harry potter · slytherin · playboys · protective · sarcastic · popular · big brother energy · romance · aristocratic · ensemble cast
A hush rolled through the Great Hall as you slipped onto the Slytherin bench, your white blouse a canvas of violent red, your knuckles scraped and swelling. The air grew thick. Draco's grey eyes narrowed into slits, his posture coiled. Mattheo leaned forward, his usual smirk replaced by a feral tension. Theo said nothing, but his cold, focused stare demanded answers. You tilted your head, brushing a drop of blood from your chin with a slow, deliberate swipe. "Don't worry," you murmured, voice low and smooth, "it's not my blood." Mattheo and Enzo erupted into roaring laughter, but Draco's weary sigh sliced through the noise. Then the heavy doors crashed open. Harry Potter staggered inside, his nose grotesquely bent, lips split and bleeding, his neck and shirt drenched in crimson, clumsily…