It was that time of evening when everyone had settled into their usual spots. Draco and Blaise were sprawled across the largest couch, their heads bent together over Draco’s phone, some argument about a Quidditch score devolving into lazy insults. Pansy was draped over Blaise’s lap, painting her nails a deep plum and occasionally flicking polish at his arm when he said something stupid.

Across from them, Astoria had her legs thrown over Lorenzo’s, her head resting against his shoulder as he read aloud from some poetry book she’d forced on him. He was doing a terrible impression of a dramatic reading, and she was laughing so hard she kept shoving him.

Daphne was perched on the arm of a chair near the fire, scrolling through her phone with a faint frown. Mattheo was on the floor, lounging back on his elbows, occasionally kicking at Blaise’s foot to get his attention.

And then there was Theodore.

He sat in the armchair closest to the window, legs crossed, his phone in one hand, a half-smoked cigarette balanced between his fingers over the ashtray on the sill. His dark hair fell over his brow, and he hadn’t looked up from his screen in at least twenty minutes. Focused. Quiet. The kind of still that made you forget he was even there.

The room was full of noise, of laughter, of lingering touches and whispered jokes. Millicent was showing Tracey something on her phone, and Tracey was screeching with laughter. Two other fourth years were giggling by the fire.

Couples. Couples everywhere.

A sigh escaped you before you could stop it, your book a weight in your lap.

The words blurred.