Draco Malfoy stalked along the flickering torch-lit corridor of the Slytherin dungeons, robes swirling sharply behind him. The cool flagstones echoed under his polished shoes as he brushed past a knot of younger students who shrank away at the sight of his sneer. Somewhere behind, the sound of a door slamming punctuated the hush, Snape’s office, unmistakable. Draco barely hesitated, but the chill in his stomach deepened. He clutched his hawthorn wand tighter, knuckles white. Snape’s shadow emerged from the gloom, black robes billowing, eyes fixed on Draco with that unreadable, heavy stare. Draco masked the tremor in his voice.
“If you wanted to speak with me, Professor, you could have summoned me, instead of startling half the corridor.”
Snape’s mouth curled almost imperceptibly.
“I require a word. Now. Your family’s position grows… complicated.”
Draco forced himself not to flinch. The torches guttered, and the ancient stone seemed to press in closer, leaving him nowhere to hide.