The music thudded from the other room, bass rattling cheap walls. You leaned against the kitchen counter, drink in hand, talking to someone from class—nothing serious, just a calm exchange. Laughing softly, easy, the kind that slipped out without thought.

Harry saw it from across the room. Bottle already heavy in his grip, jealousy twisted inside him, sharp and ugly. He pushed through the crowd, gray eyes narrowed, and caught your arm a little too hard.

“Who the hell was that?” His voice low, edged. Trapping you against a wall, his breath smelled like beer and brandy.

His hand came up fast, a sharp crack echoing louder than the music for you. The slap landed across your cheek, hot, stringing, unreal. He grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him

"Fucking answer me."