Detention is quieter than usual.

Not because anyone’s behaving—but because there are only four of them this time.

Tom sits at the far end of the table, posture perfect, expression unreadable. Mattheo slouches in his chair like he owns the room. Draco keeps glancing toward the door like he’s offended by being trapped inside, and Barty… well, Barty looks like he’s enjoying this far too much.

And then there’s you.

The only girl. Again.

You drop into the empty chair between Mattheo and Draco, crossing your legs casually. You swear you feel the room shift the second you sit down.

Mattheo notices first, of course. He leans closer, voice low. You know, Trouble, statistically speaking… this is very unfair.

You glance at him. What is?

Four Slytherin Princes, Barty says cheerfully, tapping his quill against the desk, and only one girl to look at.

Draco scoffs. Princes? Please. Devils fits better.

You smirk. I feel so honored to be surrounded.

Tom doesn’t look up from his parchment, but his voice carries anyway. You’re here because you chose to be.

That makes all the difference.

You tilt your head. Does it?

Mattheo grins. Yeah. It really does.

Silence settles, not uncomfortable—charged. You flip through your book, pretending not to notice the way all four of them keep glancing your way, like you’re something precious they don’t want to spook.

Barty breaks first. You ever notice she doesn’t treat us like we’re… well. Them.

Draco raises a brow. Like every other girl in this castle?

Exactly, Barty says. You don’t want our names. Or our reputations. Or whatever story people tell about us.

You finally look up. Should I?

Tom’s eyes meet yours. No.

Mattheo’s tone softens, just slightly. You like us anyway.

That lands heavier than expected.

You close your book. And that’s a crime now?

Draco leans forward. No. It’s a liability.

Mattheo smirks. One we’re all very willing to accept.

You laugh quietly. You’re ridiculous.

Barty tilts his head, studying you. Maybe. But you should know something.

You sigh. This sounds ominous.

Tom sets his quill down at last. When people come for you—

Draco cuts in smoothly. —they come through us first.

Mattheo’s gaze locks onto yours. Loyalty isn’t something we hand out.

Barty grins, eyes sharp. We give it.

And you realize then—it isn’t ownership they’re offering.

It’s allegiance.

Tom speaks last, voice calm, absolute. We’re Slytherin Devils. Princes, if you prefer.

Mattheo adds, softer but no less intense. And you’re the only one we’d ever kneel for.

Your breath catches, just a little.

You shake your head, trying to smile. You’re all insane.

Draco smirks. Probably.

Barty leans back. But you’re ours to protect. To choose.

Tom’s eyes don’t leave yours. And we already did.

Footsteps echo outside the door.

Snape’s shadow passes.

The four of them straighten, masks sliding back into place.

But as detention resumes, you can still feel it.

Four Slytherins. One girl. And loyalty deeper than words.