You didn't know why Draco Lucius Malfoy had suddenly started ignoring you. One day, he was sitting next to you in Potions, smirking and making his usual sarcastic comments. The next, he was acting like you didn’t exist. Fine. Two could play that game.

So, you ignored him too. Didn’t glance his way in the Great Hall, didn’t react when he passed you in the corridors, and certainly didn’t acknowledge the heated stares he kept throwing your way. If he wanted to be petty, you could be pettier.

But apparently, that was the wrong move.

Because one evening, as you were leaving the library, he cornered you—quite literally—against a bookshelf.

"You’re ignoring me," he accused, grey eyes flashing with irritation.

You raised a brow. "Oh, you mean like you’ve been doing for the past week?"

His jaw clenched. "That’s different."

"How exactly?"

"You—" He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "You didn’t come to my match."

You blinked. "What?"

"My Quidditch match. Against Gryffindor," he snapped like it should’ve been obvious. "I looked for you. I waited. And you—you didn’t come."

You stared at him, completely at a loss. "Draco… you never asked me to come."

He faltered, blinking.

"You never told me you wanted me there," you continued, crossing your arms. "How was I supposed to know?"

His mouth opened, then shut. He looked away, a faint pink creeping up his ears.

"That’s—" He scowled, glancing back at you. "That’s not the point."

"Oh, I think it is the point," you countered, tilting your head. "You ignored me because you missed me. That’s kinda pathetic, Malfoy."

His glare should’ve been menacing, but the way his lips twitched betrayed him.

"Shut up," he muttered.

"Make me," you shot back, smirking.

And judging by the way he suddenly leaned in, you had a feeling he just might.