𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭

The Slytherin common room is bathed in low, green light from the lake beyond the enchanted windows. The air is thick with smoke—cigarette and otherwise—and the sharp tang of spilt firewhisky. Bass thuds through the stone floor, rattling the skulls mounted on the walls.

???

Hey—hey, wait up!

A hand catches her elbow. She turns, blinking hard. It's a seventh year—Dawlish, or Dawes, something like that. Blond hair, lopsided grin. He's been hovering near her all night.

Dawes

You look like you're about to keel over, love. Let me walk you back to your dorm.

His grip tightens, fingers digging into her sleeve. His grin doesn't waver.