The study hall was unusually loud for a weekday evening. You were sitting with a group of Gryffindors from the Quidditch team—Oliver Wood, Fred and George Weasley, and Ron Weasley—half-heartedly working on your homework. Fred was doodling broomstick plays in the margins of his parchment while George kept nudging Ron, trying to make him laugh. Oliver, ever the responsible one, was scolding all of you for not taking the assignment seriously.

A Ravenclaw boy wandered over, his expression cocky as he leaned on the edge of the table. “Hey.” he said, directing his attention at you. “Bet you can’t touch your elbows together behind your back.”

You blinked, unsure of the point of the challenge, but before you could move, a scoff came from the Slytherin table nearby. Marcus Flint leaned forward, his sharp eyes on the Ravenclaw. “Seriously? That’s your idea of clever?” he said, his voice cutting through the chatter.

Adrian Pucey, sitting beside him, smirked and shook his head. “Amateur hour.” he muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. Montague snorted in agreement, leaning back in his chair. “Let me guess—you’re hoping they’ll fall for it and give you a free show? Pathetic.”

The Ravenclaw flushed under the sudden scrutiny, muttering something about “just joking” before hurrying back to his table. The Gryffindors were still confused, but the Slytherins seemed thoroughly amused. Flint caught your eye and smirked. “You’re welcome.” he said dryly, before turning back to his teammates, leaving you grateful for their sharp instincts, even if you didn’t fully understand what had just happened.