Disclaimer: The characters from Pitch Perfect, as well as those from the Harry Potter universe, do not belong to me in any way.

Beca loves every dark and dingy corner of the castle. The cold stonework that's forever blanketed in a thin film of dust and shadows so dark you can literally disappear into them. She loves the musty smell of the books, the one that saturates the furthest most corners of the library and clings to hallway walls that are far removed from any old texts. She doesn't actually read all that much though, enjoys the smell more than the words on the pages, but sometimes it reminds Beca of her father. Those days, she'll pack up her stuff and leave the library early.

Her father is a professor at a muggle university. He's the kind of parent that had her enrolled there before she was born, so when her Hogwart's letter came through, he was less than pleased to realise she'd inherited her mother's magical abilities. The years haven't exactly been on the best of terms since then, but that's not something Beca likes to dwell on.

Especially not when she's shuffling through the dungeons towards Potions class, half asleep because she'd been awake all night trying to get a muggle music player to work. The loss of her forty winks had been deemed worth it though, when the needle touched down against vinyl and sound finally crackled out through the speakers.

"Up late playing with your toys again, Mitchell?" She glances sidelong at Draco Malfoy, who's wearing his ever present shit-eating-grin and being flanked by his two bumbling bodyguards. "Shame your family's too poor to afford things that work." He spits, but Beca just stares at him, eventually rolling her eyes as they reach the door to Professor Snape's classroom.

"Shame your family's genes had to make your face look like that, but then I guess we're all dealt different cards." The smirk falls from his face and she picks it up, twisting and moulding it until it's her own and plastering it across her face. She gestures to the doorway. "Ladies first."

"You filthy-" Someone shoves another bulky Slytherin in to Crabbe's back, who in turn stumbles int Draco and pushes him into the classroom. Beca stifles a laugh and stands back as Crabbe turns to take a swing at the offending pupil.

"Not now, Crabbe." Snape's voice is like ice. Solid and sharp, cold as death, and it freezes the brute in place, fist still raised. "Inside. Sit." His every word is crisp and clear and Crabbe obeys like a scared little lapdog. Beca isn't really an advocate for ruling by fear, but she kind of can't help but admire Snape's ability in the area. He is, truly, a frightening man. Also a little greasy. She lets the Munsters file in ahead of her and makes a beeline for her desk the second she's over the threshold.

As a general rule, Beca Mitchell does not enjoy people. In any capacity. They're highly susceptible to creating complications and being assholes, so she's tried her hardest to steer clear.

"You know, if you just let the snitch hit you in the face a few times, you wouldn't have to waste valuable minutes of your day layering on the eyeliner for like, weeks." Jesse, the boy currently sitting to her right and grinning like basilisk on happy pills, isn't all that bad. He's super annoying – she'd once slapped him with a Full Body-Bind curse, which had landed her in detention for two weeks when she couldn't undo it – but he's a good guy, for a Gryffindor, and he sort of kind of makes her laugh. Not that she'll every admit that to his face.

"Yeah," she says, eyes big and round with excitement, "and if I let my fist hit you in the face a few times, that'll save me having to ignore you for the rest of this class." She opens her mouth in a wide smile, like she's just said something worthy of immense celebration. "Yay!" Jesse rolls his eyes and sits back in his chair, flipping his text book open with a flick of his wrist.

"Hey, Hermione?" A pretty girl with dusty blonde hair turns from her place at the front of the class, casting a curious glance over her shoulder at Jesse, whose grin only widens. "Is there a spell or charm or something to counteract sarcasm?" Hermione's eyes narrow and she presses her lips together as they start to curl at the corners, sliding her mouth to one side. Her eyes dart to Beca and Beca immediately looks down at the utterly uninteresting cover of the book on her desk.

"Yeah," Beca mutters, "it's call my foot up your-"

"Today," Snape's voice saves Jesse from the mental image Beca had been about the paint and pulls everyone's attention forwards, "you will be attempting to concoct a love potion." She sees Jesse turn his head towards her in her periphery and snaps a hand up so fast that the first she points at him blurs for an instant.

"Not one. Word." He mimes zipping his lips together, but she knows how well that holds. Without her consent, her eyes flick to a chair two rows over and one ahead of her, to where Chloe Beale sits behind her desk, her brilliant blue eyes the brightest thing in the dungeon.

She cringes against the thought and resists the urge to face-plant into her textbook.

For the record, it's fine. It's totally fine. It's been fine for the last five years. Chloe Beale is that person. That person that everyone loves, everyone likes, everyone gets along with. Even Snape likes her, and Snape doesn't like anyone. Especially anyone from Gryffindor. It like, defies all logic, and it would baffle Beca if she weren't one of those people. Whose breath literally catches whenever Chloe Beale accidentally looks at her and whose eyes stray unwillingly to hair the same colour as red currant rum even after she's told herself a hundred times to stop.

It's also not as creepy as it sounds. For the record.

It's just a thing that's been there for a while and Beca's fine with it. It's a totally manageable thing that she deals with just fine. Unless you ask Jesse, in which case you'd be told that Beca doesn't 'deal' with it so much as she 'constantly trips over it and falls on her face'. And then she'd slam him with a stupify spell and probably be thrown in detention. Again.

The thing is, the fact that it's Chloe Beale makes it so much worse. She's so nice and cheery and pretty, which is basically the antithesis of everything Slytherin stands for, and Beca doesn't actually care about that, but Chloe is also the exact opposite of Beca herself. She's everything Beca is supposed to sneer at and she tries to remind herself of that, she really does.

