Draco was in the common room, and the moment he saw you, his eyes narrowed and a hint of a smirk appeared on his lips. “You ignored me at breakfast,” he said suddenly, his voice low, but charged with irritation.

“There were professors everywhere,” you said quickly, keeping your voice soft, almost a whisper. “I couldn’t exactly make a scene and smile at you across the table.”

His smirk deepened. “You’re allowed to look at me,” he said. “I don’t bite.”

“That’s a lie, and you know it,” you shot back, trying not to glance at him too directly, though your gaze inevitably flicked to his lips.

“You keep biting your lip,” he observed, leaning forward just slightly, as if drawn magnetically towards you.

“It’s a nervous habit,” you murmured, tugging at your sleeve to hide the flutter in your chest.

“It’s driving me insane,” he breathed.

“That sounds like your problem,” you said, trying to keep your voice level, though the warmth in his gaze made it impossible to feel steady.

Draco’s expression darkened. “Trust me,” he said, his voice dropping lower, “I’ll make it your problem too.”

You wanted to step back, to put space between you and him... but your body betrayed you, drawn to him in a way you could not resist.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he murmured.

“You know I can’t say that,” you whispered, shaking your head.

“You already did last night,” he countered, his voice softer now, almost reverent. “Several times.”

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks, and memories of stolen touches, whispered confessions, and the secrecy of your nights together hit you in waves.

“Sometimes I wonder if we’re making a mistake,” you admitted softly.

Draco’s eyes softened, just a fraction. He leaned closer, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Loving you,” he murmured, “is the first thing in my life that feels right.”

You wanted to argue, to remind yourself of the risks, of the secrecy... but you couldn’t. Not when he was standing there, so close, his presence demanding you acknowledge everything you’d been feeling all along.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this,” you whispered, almost to yourself.

“Doing what?” he asked, tilting his head.

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely to the air between you.

He chuckled softly. “You don’t have to wonder,” he said, stepping closer. “I’ll take care of that for you.”

You swallowed hard, trying to muster the will to step back, to regain control, but it was useless.

“You think you’re the one with control here?” he asked softly, almost teasing, almost daring you to challenge him.

“I think…” you bit your lip, nervously, habitually, “…sometimes I think I’m losing it.”

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I plan on making sure that you are mine.”