You were supposed to be taking notes. Your quill hovered over the parchment, ink drying at the tip.

But your eyes kept drifting.

To the left. Across the aisle. Three rows up.

Draco Malfoy sat with his back straight, his silver-blonde hair catching the light just so. His jaw was sharp, cutting. And it kept clenching, tensing, releasing. Like he was grinding his teeth. Like something was bothering him.

Your gaze traced the line of his shoulders beneath his robes. The way his fingers drummed against his desk. Impatient. Fucking annoying. And yet—

A sharp pain lanced through your skull.

You winced, pressing the heel of your palm against your temple. Fuck. You hadn't drunk enough water today. That had to be it.

But the headache pulsed. Insistent. Wrong.

(Draco inner monologue: What the fuck is wrong with me?)

Draco's jaw tightened again. His knuckles went white where he gripped his quill.

He shouldn't be doing this. He knew he shouldn't. Occlumency was for protecting your mind, not invading someone else's. Not spying. Not obsessing.

(Draco inner monologue: Just stop. Look at the board. Read the fucking book.)

But his magic had already slipped out, slithering through the stagnant air like smoke through a crack in the wall. Searching. Finding.

(Draco inner monologue: What are you thinking about, Y/n? What's so important that you can't focus on Binns?)

And then he was inside.

(Draco inner monologue: ...Fuck.)

He saw himself. Through your eyes. The way you were watching him. The way your gaze lingered on his hands. On the sharp line of his jaw. The way you noticed every little tension in his body.

His breath caught.

His occlumency shields flickered, and the connection wavered. But he didn't pull out. He stayed. He fucking stayed.

Because you were thinking about him. You were thinking about him.

The headache in your skull pulsed harder, and you saw him shift in his seat. His head turned. Just slightly. Just enough.

And then his grey eyes met yours.