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There was someone crying in Myrtle's bathroom.
The sound, muffled though it was, stopped her in her tracks. It echoed inside her skull and made her dizzy. It was almost curfew, and she should have kept walking, but she felt rooted to the floor. Images of stray white feathers and red stained skin swam behind her eyes.
Her hand was at the door, pushing it open, before she realized. Her heart in her throat, she half expected to see herself there, red head bowed at the sink, scrubbing desperately at her hands. Half expected to meet her own eyes in the mirror before waking, mouth frozen in a scream, safe and surrounded by the curtains of her four poster bed.
But the head bowed over the sink was platinum, and the eyes that met hers in the mirror were icy silver, red rimmed and, suddenly, furious.
He whirled on her like a spitting cobra. His cheeks were still stained with tears, but there was no despair in his face now, only cold rage. “What the hell are you doing in here?!” His voice was a growl, rising to a yell, as he took a step forward.
Her near panic vanished anger rising to match his, and rather than stepping back – rather than allowing him to push her back – she straightened her spine and narrowed her eyes. “This is a girl's loo, Malfoy.” She spat his name, infusing each syllable with the same disdain he had always spoken hers with. “Why don't we call Filch and see who he thinks should be in here?”
Something flashed in his eyes – something she recognized as panic, before he took a breath and clenched his jaw. He took another step towards her, close enough that she could feel the air around him – warm and humming with energy. His eyes met hers, directly and deliberately, and they were the grey of a storm cloud. “If you tell anyone you saw me here -” he began, his words crisp and slow, an attempt to be menacing but she could hear the slight wavering in his voice.
“I wouldn't finish that sentence, Malfoy.” Her own voice was soft, her answering smile all sharp edges. “You wouldn't want to be on the wrong end of my hexes again.”
He stared back at her, the muscle in his jaw working, and she noted the razor sharp angle of his cheekbones, the dark circles under his eyes. She remembered Harry and his obsessive mutterings about Malfoy roaming the castle at all hours.
As if he could read her mind, Malfoy sank back on his heels, putting enough space between them that she could no longer feel his magic. “Whatever, Weasel.” He had resumed his normal drawl, one hand smoothing his hair. Like putting on a mask. “Just keep your mouth shut.” He straightened his tie and shoved past her, the door slamming behind him.
Her face in the mirror looked strange to her eyes, its expression somewhere between concerned and angry, blurred around the edges. She turned away. It was almost curfew.