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It had all started so innocently. Lando and Daniel, the self-declared kings of mischief (and self-taught potion masters after half a class with Professor Snape), had decided that brewing a love potion would be the perfect way to spice up their Friday evening. The plan? Slip it into a cupcake, make the staff fall for each other, and enjoy the ensuing drama with front-row seats.
Unfortunately, plans rarely go as they should at Hogwarts.
Daniel had been cackling, stirring the potion with what he thought was a wand (it was actually a licorice stick he'd found in his pocket), while Lando proudly labeled their creation “Lando & Dan’s Love Juice 2.0.”
"Mate, just imagine," Daniel snickered. "Toto falling for Horner. Fred serenading anyone. Chaos."
And chaos indeed.
Somehow—and no one is quite sure how, though there are rumors involving a misplaced skateboard and a startled house-elf—the entire flask of potion ended up tipping over into the giant cauldron of pumpkin juice in the kitchen. The pumpkin juice that was, at that moment, being ladled into goblets for the Great Hall’s dinner.
…
The Great Hall was packed, buzzing with hungry students, the clatter of cutlery, and the occasional magical mishap. At the staff table, Fred (Head of Gryffindor), James (Head of Hufflepuff), Horner (Head of Slytherin), and Toto (Head of Ravenclaw) slumped in their chairs, exhausted after another week of trying to manage the unmanageable. Their faces screamed unpaid overtime.
And then the potion took effect.
…
George Russell, ever the picture of composed elegance, took that fateful sip of pumpkin juice, and something in him shifted. The taste was sweeter than usual, and with it came a wave of heat blooming across his cheeks. His heart thudded wildly — not from the potion, no, but from the sheer, blinding clarity that struck him as he laid eyes on Max.
There Max sat, minding his own business at the Slytherin table, brow furrowed in concentration as he buttered his roll with military precision. His jaw clenched slightly as the butter proved stubborn. A tiny scowl formed on his lips.
George gasped softly, dropping his fork with a loud clatter that made several heads turn.
“Oh Merlin,” George whispered, one hand flying dramatically to his chest, his eyes wide, pupils blown. His heart raced. “That scowl. That... that fury in his brow. He’s glorious. Like a storm. My storm.”
He rose slowly, as if bewitched, his feet moving on their own. The Great Hall, filled with chatter and clatter a moment ago, seemed to fade into a soft hum as George zeroed in on Max, love-struck and reckless.
Max, blissfully unaware of the imminent danger, continued his battle with the butter, muttering something in Dutch under his breath. But something made him pause — a shift in the air, a prickling at the back of his neck. He glanced up, instincts sharp as ever.
And there he saw it: George, stalking toward him, like a lion toward its prey — if the lion had wide, swoony eyes and kept brushing back his hair with trembling fingers.
Max froze, knife mid-butter, eyes narrowing. “What the hell—?”
Before he could finish, George slid onto the bench beside him, far too close, practically pressing into Max’s shoulder.
“Hi,” George breathed, his voice soft and reverent, like he was speaking to a unicorn. “Do you... do you want to duel, or... or something? I mean, we could duel. And then maybe... I don’t know... grab a butterbeer after? Or not duel. We could skip the duel. Unless you want to. Whatever you want. I just... gods, look at you.”
Max gaped, horror dawning. George’s face was flushed, his lips parted, his eyes dreamy. Max glanced around, hoping — praying — for salvation.
Where was Daniel?! Daniel, his chaotic boyfriend, his equal in mischief and mayhem — surely this had Daniel’s fingerprints all over it. Max could practically feel Daniel cackling somewhere behind a suit of armor.
His gaze darted around. No Daniel. Just the increasingly uncomfortable sight of George inching closer, resting his chin on his palm, gazing at Max like he’d hung the moon and the stars.
“Your hands,” George murmured, staring at Max’s butter knife like it was Excalibur. “So strong. I bet you could strangle a basilisk bare-handed.”
“I... what?!” Max said, recoiling slightly, but George only followed, leaning in further, dreamy and desperate. Max looked about ready to vault over the table.
“Please,” Max hissed, scanning the hall. “Daniel, where are you?! If this is a joke — I will end you.”
…
Meanwhile, Alex Albon, who had been trying to talk sense into Yuki (who at this point had attached himself to Isack’s face like a Niffler to gold), spotted the disaster unfolding at the Slytherin table.
His stomach dropped. Oh no.
“George! GEORGE, baby, what are you doing?!” Alex cried, dashing over, shoving between them as best he could. George clutched his chest, swooning.
“Alex, don’t stop me! He’s... he’s everything. I think — no, I know — I’m in love.”
