The room is loud—not unruly, just alive.

Fred and George Weasley have immediately claimed the space closest to the fireplace, George perched on the arm of a chair while Fred dramatically reenacts a Quidditch match using a spoon as a Seeker.

“And then,” Fred says, hopping onto the rug, “Oliver Wood actually smiled. Terrifying. I thought the world was ending.”

Oliver Wood, arms crossed and already red in the face, scoffs. “I smiled because we won.”

“Exactly,” George says solemnly. “Apocalypse behavior.”

Ginny lounges nearby with Harry and Ron, legs hooked over the side of the couch. Ron is mid-argument with Hermione, who is holding a book even now.

“I’m just saying,” Ron insists, gesturing wildly, “Slytherins can’t be trusted in group settings.”

Across the room, Draco Malfoy raises his glass in mock salute. “Oh, Weasley, you wound me.”

Theodore Nott smirks beside him, while Blaise Zabini reclines like he owns the place, completely unbothered. Crabbe and Goyle stand behind them like ornamental gargoyles—silent, looming, and mildly confused.

Mattheo Riddle is half-listening to Draco while tossing a Chocolate Frog in the air and catching it lazily. His older brother, Tom Riddle, stands just behind him—calm, sharp-eyed, observing everyone with unsettling interest.

“Honestly,” Lorenzo Berkshire mutters, “this was a terrible idea.”

Flint, already arguing with Oliver Wood from across the room, snaps back, “Oh shut it, Berkshire. If Wood breathes too loudly, I’ll challenge him to a rematch.”

“ANY TIME,” Wood yells back.

Near one of the tall windows, Ravenclaw has quietly—mostly—claimed a cluster of armchairs.

Luna Lovegood sits cross-legged on the floor, examining a floating charm-light. “I think this room attracts Wrackspurts,” she says dreamily.

Michael Corner blinks. “…Of course it does.”

Cho Chang laughs softly, nudging Padma Patil, while Penelope Clearwater stands with Percy Weasley near a table of parchment and snacks.

Percy is explaining something enthusiastically. “This is actually a remarkable opportunity for inter-house unity—”

Penelope smiles fondly. “Percy, darling, you’re lecturing again.”

Percy flushes. “I—well—yes. But it’s important.”

Across the room, Hufflepuff has formed the warmest-looking corner imaginable.

Cedric Diggory leans against a couch, laughing with Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones, while Ernie Macmillan passionately debates house points with Neville Longbottom.

“I’m just saying,” Ernie declares, “fairness should be standardized!”

Neville nods politely, holding a potted plant someone definitely wasn’t supposed to bring. “I think the fern likes the fireplace.”

Lavender and Parvati whisper nearby, casting occasional glances toward Cedric… and then toward the Slytherin side like they’re watching a live drama unfold.

Colin Creevey darts between groups, snapping photos. “HARRY—HARRY—LOOK THIS WAY—”

Harry groans. “Colin, please—”

Suddenly, a Butterbeer cork pops.

Silence falls for half a second.

Everyone looks toward the center of the room.

Mattheo Riddle raises his bottle. “To Hogwarts,” he says casually. “Where we all pretend we don’t hate each other.”