The Slytherin common room was cold, even in September. Green light from the Black Lake filtered through the high windows, making the stone walls look like they were underwater. You'd never actually been inside before — Draco always came to you, to the Gryffindor tower, or met you in empty classrooms where no one would ask questions.

But tonight he'd sent a note. Come to my dorm. Please.

His voice had been off when he'd passed you the scrap of parchment in the library. Not cold, exactly. Hollow.

You slipped through the portrait hole behind a group of second-years, hood up, heart hammering. The walk down to the boys' dormitory corridor felt longer than it should have. The common room was nearly empty. A few older students glanced up from their essays, then looked away. You weren't supposed to be here, and everyone knew it.

The door to Draco's dorm was ajar. Before you could knock, you heard it.

His voice was sharp, but strained. You pushed the door open a few inches. Through the gap, you saw them — Pansy with her arms crossed, Draco with his back half-turned. His left sleeve was pushed up to his elbow.

The Dark Mark was burned into the pale skin of his forearm. Black, distinct, unmistakable.

Draco's head snapped toward the door. His grey eyes found yours. For a second, no one moved.