every line of you

They never names it. They never defined it. But touch her, and he will burn the entire world to ash.
Draco Malfoy was raised on a strict social script : dominate, discard, or destroy. He knew exactly how to break people.
Until Rhea Hastings.
Half British, Half-Indian, and the descendant of an empire of magic older and wealthier than the Malfoy name. Rhea is a ghost in the machine of Hogwarts. Standing with soft honey-toned skin and deep, unblinking expresso eyes, she doesn't play high-society games. She is autistic-navigating a world that is entirely too loud by retreating into the quiet geometry of her own brilliant mind. She spaces out in the middle of chaos, speaks with a sweet, terrifyingly literal clarity, and refuses to wear a mask for anyone.
To the rest of the school, she is aloof. An anomaly.
To Draco, she is a sickness. A total, consuming derailment.
What started at age twelve as a bitter frustration has mutated into a silent, terrifying obsession. Draco doesn't just look at her; he maps her. He memorizes the exact frequency of her fingers tapping her gold bangle when she is overstimulated. He tracks the precise second her mind floats away from her body. And slowly, without a single word of permission, his tall, lean shadow becomes her permanent border - a ruthless, physical shield blocking out the noise of the universe.
No promises have been made. No labels have been given. It is a dangerous, unnamed certainty.