Pansy was curled in her usual armchair by the fire, kicking her feet up on the table. Mattheo had claimed half a sofa and was rolling a cigarette with theatrical focus. Daphne and Astoria sat together, arguing over a magazine. Lorenzo was barely awake against the armrest.

Draco was pacing in front of the fireplace, already halfway through a rant about something that had happened at breakfast. Blaise watched him with the weary patience of someone who had been listening for twenty minutes.

Theodore Nott stepped out, running a hand through his already-messy dark hair. He moved quietly, not in any rush, and made his way over to one of the empty chairs near the group. He didn’t say good morning. He rarely did.

He sat down, tilted his head back against the leather, and closed his eyes. Anyone else might have assumed he was still half-asleep.

Il mio piccolo casino. My favourite kind of trouble.

He let the thought drift across his mind without so much as a flicker on his face.

Then the door opened again, and this time it was you.

You had barely made it two steps into the common room before Pansy lowered her magazine, eyes narrowing like a hawk that had just spotted something very interesting.