Draconia sat in a high-backed chair that felt far too rigid for her aching spine. The office of the Potions Master was a cramped space, crowded with glass jars and dried herbs that seemed to press in on the three of them. Harry Potter sat in a similar chair opposite her, his shoulders tense and his gaze fixed on a singular point on the floor. Severus Snape sat behind his desk, a figure of dark, unyielding stillness.
The parchment was heavy and expensive, a thick cream-coloured sheet that felt far too formal for the madness of the situation. Draconia had spent an hour perfecting the calligraphy, ensuring every word was precise and every accusation was grounded in the observable reality of her symptoms. She had written it with a steady hand, though her pulse had been frantic when she signed her name. The procedure for a formal grievance was strict, and she had followed it to the letter.
Snape reached out and took the parchment from the desk. He did not look at her or Harry immediately; instead, he smoothed the edges of the paper with a long, pale finger. The silence in the room was not empty, but it held the tension of a drawn bowstring. Harry looked as if he wanted to speak, his fingers twitching against the wood of his chair, but he remained silent.
Snape lifted the document and began to read. His eyes moved across the lines of her handwriting with a deliberate, slow pace. Draconia watched the way his brow furrowed, a tiny crease appearing between his eyes as he reached the middle of the second paragraph. She could hear the rhythmic sound of his breathing, a low, steady sound that felt louder than it should be in the small room. Harry’s gaze flickered upward for a second, caught by the intensity of the moment, before dropping back to his boots.
The Professor read the document a second time. He did not skip a single word, even when he reached the section where she described the onset of the dizziness and the irrational lability of her emotions. He read it with a clinical detachment that made the words feel colder and more damning. When he reached the final sentence, he lowered the parchment onto the desk with a soft-sounding thud.
"You have been very thorough, Draconia," Snape said. His voice was level, devoid of the sarcasm she had expected. He did not look at her with pity, nor did he look at Harry with the suspicion that the rest of the school seemed to hold. "The phrasing is remarkably specific. You have even cited the exact dates of the physiological shifts."
"It is a matter of record, Professor," Draconia replied. She kept her chin high, refusing to let her voice tremble. "The symptoms are not merely anecdotal; they are consistent with an external influence."
Harry shifted in his seat, the leather creaking under his weight. "Professor, if you're going to read it twice, you should know that she isn't exaggerating," Harry said. He looked at Draconia, his green eyes searching hers for a hint of a joke, but she kept her face a mask of grim, professional concern.
Snape looked up from the desk, his eyes moving from the parchment to Harry. "Mr. Potter, your testimony is noted, though we are currently reviewing the written evidence provided by the complainant. It is a grave thing to suggest that a student has been surreptiously dosed with a controlled substance within the castle walls."
"It isn't just a suggestion when the symptoms are this violent," Draconia insisted. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks, a flush that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. "The onset of the lability is too precise to be coincidental. It feels like a violation of my own agency."
Snape leaned back, his dark robes spilling around him like ink. He looked at the parchment one last time before looking directly at her. "A violation of agency is a significant claim. It implies intent, and it implies a degree of skill that is not easily overlooked."
"I am not making a leap of faith, Professor," Draconia said, her voice gaining strength. "I am reporting a change in my internal state that is entirely uncharacteristic of my baseline. It is a physical reaction that demands a cause."
Harry leaned forward, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. "She’s telling the truth," he said, his voice a low rasp. "She isn't just making this up to be difficult. She’s actually distressed."
Snape ignored the interruption, his gaze remaining fixed on Draconia. "The document is well-constructed. It is a formal accusation of a crime, should the evidence hold. You have even gone so far as to detail the olfactory triggers you experienced prior to the intensification of the symptoms."
"I mentioned the scent because it is a primary indicator," Draconia said. She felt the urge to reach for the vial she had hidden in her pocket, but she kept her hands clasistered in her lap. "The scent of the potion is a hallmark of the influence."
"And you are certain of this influence?" Snape asked. He was watching her closely now, his expression unreadable. "That it is not a simple case of an incorrectly brewed Draught of Peace or a particularly potent batch of Pepperup?"
"It is not a mistake of brewing," Draconia said firmly. "It is a deliberate administration of Amortentia. The reaction is too visceral, too singular to be a mere mistake of the cauldron."
Harry looked at her, and for a moment, the air in the room felt different. He looked pained, as if he wanted to defend himself but knew that defending himself would only make her look more certain of his guilt. He looked like a man caught in a trap of his own making.
Snape stood up, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the desk. He picked up the parchment again, holding it as if it were a piece of evidence in a high court. He looked at the way the light caught the ink, which was still dark and sharp.
"The clarity of your writing is a testament to your distress," Snape said, his voice dropping an octave. He walked around the desk, moving toward the chair where Draconia sat. He stopped a few feet away, his presence heavy and intimidating. He looked down at her, and for a moment, she thought he might offer a word of comfort, but his eyes remained sharp and analytical.
"You have laid out a very specific timeline of events," Snape said. He paused, his eyes narrowing as he considered the final word of the document. "There is one detail here that remains somewhat vague, despite your precision."
Draconia held her breath. She felt the weight of the room pressing against her ribs. She watched the way his hands rested at his sides, perfectly still and perfectly poised.
"One question remains, Draconia," Snape said. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze piercing. "Are you certain that this reaction is a result of an external agent, or are you perhaps reacting to a perceived slight?"
"Professor, the reaction is not a reaction to a slight," Draconia said, her voice steady despite the hammering in her chest. "The reaction is to the substance itself, and the person who gave it to me."
Snape raised an eyebrow, his eyes flickering toward Harry for a fraction of a second. "And is that your final word on the matter?"
"It is," she said, her heart racing as she launched into the next part of her defense. "Because the dose was not just a mistake; it was an act of calculated manipulation."
Snape asked her one question and she answered it with a second accusation.