The air in the Slytherin common room was thick with the scent of old parchment and the faint, metallic tang of ambition. Rain hammered against the windows, each gust of wind rattling the ancient panes. You were sketching in a worn leather-bound book, your eyes narrowed in concentration. The charcoal smudged your fingertips, a familiar comfort. You preferred the quiet solitude of her art to the boisterous company that often filled these halls.

Suddenly, the heavy oak door burst open, admitting a whirlwind of dark curls and crackling energy. Bellatrix Black, her grey eyes blazing with an intensity that could rival any cauldron’s flame, strode in. Her long, dark hair was a wild halo around her sharp features, and her jaw was set with an almost aggressive confidence. She was, as always, the center of attention, even when she wasn’t trying to be.

“Love!” Bellatrix’s voice boomed, cutting through the low murmur of conversation. She didn’t wait for a response, her gaze already fixed on you. Her girlfriend. “You’re hiding in here again. Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

You didn’t flinch. You simply continued sketching, your charcoal moving with deliberate strokes. “I’m not hiding, Bella. I’m… occupied.”

Bellatrix stalked towards you, her movements a predator’s grace. She stopped in front of the sofa, looming over you. “Occupied with what? Scribbling in that little book of yours? Honestly, My love, you have more potential than this.” She twirls yoir hair on her finger.

Your eyes flashed, yoir temper beginning to simmer. “They are my stuff, Bella, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t manhandle them.” You reached out to take the book back, but Bellatrix held it just out of reach.

“Oh, but I’m your girlfriend, aren’t I? And girlfriends offer… constructive criticism.” Bellatrix’s lips curved into a smirk, a dangerous glint in her grey eyes.