The large drawing room was bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun, casting long shadows over the room’s luxurious furniture. You were sitting on one of the plush armchairs, your body still weary from the events of the day.

Draco, however, was standing just a few feet away, arms crossed, eyeing you with that typical smirk of his. His presence always seemed to fill the room with an undeniable energy, and in this moment, that energy felt exhausting.

“Move,” you muttered, not in the mood for his usual teasing.

He looked at you with that same stubborn expression. “No.”

You sighed deeply, rubbing your temples. “Move, Draco.”

“No.”

You pushed yourself up from the armchair, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he wasn’t in the mood to argue today. But his stubbornness never let up.

You glared at him, stepping forward and placing your hands on his shoulders, and with a firm shove, you pushed him aside.

Before Draco could protest, your mother’s voice rang out from across the room. “Draco, please, leave your sister alone. She had a really rough day.”

You barely heard her; your focus was entirely on Draco, who was rubbing his shoulder where you'd pushed him.

“Oh, go—” your mother began, likely about to chide you for being too forceful, when your father, standing near the doorway, smirked.

“He moved!” he said with a dry chuckle, clearly amused by the whole situation.

Your mother just sighed, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “You two… always at it.”

Draco, though slightly disgruntled, shot a look at your father. “Did you have to encourage her?”

Your father, still with that smirk, merely raised an eyebrow. “It’s a good lesson, son. Sometimes, you have to move.”