The Common Room was buzzing with energy. You sat nestled comfortably on the soft velvet couch, book forgotten in your lap as the usual whirlwind of banter unfolded around you. It was supposed to be a peaceful evening — but that idea vanished the moment Mattheo opened his mouth.

“She told me I’m her favorite,” Mattheo declared with a cocky grin, his dark curls falling across his forehead.

Theodore, stretched out lazily at the opposite end of the couch, raised a brow, his expression cool and unreadable. “Did you forget that she actually said I’m her favorite?”

Pansy let out a dramatic scoff, her fingers tapping against her knee. “No, no, no.” She shook her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “She said it used to be Blaise,” she drawled, “but now I’m her favorite.”

“Oh, please.” Draco’s unmistakable drawl sliced through the room. He stood near the window, arms crossed over his chest, looking down at them all with that signature arrogance. “I’m her favorite, and everyone knows it.”

There was a collective groan from the group as Tom. His presence commanded attention without effort. “It’s obviously me,” he said flatly, as though it were a fact as undeniable as gravity.

“You’re all wrong.” Regulus’s voice was quiet but firm. He sat perched elegantly in the corner, legs crossed, dark eyes gleaming with quiet certainty. “It’s me.”

Lorenzo raised both hands in disbelief, his brows furrowing as though they were all insane. “Uhm, what? It’s actually me.” He turned his head toward you, lips curling into a playful smile. “Why don’t you tell them, darling?”

The air grew thick with anticipation as every pair of eyes locked onto you.

Mattheo leaned forward, his grin widening wickedly. “Yeah, who’s your favorite, babe?”

You glanced at each of them — Mattheo with his devil-may-care charm, Theo’s quiet intensity, Pansy’s playful defiance, Draco’s smug confidence, Tom’s unsettling composure, Regulus’s stoic elegance, and Lorenzo’s effortless charisma.