pour decisions, written confessions · Y/n story by @megumiswife

The fire in the Slytherin common room licks at the shadows, painting the stone walls in shifting shades of green and black. It’s late. The air is thick with the sweet, sharp scent of firewhisky and the low hum of seventh-year complacency.

Pansy Parkinson

slams her empty glass on the low table Secrets are boring. Dreadfully boring. Unless they’re spoken out loud.

Theodore Nott

leans back into the deep sofa, eyes half-lidded What’s your point, Parkinson?

Pansy Parkinson

My point, Nott, is a game. A challenge. For all of us.

Blaise Zabini

grins, swirling his drink Do tell.

Pansy Parkinson

You write a note. To the person you secretly… admire. No names. No hints. Just the truth. Fold it. Toss it in the pile.

Daphne Greengrass

exchanges a glance with her sister And then?

Pansy Parkinson

And then we read them. Out loud. One by one. No backing out.

Lorenzo Berkshire

lets out a low chuckle That’s a recipe for disaster. I’m in.

Mattheo Riddle

from the armchair by the fire, his face half in shadow It’s already obvious. This will just make it tedious.

Draco Malfoy

sitting too close to you on the shared couch, his leg almost brushing yours Speak for yourself, Riddle. Some of us have better secrets to keep.

Astoria Greengrass

smiles, too composed I think it sounds revealing.

A stack of elegant, blank parchment appears on the table, along with a single, empty silver bowl. Pansy distributes the quills with a flourish. The fire crackles. No one moves first.

Pansy Parkinson

Well? Don’t be cowards. Write.