"You may begin." She blinks at Snape's words and looks around to find her classmates all sitting with their books open and cauldrons out, and Jesse is smirking at her.

"Just..." she bites her teeth together and pulls her lips back in an annoyed smile, "shut up and tell me what page to turn to." Mercifully, for once, Jesse does as he's told, and the dungeon lapses into silence as each student attempts to concentrate on the task at hand. Every so often Snape will bark something from the front of the class, a comment or a question, awarding points to Slytherin whenever the opportunity arises and begrudgingly handing a few over to Gryffindor because Herimone Granger is never, ever wrong. At least, Beca's never seen her give an incorrect answer and they have a decent amount of classes together.

Chloe's hardly ever wrong either, Beca thinks, glancing over to where the redhead is dropping something into her cauldron. A ploom of smoke erupts from the top of it and she jerks her head back with a wide smile and a laugh, then clamps her hand over her mouth when Snape pointedly clears his throat. Even when she is wrong, she doesn't let it bother her, but a light blush does usually colour her cheeks and Beca would bet every sickle in her Quidditch cup money box that that is at least part of the reason no one ever jeers when she gets an answer wrong like they do with basically everyone else.

She's just really pretty, okay? Like, an unfair kind of pretty. The kind of pretty a person like Beca can't help but be distracted by. Because Beca is all hard edges and gloom, and Chloe is basically the sun. Glinting off a golden snitch, catching her attention and momentarily blinding her.

Unfortunately for Beca, her latest moment of daydream-y reflection lasts long enough for Professor Snape to make his way around the room and she doesn't realise he's no longer at the front of the class until a potions textbook is being smacked across the back of her head.

"Ow! Dude! What-" Hand pressed to the curve of her skull, she twists around to yell at Jesse, only to blanch when she sees Snape regarding her, looking incredibly unimpressed.

"Miss Mitchell," he address her coolly and loud enough for the rest of the class to hear, "if you feel you are unable to tear you attention away from Miss Beale long enough to formulate an answer to the question I've asked you no less than three time now," Beca feels his words sink their cold fingers into her heart, nails tearing into the fleshy organ as they pull it down through her stomach, and her eyes dart about like those of an anxious Cornish Pixie. "I suggest your efforts may be better spent mastering the preparation of a wit-sharpening potion," Jesse is smothering a laugh behind both of his hands, Malfoy looks like Death Eater Christmas came early, her face, she's pretty sure, is on fire, "rather than the love potion which you appear to have little need for." And Chloe freaking Beale is looking at her.

Beca freezes, like a hippogriff caught in the headlight of the Hogwarts' Express, her stupid dumb face probably slack with shock and mortification, staring dead ahead at the girl who had no doubt turned around when she'd heard her name mentioned. And oh, god, she's smiling at me. Beca feels hot and lightheaded and she's pretty sure she's going to be sick, but Chloe is still looking at her. Blue eyes as bright as ever, a curious curl to her lips, totally ignoring the blonde sitting next to her who's tugging at the sleeve of her robe and trying to get her to turn around.

Snape finally returns to the front of the class and Jesse leans across the space separating their desks.

"Do you want some of Madame Pomfrey's paste for that burn?" Beca snaps her head around to glare at him and the smirk on his face is something she so desperately want to wipe off. She doesn't really think about it, the angry part of her brain rarely thinks about anything, and she's got her wand in her hand before she can blink.

"If you even so much as think of a spell, I will have you expelled faster than you can flick your wrist, Miss Mitchell." Jesse's eyebrows hike to his hairline, but his smirk never falters, and it takes every ounce of strength in Beca's body to not knock him of his chair. She does manage to press her wand down against her desk though, it just takes a few moments. "Perhaps it's time you pay the headmaster a visit." Beca heaves a sigh and stares down at her cauldron. "Now." She throws the chair back and slams her book closed, slipping it into her bag before sliding the strap onto her shoulder. She stalks to the front of the class, stopping in front of Snape who glances at her with one single raised eyebrow.

"Hall pass?" She keeps her tone flat, dead, and he opens his mouth to speak, his words crisp and clipped.

"Walk. Quickly." She rolls her eyes and storms out of the classroom, not daring to risk a backward glance in case Chloe is still looking at her. Because this is really just perfect, of course this is how she is brought to Chloe's attention. Of course this is how she bursts onto the redhead radar.

"This is just... great." She mutters to herself, shaking her head and she enters Professor Dumbledore's office and drops herself into the seat on the opposite side of the desk from him.

"Miss Mitchell!" He's another one that's always happy. Or he seems it, as he smiles at her and steeples his fingers together. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Beca tugs her fingers through her hair and grumbles her reasoning. Somehow, he both hears and understands her, and his smile widens. "Ah, the thrill and distraction of young love." She's pretty sure she's going to die. "Wondrous thing." After a minute, a solid 'thunk' sounds against the desk in front of her and she looks up, away from her hands, to find a bag of yellow coloured candy sitting there. She looks up at Dumbledore, takes in the winkles at the corns of his eyes and the smile lines not hidden by his beard. "Sherbert lemon?" Hesitantly, Beca reaches out and plucks a sweet from the bag. "Did I ever tell you about the time, I couldn't have been any older than you, that I became so enamoured with a fellow student, I walked right into the lake? In full view of everyone who happened to be there at the time?" Tucking the sweet into her cheek, Beca can't help but smile.

Dumbledore definitely has a way of putting things into perspective.