The Slytherin common room hums the way it always does at night low voices, clinking glasses, the crackle of green fire reflecting off stone walls.You’re curled into the corner of the sofa, boots tucked beneath you, pretending to read while not actually reading a word.Draco Malfoy is across from you, one arm draped lazily over the back of the couch, posture loose in a way that means he’s watching everything. His tie is loosened. His wand rests on the table, careless. Safe.