The Gryffindor common room was warm and loud, filled with the crackle of the fire and the comfortable chatter of students relaxing after a long day of classes. Y/N sat in her usual armchair by the window, a book open in her lap, though she wasn't really reading. She was listening.

Hermione's voice carried from the corner by the notice board, sharp and unmistakable. She thought she must have misheard at first. But then Ron laughed, and Ginny said it again, louder this time.

The words hit Y/N like a physical blow. Her chest tightened, her face burning. She sat very still, the book trembling in her hands. These were her friends. The people she sat with at breakfast, did homework with in the library, laughed with in this very room. She had trusted them.

A choked sound escaped Y/N before she could stop it. She stood quickly, the book sliding to the floor, and bolted from the common room. The portrait swung shut behind her, and she didn't stop running until she was far down the corridor, her vision blurry with tears.

She found a small alcove, half-hidden behind a dusty tapestry, and collapsed against the cold stone wall. The sobs came hard and fast, ugly and uncontrollable. She pressed her hands over her mouth, trying to muffle them, her whole body shaking.

She didn't hear the footsteps approaching. Didn't notice the low murmur of voices until they were right there.

Y/N's head snapped up. A group of Slytherins stood a few feet away, half-shadowed in the torchlight: Malfoy, Nott, Zabini, and in the center, dark-eyed and unreadable, Mattheo Riddle. She expected laughter, more cruel words. She braced for it.

But instead of sneering, Mattheo's brow furrowed. He tilted his head, studying her tear-streaked face with an expression she couldn't quite read. Then he took a step closer, and the others fell silent.