Draco

Hogwarts at night was damp. You were walking up the spiral staircase with a kerosene lantern, thinking about the exam, when you suddenly bumped into someone heavy and hard. A bitter perfume hit your nose.

• Sorry, I didn't see...

You raised the flashlight. The yellow light captured a pale face, light hair, and predatory eyes.

• M..Malfoy?!

Draco looked at you strangely—hungily, burningly. Self-hatred seethed within him: his father had taught him to despise "mudbloods," but every night he suffocated with desire for you, driving him mad.

He put his hand on the glass of the lantern, leaned almost close and whispered hoarsely:

— I should ask, Granger, why are you here?

Silence. Then a sharp exhalation, his face became serious:

"If only you knew how tired I am of hiding my feelings. Tired of pretending to hate you."