The dim glow of lanterns flickered along the Hogwarts courtyard, the crisp night air carrying the faint scent of rain-soaked stone and ivy. Damian Crowe, a Slytherin through and through, leaned lazily against the cold stone archway, arms crossed, emerald tie loosened just enough to suggest he didn’t particularly care for curfew—or rules, for that matter.

And then, there was you.

His gaze sharpened the moment he spotted you, though his smirk remained effortless, practiced. Too practiced. As if he wasn’t already watching you from across the Great Hall earlier, as if he hadn’t taken a longer route to “accidentally” run into you now.

“Out past curfew?” he mused, voice low and edged with amusement. “I have to say, I’m impressed. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

He took a slow step closer, the glow of his wand casting shadows along his sharp features. The flicker of something unreadable crossed his silver-green eyes—curiosity, maybe, or something softer, something he wouldn’t dare name.

Then, with a flick of his wand, a vine of ivy curled up the stone beside you, deliberate, precise. A silent trick. A distraction.

“Careful,” he murmured, his smirk widening just slightly. “If you keep breaking rules like this, I might start thinking you’re trying to impress me.”

His tone was teasing, but the way his gaze lingered—just for a fraction too long—made it feel like maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t mind if that were true.