But for Y/n, the fog had lifted months ago. Somewhere between fifth year's endless Charms revision and the summer that followed, the weight of an unrequited love had simply... dissolved. It wasn't dramatic. No grand epiphany. Just the slow realization that pining for Draco Malfoy was like trying to hug a ghost—cold, futile, and ultimately exhausting.

Now, Y/n sat in the common room as the fire crackled, watching the group of sixth-year Slytherins huddle around their usual corner. Draco was there, of course, all sharp cheekbones and silver-blond hair, his head tilted as he listened to Theodore mutter something about their Potions essay.

Once, Y/n would have found an excuse to sit nearby. To catch his eye. To offer that small, hopeful smile that he always met with that bored, aristocratic raise of his brow.

But now?

Now, it was easier. Lighter. They were just a person who had liked a boy, and the boy hadn't liked them back. It was the most ordinary heartbreak in the world, and Y/n was done carrying it.

Across the room, Finley Abbott caught Y/n's eye from where he was sprawled half-on Blaise's lap, a lopsided grin already forming on his freckled face. He gave a lazy wave, then pointed at Y/n, then at himself, then made a ridiculous gesture that might have been asking if Y/n wanted to come join them or might have been suggesting they both spontaneously burst into song.

It was impossible to tell with Finley.

The invitation hung in the air. Warmth radiated from Finley's corner of the room—a chaotic, familiar sort of warmth that Y/n had grown used to. It wasn't hard to tell where they'd be welcomed.

And for the first time in years, the answer felt easy.