The fire crackled softly in the common room, its warmth filling the space, but it did nothing to ease the nervous tension sitting in your chest. You had grown used to their cold glares, their sharp words—used to being avoided or, worse, mocked.

But now, everything was different.

You shifted in your seat, glancing up to find Regulus already watching you. His expression was unreadable, but there was no hostility—only something quiet, something hesitant.

“You seem tired,” Theodore’s voice broke the silence. His tone was softer than you’d ever heard it before, and when you turned to look at him, there was something genuine in his gaze. Concern. “Are you sleeping well?”

You blinked. Since when did he care?

Draco, who was sitting beside you on the couch, hesitated before reaching for your wrist. His fingers were cool against your skin as he traced an absentminded pattern, as if the action itself soothed him more than you. “We were horrible to you,” he admitted quietly. “I don’t expect you to forgive us.”

Lorenzo, usually so full of himself, gave you a small, lopsided smile. “But we do hope you’ll let us make it up to you,” he added.

You swallowed, overwhelmed by the shift in their behavior. Mattheo, who had once thrived on teasing you, now sat beside you, carefully tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was featherlight, hesitant. “We don’t deserve your kindness,” he murmured. “But we’d do anything to earn it.”

Blaise exhaled deeply, resting his chin on his hand as he studied you. “We were blind before,” he admitted. “But we see you now. And we see how much we messed up.”

You looked at each of them, their eyes filled with an unfamiliar warmth—so different from the cruelty you had once known.

“I don’t know how to trust this,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

“Then let us prove it to you,” Regulus said, his voice barely above a murmur.

And for the first time in a long time, you considered letting them.