Esmerelda Hallow was a storm in a uniform.

Teachers feared her wit, classmates whispered about her cunning, and even Mildred Hubble knew better than to underestimate her.

So when she approached you in the hallway—eyes flashing, robes snapping behind her like a warning—you expected to shrink, to stumble, to say something polite.

You didn’t.

“Move aside,” she snapped, her voice sharp as a spell ready to misfire.

You stayed where you were. Arms crossed. Feet planted.

Her eyebrows shot up. “You—are not intimidated?”

You shook your head. “Not by you. Go ahead.”

She blinked. Then narrowed her eyes. Then… tilted her head, studying you like you were a puzzle she couldn’t solve.

“Most people—most people—run the second I get like this,” she said, her voice low, dangerous. “Why… why aren’t you?”

You shrugged, trying not to grin. “I’ve met worse.”

Her lips twitched. Was it a smile? You weren’t sure.

“Worse than me?” she demanded, taking a step closer.

You didn’t flinch. “Depends on your definition of ‘worse.’”

The hallway was suddenly quiet. Even the portraits seemed to hold their breath.

For the first time, Esmerelda didn’t have the upper hand. Her carefully polished confidence wavered, if only for a second.

“You’re… bold,” she said finally, voice quieter than usual. “I don’t like that.”

You grinned. “Good. Neither do I.”

Her eyes locked on yours for another heartbeat—calculating, unsure, and just slightly unsettled. Then she turned on her heel, robe flaring dramatically, and walked away.

But you knew she’d remember.

The girl who didn’t fear her… that was dangerous. Even for Esmerelda Hallow.