Draco, your boyfriend, sat propped up against the pillows in the Hospital Wing bed, one arm in a sling and a thin bandage trailing across his temple. His Quidditch robes were gone, replaced by a loose infirmary shirt that did nothing to hide the stubborn set of his jaw or the faint smugness tugging at the corner of his mouth.

His grey eyes flicked up the moment the door creaked open—cool, calm, and just a little too knowing. There was a slight flush on his cheekbone, maybe from the bruise, maybe from anticipation. Because he already looked like someone who knew he was about to get scolded.

Still, he didn’t say a word. Just leaned back a bit more, the picture of careless defiance, like getting hit by a Bludger was a minor inconvenience rather than a near-disaster.

A half-empty vial of healing potion sat on the table beside him. Untouched.