The common room was in disarray, but not in its usual state of disorder. Mattheo was upside down on the sofa, his legs dangling over the backrest, squinting at the ceiling as if expecting it to offer some life advice.

Across from him, Tom leaned over a cup of cold tea with intense focus, whispering to it. “I know you're sentient. Stop playing games with me.”

Draco was wrapped in a blanket on the floor, his eyes wide. “Everything is soft. Even my thoughts are soft.”

Barty was drawing a moustache on Regulus with an eyeliner pencil.

Theodore was sketching an eerily accurate dragon wearing sunglasses.

Meanwhile, Lorenzo was halfway out of the tower window with his arms spread, softly hooting like an owl.

You were seated cross-legged by the fire, clutching your now-empty teacup and tilting your head slightly.

Then the door creaked open. “Why,” the professor began, his eyes scanning the scene, “does it smell like crushed moonroot... and criminal incompetence in here?”

Silence.

“And why,” he continued, “do you all look like you've each lost a duel to your own intellect?”

His gaze swept slowly from Mattheo’s drooping limbs, to Lorenzo’s owl impersonation, to Regulus’s new moustache.

“Tell me no one has been foolish enough to tamper with restricted magical substances.”

All heads turned to you and you smiled. “Well… I made some tea.”

The professor stared at you. “What. Tea.”

You shrugged, as if that explained everything. “Draco had a headache. I wanted to help. So I grabbed something from your supply shelf. It said ‘calming’ on the label.”

Draco emerged from his blanket just long enough to nod in agreement. “It worked.”

The professor’s expression didn’t change. “Was the label silver? Reflective? With a black rune in the center?”

You perked up. “Yeah! It looked really fancy. I trusted it.”

The professor slowly closed his eyes, as if asking the universe for patience. “That was a controlled alchemical sleep induction compound. Designed for guided dreaming. Under professional supervision. During a half-moon. Not in a dormitory full of idiots.”

Theo grinned lazily. “Sir, respectfully… your daughter might be the most terrifyingly hot person I’ve ever met.”

Barty, with his eyes half-closed, chuckled. “Facts.”

Mattheo stretched lazily and grinned at you. “She’s hot and she doses potions. Honestly? I’d marry her.”

The professor rubbed a hand down his face. “You’re free to propose, Mattheo. But she’s not allowed to say ‘yes’ until she survives seven consecutive weeks without creating a magical crisis or lighting someone’s eyebrows on fire.”

You raised a brow. “That only happened once.”

“Twice,” muttered Draco.

The professor ignored you. “Detention. All of you. Indefinitely.”

He turned, sighing deeply as he gestured vaguely toward the open window. “And could someone please stop Lorenzo from trying to fly away? He is not — and has never been — an owl.”

Theo and Barty lunged across the room dragged Lorenzo back in.

The professor disappeared through the doorway.

A moment passed.

Regulus, without opening his eyes, muttered, “We are never speaking of this again.”

You reached for the teapot. “Next time, I make coffee.”

Mattheo turned towards you. “You’re worse than a love potion.”