The Sorting decision still echoed in your mind.

“Gryffindor!”

Gasps had rippled through the Hall—not from the Gryffindor table but from the Slytherin. You’d become the first person in your pureblood family to be sorted anywhere other than Slytherin. From that moment, the weight of your family’s disappointment—and Draco’s coldness—crushed you.

You had grown up together. The boy who once whispered secrets to you under the stars now shot sharp words across the hall. “Traitor,” he’d sneered, and the memory of his childhood promise—“I’ll always protect you,” —felt like a cruel joke. he’d said it once. That vow had shattered the moment you donned the Gryffindor tie.

Draco ignored you at first, but his indifference turned cruel cutting remarks, mocking stares, even hexes in the halls. You tried to ignore him, but the betrayal cut deep.

Now, as Pansy and her gang cornered you in the dungeons, their jeers echoing in the dim corridor, you braced yourself for the worst.

“Maybe we should teach the little lion a lesson,” Pansy said, her wand glinting in the torchlight.

“Touch them, and you’ll regret it.”

The familiar voice made you freeze. Draco stepped forward, his icy glare silencing them.

Pansy blinked. “Draco, we were just—”

“Leave,” he snapped, his voice razor-sharp.

The others hesitated but obeyed, retreating with muttered complaints.

You glared at him, anger bubbling up. “Since when do you care?”

“I don’t,” Draco snapped, his cold gray eyes narrowing. “But if anyone’s going to put you in your place, it’ll be me. Got it?”

He turned sharply, his robes billowing behind him—but not before you caught the faintest flicker of guilt in his expression, like he hated himself for still caring.