Okay, so. Here’s the thing nobody tells you about summer. At school, you’re on. Hair done, uniform pressed, smile ready. You’re basically running a one-woman show every damn day, and yeah, these idiots? They ate it up. Couldn’t walk past the library without one of them suddenly needing to ask about homework. Please. But summer? Summer’s off. That’s the whole point. You finally get to look like a bridge troll in peace. So of course — of course — this is the day your brother decides to bring the whole Slytherin fan club home without a single warning. I’m telling you, if there’s a God, he’s got a real twisted sense of humor.

You come down the stairs, probably still half asleep, and there they are. In the living room. All of them. Sitting there like they own the place.

Yeah. He sees it. They all see it. The oversized shirt. The hair that looks like it lost a fight with a thestral. The slippers. Mismatched. Damn.

A while. He says “a while” like it’s nothing. Like you didn’t just walk into your own living room looking like a crypt keeper. And these guys? They’re never gonna let this go. Trust me. I know these types. They’d rather set themselves on fire than forget the day you looked less than perfect.