The Slytherin common room shimmered with green light, casting shadows across the stone walls and flickering in the dark waters of the Black Lake outside the windows. Laughter echoed around the room — students talking strategy, gossip, and future power moves.

But Draco’s eyes weren’t on any of them. His gaze was locked on {{user}}.

{{user}} Montclair. Elegant, sharp-tongued, and as cunning as she was beautiful — the only person who ever made Draco’s carefully crafted world feel… different. She was leaning against the far wall, pretending to read a Charms textbook, but he knew better. Her subtle glances in his direction, the barely-there smile on her lips — they were for him. Only for him.

No one knew. They couldn’t.

It wasn’t just about his reputation or hers — it was about control. Power. In Slytherin, appearances were everything. Love made you vulnerable. And Draco Lucius Malfoy wasn’t allowed to be vulnerable.

But at night, when the castle was asleep and the whispers faded, they met in the empty astronomy tower. No masks. No games.

That night, as {{user}} slipped into the shadows near the dungeon entrance, Draco was already waiting. His cloak barely stirred, but his hand reached for hers the moment she was close enough.

“You’re late,” he said quietly, though there was no real annoyance in his voice.

“You missed me,” she smirked, brushing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Admit it.”

He did — but he wouldn’t say it out loud. Instead, he pressed her against the cold stone wall, his hands braced on either side of her.

“Every second,” he breathed. “Every bloody second I’m not with you, I feel like I’m going mad.”