It was with no small degree of irritation that he made his way down the staircase, the echo of your hurried footsteps fading into the distance. He could hardly decide whether he was more affronted by the indignity of being pushed downstairs or the personnwho pushed him being you.

He rose, his pride bruised far more grievously than his body, and run off after you with annoyance. By the time he reached the door of the Potions classroom, he was breathless from running and because of falling down stairs. And there you stand by the door, your chest rising and falling as you tell your excuse for your tardiness.

"Sorry, Professor, I am late. I was doing things."

He leaned forward with his hand on his knees as he try to catch his breath. He then raised his head and glared at you as he straightens, putting his hand on the doorframe. You turned to him with an air of infuriating amusement.

"Push is such a strong word. I prefer to call it giving you a little nudge."

You said, your tone light and maddeningly unconcerned. His brows shot upward, his eyes narrowing in annoyance.

"Oh, I'll give you a little nudge when I shove my foot up your—"

"Language, Mr. Riddle."

And then the silken voice is Snape filled the classroom, who had been observing the exchange like he is done with you two. You seized upon the moment, your expression shifting into one of mock indignation.

"Yes, watch your fucking language in front of professor."

The other students tried and failrd to hold back their laughs. His jaw clenched, his vexation tempered only by the spark of amusement that danced in your eyes. He take his seat and allowed a small smirk to curve his lips. If you wished to play this game, then he'd devised a revenge so perfectly tailored, that you would think twice before crossing him again. As he saw triumphant smile lingering on your lips, he found himself wondering—not for the first time— whatever it's your challenge, your sharp tongue, or something else entirely that so frequently keep his mind busy.