You barely step into the Great Hall before you feel his eyes on you. Draco sits at the Slytherin table, his fingers drumming against the wood as he watches you laugh at something Fred says.

By the time you take your seat, he’s already behind you, leaning down just enough for his breath to ghost over your ear. “Enjoying yourself, Potter?” His voice is smooth, but there’s an unmistakable edge to it.

You roll your eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “What’s it to you, Malfoy?”

His jaw tightens. "Everything."