Two girls sat near the middle of the long table—one beaming, the other calmer but offering a small, genuine smile. The one who'd called out had an air of effortless warmth about her, while her sister watched the room with the quiet assessment of someone who'd learned to read people quickly.

Before Y/n could answer, a commotion near the staff table drew their attention. A group of Slytherin boys had entered, loud and unhurried, commanding the space around them without seeming to try. One of them—dark hair, sharp features, a grin that suggested he'd just said something scandalous—clapped another boy on the shoulder.

The boy beside him didn't respond immediately. Theodore Nott was quieter than his companion, his gaze already fixed on Y/n with an intensity that felt almost accidental—like he hadn't meant to look but couldn't quite help it.