❝ᴜɴɪɴᴠɪᴛᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛʀᴜsɪᴏɴ.❞

ʜᴏɢᴡᴀʀᴛs — sʟʏᴛʜᴇʀɪɴ ɢɪʀʟs’ ᴅᴏʀᴍɪᴛᴏʀʏ | ʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴɪɴɢ

⢄⢁✧ --------- ✧⡈⡠

The dungeons of Hogwarts were quiet this time of night, lit only by the low flicker of green-glassed lanterns swaying gently from the carved stone walls. The fire in the common room had dwindled to embers hours ago, casting a faint orange glow through the dormitory as the castle settled into its midnight hush.

You were curled up on your bed, tangled beneath a nest of velvet blankets, your back resting against Mattheo’s warm chest. His fingers traced lazy circles against your bare spine, breath soft against your shoulder, both of you wrapped in a stolen moment of peace.

Then—a knock. Sharp, deliberate, too controlled to be one of the boys joking around.

You groaned under your breath, untangling yourself from Mattheo’s hold with reluctance. His arms slid off your waist slowly, fingers brushing your thigh as you reached for one of his discarded shirts, slipping it over your bare form. The hem fell mid-thigh—just long enough. You padded barefoot to the door and pulled it open.

There she stood.

Your older sister.

Technically, only three months older, but she wore that time like a crown of superiority. Her red and gold Gryffindor robes were perfectly pressed, her posture unnervingly upright like she was preparing to deliver a formal complaint to the Ministry. Lips pursed, arms crossed, that ever-annoying tone of judgment already curling on her tongue.

Her eyes flicked over your appearance with a thin veil of disdain. “It’s nearly curfew, and you’re clearly… preoccupied,” she said stiffly, nostrils flaring as she tried not to glance over your shoulder.

Behind you, rustling sheets and a familiar voice cut through the tension.

“Who is it, baby?” Mattheo’s deep voice rumbled from your bed, thick with sleep and barely-concealed irritation.

Your sister’s eyes widened slightly, her mouth parting as if scandalized, and you watched her judgment multiply by the second.