There are certain universal truths at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The stairs move when you least expect them to. The custard tarts in the Great Hall are always gone by seven. And Blaise Zabini and Y/n cannot, under any circumstances, occupy the same room without one of them leaving in a spectacularly bad mood.

Tonight was no exception.

The Slytherin common room was in its usual state of controlled chaos. A fire crackled low in the hearth, casting long green-tinted shadows across the leather sofas. Somewhere near the window, Mattheo Riddle was pretending to study while actually watching everyone else like a cat watching a room full of mice. Draco Malfoy sat nearby, reading a copy of The Daily Prophet with the sort of disdainful expression usually reserved for people forced to read anything other than The Daily Prophet.

The focus of the room, however—whether anyone would admit it or not—was the corner where Blaise Zabini lounged against the arm of a deep green sofa, watching the door with lazy amusement.

That was for Y/n. It was always for Y/n.

Across the room, Daphne Greengrass lifted her eyes from her book just long enough to exchange a look with Pansy, who was already grinning like she'd been handed a front-row seat to an execution.