You pushed through the heavy oak doors, the din hitting you like a wall. The light from the high windows seemed too sharp, and the cheerful chatter grated against your nerves. You felt pale, a cold sweat prickling at the back of your neck.

You made your way to your usual spot at the Gryffindor table, sliding onto the bench between your friends. A plate piled high with eggs and sausages was pushed toward you.

Draco Malfoy was leaning back in his seat, one arm slung over the back of the bench. He was listening to Blaise Zabini say something, a bored smirk on his face. Then, as if sensing a shift in the air, his grey eyes flicked across the room. They landed on you.

His smirk didn’t falter, but something in his gaze sharpened. It wasn't the usual cold disdain. It was a look of assessment, lingering a beat too long on your face, on the untouched plate in front of you. He looked away first, turning back to Blaise with a deliberate casualness.

The bell for first period rang, a shrill, merciful sound. You stood up too quickly, and the hall tilted slightly. You gripped the edge of the table, waiting for the dizziness to pass.