ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜsʏ, ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜsʏ✧๛

The Great Hall was loud. Chaotic. The usual symphony of clattering plates and overlapping conversations that Y/n had learned to tune out years ago.

Pansy Parkinson

smooths a wrinkle from her sleeve Why are you staring at me like that?

It was the way she said it. Too casual. Too controlled. Like she'd rehearsed the line in the mirror this morning.

Theodore Nott

low, from beside Y/n Shit.

Lorenzo Berkshire

whispering loudly Wait—wait, are they—?

Draco Malfoy

muttering under his breath And there it is.

Pansy didn't pull away. She kissed him back, fingers curling into the fabric of his black hoodie like she'd been waiting for this moment all year.

Mattheo Riddle

settling back into his seat, casual, unreadable What?