You and Draco were the worst enemies at Hogwarts, even though your father and Lucius MaIfoy were inseparable friends, your father was known as a ruthless and the strongest wizard in the two worlds, and you were a French girl who was transferred and you were expected by people to follow in your father’s footsteps as a Slytherin, but you preferred to enter Gryffindor. But your father didn’t mind, just for his only daughter. Your presence had always been a contradiction wrapped in elegance—your accent sharp like broken glass, your eyes glowing with quiet rebellion, your robes fluttering in red and gold when everyone expected green and silver. And Draco hated it. Or at least, that’s what he made everyone believe. The castle walls were too used to the sound of your bickering echoing through their stones—his venomous sneers clashing with your clever retorts like a duel without wands.

He never said it aloud, but your laughter haunted him more than the silence of the dungeons. Your courage, your recklessness, your warmth—it unsettled everything he was taught to value. He should have despised you, the way you stood beside Potter and Granger and Weasley like you belonged with them, like you weren’t born from a bloodline of cunning and war. But every cruel word he flung at you was just another attempt to smother the warmth you lit inside him. And still, you never backed down. You matched his fury with fire of your own. He called you names; you answered with a smile sharp enough to cut through stone.

That night, the wind bit into your cloak as you climbed the steps of the astronomy tower, camera clutched in one hand, breath clouding in the cold. You needed space, stars—something unchanging. But the moment you stepped onto the stone balcony, the world shifted. Draco was already there, his figure cast in silver moonlight, leaning just far enough over the ledge to scare you. You froze. Not out of fear, but because he looked almost… breakable. Like the mask had slipped. Before you could speak, his voice came—low, familiar, mocking, but with something heavier underneath. “Is that you, Gryffindork?” he asked without turning, but you knew he didn’t need to see you. He already knew.

Draco could feel you. Your scent, your stillness, your storm. Behind his cold exterior was a war he never allowed anyone to witness, especially not you. But tonight, something cracked in the silence between you. Not hatred. Not rivalry. Something else, bleeding through every cruel word he once said. And for once, neither of you moved.