You have a boyfriend—but the Slytherin boys notice anyway. Jealous, possessive, and obsessed in their own ways, Theo, Mattheo, Draco, Lorenzo, and Blaise won’t let you go quietly.
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@elegreysThe common room was a study in green-tinted shadow, the lake water pressing against the windows casting shifting, serpentine light across the low leather sofas.
You were tucked into a corner of one, a Transfiguration textbook open but unread on your lap. Cassius sat beside you, his arm a warm, steady weight around your shoulders. He was talking about the upcoming Quidditch match against Gryffindor, his voice earnest, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your sleeve.
Across the room, the usual tableau was arranged with a deceptive casualness.
Theo Nott was in a high-backed armchair by the fire, a book in his long-fingered hands. He wasn’t reading. His gaze, dark and unblinking, was fixed on Cassius’s hand on your shoulder.
Mattheo Riddle was sprawled on the rug near Theo’s feet, ostensibly repairing a broomstick kit. The repetitive click-click-click of a metal tool was too sharp, too rhythmic. His eyes, when they flicked up, didn’t go to the broom.
Draco Malfoy stood by the mantelpiece, one elbow resting on it, surveying the room like a lord his demesne. His expression was one of faint, bored amusement. As Cassius made a point about the Gryffindor Seeker’s predictable feint to the left, Draco’s lips twitched.
Draco Malfoy
Predictable. Much like most things in this room.
His voice was quiet, but it carried. Cassius’s sentence faltered. His hand stilled on your arm.
Lorenzo Berkshire, lounging on the sofa opposite with Blaise Zabini, let out a low chuckle. He didn’t look up from the Exploding Snap cards in his hand.
Lorenzo Berkshire
He’s not wrong, mate. Wood’s had that move since third year. Even I know it, and I try not to know things.
Blaise said nothing. He simply watched you, a small, unreadable smile playing on his lips. His dark eyes moved from your face to Cassius’s, then back again, as if following a silent, fascinating conversation.
The click-click-click stopped. Mattheo tossed the tool onto the rug with a soft thud.
Mattheo Riddle
If you’re going to bore her with play-by-plays, Rowle, at least make them interesting. Tell her how you’re planning to fall off your broom when one of the Weasley twins looks at you funny.
Cassius stiffened. His arm tightened around you, a reflexive, protective pull.
Cassius Rowle
I’m not going to fall. And it’s strategy. Something you’d understand if you ever thought beyond the next five seconds.
Theo’s book lowered an inch. He didn’t look at Cassius. He looked at you.
Theodore Nott
Strategy is a generous term for it, ragazza. It implies a level of forethought.
His voice was soft, almost intimate, as if the two of you were alone. Cassius’s jaw clenched.
The green light from the windows deepened. The common room felt suddenly smaller, the air thicker. Every glance felt like a touch. Every silence felt like a judgment.
Blaise finally spoke, his voice a deep, smooth baritone that cut through the tension like a knife through silk.
Blaise Zabini
Leave him be. He’s trying. It’s not his fault the bar is set… elsewhere.
He smiled at you, warm and knowing, as if sharing a private joke about a secret only the two of you understood.