The common room crackled with the low buzz of conversation and the soft crackle of the emerald-green flames in the hearth. You sat near the corner of the room, your friends scattered around, each lost in their usual chatter. It was one of those rare quiet evenings when life felt just a little bit normal.

Until it didn’t.

Astoria’s voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and biting. "So don’t blame me when you wake up in 10 years just like your dad, old and drunk and going nowhere."

The words hung in the room, acidic and venomous. Time seemed to stop. Your heart clenched, and the sound of the fire seemed to vanish, leaving only the ringing echo of her voice.

Lorenzo, who had been lounging with a book nearby, straightened instantly, his dark eyes narrowing in disbelief. "That’s messed up, Astoria," he said, his voice calm but cutting, laced with quiet disappointment.

Mattheo, who had been tossing a paper ball into the air, froze mid-throw. The ball dropped to the floor, forgotten. Draco, perched on the armrest of a nearby couch, stiffened, his usual cocky smirk wiped clean off his face.

Pansy whipped her head toward Astoria, her voice sharp and furious. "Astoria, what the h/ll is wrong with you?" she snapped.

Your chest felt tight, a lump forming in your throat. Every pair of eyes seemed to burn into you, but all you could focus on was the cold, bitter truth in Astoria’s words—or at least the part of you that feared she was right.

"Why would you tell me that…" you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Her face reddened, though it was unclear if it was anger, regret, or some bitter cocktail of both. She opened her mouth but quickly shut it again, faltering under the heavy stares of your friends.

Even Theo, who rarely involved himself in the group’s drama, spoke up from his quiet corner by the window, his voice low and measured. "That was cruel, Astoria. Even for you."

Astoria turned on her heel and stormed toward the dormitories, her sharp steps echoing off the stone walls.