HP: Ashborn

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But you forgot, dear…"

She lifted her wand slightly, emerald eyes locked onto them, unblinking.

"I am a Potter."

Her voice was steady, smooth as silk, yet carrying the weight of something far older, far stronger than mere bloodline pride.

"And I think it's time you learned what that really means."

And from the way the Ravenclaws stiffened, it had affected them more than any spell could.

One of the girls—the one who had sneered about Jasmine "seducing" me—forced out a scoff, though the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her. "You're still just a spoiled little girl playing witch, Potter. Thinking you're so much better just because of your famous name."

Jasmine's smirk didn't waver. If anything, it grew sharper. "You lot are obsessed with my name. Should I be flattered?"

The girl's face flushed, jaw tightening. "I—"

"No, really." Jasmine took a slow step forward, tilting her head, her emerald gaze gleaming with something dangerous. "It's almost pathetic. Every insult you throw at me? My family's gold, my home, my name—it's all just proof that you resent me for having what you don't."

Silence.

A suffocating charged silence.

Jasmine's smirk widened, her wand tapping against her palm. "Jealousy's an ugly thing, isn't it?"

The blonde girl's face twisted with fury, her hands balling into fists. But before she could open her mouth—

Jasmine raised her wand.

Not to cast a spell.

Not yet.

Just enough to remind them.

Remind them exactly who they had mocked.

A girl who was not weak. A girl who was not powerless.

A girl who had remembered who she was.

And from the flicker of doubt in their eyes, they knew it too.

I met Jasmine's gaze from the corner of my eye, watching as something inside her settled—as if a puzzle piece had finally clicked into place.

And then, with a slow, deliberate breath, she spoke again.

"Let's get one thing straight." Her voice was smooth, unwavering, like the sharp edge of a blade. "I was never the one beneath you. You were just too blind to see it."

A chill swept through the corridor, but it wasn't magic. It was her.

The Ravenclaws stepped back, instinctively, as if some primal part of them recognized the shift in power.

I didn't bother suppressing my smirk.

They had come looking for an easy target.

Instead, they had woken up a lioness.

.

.

.

And suddenly, the five Ravenclaws—so smug, so sure of themselves—no longer looked quite as confident.

Yet, for all their Ravenclaw intelligence, the blonde girl made an exceptionally foolish mistake—she reached for her wand.

In plain sight.

Too slow.

My wand was already in hand. "Silencio."

Her mouth opened—but no sound came.

The panic was instant. Wild-eyed, she clutched at her throat, fingers trembling as she tried to scream, tried to cast, tried to do anything—but Silencio was an unforgiving spell.

That brief moment of stunned realization cost the others.

Their shock broke into frantic movement, hands darting to grab their own wands.

Too late.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Jasmine's voice rang out, sharp and sure.

A flash of blue light shot across the corridor—dead on target.

One of the boys barely had time to gasp before his limbs snapped together like an iron clamp. His body locked stiff, his eyes frozen in shock as he toppled backward with a thud.

The blonde girl, still flailing uselessly, spun toward her remaining allies, her hands desperate, gesturing wildly for help.

But Silencio wasn't a spell one could willpower their way out of.

And from the way the others hesitated, it was clear—they didn't know Finite.

Or Finite Incantatem.

Their arrogance had cost them.

.

.

.

And judging by their growing panic, none of them did.

Pathetic.

I exchanged a glance with Jasmine. She looked calm—collected—even a little amused.

Meanwhile, the three who remained standing were no longer looking at us like we were their targets.

No.

Now, they looked at us like we were their nightmare.

One of the idiots—apparently too panicked to think straight—tried to cast the Dancing Feet Jinx.

"Tarantallegra!"

Or at least, that's what it was supposed to be.

His wand movements were sloppy, his pronunciation off, and with his nerves all over the place, the spell fizzled out midair, utterly useless.

I let out a low whistle, shaking my head. "That was… something. Did he just try to jinx us or put himself out of his own misery?"

Jasmine tapped a finger against her chin, mock-serious. "Hard to tell. Maybe he figured if he embarrassed himself enough, we'd let him go out of pity?"

The boy's face turned a shade of red that would make a Gryffindor scarf jealous. His wand trembled in his grip as he tried again—

"Tarantallegra!"

The tip of his wand sparked.

And that was it.

Not even a flicker of movement from either of us.

I arched an eyebrow. "Oh no, Jasmine. Whatever shall we do? We are utterly defenseless."

She sighed dramatically. "I suppose we must surrender. Clearly, we've underestimated their sheer level of—" She paused, eyes twinkling. "—incompetence."

The boy let out a strangled noise, his grip tightening on his wand—only for Jasmine to raise hers in response.

