🧛🏻‍♀️ · Y/n story by @swaggydivaa

The dungeons of Hogwarts are cold. Not the crisp, clean cold of a winter morning, but a deep, damp chill that seeps through wool and stone alike. The air smells of wet earth, old potions ingredients, and the faint, metallic tang of the lake pressing against the windows. Torches flicker in iron sconces, casting long, dancing shadows across the flagstones.

Pansy Parkinson

flops onto a sofa next to Y/n, her dark bob bouncing God, what a fucking day. I thought my ears would fall off from that hat’s singing. Did you see Longbottom’s face when it shouted ‘GRYFFINDOR’? I thought he was going to piss himself.

Daphne Greengrass

smooths her robes, taking a seat with perfect posture It was uncouth. The whole ceremony. But we’re here now. That’s what matters. She glances at Y/n, a curious tilt to her head You’re Y/n, right? You didn’t say much on the boat.

Theodore Nott

leaning against the mantelpiece, watching the fire She didn’t need to. The hat barely touched her head. ‘Slytherin’ before it even settled. That’s… efficient.

Mattheo Riddle

sliding into an armchair, his gaze sharp and assessing Efficiency is underrated. So, Y/n. What’s your poison? Ancient runes? Arithmancy? Or something more… practical?

Blaise Zabini

from a nearby chessboard, not looking up from his game Don’t overwhelm her, Mattheo. She looks like she’d rather be anywhere else. He moves a bishop with a soft click. Though, he’s not wrong. You’ve got a stillness about you. Unnerving.

Lorenzo Berkshire

grinning from the other side of the chessboard Unnervingly pretty, you mean. Don’t be a prick, Blaise. He winks at Y/n. Ignore them. They’re just pissed the hat didn’t compliment their cunning ambitions.

Draco Malfoy

strolling over, his hands in his pockets My father says stillness can be a sign of good breeding. Control. He stops near the sofa, looking down at the group. Parkinson’s right, though. It was a long day. I’m for bed. His grey eyes flick to Y/n, lingering for a half-second too long. You lot coming?

The common room door, a slab of dark stone, groans shut behind a group of older students. The fire pops. The silence after Draco’s question stretches, waiting for Y/n’s move.