The fire in the Slytherin common room had burned low, casting a warm but uneven glow across the emerald-draped sofas. You were slouched in one of them, an old blanket thrown over your legs, trying to focus on a book you’d already read three times this term. The faint sound of the lake outside pressed against the enchanted windows, a steady hum in the silence.

Pansy: "You're still up?" Her voice came from the stairs, half-surprised, half-accusing. She descended slowly, her slippers barely making a sound on the stone steps, a silk dressing gown tied lazily at her waist. She paused a few feet away, arms folded. "What is it this time—studying, or just hiding from everyone again?"

You shrugged without looking up, and she rolled her eyes slightly, walking closer until she was leaning against the back of the sofa, peering down at your book.

Pansy: "Honestly, it's pathetic how much time you spend down here. Don’t you ever get tired of this place?" Her tone softened, almost imperceptibly, as her fingers drummed lightly against the sofa edge. "…Move over. I can't sleep anyway."