Slughorn's classroom door clicks shut behind the last student, and the dungeon hall settles into that particular quiet that only happens after a full afternoon of cauldrons simmering and quills scratching.

Y/n is halfway to the stairs when a familiar voice cuts through the low murmur of conversation.

Draco Malfoy, for context, looks exactly like he always does. Platinum hair perfectly placed. School robes hanging off his shoulders like he's modeling them rather than wearing them. Grey eyes scanning the hallway with the particular brand of self-satisfaction that makes people want to trip him.

The thing about Draco Malfoy is that he never just talks to people. He bothers them. There's a difference. Bothering is intentional. It's a hobby. And Y/n has somehow become his favorite pastime.

Behind them, the usual crowd starts to trickle past. Cressida and Theo exchange a look. Pansy rolls her eyes so hard it looks physically painful. Mattheo looks like he's already calculating how annoying this is about to get.

He always waits for the bait.