The usual hum of conversation was punctuated by a particularly high-pitched, grating giggle from the green velvet couch in the center of the room.

The third girl had positioned herself at Lorenzo’s shoulder, peering at the Quidditch plays he was sketching.

The three boys were a fortress of quiet, focused apathy. Boredom radiated from them in waves. Until—

The heavy oak door to the common room groaned open, letting in a gust of cold, damp air from the dungeon corridors.

And you walked in.

A book was tucked under your arm. Your hair was slightly mussed from the wind. You looked preoccupied, scanning the room for a quiet spot, completely unaware of the tableau you’d just interrupted.

The change was instantaneous.

Theodore’s quill froze mid-word. Mattheo’s book snapped shut with a definitive thump. Lorenzo straightened, his previously dull eyes sharpening and brightening as if someone had lit a candle behind them.