The common room is too quiet.
The fire crackled low, green flames licking at the stone like they're afraid to get too bright. I was curled into the corner of the couch, knees to my chest, staring at absolutely nothing. I had stayed partly because I didn't want to listen to Theo and Astoria, partly because I also wanted to be alone.
I kept replaying his face in my head. His eyes. The way his shoulders slumped.
That's the part I can't shake. Not the shouting, not the accusations, those were familiar. It was the moment after. When he had nothing left to throw at me. When he finally looked... tired.
I dragged a hand down my face and exhaled slowly. My chest felt tight, like I swallowed broken glass.
We're terrible together.
I meant it. I still mean it. But it still hurts.
Footsteps echo from the boys' staircase.
I stiffened instinctively, every muscle locking into place. For half a second I consider pretending I'm not here, slipping up to my dorm before he can see me. But it's too late. I hear him pause, like he's spotted me, like he's deciding whether to turn around.
He doesn't.
Draco stepped into the common room, hair slightly rumpled, sleeves rolled up like he couldn't stand the feeling of constriction anymore. He looked...unwell. Paler than usual, with shadows carved beneath his eyes, and his jaw tight like he'd been grinding his teeth for hours.
His gaze found me immediately.
We stared at each other from opposite ends of the room, the space between us heavier than the sinking feeling in her chest. Neither of us spoke. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until it felt louder than our shouting ever was.
He moved first.
Slowly, cautiously, like I might bolt if he stepped too fast. He doesn't sit next to me, doesn't even touch me. Instead he lowered himself into the armchair across from the couch, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles are white.
"I didn't mean what I said," he murmurs.
My throat tightens. "You already said that."
"I know." He swallows. "I'm saying it again."
I look away, my eyes tracing the silver embroidery on the cushions, anything but him. "You always say it again."
There's a sharp inhale. "I know."
I glance back despite myself. He's not looking at me anymore. He's staring into the fire like it's the only thing keeping him there.
"I shouldn't have called you that," he says quietly. "I shouldn't have said any of it."
"No," I reply, my voice steadier than I feel. "You shouldn't have."
Silence falls again, heavier this time. My fingers twist into the fabric of my shirt.
"I was scared," he admitted
That makes me freeze. Draco Malfoy doesn't admit fear.
"Of what?" I ask, before I can stop myself.
His jaw flexes. "Of losing you."
I let out a hollow laugh. "That's ironic."
"I know." His eyes flick up to mine, raw and unguarded in a way that makes my chest ache. "That's the worst part."
I shake my head slowly. "You don't get to say that after tonight."
"I'm not trying to get anything," he says quickly. "I'm not asking you to forgive me. Or to... fix this." His voice cracks on the last word, just barely. "I just—couldn't stay upstairs knowing you were down here thinking you're right."
