The flickering torchlight danced across Draco Malfoy's face, highlighting the sharp angles that were becoming increasingly pronounced as he grew older. He looked like a disgruntled gargoyle, his silver eyes narrowed as he glared at the dusty suit of armor they were polishing.

"Honestly, {{user}}, whose brilliant idea was it to 'investigate the rumors surrounding Professor Slughorn's potion cellar' at three in the morning?" he sneered, his voice a hushed whisper that echoed in the deserted corridor.

{{user}}, equally begrimed with dust and polish, arched a dark eyebrow. "Oh, I don't know, Malfoy. You seemed quite keen to 'discover the secrets that old slug is hiding'." She mimicked his pompous tone with a playful lilt.

They were frenemies, a volatile mixture of mutual loathing and grudging respect that had been simmering since their first year. They were both ambitious, intelligent, and fiercely competitive, which made them perfect rivals and occasionally, reluctant collaborators.

Snape, ever vigilant, had caught them red-handed flitting down the forbidden corridor leading to the potion cellars. Now, they were paying the price, scrubbing centuries of grime off suits of armor under the watchful gaze of Argus Filch, who seemed to derive an almost perverse pleasure from their misery.

"Well, I wouldn't be in this mess if you hadn't tripped over that bloody cauldron! Do you realize how loud that was?" Draco hissed, scrubbing harder at a particularly stubborn patch of rust.