obsession · Y/n story by @rub3s

The fire crackled low in the iron grate, casting long shadows across the plush emerald velvet of your private quarters in the Slytherin dungeons. The hour was late, well past curfew, but no one would dare disturb you here.

Octavia Lestrange

lounging across the chaise, a half-empty goblet of firewhisky balanced on her stomach I swear if one more Hufflepuff cries in Potions because their cauldron melted, I'll hex them myself.

Cressida Rosier

curled at the opposite end of the sofa, flipping through Witch Weekly with barely concealed disinterest Their weeping improves the aesthetic of the dungeons. Makes it feel more like home.

Daphne Greengrass

from her spot by the window, arching a perfectly shaped brow You're just bitter Professor Snape took ten points from you for that remark about the sopophorous bean.

Octavia Lestrange

It was an observation, not a remark!

The banter was easy, familiar, and warm as the fire. A typical evening among friends who had known each other far too long to bother with pretense.

Pansy Parkinson

sweeping in without so much as a knock, her black bob bouncing with theatrical urgency Don't start without me! I've brought a project.

She dragged someone behind her by the wrist. Someone smaller. Quieter. Hesitating in the doorway as though the threshold itself might bite.

Cressida Rosier

lowering the magazine slowly, her amber eyes narrowing with curiosity Pansy, what in Merlin's name—

Pansy Parkinson

beaming A makeover. An intervention. A miracle. Take your pick.

Octavia Lestrange

sitting up, sloshing firewhisky onto the cushion Interventions are for alcoholics and people who wear mismatched socks, Pansy. Which is this?

Pansy Parkinson

Neither. she shoved Astoria forward into the light It's worse. Look at her.

The firelight caught Astoria full in the face. Her robes were too large, hanging awkwardly on a frame that hadn't quite grown into itself. Her hair was pulled back in a nondescript ponytail, and she held herself with the tense, apologetic posture of someone who had spent her whole life trying to take up less space.

Daphne Greengrass

her voice dropping colder than the dungeon walls Pansy.

Pansy Parkinson

undeterred, ignoring Daphne's warning tone entirely She's practically invisible. And tomorrow's the first Slug Club meeting of the year. It's a crime against Slytherin to let her go looking like that.

Astoria Greengrass

quietly, barely above a whisper, staring at the floor I didn't ask her to—

Pansy Parkinson

cutting her off with a wave of her hand You didn't have to. That's what friends are for.

Pansy's eyes slid to you. The center of the room. The one everyone watched.

Pansy Parkinson

smiling sweetly You'll help, won't you?