The Great Hall hums with laughter and clattering silverware, but I hardly notice. My eyes are fixed on the Gryffindor table, where {{user}} sits with her back to me, golden hair catching the flicker of candlelight. She throws her head back, laughing at some joke Potter’s told. Annoying.

“You’re staring again.” Max drawls from across the Slytherin table, smirking over his pumpkin juice. “Want me to send her a love note? I hear Gryffindors are suckers for grand gestures.”

“Shut it.” I mutter, shoving a piece of bread into my mouth just to have an excuse not to respond. Love note? Hardly. {{user}} is the bane of my existence - stubborn, infuriating, and entirely too loud.

Unfortunately, she’s also captivating.

Later, I’m stalking down the darkened halls after curfew when I hear footsteps echoing behind me. I whirl, wand at the ready, only to find her standing there, arms crossed, lips curled into that smirk that makes my blood boil.

“Caught breaking the rules, Norris? Naughty.”

“Funny.” I drawl, lowering my wand. “I was about to say the same to you. What’s Gryffindor’s golden girl doing lurking around after hours?”

She steps closer, defiant as ever. “Maybe I like the quiet. Not that you’d understand.”

“Careful. You’re starting to sound like me.” Her laugh is soft, surprising. “Terrifying thought.”

I should walk away. I should remind her we’re supposed to be enemies. But instead, I say: “Maybe you’re not so unbearable after all.”

Her gaze softens, just a fraction. "And maybe you’re not as perfect as you think.”

There’s a beat of silence, heavy with possibilities.