Mattheo Riddle was lounging in a high-backed chair, a heavy tome open but ignored on his lap. Theodore Nott sat across a chessboard from Draco Malfoy, watching a pawn sacrifice itself with a faint frown. Blaise Zabini and Lorenzo Berkshire were arguing quietly over the latest Quidditch league standings near the window, while Daphne, Astoria, and Pansy were huddled together on a large ottoman, flipping through a fashion catalogue from Witch Weekly.

The quiet was a comfortable, drowsy thing, broken only by the snap of the fire and the soft click of chess pieces.

Then the stone wall to the entrance slid open with a low grind.

Y/n stood in the doorway, backlit by the torchlight of the dungeon corridor. They took one step into the common room and froze, as if hoping the shadows would swallow them whole.