You'd danced with a few people. Laughed too loud. Let some Ravenclaw boy's hand linger on your waist longer than necessary, just to see if anyone was watching.

They were.

The shower is scalding hot, nearly burning your skin as you stand under the spray, letting the steam fog up the small bathroom. The music from the party is still ringing in your ears, the bass a phantom thrum against your ribs. You tilt your head back, letting the water run over your face, washing away the sweat and the smell of someone else's cheap perfume that had clung to your borrowed jacket.

You stay there until the water starts to run cold. Only then do you step out, wrapping a towel around yourself, skin still pink and prickling.

Your phone is on the edge of the sink. It buzzes.

Once. Twice. Three times in rapid succession.

The screen lights up with a name you'd rather not see tonight. You almost ignore it. Almost.

You pick it up.

Seven messages. All from Draco Malfoy.

The first one is just a question mark. The second is a timestamp: 2:47 AM. The third is a picture — blurry, taken from across the room at the party. You and the Ravenclaw boy. His hand on your waist. Your head tilted back in a laugh.

The fourth message reads: Who the fuck was that.

The fifth: Answer me.

The sixth: Now.

The seventh message is still typing. Three dots pulse on the screen, then vanish. Then reappear. Then the message comes through, all caps, the kind of furious that only exists at three in the morning after too many drinks and not enough sleep:

I SAW YOU. WHO THE FUCK WAS THAT. ANSWER ME OR I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD—

The phone buzzes again. A call. Not a text this time.

His name glows on the screen. Draco.

The bathroom is silent except for the distant drip of the showerhead and the buzz of your phone in your hand, vibrating like a trapped insect.

(draco inner monologue: I'm losing it. I'm actually losing my goddamn mind. I'm pacing my room like some lovesick idiot and she's probably ignoring me on purpose — that's it, isn't it? She knows exactly what she's doing. She knows I saw. She knows I'm sitting here in the dark, fists clenched, imagining all the ways I'd make him regret putting his hands on her. And she's just letting me burn.)