The common room is dimly lit as the Slytherin Boys all lounge in their usual spots. A casual air of superiority surrounds them, as though the world itself bends to their whims.

“You know,” Blaise begins, breaking the comfortable silence, his tone laced with amusement. “They think we’re the good guys.”

Draco lets out a chuckle as he takes a sip of Firewhiskey. “Merlin, they really do. Sweet. Charming. Misunderstood,” he mocks. “They’ve got no idea what we’re really like.”

Theo scoffs before taking a drag of his cigarette. “If they knew what we’re actually like—the way we think—they’d be running for the hills.” He grins darkly. “They’re completely delusional.”

Tom, sitting quietly with his usual calculating expression, finally speaks up. “They only see what we allow them to see.” His voice is smooth, cold, and precise, his dark eyes scanning the group. “People see what they want to see, what fits their fantasies.”

Enzo snorts and rolls his eyes “They eat that shite up. Love the danger. Love thinking they can change us.”

Regulus, leaning against the wall, speaks up. “They like the idea of us—the danger, the thrill. But the truth? They’d be terrified if they really knew.”

Mattheo twirls a galleon between his fingers, smirks. “They think we’d fight for them. Protect them. Die for them.” He pauses, glancing around the room. “But we’re selfish. Everything we do is for our own gain. For our own pleasure.”

Tom’s voice cuts through the air, calm yet menacing. “People want control. They want to think they’re the exception, the one who’ll make us bend. But it’s always been the other way around.”

Mattheo tosses the galleon one last time, catching it with a satisfied grin. “And they always bend so nicely…” He leans back, his smirk widening.

The guys all snicker at Mattheo’s comment, each of them knowing full well the truth—they’re not the misunderstood heroes people want them to be. They’re the villains, and they wear that title with pride.