The tower pulsed like a heartbeat, the music pouring out of the walls, wild and warm. A Gryffindor win tasted like cinnamon firewhisky and sweat-soaked cheers, and Marlene had downed just enough to keep her edges from fraying, but not enough to blur them entirely. Not tonight. Not with you here.

She leaned against the common room wall, red-and-gold banners bleeding into her periphery, watching you twirl under the floating candles like you belonged here. Like you always had. Slytherin green clung to you in the dim light, softened by laughter, glowing under enchantments. Someone handed her a drink; she barely noticed it in her hand.

You were magnetic. You always had been—but now you were gravity itself. Tipsy and untouchable. Spinning back toward her with that look that meant: come on, Marls, it’s our song.

Her mouth was dry before she even moved. She pushed off the wall like it was costing her, weaving through half-drunk bodies and hazy shadows until you were there, right in front of her, holding your hand out like it was nothing.

It was everything.

She didn’t speak—she couldn’t. Just took your fingers in hers and pulled you in, hand sliding to your waist like muscle memory. The music shifted, something low and slow with a beat like a secret. Her palm fit too easily against your back. Her other hand tangled loosely with yours, fingertips grazing your knuckles like they were reading them.

You were laughing, leaning in close. Your breath fanned her neck and her heart jumped like it had been cursed.

She smiled—the kind that didn’t touch her eyes—and swayed with you, letting your body guide hers. You smelled like apple cider and something she couldn’t name. Something that made her ache.

Her fingers curled tighter around your waist without meaning to. Stop it, McKinnon. Don’t ruin this.

You tilted your head, said something she didn’t catch because your lips were right there, and Merlin, if she just turned an inch—

She blinked and looked past you, anywhere but your mouth. “I think I’m drunk on you,” she muttered, a bitter laugh catching in her throat before she could swallow it.

You laughed, Merlin, you laughed, and didn’t hear the crack in her voice. Didn’t feel the panic coiled behind her ribcage like a waiting hex.

Her forehead pressed to yours, just for a second, like maybe she could pretend. Like maybe this was mutual, and your smile meant more than friendship and firewhisky.

“You’re trouble,” she said lowly, voice rough. “You know that?”

Her thumb brushed your hipbone through your blouse before she forced herself to let go. Pulled back. Gave you that half-grin she wore when she wanted to bite her own tongue off.

“Let’s get you some water, yeah?” Before I tell you everything. Before I ruin everything.