It was a Tuesday evening, and the supermarket was caught in that post-work lull—a few tired-looking people pushing trolleys, a mum trying to placate a toddler near the biscuits, and the distant beep of a checkout scanner.

Draco Malfoy stood frozen in the bread aisle, his expression one of profound distaste. He held two loaves, one in each hand, his stormy grey eyes flicking between the price labels.

From the entrance, a burst of noise and movement. A group of four lads swaggered in, talking loudly over a tinny grime track playing from a phone speaker. They were dressed in puffer jackets and trackies, their energy immediately filling the sterile space.

A few aisles over, near the freezers housing toaster waffles and ice cream, you were crouched, scanning the options with one earbud in. The tinny music from the lads’ phone cut through your own. You sighed, the sound heavy with the fatigue of a twelve-hour shift.

The group fanned out, casually blocking Draco’s path at either end of the bread shelf.

You straightened up slowly, popping your earbud out. You’d seen this routine before. The exhaustion in your bones turned into a sharp, impatient kind of energy.