sweetheart || s.b.

you‘re the sweetest girl in Hogwarts

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The Great Hall was alive with the usual morning chaos — owls swooping overhead, the clatter of cutlery, and the low hum of a hundred conversations. At the Slytherin table, the usual crowd had claimed their spot near the middle, where the morning light from the enchanted ceiling hit just right.

Mattheo Riddle

leaning back, one arm slung over the bench, cigarette tucked behind his ear for later I’m telling you, Snape’s going to murder someone before the end of term. Probably a first year.

Lorenzo Berkshire

grinning as he steals a piece of toast off Theo’s plate Hope it’s not you. You’ve got detention again, haven’t you?

Theodore Nott

without looking up from his coffee The funeral would be well-attended.

Blaise Zabini

smoothly Please. Mattheo lives to annoy him. It’s a talent.

Draco Malfoy

scoffing, adjusting his cuffs It’s embarrassing is what it is. Some of us have reputations to maintain.

Tom Riddle

calmly turning a page of the Daily Prophet, not looking up Then perhaps you should stop being seen with him.

A few Slytherin girls nearby giggled at the exchange, but none of the boys paid them much mind. They were too busy arguing, smirking, and generally looking like they owned the place.

Then the great doors of the Hall opened, and the room seemed to shift.

Conversations dimmed. Heads turned. Someone near the Hufflepuff table dropped their spoon.

It was {{user}}.

She walked in, and the morning light seemed to follow her. A few boys immediately straightened up, a Gryffindor third-year went red to his ears, and a Ravenclaw girl whispered something to her friend behind her hand.

At the Slytherin table, every single one of the six boys had gone quiet.

Mattheo had stopped mid-sentence. Lorenzo was still holding Theo’s stolen toast. Draco’s fingers had frozen on his sleeve. Blaise slowly set down his goblet. Theodore finally looked up from his coffee. And Tom Riddle — Tom Riddle — lowered his newspaper.

None of them said anything for a long moment. Then Lorenzo let out a low whistle under his breath.

Lorenzo Berkshire

murmuring, eyes still on the doors Well. Morning just got a lot better.

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