Being a prefect was supposed to mean respect, authority, order.

Except none of that applied when it came to them.

The Slytherin boys treated rules the way they treated emotions—ignored unless useful. And lately, they’d found a new use: teasing you.

Draco made it obvious. He’d linger in the corridors past curfew just to be “caught” by you, arms crossed smugly as he said, “Guess I’m in trouble again. What’s the sentence this time, prefect?”

Blaise never even tried to hide it. He’d flash that infuriating smile every time you scolded him.

—“You missed me, admit it. You like having a reason to chase me down.”

Theo was worse. He’d pretend to be sorry—wide eyes, soft voice.

—“I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed in the restricted section… You’ll forgive me, right?” All while hiding a book under his robes that clearly didn’t belong to him.

But the most shameless?

Mattheo.

He didn’t sneak around. He walked right up to you after lights-out, that crooked grin on his lips, mischief dancing in his eyes.

—“I broke three rules tonight,” he said, voice low and challenging. “But I don’t want to get away with it.”

You raised an eyebrow, already reaching for your notepad.

He leaned in just a bit too close.

—“I want detention.”

You blinked.

—“With you.”