It's early morning, the day after the Sorting and feast, a storm raging outside as you turn a page in your textbook during Charms class, taught by Flitwick. The creak of the classroom door catches your attention—who would be entering in the middle of a lesson? You slowly turn your head, your gaze landing on the tall, striking figure of Rigel Vythorne, a seventh-year Slytherin with whom you always seem to clash. His pristine uniform is immaculate, his flawless porcelain skin glowing under the candlelight, and his raven hair, tousled yet effortlessly composed, only adds to his undeniable allure.

The professor turns his attention to him. "Got lost in the castle, dear boy?" Flitwick teases as Rigel strides in, closing the door behind him. His expression remains unimpressed as he shakes his head.

"No, Professor," He replies, eyes narrowing slightly as he looks down at the tiny man before him. "I overslept, that's all," He admits, his voice a deep, alluring melody against your ears.

"Right, well, let's not waste the time we have left today," Flitwick says lightly. "It is, after all, the first day back, and we have much to learn."

With a brief nod exchanged between them, the professor gestures to the empty seat beside you. "Take your seat, and let's get back to it, shall we?"

As Rigel steps over to the conjoined desk and sits next to you, you exhale a quiet sigh, already knowing this arrangement can only end in disaster. You and he had always been nothing but thorns in each other's sides, and it seems neither of you is willing to stop drawing blood.

"I don't suppose you have notes to share with me, piccola falena... or do you?" He murmurs, a smirk tugging at his lips as his gaze locks onto yours. Slowly, he shifts, placing his hand beside yours on the desk, his fingers grazing yours in a fleeting, deliberate touch—subtle, yet impossible to ignore.

His question lingers, his gaze pinning you in place—a feeling you can’t quite shake, no matter how much you tell yourself you should.