DAISY

The Malfoy heir arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow, glancing down at her with amusement. 

“Ice cream?” he drawled. “That’s all you want?”

“Yes,” Y/N huffed, pouting up at him. “It’s hot, and I deserve a treat.”

He smirked. “I suppose you do.”

She smiled, thinking she’d won, but instead of leading her to Florean Fortescue’s, Draco simply released her hand and strode off without another word.

Y/N blinked in confusion. 

“Draco?” she called after him, but he didn’t turn back.

She watched as he disappeared into one of the buildings, leaving her standing there in the middle of the street.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “I ask for one thing, and he vanishes. What kind of pureblooded nonsense—”

Before she could finish her rant, Draco returned, his expression unreadable. 

In his hand was a key, which he twirled lazily between his fingers.

“Come with me,” he said simply, offering her his arm once more.

Suspicious, but intrigued, Y/N took it, allowing him to lead her down the street. Her stomach flipped when she realized they were heading toward the Ice Cream Parlour.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Draco, what did you do?”

He smirked, stopping in front of the shop and holding up the key. 

“I bought it.”

Y/N stared at him. 

“You what?”

Draco looked entirely too pleased with himself. “The ice cream parlour. It’s yours now.”

She opened and closed her mouth, trying to process his words. “You bought me an entire ice cream shop?”

“You asked for ice cream,” he said smoothly. “This seemed like a more efficient solution.”

Y/N let out a short, incredulous laugh. “A more efficient solution?”

Draco tilted his head. “Would you prefer I revoke the purchase?”

Her arms immediately shot out, snatching the key from his hand. 

“Absolutely not,” she said, clutching it to her chest.

Draco chuckled. “I thought as much.”

She shook her head, still in disbelief. “You are impossible.”

“And yet, you adore me,” he said smugly.

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across her lips. “Unfortunately.”

Draco smirked, pleased with himself. “Now, darling, what flavor shall you serve me?”

She smirked right back, stepping toward him until they were only inches apart. 

“Oh, no, Draco,” she purred. “I own this place now. You fetch me ice cream.”

Draco’s lips twitched in amusement. He let out a soft chuckle before bowing his head slightly. 

“As you wish, my dear,” he murmured, pressing a brief, lingering kiss to her forehead before striding into the shop.

Y/N watched him go, shaking her head with a fond smile.

Of course Draco Lucius Malfoy wouldn’t just buy her ice cream. He’d buy her the entire bloody shop.

She was still wrapping her head around it when he returned, a silver tray in hand. On it sat three neatly arranged bowls of ice cream—one chocolate, one vanilla, and one a rich caramel swirl.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “I only asked for one scoop.”

He smirked. “I didn’t know which flavor you wanted. And since you own the shop now, you may as well sample your wares.”

She scoffed but took the tray from him, plopping herself onto one of the empty outdoor tables. “You’re insufferable.”

Draco sat across from her, resting his chin on one hand, watching as she took a bite of the caramel swirl. 

“And yet, you seem to be enjoying the benefits of my insufferability.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t deny how ridiculously good the ice cream was. She pointed her spoon at him. “This is your way of bribing me, isn’t it?”

Draco feigned innocence. “Bribing you? Whatever for?”

She narrowed her eyes. 

“I don’t know yet. But I do know you, and Draco Lucius Malfoy doesn’t just do something without expecting something in return.”

The boy smirked, swirling his own spoon in the bowl of chocolate ice cream. “Perhaps I simply enjoy indulging you.”

Y/N snorted. “Oh, please. You love showing off.”

His smirk widened. “That too.”

Shaking her head, she took another bite, humming in satisfaction. “Fine. You win this round, Malfoy. But I will figure out your ulterior motive.”

Draco leaned back in his chair, watching her with a knowing glint in his eyes. “I look forward to it.”

Y/N pretended to ignore him, focusing instead on the ice cream—her ice cream. Her shop. The thought still made her dizzy.

Then an idea struck her.

She lowered her spoon and leaned forward, a slow, mischievous smile spreading across her lips. 

“You know, Draco…” she began sweetly.

He eyed her warily. “What?”

Her grin widened. “Since I own this place now, that means I make the rules. And I’ve just decided that all employees must wear a uniform.”

He straightened, his expression immediately shifting to one of suspicion. “What kind of uniform?”

“Oh, nothing extravagant,” Y/N said innocently, twirling her spoon. “Just a cute little apron and—oh!—a matching hat. Perhaps with a bow.”

Draco stared at her. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on,” she teased. “Think of it as a learning experience. A chance to understand the working class.”

The Malfoy heir looked positively scandalized. 

“Y/N, I did not spend a small fortune purchasing this establishment just to be forced into a ridiculous hat!”

Y/N smirked. “Oh, but you did.”

Draco exhaled sharply through his nose, pinching the bridge as if she were giving him a headache. “Sometimes, I truly wonder why I put up with you.”

Y/N propped her chin on her hand. “Because you’re hopelessly in love with me.”

He shot her a pointed look, but the slight twitch of his lips gave him away. He exhaled and finally leaned back, crossing his arms.

“Fine,” he said at last, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “But if I must wear a ridiculous hat, then so must you.”

Y/N grinned. “Deal.”

And just like that, the most powerful pureblood heir in wizarding society had been roped into playing shopkeeper for the afternoon.

Draco Lucius Malfoy, ice cream vendor.

She could hardly wait to see it.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose as Y/N dragged him inside the shop, a devious glint in her eyes. He knew that look. It was the same look she had whenever she was about to make his life difficult.

“I swear to Merlin, Y/N, if you make me wear something ridiculous—”

“Too late,” she chirped, grabbing an apron from behind the counter and tossing it at him. Draco caught it with one hand and unfolded it. His eyes darkened.

The apron was pink. Baby pink. And embroidered in the front, in delicate, swirling cursive, were the words: “Sweet as Sugar!”

Draco stared at it as if it personally offended him. “No.”

Y/N barely stifled a laugh. “Yes.”

The boy clenched his jaw. “Absolutely not.”

Y/N pouted dramatically. “But Draco, you said you’d wear the uniform. And this is the official uniform of Florean Fortescue’s.”

The boy narrowed his eyes. “You just made that up.”

She gasped, placing a hand over her heart in mock offense. “How dare you question my authority as the new owner!”

Draco inhaled deeply, as if summoning patience from the depths of his soul. Then, finally, with an air of utter suffering, he draped the apron over his pristine black robes.

Y/N clapped her hands. “Perfect!”

“I loathe you.”

She smirked. “You adore me.”

The boy only sighed, but he didn’t argue.

Before he could protest further, Y/N plopped a ridiculous little hat onto his head—a small, white paper cap with frilly edges, the kind worn by actual shop employees.

Draco reached up and touched the hat with the kind of horror most people would reserve for Inferi.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice deadly calm. “Take. It. Off.”

She beamed at him, hands on her hips. “Not a chance, Malfoy. Now, let’s get to work!”

And before he could react, she turned and marched behind the counter, tying an apron around herself (a much less embarrassing baby blue one, of course).

Draco closed his eyes for a moment, mentally cursing whatever fate had bound him to this insufferable woman.

Then the bell above the door chimed. “Good afternoon!” A cheerful mother walked in with her young daughter, who immediately gasped when she spotted Draco. “Look, Mummy! That man looks like a prince!”

Y/N turned to him, barely containing her laughter. 

“A prince, Malfoy,” she teased. “Did you hear that?”

Draco, who had spent years perfecting his cold, aristocratic presence, was momentarily thrown. He glanced down at the tiny girl, who was staring up at him with wide, admiring eyes.

“…I suppose I do have a rather regal presence,” he admitted smoothly.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Unbelievable.”

The mother smiled warmly. “Well, Prince Charming, would you mind making my daughter an ice cream cone?”

Draco stiffened. “Me?”

Y/N grinned, grabbing a cone from behind the counter. “Oh, he’d love to.”

Draco shot her a look.

But the little girl was now bouncing excitedly on her heels, looking at him with such bright anticipation that—for some reason—Draco Malfoy, heir to one of the wealthiest pureblood families in Britain, sighed in defeat and stepped behind the counter.

Y/N smirked, handing him the scoop. “Off you go, Prince Charming.”

Draco muttered something under his breath, but he took the scoop and carefully scooped a perfect swirl of strawberry ice cream onto the cone. He handed it to the little girl, who squealed with delight.

“Thank you, Prince!” she giggled, running back to her mother.

Draco stood there, utterly bewildered.

Y/N snorted. “Well, well, well. Malfoy, working-class hero. Who would’ve thought?”

Draco turned to her, slow and deliberate. “You will pay for this.”

Y/N smirked, leaning on the counter. “Oh, darling, I already am.”

And as Draco Malfoy stood there, wearing a pink apron and serving ice cream to giggling children, he realized two things:

1.He had absolutely lost control of this situation.

2.He was so in love with her that he’d do it all over again.

The bell above the door chimed again, and Y/N barely had time to finish laughing at Draco before another voice filled the shop.

“Well, well, well… I must say, this is a sight I never expected to see.”

The Malfoy heir froze. Y/N turned toward the entrance, barely suppressing her grin as Theodore Nott strode into the shop, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

He took his time surveying the scene: Draco Malfoy, standing stiff as a board behind the counter, wearing a baby pink apron that read Sweet as Sugar! and a ridiculous little ice cream vendor’s hat perched atop his pristine blonde hair.

Theodore let out a low whistle, shaking his head. 

“Merlin’s beard, Malfoy,” he drawled, amusement laced in every syllable. 

“Never thought I’d see the day. From pureblood heir to… what is this, exactly? A career change?”

Y/N snorted, thoroughly enjoying herself. “Oh, he’s quite dedicated to the role, Theo. He even served a little girl her ice cream with a bow.”

Draco’s eye twitched.

Theodore grinned, stepping closer to the counter. “A bow, you say?” He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. 

“Never thought I’d live to see the mighty Malfoy reduced to…” he gestured vaguely at the pink apron, “...this.”

Draco straightened, lifting his chin in that signature aristocratic way. 

“I am not reduced to anything,” he said stiffly. “I was merely…”

“Oh, don’t bother,” Y/N interrupted, smirking. “I already told him you own the shop.”

Theodore arched a brow, looking back at Lucius with mock admiration. 

“Ah. Of course. You own the ice cream shop.” He nodded thoughtfully. “How very ambitious of you, Malfoy. Business-minded and all that.”

Draco exhaled sharply, glaring at Y/N. “You are insufferable.”

Theodore smirked. “Now, now. No need to be embarrassed, Malfoy. This is rather endearing, actually. Makes you seem… approachable.”

The boy scowled, looking as though the very concept of being approachable offended him on a personal level. “I have no need to be approachable.”

Y/N leaned on the counter, grinning wickedly. “Tell that to the little girl who called you Prince Charming.”

Theodore grinned. “Oh, this just keeps getting better.”

The Malfoy heir turned to Y/N, his expression one of pure betrayal. “You told him already?”

“Oh, I absolutely told him immediately,” Y/N said, smirking. “What kind of best friend would I be if I didn’t?”

Theodore placed a hand over his heart, feigning sentimentality. 

“Prince Malfoy, an ice cream vendor. I almost feel touched.” He sighed dramatically. “Tell me, Malfoy, what’s next? Will you be handing out free samples in Diagon Alley?”

The blonde boy clenched his jaw. “I am going to kill both of you.”

Theodore chuckled. “I’d like to see you try. Now…” he tapped the counter expectantly. “Since you’re in the service industry now, Malfoy, how about fetching me a cone? Pistachio, if you please.”

Draco turned to Y/N with a slow, deadly glare. “I blame you for this.”

Y/N beamed, propping her chin on her hands. “And yet, here you are, still wearing the apron.”

Draco inhaled deeply, his patience hanging by a thread. Then, very reluctantly, he picked up the ice cream scoop and wordlessly began preparing Theodore’s order.

Theodore grinned. “Atta boy, Malfoy.”

Draco handed him the cone with all the grace of a man plotting multiple murders.

Theodore took a slow, deliberate bite, savoring every second. Then, licking his lips, he smirked at Draco.

“Sweet as sugar, indeed.”

Draco closed his eyes, exhaled slowly, and muttered under his breath, “I am going to hex both of you into oblivion.”

Y/N and Theodore merely clinked their ice cream cones together, thoroughly enjoying Draco Malfoy’s suffering.

Draco had never suffered so much in his life.

Standing behind the counter of an ice cream shop, dressed in a pink apron, wearing a ridiculous paper hat, while Theodore Nott gleefully mocked him? It was humiliating. Utterly beneath him.

And yet…

Y/N was laughing.

Not at him (well, yes, at him) but in that way of hers, bright and full of mischief, the way that always made his chest feel… strange. And damn it all, that was the real problem here.

Theodore  took another exaggerated bite of his ice cream, watching Draco with open amusement. “You know, Malfoy, I think pink suits you. Very flattering.”

Draco sent him a look that could have killed a man. “Shut up, Nott.”

Theodore grinned. “Oh, I’m going to remember this moment forever.”

Draco was seconds away from hexing him, right there in the middle of the shop, when he suddenly felt a soft pressure against his cheek. A gentle, lingering kiss.

His breath caught.

Y/N had leaned up on her toes, pressing a sweet kiss against his cheek. It was so quick and effortless, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He froze.

Y/N pulled back, her expression softer now, playful but warm. 

“There,” she said simply, her voice quieter now. “A reward for your… patience.”

Draco blinked. He was certain his brain had short-circuited.

Theodore let out a low whistle, clearly delighted at Draco’s rare moment of speechlessness. 

“Well, well,” he drawled. “Didn’t realize I’d be third-wheeling today.”

The Malfoy heir snapped out of his trance, his face heating slightly—not from embarrassment, of course, but from rage at Theodore’s audacity. “Get out.”

Theodore smirked, taking another slow bite of his ice cream. “Gladly. I’ll let you two lovebirds get back to playing shop.”

Draco growled. “OUT.”

