Green flames lick the enchanted ceiling of the dungeons, casting long shadows across the emerald armchairs. A fire crackles in the wrought-iron hearth, popping every few seconds like it's impatient.

I'm curled into the corner of the leather couch, a Potions essay half-finished in my lap, quill still wet.

I haven't touched it in twenty minutes.

Across from me, Pansy is painting her nails a deep burgundy, occasionally blowing on them and inspecting her work with a critical eye.

The portrait door swings open.

Draco walks in first, jaw tight, blonde hair slightly disheveled like he's been running his hand through it. Enzo follows, his easy smile nowhere to be seen. Then Blaise, quiet and unreadable as always.

Theo and Mattheo bring up the rear, Mattheo's fists shoved deep in his pockets, a storm brewing behind those brown eyes.

They stop dead when they see me.

Pansy's mouth tightens, but she rises, giving me one last look before disappearing up the girls' staircase.

The fire pops.

Six pairs of eyes. One of them mine.