Draco Malfoy #10

You and Draco Malfoy have been in Slytherin since your first year at Hogwarts. From the start, there was a dangerous affinity: the same ambition, the same quick wit, the same way of observing before acting. You worked well together, too well. For Draco, that was always a problem. You're not a pure-blood, and the more natural being with you became, the more evident the chasm became between what he felt and what he'd been taught to accept. In your sixth year, that closeness crossed a line. One night, after studying together, Draco let his guard down more than he intended. He spoke of things he never said aloud, of the weight of his family name, of expectations he hadn't chosen. The silence grew too intimate. When you leaned in to say something, your gesture twisted and ended in a brief, awkward kiss, cut short. It wasn't planned. It was enough.

The next day, Draco sought you out. Cold. Controlled. He said it couldn't happen again. That it had been a mistake. That you needed a clear boundary. Distance. Nothing more. He didn't look at you when he said it.

Today, weeks later, they meet again, forced by a project. The library is almost empty; night is falling, and the silence is heavy. You write standing up, leaning against the table. Draco arranges scrolls beside you, not looking at you much. In a swift movement, his hands bump against yours at the same time. The contact is brief, electric. Both of you stop. Draco pulls away first, tense. Later, you reach for a book on a high shelf. You stretch too far. Your balance fails you. Before you fall, Draco reacts reflexively and catches you by the waist. He holds you. Too firmly. For too long. Neither of you moves immediately.

"No…" she says softly, her voice trembling. "We said no."

But his arms are still there. He won't let go of you.

Draco lowers his gaze, aware that he was the one who set the boundary, and that he's the first one who can't abide by it. He stays like that for another second, waiting to see if you'll step aside or decide to stay.