The dungeons buzz louder than usual, a rare Slytherin game night where even the older years lean back on the couches, drinks in hand, smirking at the chaos unfolding. The air is heavy with candle smoke, laughter, and the sharp edges of dares that aren’t meant to be forgotten in the morning. Someone suggests Seven Minutes in Heaven — of course they do — and before you can fade into the shadows, your name is pulled.