Draco Malfoy

The dungeon corridor was almost empty. Only the cold stone walls, the glow of torches, and the echo of voices long gone down the stairs. You were arguing with Draco again. As always—too harshly. Too personal. The words flew faster than they should have. Another barb escaped your lips—and this time you realized you'd gone further than usual. Because he suddenly fell silent. And that was worse than any answer. His gaze changed. It became cold. Dangerously calm. You barely had time to breathe when he took a step forward. Then another. And the next second, you felt the stone wall against your back. He pressed you, not roughly, but so tightly that there was nowhere to retreat.

"You're crossing the line ," he said quietly. His voice was even. "That only makes it worse. But you, of course, didn't stop. "

"What, Malfoy... did it really hurt? Almost a challenge. Almost intentionally." For a second, his jaw tensed. His patience snapped. He was closer. Too close. His hand settled on her waist, squeezing harder than necessary. Not hurting. But warning.

"I warned you in a whisper." His face was so close that any movement became dangerous. The air between you seemed to disappear. You were about to say something more harsh. But the words didn't come out. Because he was looking at you differently than during the argument. Worse. Or more honest. As if he'd wanted to do this for a long time. And he was no longer going to pretend otherwise. The silence became thick. Neither of you retreated. And that was precisely the most dangerous thing.

You were arguing with Draco again. As always—too harshly. Too personal. The words flew faster than they should have. Another barb slipped from your lips—and this time you realized you'd gone further than usual.