His breath hitched.

She didn't even cast a spell.

She just looked at him.

And suddenly, he wasn't feeling so brave anymore.

.

.

.

Jasmine let out an exaggerated sigh, tilting her head. "That was just embarrassing. Here, let me show you how it's done."

Before the boy could react, she flicked her wand effortlessly. "Tarantallegra."

The spell hit him square in the chest.

His legs jerked—once, twice—before he completely lost control. His feet began to flail wildly, as if he were trying to outrun a stampede while his upper body struggled to keep up.

His arms flailed, his face twisted in sheer panic as his legs dragged him forward in a ridiculous, stumbling dance. He nearly tripped twice, but the spell wouldn't let him stop.

Jasmine casually twirled her wand, watching his humiliating performance with a smirk. "See? Proper pronunciation, correct wand movement, and a little confidence. It's really not that hard."

The remaining Ravenclaws stared, their mouths slightly open in horror as their so-called leader twitched, tripped, and flailed like a marionette with its strings tangled.

Then, just as suddenly—

"Petrificus Totalus."

The boy froze mid-stumble, limbs snapping to his sides as he toppled over with a dull thud, landing stiff as a board on the cold stone floor.

Jasmine dusted off her robes with a satisfied smile. "Much better. He was making too much noise."

A cold shiver ran through the remaining Ravenclaws. Their confidence? Gone. Their bravado? Shattered.

Now, they understood.

They hadn't just picked a fight with a "spoiled little Potter."

They had provoked a storm.

.

.

.

I let out a low whistle, eyeing the two fallen Ravenclaws. "That was harsh…" I glanced at Jasmine, a slow smirk curling my lips. "I liked it."

Jasmine shot me a sideways glance, her own smirk still lingering. "Good. Because I'm not done yet."

The remaining Ravenclaws visibly paled.

She giggled—mocking, merciless.

Meanwhile, the fourth boy—who had been frozen in indecision this whole time—finally reached for his wand.

Jasmine scoffed. "Really? You've just watched your friends drop like flies, and you still think you have a chance?"

He hesitated for just a second. Too long.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

The spell Jasmine fired struck him dead-on. His limbs snapped together with a clap—his wand slipping uselessly from his stiff fingers before he hit the ground with a dull thud.

His eyes, now locked in terror, screamed louder than his voice ever could.

That left only two.

The girls.

I turned to Jasmine, a lazy smirk playing on my lips. "They're all yours."

And what she did next made even me blink.

With no hesitation, she fired off two brutal Stinging Hexes—one for each girl.

The blonde barely had time to react before a burning snap struck her cheek, leaving a red, swollen mark. Her scream was shrill, panicked, full of disbelief.

The second girl wasn't spared—her shriek was muffled as she clutched her face, her wide, tear-filled eyes darting between Jasmine and me like a cornered animal.

Jasmine tilted her head, her voice dropping to a deadly purr. "What's the matter? You were laughing just a few minutes ago. What happened?"

The blonde whimpered, her previous arrogance shattering in real-time.

Jasmine clicked her tongue, feigning disappointment. "You mocked me for being a Potter, but you forgot something important."

She twirled her wand between her fingers, her emerald eyes gleaming with a dangerous, predatory amusement.

"Potters aren't just a name. We're a legacy. We don't crumble, we don't kneel—" her voice dropped to a lethal whisper, "—we conquer."

The Ravenclaws paled.

I let out a low chuckle, crossing my arms as I watched the Ravenclaws wither under her gaze. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

Jasmine turned to me, her emerald eyes locking onto my blue ones. A slow, knowing smile tugged at her lips. I matched it with one of my own.

No words were needed.

Acknowledgment. Understanding. A silent promise.

She wasn't alone. And she never would be.

.

.

.

"Now…" Her voice dripped with mock consideration as she turned her attention to the two remaining Ravenclaws. "What should I do with you?"

She took a slow step forward, her wand twirling lazily between her fingers. The girls flinched, eyes darting toward their fallen friends, their confidence shattered beyond repair.

Jasmine tilted her head, her voice dropping to a deadly purr. "You were so bold before. So loud. Where did all that confidence go?"

Her smile was sweet—too sweet.

Even the devil would have taken a step back.

The silent girl trembled, her shoulders shaking as fat tears spilled down her cheeks, dripping onto the stone floor. The other, the blonde who had mocked Jasmine so cruelly before, was no better—her knees buckled, and with a strangled sob, she collapsed.

"P-please," she stammered, her earlier arrogance shattered into nothing but desperation. "We… we were wrong. We shouldn't have—please, just—just let us go."

