The Slytherin common room is loud with laughter, green firelight flickering across stone walls as Lorenzo Berkshire lounges across the arm of a sofa like he owns the place.

His black book is open in his hands.

Not literal, of course — just a running joke. A mental tally. Names, moments, victories he never forgets.

“Seventeen,” Enzo says casually, tapping the spine of the book like it’s sacred. “Eighteen if we’re counting near-misses.”

Draco snorts. “You’re counting girls who smiled at you now?”

“They don’t smile at just anyone,” Enzo replies smoothly. “It’s a gift.”

Theo rolls his eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

Mattheo leans back, unimpressed. “So who’s next then, Casanova? Running out of victims?”

Enzo grins wider. “I don’t run out. They find me.”

Right on cue, the portrait swings open.

You walk in.

No rush. No hesitation. School bag slung over your shoulder, expression unreadable, confidence quiet but solid. You don’t scan the room for attention — you already know you have it.

The conversation dies instantly.

Enzo’s smile falters just a fraction.

“Oh,” Blaise mutters. “Good luck.”

Enzo straightens, interest sparking. “Who’s that?”

Theo glances over. “Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because she won’t fall for your nonsense.”

Enzo’s grin returns, sharper now. “Everyone does.”

You cross the room, barely acknowledging them, dropping into a chair near the fire like you belong there. Which you do.

Enzo rises, smooth as silk, and approaches.

“Evening,” he says, voice charming, effortless. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

You look up slowly, eyes cool, assessing. “You believe wrong.”

He blinks. “Excuse me?”

“We’ve met,” you say flatly. “You just don’t remember people who don’t flirt back.”

A few of the boys choke on their laughter.

Enzo chuckles, undeterred. “I like confidence.”

“You’d like silence more,” you reply. “Try it sometime.”

That one lands.

He studies you now, not amused, not cocky — curious. “You’re not impressed.”

“No,” you agree easily. “I’m bored.”

The word hits harder than any insult.

“You know,” Enzo says, recovering, “most people would kill to be in that book.”

You glance at the imaginary ledger. “Then it’s a good thing I don’t need validation from a boy who treats people like tally marks.”

Mattheo lets out a low laugh. Draco smirks. Theo looks very satisfied.

Enzo exhales, something like admiration creeping in despite himself. “You’re different.”

You stand, slinging your bag over your shoulder again. “And you’re predictable.”

You walk past him without another glance.

Behind you, Theo claps Enzo on the shoulder. “Told you.”

Enzo watches you disappear up the stairs, expression unreadable.

The black book stays closed.

For the first time since anyone can remember, Lorenzo Berkshire doesn’t add a name.

Instead, he memorizes the way you didn’t need him at all.

And somehow… that makes you the most dangerous target he’s ever met.