ʙᴏʀʀᴏᴡᴇᴅ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛs𖤓๛

The Slytherin common room pulsed with bass so deep it vibrated through the stone floor. Neon green lights swept across the crowd in rhythmic flashes, catching on silver jewelry and half-empty cups.

Pansy Parkinson

lounging on the arm of a velvet couch, her voice sharp over the music I told you the lighting would be better with the blacklight strip.

Draco Malfoy

beside her, scrolling through his phone with visible irritation You could've picked a playlist that didn't sound like a dying blender.

Pansy Parkinson

Don't be dramatic, Draco. No one's forcing you to stay.

Draco Malfoy

scoffs, not looking up As if I'd miss the chance to watch Mattheo get even more insufferable when he drinks.

Across the room, Mattheo Riddle stood with a bottle in one hand, dark eyes scanning the crowd with the lazy confidence of someone who knew exactly what effect he had. His jaw was set, his posture relaxed, but there was something restless in the way his thumb traced the rim of the bottle.

Lorenzo Berkshire

appearing beside Mattheo, grinning You've been staring at the door for twenty minutes. Waiting for someone?

Mattheo Riddle

takes a slow drink, voice flat Waiting for you to mind your business. Fat chance, I guess.

Lorenzo Berkshire

laughs, easy and unbothered Someone's in a mood.

???

a familiar voice, low and smooth near the entrance, cutting through the noise before the face is visible Don't you ever get tired of being everyone's problem?

Theodore Nott stood just inside the doorway, hands in the pockets of his dark coat, grey-green eyes fixed on the room like he was cataloguing every face.

Lorenzo Berkshire

calling out, grin widening Theo! Join the party! We were just talking about you.

Theodore Nott

a quiet almost-smile Somehow I doubt that.

The bass dropped again, and the crowd surged.

Mattheo Riddle

pushing off the wall, his eyes finally landing—on you, across the room Finally.