With a final chuckle, Theodore strolled toward the door, still savoring his ice cream. 

“Pleasure doing business with you, Malfoy,” he called over his shoulder before disappearing onto the street.

Draco exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I hate him.”

Y/N smirked. “You love him.”

He scowled. “Not as much as he loves humiliating me.”

Y/N giggled, stepping closer and very deliberately adjusting the collar of his robe beneath the pink apron. “Mmm. I don’t know… I think you wear humiliation rather well.”

Draco glared. “You are not helping.”

She smiled, tilting her head. “You know, you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

He straightened, his pride immediately reasserting itself. “I do not get flustered.”

Y/N beamed, reaching up and flicking the brim of his little paper hat. “Sure you don’t, Prince Charming.”

He groaned, running a hand down his face. But when he glanced at her again, at her smirking, maddening, and beautiful face, he sighed.

“…You truly are insufferable,” he murmured.

Y/N grinned. “And yet, here you are.”

Draco exhaled, shaking his head, before reaching out and tugging her apron strings playfully. “Yes,” he admitted, his lips quirking up ever so slightly.

“Here I am.”

Y/N watched as Draco finally relaxed, if only a little. His usual stiff composure melted just enough for that rare, almost-smile to appear on his lips. It wasn’t much, but for Draco Malfoy, it was practically a declaration of love.

She smirked, nudging his side. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

He scoffed. “I was publicly humiliated.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. You survived worse.”

He sighed dramatically. “Barely.”

She grinned. “Want me to kiss your other cheek? Might help with the recovery process.”

He stilled.

For a moment, he just looked at her, silver eyes unreadable.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned down, just slightly, just enough, so that their faces were closer, his voice dropping to something dangerously smooth.

“Would that be part of my… compensation for enduring this disaster?”

Y/N’s breath hitched. Because oh. He was playing along now.

Y/N recovered quickly, her smirk returning. “Hmm.” She pretended to think, tilting her head. “I don’t know, Malfoy. You haven’t really earned it yet.”

Draco arched a brow, intrigued. “Haven’t I?”

Y/N shrugged. “Nope.”

He hummed, as if considering this deeply. Then, very deliberately, he turned, grabbed the ice cream scoop, and served a perfect swirl of strawberry into a waffle cone.

Y/N blinked. “…What are you doing?”

Lucius finished the swirl, gracefully handed her the cone, and smirked.

“Winning.”

Y/N stared at him.

Draco Malfoy—pureblood heir, dignified, always so put together—had just served her ice cream as if he were born for customer service.

And he had the audacity to look smug about it.

Y/N narrowed her eyes.

Draco tilted his head. “No words? That’s a first.”

Y/N took a slow, deliberate lick of her ice cream, maintaining eye contact. “Oh, I have words.”

He smirked. “Do enlighten me.”

Y/N leaned in just a little, lowering her voice. “You’re having way too much fun with this.”

He chuckled, low and dangerous. “Perhaps.”

Y/N shook her head, amused. “Merlin, Malfoy. You own an ice cream shop for less than an hour, and suddenly you’re enjoying customer service?”

He scoffed. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Y/N grinned, taking another slow bite. “Mmm. Well, since you’re in such a good mood, how about a raise?”

Draco gave her a flat look. “You’re the customer, Y/N.”

Y/N shrugged. “And?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Your idiocy is astounding.”

She smirked. “And yet… you’re still here.”

He inhaled deeply, his patience hanging by a thread. “Yes. I am.”

Y/N tilted her head, watching him.

Then, after a pause—before he could predict it—she leaned in and kissed his other cheek.

He froze. Y/N pulled back, smirking at his stunned expression. “Compensation,” she said simply.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

Then, finally, he exhaled, his lips twitching just slightly.

“…I should buy more shops,” he murmured.

Y/N laughed. “You are unbelievable.”

Draco smirked, adjusting the ridiculous paper hat on his head. “And yet…” He stepped closer, his voice dropping just enough to make her stomach flutter.

“This is good,” he mused, chewing. “Did you make it, or did you bribe Theo to?”

Y/N scowled. “I ordered it, you absolute menace.”

Draco stole another bite.

She smacked his arm. “Draco!”

He only grinned, completely unbothered. “You always taste-test my drinks when we’re out. Consider this payback.”

“You let me do that!”

“Exactly. Which means you should let me do this.” He reached for another bite, and Y/N yanked the plate away, scrambling off the couch.

“Touch my food again, Malfoy, and I will hex you.”

Draco just leaned back, smug. “You wouldn’t dare. You like me too much.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. 

Then, very slowly, she stuffed the biggest forkful of pasta into her mouth, chewing pointedly as she stared him down.

Draco’s eyes widened slightly. “You’re so mean.”

Y/N smirked. “Right back at you.”

Draco huffed, watching her with a mix of amusement and betrayal as she deliberately took another exaggerated bite. 

“You know,” he drawled, stretching his legs out on her coffee table, “I could just order my own, but it wouldn’t taste as good as stolen food.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Then starve, thief.”

But Draco was nothing if not persistent. With the swiftness of a Seeker, he lunged forward, trying to grab the plate. Y/N, already anticipating his move, twisted away, barely dodging him.

“Draco!” she shrieked, laughing as she held the plate high above her head.

He grinned, eyes alight with mischief. “You forget, love, I’m taller than you.”

Before she could escape, Draco grabbed her wrist, yanking it down just enough to snatch another bite. He let out a triumphant hum as he chewed, savoring his victory.

“You absolute menace!” Y/N shoved at him, but Draco only grinned wider, chewing obnoxiously.

“Mm,” he said, swallowing. “Tastes even better when you fight back.”

She groaned dramatically. “I swear, Malfoy, if you don’t stop—”

“You’ll what?” He tilted his head, smirking. “Hex me? Kick me out? Please, Nott, we both know you love my company.”

Y/N huffed, crossing her arms. “I tolerate your company.”

Draco leaned in, eyes twinkling. “Right, and you ‘tolerate’ me stealing your food?”

She glared at him for a moment before dramatically shoving the last bite of pasta into her mouth, chewing slowly, tauntingly.

Draco sighed. “You’re cruel, you know that?”

Y/N smirked, swallowing the last bite. “Only to you, Malfoy.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

Y/N wiped her hands on a napkin, then looked at him expectantly. “Since you’ve officially ruined my lunch, you’re buying me dinner.”

Draco smirked. “Deal. But I’m stealing half of it.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t protest. Because, if she was being honest, she didn’t really mind.

Y/N narrowed her eyes at Draco, still chewing the last bite of her pasta. 

“What are you doing here, anyway?” she asked, voice slightly muffled.

Draco stretched out on her couch like he owned the place, arms draped over the backrest. 

“What, I need a reason to visit my best friend?”

“Yes,” she said flatly. “Because every time you visit, you steal my food, take up all my space, and somehow make yourself at home without even asking.”

Draco smirked. “So, just being my usual charming self, then?”

Y/N snorted. “Charming isn’t the word I’d use.”

Draco ignored her. “Actually, I was bored. Theo’s busy, Blaise is Merlin knows where, and Pansy’s on some shopping spree. That left you.”

Y/N raised a brow. “So I was your last choice?”

Draco placed a dramatic hand over his heart. “Never. You were my best choice.”

She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched. “Right. And you conveniently showed up at lunchtime?”

Draco shrugged. “Pure coincidence, I assure you.”

“Liar.”

He smirked but didn’t deny it. Instead, he reached over, plucked her fork from the now-empty plate, and twirled it between his fingers. “Since I’m already here, what are we doing today?”

Y/N crossed her arms. “We? Malfoy, I had plans.”

Draco gasped, mock-offended. “Without me?”

“Yes, actually. A nice, peaceful afternoon. Alone.”

Draco tsked. “Sounds boring. Good thing I’m here to fix that.”

Y/N groaned, flopping back against the couch. Draco simply smirked, completely unbothered. “Come on, Nott. Let’s go do something fun.”

Y/N sighed, already knowing she was going to give in. “Fine.”

Draco smirked. “I knew you couldn't resist the Malfoy charm.”

She smacked his arm, but he only laughed.

A few minutes later, Y/N stood in front of her vanity, rummaging through her makeup bag as Draco lounged on her bed, watching her with an amused expression.

“You know,” he drawled, propping himself up on one elbow, “I never understand why you go through all this effort when you already look good.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, uncapping her lipstick. “Flattery won’t make me forget that you stole my food, Malfoy.”

Draco smirked, completely unrepentant. “It was worth a shot.”

She turned back to the mirror and started applying her lipstick, her movements precise. Draco watched, fascinated, as her lips took on a richer shade. He never really paid attention to things like this, but there was something oddly mesmerizing about the way she did it.

“Do you always do this when you go out?” he asked, tilting his head.

Y/N hummed. “Most of the time.” 

She grabbed her eyeliner next, swiping a thin line over her lids. “Why? You planning on picking up a few tips?”

Draco chuckled. “Maybe. I could pull off a good eyeliner look, don’t you think?”

She snorted. “I think you’d cry halfway through applying it.”

Draco scoffed. “I do not cry.”

“Mm-hmm,” Y/N muttered, unconvinced, as she reached for her mascara.

Draco watched as she carefully brushed the wand through her lashes. 

“You take forever,” he complained, though he didn’t actually mind.

“If you’re impatient, you can leave,” Y/N quipped, not even sparing him a glance.

Draco scoffed. “And miss this? Not a chance.”

Y/N shook her head, biting back a smile as she finished up. She leaned in, checking her reflection one last time before turning to face him. “Done.”

Draco sat up, scanning her face. “Hmm.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He smirked. “Missed a spot.”

Before she could react, Draco leaned forward, swiping his thumb over the corner of her lip but whether to fix her lipstick or just to mess with her, she wasn’t sure.

Y/N stilled, eyes narrowing. “Malfoy.”

Draco only grinned, wiping his thumb on her napkin. “Relax, love. Just helping.”

She huffed, grabbing her purse. “You’re insufferable.”

“Maybe. But you keep me around.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. “Come on, thief. You owe me dinner.”

Draco smirked, falling into step beside her. “Lead the way, love.”

—-----------------

Y/N strolled through the boutique, casually running her fingers over the fabric of a silk dress while Draco followed behind, hands in his pockets.

“Are you actually going to buy something, or are we just here to waste time?” he asked, smirking.

Y/N shot him a look. “I don’t know, Malfoy. I would’ve had time to shop earlier if someone hadn’t barged into my flat and stolen my lunch.”

Draco grinned. “And yet, here we are, having the time of our lives.”

Y/N rolled her eyes before picking up a pair of heels, examining them. She checked the price tag then immediately put them back.

Draco, of course, noticed. “What?”

“They’re nice, but I don’t need them.”

Draco didn’t even hesitate—he plucked the shoes off the shelf and walked straight to the counter.

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Draco, what are you doing?”

“Buying them.”

“Absolutely not.”

Draco turned to her, exasperated. “Oh, come on, Nott. Just let me get them for you.”

She crossed her arms. “I can buy my own things, Malfoy.”

“Obviously,” he said, waving the shoes at the cashier. “But why would you when I can do it for you?”

Y/N groaned, trying to snatch them back. “You are not paying for my stuff—”

Draco easily dodged her, handing over his card. “Too late.”

She stared at him, incredulous. “You are the worst.”

Draco smirked. “No, I'm not. You love me.”

Y/N huffed, grabbing the bag from him when the cashier handed it over. “I’m not letting you pay for anything else.”

Draco gave her an innocent look. “Of course not, love.”

She narrowed her eyes but let it go—until ten minutes later, when he paid for a dress she had barely considered buying.

“Draco!”

He only smirked. “Oops.”

Y/N groaned, but he wasn’t done. Every time she so much as glanced at something for more than two seconds, Draco was already paying for it. Accessories, perfume, even a ridiculous little keychain she picked up absentmindedly.

“Malfoy, I swear—”

Draco draped an arm around her shoulders, smug. “Too bad, love. You should’ve stopped me earlier.”

Y/N glared at him, but the warmth in her chest betrayed her. 

Draco Malfoy was impossible. 

Ridiculous. 

Overbearing.

And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to really mind.

Y/N swung her shopping bags over her shoulder and glanced at Draco, who was still grinning smugly from paying for everything. “If you’re so eager to throw money around, Malfoy, you can buy me a new couch.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “A new couch? What happened to the old one?”

“It’s old,” Y/N said simply. “And I don’t like it anymore.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Of course. Merlin forbid you live with something you don’t like.”

“Exactly,” Y/N said, already walking toward a nearby furniture store. “Come on, you’re helping me pick one.”

Draco groaned but followed anyway. “This is the most boring thing you’ve ever dragged me into.”

Inside the store, Y/N made a beeline for the couches, testing out different ones while Draco trailed behind, looking unimpressed. She flopped onto a plush emerald green one and patted the spot beside her.

“This one’s nice.”

Draco sat down reluctantly. “Not bad.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You could at least pretend to care.”

“I do care,” Draco said. “I care about how long this is going to take.”

Y/N ignored him and stood up, moving to another couch. “This one feels softer.”

Draco leaned back, stretching his arms across the cushions. “I don’t see the difference.”

She huffed. “That’s because you have the attention span of a goldfish.”

Draco smirked. “At least I still have the patience to deal with you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and kept testing couches, but every time she sat down, Draco followed, getting comfortable as if he lived there.

When she finally found one she liked, black leather, sleek but cozy, Draco sighed dramatically. 

“Finally. I thought we’d die here.”

Y/N ignored him and turned to the salesperson. “I’ll take this one.”

Draco, of course, stepped in before she could pull out her wallet. “She won’t be paying for it.”

Y/N groaned. “Malfoy—”

He held up a hand. “No arguments. Consider it a gift.”

After finalizing the purchase—entirely against Y/N’s will, because Draco refused to let her pay—the store promised to have the couch delivered to her flat by the evening.

As they stepped out onto the street, Y/N sighed, shaking her head. “I don’t know why I even bother arguing with you.”

