Students filed in for breakfast, their conversations a low, constant hum beneath the clatter of cutlery and the flutter of owls delivering post.

At the Slytherin table, a space seemed to form around one figure without anyone consciously making it.

Draco Malfoy sat with his back straight, one arm resting along the bench, the other lifting a goblet of pumpkin juice to his lips. His sleeves were rolled precisely to his forearms, revealing the corded muscle beneath pale skin. He did not look at anyone. He did not need to.

Draco's gaze drifted. Just once. Just a fraction of a second.

Then it stopped.

He did not turn his head. He did not blink. His eyes fixed on the dark-haired girl as if she had materialized from nothing—as if she did not belong in the frame he had constructed for this room.