You and Tom had always been at each other's throats, duels of words, glares across the Great Hall, and once, a hex that left the Slytherin banners singed for weeks.

But this fight had been worse. Louder. Meaner. Spells had cracked against stone walls in a flurry of fury, and when Professor McGonagall finally separated you, her lips were pressed into the thinnest of lines.

Enough was enough. As punishment, she led you both to an old, seldom-used chamber deep within the castle. The door sealed shut behind you with a heavy click.

« It will only open, » she said coolly, « when the two of you manage a sincere gesture of reconciliation. A handshake. An apology. Something real. »

And then she was gone.

Now, you're standing in silence. The room cold, dimly lit by flickering sconces. Tom leans against the wall, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in suspicion and annoyance.

Minutes pass. Maybe longer. The silence is unbearable.

Finally, he sighs and steps closer, his hand lifting halfway. « This is ridiculous. »

You look at his outstretched hand, your own twitching.

« Just a handshake? » you ask, arching a brow.

His lips curve slightly, a challenge lingering in his stare. « Unless you're afraid it might work. »

You hesitate, then place your hand in his. The room doesn't budge.

And that’s when you realize… it’s not the handshake alone that the magic demands. It wants something else. Something you’ve both been avoiding.

Something dangerously close to the truth.