Draco smirked, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “You don’t. You just like pretending you have a choice.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t shake him off. “You’re an insufferable, overgrown ferret.”

“And you love me for it,” he quipped.

“Debatable,” Y/N muttered, adjusting her shopping bags.

Draco noticed and effortlessly took half of them from her hands.

Y/N blinked. “I didn’t ask you to carry those.”

Draco shrugged. “I know. I’m just naturally chivalrous.”

She snorted. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that, Malfoy.”

As they walked through Diagon Alley, Draco glanced at her. “So, what now?”

Y/N thought for a moment. “Dinner. Since you owe me, remember?”

Draco smirked. “Right. But I’m still stealing half of your food.”

She groaned. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet—”

“—I keep you around,” she finished, rolling her eyes but grinning despite herself.

Draco chuckled, nudging her playfully as they headed toward their usual restaurant. It was a cozy little restaurant tucked into a quieter corner of Diagon Alley. Immediately, the hostess greeted them with familiarity and led them to their usual booth by the window.

As soon as they sat down, Y/N stretched her legs out, sighing in content. 

“Shopping is exhausting.”

Draco smirked, casually draping an arm over the back of the booth. 

“Exhausting? I don’t think it is when you insist on dragging me into it.”

“You’re the one who kept paying for everything,” Y/N shot back, picking up the menu.

Draco shrugged. “It’s my way of showing affection.”

Y/N snorted. “So you just throw money at your problems?”

He smirked. “It’s worked so far.”

She rolled her eyes, but a small smile played on her lips.

When the waiter arrived, Y/N immediately rattled off her order, making sure to get extra sides because she knew Draco would inevitably steal some. When Draco ordered for himself, he glanced at her with a knowing smirk. “Extra sides? How thoughtful of you.”

Y/N shot him a glare. “I learn from experience.”

Draco chuckled, leaning back as the waiter left. “So, what time will this new couch of yours arrive?”

“8:00 pm,” Y/N said. “And no, you don’t have to come over and inspect it.”

Draco raised a brow. “Who said anything about inspecting? I was planning on testing it out.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You’re not sleeping on my couch, Malfoy.”

He smirked. “We’ll see.”

Before she could argue, their food arrived. Y/N dug in immediately, but, as expected, Draco shamelessly stole a bite from her plate.

She swatted at his hand. “Unbelievable.”

Draco only grinned, completely unbothered. 

—-----------------

Dinner passed in their usual rhythm—bickering, stolen bites of food, and Draco smirking at Y/N’s frustration. By the time they finished eating, Y/N leaned back in her seat, fully satisfied.

“That,” she said, pointing at her empty plate, “was exactly what I needed.”

Draco smirked, sipping his drink. “You mean, what we needed. Since, you know, I had half of it.”

Y/N huffed. “I don’t know why I ever think I’ll get to eat in peace with you around.”

Draco shrugged, completely unrepentant. “You love the company.”

“That’s likely,” she muttered, though the amusement in her eyes gave her away.

When the bill arrived, Draco reached for it without hesitation.

Y/N groaned. 

“No point arguing, love.” He handed the waiter his card before she could even attempt to grab it. “I paid for everything else today, might as well keep the streak going.”

Y/N crossed her arms. “This is getting ridiculous.”

Draco leaned forward, smirking. “You keep saying that, and yet, I don’t see you walking away.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but the warmth in her chest betrayed her. 

He was ridiculous, but he was also Draco—her Draco. Infuriating, insufferable, and somehow always there, spoiling her whether she wanted him to or not.

Once they left the restaurant, Y/N stretched, sighing. “Alright, now I really just want to go home and sit on my new couch.”

Draco smirked. “Perfect, I’ll come with.”

Y/N shot him a look. “You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“Yes, because there is absolutely no reason for you to come over.”

Draco gave her an exaggerated gasp. “What if the couch is ugly? You’ll need moral support.”

She groaned. “It’s not ugly.”

“Let’s go find out,” Draco said, already walking toward the nearest apparition point.

Y/N sighed, but she didn’t stop him. Because, at the end of the day, Draco Malfoy always found a way into her plans whether it was regarding her flat, her food, or her life.

And maybe… she didn’t mind so much after all.

They apparated straight to Y/N’s flat, landing with a soft pop in her living room. The moment they arrived, Y/N let out a satisfied sigh because there it was, her brand-new black leather couch, sitting perfectly in place where the old one used to be.

Draco hummed in approval. “Not bad.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “See? I have taste.”

Draco smirked. “Questionable, considering you keep me around.”

She rolled her eyes and stepped forward, running a hand over the smooth leather before flopping onto the cushions. 

She let out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, this is perfect.”

Draco chuckled before moving toward the couch and sitting beside her. He stretched out, propping his feet on the coffee table. “Not bad at all. Might be my new favorite place to nap.”

Y/N turned her head to glare at him. “No. You have your own flat for that.”

Draco smirked. “But yours is much cozier.”

Y/N huffed but didn’t bother pushing him off. Instead, she leaned back, closing her eyes for a moment. “It is a nice couch.”

Draco hummed in agreement, relaxing beside her. For a while, they sat in comfortable silence.

Then, without warning, Draco stretched out even more, laying his head on her lap.

Y/N’s eyes snapped open. “Draco—”

“Testing the comfort,” he said casually, eyes closed, completely at ease.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Testing the comfort on my lap?”

He smirked. “I need a pillow, and you’re conveniently here.”

Y/N groaned, tempted to shove him off, but after a long day of shopping, eating, and dealing with Draco’s ridiculousness, she was too tired to fight.

Instead, she sighed and muttered, “Unbelievable.”

Draco peeked up at her. “And yet—”

“I keep you around,” she finished with a small smile, lightly flicking his forehead.

Draco chuckled, closing his eyes again, and Y/N let herself relax.

Maybe he was insufferable. Maybe he did steal her food and invite himself into her home. But if she were being honest with herself… she didn’t actually mind.

Y/N absentmindedly ran her fingers through Draco’s platinum-blond hair, her nails lightly scratching his scalp. She didn’t even realize she was doing it at first. Her hand just started moving on its own as she relaxed into the couch.

Draco let out a soft hum of approval, his eyes still closed. “If you keep doing that, I might actually fall asleep.”

Y/N scoffed, but her fingers didn’t stop. “You invited yourself over, stole my couch, and now you’re planning to nap on me?”

Draco smirked, his voice lower, lazier. “Can you blame me? You’re comfortable.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her touch remained gentle, smoothing through his hair. “Unbelievable.”

“And yet…” Draco murmured, tilting his head slightly, leaning into her touch.

She sighed dramatically, but a small smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah, yeah. I keep you around.”

For once, Draco didn’t respond with some smug remark. He just let out another contented hum, his breathing steadying.

Y/N glanced down at him—his sharp features relaxed, his usual arrogance softened. There was something almost peaceful about him like this, stretched across her lap without a care in the world.

And for reasons she didn’t want to think too hard about, she let him stay.

As Draco drifted off, the steady warmth of Y/N’s hand in his hair, his mind slipped into a dream—one that felt so vivid, so real, he almost believed it.

He was in a flat. Their flat. He didn’t recognize the place, but it felt familiar, like he belonged there. The living room was bathed in golden light, the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air.

Y/N sat across from him, curled up on the very same couch he had just bought her, a book in her lap. She looked comfortable, at home.

Draco watched as she absentmindedly reached for her mug, only to find it empty. Without a word, he stood, taking it from her hands and walking to the kitchen, filling it the way he somehow knew she liked—just a little bit of sugar, no milk.

When he handed it back, Y/N gave him a lazy smile, her fingers brushing against his as she took the cup. “Thanks, Malfoy.”

There was something different in the way she said his name. Something softer. Warmer.

Draco smirked, sitting back beside her, his arm draping over the couch. “Anything for you, love.”

And the most surprising part? He meant it.

The dream shifted. It was nighttime now, and they were still in the flat, but this time, Y/N was next to him, curled against his side as they lay on the couch. Draco could hear the rain tapping softly against the windows, but all he could focus on was the steady rise and fall of her breath, the way she fit so perfectly against him.

He felt himself lean in, brushing his lips against her temple.

“Draco,” she murmured sleepily, her voice barely above a whisper.

His name had never sounded so right.

But just as he was about to respond, the dream dissolved.

Draco’s eyes fluttered open, the weight of the dream lingering in his chest like something half-remembered, something important.

The first thing he saw was Y/N, still stroking his hair, still looking down at him with that same amused fondness.

For a split second, he thought he was still dreaming.

But no—this was real. The couch, her touch, the warmth of her presence.

Draco swallowed, unsure of what to say.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You okay? You twitched in your sleep.”

Draco blinked, quickly masking whatever emotion had been in his expression with his usual smirk. 

“Just dreaming of a world where you actually let me have my own plate of food.”

Y/N snorted, rolling her eyes. “Sounds unrealistic.”

Draco chuckled, shaking off the lingering haze of his dream. But as he looked at her again, watching the way she absentmindedly ran her fingers through his hair…

Something deep inside him whispered that maybe, just maybe, the dream wasn’t as unrealistic as he thought.

—-----------------

Y/N continued running her fingers through Draco’s hair, lost in thought. The flat was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city outside. She glanced at the clock. It was late. Too late for him to apparate back to his own place when he was already half-asleep.

Without really thinking about it, she murmured, “You should just stay the night.”

Draco’s eyes flickered open, his smirk immediate. “Oh? Inviting me into your bed, Nott? How scandalous.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, shoving his shoulder lightly. “On the couch, idiot.”

Draco hummed, as if considering it. “Hmm. I did personally approve this couch. It would only be right for me to test it properly.”

Y/N huffed. “So dramatic.”

“Only for you.” His voice was teasing, but there was something softer underneath it.

Y/N didn’t respond right away. She just watched him, the way his sharp features softened in the dim lighting of her flat.

Draco tilted his head slightly. “You sure you don’t mind?”

“If I minded, I wouldn’t have asked,” she muttered.

His smirk widened, but there was something almost pleased in his expression. “Alright then. I’ll stay.”

Y/N exhaled, shifting so he could sit up. “Blankets are in the closet. Don’t touch my stuff.”

Draco stretched lazily before standing. “No promises.”

Y/N shot him a glare, but she was already walking toward her bedroom, suppressing a small smile.

“Goodnight, Malfoy.”

Draco smirked. “Sweet dreams, Nott.”

And as Y/N shut her door, Draco stared at the empty couch, the warmth of her lingering in the air.

He hadn’t planned on staying. But for some reason, now that he was here…

He didn’t really want to leave.

—-----------------

A few minutes later, Draco padded quietly through Y/N’s flat, heading toward her bedroom to grab a blanket from her closet. He had stayed over at her place enough times to know his way around, though she would probably hex him if she caught him snooping.

He pushed open the door, stepping inside without much thought. The room smelled like her. It was something warm and faintly sweet, a scent he knew all too well. He made his way to the closet, about to pull it open when the bathroom door swung open.

Y/N stepped out, steam curling from behind her, hair damp, skin flushed from the heat of her shower.

And she was wearing nothing but a towel.

Draco froze.

Y/N froze.

For a split second, neither of them moved. The towel clung to her in a way that left very little to the imagination, and Draco’s brain short-circuited completely.

Y/N’s eyes widened in realization, then—

“Draco!” she shrieked, scrambling back into the bathroom.

“Merlin’s bloody—” Draco whipped around so fast he nearly tripped over himself. “What the hell, Y/N? A warning would’ve been nice!”

“A warning?!” Her voice was muffled behind the door now. “Why are you even in my room?!”

“I was getting a blanket like you told me to!” Draco ran a hand down his face, trying to erase the image now permanently burned into his brain. 

“How was I supposed to know you’d be—” He gestured wildly at the door, even though she couldn’t see him. “—half-dressed and dripping?”

The bathroom door cracked open just enough for her to glare at him. “Dripping?”

Draco smirked before he could stop himself. “Well, I mean, you were.”

Y/N groaned, disappearing back inside. Draco chuckled, finally grabbing the blanket and making a quick escape. But as he settled onto the couch, throwing the blanket over himself, he realized something.

That image with Y/N standing there, flushed and damp, eyes wide with surprise was definitely going to haunt him for a while.

Draco lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling, blanket pulled over him but to be honest, there was no chance he was going to fall asleep anytime soon. His mind kept replaying the image of Y/N in that towel, damp hair clinging to her skin, the way her eyes had gone wide with shock.

Bloody hell.

He groaned, rolling onto his side, burying his face into the pillow. 

This is fine. 

Totally fine. 

Just forget about it.

Except he couldn’t.

A few minutes later, he heard her bedroom door creak open. His body tensed instinctively, but he forced himself to stay still, pretending to be half-asleep.

Y/N padded toward the kitchen, her movements quiet. Probably getting water or a snack. Draco kept his eyes shut, determined to not make things any weirder than they already were.

“Are you awake?”

Draco cracked one eye open, finding her standing near the couch, arms crossed. She was now in an oversized Slytherin Quidditch sweater and a pair of shorts, hair still damp from her shower.

He smirked sleepily. “Depends. If I say no, will you leave me alone?”

She rolled her eyes. “Doubtful.”

Draco sighed dramatically. “Then yes, unfortunately, I’m awake.”

Y/N hesitated for a second before shifting her weight. “Look… about earlier.”

Draco grinned, propping himself up on his elbow. “Oh, this should be good.”

She shot him a glare. “I’m serious, Malfoy. If you tell anyone—”

“What, that you were practically naked in front of me?” He tilted his head. “That you practically flaunted yourself at me?”

Y/N gaped. “I did not!”

Draco chuckled. “Mmm. Maybe not intentionally.”

“Draco,” she warned.

He held up his hands in surrender, still grinning. “Relax, Nott. Your reputation is safe with me. You have nice skin anyways.”

She studied him for a moment, then sighed. “Good.”

Draco watched as she hesitated again, shifting slightly, as if debating whether to say something else.

