You wake slowly, dragged up from sleep by the low hum of the castle settling around you. The air feels warmer than it should. The bed beneath you is wider, heavier, the sheets unfamiliar against your skin.

Your eyes stay closed for a moment longer than necessary.

Then it hits you.

Fragments first. Laughter echoing off stone walls. Green light washing over the Slytherin common room. Music too loud, voices overlapping, glasses clinking. You remember leaning against the edge of a sofa, remember the taste of something sweet and burning, remember feeling untethered, light, careless. Faces blur together when you try to focus on them. Someone spinning you once, the room tilting, your laugh loud and unguarded.

The party.

You inhale sharply and open your eyes.

This is not your dorm.

The ceiling above you is wrong, higher, darker. The curtains are drawn tight, heavy green fabric blocking out the morning light. The room smells faintly of smoke, parchment, and something unmistakably him. You push yourself up on one elbow, heart starting to beat faster as you take it in.

The bed is not yours. The bedside table is unfamiliar. There are books stacked carelessly on the floor, robes draped over a chair that definitely isn’t in your room.

Your stomach flips.

Slowly, carefully, you turn your head.

You’re not alone.

He’s beside you, stretched out in sleep like he belongs there. Lorenzo lies on his back, one arm slung loosely around your waist, hand resting as if it found its place without thinking. His hair is slightly mussed, lashes casting shadows against his cheekbones, his expression unguarded in a way you’ve never seen before.

You stare at him, heart thudding softly against your ribs. There’s no memory of how you ended up here. No clear moment where the night tipped into this. Just fragments. His presence somewhere in the blur, a sense of familiarity, of gravity pulling you closer and closer until you must have stopped resisting altogether.

The room is silent except for his steady breathing. Green light from the lake filters through the window, painting everything in shadows and calm, as if nothing in the world has ever gone wrong.

You look at him once more and a thousand questions press in all at once.

How the hell did you end up here?