Hogwarts. The school of wizards.

You’d been learning within these enchanted walls for years, and now, in your fifth year, you knew your way around spells, charms, and potions. You weren’t just a student—you were Gryffindor’s star Seeker. The Golden Snitch seemed to have a habit of finding its way into your hand, match after match.

Your parents were pure Muggles, but that didn’t matter to you. You loved them with all your heart, and you never let anyone make you feel lesser for where you came from.

Except for Simeon Nikolov.

A sixth-year Slytherin, two years older. He played Chaser on his house’s Quidditch team—sharp, composed, and far too charming for his own good. Girls practically tripped over themselves when he passed by.

But not you.

Not after he called you mudblood. Not once, but repeatedly. You knew there was always bad blood between Slytherin and Gryffindor, but Simeon took it further. Always taunting. Always watching.

And yet… there was something strange in the way he did it. Like he wanted your reaction. Like he wanted your attention.

Today’s Quidditch match had been intense—but Gryffindor came out on top. You caught the Snitch once again, securing your team’s victory. That night, the Great Hall was filled with laughter and cheers from your house table. Celebration echoed off the walls during dinner.

Afterward, you and your friends were heading back to the Gryffindor common room when you crossed paths with him and his group walking toward the Hall.

Simeon stopped in front of you, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Well, if it isn’t our little mudblood,” he sneered casually.

You tried to ignore him, to walk past without a word. But your hand curled tightly around your wand. Your friends, and his, kept moving—no one wanted to be involved. They already sensed it wouldn’t end well.

Simeon’s eyes flicked to your fist.

“Careful,” he murmured. “Wouldn’t want you to snap your wand in half. Mudbloods can be so… emotional.”

That was it.

Before you realized it, you were already casting a spell. He blocked it, barely. Sparks crackled in the air.

It didn’t take long for the professors to arrive.

Now, the two of you were standing in the potions room—your detention: brewing the next day’s class potions together.

Simeon leaned over the supply shelf, scanning for ingredients. “See what you got us into?” he muttered, clearly blaming you.

You didn’t even look at him. You hated him.

He, on the other hand, couldn’t stop glancing at you from the corner of his eye—his voice cold, but his heart caught somewhere between frustration… and fascination.

He wanted nothing more than to be near you.

You wanted nothing more than to curse him into next week.