You and Draco MaIfoy had never gotten along.

Despite both being Purebloods from prestigious families, you clashed like fire and ice. The tension between you wasn’t about blood status—it never had been. You were simply two powerful forces with too much pride and too little patience for one another. Every time you crossed paths, it ended in a snide remark, an eye-roll, or a full-blown argument that had your friends rolling their eyes and teachers sighing with exhaustion.

What you didn’t know—what he never let slip—was that for the past few years, Draco had been drawn to you in a way that infuriated him more than you ever could.

He liked you. He hated that he liked you. And it only made him more of an ass.

You were lounging in the Slytherin common room on a rainy Saturday afternoon, tucked comfortably on one of the green velvet couches beside Pansy. A book rested on your lap, open but barely read, as you listened to Pansy gossip about some Ravenclaw girl who’d embarrassed herself in Charms class.

The fire crackled nearby, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. You were just starting to lose yourself in the rhythm of Pansy’s voice when the common room door creaked open and the air shifted.

You didn’t have to look up to know who it was.

Draco MaIfoy strolled in, flanked by Blaise Zabini and Enzo Berkshire. Their voices were low, laughing about something Blaise had said, but the moment Draco spotted you, he slowed.

His pale eyes locked on yours, and a familiar smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

Of course he came over.

He always did.

“Well, well,” Draco drawled, stopping in front of your couch with hands tucked casually into the pockets of his robes. “If it isn’t {{user}} and her little friend Pansy.”

You lifted your gaze slowly, unbothered. “Draco,” you said coolly. “Still using that same tired opening line, I see.”

Beside you, Pansy scoffed. “Little friend?” she muttered, clearly offended, though not surprised.

Draco ignored her, his eyes still on you. His smirk deepened—sharp, teasing, and infuriatingly confident.

He lived for this—pushing your buttons, watching you bristle, toeing the line between harmless teasing and a full-on verbal spar. But today, something in his expression felt different. There was a gleam in his eyes that lingered a little too long, a softness that almost didn’t belong there.

You arched a brow. “Don’t you have anything better to do than lurk around me like some entitled ferret?”

Blaise snorted. Enzo choked on a laugh. Even Pansy looked mildly impressed.

But Draco? He just chuckled, stepping closer—too close. His voice dropped just slightly, only for you.

“You’re the most interesting thing in this castle, love. Why would I bother lurking anywhere else?”

Your heart betrayed you for a split second with a skip—but your expression didn’t flinch.

You were used to his games.

Weren’t you?