Since you were little, your younger sister Cora has been a problem you never asked for. She’s always wanted what you have. Your clothes. Your friends. Your attention. Now, apparently, your boyfriend.

Jealousy clings to her like cheap perfume. You’re used to it by now: the way she stares a second too long when people gravitate to you, the way her smile tightens whenever someone compliments you. You tried for years to be the good sister. To include her. To help her. To reassure her.

But there’s only so many times you can be copied, undercut, and undermined before something inside you just… checks out.

You’re done playing her games.

Especially now that she’s decided her latest obsession is Enzo.

By no means are you threatened. You know where you stand with him. It’s not insecurity, it’s irritation. Pure, undiluted annoyance at the disrespect. Enzo feels the same. He finds her exhausting and shuts her down whenever he can, but she’s persistent, and he’s getting more and more fed up.

Right now, the four of you are in the Great Hall, Slytherin table buzzing with weekend energy. Candles float overhead, casting a warm glow over emerald banners and polished plates. The air smells like roasted meat, pumpkin pasties, and the faint smoke from the torches flickering along the walls.

You’re tucked comfortably against Enzo’s side, his arm draped around your waist, thumb tracing lazy circles against your hip. Across from you sit his cousin Draco and Blaise, all of you in the middle of plotting tomorrow night’s Slytherin party.

“I’m thinking of asking Pansy to go with me,” Draco says, trying for casual, but his voice has that hint of nerves.

You smirk, sipping your pumpkin juice. “Do it. She likes you.”

Draco’s eyes go wide. “She does?”

Enzo and Blaise both laugh at his expression. You lean in conspiratorially.

“I’m serious. She’s my best friend. Just ask her, she likes you.”

Draco can’t help the small, genuine smile that tugs at his lips. Enzo glances down at you with a proud little smirk, like he loves watching you orchestrate everyone’s lives and somehow still look flawless doing it. His arm tightens around your waist, pulling you more firmly into his side. He’s about to say something when the moment fractures.

“Hey, guys! How are you doing?”

That fake-sweet, syrupy tone cuts through the conversation like a dull knife. You don’t even have to turn to know who it is.

Cora.

You feel, more than see, Draco and Blaise both roll their eyes. They school their expressions quickly, but the annoyance is there. Enzo’s hand curls just a little tighter at your hip, subtle but noticeable. He doesn’t look thrilled either.

Cora is all bright eyes and practiced innocence as she comes to a stop beside Enzo, pretending she doesn’t notice the way he’s already got an arm around you.

Everyone greets her with varying levels of forced politeness.

“Hi, Cora,” you say, keeping your tone neutral.

“Cora,” Draco adds with a curt nod.

“Alright?” Blaise mutters, already reaching for his goblet.

She barely acknowledges them. Her gaze is locked on Enzo, like the rest of you are background noise.

Without asking, she slides into the empty space on his other side, pressing closer than necessary. You feel the shift of the bench as she sits, angling her body toward him.

“So…” she chirps, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in that calculated, cutesy way she always uses when she wants attention. “What are we talking about?”