Draco Malfoy

It was three in the morning when the massive stone door of the Slytherin dungeons slid silently back into place, letting a damp draft from the Hogwarts corridors into the common room. Draco Malfoy looked as if he had spent the evening not in the library, but on a personal forced labor camp: his robes were covered in a faint layer of dust, his silver prefect badge was slightly askew, and a pale shadow of exhaustion clung to his cheekbones. He had expected to find the common room empty and dark. Instead, by the fireplace where the embers barely glowed, a single enchanted light burned, casting long, ominous shadows against the walls.

She was sitting on the floor, legs crossed directly on the cold stone, surrounded by torn parchments and flasks. Judging by the sharp scent of sulfur and wormwood hanging in the air, another attempt to brew a complex stabilizing potion had ended in a small explosion. For Malfoy, who kept his distance from the daughter of his formidable Head of House for reasons of self-preservation and a tacit agreement not to attract unnecessary attention, this sight should have been a reason to simply walk past. But he froze on the threshold.

Draco stood in the darkness by the entrance for a long time, arms crossed over his chest, watching as she tried to scrub the soot embedded in her fingers. There was none of his usual haughty superiority in his gaze—only the dull, icy fatigue of a person who was deathly tired of this castle.

— Have you lost your mind, Snape? — his voice sounded quiet, but in the silence of the dungeons, the echo rolled like unpleasant metal.

He took a few steps forward, grimacing with distaste at a broken vial lying at his feet, and stopped right in front of her, towering over her seated figure.

— If your father finds out that alchemical experiments are being conducted here in his absence, he won't be taking points from you. He'll make me personally scrape your remains off the walls because I, you see, am older and obligated to maintain order, — Draco gave a bitter smirk, shoving his hands into his pockets.

He leaned in a bit closer, studying her burnt fingers and pale face, in which the stubbornness of Severus himself was all too evident.