"Magnificent work."
White-haired Theodosa emerged from the crowd, nodding approvingly at Orli before initiating a round of applause. With his lead, appreciation rippled through the assembled scholars like wildfire.
"Who conceived this methodology?" Damocles Belby, the original architect of Wolfsbane Potion, inquired once the ovation subsided.
"Waters developed it independently," Snape replied, positioning himself beside Orli. His expression carried something that might have been pride, though another emotion flickered beneath—something she couldn't quite identify.
Before Orli could decipher that mysterious look, another familiar voice cut through her thoughts.
"Orli, consider joining my research team after graduation." Galande had somehow navigated the crowd to reach her side, using her given name with startling familiarity. "France needn't intimidate you—my château has ample guest quarters, and I can offer compensation that would make even Gringotts goblins envious."
His eyes sparkled with genuine enthusiasm.
"Apleino, what precisely are you attempting?" Snape's voice could have frozen summer rain.
"Severus, don't look so murderous. Yes, I'm brazenly attempting to poach your assistant, but let's be honest—your professional relationship hardly qualifies as intimate." Galande chuckled, utterly unrepentant. "Consider the evidence: you still address her as 'Waters'! If Orli collaborated with me, we'd function as true research partners rather than... well, rather than you treating her like an exceptionally educated house-elf."
"Mr. Galande," Orli interjected, her voice carrying polite finality, "your offer is extraordinarily generous, but I must decline. France holds no appeal for me."
She met his gaze with unwavering resolve: "If I pursue advanced research, I intend to work exclusively with the Professor."
"There's your answer, Apleino." Snape's satisfaction practically radiated from his voice. He paused deliberately, then fixed Galande with a challenging stare while placing his hand on Orli's shoulder. "We're leaving—Orli."
The contact sent liquid fire racing across her shoulders and down her spine. Her ears buzzed with white noise, her thoughts scattered like startled birds, and she could only follow Snape's purposeful stride through the dispersing crowd on autopilot.
What had he called her?
Orli replayed the moment obsessively, desperate to confirm she hadn't imagined that single, precious syllable. But throughout the remainder of the day, he never used her name again—every address became an impersonal "you" or simply launched into conversation without preamble.
"Pass me that graduated cylinder."
"Lunch break."
"...Come here."
Snape had even abandoned his previous "Waters"! Orli felt like a balloon inflated to bursting with euphoria, only to have someone release the knot and watch her deflate into a wrinkled, pathetic remnant.
She maintained rigid composure until they returned to their tower that evening, then decided to embrace selective deafness and ignore him completely.
"...I need to discuss something with you."
Orli remained statue-still on the sofa, apparently absorbed in a book. She wasn't processing a single word, though she derived petty satisfaction from noticing Galande's name prominently displayed on the cover.
"Did you hear me?" Snape tried again.
You. What kind of address was that? Orli didn't dignify the question with so much as a glance. Since he refused to use her name, how could she possibly know who he meant? Perhaps he was addressing some invisible house-elf.
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