Cael hadn't even made it halfway down the corridor outside the Great Hall when trouble, unsurprisingly, found him.
He should've known it was coming. After all, the infamous stink bomb incident had rippled through every house, every common room, and every owl post delivery like wildfire. Gryffindor might be basking in the glow of rebellious fame, but not everyone was applauding.
Especially not her.
"Enjoying your fifteen minutes of fame, troublemaker?"
The voice — smooth, sharp, and laced with that particular brand of smugness only a Slytherin could master — drifted toward him from the stone archway.
Cassandra Vole stood there, leaning against the wall like she owned the corridor, arms crossed, green-and-silver tie hanging loose around her neck in practiced defiance. Her sleek blonde hair framed her face like spun ice, and her expression hovered somewhere between faint amusement and quiet disdain.
First-year. Slytherin. Famously mean-spirited. Infamously too clever for her own good. And, most recently, the snitch responsible for informing the professors exactly who had orchestrated the legendary Quidditch stink disaster.
Cael turned toward her, already recognizing that cool, condescending drawl. His expression didn't shift, though his mind flicked back to their… interesting classroom encounters.
Their last proper conversation had been nearly a month ago — not that they'd ever exchanged pleasantries. But somehow, she'd developed a particular focus on him. Every time they shared a class, she hovered like a storm cloud, quick to challenge his answers, quicker to correct him when he made the slightest mistake. Competitive to the bone. He'd brushed it off at first, chalking it up to childish pride and Slytherin ambition.
But after last night? After she'd deliberately ratted them out to the professors?
Different rules applied now. If he let her, she'd walk all over him — and he had no intention of letting that happen.
Cael didn't flinch, his arms folding casually across his chest as he leaned against the opposite wall. "Can't say I'm shocked to see you lurking, Vole," he replied, voice cool as winter air. "Trying to steal the spotlight, or just basking in the aftermath?"
Cassandra's lips curled, though it wasn't even close to friendly. "Please," she scoffed, pushing off the wall with effortless grace. "That circus of a prank? Hardly worth basking in. But I did enjoy watching you and your merry band of Gryffindor fools squirm before the professors."
Cael arched a brow, his smirk slow, deliberate. "Funny, I don't remember handing out invitations to that performance. Thought Slytherins were too busy gagging on the smell to appreciate our theatrics."
Her eyes glinted — cool, sharp, forest green — as they raked over him. "I appreciate precision, Vale," she retorted smoothly. "Not clumsy, foul-smelling chaos." She tilted her head slightly, studying him with the faintest sneer. "But I suppose that's as high as Gryffindor standards go."
A grin tugged at the corner of Cael's lips, the tension coiling between them more playful than hostile — but there was an edge beneath it.
Merlin, wow look at this Chick she is just like a miniature Draco Malfoy, only sharper. More dangerous. Smart enough to be a problem.
"So let me guess," Cael drawled, "ran straight to the professors the moment your delicate Slytherin pride got bruised? Bet Snape practically pinned a medal on you."
Cassandra's smile sharpened, all teeth and confidence. "Hardly," she replied, stepping closer, her polished shoes clicking lightly against the stone. "I gave facts. You four practically handed me the evidence on a silver platter." She leaned in just enough for her words to cut like a whispered threat. "Next time, if you want your rebellions to stay hidden… maybe don't stink up half the Quidditch pitch."
Cael held his ground, unbothered, his smirk widening. "Noted. But here's the thing, Vole… I don't mind the attention." His gaze lingered on her, daring. "Especially if it means getting under your skin."
Her expression flickered — just for a heartbeat — irritation crackling beneath the polished exterior. But then it was gone, replaced with that same ice-cold confidence.
"Ah," she mused, the corner of her mouth curling. "There it is. The real you. You showed your true colors Ha . Not the charming, nice guy Gryffindor — just another rule-breaker with a clever mouth." She straightened her tie, green silk flashing against her pale fingers. "But don't get cocky, Vale. I don't rattle that easily."
Cael chuckled under his breath. "You sure? Because your voice gets real sharp when you're rattled."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but her smile didn't falter. "Enjoy your little moment," she said, voice low, dangerously amused. "It won't last. Gryffindor stunts fade. Slytherin advantages… linger."
"Is that a threat?" Cael countered, still leaning lazily against the wall. "Or just Slytherin wishful thinking?"
Cassandra didn't answer. Instead, she pivoted on her heel with practiced elegance, her blonde hair swaying like silk as she strode past him. Her parting words were crisp as parchment.
"Neither," she called over her shoulder. "It's a promise."
Cael watched her retreat, her footsteps echoing down the corridor, sharp as her tongue.
"Well she's Cute when she pretends to be smart for her age "
The System's voice chimed in his head, utterly amused. It sounded like it was munching on imaginary popcorn.
"Well, you've done it now — poked the snake's nest. Buckle up, sunshine. We're in for some quality drama."
Cael chuckled softly, pushing off the wall. His eyes lingered on the direction Cassandra had disappeared.
"Yeah," he muttered under his breath, amusement curling in his chest. "And it's only getting started."
Time to find the Room of Requirement… and maybe remind Cassandra Vole that Gryffindors had far more up their sleeves than just stink bombs.