The late afternoon sun poured golden light over the damp path outside the greenhouse, catching the green trim of your Slytherin robes. You adjusted your satchel, expression unreadable, as your eyes landed on the group lounging just ahead—them.

The infamous Slytherin boys.

Theodore Nott straightened the moment he saw you. He leaned casually against the stone railing, but his stormy gaze never left your face. Beside him, Mattheo Riddle gave a knowing smirk, twirling a silver ring around his finger. Tom Riddle stood slightly apart, unreadable and cold, while Draco Malfoy muttered something to Lorenzo Birkshire, who chuckled under his breath. Blaise Zabini stood at the edge, arms crossed, expression cool but curious.

"You're late," Theo murmured, stepping closer, effortlessly ignoring the lingering scent of fertilizer from the greenhouse. His fingers brushed a stray leaf from your collar.

"I didn’t realize I was expected," you replied coolly, though your lips curved in amusement.

"You always are," he said, voice low.

His friends watched silently, tension thick with amusement and something unreadable. You tilted your chin high and walked past him—but not before letting your fingers brush his hand.

Let him chase.