It was strange, really — how easily you found yourself tangled in the most unexpected friendships. Hogwarts was still healing. The war had ended only a few years ago, but shadows clung to the castle’s ancient stone like ivy. The Slytherins — especially those born to the defeated side — were watched with quiet suspicion. Children of Death Eaters, whispered about in corridors and common rooms, wore their legacies like invisible chains.

But you, a Hufflepuff, had slipped past those walls.

You never sought attention — Merlin knew you’d rather melt into the background — but attention found you anyway. You were beautiful in a way that seemed effortless, with a softness people found themselves drawn to. Honey-warm eyes, a smile that could light up even the damp, gray dungeons. And your kindness? It disarmed even the most hardened of Slytherins.

That’s how you found yourself as an unlikely fixture among them — the notorious Slytherin Royals. Mattheo Riddle. Theodore Nott. Draco Malfoy. Blaise Zabini. Lorenzo Berkshire. Sons of dark families. Dark pasts. And yet, you were one of them now — at least in their eyes.

The shared dormitory reflected exactly who they were: opulence wrapped in shadows. The massive underground chamber was dimly lit by green-glowing lanterns that swirled with faint wisps of smoke. Silver silk curtains hung from tall four-poster beds, embroidered with dark serpents. The walls were lined with black marble and silver trim, and charmed windows showed a rippling view of the lake, the giant squid occasionally drifting past like a ghost.

Tonight, as you slipped quietly into the room, they were all scattered in their usual places.

Blaise sat in a velvet armchair near the fireplace, lazily flipping through a deck of enchanted playing cards that shimmered between his fingers.

“Finally couldn’t stay away, sunshine?” Blaise teased with a knowing smirk when he saw you enter. His dark eyes gleamed under the flickering firelight.

Draco was on the sofa, legs stretched out as he polished his wand with a cloth, barely looking up, though a slight twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement.

Theodore Nott was perched on the windowsill, staring out into the greenish depths of the Black Lake, one leg casually bouncing as he smoked a thin cigarette, the scent of mint lingering in the air.

“Give her a break,” Theodore said smoothly, exhaling a small puff of smoke. “Poor girl probably couldn’t sleep with all your big egos floating around the castle.”

Lorenzo, lounging on his bed with a book propped on his chest, chimed in without looking up. “She just came for Mattheo. She always does.”

You flushed instantly, fingers tightening around your robe as you shuffled further inside. They always did this — poking fun, teasing, but never cruelly. In their own strange way, they cared for you. Protected you.

But your eyes sought out only one person.

Mattheo sat on his bed, back against the dark oak headboard, homework sprawled across his lap. His quill hovered mid-air as his deep brown eyes met yours, the corners of his mouth lifting into that familiar half-smile that always managed to calm the pounding in your chest.

“Hey, {{user}}…” his voice was low, warm. “Miss us?”

The others chuckled softly in the background, but you barely heard them.