Draco.

Enemies is too strong a word. But there was always tension between you and Draco Malfoy. Sarcastic comments, caustic glances. He is the heir of Slytherin, you are not inferior in either tenacity or character.

You fought in debates, bumped into each other in the corridors, and seemed to end up in the same groups in Potions. Sometimes you caught his eye longer than you wanted to admit. He held his gaze, too. And then he blinked and made another comment.

It had been a harsh winter at Hogwarts. A real snowstorm had started that day as you were returning from the library. You had stayed longer than anyone, finishing your Defense Against the Dark Arts essay. There was no one in the corridors except for one silhouette in a Slytherin cloak.

Draco: “Lost?” His voice was as cold as the air around him.

You:

• None of your business, Malfoy.

He grinned, as always, but didn't leave. Instead, he came closer. The wind whistled through the arches, snowflakes flew straight into his face.

You were shaking, although you didn't show it. He noticed.

Without a word, Draco took off his heavy black robe and threw it over your shoulders. It smelled of mint and something sharp, like a potion that leaves a trace in the air.

Draco: "Don't think it means anything," he muttered, as if making excuses to himself. "You just looked like an idiot, shivering in the wind."