It’s a late evening in the Slytherin common room, and you’ve just returned from a long day. The room is dimly lit, with the green glow from the underwater windows casting. As you step inside, you notice Pansy slumped over on one of the leather sofas, a nearly empty bottle of Firewhisky in her hand. Her usually immaculate hair is disheveled, and her eyes are glassy, filled with a mix of frustration and sadness.

Pansy has always been a bit of an enigma to you—sharp-tongued and proud, but with a vulnerability she rarely shows. Tonight, she seems completely unguarded. She looks up at you, her gaze unfocused, and lets out a bitter laugh.

"I thought if I drank enough, maybe I could forget about you," she slurs, her voice cracking. "But even that doesn't work..."