“George, he’s going to kill you!” Alex hissed, trying to gently push his friend back. Max was now half-standing, looking torn between hexing George and fleeing for his life. “Max! Please, please, don’t hex him — he’s not well, okay? It’s a potion! He doesn’t mean it!”
“I absolutely mean it!” George protested, trying to bat Alex’s hands away, eyes still glued to Max. “Look at him. So angry. So... so murderous. Alex, I want him to murder me with his love.”
“I don’t love you!” Max barked, voice cracking slightly in panic. “I don’t even like you!”
George looked heartbroken for half a second, then his face lit up. “Playing hard to get. I love it. Max, you rogue.”
Max shot a wild-eyed look at Alex. “This is Daniel’s doing. Tell me it’s Daniel. Tell me this isn’t real life.”
“I WISH it was Daniel!” Alex groaned, now trying to physically pull George away, but George clung stubbornly to Max’s sleeve. “George, stop trying to sniff his robe! Merlin’s pants, man!”
…
Charles Leclerc had barely taken two sips of that fateful pumpkin juice when it hit him like a Bludger to the heart. His breath hitched, his green eyes widened, and time seemed to slow as his gaze found him.
Carlos.
The light from the enchanted ceiling above seemed to halo Carlos Sainz in a soft golden glow, as if the heavens themselves had blessed him. His hair was artfully messy, his Gryffindor tie slightly askew — so perfectly roguish. He was laughing at something Lando said, utterly unaware of the storm about to break upon him.
Charles clutched his goblet, heart pounding.
“Mon Dieu,” he whispered, trembling. “He is... magnifique.”
The potion burned through his veins like firewhisky. The fragile, meticulously built walls around his secret crush crumbled in an instant. Logic fled. Dignity? Gone. Only love remained.
“CARLOS!” Charles cried, his voice echoing off the high stone walls.
Every head in the Hall snapped toward him. But Charles didn’t notice. His entire world was Carlos. His Carlos. His destiny.
Carlos froze mid-laugh, his spoon halfway to his mouth. His smile faltered as he saw Charles — red-faced, wild-eyed — vaulting over benches, knocking plates flying, sending first-years sprawling like startled pixies.
“Mon amour! Attends-moi!” Charles shouted, flinging his arms wide as he leapt over a Hufflepuff table with the grace of a man possessed.
Carlos’s survival instincts kicked in. Run.
“Charles, no, stop! What are you doing?!” Carlos yelped, backing away as Charles closed in. The Gryffindor Seeker spun on his heel and bolted, his robes flapping behind him.
What followed could only be described as pandemonium.
The Hall erupted. Dishes crashed. Students shrieked and ducked for cover. Charles tore after Carlos, agile as a cat, leaping over a toppled chair like it was a low hurdle, knocking over a stack of pumpkin pasties.
“Carlos! My darling Carlos! Why do you flee from my heart’s truth?!”
“Because you’re scaring me, mate!” Carlos yelled over his shoulder, dodging behind a group of Ravenclaws. They scattered as Charles barreled through them like a Bludger on legs.
“Is it my accent?! Do you not like my accent?!” Charles wailed, tears of passion brimming in his eyes.
“Your accent’s fine — that’s not the problem!” Carlos panted, cutting between tables, trying to lose Charles in the chaos. But Charles was relentless.
Years of Quidditch chasing had trained him for this. He dodged, he weaved, he pounced.
“Let me serenade you, Carlos! I shall write you poetry! I shall carve your initials into my broomstick! I shall duel Max for your honor if I must!”
Carlos made a strangled noise and dove under a table, crawling frantically, trying to escape.
“Please, Charles, buddy, snap out of it!”
But Charles dropped to his knees and peered under the table, eyes shining with love and madness.
“There you are. Hiding like a shy fawn. Oh, you precious creature.”
Carlos screamed. Actually screamed.
“Somebody help me!”
…
Poor Alex Albon was caught in the middle.
“MAX, PLEASE!” Alex shouted, grabbing Max’s arm as George tried to serenade him with improvised poetry involving Max’s eyebrows and nose. “Don’t hex him! He’s not himself! I swear, it’s a potion or something—don’t kill my boyfriend!”
“I’m not your boyfriend!” George cried, batting his eyelashes at Max. “But I could be...his.”
Max was seconds from launching a Bat-Bogey Hex.
…
The moment the pumpkin juice hit Pierre Gasly’s system, his pupils dilated to the size of Galleons. A dopey grin spread across his face. His heart raced with a sudden, uncontrollable need to love everything.
“Merlin’s pants,” Pierre breathed, spinning in a slow circle, eyes wide and sparkling. “Everyone’s so beautiful tonight... so beautiful.”
