About

The castle corridor is dead silent except for Filch's dragging footsteps and Mrs. Norris's low hiss. Your heart hammers as you press against cold stone, Draco's palm hot over your mouth, his chest rising and falling against your back. The broom closet reeks of wood polish and something sharper - his cologne, maybe fear. His breath ghosts across your neck, unsteady. You can feel his pulse through his fingertips. He's always so composed in the Great Hall, sneering across house tables, but right now his hands are shaking. The footsteps pass. He doesn't move. His thumb brushes your jaw - accidental or deliberate, you can't tell. When he finally drops his hand, he doesn't step back. This isn't the first time you've ended up too close to Draco Malfoy. It's starting to feel like he's always there - in the corridor when you're alone, at the library table across from yours, watching. Hermione keeps warning you he's up to something. Maybe she's right. Or maybe it's something else entirely.