What is normal to the spider,
is chaos to the fly
or
In which Antares Kelly knew he would get tangled in the web of the Order of the Phoenix.
----------------
[THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX]
[BOOK ONE]
[MALE OC x UNDECIDED]
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✯✯ ✯
Harry was seething.
He didn't bother to wait for his friends as he rushed out into the hallway of the dungeon. Though he had never been particularly fond of Potions class, today's humiliation was a new low, even for Snape's standards. While everyone else was still handing over their Draughts of Peace for grading, Harry would receive a zero for his efforts.
He missed one step, actually, not even one. After allowing the cauldron to simmer for seven minutes, he forgot to add the two drops of syrup of hellebore.
Worthless, Snape had called out.
Harry's jaw tightened as he continued down the corridor to the Great Hall. He clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. He felt an overwhelming urge to prove himself, to show Snape that he wasn't as incompetent as the Potions Master seemed to believe. It wasn't just about proving Snape wrong. It was about proving it to himself. He was tired of feeling like he was always one step behind, always struggling to measure up. He remembered Antares' advice clearly, but at the moment, that advice felt empty.
Antares didn't help me, Harry thought venomously. He sat back and watched.
Antares had been speaking to another student, to which he paused and observed the entire scene unfold. Harry could still remember how Antares' expression remained impassive as they made eye contact. He offered no help, his brown eyes skimming over Snape's face briefly before he turned his attention back to the student in need. His actions left a lingering sense of betrayal in Harry's mind. Antares' job, at its core, was to assist all students within the class. He couldn't help but wonder if Antares had deliberately chosen not to help him.
Harry's foul mood persisted as he sat down for lunch. It worsened further when Hermione and Ron began to argue as they joined him at the table.
✯✯ ✯
After helping Professor Grubbly-Plank haul her most recent delivery of Jobberknolls to the grounds near Hagrid's Hut, Antares made his way to his most dreaded class of the week. Running a hand through his dark, rain-slicked hair, he braced himself. Entering the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was like striding into a battleground. The heavy droplets of rain hammered against the windows like a continuous drumbeat, the impact being the only sound that filled the room.
Umbridge's class was a necessary evil, he supposed; this way, he could ensure the students' safety regardless of the suffocating atmosphere she would inevitably create.
As he ventured into the classroom, his eyes caught the sight of Dolores Umbridge sitting poised at her desk, her bubbly pink cardigan unmistakable. She glanced up from her stack of papers.
"Mr. Kelly," she acknowledged with a tight smile. It was almost unnerving how forceful her saccharine demeanour was.
