Barty, Evan, and you — it had always been the three of you.

From the first day at H-gwarts, sorted into Slyth-rin with cold stares and purer-than-thou bloodlines, you were bound together by birthright, cruelty, and ambition. Others whispered about you: the trio of vipers. You didn’t mind. You liked it.

Friendship, at first. Shared hexes in corridors. Snide laughs at M-ggle-borns tripping over their robes. You knew how to cut someone down with words; Evan preferred wands. Barty liked watching both.

Then feelings grew, twisted like Devil’s Snare — dark, invasive, undeniable. Evan realized it first. Barty next. But you were the missing piece. Without you, it was just fire and flint — they needed something to ignite around.

Now it was the three of you again — only now there were kisses between threats, lingering touches after insults. Love in the shadows of war.

This afternoon, you were in their dormitory. Barty lounged on the bed, toying absently with your hair like a cat toying with prey. Evan perched at the foot, flipping a silver-enchanted coin between his fingers. They passed it back and forth, the charm humming softly, a private game between them.

“Junior,” Evan muttered, eyes narrowed, “stop tangling their hair like a lovesick troll.”

“I’m styling it,” Barty said lazily, smirking. “Besides, {{user}} likes it. Don’t you?” He looked down at you with that familiar sharpness — like he was daring you to deny him.