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THE DIM, FLICKERING LIGHTS of the common room cast shadows across the walls as laughter and chatter filled the air. gryffindors and slytherins mingled in an uneasy truce, a rare sight thanks to the surprise party that had sprung up after the quidditch match earlier that day. the house rivalry was temporarily shelved, replaced by excitement and mischief.
you stood near the back of the room, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of curiosity and caution. it wasn't every day that gryffindor and slytherin students shared a social event without trading insults or hexes. still, you felt a prickling sensation on the back of your neck, a sign that trouble wasn't far off.
and trouble had a name: mattheo riddle.
you spotted him across the room, leaning against the wall with an air of nonchalance that belied his reputation. dark curly hair falling over his forehead, sharp features twisted into a smirk, and those eyes - stormy and intense - scanned the crowd like a predator surveying its prey. he was trouble incarnate, and you had spent enough time at hogwarts to know that crossing paths with him was a recipe for disaster.
it wasn't that you hated each other, exactly. but being from opposing houses - you, a gryffindor, and him, a slytherin - had put you on opposite sides of the fence. you'd traded barbs and glares over the years, each interaction sharpening the tension between you. yet, there was something else beneath the surface, something neither of you wanted to acknowledge.
a crush.
you weren't blind; you'd caught the way his eyes lingered on you a second too long, the way his smirk softened when he thought no one was looking. and you weren't innocent either, feeling your heart skip a beat whenever your gazes met, though you'd never admit it out loud.
but tonight, the tension was unbearable. perhaps it was the quidditch victory, the shared firewhiskey, or the fact that everyone seemed to be in the mood for trouble. whatever the reason, the atmosphere was charged, and you felt it crackling around you completely.
"alright, alright, everyone! gather 'round!" a voice called out, pulling you from your own thoughts. it was pansy parkinson, her usual mischievous grin plastered across her face as she held up a bottle.
"oh, merlin," you muttered under your breath. "not spin the bottle."
indeed, it seemed the night was about to take a predictable yet potentially disastrous turn. the students gathered in a circle, the bottle placed at the center like some kind of ominous omen. the rules were simple: the person the bottle landed on would have to spend seven minutes in heaven with the person who spun it.
you tried to stay in the shadows, hoping you could avoid the game altogether. but fate had other plans. the bottle was spun, and it twirled and twirled, the suspense palpable as it slowed down. your heart raced as it passed you once, twice, before finally coming to a stop.
