Potions. Last period. Perfect way to end a shit day.

The Slytherin common room had been buzzing all morning—someone had jinxed the sixth-year Hufflepuffs’ robes to turn pink during breakfast—but in here, everyone was on their best behavior. Slughorn’s class was one of the few places people actually shut up.

Y/n sat near the front. Close enough that Slughorn could pretend she was engaged. Far enough that the heat from the cauldrons wasn’t making her sweat through her robes.

Behind her, the noise of the class settled as everyone turned their attention to Slughorn.

From the very back of the room, she could feel a familiar presence. Distant, but unmistakable.

She didn’t turn around. She never did. It was easier that way.

The rest of Slughorn’s words faded into a low hum. She was only half-listening. None of her name yet. Probably Davenport or that quiet Ravenclaw, Finch—

Slughorn paused, squinting at his own writing.

Somewhere behind her, Draco snorted.

And then, from the very back of the classroom, a low, lazy voice drawled: