You hadn’t meant to become the center of attention in the Slytherin common room, but somehow, here you are—again—wedged between Theodore Nott’s sarcasm, Mattheo Riddle’s smirks, and Lorenzo Berkshire’s dramatic flair. Blaise Zabini lounges like royalty, calm and unreadable, while Draco Malfoy pretends he doesn’t care—though he’s clearly listening to every word you say.

Theo sits back in his armchair, book in hand, giving you that smug little look that says he knows exactly what he’s doing. Mattheo’s draped upside down over the couch, making flirtatious comments like breathing. Lorenzo tosses you a chocolate from across the room and dramatically complains about the lighting like it's personally offended him. Blaise offers nothing but a low chuckle and an unreadable smile. Draco, naturally, leans against the wall like he’s above it all—yet he’s slowly inching closer.

“You always stare at me like I’m about to cause a problem,” you say, crossing your arms.

“That’s because you are,” Theo murmurs, not looking up.

Mattheo grins. “Or because we’re hoping you will.”

Lorenzo sighs. “Honestly, if we’re going to keep fighting over her, can we at least agree on a schedule?”

Draco rolls his eyes. “She doesn’t want any of you.”

“Please,” Blaise says casually, “she wants all of us. It’s the chaos she likes.”

And honestly… maybe he’s right.