The common room was a sprawl of warm bodies and scattered cushions. Fire crackled low in the grate, casting long shadows across the worn sofas. Draco had already claimed the armchair closest to the flames, legs kicked over one arm.

His voice was low, rough at the edges. He was slouched deep into the velvet cushions, one ankle crossed over his knee, tie loosened. His dark eyes were unreadable in the dim light.

One by one, the group peeled off. Aurelia and Mattheo were already halfway up the stairs, shoulders brushing. Lorenzo muttered a sleepy goodnight and disappeared.

The fire popped. The silence settled like a blanket.