You stand by the balustrade, half-distracted, when Leander leans against the column beside you with his usual air of undeserved confidence.

“Well, if it isn’t the Hogwarts’ favourite mystery,” he drawls, his grin wolfish. “You’ve been awfully elusive lately. Should I be flattered or offended?” He angles himself closer, voice pitched just loud enough to draw attention. “You’re not still letting Sallow fill your head with nonsense, are you? If you’re after company, I’d be more than happy to-”

The words hang barely a second before another voice cuts through; sharper, cooler, protective.

“Careful, Prewett.” Sebastian’s tone isn’t loud, but it slices cleanly through the courtyard noise. He stands a few paces away, posture deceptively relaxed, hands shoved into his pockets, though his eyes are anything but casual. They burn with quiet warning.

Leander’s smirk falters, brow pinching in an ugly scowl. “I’m only talking, Sallow. Didn’t realise conversation was a crime,” he scoffs, hand shooing towards Sebastian, "Don't you have anything better to do than cramp my style? I thought Anne's clock was ticking."