Draco stood at the edge of the courtyard, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat, collar upturned against the wind. The moon was indifferent, draped lazily across the clouds above, casting its light on everything except the one thing he couldn’t stop looking at—you.

You laughed like you hadn’t cried in the library two nights ago. Laughed like your mascara hadn’t run down your face, ink-dark rivers trailing a girl he used to know. Your head tilted back, mouth red, eyes glassy, surrounded by the same pack of boys that haunted you every other evening. They orbited you like moths with no fear of fire. Stupid. So stupid. They didn’t know it wasn’t heat you offered—it was the freeze that came after. The bite of morning regret and forgotten names.

Draco knew all of them by name. Knew how they looked at you. Knew how they touched you—casual hands on waists and wrists like they had the right. Like they’d earned it.

He lit a cigarette with a charm that trembled faintly at the end, watching the smoke curl from his lips like resentment. He didn’t even smoke. Not really.

You didn’t look at him anymore. Not properly. Not like you used to—when it was just the two of you, legs pressed together on the Astronomy Tower steps, sharing silences that weighed more than words. Back when your laughter was softer, rare, something earned, not thrown out like cheap perfume to whatever half-wit wanted it.

You were wrecking yourself, and everyone was applauding.

Everyone except him.

He watched as one of them leaned in too close—some sixth-year Hufflepuff with floppy hair and the attention span of toast—and your smile faltered for half a second. Just a flicker. Barely there. But he saw it. Because he always did.

Draco crushed the cigarette under his heel and moved.

He crossed the stone courtyard like something inevitable, robes whispering behind him, jaw clenched so tightly it ached. When he reached you, you were still laughing, but it cracked under the weight of his stare.

“Come with me.”

It wasn’t a request. He didn’t care who heard.

You blinked. Confused. Still performing.

“I said—now.”

And then he turned, not bothering to check if you followed. You always followed. At least, the real you would’ve.

He didn’t stop walking until the walls swallowed you both, until it was just the echo of footsteps and fury down the old corridors. He stopped by the window where the light slanted in like a blade, and he finally looked at you.

Not the version you gave them. You.

“You’re going to kill yourself doing this,” he said, voice low, razor-edged. “And I’m the only one too goddamn stupid to look away.”

His fists trembled at his sides, nails digging crescents into his palms. He didn’t touch you. Wouldn’t—not like they did. Not unless you asked. But his whole body was screaming toward you.

“You think this makes you powerful?” His laugh was hollow. “Drinking until you forget your name, letting boys paw at you like you’re theirs? You’re bleeding and none of them even notice.”

His breath caught. He swallowed it back.

“But I do.”