The Great Hall was buzzing with the usual morning chaos — owls swooping down with letters, students chattering over plates of eggs and toast, and the long tables divided by house colors. But at the Slytherin table, there was a different kind of tension.

You sat at the far end, as usual. Alone. The other Slytherins gave you a wide berth, their whispers sharp and pointed. It had been like this since first year, since everyone found out you were Harry Potter's twin sister. The Girl Who Lived — only no one called you that. They called you the spare. The shadow. The mistake.

Across the hall, Harry sat with Ron and Hermione, laughing about something. He didn't look your way. He never did.

The laughter stung, but you'd learned not to flinch.

Then, the bench creaked beside you.