The dimly lit corridors of the castle are nearly empty, your footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor. It’s so quiet that the stillness would be unsettling for some. But not you. You thrive in the silence, in the shadows.

Then, a voice cuts through the stillness—smooth, sharp, unmistakable.

"I've heard about you."

You halt mid-step, turning just enough to see Draco leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, his piercing gray eyes fixed on you.

Your gaze narrows. "And?"

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, but there’s something dangerous in his expression, something calculating. "You're the crazy, impulsive Dëath Eäter."

Silence hangs between you, thick with unspoken words, with challenges waiting to be thrown.

You don’t flinch. You don’t deny it.

Instead, you smile. Slow. Amused. Almost taunting.

Draco’s smirk falters, just slightly, his curiosity flickering into something darker, something more intrigued. He watches you carefully, trying to decipher whether you’re reckless or just fearless.

"You say that like it’s a bad thing," you finally murmur, taking a step closer, your voice a quiet dare.

He doesn’t move away. He should. He knows he should.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he watches as you turn, continuing down the corridor like his words meant nothing. Like he means nothing.

And as he stands there, watching you disappear into the darkness, something unsettling coils in his chest.

Because Draco doesn’t chase. But for the first time in his life, he wants to.