brewing hatred (d.m)

Detention, Again

Ariana stood at the entrance of the dark, musty potion storeroom, glaring at Draco as he sauntered in behind her. Another detention—both of them sentenced to spend the evening organizing Professor Snape's overstocked potion supplies. The room smelled of damp wood, spilled ingredients, and something faintly metallic, like old cauldrons that hadn't been cleaned properly.

Draco flashed her a smug grin, flicking his blond hair out of his eyes. "You should thank me," he said, smirking. "You're lucky Snape let us off with just this."

Ariana rolled her eyes, her arms crossed defensively. "Lucky? You're the one who made that stupid comment in class. You got us both in here, Malfoy."

He leaned against the doorframe, examining his fingernails like he had all the time in the world. "Is that what you think? I'd say you've got a talent for winding me up, Green."

Ariana's blue eyes narrowed, but she bit back a retort. Arguing with Draco would only make this evening drag on. They had to sort through shelves full of potion ingredients, some of which looked like they hadn't been touched in years. The quicker they got through this, the better.

Snape had deliberately assigned them to work together, clearly thinking time spent alone might force them to get along. It was an obvious and, in her opinion, hopeless effort.

"Let's just get this over with," Ariana muttered, turning her back on him to start pulling jars down from the highest shelf.

Draco shrugged and wandered over to a lower section of shelves, his gaze scanning the various glass containers filled with everything from powdered dragon scales to pickled toad eyes. "You're in a real mood today, aren't you?"

"I wonder why," she snapped, reaching for a dusty jar of shrivelfig essence.

"You should try being nicer to people, Green," Draco said in that infuriating, arrogant tone of his. "Might make you less... angry all the time."

Ariana slammed the jar down onto the counter a little harder than necessary. "And you should try being less insufferable, Malfoy."

They continued working in tense silence, pulling ingredients from the shelves, wiping off dust, and organizing them by category. But the quiet didn't last long.

"You're putting those in the wrong order," Draco commented casually, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

"Excuse me?" Ariana turned sharply, glaring at him.

Draco raised an eyebrow, leaning lazily against the shelf he was working on. "Shrivelfigs should go next to the bezoars, not the dried billywig stings. It's basic potion organization."

Ariana clenched her teeth. "I've been sorting potion ingredients since I was a kid. I think I know what I'm doing."

"Clearly not," Draco drawled, pushing off the shelf and walking over to her section, all the confidence in the world in his stride. "Move over. I'll fix it for you."

"Don't touch it," she snapped, stepping in front of the jars. "I'm doing just fine without your help."

Draco ignored her and reached around her to grab a jar from the top shelf. Ariana stiffened when his hand brushed against her back, his fingers just barely grazing the fabric of her robes. It was so brief—barely a touch—but it sent a jolt of awareness through her. Her skin tingled where his hand had been, and her heart stuttered for a second.

Draco didn't seem to notice, or maybe he did, but he continued to reach for the jar as if nothing had happened. His body was close, far too close, and Ariana's pulse quickened. She swallowed, forcing herself to ignore the warmth radiating from him.

"Thanks for the help," she said sarcastically, trying to regain her composure.

"Anytime," Draco replied smoothly, his smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he returned to his side of the room.

Ariana exhaled slowly, trying to shake off the strange feeling that lingered after his touch. It was just Draco being Draco, she told herself. There was no reason to get flustered.

But as they continued working, the tension between them grew thicker. They argued about every little thing—the order of ingredients, the way she stacked the jars, even the amount of dust on the shelves. Yet under the surface, something else simmered. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"How do you survive with your attitude?" Ariana muttered after another spat, her voice laced with frustration as she scrubbed down an old cauldron.

Draco leaned casually against the counter, looking far too pleased with himself. "It's called confidence, Green. You should try it sometime."

She rolled her eyes but didn't respond. He was clearly enjoying this, taking every opportunity to get under her skin. But she wasn't going to let him win. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her flustered—at least, not any more than she already was.

The room fell into silence again as they worked side by side, and every now and then, Draco would brush past her, his hand accidentally grazing hers or his shoulder bumping into hers as he reached for another jar. Each touch sent a wave of heat through her, and she hated that it affected her so much.

After what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open, and Snape entered the room, his eyes sweeping over the two of them. He seemed to take in the tense atmosphere, the bickering that still lingered in the air.

"How... productive," he said dryly, his dark eyes narrowing. "It seems I was mistaken in thinking you two could work together without incident."

Neither Ariana nor Draco said anything, though Ariana was seething internally.

Snape waved his hand dismissively. "Detention is over. You may go."

Ariana didn't need to be told twice. She quickly gathered her things and strode toward the door, eager to escape the stuffy storeroom and the constant irritation that was Draco Malfoy.

But as she stepped out into the cool dungeon corridor, Draco was right behind her. She could feel his presence looming, his footsteps matching hers as they walked back toward the Slytherin common room in silence.

Just as they reached the entrance, Draco's voice broke through the quiet. "Same time next week, then?"

Ariana turned to glare at him, but before she could come up with a response, Draco shot her a teasing smirk and disappeared through the entrance, leaving her standing there, frustrated and confused.

She shook her head, trying to push the strange feelings swirling inside her aside. This was Draco. The same arrogant, insufferable Draco she'd always known.

So why was he suddenly getting under her skin in a way that felt so different?

With a sigh, Ariana headed to her dormitory, determined not to think about him for the rest of the night. But as she lay in bed later, staring at the ceiling, the memory of his hand on her back replayed in her mind, over and over again. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the feeling that something between them had shifted.