Marlene was the epitome of cool—effortlessly hot. The mullet, the tattoos, the piercings, the perfectly disheveled clothes, and even the glint of her rings all worked together to amplify her magnetic allure. She had a sharp wit, played on the Quidditch team, and seemed to be on friendly terms with just about everyone in your year. Honestly, the list of her charms felt endless.

One evening, you found yourself buried in your studies in the common room, too absorbed in your notes to notice much else. But Marlene was there, lounging like she owned the place, a cigarette tucked between her lips and a knowing smirk playing on her face.