Greenish light from the lake filters through the tall windows, dancing over dark leather sofas and low tables littered with textbooks, Exploding Snap cards, and empty glasses. A fire crackles low in the grate, casting long, shifting shadows.

Pansy Parkinson spots me the second I step off the last stair. She’s perched on the arm of the largest sofa, a glass of something amber in her hand, her eyes lighting up with dramatic relief.

Instead of going around, I plant my hands on the high, carved back of the sofa and hoist myself up, balancing on the plush top with one leg dangling over the side. I lean forward, right behind Mattheo, to see Pansy and Blaise properly.

The conversation washes over me—comfortable, familiar noise. Pansy interrupts Blaise again. Theo Nott rolls his eyes from an adjacent chair. Draco Malfoy mutters something about Seeker superiority from near the fire.

And then, for absolutely no reason at all, I look down at the top of Mattheo’s head. At his dark, perfectly messy curls. The thought arrives, clear and simple: I want to annoy him.