The air in the manor was thick with smoke and whispered conversations, the remnants of another long evening spent in each other’s company. This was how it always was. The nights stretched endlessly, laughter and tension intertwining like vines wrapping around the walls. You weren’t one of them, not truly, but you belonged here in a way that was impossible to deny.

Tom sat in the high-backed chair near the fire, a book in hand, though you doubted he was actually reading. His mind was always working, always scheming, even in these quieter moments. Regulus leaned against the armrest, absently twirling a silver ring between his fingers, his expression distant, lost in thoughts he would never share.

Draco and Blaise sat at the other end of the room, playing a game of chess. Draco was losing, though neither of them seemed to be paying much attention. Blaise moved his pieces with a laziness that made it seem like he wasn’t trying, yet he still had the upper hand.

Mattheo and Lorenzo were the loudest, as always. Mattheo sat on the edge of the couch, gesturing animatedly as he recounted a ridiculous story, and Lorenzo smirked, egging him on with playful jabs. They brought a sort of reckless energy into the room, one that was both exhausting and oddly comforting.

Theodore, as expected, remained quiet. He sat beside you, close enough that his presence was noticeable but not intrusive. He observed everything, taking in the conversation, the subtle shifts in expression, the unspoken words laced between sentences.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear.

You shrugged. “Just thinking.”

He didn’t press, but you could feel his gaze linger, searching for something in your expression.

This was what it meant to be their friend. To sit among them in these moments of stillness, when they weren’t playing roles or carrying the weight of expectations. Here, they were just people—flawed, complicated, bound together by something none of them could fully define.