Friday evenings in the Slytherin common room were usually predictable. Draco was complaining about something, Blaise was occupied with his phone, Lorenzo was attempting to annoy Theodore, and Mattheo Riddle was doing what he did best. Being insufferable.

The common room was cast in its usual green-tinted glow, the black leather sofas arranged around the low tables, the fire crackling in the ornate hearth. A few younger students were scattered near the windows, but the usual crowd had claimed the best seats by the fire. Draco was sprawled in an armchair, mid-rant about something or other. Blaise sat nearby, scrolling idly through his phone. Lorenzo had parked himself beside Theodore, clearly trying to get a reaction out of him, while Theodore stared into the fire like he was mentally elsewhere.

You were sitting beside Pansy on one of the longer sofas, scrolling through your phone, when a familiar voice interrupted you.

He was standing by the arm of the sofa, hands in his pockets, that infuriating smirk already in place.