First, his gaze fell upon the nearest suit of armor. The polished silver gleamed in the candlelight, its breastplate curved in ways Pierre had never noticed before. He sauntered over, wagging his eyebrows.
“Wow,” he said, tracing a finger along its arm. “Look at those curves. That shine. You work out? I bet you do. I’m free after dinner if you want to... I dunno... clank somewhere private?”
The armor creaked ominously, as if offended by his advances. Pierre winked.
But he wasn’t done.
Spinning on his heel, he spotted Hagrid at the far end of the Hall, minding his own business, just trying to enjoy his rock cakes in peace.
Pierre bolted.
“Hagrid!” he cried, flinging his arms wide. “My gentle giant! My sweet bear of the forest! Let me braid your beard. Let me cook for you. I could be your little spoon, I don’t mind!”
Hagrid blinked, confused and alarmed. “Er... Pierre, yeh feelin’ alright, lad?”
But Pierre was already gone, his love-addled heart pulling him to his next target: Filch.
“Argus!” Pierre shouted, sprinting across the Hall. “You rugged, brooding bad boy! Keeper of keys — but who holds the key to your heart, hmm?”
Filch backed away so fast he tripped over Mrs. Norris, sending the cat screeching under a table. “What in the bloody—GET AWAY FROM ME!”
Undeterred, Pierre spun and caught sight of the Bloody Baron, floating ominously near the ceiling, his spectral chains clinking.
Pierre gasped, hand to chest. So tragic. So mysterious.
“Boo!” Pierre called up to him, spreading his arms dramatically. “You’re so... ethereal. I’m so into that. The chains? The blood stains? Hot. We could haunt the castle together. Just think about it.”
The Bloody Baron stared down at him, mouth agape, clearly torn between confusion and horror. His ghostly form shivered, and he drifted hastily backward — through the wall.
But Pierre didn’t even blink. His head whipped around, eyes sparkling with dangerous, boundless affection.
Then he spotted Peeves.
Peeves, usually the terror of the castle, floated down grinning, ready to throw a water balloon at some unsuspecting student — until Pierre’s gaze locked on him.
“Oh Peevesy!” Pierre sang, voice like a lovesick bard. “You naughty little poltergeist. Full of mischief... I like that in a man.”
Peeves froze mid-throw. His eyes widened in genuine fear.
“Oh no, no no no,” Peeves muttered, backing up. “Not today. Not the French one. I don’t do clingy.”
But Pierre was already advancing, arms spread, ready to embrace his floating target.
Peeves fled, zipping through the rafters at top speed, his water balloon forgotten, echoing through the Hall:
“HELP, HE’S MAD! HE’S IN LOVE WITH EVERYTHING WITH A FACE — AND WITHOUT ONE!”
….
Yuki found Isack and instantly latched onto his lips like a remora. Every few seconds, he'd stop, gasping for breath, then go right back to covering Isack in smooches.
“Yuki, baby, air,” Isack gasped, trying to push him off gently. “AIR.”
“No time. Love of my life. Must kiss. Now.”
….
Fernando didn’t even seem affected. He simply leaned back, pumpkin juice in hand, winking at everyone.
He said, smirking. “Bring me another goblet.”
…
Horner, red-faced, was now awkwardly trying to woo Toto, who looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.
“Toto, you magnificent man. I’ve been blind all these years. Let’s run away together. We’ll buy a cottage. Raise Kneazles.”
Toto groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “I don’t get paid enough for this.”
Fred was in full pursuit mode, following a wide-eyed James Vowles.
“James! The way your robes flow when you walk... it’s poetry!” Fred sighed, attempting to grab James’ hand.
James practically vaulted over the staff table. “FRED, NO. I’M BEGGING YOU.”
….
Lando and Daniel, standing in the doorway of the Great Hall, watched their masterpiece unfold with a mix of horror and pride.
“Think we overdid it?” Lando whispered.
Daniel, wide-eyed, nodded. “We’re so dead.”
Snape stormed in at that moment, looking murderous, clutching an antidote potion and a detention slip the size of a scroll.
“WHO DID THIS?” he bellowed.
Lando and Daniel tried to sneak out backwards, but Peeves, finally recovered from Pierre’s advances, pointed them out with glee.
“THEM!! LOCK ‘EM UP!”
…..
Hours later, after Snape had force-fed antidotes, Carlos had hidden in the dungeons, Max had calmed down, and Pierre had been gently peeled off a gargoyle, Hogwarts was back to its usual level of disorder.
Fred sat next to James, still dreamy-eyed. James, still mildly traumatized, moved three seats away.
Horner refused to make eye contact with Toto for a week.
And Lando and Daniel? They spent a lot of time cleaning cauldrons. And floors. And owl droppings.
Worth it? Absolutely.