Intense

Windowsill

Footsteps echoed down the mostly empty hallway, chatter filtering out as students ebbed from the hallway into their respective classes. The courtyard was barren, grass dull and wet from the temperamental weather. Though not far past lunch, the sun was hidden by clouds and the air dark with rain.

Draco twirled his wand mindlessly between his fingers, not paying much attention to where he was going. Deep in his head, he hadn't noticed the approaching figure in front of him until his shoulder roughly slammed into theirs. His wand thunked to the ground, rolling away from him.

Dark hair and a scarred forehead marred his view, Harry Potter's green eyes looking at him without a semblance of remorse.

"Watch where you're going, crackpot." Draco scoffed, bending down and reaching out to pick up his wand.

"You first, Malfoy." Harry hissed back.

Ron stood behind him, hand on his shoulder glaring at Draco.

Draco rolled his eyes. A mean smirk pulled at the left side of his mouth. "You taking weasel-bee on a date, Potter? What would that little mudblood think?"

"Big talk for someone that couldn't even see us coming down the hallway," Ron retorted, squinting at the blonde. "What would 'father' think?" He pushed his lower lip out in an exaggerated pout, voice taking up a mocking tone.

Draco blew a puff of air from his nose, stepping closer and shoving his face closer to Ron. "Why don't you go call Potter's little Hufflepuff boyfriend?" He spat. "Oh wait, you can't."

Ron's expression didn't change. "Professor Moody is right behind you."

Draco stepped back, head whipping around to look behind him; the empty hallway stared back at him. He turned back to Harry and Ron, face heating up. His pale cheeks reddened and huffed in rude embarrassment, his brows furrowed angrily.

A sneer etched into his expression. Wordlessly, he shoved past Ron and stomped down the hallway, turning the corner with another loud exhale. He tramped along, shoes loud against the floor. He clumsily shoved his outer robe to the side, fumbling to slip his wand into his pocket as he walked, only to lose his footing and tumble sideways.

No regaining his balance, he fell through a curtain into the windowsill behind it. He clambered to break the fall with his palms, landing with his fingers splayed out over the blue border of Ravenclaw robes. He snapped his head up.

There you were, book in hand and a look of shock and confusion painted on your face. Your blue tie was messily undone, wrinkled and bent where it spilled out the collar of your dress shirt and laid over your chest. Draco felt sick, almost jealous, and he wondered if his hands would blend in as well with the color of your sweater as the tie did.

He clambered upright, scooching so he wasn't sitting on your robes and set himself against the opposite side of the windowsill from you. Your lips pursed as you tried to find something to say, and it felt like the air had vanished from the windowsill entirely. Draco's face felt alarmingly hot, mind racing. He almost hoped you wouldn't say anything, just so he could better imagine what it would be like to kiss you.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, folding down the corner of the page in your book and closing it, setting it down against your knees.

He trailed off, eyes boring holes into yours. "Uh..."

The candle-lit lights high on the walls in the hallway outside did little to seep through the curtain covering the sill. His mouth hung open, taking in the way the gentle and dull lighting bled into your skin.

He forced it shut and swallowed. "What are you doing here?" He parroted.

"Hiding." You replied shortly, blinking at him.

It was a shame he couldn't see your eyelashes well, but the way the low light softened you made up for it more than enough. Your hair sat on your head perfectly, done in a way it hadn't been when the two of you had detention together. Draco was enamored, wholly too tempted to pet it, to pet you.

The light made it hard to discern the details of your clothes, and he'd never seen a uniform sweater look so comfortable on someone. Merlin, you were marriage material.

He cleared his throat, taking notice of the awkward silence that had settled over you. He broke eye contact, instead focusing on the clouds outside. "What are you hiding from?"

"Filch and the professors, obviously." You replied, adjusting the curtain Draco had messed up before opening your book back up. "So please keep it down if you're staying."

Draco felt butterflies fly up his throat. "You want me to stay?" His voice cracked as he said it, chasing the words out of his mouth.

He felt his stomach churn, but he couldn't stay embarrassed for long when you looked at him again. You silently stared at him for a moment, electing not to answer. You opened your book to the page you'd folded the corner of. With the angle and lighting, he couldn't tell much of what the book was outside of its blue-stained color. He admired your fingers where they held the book at its spine.

"What are you reading?"

"The dream oracle," You tilted the book so he could see the cover better. "It's for divination."

If you were someone like Granger, he would have been quick to make fun of you for ditching one class to study for another, especially for one he found as ridiculous as divination. But his lungs tightened at the picture his mind conjured of you reading his palms, and all he could think about was letting you tell him about tea leaves while running your fingers along the insides of his knuckles.

He was thankful for the darkness around you two, because there was no way he wasn't getting visibly more flustered by the second. "Do you like divination?"

"It's more tolerable than potions." You said with a smile, a joking lilt in your voice that made his knees feel weak. The butterflies in his chest were stampeding at the reference to the detention you'd met.

"I like potions, you're just bad at it." He muttered, hoping you could tell he was joking too.

You laughed through your nose, smile stretching further into your face. "I hate potions, you're just good at it."

The parody made him nauseous. Nobody ever bantered with him like this, not lightheartedly and without malice. A part of him wanted to stay in the windowsill with you forever, follow you out of it, march into the headmaster's office and demand that stupid hat switch him to Ravenclaw so he can follow you to your dorms and sleep in your bed with you.

He takes a shaky breath to pace himself, and hopes no professors come down this hallway anytime soon.