Then, finally— “…I can’t sleep.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “You woke me up just to tell me that?”

“I didn’t wake you up,” she argued. “You were already awake.”

Draco smirked but sat up anyway, stretching. “Alright, princess. What do you want me to do? Sing you a lullaby?”

Y/N snorted. “No way in hell. I’d rather suffer.”

He smirked, then patted the couch beside him. “Come on, then.”

She frowned. “What?”

“You can’t sleep. I’m awake. Might as well keep me company.”

Y/N hesitated, eyeing him suspiciously. “You’re not going to make this weird, are you?”

Draco placed a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “Me? Weird? I’m hurt, truly.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but after a moment, she sighed and moved to sit beside him.

And just like that, they sat together in the dim glow of the flat, the air between them filled with quiet conversation and something neither of them was quite ready to name.

Y/N pulled the blanket over her lap, settling into the couch beside Draco. The room was quiet except for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. 

Draco shifted slightly, resting his arm along the back of the couch, fingers absentmindedly toying with the edge of the blanket. 

“So,” he drawled, glancing at her, “what’s keeping you up?”

Y/N exhaled, running a hand through her still-damp hair. “Dunno. Just one of those nights, I guess.”

Draco nodded, understanding. Y/N glanced at him, a small smirk tugging at her lips. 

“Or maybe I’m still recovering from the absolute trauma of you barging into my room unannounced.”

Draco groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Are we really still on this?”

“Yes, we are,” Y/N said, leaning into the couch. “Because you saw something you shouldn’t have, and I have to live with the knowledge that you will never let me forget it.”

Draco smirked, tilting his head. “To be fair, I’ve seen worse.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Worse?”

“Blaise, fourth year,” he said, shuddering. “Walked into the dorm after practice, and there he was, completely starkers, admiring himself in the mirror.”

Y/N burst out laughing. “You’re lying.”

“Swear on my broomstick,” Draco said, grinning. 

“He even struck a pose. Said something about ‘appreciating one’s own beauty.’”

Y/N shook her head, still laughing. “Merlin, I’ll never be able to look at him the same way again.”

Draco smirked, watching her, enjoying the way her laughter softened the edges of the night. 

He nudged her foot lightly with his own. “See? Talking to me does help.”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “I never said it didn’t.”

Draco studied her for a moment, then, more seriously, he asked, “Want me to stay up with you?”

Y/N hesitated. Looked at him. Then, slowly, she nodded.

So they stayed like that, side by side, wrapped in a shared blanket, talking about everything and nothing until the weight of exhaustion finally settled in.

At some point, Y/N’s head dropped against Draco’s shoulder, her breath evening out as she fell asleep.

Draco stilled, his body instinctively tense. But then, after a moment, he let himself relax, leaning back into the couch.

His arm curled slightly around her, and with a small smirk, he muttered, “Guess I’m staying, then.”

And for some reason, he didn’t mind at all.

“Do you wanna know a secret?” Y/N asks. 

Draco raised a brow. “What?” 

“I have a tattoo on my back above my buttocks.” 

Draco, who had been lazily resting his head against the couch, immediately perked up at her words. His gaze flickered to her, curiosity sparking in his stormy grey eyes.

“You what?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

Y/N smirked, clearly enjoying his reaction. “You heard me.”

Draco shifted so he could properly face her, his interest piqued. “You have a tattoo? On your back?” His eyes gleamed mischievously. 

“Above your arse?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. 

“Above the buttocks, Malfoy. Let’s keep it classy.”

Draco let out a short laugh. “Since when do you have a tattoo?”

“Since sixth year,” she admitted, her smirk growing. ”Pansy knows. She saw it.” 

Draco stared at her, utterly intrigued. “And you just—what? Didn’t even bother telling me?”

“Obviously,” Y/N said, shrugging. 

Draco let out a disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. “Alright, I have to ask—what is it?”

Y/N’s smirk deepened, eyes glinting. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Draco narrowed his eyes on her. “You can’t just drop that information and not tell me what it is.”

“I can, actually,” she said smugly, stretching out against the couch.

Draco scoffed. “You’re insufferable.”

“Likewise, Malfoy,” Y/N shot back, grinning.

Draco huffed but didn’t deny it. Instead, he leaned in slightly, dropping his voice. 

“I will find out, you know.”

“Oh?” Y/N raised an eyebrow. “And how do you plan on doing that?”

Draco smirked, his voice dripping with amusement. “I have my ways.”

Y/N just laughed, shaking her head. “Good luck with that, Malfoy.”.

Draco leaned back, arms crossed, watching Y/N with a smirk that said he was already plotting.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not a chance,” he replied smoothly. “You should’ve known better than to tell me something like that.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. “Alright, Sherlock, how exactly do you plan on finding out?”

Draco tilted his head, pretending to think. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just ask Pansy.”

Her eyes widened slightly before she quickly masked it with a nonchalant expression. 

“She won’t tell you.”

Draco smirked. “We’ll see about that.”

Y/N huffed, pulling the blanket tighter around her. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re avoiding the question,” he countered. “Which means it’s something interesting.”

Y/N groaned and flopped back against the couch dramatically. “Merlin, I regret saying anything.”

Draco chuckled, watching her. He was having way too much fun with this.

After a few moments of silence, she peeked at him from under the blanket. 

“If I tell you what it is, will you shut up about it?”

Draco smirked, leaning in slightly. “I make no promises.”

She let out an exasperated sigh, then, after a moment of hesitation, muttered, “It’s a dragon.”

Draco stared at her, completely still for a second, before his smirk slowly stretched across his face.

“A dragon?” he repeated, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Are you serious?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Yes, Malfoy. A dragon.”

He let out a dramatic gasp, placing a hand over his chest. “Merlin, you’re obsessed with me.”

Y/N groaned, already regretting telling him. “Oh, shut up.”

“No, no, let’s talk about this,” Draco said, leaning closer, utterly delighted. “You got a dragon tattooed on your body—above your arse, no less—and you expect me to believe this isn’t about me?”

“It’s not about you!” she insisted, though her ears were turning pink. “I just like dragons. They’re cool.”

Draco scoffed, smirking. “Sure you do.” 

He tapped his chin, pretending to think. “Although, if I had to guess, I’d say it’s a tribute. A little dedication, perhaps? I knew you adored me, but this—this is next level.”

Y/N grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it. “You’re so annoying!”

Draco just laughed, catching the pillow before it could hit him again. “I can’t believe you’ve been walking around all these years with me permanently inked on your skin.”

“It’s not you, Malfoy!”

“Mm-hmm.” He was grinning ear to ear now, clearly having the time of his life. “Does it have blond hair? A sharp jawline? A tragic backstory?”

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I hate you.”

Draco nudged her foot with his. “Admit it.”

She peeked at him through her fingers. “Admit what?”

“That a small, tiny part of you thought of me when you got it.”

Y/N huffed, crossing her arms. “You weren’t the inspiration, Draco.”

Draco smirked. “So you have thought about me in that way, then?”

Y/N blinked before realizing her mistake. “That’s not what I meant!”

Draco just leaned back, looking incredibly smug. “Too late. You already said it.”

Y/N groaned again, shoving him. “You’re impossible.”

Draco chuckled, enjoying himself far too much. “And you, my dear, are mine.”

“In your dreams.”

Draco simply smirked. 

“Oh, trust me, Nott. I will be dreaming about this.”

Y/N groaned, throwing her head back against the couch. “I swear, if you bring this up one more time—”

Draco stretched out beside her, arms behind his head, looking insufferably pleased. “Oh, I’m definitely bringing this up again.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. “You wish that tattoo was about you.”

Draco turned his head, smirking. “I don’t have to wish, love. You practically confirmed it.”

“I did not,” she huffed, crossing her arms.

Draco chuckled, tilting his head. “Alright then, if it’s not about me, then why a dragon?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Because dragons are powerful. Majestic. Fierce.”

Draco nodded slowly, his smirk deepening. “Right. And remind me—who else do you know that’s powerful, majestic, and fierce?”

Y/N groaned. “I hate you.”

Draco just laughed. “I’m just saying! I am Draco. My name does mean ‘dragon’ in Latin.”

“Oh, Merlin, shut up!”

“I bet it even looks like me. A little dramatic. Probably breathtaking.”

Y/N let out a frustrated noise, pushing herself up from the couch. “I’m going to bed. I refuse to entertain your delusions any longer.”

Draco followed her, still smirking. “You know, if you ever do want to dedicate something to me, I’d suggest something more obvious. Maybe my name in cursive across your wrist—”

Y/N turned and shoved him backward. “Get out of my room, Malfoy!”

Draco held up his hands, laughing as he backed away. “Fine, fine! I’ll behave.” 

He leaned against her doorframe, watching her with that same mischievous glint in his eyes. “But just so you know, I am honored. Even if you won’t admit it.”

Y/N exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. “You are impossible.”

Draco winked. “And yet, you let me stay.”

She rolled her eyes and slammed the door in his face.

From the other side, Draco chuckled to himself.

She definitely got that tattoo because of me.

—-----------------

The next morning, Draco pushed open the door without thinking, a smug grin on his face. “Oi, get up, lazy—”

He froze mid-sentence.

Y/N stood in front of her mirror, her back fully exposed as she pulled a shirt over her head. And there it was.

The tattoo.

A sleek, intricately detailed dragon curled elegantly along her lower back, just above the waistband of her shorts. The black ink shimmered slightly under the morning light, its wings extending in a subtle arc, its serpentine body coiled with effortless grace.

Draco’s mouth went dry.

Y/N gasped, whipping around. “Draco!”

He barely heard her. His eyes were locked on the tattoo, his smirk slowly returning. 

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, crossing his arms. “Would you look at that?”

Y/N yanked her shirt down and glared. “Get out!”

Draco ignored her, stepping further into the room, his smirk widening. “You knew I wanted to see it, and yet, here you are—practically showing off first thing in the morning.” 

He tsked. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you wanted me to see it.”

Y/N groaned, grabbing the nearest thing—a pillow—and chucking it at his head. “I swear to Merlin, Malfoy, I will hex you!”

Draco dodged it effortlessly, still grinning. “Oh, come on, don’t be shy now.” 

He leaned against the doorframe, tilting his head. “I was right, wasn’t I? That dragon is a tribute to me.”

Y/N scoffed, cheeks burning. “Get over yourself.”

Draco pretended to think. “You know, I’m feeling very honored right now. I should return the favor. Maybe I should get ‘Y/N’ tattooed somewhere on my body. Any placement suggestions?”

Y/N let out a strangled groan, shoving him toward the door. “Go eat your bloody breakfast, Malfoy!”

He let her push him, still laughing as he stumbled into the hallway. “Fine, fine! But you’re never living this down.”

Before she could slam the door, he peeked his head back in. 

“For the record, I love it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips. 

“Out, Malfoy.”

Draco chuckled and finally let her shut the door, grinning to himself as he walked back to the kitchen. Best morning ever.

Y/N took a deep breath, pressing her hands against the door as she listened to Draco’s footsteps retreating. 

Merlin, he’s insufferable. 

She turned back to the mirror, slightly lifting her shirt, glancing over her shoulder at the tattoo. 

She had always loved it—always thought it was elegant, powerful. 

But now? 

Now it felt like his smirking face was permanently attached to it.

Shaking her head, she quickly finished getting dressed before heading to the kitchen.

Draco was already sitting at the table, smug as ever, sipping his tea. “Took you long enough.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, plopping into the chair across from him. “I was debating whether or not to hex you before breakfast.”

Draco smirked, setting his cup down. “A very predictable debate.” He nodded toward the plate in front of her. “Eat up. I slaved away in the kitchen for you.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, eyeing the food. “You made toast and eggs, Malfoy. Let’s not get dramatic.”

Draco feigned offense. “Toast and eggs require skill. Perfectly golden toast, eggs cooked just right. Do you know how much effort that takes?”

She snorted, cutting into her eggs. “Thank you for your service.”

Draco leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, watching her with amusement. “So… let’s talk about that tattoo.”

Y/N groaned. “Oh my—Draco, let it go.”

“Never,” he said immediately. “It’s too good. My favorite discovery ever.”

Y/N shook her head, stuffing a bite of toast in her mouth.

Draco leaned forward, smirking. “Alright, serious question. When you got it, did you think of me? Even for one second?”

Y/N chewed slowly, keeping her face neutral. “No.”

Draco squinted at her, analyzing every inch of her expression. Then, suddenly, his smirk deepened.

“Liar.”

Y/N choked on her toast. “I—I am not!”

Draco’s grin was pure amusement. “Oh, you so did.” He tilted his head. 

“Was it while they were sketching the design? Or maybe when the needle first hit your skin? Or was it after—when you looked at it and thought, ‘Bloody hell, this reminds me of a certain arrogant blond git I know’?”

Y/N picked up a piece of toast and threw it at his face.

Draco caught it effortlessly, popping it into his mouth with a smirk. “You’re just proving my point.”

Y/N groaned, dropping her head onto the table. Draco just chuckled, sipping his tea. “

—-----------------

A few days later, Draco found himself with a different Nott. Theodore Nott, his best friend and his best friend’s older brother. 

Draco froze mid-sip of his drink, his eyes locked on the ink just peeking out from Theo’s rolled-up sleeve.

It was a sleek black cat, stretched out lazily along the curve of his forearm.

Draco set his drink down. “What’s with the cat?”

Theo glanced down at his tattoo, smirking. “Family tradition. The Notts all get a symbol of their soulmate inked on them.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Soulmate?”

Theo nodded, taking a sip of his drink. “Yeah. It appears on its own when we come of age. No one knows exactly how or why, but it’s been in my family for centuries. Some say it’s magic woven into our bloodline.” 

He smirked slightly. “Even my sister has one.”

Draco’s brain short-circuited.

Even my sister has one.

Y/N.

Y/N has one.

His heart picked up speed, his mind racing through every conversation, every teasing remark, every glance he’d stolen at her back. 

