Alice struts the Hogwarts corridors, spots Flint and Bode huddled like plotting goblins—eyes light up. Showtime, bitches.
She cranks her face to full rage-mode, storms up, yanks Bode's shoulder hard.
Dilixati Bode jumps like a startled cat, whips around—sees Alice, scare level doubles.
Shakes her off, snaps: "What the hell, Norton?!"
His yelp spooks Flint ahead; dude spins, clocks Alice, smirks quick—covers it, but Alice catches the flash.
Alice snarls: "Theodore's 'accident'—that your handiwork?!"
Bode pulls exaggerated shock, turns to Flint: "Theodore? Ring any bells?"
Flint matches the theater: "Nah, Hogwarts got a Theodore? News to me."
Alice's fury meter: pegged.
Bode slaps forehead, fake-epiphany: "Ohhh, that Theodore."
"That potion prodigy who nearly blew himself sky-high brewing basic shit? Hahaha!"
Flint joins the fake dawn, both cackle shady, then eye Alice.
Flint drops the act, smirks smug, straightens collar: "We hitting a nerve?"
Bode sneers creepy.
"Real talk, Alice—from the second Theodore Nott started slumming with a Mudblood like you, dude was doomed."
"Pure-bloods don't mix with filth. Heh."
Flint finishes, slaps Alice's shoulder like trash, wipes hand disgusted, bounces.
Alice zones out a sec. Bode tries copying the pat—meets her glare, chickens out.
"Flint—you'll pay for this shit!" Alice bellows down the hall, echo bouncing.
Flint grins victor—Alice's just a yapping loser to him.
Pats Bode: "Nailed it. Christmas break, I'll name-drop you to the big dogs."
Bode's eyes sparkle—those third-year pure-bloods who ditched him? Payback incoming.
But front-walking Flint? Bode's gaze flicks contempt. Glory-hog poser. Small fry.
Alice watches 'em vanish, creepy grin splits her face—Pansy popping from behind shudders hard.
Taps Alice timid: "We rolling?"
Alice snaps back, clocks Pansy's fear, blanks: "Scared of screw-ups?"
Pansy shakes head.
"Then why the spook-face?"
"Your grin… straight nightmare fuel."
Uh, was it?
Alice shrugs: "Go time. Stay ghost—don't get made!"
Pansy nods fierce—hid in shadows, saw Flint's smug strut.
Months ago these clowns scared me? Pathetic. Now? Team light side.
She bolts after Flint/Bode.
Alice peels off—her mission awaits.
…
Cut to: Slytherin common room approach—three Gryffindor gremlins sneaking.
Chill vibes got Ron's teeth chattering: "Why's this hall colder than Snape's glare on potion day?"
Harry shushes, whispers: "Normally we're just surviving Snape. Now? Committing crimes!"
Ron mulls: "Fair."
Calls: "Hermione?"
She spins, Ron clocks her nerves: "You're twitchier than me—you?"
"…Terrified we botch Alice's op, flop the goal, and get us all expelled."
Harry: "Chill—we rehearsed to death. What could go wrong?"
Hermione mutters: "Famous last words."
Sudden—trio tenses. Alice materializes.
Harry: "Status?"
Alice nods: "Plan green. Inflated their egos sky-high."
Trio nods—Hermione/Ron vanish opposite ends; Harry/Alice post at hall's end, big-eye standoff. Awkward AF.
Harry eyes Alice, dead quiet amps unease, ears pink: "We… just stand here waiting for Flint?"
Alice blinks: Duh?
Spots his fidget, chuckles soft, tosses lifeline: "Hermione mentioned you live with your aunt's fam?"
Harry startles—nods quick.
"They treat you decent?"
Harry's face twists—wants to spill the trash, worries it paints him whiny. Mouth opens, nada.
Alice nods—hesitation says volumes: "Parents gone when I was tiny. Barely remember faces."
"But I got something—last memory? Them dying. Hell of a highlight reel."
"That a hell joke or what?"
Uh.
Harry's face: wtf. Two orphans trauma-dumping pre-ambush? Peak hell vibe!
About to riff—Alice hardens: "Flint incoming."
Harry snaps gaze down-hall, grips wand tight.