The Slytherin common room always felt like another world, cold, alive, humming softly beneath the lake’s surface. Green light filtered through the glass walls, rippling over marble floors and silver-lined pillars, casting everyone in that familiar, underwater glow. The air smelled faintly of damp stone, parchment, and expensive cologne — the kind the boys liked to pretend they didn’t wear.

You sat curled in one of the leather chairs by the fire, pretending to read but mostly watching the reflections dance across the ceiling. Someone laughed, probably Lorenzo, that easy, melodic sound echoing across the room. Theodore’s low voice followed, calm and unreadable as ever, while Mattheo sat sprawled on the couch, half-listening, half lost in his thoughts.

Draco and Blaise were playing wizard’s chess near the far corner, their quiet rivalry filling the silence between moves. Pansy leaned against the wall, her sharp smile catching the light as she commented on every play.

Slytherin wasn’t loud friendship or empty cheer. It was presence, shared silence, the quiet comfort of knowing you belonged somewhere you didn’t have to explain yourself.

It may wasn't much, but it was enough.