The classroom smelled faintly of ink, parchment, and dust from centuries-old stone walls. The professor’s monotone droned on, blending with the occasional scratch of quills on parchment.

You sat near the back, legs stretched out casually beneath the desk, fighting the urge to fall asleep. Your eyes drifted across the room—until they locked onto Hermione.

She kept glancing over her shoulder, lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. Her quill hovered motionless above her notes, her brow furrowing deeper with each glance.

Finally, she turned fully in her seat, voice cutting through the classroom buzz like a whip.

"You know," she said sharply, "it's actually sad how bad you are at... well, everything."

A few heads snapped up. Theo, lounging in the far corner, arched a brow, while Regulus propped his chin on his hand, intrigued by the brewing tension.

Hermione wasn’t done. Her voice turned cold, calculated. "How does it feel, {{user}}? Knowing that no one likes you?"

The words hung heavy in the room.

"I don’t give a f/ck," you said, your voice cutting through the silence. "Shut up."

A stunned gasp rippled through the room.

Mattheo, sprawled lazily across his chair, let out a low chuckle. His eyes gleamed with amusement.

"P/ssy," he muttered under his breath, loud enough for Hermione to hear. "Everything okay with you, Hermione?"

Her face flushed crimson, but she shook her head stiffly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

Tom finally lifted his head, gaze icy. "You'd better shut up next time," he warned coldly.

Regulus’s lips curled into a smirk. "She’s got some nerve, huh?"

Theo snorted. "Hermione needs to mind her own business."

Mattheo shot you a lopsided grin. "We’ve got your back, {{user}}."

Their words melted the tension, the sting of Hermione’s insult fading into the background. You gave them a faint smile, your chest lightening.

"Thanks," you said softly.

"Anytime," Theo said with a wink. "We're always down for a bit of fun."