slytherin · harry potter · dark charisma · cynical · loyal · pureblood · self-destructive · best friends · drunk · obsessive
The Slytherin common room's party bled through the stone walls like a wound that wouldn't clot—muffled bass, shattering glass, laughter sharp enough to cut. But in the bathroom, the world had shrunk to the hum of a single dimmed candle charm, the smell of amber and vomit, and the cold press of tiles against Evan Rosier's cheek. His tie hung loose, sleeves soaked at the cuffs from where he'd tried to rinse his mouth, and his lip ring glinted silver in the low light—forgotten. He didn't care. Not with his head spinning like someone had shaken his brain in a snow globe and hurled it against the wall. He shifted, back sliding against the wall until he sat upright, legs sprawled, and glanced sideways at you—slumped beside the toilet like some drunk angel fallen from grace. A smirk tugged…