Green LED lights coiled along the stone arches like serpents of light, casting everything in a deep, emerald glow. The usual dark leather and silver were draped with black silk, and the fireplace roared high enough to lick the ceiling. Music thrummed low and heavy, vibrating through the soles of shoes.

Wine glasses clinked. Laughter curled in corners. A few sixth years danced near the windows, their silhouettes sharp against the Black Lake's dark, shifting surface.

It was everything a Slytherin party should be. Elegant. Exclusive. Dangerous.

Lorenzo Berkshire stood at the base of the staircase, one hand in his pocket, posture relaxed. But his focus matched the others. Waiting.

The music shifted. The door began to open.