor Sprout's voice cut through the noise. "Everyone, focus! Once your Mandrake is in the new pot, sprinkle the soil generously and make sure it's secure!"

Ophelia turned back to her work, but not before casting one last amused glance at Draco. Her own Mandrake, now settled and silent, wriggled slightly in its new home, content. She brushed the dirt from her gloves, feeling the weight of her triumphant smirk as she worked.

She noticed Hermes watching her from a few rows down, a subtle smile playing on his lips. He raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by her banter with Draco.

Ophelia tilted her head slightly, giving Hermes a knowing look. "What?" she mouthed, challenging him to comment.

Hermes simply shook his head, his smile widening. "Nothing," he mouthed back, though the gleam in his eyes told her he was clearly enjoying the show.

With a slight roll of her eyes, Ophelia returned to her Mandrake, but the competitive fire between her and the others lingered in the air, setting the tone for the rest of the class. Even in the midst of chaos, Ophelia couldn't resist making her mark, her sharp wit and quick tongue as much a part of her as her wand.

𓆙

The Great Hall was alive with chatter, the clinking of cutlery and bursts of laughter echoing off the high ceilings. At the Slytherin table, plates piled with food stretched across the length of the table, with students helping themselves to a variety of dishes. Ophelia sat comfortably among her housemates, her green-and-silver robes draped elegantly over her shoulders as she absentmindedly snuck small morsels of food into her pocket for her Niffler, who was nestled snugly within the folds of her robe.

Beside her, Pansy Parkinson was prattling on about the latest gossip within their house. "Honestly, Daphne's been completely unbearable lately," Pansy said with a dramatic eye roll. "All she talks about is how she's going to impress Draco this year, as if he's interested in anyone besides himself."

Ophelia smirked, her attention split between Pansy's ranting and the subtle movement in her robe pocket as the Niffler's tiny paws eagerly snatched up the crumbs she had been slipping it. "You know Draco," Ophelia drawled, keeping her voice low and amused. "The only thing that impresses him is his own reflection."

Pansy giggled, leaning in conspiratorially. "Too true. Still, the way Daphne goes on about him, you'd think he's the heir of Slytherin or something."

Ophelia chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "She wouldn't be the first one to think that." She placed another piece of bread into her pocket, feeling the Niffler fidget with excitement. "Careful," she whispered, "you're going to give yourself away."

Their conversation was interrupted by a flutter of wings as an owl swooped into the hall, drawing the attention of several students. The bird flew awkwardly, as though it were carrying a heavy load. Its destination became clear as it approached the Gryffindor table, and Ophelia, along with several other Slytherins, watched with interest.

The owl's aim was less than graceful, and with a loud thud, it crashed directly into a bowl of chips in front of Ron Weasley. Chips flew everywhere, causing an eruption of laughter from the Slytherin table, particularly from Draco and his friends.

"Look at that!" Draco snickered, elbowing Crabbe beside him. "Weasley can't even get a letter without making a mess."

Ophelia glanced at Pansy, who was trying to suppress a giggle herself. "Such finesse," she said sarcastically, watching as Ron fumbled with the owl, retrieving the letter.

Ron's expression shifted from confusion to horror as he recognized the red envelope in his hands. "Oh no," he muttered, his face paling.

"Oh, no," mocked a Gryffindor boy nearby, loud enough for the hall to hear. "Weasley's got himself a Howler!"

Neville, who was sitting across from Ron, leaned in with wide eyes. "Go on, Ron. I ignored one from my gran once-it was horrible."

Ophelia leaned forward in her seat, eyes gleaming with amusement as she watched Ron stare at the Howler, clearly terrified. Pansy nudged her, whispering, "This is going to be good."

Ron hesitated, his hands shaking slightly as he slowly tore open the letter. The moment he did, the Howler sprang to life, Mrs. Weasley's furious voice echoing through the Great Hall for all to hear.

"RONALD WEASLEY!" the Howler screamed, making nearly everyone jump. "HOW DARE YOU STEAL THAT CAR! I AM ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED! YOUR FATHER'S NOW FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, AND IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT!"

The Slytherins erupted into laughter as Ron sank lower in his seat, clearly mortified. Ophelia stifled a laugh of her own, biting her lip as she watched the poor Gryffindor squirm.

"If you put another toe out of line," the Howler continued menacingly, "WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT HOME!"

The letter paused, and Ron nodded miserably, looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him up. But then the Howler's tone softened, and it turned to face Ginny, who was sitting beside him.

"Oh, and, Ginny, dear," Mrs. Weasley's voice said sweetly, "congratulations on making Gryffindor. Your father and I are so proud."

The letter gave one last, furious raspberry at Ron before it shredded itself into pieces, scattering harmlessly across the table. The Slytherin table burst into more laughter, with Draco slapping the table in delight.

Ophelia, unable to resist any longer, let out a quiet chuckle, shaking her head at the absurdity of it all. "Merlin, that was brutal," she murmured to Pansy, who was nearly in tears from laughing.

"Brutal, but well-deserved," Pansy replied, wiping her eyes. "Honestly, only the Weasleys could pull off something like that."

Ophelia leaned back in her seat, still smirking. "Gryffindors-no sense of subtlety, even in their scoldings."

As the laughter died down, Ophelia cast a final glance at Ron, who was still sitting there, shell-shocked and red-faced. She shook her head with a grin, feeding another piece of food to the Niffler hidden in her pocket, thoroughly entertained by the spectacle.

✩₊˚.⋆☾╶⃝⃤☽⋆⁺₊✧

By: SilverMist707
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