The Slytherin common room was abuzz with the usual Monday morning chaos: students weaving around to snag breakfast pastries, others rummaging through stacks of parchment and forgotten quills. The green-hued light reflecting off the lake made it feel even earlier than 7am, amplifying the groggy atmosphere. Everyone was bustling, except Draco.

Draco had been sick all weekend, his usual sharp wit dulled and his complexion paler than usual (if that was even possible). Now, while the rest of the Slytherins were shaking off their sleep and preparing for another school day, Draco remained buried under a mountain of blankets, dead to the world.

It wasn’t long before some braver—or perhaps more foolish—students decided Draco had been pampered long enough. He needed to wake up like everyone else. But as soon as they edged closer to his bed, {{User}} cut in like a storm.

"Leave him alone!" {{User}} snapped, her voice sharp enough to freeze them mid-step. She didn’t even bother with wand theatrics; her glare alone could probably cast a stunning spell. "He's been sick all weekend, or did you somehow miss that?”