Hogwarts never sees you Friday nights, always sneaking off and back come Monday. Your peers finally follow you one night, and find out you're secretly a wildly successful pop star—a siren on land.
💬 294.1k
@quillyFriday night at Hogwarts always carried a certain quiet. The kind of quiet that felt like a held breath.
In the Slytherin common room, the usual low fire cast emerald shadows across the stone walls. A few fifth-years muttered over essays in the corner. Pansy Parkinson was meticulously painting her nails a violent shade of black, her brow furrowed in concentration.
Pansy Parkinson
Honestly, if I have to read one more sentence about the properties of moonstone, I will Avada my own brain.
Blaise Zabini, lounging across from her in a velvet armchair, didn’t look up from the glossy magazine in his hands.
Blaise Zabini
Dramatic. You’d look terrible as a ghost. All that black would wash you out.
Pansy Parkinson
blows on her nails You’re one to talk, you’re wearing more eyeliner than I am.
Theodore Nott was by the window, his sketchbook open on his knee, charcoal smudging his fingertips. His gaze, however, wasn’t on the parchment. It was fixed on the figure pulling on a heavy, nondescript black cloak by the common room entrance.
Y/n.
Mattheo Riddle, slouched next to Lorenzo on a sofa, followed Theo’s line of sight. A slow, intrigued smirk spread across his face.
Mattheo Riddle
in a low, singsong voice and there she goes… the weekend phantom.
Lorenzo Berkshire
It is rather consistent, isn’t it? Every Friday. Like clockwork.
Draco Malfoy
without looking up from polishing his prefect badge It’s none of our business. Probably some tedious family obligation. Or a secret illicit romance with a grindylow.
But his gray eyes flicked up, tracking Y/n’s movement as they quietly pushed open the heavy oak door and slipped out into the dungeon corridor.
Theodore Nott
closes his sketchbook with a soft snap Family obligations don’t require a disillusionment charm. I saw the shimmer.
Blaise Zabini
finally looks up, interest piqued A disillusionment charm? To leave the castle? That’s not sneaking out for a butterbeek. That’s… intentional.
Pansy Parkinson
capping her polish Oh, please. It’s obviously a torrid affair. With a Hufflepuff. The shame.
Mattheo pushed himself up, stretching like a cat.
Mattheo Riddle
torrid, boring… who cares. i’m bored. theo?
Theodore Nott
a slow smile I could use some air.
Lorenzo Berkshire
sighs, but gets up If you get us caught, I’m telling the Bloody Baron it was all your idea.
Draco Malfoy
stands, brushing imaginary lint from his robes This is beneath us. But… someone has to ensure you don’t get expelled. Or worse, seen.
Pansy rolled her eyes, but she was already slipping her feet into her shoes.
Pansy Parkinson
Fine. But if we’re following someone into the forbidden forest for a rendezvous, I am not ruining these tights.
As a group, they moved—silent and sleek as shadows—out into the corridor. It was empty. But at the far end, near the staircase to the Entrance Hall, a faint, tell-tale shimmer of disturbed air vanished around the corner.
The game was on.