Draco suddenly felt like the world had shifted beneath him.

That tattoo on her lower back. The dragon.

Draco sat up straighter, keeping his voice casual. “And what’s Y/N’s?”

Theo shrugged, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside Draco’s head. 

“Dunno. She won’t tell me.”

Draco barely heard him.

His hands clenched around his glass as a realization hit him so hard he almost choked.

Y/N’s tattoo—

The dragon.

Bloody hell. It was him.

Draco barely kept his composure as he leaned back in his seat, gripping his drink a little too tightly. Y/N’s soulmate tattoo is a dragon.

It wasn’t just some random choice. It wasn’t just because dragons were majestic and powerful.

It was him.

His heart was practically slamming against his ribs. He replayed every moment from that morning like the way she’d gone stiff when he walked in, the way she’d refused to talk about the meaning behind it, the way she’d freaked out when he teased her about it.

It all made sense now.

She had known. And she never told him.

“Draco?”

He blinked, snapping out of his thoughts as Theo gave him a weird look.

“You alright, mate?” Theo asked, raising an eyebrow. “You look like you just saw the Dark Lord resurrect again.”

Draco forced a smirk, trying to steady his voice. “Yeah. Just processing the fact that you have a soulmate tattoo and never mentioned it before.”

Theo snorted. “You never asked.” He took another sip of his drink. “Why? Thinking of getting one yourself?”

Draco rolled his eyes, masking the absolute chaos inside him. “Yeah, because I’d definitely trust some ancient magic to brand me with someone’s name.”

Theo chuckled. “It doesn’t give names, idiot. Just symbols.” He stretched his arms behind his head. 

“It’s all about fate or whatever. Some people try to fight it, but…” He smirked. “Doesn’t change the fact that it’s real.”

Draco exhaled slowly, his mind still spinning.

Y/N’s tattoo was a dragon.

Was it possible that she didn’t know what it meant? Maybe she thought it was just a coincidence?

No. She had to know.

Which meant she’d been hiding it from him all this time.

Draco leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, smirk firmly in place. “And you’re telling me Y/N never mentioned what hers was?”

Theo shook his head. “Nope. And believe me, I’ve tried to get it out of her.” He scoffed. “She’s stubborn as hell.”

Draco chuckled, even as his mind reeled. Yeah, she is.

But now that he knew?

Oh, she was never going to hear the end of it.

Draco leaned back, crossing his arms, trying to appear nonchalant even though his mind was still reeling from the whole soulmate tattoo revelation. 

“So,” he drawled, lifting a brow, “who’s the lucky person, then? Who’s your soulmate?”

Theo smirked, glancing at his tattoo before shrugging. “Dunno.”

Draco frowned. “What do you mean, dunno?”

Theo took a sip of his drink, completely unfazed. “Exactly that. Haven’t figured it out yet.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “You have a bloody black cat permanently inked on your arm, and you’re telling me you don’t know who it represents?”

Theo rolled his eyes. “It’s not like the universe hands us a bloody manual, Malfoy. We have to figure it out ourselves.” He smirked. “Some people get lucky and know straight away. Others? It takes time.”

Draco studied him carefully. “And you’ve got no suspicions?”

Theo hesitated for half a second.

Draco caught it instantly. His smirk widened. “Oh, you do.”

Theo exhaled through his nose, shaking his head with a small grin. “Doesn’t matter. If it’s meant to happen, it will.”

Draco hummed, intrigued. He’d definitely be prying into that later.

But right now?

Right now, he had another soulmate mystery to deal with.

And a certain Y/N Nott to confront.

“I’m visiting your sister.” Draco declares. 

Theo raised a brow, setting his drink down. “You’re visiting my sister?”

Draco smirked, swirling his drink lazily. “Yeah. Why?”

Theo leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Didn’t realize you two were that close.”

Draco scoffed. “Oh, please. I’ve practically been part of your family since Hogwarts.”

Theo tilted his head. “Sure. But you’ve never randomly mentioned visiting her before.” His smirk turned knowing. 

“Something I should know?”

Draco kept his face carefully neutral, but internally, his mind was still stuck on the dragon tattoo. 

He shrugged. “She just dragged me furniture shopping the other day.”

Theo chuckled. “So you’re saying my sister made you—Draco Malfoy—walk around a bloody furniture store?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “She insisted. You know how she is when she wants something.”

Theo smirked. “I do.” 

He studied Draco for a long moment before humming. “Alright. But if you start acting weird around her, I’ll know something’s up.”

Draco huffed. “Please. I’m always charming.”

Theo laughed. “That is not what I meant.”

Draco just smirked and finished his drink. 

—-----------------

Later that evening, Draco stood outside Y/N’s flat, hands in his pockets, his mind still spinning with everything he’d learned.

A soulmate tattoo. A bloody dragon.

He exhaled, schooling his expression into one of casual ease before knocking on the door.

A few seconds later, Y/N swung it open, hair damp from a shower, dressed in an oversized black shirt and shorts. She blinked at him. “What are you doing here?”

Draco smirked. 

“What, no hello? No ‘Draco, you look devastatingly handsome today’?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “If you’re here to be insufferable, I’d like to remind you that I own a wand.”

He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Relax, love. I just came to check on my favorite Nott.”

Y/N snorted. “I heard you just saw Theo earlier.”

Draco’s smirk widened. “Exactly.” 

He strolled into her living room, eyes flicking around before settling on her. “Speaking of your dear brother, he told me something very interesting today.”

Y/N crossed her arms, raising a brow. “And what exactly did Theo say?”

Draco leaned against the back of her couch, watching her closely. “That the Notts have a little tradition.”

Y/N’s expression didn’t change, but he swore he saw the slight stiffening of her shoulders.

Draco tilted his head. “Something about a soulmate tattoo?”

Silence.

Then—

Y/N huffed, turning toward the kitchen. “I’m making tea. If you’re planning on being annoying, at least make yourself useful and grab the sugar.”

Draco’s smirk deepened. Oh, she’s avoiding it.

Which meant she knew.

He followed her, leaning against the counter as she busied herself with the kettle. 

“Funny thing, though. Theo showed me his. A black cat.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “Said you had one, too.”

Y/N kept her back to him, reaching for two mugs. “And?”

Draco pushed off the counter, closing the distance between them, lowering his voice just slightly. “And I’m dying to know what yours is.”

Y/N turned, mug in hand, expression unreadable. 

“Why?”

Draco held her gaze, his smirk never fading. “Because I think I already know.”

She raised a brow. “Do you?”

Draco took another step forward, eyes flicking to her back—the very spot where he knew it was inked onto her skin. 

“Tell me, love…” He met her eyes again, voice dropping to a whisper.

“Why do you have a dragon tattooed on you?”

Y/N went still. And for a moment, the only sound in the kitchen was the faint bubbling of the kettle.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes as she turned back to the counter. 

“Oh, please, Malfoy.” She reached for the tea leaves, her voice perfectly nonchalant. “Not everything is about you.”

Draco smirked, but he could see the way she was gripping the spoon just a little too tightly. 

He leaned against the counter beside her, watching her closely. “Is that so?”

Y/N kept her focus on pouring the tea. “Yes.”

Draco hummed. “So you’re saying the ancient magic that brands Notts with their soulmate’s symbol just happened to give you a dragon?”

Y/N lifted a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Maybe I got lucky. Dragons are cool.”

Draco chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re so full of it.”

Y/N turned, handing him a mug, eyes meeting his with an easy smirk. “And obsessing over it.”

Draco took the tea, eyes narrowing. “I knew you were hiding something.”

Y/N took a sip of her own tea, looking completely unbothered. “You know, it’s funny. Your ego is so massive, you actually think the universe revolved my entire soulmate mark around you.”

Draco smirked. “Oh, I don’t think—” He set his mug down and stepped right into her space, lowering his voice— “I know.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. His smirk widened. 

“Alright, then. If you’re so certain it’s about you, prove it.”

Draco raised a brow. “Oh?”

Y/N’s smirk turned teasing. “What, Malfoy? Afraid you’ll be wrong?”

Draco loved a challenge.

He leaned in, voice a low drawl. “Careful, love. You dare me to figure this out, and I will.”

Y/N met his gaze, unwavering. “Good luck with that.”

Draco chuckled, taking his tea and stepping back. 

Y/N sipped her tea, forcing herself to remain composed. He doesn’t know.

Draco might be clever but there was no way he could figure this out on his own. Not unless she let him.

Because the truth was simple: If Draco was her soulmate, all he had to do was touch the tattoo. If he did, it would glow golden.

But there was no way she was going to tell him that.

She smirked over the rim of her cup, watching as Draco sat back on her couch, legs stretched out, still watching her with that insufferable, knowing smirk.

“You’re staring, Malfoy,” she drawled, setting her mug down.

Draco tilted his head, looking utterly unbothered. “I’m thinking.”

“That’s dangerous.”

He chuckled, eyes gleaming. “You’re hiding something.”

Y/N feigned innocence, widening her eyes slightly. “Me? Never.”

Draco scoffed. “Right.”

She rolled her eyes and moved toward her bookshelf, pretending to search for something, keeping her back to him. She could feel his gaze trailing along her spine—like he was trying to see through the fabric, to confirm what he already suspected.

He was getting too close to the truth.

And the last thing she needed was for him to accidentally brush his fingers over her tattoo and prove everything right.

Because what then?

What if it glowed?

What if Draco realized?

She couldn’t risk that.

So she turned back around with a smirk, crossing her arms. “Give it up, Malfoy. You’ll never figure it out.”

Draco only grinned. “Watch me, love.”

Y/N huffed, rolling her eyes as she flopped onto the couch beside him. He was still looking at her, eyes sharp with amusement and determination.

So she smirked, tilting her head. “Alright then, Malfoy. What if it is about you?”

Draco blinked, caught off guard for the first time. “What?”

Y/N shrugged, keeping her expression teasing. “What if I do have a dragon because of you?” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “What would you do about it?”

For a second, Draco hesitated. And that was interesting.

Because she expected him to gloat, to smirk and tease her mercilessly. But instead, he just stared at her, expression unreadable.

Then, in the next moment, he recovered, his usual cocky grin slipping back into place.

“Well,” he drawled, “I’d say you have excellent taste.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her heart was hammering in her chest. She had to keep playing this game carefully. She couldn’t let him win.

Because if he touched that tattoo, even accidentally, it would all be over.

—-----------------

Draco was obsessed.

After leaving Y/N’s flat, he went straight to the Malfoy Manor library, ignoring the house-elves and his father’s questioning gaze as he stormed through the halls.

There had to be something here.

The Notts were an old family, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, just like the Malfoys. And if their soulmate mark was truly tied to ancient magic, then there had to be records of it somewhere.

Draco ran his fingers over the spines of the books, muttering under his breath as he scanned the shelves. Bloodline Magic. The Bonds of Old. Sacred Family Traditions…

He grabbed the last one, flipping through the pages until he found the section on the Notts.

His eyes skimmed over the words, his breath catching as he read:

“It is said that the Nott family carries an ancient enchantment, marking each descendant with the symbol of their destined one. Unlike other soulmate bonds, the mark remains dormant until the soulmate themselves makes contact. Only when the true match touches the symbol will it glow, confirming their fate.”

Draco froze. His mind raced, heart pounding.

He snapped the book shut, running a hand through his hair. 

The tattoo. A dragon.

Draco’s stomach twisted.

He had assumed it was about him, had teased her about it, but now—now he needed to know.

Because if Y/N had never let anyone touch it…Then there was only one way to find out.

Draco shut the book, jaw set.

Draco wasted no time. As soon as he slammed the book shut, he strode out of the library, his mind racing.

He needed to see Y/N. Now.

The fact that she had lied wasn’t what bothered him the most. It was the why.

His thoughts were a mess by the time he reached Y/N’s flat. He knocked—more like pounded—on the door, and when she answered, brows raised, he barely let her get a word in.

“I know about your soulmate mark.”

Y/N blinked. “Hello to you too, Malfoy.”

Draco pushed past her, stepping inside. “I did my research. I know how the Nott bond works.” 

He tilted his head, eyes locked on hers. “The mark doesn’t just sit there, does it? The second the right person touches it, it glows.”

Y/N’s jaw tensed.

Draco took another step. “So let’s try it.”

Y/N stilled.

Draco’s heart was pounding, but he kept his expression smooth. “Unless,” he added, voice softer, “you’re scared.”

Y/N swallowed, something unreadable flickering across her face. Draco could feel the tension between them now, thick and suffocating.

And then, after a long beat of silence, Y/N merely smirked. “Alright, Malfoy.”

She turned around, lifting the back of her shirt just enough to expose the dragon tattoo.

Draco’s breath caught.

This was it.

He reached out, his fingertips hovering just above her skin.

One touch. That was all it would take.

“Draco.”

His name. Soft. Almost hesitant.

He swallowed. “Yeah?”

Y/N turned her head slightly, eyes meeting his over her shoulder.

“What if it does glow?” she whispered.

Draco’s pulse pounded in his ears.

He didn’t have an answer.

So instead—he let his fingers brush against the inked skin.

And in the next second, the dragon glowed.

The world stopped.

Draco barely had time to register the warmth beneath his fingertips before the dragon shimmered to life, glowing with a golden light that pulsed softly against Y/N’s skin.

His breath caught in his throat.

They both stared as the glow flickered, confirming what Draco had suspected but hadn’t dared to believe.

He was her soulmate.

Y/N yanked away from his touch, stumbling forward as she quickly yanked her shirt back down. 

“No,” she muttered, shaking her head. “No, no, no—”

Draco barely heard her over the sound of his own heartbeat.

He was hers.

She was his.

And she had known. Of course she had known.

Y/N turned to face him, arms crossed tightly over her chest, eyes wide and panicked. 

“This…this doesn’t mean anything.”

Draco blinked, still caught between shock. “Are you serious?”

“It’s just some old magic, Malfoy. It doesn’t dictate our lives. It doesn’t control us.”

Draco’s jaw clenched. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

Silence.

