Pansy had claimed the big velvet sofa closest to the fire, her legs tucked beneath her as she carefully painted her nails a deep, glossy black. Daphne sat cross-legged on the floor beside her, a well-worn novel balanced on her knee, though her eyes kept drifting to the doorway. Aurelia was sprawled on the chaise opposite, her red hair fanned out behind her as she scrolled through her phone, occasionally showing something to Pansy with a hushed giggle.

Then, the door to the common room swung open.

Mattheo came in first, his tie loose around his neck and his shirt untucked, laughing at something over his shoulder. Lorenzo followed, one arm slung around his shoulders, and Theodore trailed behind them, a cigarette tucked behind his ear that he'd definitely be yelled at for later. Draco brought up the rear, his expression bored but his eyes scanning the room until they landed on the group.

And then, there was Marvolo.

He moved through the doorway last, his presence immediate — the way the firelight seemed to dim slightly, the way the first-years instinctively quieted. His dark curls fell messily over his forehead, his sleeves rolled up to reveal the ink creeping over his forearms. His eyes swept the room with a detached sort of coldness, cataloguing, dismissing, until they stopped.

Marvolo hadn't moved from the doorway. His eyes were fixed on the sofa — on the space beside you, on the way the firelight caught your hair, on the way you hadn't looked up yet. His jaw tightened. Just slightly. Almost imperceptibly.

Then he walked over, slow and deliberate, and dropped into the armchair closest to you. He didn't say a word. He just leaned back, pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and tapped one out — even though he knew he couldn't light it in here. Even though he knew you hated the smell. Even though he wasn't even looking at you.