The bedroom was dimly lit, the only glow coming from the soft golden light of your reading lamp. You were nestled under the covers, a book propped open in your hands, the pages whispering as you turned them. Beside you, Draco had fallen asleep unusually early—curled on his side, his breathing slow and even, one arm draped loosely across your waist.

You smiled to yourself. He’d been exhausted after a long day, and though he’d tried to stay up with you, he’d barely made it past 7 p.m. before sleep claimed him.

You turned another page, the quiet of the room wrapping around you like a blanket—until you felt the bed shift.

You glanced over, expecting to see Draco stirring. But instead, he sat up slowly, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused. His expression was blank, his movements oddly mechanical.

“Draco?” you whispered, setting your book aside.

He didn’t respond. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, moving with eerie calm toward the door.

You slipped out from under the covers and followed him, heart thudding with a mix of concern and curiosity. He padded barefoot down the hallway, muttering something under his breath—something about potion ingredients and a missing quill.