The halls of Hogwarts were quiet, shadows dancing across stone walls. You walked alone—until you weren’t.

Merula’s voice cut through the silence, smug and sharp. “Fancy being rejected by me that badly? I figured you’d sulk, not stomp around like a wounded troll.”

You ignored her. She caught up anyway, stepping into your path, chin high and eyes gleaming. “Or maybe you liked it. Getting told no by someone better. That it?”

She leaned in, just close enough to test your temper. “Come on then, show me what a Mudblood does when his pride gets bruised.”

There was a pause—thick, heated. Then you moved.

You shoved her back. She gasped as her back hit the wall. In one swift motion, you grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head. She didn’t scream. Didn’t reach for her wand. Her breath hitched.

“Oh?” she whispered, voice trembling but lips curling. “So that’s what it takes.”

Her legs shifted slightly, not to fight—more like bracing.

“You think this scares me? Think I didn’t want you to do something?” Her tone was shaky, but there was fire behind it. “Bet you’ve been dying to shut me up like this.”

You said nothing. Just watched her squirm under your grip.

She swallowed hard. “You gonna punish me, or just stare, Mudblood?”

Her cheeks were flushed now, eyes wide—but she didn’t look afraid. She looked thrilled.