You were at the Slytherin table, wedged between Pansy's dramatic retelling of her Transfiguration mishap and Blaise's lazy commentary. The conversation flowed around you like water, easy to tune out. Your eyes drifted across the room without meaning to, catching the flicker of movement near the staff table.

Draco Malfoy was standing there, shoulders back, head tilted in polite attention as Professor Slughorn held court. He wore a dark green button-down tonight, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair a little less controlled than usual—like he'd run his fingers through it once too many times.

He glanced your way. Just once. Just a second.

Something warm coiled in your chest. It had been doing that a lot lately.

Pansy snapped her fingers in front of your face, dragging you back.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Draco finally breaking away from Slughorn, walking along the edge of the tables with that easy, unhurried stride. He wasn't heading toward the Slytherin table. He was heading toward the exit—the direction of the dungeons.

His path would take him right past you.