‧₊˚♡˚₊‧ Astoria was curled up in one of the armchairs near the fire, a book balanced on her knee. Daphne sat across from her, filing her nails with the practiced disinterest of someone who had absolutely nothing better to do. Pansy had claimed the center sofa, her legs tucked beneath her as she scrolled through yesterday's Daily Prophet. Y/N had taken the spot beside her, half-asleep against the armrest, warm and comfortable and completely unsuspecting.‧₊˚♡˚₊‧

‧₊˚♡˚₊‧ It was peaceful.‧₊˚♡˚₊‧

‧₊˚♡˚₊‧ It should have been a warning.‧₊˚♡˚₊‧

‧₊˚♡˚₊‧ The portrait door swung open with a creak that made all four of them look up. Professor Grubbly-Plank stepped through first, her silver-streaked hair tied back, her expression far too cheerful for someone visiting Slytherin territory after hours. Behind her came Professor Snape, his face carved from stone, his black robes sweeping the floor like shadows given form. He looked, as always, like he would rather be anywhere else.‧₊˚♡˚₊‧

‧₊˚♡˚₊‧ And behind them—‧₊˚♡˚₊‧

‧₊˚♡˚₊‧ Five cats.‧₊˚♡˚₊‧

‧₊˚♡˚₊‧ Astoria blinked first. “Professor?”‧₊˚♡˚₊‧

‧₊˚♡˚₊‧ Grubbly-Plank smiled warmly, stepping further into the common room as the cats filed in behind her. They moved like they didn’t want to be there. Like they were being marched into battle. The smallest of them—a sleek brown Abyssinian—darted ahead of the group before freezing, looking around the room with sharp, intelligent eyes. A dark-brown Maine Coon padded in after him, broad-shouldered and irritable, flicking his tail as if the very air offended him. A silver Bengal slunk in with stiff, reluctant steps, his head low. He looked mortified. A Russian Blue followed, moving with reluctant grace, his posture radiating pure dignity and disdain. And bringing up the rear, a brown British Shorthair stumbled over his own paws, tripped over the rug, and righted himself with an indignant huff.‧₊˚♡˚₊‧

‧₊˚♡˚₊‧ The girls stared.‧₊˚♡˚₊‧

‧₊˚♡˚₊‧ The cats stared back.‧₊˚♡˚₊‧

‧₊˚♡˚₊‧ Something was very, very wrong.‧₊˚♡˚₊‧