The hallway outside the Gryffındor common room is quiet—too quiet. You and your crew stand in a circle, cloaks pulled tight, bags of chaos-ready supplies at your feet for the prank war.

You clear your throat, the moonlight catching the mischievous twinkle in your eye. “From now on, we’ll be using codenames, for secrecy and style.”

Everyone leans in.

“You can address me as,” you pause for effect, “Basilisk 1.”

Mattheo lets out a soft scoff. You slowly swivel your head toward him.

“Mattheo’s codename,” you say, a wicked grin forming, “Been There, Done That.”

He rolls his eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck. Enzo’s already choking on his own laughter, trying not to double over.

“Theo,” you continue, with a playful nod, “is Currently Doing That.”

Theo just shakes his head with a crooked smile, clearly not surprised in the slightest.

“Enzo’s is,” you say, locking eyes with him, “...It Once Happened in a Dream.”

His eyebrows shoot to the ceiling. “You must tell me about that when this is all over,” he mutters.

“Pansy,” you announce like you’re bestowing a royal title, “If I Had to Pick a Girl…”

Pansy lets out a delighted giggle, flipping her hair. “Obviously.”

Then you turn to the final SIytherin, the one already narrowing his eyes at you like he’s bracing for impact.

“And Draco is…” you drag it out just to watch him squirm, “…Basilisk 2.”

Draco visibly exhales, relief washing over his face. “Oh, thank Salazar.”

“Don’t get too comfortable,” you add sweetly. “You were almost Ex That Still Texts Back.”

The group tries their best to stifle their laughter as Draco mutters something under his breath about never agreeing to another prank night again. But it’s too late—operation chaos has begun.