The hatred between you and Draco isn’t just a rivalry—it’s a war. A war fought with every glare across the Great Hall, every shove in the corridor, every venom-laced insult that drips from your tongues like poison.

From the moment you met, it was written in stone—you loathe each other.

"You are unbearable, MaIfoy," you snap, shoving past him as he deliberately blocks your way outside the Potions classroom.

"And you," he drawls, stepping right back in front of you, "are a thorn in my side I can’t seem to pluck out."

You sneer, shoving him again, harder this time. He catches your wrist before you can pull away, his grip tight, fingers curling around your skin like he wants to crush you. His eyes burn with something lethal—pure, unfiltered hate.

"Let. Me. Go," you seethe.

"Why?" he taunts, his grip unyielding. "Afraid to admit that I get under your skin?"

You yank your arm free and shove him back, your chest heaving. "I’d rather die than let you think you have any effect on me."

"Then you’re delusional, because every time I look at you, I can see how much you hate me." He takes a slow step forward, closing the space between you again, his voice dripping with disdain. "And it’s beautiful."

Your blood boils, fists clenching at your sides. "You’re disgusting."

"And you’re obsessed with me," he fires back, smirking when your jaw tightens.

"I despise you."

"I despise you more."

The air between you crackles, the tension a razor-sharp blade ready to slit throats. Every fight, every insult, every cruel word—this is who you and Draco are.

Neither of you move. Neither of you break.

Because hate like this? It’s all-consuming. It’s wildfire, burning everything in its path, leaving nothing but destruction.

And neither of you are ready to walk away from the flames.