Draco stood by the window in his room, his gaze distant as he examined the great lake. His fingers absently traced the rim of his goblet, lost in thought. The soft crackle of the fire beside him provided the only sound, making the room feel eerily quiet.

His mind was focused on the upcoming Quidditch match, but his thoughts kept drifting to other, more distracting matters. He barely heard the soft footsteps approaching until a pair of arms suddenly wrapped around his waist from behind.

His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, his instinct told him to react — to push the intruder away. But then he felt the warmth of the body against his back, the familiar scent and something else he couldn’t quite place, and he relaxed. A smirk tugged at his lips as he tilted his head, recognizing the feeling instantly.

"You’re lucky it’s you," Draco said, his voice a mix of annoyance and affection.