That was all the confirmation he needed.

“You knew.” His voice was quieter now, but no less intense. “You knew it was me.”

Y/N swallowed. 

“I—I thought it might be. But I wasn’t—” She exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. “I wasn’t going to risk it.”

Draco took a step closer, searching her face. “Risk what?”

She hesitated. 

“Losing you.” She whispered. 

Draco stilled.

Y/N clenched her jaw, looking away. “If it turned out to be someone else—if it wasn’t you—” She shook her head. “I didn’t want things to change.”

Draco exhaled slowly. “Y/N…”

She turned back to him, eyes burning. 

“It doesn’t have to change, okay? We can just forget it. Pretend it never happened.”

Draco stared at her.

Forget it?

Forget that she was his?

That they were meant to be?

Something fierce burned in his chest, something he had no intention of pushing down.

Because now that he knew? There was no way he was letting her pretend this didn’t matter.

Draco moved before he even realized what he was doing.

One second, Y/N was standing there, stubborn and defiant, trying to push this all away and the next, she was in his arms.

He pulled her in tight, his grip firm, unrelenting. Y/N tensed at first, her body stiff against his but then, slowly, she melted.

Draco felt her arms wrap around him, hesitant at first, then tighter, as if she was afraid he’d slip away.

“Idiot,” he muttered into her hair.

Y/N huffed a quiet laugh. 

“Excuse me?”

Draco didn’t let go. 

“You really thought I’d let this change anything?”

She was quiet.

Draco pulled back just enough to look at her. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said firmly. “And neither are you.”

Y/N bit her lip, eyes flickering between his. “Draco…”

“No,” he interrupted. “You don’t get to push me away. Not after this.” He shook his head, exhaling. 

“You’re my best friend, Y/N. You always have been. This just…” He swallowed. “This just proves what I already knew.”

Y/N blinked up at him. “And what’s that?”

Draco gave a small smirk, but his voice was softer now. “That I was always meant to be yours.”

Something in her expression cracked then, and before she could argue, before she could say something stupid like this doesn’t change anything—

Draco pulled her back in.

And this time, she didn’t hesitate to hold on.

They stood there for what felt like forever.

Y/N’s face was pressed against Draco’s chest, her arms wrapped around him tightly.

Draco wasn’t letting go either. He refused to.

“I don’t know what to do with this,” Y/N admitted quietly against his shirt.

Draco exhaled, pressing his chin lightly on the top of her head. “Then don’t do anything.”

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with furrowed brows. “What?”

“You’re overthinking it, Nott. As usual.”

“I am not—”

“You are,” he interrupted, smirking. “You’re already thinking of reasons why this is a problem, why we shouldn’t make a big deal out of it.”

“Well… yeah.”

Draco shook his head, tightening his hold just slightly. “Then stop.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, just stop, huh? Wow, why didn’t I think of that?”

Draco snorted. “You’re so annoying”

“Where’d you think I got it from?”

He smirked. “Me but you love it.”

Y/N opened her mouth, probably to argue, but then paused.

And then, to Draco’s surprise, she let out a soft laugh, shaking her head.

Draco raised a brow. “What?”

Y/N glanced away, exhaling. “It’s just… it’s you.”

Draco frowned. “Obviously.”

“No, I mean…” She bit her lip, then met his gaze again. “I spent so long being scared of this. Of finding out. And now that I know…”

Draco waited, watching her carefully.

Y/N gave him a small, almost shy smile.

“I’m not scared anymore.”

Something tight settled in Draco’s chest at that.

He reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Good.”

Y/N shook her head. “You’re so smug about this.”

“Of course I am.” Draco smirked. “I was right.”

Y/N groaned, shoving him back. “I take it back. I am scared. Imagine being stuck with you for the rest of my life.”

Draco caught her wrist before she could move away, tugging her back to him. His voice was softer now.

“You will be, though.”

Y/N met his gaze, something unreadable flickering in her eyes.

Draco tilted his head, smirking. “Stuck with me, I mean.”

Y/N scoffed. “Merlin help me.”

Draco just grinned. “Too late. You’re mine now.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. But she didn’t let go.

Suddenly, she asked “What if you find another girl?” 

Draco blinked. Then he frowned. “What?”

Y/N bit her lip, looking away. “I mean… just because we have the soulmate mark, doesn’t mean you have to love me. What if—what if you meet someone else? Someone who isn’t me?”

Draco stared at her. Was she serious?

He let out a slow, exasperated sigh. “Y/N.”

She still wouldn’t look at him.

Draco reached out, gently tilting her chin up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. His voice was quieter now. “Do you really think that’s possible?”

Y/N hesitated. “I—I don’t know.”

Draco scoffed. “Of course you don’t. Because you’re an idiot.”

Y/N scowled. “Draco Lucius Malfoy—”

“I already love you, Nott,” Draco cut in, shaking his head. 

“I’ve always loved you. Why do you think this is such a big deal to me?”

Y/N didn’t say anything.

Draco sighed again, softer this time. “You’re my best friend, yeah? The person I trust most in this entire bloody world.” 

His fingers absentmindedly traced the inside of her wrist. “I don’t need a soulmate mark to tell me that. I knew before I ever saw it.”

Y/N’s lips parted slightly, her breath hitching.

Draco smirked. “And for the record, there is no other girl. There won’t be another girl. Because there’s only you.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her hands clenching slightly at his shirt. “Oh.”

Draco chuckled. 

“Oh,” he mocked, raising a brow. 

“That’s all you have to say?”

Y/N exhaled sharply, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, they were softer, warmer.

Then, without another word, she leaned up and kissed him.

It was quick, hesitant—like she wasn’t sure she was allowed.

But Draco wasn’t having that.

Before she could pull away, he cupped her face and kissed her back, properly, deepening it, telling her everything she needed to know without a single word.

When they finally parted, Y/N was breathless, eyes wide.

“You’re mine, Y/N. You always have been.”

Y/N let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “Merlin, I can’t believe it had to glow for us to finally admit this.”

Draco grinned. “To be fair, you were very stubborn about it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Shut up and kiss me again, Malfoy.”

Draco didn’t need to be told twice.

Draco had been texting her all day, concerned about how she was holding up, offering to help in any way he could. When she’d finally had enough, she’d taken him up on his offer.

“Y/N,” Draco greeted her with a soft smile as she stepped through the front door of Malfoy Manor. 

The house, with its towering, gothic architecture, was quiet and spacious, offering a sharp contrast to the chaos she had just left behind. 

Draco stood by the doorway, looking effortlessly charming in his usual sharp attire, though his expression was laced with concern as he saw the exhaustion on her face. “You look like you’ve been through hell.”

“I feel like I have,” Y/N admitted, rubbing her eyes tiredly. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take, Draco.”

Draco’s face softened, and without a second thought, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into the warmth of the manor. 

“You’re safe here,” he murmured. “This is one of the safest places you can be. The manor’s been under the radar for years. The press won’t dare show up here.”

Y/N nodded, grateful for the sanctuary the Malfoy estate offered. But there was still a small voice in the back of her mind, reminding her that Draco wasn’t exactly the ideal host when it came to providing comfort. He was known for his playboy ways, and even though she was here for solace, she knew that his affections often came with no strings attached.

Before she could say anything, Draco’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen before answering, his eyes flicking to her. 

“I’m meeting Blaise today,” he said, his tone casual but with a hint of hesitation.

Y/N’s heart sank a little. 

It wasn’t like she had any claim over Draco, but after everything she’d just been through, she wasn’t in the mood for him to disappear. Still, she wouldn’t ask him to stay just because she was feeling vulnerable. She was better than that, right?

“You should go,” she said, trying to keep her voice light, but there was an underlying hint of something else. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she could feel it stirring in her chest.

Draco’s eyes lingered on her for a moment, searching her face for something he couldn’t quite place. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low, more serious than usual. “I don’t mind staying here with you if you need me.”

Y/N gave him a small, tight-lipped smile, doing her best to mask how much she didn’t want him to leave. “No, you should go. You’ve got your night planned.”

For a long moment, Draco didn’t move. He stood there, watching her, as if trying to figure out if she was really okay with him going. But it didn’t take long for him to make up his mind. 

“Screw it,” he said suddenly, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “I’ll cancel.”

Y/N blinked in surprise. “What?”

“I’m not leaving you alone after everything you’ve been through today,” he said firmly. “You don’t need to face all this crap by yourself. I’ll stay here with you.” He grinned, though it wasn’t the usual smirk—this one was soft, almost protective.

Y/N felt a strange flutter in her chest, but she quickly shoved it down. Draco’s presence always seemed to have this effect on her—he was too smooth, too confident, too good at making her feel like she was the center of his attention. 

She liked it, but at the same time, it was dangerous. 

They had a history of playing games, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to cross that line again.

“You don’t have to,” she said, trying to seem unaffected. “I don’t need anyone to babysit me.”

Draco tilted his head slightly, a half-smile playing on his lips. “You might not need me, but you deserve a break from all the drama. Besides, I’d rather be here with you.”

Y/N chuckled, the tension slowly easing from her shoulders as Draco’s presence began to soothe her frayed nerves. 

“Fine,” she relented, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Stay. But only because I need the distraction.”

Draco’s smile grew, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes, something that made Y/N wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was more to his insistence than simple altruism. As he led her into the sitting room, where a fire crackled softly in the hearth, the weight of the world seemed to lessen with each step.

They didn’t talk about her press troubles again that night. Instead, they spoke about everything else: Quidditch, silly memories from their school days, and the occasional teasing remark. 

The hours passed quickly, the laughter light and easy between them. And though neither of them acknowledged it outright, there was an undeniable feeling in the air—a connection neither was ready to fully face but both were quietly afraid to let go of.

As the evening wore on, the last traces of tension from the day seemed to slip away. The manor, cold and intimidating to others, felt like the safest place Y/N had been all day. And for once, she let herself relax, not having to worry about the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Draco didn’t leave. He stayed, just as he had promised. And for the first time in what felt like a long time, Y/N allowed herself to forget about the chaos, even if just for a little while.

The fire crackled softly in the sitting room, casting flickering shadows on the high, stone walls of Malfoy Manor. Y/N sat on the plush velvet sofa, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of her glass, her mind swirling with thoughts. 

Draco had been with her all evening, a constant presence that, despite their usual playful banter, now felt almost comforting. 

The chaos of the day seemed to be fading, but there was something more than just relief in the air. It was a feeling she hadn’t allowed herself to acknowledge until now, and it came with the weight of an unspoken truth.

Draco leaned casually against the doorframe, his usual smirk replaced with something softer, more contemplative. 

He had just finished telling her a story about some ridiculous stunt he had pulled back at school, but his voice had faded as he noticed the way her eyes kept darting toward him. It was almost like she was seeing him in a way she hadn’t before. Or maybe she was just seeing herself in him.

Y/N finally broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. “Stay here,” she said, her words simple but heavy with meaning.

“For how long?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow, a playful lilt in his voice as he stepped closer to her, his gaze steady.

Her eyes met his, and for a brief moment, the world outside the manor seemed to fall away. 

“Forever?” she suggested, the words slipping from her lips before she could stop them.

“Forever?” Draco repeated, his expression flickering between disbelief and something deeper, almost like a challenge. “That’s a big word, Fletcher.”

“I don’t wanna share, Draco,” she said softly, her voice laced with an unexpected vulnerability. 

She swallowed, the admission strange and raw, but it felt like the only thing that made sense at this moment.

Draco’s eyes darkened, his stance shifting as if her words had hit a chord deep inside him. 

“You think I’d want to share you with anyone else?” he asked, his voice low and almost dangerous, but there was an underlying sincerity that made Y/N’s breath catch in her throat.

She could feel the tension between them, thick and unyielding, but there was a tenderness to it that was different from their usual playful jabs. This wasn’t a game. Not anymore.

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice shaking slightly as she stood up, closing the distance between them. “I guess I’ve always been afraid that… I’d lose you. Or that you’d lose interest.”

Draco’s hand reached out, gently cupping her chin, lifting her gaze to meet his. “I’ve never lost interest in you, Y/N,” he said, his thumb brushing lightly across her cheek, a soft gesture that made her heart beat faster.

His words were both a reassurance and a revelation. It was as if the walls they had carefully built between them were crumbling, one brick at a time. The playful games they’d always played now felt so trivial, and the truth of what they both needed—what they both secretly craved—was finally surfacing.

Y/N let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of everything she had kept hidden for so long. 

“Then stay,” she whispered again, her voice barely audible, but the sincerity behind it clear. “Don’t leave. Not now. Not ever.”

Draco paused, his fingers still lightly grazing her skin, and for a moment, neither of them moved. There was something about the way they were standing there, so close yet so vulnerable, that made it feel like a turning point. 

It wasn’t just about not wanting to share each other with anyone else—it was about something deeper, something neither had ever fully acknowledged until now.

“Are you sure?” Draco asked, his voice soft but intense. “You want me to stay? With you?”

Y/N nodded, her gaze unwavering. “Yes,” she said simply, her voice full of certainty. 

Draco’s smirk returned, but it was different now. It wasn’t the smug, confident smirk he usually wore—it was something softer, more genuine, like he was finally allowing himself to be vulnerable, too.

“Then I guess I’m staying,” he said, his words carrying a weight that felt as though they had finally, irrevocably, crossed a line they could never uncross.

Y/N smiled, feeling a rush of warmth flood through her chest. It wasn’t the kind of moment she’d ever expected, not with someone like Draco Malfoy. But in that moment, everything made sense.

He reached out, pulling her gently into his arms, his lips brushing against her forehead in a quiet, intimate gesture. She closed her eyes, letting herself melt into him.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Y/N pushed open the door to her flat after a long day of practice, her muscles sore and her mind already preoccupied with thoughts of a warm shower and an early night. She kicked off her shoes, setting her bag down by the door, when something unusual caught her eye.

