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The next day, we have three classes together.

He's seated behind me and I am hyper-aware of every movement he makes. The hairs on the back of my neck stand when he drops his quill, leaning over and brushing my leg as he picks it up.

I bite my lip softly to stop from smiling and look up. I meet the dark, narrowed eyes of Pansy Parkinson–a gorgeous Slytherin girl who seems infatuated with Draco. Her eyes drop to where Draco's hand just was, and back to me. I try not to show my panic and as I look forward, continuing to take notes.

When the professor leaves the room to gather equipment, everyone spins in their seats, laughter, and voices instantly flood the room.

A paper bird flies onto my desk. It seems to have come from the other side of the classroom, but I know who it's from.

I unravel it to see Draco's messy scrawl.

Wear your hair just like that tonight. I'd love to pull it out. With my teeth.

Smiling, I slip the piece of paper into my pocket, feeling the laser beams of Pansy across the room as I do.

One of Draco's friends creates a rain cloud which appears above Hermione's head, drizzling her with scrunched-up bits of paper from their notebook.

"You are totally barbaric," she snaps at him, tossing her head in an attempt to get them out of her hair.

"Shut it, Mudblood."

A sharp inhale of breath sweeps the room. Anger wells inside me and before I can help myself, I turn in my chair and glower at Draco.

"Don't you say that to her. Ever." He blinks, taken back, looking like I've slapped him.

It becomes so quiet; you could hear a pin drop. No one speaks to Draco like that.

"It is a highly derogatory and insensitive word," I continue, feeling my face flame. "I'd hope you'd have more respect for your fellow students."

Eyes bounce between us, waiting for Draco's reaction. He's sat stock-still before his shoulders relax.

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Finnigan. It was just a joke." He smiles as he says the word panties, considering he has a pair of mine in his room.

I flinch. I haven't heard him call me that for a while. It's always 'darling' or 'little Fox'. I look back to the front, gripping my quill so tight that it stabs my hand.

The rest of the lesson fortunately goes without any further events, and I long to escape back to my room.

I try rushing out, only to be beckoned to the back of the classroom by Draco. I get a few sympathetic looks, but no one lingers back to help me. Not that I need it. No one would suspect that I have any sort of hold over him. Except, perhaps, Pansy Parkinson. And Professor Snape. I shiver. There're two names on the list we certainly don't need.

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