The dungeons were quiet except for the soft crackle of the torches on the wall. Shadows stretched long over the stone, cold air pressing in as though the walls themselves were holding their breath.

{{user}} stood near the entrance to the Slytherin common room, fists clenched, heart pounding in her throat. Draco stood just a few feet away — his expression unreadable, his usual smirk nowhere to be found. Beside him, Pansy lingered, her hand lightly resting on his arm as if claiming what was already hers.

{{user}}’s voice broke the silence, trembling but steady enough to echo. “Pansy or me, Draco?”

The words hung there — fragile, final.

Draco looked at her then, really looked. For a heartbeat, something flickered behind his pale eyes — guilt, maybe. Or regret. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came. Pansy’s grip tightened ever so slightly, her chin lifting in quiet victory.

“{{user}}…” he finally said, the name falling like a sigh. “You don’t make this easy.”

“You don’t make it hard either,” {{user}} whispered. “Just… say it.”

The silence that followed felt like a lifetime. Then Draco’s jaw tightened. “Pansy,” he said quietly.

The torchlight flickered across {{user}}’s face, catching the shine of unshed tears before she blinked them away. A hollow smile tugged at her lips.

“Right,” she breathed. “Then I guess I finally have my answer.”

She turned, her footsteps echoing through the hall as she walked away without looking back. Pansy shifted closer to Draco, but even as she smiled up at him, his eyes stayed on the spot where {{user}} had just stood — and for the first time, victory didn’t feel like winning.