A bouquet of delicate bluebells and soft white lilies—her favorite flowers—sat on the coffee table, their vibrant colors lighting up the room. The flowers were arranged elegantly in a crystal vase, looked so perfect they almost didn’t seem real.

Her brows furrowed in confusion, and she cautiously approached, her fingers brushing over the soft petals. There was a small card tucked into the bouquet, and she plucked it out, her heart skipping a beat as she read the familiar, elegant handwriting:

“For when you need something to brighten your day. - D”

Y/N felt a small smile tug at her lips as warmth spread through her chest. She glanced around, wondering if Draco was nearby, but her flat was silent. Shaking her head, she sank onto the couch, still holding the card in her hand.

Not long after, there was a knock at the door. She stood quickly, a knowing smirk forming as she crossed the room. 

Opening the door, she wasn’t surprised to see Draco leaning casually against the frame, looking smug in his dark coat.

“Expecting someone else?” he asked, his lips curving into a playful grin.

She raised the card between her fingers, her smirk matching his. “What’s the occasion?”

Draco shrugged, stepping inside as if he belonged there. “Does there have to be an occasion? You’ve been working hard lately. Thought you deserved something nice.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re full of surprises, Malfoy. Admit it—you’re trying to soften me up.”

He smirked, stepping closer until he was just a breath away. “And is it working?”

Y/N looked up at him, her smile softening. “Maybe,” she said, her voice quieter now, teasing but tinged with something warmer. “But don’t let it go to your head.”

Draco chuckled, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “Too late for that.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

A week after their conversation, Draco decided it was time to push back against the narrative the press had created for them. If the media wanted to speculate, they might as well give them something real to talk about—something that wasn’t staged or forced, but a moment just for the two of them. So, he invited Y/N out on a proper date. 

A real one. No pretense. No managers. Just them.

They slipped away to a small, hidden restaurant in the countryside, far from the bustling wizarding hotspots where paparazzi usually lingered. Draco had chosen the location carefully—he wanted privacy, but he also wanted Y/N to feel special. The restaurant was cozy and warm, with fairy lights strung along the ceiling and a crackling fireplace in the corner.

Y/N had been hesitant at first, wary of stepping out in public again. But Draco’s earnestness—his promise that this was about them and not the press—had won her over. 

The evening was perfect, full of quiet laughter, lingering glances, and the kind of ease they hadn’t felt in weeks. For the first time in what felt like forever, it was just them, without the weight of public scrutiny hanging over their heads.

Or so they thought.

Unbeknownst to them, a wizard with a camera had been dining at the same restaurant. As they shared dessert, laughing over Draco’s failed attempt at pronouncing a French dish, the flash of a camera caught them both off guard. Draco immediately stiffened, his jaw clenching as his protective instincts kicked in. Y/N’s smile faded as she glanced toward the source of the light, but Draco reached across the table and took her hand, squeezing it gently.

“Let them take their pictures,” he said softly, his gray eyes meeting hers. “I don’t care anymore.”

Y/N hesitated, searching his face for any sign of doubt, but she saw none. With a small nod, she let her fingers intertwine with his, ignoring the faint buzz of whispers from the surrounding tables. If the press wanted to capture their moment, then so be it.

By the time they left the restaurant, hand in hand, the damage had already been done. The next morning, every wizarding newspaper, gossip column, and tabloid had plastered their faces across the front pages.

“Draco and Y/N: The Comeback Couple of the Year?”

The articles were relentless, dissecting every detail of their evening—from the restaurant they chose to the way Draco had held Y/N’s hand. 

“Romance Rekindled? Malfoy and Fletcher’s Cozy Dinner Date!”

“Diamond boy and his star girl seen together again—Are Draco and Y/N Back On?”

Some speculated it was just a publicity stunt, while others claimed it was proof of their undeniable chemistry. The press even dug up old photos of them laughing together at Quidditch matches, painting a narrative of star-crossed lovers who couldn’t stay apart.

Draco, however, didn’t care. 

He ignored the headlines, the whispers, and even the questions from his manager. The only thing that mattered to him was Y/N’s reaction. When he showed up at her door later that day, bouquet in hand once again, he was met with an amused but exasperated look.

“You do realize we’re going to be the talk of the wizarding world for weeks now, right?” she said, arms crossed but a small smile tugging at her lips.

Draco smirked, holding out the flowers. “Let them talk. I don’t care what they say, as long as they know you’re mine.”

She laughed, shaking her head, but she couldn’t deny the truth in his words. Whatever the world thought about them, whatever the headlines said, she couldn’t deny one thing—being with Draco felt right. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Draco Malfoy had never been the romantic type—or so he claimed. But ever since he and Y/N had mended their rocky relationship, he’d made it his personal mission to show her, in every possible way, how much she meant to him. His grand gestures didn’t go unnoticed by Y/N or by the wizarding press, who couldn’t seem to get enough of their budding romance.

The first headline-worthy moment came when Draco surprised Y/N after one of their Quidditch matches. England had just crushed Bulgaria in a brutal game, and while Y/N was being swarmed by reporters, Draco swooped in—literally. 

He landed his broom gracefully on the pitch, holding out a massive bouquet of her favorite flowers, in front of hundreds of fans and cameras. The crowd erupted into cheers as Draco kissed her on the cheek, his hand resting casually on her waist.

The next morning, the papers were filled with headlines:

“Draco Malfoy Sweeps Y/N Fletcher Off Her Feet—Literally!”

“The Golden Couple of Quidditch: Draco’s Grand Gesture!”

Y/N had playfully scolded him later for making such a public spectacle, but the way she couldn’t stop smiling told him she hadn’t really minded.

The next gesture was more intimate but still managed to catch the public’s eye. On a quiet evening, Draco took Y/N to a rooftop dinner in Diagon Alley, complete with enchanted candles that floated around them and a string quartet playing softly in the background. The restaurant had been charmed to block out prying eyes, but somehow, word still got out. By the next day, the wizarding world was buzzing again.

“Draco and Y/N’s Magical Rooftop Date: Is He the Wizarding World’s Most Romantic Boyfriend?”

Draco didn’t stop there. 

On Y/N’s birthday, he pulled off his most extravagant gesture yet. He rented out the Quidditch stadium they used to play in during Hogwarts and decorated the pitch with enchanted lanterns that spelled out “Happy Birthday, Y/N.” 

He even enlisted the help of their former teammates to recreate one of their old practice sessions, just for fun. Y/N had been in tears by the end of the evening, touched by the effort he’d put into making the day special.

Naturally, the press had caught wind of it.

“Malfoy’s Birthday Surprise for Fletcher: A Love Story for the Ages.”

Despite all the attention, Y/N couldn’t deny how much she loved Draco’s romantic streak. His gestures weren’t just for show—they were thoughtful, personal, and full of heart. Every time he went out of his way to do something for her, it was a reminder of how deeply he cared.

One evening, as they sat on the couch, Y/N teased him about his newfound reputation. “You do realize you’ve become the wizarding world’s golden boyfriend, right?”

Draco smirked, leaning back and draping an arm around her shoulders. “I’m just making sure everyone knows you’re mine.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. 

As more headlines continued to flood the papers, Y/N realized she didn’t mind being the talk of the town. Draco’s gestures might have been flashy, but at the heart of it all, they were just for her—and that was all that mattered.

Draco smirked, throwing the Snitch into the air and catching it effortlessly. “You’d be surprised. But no one else gets me the way you do.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, like it was the simplest truth in the world. And maybe it was, for him.

But for Y/N, it was a knife twisting in her chest.

Best friend. 

The words echoed in her mind, repeating over and over like a cruel mantra. Because while she was his best friend, while she did get him better than anyone else, she didn’t want to be just his best friend.

Not anymore.

She didn’t want to be the one he laughed with over ridiculous headlines or the one he went to for advice about other girls. She didn’t want to be the safe, reliable constant in his life.

She wanted more.

She wanted to be the reason his heart raced when she walked into a room. She wanted him to look at her the way he looked at those damn Snitches—like they were something he couldn’t wait to catch, something he couldn’t live without.

But instead, she forced herself to smile, to keep the banter going like her heart wasn’t slowly unraveling.

“Don’t get too sentimental on me, Malfoy,” she teased, reaching over to steal the Snitch from his hand. “It’s a little embarrassing.”

Draco chuckled, sitting up and leaning toward her, his face just a little too close.

“You love it,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

And there it was again—that look, the one that made her heart stutter and her breath hitch, the one that made her think, Maybe…

But then he pulled back, laughing like it was all just a joke, like he didn’t even notice the effect he had on her.

Y/N laughed too, masking the ache in her chest as she tossed the Snitch back to him.

“Yeah, sure,” she said, her voice light and breezy. “Whatever you say, best friend.”

But inside, the words echoed again, this time with a painful clarity.

But I don’t want you like a best friend.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The pressure was mounting, and Draco Malfoy could feel the weight of it sinking in as he sat across from his manager in a posh café, pretending to listen to the endless instructions being thrown at him. The latest “suggestion” was one that made his stomach twist into knots.

“You need to keep the media talking,” his manager said, pushing a magazine across the table. “You and Fletcher, everyone’s already got their eyes on you. But you need to prove to them you’re still the heartthrob. Show that you’re desirable. So, we’re setting up a date—”

Draco’s mind instantly went numb.

“What?” he interrupted, voice strained. “A date? You want me to go on a bloody date with someone else?”

His manager nodded, not even looking up from his phone. “Exactly. Just a little staged romance, some photos, a few headlines. We need to keep the buzz alive. It’ll all blow over soon enough. Trust me, this is the best move for your image.”

Draco’s chest tightened at the thought. 

It wasn’t even the idea of dating someone else that stung—it was the fact that he couldn’t get Y/N out of his mind. 

He’d been lying to himself for months, pretending like everything with her was just another “game” or “media stunt.” But now, with the pressure to be seen with someone else, the truth hit him harder than any Bludger ever could.

He couldn’t do it. Not to her.

As his manager continued to talk, his words became a distant hum in the background. All Draco could think about was Y/N—her laugh, the way she always understood him, even when no one else did. The way she had always been there for him. And now, he was about to make a spectacle of his feelings, using someone else to distract from the truth.

“Draco?” His manager’s voice snapped him out of his daze. “You’re listening, right?”

He forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’m in.”

His manager grinned, oblivious to the storm brewing in Draco’s chest. “Good. We’ll arrange everything. Just keep up the public appearances, and the sponsorships will keep rolling in.”

Draco stood, the weight of his agreement settling in.

“Right.”

As he left the café, his mind raced. He was supposed to care about his career, his image—but how could he pretend to be with someone else when Y/N was the only one who truly mattered? She deserved honesty, not a charade. And yet, here he was, caught in the middle of it all.

The thought of seeing Y/N’s face when the media inevitably picked up on the staged date made his stomach churn. He couldn’t even imagine how she’d react to the news. She might laugh it off, like she always did. But he knew the truth—that it would hurt her, just like it hurt him.

Later that night, he found himself staring at his phone, debating whether to text Y/N. He wanted to explain, wanted to make things right before it all went too far. But what was the point? The game had already been set, and there was no way out.

“Sorry,” he muttered under his breath to the empty room. “I’m doing this for you, Y/N. I’m doing this so you don’t get hurt.”

But deep down, Draco knew he wasn’t fooling anyone—least of all himself.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The day after the news broke that Draco had been spotted on a staged date with some socialite, Y/N Fletcher was in the middle of a chaser team practice. Her mind wasn’t on the Quaffle, or the strategy the coach was shouting about—it was on Draco. 

And that damn date.

She had watched him flirt with girls before.

It was nothing new.

But tonight, something about it felt different. There was a casual ease to his charm, a connection she hadn’t seen with others. 

His smile, that easy smile, was reserved for her. 

Only for her… wasn’t it?

She had tried to brush it off, telling herself it wasn’t a big deal. It was just business, just Draco doing what he had to for the cameras. But the knot in her stomach wouldn’t untangle, and the images from the paparazzi photos haunted her: Draco laughing, leaning in close to the girl, their smiles so forced, so fake.

The last thing she wanted was for him to see how much it bothered her. She didn’t care about some publicity stunt—at least, that’s what she told herself. They were both Quidditch players, both used to the spotlight, both constantly scrutinized. But that didn’t mean it didn’t sting.

The tension only grew as the day wore on. She forced herself to be cheerful around the team, but the energy felt off.

Everyone was talking about Draco’s “new romance,” their words dripping with gossip. Y/N stayed silent, her eyes focused on her broom, as if the wooden shaft could somehow distract her from the ache in her chest.

That night, when the team gathered at the pub to unwind, Y/N found herself sitting at the bar, nursing a glass of firewhisky. 

She wasn’t in the mood for the usual jokes or the lighthearted banter. Her mind kept drifting back to Draco and that girl.

She didn’t want to feel jealous. She had no reason to. But when she saw the way the girls at the pub were fawning over the latest photos of Draco with his “date,” something twisted inside her. She had never cared what people thought about their friendship, their connection. But now? It felt different.

“Everything alright, Fletcher?” A voice broke her thoughts. It was Blaise Zabini, standing next to her with a concerned look on his face.

Y/N forced a smile, even as her insides churned. “Yeah, of course. Just tired.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing her mood, but he didn’t press her. Instead, he leaned in and looked at the photos of Draco on a magazine someone had left on the counter.

“Damn,” Blaise muttered, scanning the page. “This is one hell of a staged date. But I guess that’s the price of fame, right?”

Y/N didn’t answer.

She couldn’t.

The words felt too heavy in her throat.

“Yeah,” she finally muttered, but her gaze had drifted to Draco’s face in the magazine.

That smile, that look of carefree charm. But it wasn’t her smile. And it hurt more than she wanted to admit.

A few minutes later, Draco walked into the pub, his usual confident stride slightly off, as if the weight of his own actions was catching up with him. He caught sight of Y/N across the room and made his way over, his eyes searching for her.

“Y/N,” he said softly, leaning in, his voice full of a familiar warmth. But she didn’t smile, didn’t acknowledge the sudden flutter in her chest at the sight of him.

