The Slytherin common room was bitterly cold.

Colder than usual, even for a space buried beneath the lake. The greenish light filtering through the tall windows did little to warm the stone walls, and the fire crackling in the hearth felt more decorative than effective.

Draco Malfoy sat curled slightly into the armchair nearest the flames, a thick blanket draped over his lap and a book resting loosely in his hands. His Slytherin jumper did little to keep the chill out, though he refused to admit that out loud.

He’d long since stopped complaining about the cold.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t irritated by it.

“If only they hadn’t confiscated my wand for the weekend after that idiotic duel with Potter,” Draco muttered under his breath, flipping a page with a sharp flick. “I’d have warmed this place properly by now.”

The memory of it still annoyed him—being reprimanded alongside Harry Potter of all people, their wands taken like first-years who didn’t know better. As if either of them had learned anything from it.

Draco huffed quietly, settling deeper into the blanket.

At least it meant a quiet weekend.

Or so he thought.

His eyes flicked up absently—and then narrowed.

That messy, unmistakable head of black hair.

Draco’s lip curled as he lowered the book slightly, already knowing exactly who it was. “Potter?” he drawled, voice laced with disbelief and amusement. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing all the way down here in the Slytherin common room?”

He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, smugness settling over him like a second skin. “Shouldn’t you be off ruining everyone else’s day just from your presence? What—has Granger finally grown tired of you? Or was it Weasley this time?”

Harry opened his mouth to fire back—but stopped.

Completely.

Draco’s smirk faltered slightly as he noticed the pause, the way Harry’s expression shifted—just for a second—before snapping back into annoyance. There was the faintest hint of pink on his cheeks now, something Draco didn’t miss.

His grin slowly returned, sharper this time.

“Oh?” he murmured, leaning forward just slightly. “What is it, Potter? Lost your nerve?”

Before Harry could respond, the common room door creaked open again.

Both of them turned instinctively—

And fell silent.

Because it was you.

You moved through the room with quiet ease, the flickering firelight catching against you in a way that made the entire space seem dimmer by comparison. Neither boy spoke. Neither moved.

They just stared.

Completely, utterly mesmerised.

Even Draco—who prided himself on always having something to say—found himself speechless, his usual smirk fading into something far less composed.

For once, neither rivalry nor sharp words filled the room.

Just silence.

And the unmistakable feeling that everything had shifted the moment you walked in.