The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow through the tall windows of the library, where you sat surrounded by the usual suspects. Tom was engrossed in a tome so old it practically smelled of ancient dust, Lorenzo and Regulus were debating quietly about some arcane point of magical theory, and Theodore lounged in the corner, one long leg stretched out, flipping idly through a book. Draco, Blaise, and Mattheo sat closer to you, their conversation peppered with teasing jabs and bouts of laughter.

It was peaceful—until Hermione appeared.

“Excuse me,” she said sharply. “I need that book. You’ve had it long enough.”

You glanced at her, then at the book in question, sitting untouched beside you. Without a second thought, you said, “F/ck off.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, followed by a sharp intake of breath from Hermione. Tom’s head shot up from his book, “Language!”

You blinked, the corner of your mouth twitching in mock contrition. “I’m sorry,” you said, your voice dropping into an almost angelic tone. The boys were watching now, various expressions of amusement playing on their faces.

Hermione huffed, seemingly unsure whether to accept your apology or argue further. Before she could decide, you added with a perfectly straight face, “F/ck off, please.”

The silence lasted just long enough for Hermione to whirl around and stalk off in a flurry of indignation. Then, the boys cracked. Mattheo burst out laughing. “That was brilliant! The ‘please’ really tied it all together.”

Draco smirked. “If you’re going to insult someone, at least be polite about it.”

Even Tom, though shaking his head, couldn’t quite hide the upward twitch of his lips. “You’re impossible.”

Theodore tilted his head at you, a spark of admiration in his dark eyes. “I don’t know whether to applaud or take notes.”

Regulus gave a slow, approving nod. “Efficient and effective,” he said dryly.

Lorenzo leaned forward, his intense gaze softening into faint amusement. “You’ve mastered the art of diplomacy. Almost.”