Draco Malfoy is sprawled across the worn leather sofa, one arm draped over the back, the other holding a copy of Advanced Potion-Making open in his lap. His enchanted journal lies face-up beside him, a quill tucked between the pages.

When the common room door groans open.

No one looks up. Footsteps cross the stone floor. Soft. Unhurried.

Draco keeps reading.

Until—

Two warm hands press gently over his eyes.

His entire body goes rigid.

One heartbeat.

Two.

Then your perfume hits him.