Jasmine regarded them with a tilt of her head, as if pondering their pathetic display. Then, with a flick of her wand, she muttered, "Finite."

The spell broke, and the once-silenced girl gasped, clutching at her throat as though she had been drowning and had finally surfaced for air. But when she looked up at Jasmine, only raw terror remained in her gaze.

They both scrambled, crawling toward her, hands pressed together in a pleading motion. "We're sorry!" The words came out in broken sobs. "Please, Jasmine! We won't do it again! We swear!"

Jasmine said nothing.

Instead, she crouched before them, bringing herself to their level. The movement was slow, deliberate—predatory.

The trembling girls dared to meet her gaze—and instantly regretted it.

Those eyes.

They weren't just green. They weren't just bright.

They were the shade of an Avada Kedavra mid-flight—cold, absolute, and utterly merciless.

And in that moment, they understood.

They understood exactly why Potters were feared as much as they were revered.

Jasmine leaned in, close enough that they could feel the cold edge of her breath against their skin. Her voice was softer now—gentle, almost.

"If you ever try this again… if you ever so much as breathe in my direction with bad intentions…" She smiled, but there was nothing kind about it. "I'll make you wish you had never set foot in this school."

The blonde whimpered. The silent girl squeezed her eyes shut.

"Do we understand each other?"

Both nodded frantically, their entire bodies quivering.

Jasmine straightened, her wand still in hand as she looked down at them. "Good."

She took a measured step back, her gaze sweeping over the four fallen Ravenclaws. Pathetic. Reduced to nothing more than shivering wrecks at her feet.

Then, with a slow inhale, she exhaled through her nose, rolling her shoulders back. The storm within her had settled, but the embers still burned.

She turned to me. "Max, would you mind?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Mind what?"

She flicked her wand toward the petrified boy, then at the girl still clawing at the fading sting on her cheek. "Fixing them." Her voice was light—almost playful—but the way her fingers tapped idly against her wand made it clear: this was not a request.

I smirked. "Now, why would I do that? Watching them suffer is kind of entertaining."

Jasmine let out a soft, amused hum. "True." She tilted her head in faux thought. "But I'd rather let them leave on their own two feet. That way, they'll remember exactly who let them go."

Ah. I saw her game now.

I shrugged, twirling my wand between my fingers before flicking it lazily. "Finite Incantatem."

One by one, the effects of our spells unravelled. The boys who had been petrified sucked in deep, shuddering breaths as their limbs unlocked.

But the five of them didn't move.

Because Jasmine hadn't dismissed them yet.

And they knew better than to move before she allowed it.

.

.

.

She crouched again, pressing the tip of her wand under the blonde's chin, tilting her face up.

"Now listen closely," Jasmine murmured, her voice velvet-wrapped steel. "You are going to forget this ever happened. You will not whine. You will not complain. You will not breathe a single word of today to anyone. Not. A. Soul."

Her wand traced a slow, deliberate path down to the girl's throat, and the blonde swallowed thickly, unable to stop the violent shudder that wracked her frame.

"Because if you do…" Jasmine's voice softened—too soft, too sweet. It almost sounded like a promise. "You will regret the next seven years of your life. I will make sure of it."

No one spoke. No one breathed.

Jasmine straightened, then smiled. A sweet, gentle, almost affectionate smile.

"So?" she cooed. "Do we have a deal? You stay quiet… and I don't make your life hell for the rest of Hogwarts?"

The girl nodded so quickly it looked painful. The others followed suit, heads bobbing up and down like broken dolls.

Jasmine clapped her hands together. "See? Was that so hard?"

None of them dared to answer.

I almost wanted to clap. Brilliant.

Jasmine smirked, but there was a flicker of something colder in her expression now—something dangerous. Her patience was running thin.

Her voice rang with pure authority. "What are you waiting for?"

The Ravenclaws didn't hesitate. Didn't argue.

They just ran.

Tripping over themselves in their desperation, they scrambled toward the nearest corridor, their footfalls echoing against the stone walls. One of them—probably the idiot who had botched his spell earlier—stumbled hard, nearly crashing into a suit of armor before catching himself at the last second.

Neither of us moved. We simply watched.

Watched them disappear.

Watched them flee.

The silence that followed was thick—like the aftermath of a storm, heavy with the weight of what had just happened. The tension still clung to the air, but now, it was different.

I turned to Jasmine. She wasn't shaking anymore.

Her grip on her wand was still firm, but not out of fear—out of control. Out of knowing that she had taken her power back, that she had been the one to decide how this ended.

For a second, she simply stood there, staring at the space where they had vanished.

Then, she exhaled.

Not shaky. Not weak.

Just steady.