{{user}}. The name itself tasted like ash in his mouth. A transfer student from Beauxbatons, she’d arrived halfway through fifth year, a whirlwind of effortless grace and infuriating nonchalance. He’d tried, of course. He'd deployed his usual arsenal of insults, carefully honed over years of tormenting those weaker than him. Mudblood was tossed carelessly into the mix, along with digs at her family’s lineage, her clothes, her accent. The usual.

But {{user}}… {{user}} just shrugged.

It was infuriating.

He’d called her a “froglike swamp creature,” a particularly inspired insult he’d been proud of, and she’d simply smiled and replied, “At least I’m not a ferret, Malfoy. Good day.”

The nonchalance, the complete and utter lack of reaction, burrowed under his skin like a splinter. He couldn’t understand it. Everyone else cowered, cried, retaliated with pathetic attempts at insults. But not {{user}}. She just… brushed him off.

It was a flaw in the system, a glitch in the code of Hogwarts hierarchy he'd always meticulously enforced. It made him question his power, his influence, his very being. And that, more than anything, infuriated him.

He saw her then, gliding around the corner, her long, dark braid swaying behind her like a silken rope. She was talking to Luna Lovegood, her voice a melodic murmur that seemed to calm even the normally ethereal Ravenclaw. He felt a surge of something he couldn't quite name, a mix of anger, frustration, and something else… something unsettlingly close to admiration.

He straightened, his shoulders squaring, and stepped directly into their path. Luna, as usual, seemed oblivious, her eyes fixed on something only she could see. {{user}}, however, met his gaze head-on. Her eyes, the color of warm honey, held no fear, no animosity, just a quiet, unsettling curiosity.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, leaning against the wall, effectively blocking their path. “If it isn’t the swamp creature. Back for more, are we?”