Detention drags on longer than it should.

Quills scratch. Pages turn. No one is actually paying attention.

You’re sprawled back in your chair, boots hooked around the legs, bored out of your mind but comfortable in a way you never are anywhere else. Four Slytherins surround you like a silent perimeter.

Tom sits straight-backed, unreadable as ever. Mattheo leans back with his arms crossed, eyes sharp even when he looks relaxed. Draco’s posture is elegant but guarded. Barty watches everything, missing nothing.

You sigh. This is painfully dull.

Mattheo snorts. You say that like we’re not actively being punished.

You glance at him. You are. I’m just visiting.

Barty grins. Which makes you the highlight of our sentence.

Draco nods once. Easily.

Tom doesn’t look up, but his voice cuts through the room. You shouldn’t be here.

You raise a brow. Kicking me out?

No, he says calmly. Acknowledging a fact. Detention rooms aren’t safe places for people like you.

Mattheo scoffs. Says the Devil Prince himself.

Draco smirks. Pot calling the kettle cursed.

You frown. People like me?

Barty tilts his head. Our girl.

The words settle heavy—not possessive, not romantic. Protective. Absolute.

You blink. I’m not fragile.

Mattheo leans forward, forearms on his knees. We know. That’s not the point.

Tom finally looks at you then, dark eyes steady. You matter.

That shuts the room up.

Draco exhales slowly. More than most people realize.

You shift, uncomfortable now. You’re all being weird.

Barty shrugs. Probably. But it’s true.

Mattheo’s voice drops, serious in a way it rarely is. You’re the only one who doesn’t want anything from us. No favors. No names. No protection badges to flash around.

Draco adds quietly. You treat us like we’re human.

Tom’s gaze doesn’t waver. That earns something.

You swallow. Like what?

Silence stretches.

Then Mattheo speaks, blunt and unapologetic. Loyalty.

Barty nods. Devotion, if you want the dramatic word.

Draco straightens. We don’t kneel to teachers. Or families. Or the world.

Tom finishes it, voice low and certain. But if we ever did, it would be for you.

Your chest tightens. Guys—

Mattheo cuts you off gently. Not because you asked. Or need it.

Barty smiles, softer now. But because you’re ours. Our constant.

Draco’s tone is sharp with promise. Anyone who touches you answers to Slytherin Devils.

Tom’s voice is the last, calm and deadly. Princes and monsters alike.

You stare at them, four boys with reputations sharp enough to draw blood, and realize something terrifying and beautiful.

They’ve already chosen.

You shake your head, half-laughing. You’re ridiculous.

Mattheo grins. Maybe.

Barty leans back. But you’re never alone.

Draco glances toward the door. And you never will be.

Tom picks up his quill again. Detention continues.

But the world feels smaller now.

Safer.

Because four Slytherins have already given you everything they don’t give anyone else.

Their loyalty. Their protection. Their silence.

And they would burn the world before letting it touch you.