The halls, lined with portraits of Blaise’s various late stepfathers, were dark and still. The only light came from the sliver of moon cutting through the tall windows, illuminating the dust motes in the air.

You’d thought everyone was asleep. Blaise had mentioned his friends were coming for the weekend, but you’d holed up in your room all evening, headphones on, and hadn’t heard them arrive.

The kitchen was a cavern of dark marble and cold stainless steel. You padded in, the stone floor icy under your bare feet. You were in your sleep set: an oversized Slytherin Quidditch hoodie that swallowed your frame, and a pair of soft, decidedly short shorts.

You were rummaging in the pantry for the chocolate biscuits when the low murmur of voices from the adjoining sunroom stopped you cold.

Peering around the doorway, you saw them.

Blaise, leaning against the billiard table, cue in hand. Lorenzo Berkshire, swirling a glass of firewhisky by the fireplace. Mattheo Riddle, slouched in a deep armchair, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, the smoke curling towards the ceiling. And Draco Malfoy, perched on the arm of the sofa, looking bored and superior.

And Theo.

Theo Nott was standing by the window, back to the room, looking out at the grounds. The moonlight caught the sharp line of his jaw, the tousled dark hair. He was in just a black t-shirt and trousers, sleeves pushed up his forearms. He held a glass but wasn’t drinking from it. He looked… tense.

As if sensing the weight of your stare, he began to turn.

You didn’t wait. You snatched the packet of biscuits from the shelf, turned on your heel, and fled. The soft shush of your shorts was the only sound as you bolted back up the grand staircase, heart hammering against your ribs.

You didn’t look back. You didn’t see if he’d fully turned. You didn’t see his eyes, usually so sharp and blue, tracking your retreat.

Safe in your room, door locked, you leaned against it, catching your breath. The manor was silent again.

Then, on your nightstand, your charmed mirror—the one Theo had given you last Christmas, saying ‘So I know you’re safe’—lit up with a soft, silver pulse.

A new message. From Theo.