You weren’t going to wear the sundress. It had sat folded at the bottom of your trunk since September, a last-minute pack with the quiet, foolish hope that maybe Hogwarts would get a stretch of summer sun before term ended. And now that it had—now that the heat had soaked through the stone bones of the castle—you finally pulled it out.

You stood in front of the mirror longer than you wanted to admit, tugging at the hem, smoothing it over your hips, checking the way it moved when you turned. It was soft, with thin straps and a cinched waist—one of those easy, weightless dresses made for bare legs and lazy days. The kind of thing you always liked on other girls, but never quite knew how to feel in, yourself.

The uniform was unbearable in this heat, and you only had one class that afternoon. Hours to yourself. No one to explain anything to.

But still—still—you felt nerves crawling up your skin as you stepped into the courtyard.

The sun was brutal, hanging high and golden. Most students had scattered to shaded corners or flopped on picnic blankets charmed to stay cool. You made your way across the cobblestones, aiming for the far exit that led toward the greenhouses. The little willow grove just past them—that was your spot.

You were almost there when you heard them.

You turned before you meant to.

They were all sitting there. Theodore Not, Lorenzo Berkshire, and Mattheo Riddle. Perched on the stone ledge under the arched walkway, cigarettes burning lazily between their fingers. Postures draped and smug like they owned the whole bloody castle.

Which, socially speaking, they kind of did.

Theo had sunglasses on, the kind that looked absurdly expensive and out of place at a school like this, he leaned back like he was on holiday. Lorenzo’s blouse was unbuttoned just enough to hint at his collarbones, a gold chain glinting faintly as he laughed at something only half-funny. And Mattheo—Mattheo looked like trouble.

His dark curls were still damp from a post-practice shower, a few slick strands clinging to his forehead. His white dress shirt was undone at the top, his tie usually loose, was missing entirely, he stood there, cigarette in hand, rings on his fingers, looking more like trouble and bad decisions than ever.

You’d never really gotten along with them. Theo was tolerable on a good day. Lorenzo was smug. And Mattheo? Mattheo had made a sport out of getting under your skin. Always smirking. Always saying just enough to make your heart skip before turning it into a joke. You were fairly certain he enjoyed annoying you more than he enjoyed Quidditch.

"You owe us five galleons," Theo said to Mattheo.

“The fuck for?” Mattheo replied.

“For saying you’d go the whole week without staring at her,” Lorenzo deadpanned.

“I don’t stare” Mattheo started to object, laughing — just as you walked into view.

And it happened all over again.

Mattheo froze. Your dress caught the light as you walked, flowing with the movement of your hips. His gaze snagged like a hook, eyes softening, lips parting, cigarette forgotten halfway to his mouth. He didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until Theo and Lorenzo burst out laughing.

“So... you were saying?” Theo grinned.

“Not staring. Definitely not,” Lorenzo chimed in.

Mattheo flipped them both off and stubbed out his cigarette.

He followed after you.

“Oi,” he called, footsteps quickening behind you. “Where are you going ? Got a date or something?” He said trying to hide his feelings in his tone.