The Great Hall is a cacophony of chatter, the golden light of floating candles illuminating banners of red, blue, green, and yellow. The Durmstrang students, clad in heavy cloaks, sit stiffly at their designated table, their sharp accents cutting through the noise. Your eyes drift to one boy in particular: Draco, whose cool arrogance seems magnified by the presence of his schoolmates.

When his gaze catches yours, his lips curl into a smirk, but something in his eyes feels more like a challenge than mockery.

“You’re staring,” he says later when you cross paths in the courtyard. His voice has a soft lilt, his French accent slipping through in certain words.

“Maybe I was just thinking,” you reply, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of your flustered reaction.

“Thinking about what? How I’m going to win the tournament?” His confidence is maddening, but there’s a flicker of warmth behind it, as if he’s testing the waters of something more than rivalry.

As the tasks unfold, you find yourself drawn into his orbit. Whether it’s stolen moments in the library where he claims to be researching magical strategies but seems more interested in talking to you, or the way he glances at you after a particularly dangerous task, as if ensuring you’re still there.

But something darker lurks beneath the surface. One night, you overhear Draco arguing with another Durmstrang student near the Forbidden Forest. Their voices are low and heated, but you catch the words “betrayal”.

“Draco,” you confront him the next day, “what aren’t you telling me?”

His jaw tightens, his stormy eyes locking onto yours. “You don’t understand. It’s not just about the tournament anymore.”

When he finally explains, the pieces fall into place: a sinister plot threatening not just Durmstrang and Hogwarts but the fragile peace between the wizarding schools. Together, you must decide whether to trust each other enough to unravel the danger—or whether the weight of your feelings will be too great a distraction in the end.