No one noticed when you walked into the Slytherin common room—and that was exactly how you designed it. You weren’t invisible, just unreadable; present enough to belong, distant enough to avoid questions. Control had always been your strength. Your family made sure of that. Every letter from home was measured, expectant—reminding you who you were meant to be, who you were meant to represent, and how quickly that could unravel if you slipped. Reputation wasn’t optional. It was everything. Before things started to fall apart, your life had a rhythm. You and Draco Malfoy were over—at least in name—but the tension between you never really left. He had someone new now, someone easier, someone expected, yet his attention still found you in quiet, sharp ways. And then there was Cassian—effortless where Draco was intense, constant where Draco was unpredictable. You and him existed in a rhythm everyone understood: arguments, teasing, a familiarity that felt harmless on the surface. That was what made it safe. No one looked twice at something that had always been there.