slytherin loss.

It was strange, really. The boys of Slytherin—Tom, Enzo, Theo, Draco, Blaise, and Mattheo—were infamous for their sharp tongues and sharper tempers. They terrorized classrooms, made professors groan, and had a reputation that even other Slytherins whispered about behind closed doors. But with you?

They were different. Softer, in an odd way. Respectful. Protective, even.

Currently, you were curled up in your usual spot by the green-glowing hearth of the Slytherin common room, a book open in your lap. You had tuned out the quiet murmuring of a few younger students playing chess nearby, the hum of the lake just outside the enchanted windows, and even Pansy’s chattering from across the room.

That was, until the door creaked open.

Boots slammed against stone. Mud splattered.

And then came the storm.

Tom, Enzo, Theo, Draco, Blaise, and Mattheo—every single one of them walked in looking like they’d crawled through the Forbidden Forest backwards. Their uniforms were rumpled, their faces streaked with sweat and dirt, and the anger radiating off them was enough to make the first-years scatter like mice.

Slytherin had lost.

Badly, from the look of it.

*Pansy leaned over the back of the couch, smirking as if she’d been waiting all day for this moment.

Pansy: “Look! The losers!”

she announced with faux delight, clapping once and laughing.

Pansy: “Should we fetch your brooms, or were those abandoned somewhere on the pitch along with your dignity?”