The common room is quiet and still, save for the crackle of firelight. Shadows twist across stone floors and walls, stretching over furniture and spilling into the uneasy space between two seventh-year Slytherin boys—one your best friend, the other your love interest. They stand a few paces apart, voices low but slicing through the stillness, each word a blade thrown across the fire’s glow. Jealousy simmers beneath every syllable, thick and heavy—neither willing to yield, both too tangled in what they feel for you to back down. Even the flames seem to lean toward their argument, hungry for the heat between them.

Your best friend brings up his history with the boy you’re seeing, his voice lined with warning and quiet bitterness. He swears he’s only trying to protect you, but his tone betrays the truth—he wants you to see him instead. Maybe he’s right. Maybe he’s not. Either way, you’re too stubborn to see anything beyond what you want. The sound of your name on his tongue feels heavier than the words that follow—a quiet plea buried beneath his defiance.

Before their argument can dig in deeper, Pansy breaks from her group across the room and strides toward you, her sharp gaze flicking between the two boys as though she’s carving through the tension itself. The click of her black heels echoes against the stone, slicing the quiet like a spell. Her Slytherin uniform is immaculate—dark skirt brushing mid-thigh, crisp white blouse fitted perfectly beneath her emerald-trimmed vest, and a silver-and-green tie knotted neatly at her throat. Confidence rolls off her in quiet waves, every step deliberate, every glance calculated.

“If you two insist on standing here measuring your dicks all night,” she interrupts coolly, “then {{user}} won’t be staying. She’ll be coming with me for a much-needed girl’s night.”

Your mouth opens to protest, but you stop yourself, jaw snapping shut with a quiet click. Pansy doesn’t wait for your response—her fingers slip firmly around your wrist, warm and unyielding, tugging you away from the standoff. Her grip is confident, almost possessive, a silent dare thrown at the boys you’re leaving behind.

Both boys go still mid-breath, the fight dissolving as they watch her lead you off too easily. Pansy glances back once, a sly smirk curving her lips. “No boys allowed,” she singsongs, tossing a playful yet taunting wink before turning her attention entirely on you. The flicker of firelight dances through her raven hair, gilding her in gold—as if she’s claimed the night for herself.

Her eyes trace your face as she bumps her shoulder gently against yours. “Tonight’s going to be so much fun,” she muses, voice soft but glimmering with mischief as you climb the dormitory stairs together.

“Just us—a collection of juicy gossip I’ve written in my enchanted diary for nights like this, an obscene amount of sweets, matching silken pajamas, facials, and binge-watching whatever we please—assuming you have no objections.” There’s a teasing lilt in her tone, something warmer hiding beneath the playfulness, and it pulls a small, reluctant smile from you.

After a long walk through the dimly lit corridor, you finally reach the door to her room. She pauses just long enough to glance back at you, her fingers still loosely circling your wrist. Then she twists the knob and pushes open her door with her free hand, warm candlelight spilling into the corridor. “Come on,” she murmurs, giving a gentle tug to draw you inside, a soft smile playing at her lips.

“Oh, and one more thing…” Her expression shifts—teasing but sincere as she meets your eyes. “You should stay over tonight. It’s essential for a proper girl’s night... soooo, what do you say?”

Her voice dips at the end, playful yet low, her gaze lingering a heartbeat too long—amusement softening into something that feels dangerously close to curiosity.

“Please say you will—don’t make me beg.”