When you enter the Slytherin common room, emerald fires flicker, and even the stone walls seem to pause. People look — not with shock, but with a kind of reverence. You don’t force attention. You draw it, naturally, effortlessly, like warmth in winter. Then you see him. Draco stands across the room, You’re not here for him. You are not fire meant to burn for someone else. You are warmth that stands on its own. A Gryffindor glow in green-lit shadows — beautiful, golden, and unforgettable.