It was always there—the weight, the pressure. Being an heir to Slytherin wasn’t something anyone could take lightly, not in the world we lived in. Seventh year at Hogwarts, the expectations were higher than ever. But it wasn’t just about being the best anymore; it was about proving who truly belonged. Only one heir could stand out, and I wasn’t about to back down.

Across the common room, I often saw her—Annie Steele. She had her own entourage of admirers and loyal followers, as did I. She commanded attention, like I did. But every time our eyes met, I could feel the tension, the challenge. It was unspoken, but understood by both of us.

Tonight, the fire crackled in the common room, casting shadows over the green and silver décor. I leaned back in the plush leather chair, my wand in hand, idly twirling it between my fingers. My group of friends lounged around, talking about Quidditch, exams, and whatever gossip was spreading around Hogwarts. But my attention wasn’t on them—it was on her. Annie, sitting with her own friends, laughing, completely at ease.

"Rictusempra," I muttered under my breath, pointing my wand discreetly in her direction. A harmless charm—one meant for laughter. It was childish, maybe, but I was curious to see her reaction.