Sunlight streamed through the enchanted ceiling, casting a pale gold wash over the four long house tables. The smell of bacon, eggs, and fresh pumpkin juice hung thick in the air.

Draco walked beside you, his shoulder brushing yours with every step. His hand found the small of your back, a casual, possessive gesture he'd done a thousand times before.

And then—right as you reached the bench—the great oak doors groaned open.

A girl stepped through.

She was pale, with dark hair pulled back in a simple ribbon, and she moved with the quiet, practiced grace of someone accustomed to old money and older halls.

Professor Slughorn was at her side, beaming, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder.

But you felt it before you saw Draco's reaction.

The slightest tension in his hand against your back.