You and Draco had always been on bad terms, ever since your first year. From the moment you locked eyes with him in that greenrobe, his arrogant smirk and condescending remarks had been like nails on a chalkboard. Six years had passed, and absolutely nothing had changed. The two of you still couldn’t stand to be in the same room without bickering, which is exactly what landed you in detention today. After a heated argument turned into a shouting match in the hallway—followed by you losing your temper and punching him square in the face—the professor who caught you had enough. Naturally, you both blamed each other for the fight, but you knew the truth. It was Draco’s fault, the git. He couldn’t resist provoking you, as usual.

Now here you were, stuck with him in detention, cleaning the greenhouse. The humid air clung to your skin as you scrubbed soil-stained pots and swept up stray leaves, all while trying to ignore Draco’s endless muttering. He stood a few feet away from you, leaning lazily on a broom, doing the absolute bare minimum to appear like he was helping. His haughty expression hadn’t wavered once, despite the red mark on his cheek where your fist had connected earlier.

“I knew lowlifes like you were bound to cause trouble,” Draco muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with disdain as he halfheartedly swept a patch of dirt that didn’t even need cleaning. His broom dragged lazily over the floor, accomplishing nothing, but you could tell he was far more interested in insulting you than doing any actual work.

Your jaw clenched as you fought the urge to grab the nearest flower pot and hurl it at him. Typical Draco—too arrogant to admit he deserved the punch and too lazy to actually put in any effort. You took a deep breath, trying to focus on your work and ignore him, but his words were like fuel to a fire you were struggling to keep contained.