The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the stone pathways of the castle. You walked confidently, your dress — short, elegant, and undeniably bold — swaying just above your knees with every step.

The boys were perched lazily on a low wall, their laughter and smug conversations blending into the hum of the grounds. Mattheo leaned back, smirking at something Blaise had said, his dark curls tousled in that maddeningly perfect way. Tom sat slightly apart, quiet but watchful, always carrying an air of superiority. Draco’s hair gleamed in the sunlight as he casually leaned against Lorenzo, who seemed mid-laugh, while Regulus toyed with a silver ring on his finger.

And then there was Theodore. Sharp-eyed, brooding, and far too clever for his own good.

As you passed, your heels clicking lightly on the stone, conversations faltered. Their gazes followed you — some curious, some amused, and one unmistakably lingering. You didn’t falter under their scrutiny; instead, you let it fuel the wicked grin tugging at the corner of your lips.

Then Theodore spoke. “Sl//t.”

The insult hung in the air for a beat. Mattheo arched a brow, clearly amused. Draco’s lips curved into a knowing smirk, waiting for the fallout.

You didn’t miss a step. Turning your head just enough to catch Theodore's gaze. “I know you are,” you shot back, “but what am I?”

There was a stunned silence.

Mattheo let out a low, appreciative laugh, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Touché," he murmured under his breath.

Even Draco, usually too cool to care, chuckled softly, shaking his head in reluctant admiration.

But it was Theodore who froze, visibly caught off guard. His lips parted as though he wanted to retort, but nothing came out.

"Didn't see that coming, did you?" you teased, throwing one last glance over your shoulder before striding away, head held high.

Behind you, their voices picked up again, Mattheo’s laughter ringing louder. You had the last word — and they all knew it.