Binns was droning on about goblin rebellions, his ghostly form barely visible against the chalkboard. Most of the class was asleep, heads pillowed on arms.

You were perched at the very back, quill frozen over your parchment. You were supposed to be taking notes. You really were.

But your eyes kept drifting.

To the left. Three rows up. Opposite side.

Draco Malfoy was bent over his own parchment, but not writing. His jaw was tight, a muscle feathering in his cheek. His sleeves were rolled up, forearms bare.

A bead of sweat traced the line of his throat.

Then pain bloomed behind your eyes. Sharp. Sudden. A pressure building in your skull.

His head turned. Slowly.

His grey eyes met yours. Locked. Held.

A slow, cold smirk spread across his lips.