“Hey,” she replied, her voice cool and detached. She kept her eyes fixed on her glass.

Draco frowned, taking a seat beside her. “You alright?”

Y/N shrugged. “I’m fine.” Her eyes flicked to the magazine on the bar. “Just don’t see why everyone’s making a big deal about it. It’s just business.”

Draco stiffened at the words. “It’s not what you think,” he said quickly, but Y/N was already standing, brushing past him.

“I don’t think anything,” she replied sharply. “You do whatever you need to do for your career. I’m just here for the game.”

She walked away before he could say anything else, her heart pounding in her chest. She wasn’t sure if she was more angry at him or at herself.

Draco stood there, watching her go, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach.

He knew that look—she was hiding something, and it wasn’t just about the staged date. But he wasn’t sure how to fix it—not when she wasn’t being honest with him, or herself.

Y/N’s jealousy was unspoken, buried beneath layers of bravado and stubbornness. But as she left the pub that night, the weight of the unacknowledged emotions hung between them.

She stepped into a quieter hallway, away from the prying eyes and loud chatter. Her mind was racing, and she couldn’t silence the voice whispering that maybe this was it—maybe she had crossed the line.

Was this jealousy? Y/N thought, gripping the doorframe as if it could steady her.

She had never allowed herself to question her feelings for Draco. After all, they were best friends. Nothing more. Nothing less.

But now, with the way her chest tightened whenever he was near, with the way her stomach flipped when she saw him with someone else—it was becoming harder and harder to ignore the truth she had been avoiding.

She slumped against the wall, closing her eyes, trying to quiet the thoughts that kept spiraling. 

Am I in love with him?

The question echoed in her mind, loud and insistent. 

She had always prided herself on being level-headed, on never letting emotions get in the way of their friendship. But now… it felt like everything was unraveling, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold it together.

A soft click of heels approaching snapped her from her thoughts, and she quickly wiped the tears threatening to spill.

She forced a smile, even though it felt foreign on her lips. She was Y/N Fletcher, after all.

And no matter how her heart ached, she wouldn’t let anyone see it.

But deep down, she knew she had reached a crossroads. She had to decide whether to confront what she was feeling for Draco or bury it, like she had with so many other emotions.

As the sound of laughter echoed down the pub, Y/N knew one thing for certain: things between them could never be the same again.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The media frenzy exploded after Draco’s staged date with the socialite, but it wasn’t just about him anymore. The speculations grew wild, with articles popping up everywhere, claiming that Draco Malfoy and Y/N Fletcher had broken up.

It all started when Y/N was spotted leaving the pub alone the night after Draco’s date. Her cold demeanor, the way she kept her distance from him during team practice, and her refusal to comment on their “relationship” sparked rumors faster than wildfire.

The news broke faster than Y/N could react—JUST IN! England’s diamond boy and star girl are rumored to have broken up. What could this mean for the team?

She sat in disbelief, scrolling through the article that had popped up on her phone. The words on the screen seemed to blur together as she read through the speculation, the rumors, and the so-called “sources” that claimed to have insider information about her relationship with Draco.

Rumored tensions between Quidditch’s hottest couple have taken a toll on their performance. Is the pressure of public attention pushing England’s dynamic duo apart? The article questioned.

Y/N scoffed, scrolling down to find more gossip from anonymous sources claiming they hadn’t seen Draco and Y/N together in recent days, fueling the breakup rumors.

A headline from another publication read, “Is This the End of England’s Golden Pairing?” with a picture of Draco on the field, looking unusually distant in a recent match.

She could feel her frustration building. 

“Y/N Fletcher and Draco Malfoy: The End of a Quidditch Power Couple?” one headline screamed.

Another article gleefully suggested, “Malfoy’s New Romance Could Mean the End for His Longtime Friend With Benefits.”

The insinuations were everywhere, twisting and bending the truth into something unrecognizable. 

They claimed that Y/N was jealous of Draco’s public fame, that she had grown tired of being just a “sidekick” to his fame, or that the two had simply grown apart. But none of it was true, not entirely.

Y/N ignored the articles at first, but the more they circulated, the harder it became to avoid.

Everywhere she went, whispers followed her. People looked at her like she was the broken one, the one left behind.

She didn’t want to admit how much it stung—how much it hurt to have the world think that everything with Draco was some kind of game.

But it did.

And the worst part was that she couldn’t even talk to him about it.

She saw Draco’s response to the rumors, of course. His manager had made sure to get a statement out. “Draco Malfoy and Y/N Fletcher remain good friends and teammates,” the release stated. But even as he said the words, the pictures from the night before told a different story.

Draco didn’t know what to say. 

He hadn’t expected things to go so far. The whole point of the staged date was to keep the media occupied, to make it look like he wasn’t too invested in anything but his career. But now, Y/N was angry—hurt—and he couldn’t blame her.

Every time Draco saw her during practice or in the hallways, she was a little colder, a little more distant. The look in her eyes was one he couldn’t quite read, but it wasn’t the warmth he was used to. He could see the way the media was starting to tear at her, and the guilt gnawed at him every time their eyes met.

One night, unable to stand it any longer, Draco caught up with her after practice. She was packing up her broom, her back to him, clearly trying to avoid him.

“Y/N,” he called out, his voice low but urgent.

She froze, her shoulders tense.

“What is it, Draco? Here to make another statement for the press? Tell them everything’s fine?” she said, her tone sharp.

Draco flinched at the sarcasm, but it only made him more determined.

“No, I’m here because I know what they’re saying, and I know you’re not okay.”

Y/N spun around, her eyes flashing with frustration.

“I’m fine, Draco. Just another day, another headline. I’m used to it,” she lied, her voice wavering just enough for him to catch the cracks.

“Stop lying to me,” he said, his words cutting through the tension between them. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t want any of this to happen. But I need you to know that none of this was about you. Not really.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her jaw tightening. “Then what was it about? You think that because I’m ‘tough’ or ‘used to it,’ I can just sit by and watch you do this?”

Draco swallowed, stepping closer to her. “No. I didn’t think that. I didn’t think about anything, honestly. I just… I got caught up in the pressure. But I shouldn’t have done it. I should’ve told you first.”

Her gaze softened, but there was still a distance in her eyes that he couldn’t bridge.

“It’s not just about the date, Draco. It’s about everything. About how you act, how we’ve always been…” She trailed off, not finishing her thought.

He reached for her hand, his thumb brushing the back of her fingers. “Y/N, I never meant to hurt you. You mean more to me than all the media, all the photos, all the games. I just—”

“Don’t,” she cut him off, shaking her head.

“Don’t apologize for doing your job. But don’t pretend this is nothing, either. Because it feels like everything, Draco. It feels like you’re choosing the world over me. And I don’t know how much more of that I can take.”

The silence between them stretched on, both of them feeling the weight of the words unspoken. The media could keep speculating all they wanted. But for Y/N and Draco, things were far from over. Yet they both knew that the path ahead wasn’t as simple as it used to be. 

The rumors and the distance between them were only the beginning of a much harder battle—one that they would have to face together. Or not.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The weight of the rumors surrounding Y/N and Draco had only intensified, but the pressure to keep their public images intact was something both of them were now wrestling with.

While Draco was navigating the fallout from his staged date, Y/N’s manager was quick to jump on the opportunity to capitalize on the media storm.

“Y/N, you need to stay relevant. People are talking about you, but we need to make sure they’re talking about you in the right way,” her manager said one evening, tapping her pen against the desk in front of her. 

“I think it’s time for you to set the record straight. You need to show the public that you’re moving on from the ‘Draco drama’—and what better way than with a little staged romance of your own?”

Y/N’s stomach churned at the suggestion.

She had been avoiding the constant media attention for days, burying herself in practice and games. The last thing she wanted was to fake another relationship just to appease the press.

“You want me to what?” she asked, keeping her voice steady, though her heart was racing.

Her manager, seemingly unfazed by her hesitation, smiled. “A nice, innocent date. Someone respectable. It’ll take the focus off Draco and put you back in the spotlight. Maybe someone from the team. Could be fun. The fans love it. Trust me.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed as she tried to process the idea. She hated the thought of playing along, pretending to be interested in someone else just for the sake of the media. It felt like she was being forced into a corner, where her emotions didn’t matter at all.

“I don’t know…” she trailed off, glancing away.

Her manager’s expression turned more serious, sensing her hesitation.

“You’re a star, Y/N. The spotlight is a double-edged sword. You either control it, or it controls you. This is a chance to regain control.”

Despite her reservations, the pressure mounted. It wasn’t just about the fame; it was about staying relevant, about ensuring her career didn’t fade into the background while the media tore into her personal life.

The next day, Y/N found herself in a crowded café, sitting across from a popular Quidditch player from another team, one who was known for his easy charm and public persona. 

They were posing for pictures, the camera flashes catching their smiles as they sipped on coffee and exchanged light-hearted conversation.

It wasn’t real, but it had to look real for the fans.

Meanwhile, Draco, who had been battling his own feelings of guilt and frustration, caught wind of the staged date.

He wasn’t supposed to care, but it hit him harder than he expected. He had been watching from a distance, his heart sinking when he saw the photos circulating through the tabloids. Y/N smiling, laughing, sitting so close to the other guy. The way the media painted the scenario—it was like she was moving on, leaving him behind for someone else.

He couldn’t help the knot of jealousy that twisted in his stomach. His jaw clenched, and he could feel the anger bubbling up inside him. He wasn’t sure if it was the idea of her with someone else or the fact that he had been forced into playing the same game, but it didn’t matter. The feeling gnawed at him relentlessly.

He knew he had messed up, and the more he tried to ignore the growing tension between them, the harder it became. His actions had hurt her, and no amount of media games could take away the guilt gnawing at him.

One morning, as he wandered through Diagon Alley trying to clear his head, his eyes landed on a small, tucked-away flower shop. 

It was a shop he and Y/N had visited once during their time at Hogwarts, a quiet little place where she had picked out her favorite flowers, delicate bluebells and soft white lilies, their fragrance sweet but subtle. 

At the time, she had told him that those flowers reminded her of the quiet moments they used to share, before everything had gotten complicated.

Draco had never forgotten that detail.

Without thinking, he stepped inside the shop, the chime of the bell above the door barely registering.

He ordered a small bouquet, the same one she’d picked all those years ago. Bluebells, lilies—just like before. 

As the florist wrapped them carefully in tissue paper, Draco felt a small weight lift off his shoulders. 

He wasn’t sure what he hoped to achieve with this gesture—whether it would fix anything or if it would just add to the chaos—but it was a step. A small one, but a step toward showing Y/N that he cared.

As he walked through the crowded streets of Diagon Alley, Draco didn’t expect anything out of the ordinary. But the moment he stepped out onto the main street, a flash of light hit him from all angles—paparazzi. It was like they were waiting for him. As soon as he was spotted with the flowers in hand, the questions began.

“Draco! Who’s the lucky girl?” one reporter shouted, snapping pictures.

“Are you and Y/N getting back together?” another one yelled.

Draco’s heart sank as the realization hit him. The flowers, the gesture—it had all the makings of a public reconciliation, whether he wanted it to or not.

“Just a gift for a friend,” he muttered, trying to brush them off. But the cameras kept flashing, the questions persistent. And the headlines followed quickly.

“Draco Malfoy and Y/N Fletcher Back Together? The Flowers Speak for Themselves!”

“Malfoy’s Apology? The Bluebells Say It All.”

Draco’s heart raced as he made his way toward Y/N’s flat. 

He hadn’t meant for any of this to turn into more media speculation. He hadn’t meant for anyone to think they were back together.

He just… wanted to make things right with her. But now, the entire wizarding world had taken his gesture and turned it into something more than he ever intended.

When he finally reached the door, he hesitated for a moment before knocking softly. 

He had no idea how she would react. 

Would she be irritated? Would she think he was playing into the media’s hands again? He had no answers, just a bouquet of flowers and a desperate need to make amends.

Y/N opened the door, her expression unreadable. The moment her eyes landed on the flowers in his hands, however, something flickered in her gaze—something soft, almost reluctant.

“You brought them?” she asked quietly, stepping aside to let him in.

“I thought you might like them,” Draco said, his voice low. “I know I messed up… I just wanted to do something right for once.”

Y/N stared at him for a moment, her lips pressed together. 

The bouquet felt like an ocean between them—an unspoken apology, a symbol of everything they hadn’t said. But then her eyes flicked to the headlines on her phone, and Draco saw the way her face fell just a little.

“Seems like the world has other plans for us, huh?” she said dryly, her fingers scrolling through the article titles that had already flooded the press.

Draco winced, realizing that the flowers—his attempt to make it right—had only fed the fire.

“I didn’t mean for it to come to this,” he said quickly, running a hand through his hair.

“The media got a hold of it, but I just wanted to show you that I’m sorry. That I care.”

Y/N looked at him, her expression softening but still guarded. “Draco, you can’t just fix things with flowers. The media… they’re spinning it all into something it’s not.”

“I know,” he said, a note of frustration creeping into his voice. “I never wanted this to be about them, but it doesn’t matter now. They’ll say whatever they want, but I wanted you to know what I meant.”

Y/N’s gaze softened, but there was still a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. “You think flowers are going to fix what’s broken between us? You think they’re going to make me forget what’s been happening?”

“No,” Draco admitted, his tone more vulnerable than he intended. “I don’t think flowers can fix everything. But I think they can show you that I’m trying.”

Y/N arched a brow, crossing her arms over her chest. 

She teased “Didn’t know you paid enough attention to know those are my favorite.”

Draco shot her a mock-offended look, closing the door behind him. “Give me some credit, Fletcher. You think I wouldn’t remember something as simple as that?”

She paused, the weight of the moment settling between them.

The flowers were beautiful, and part of her appreciated the gesture. But the other part—the part that had been hurt, the part that wasn’t ready to forgive—remained distant.

The silence lingered, thick with the unsaid words, the hurt, the confusion. But Draco didn’t back away. He didn’t retreat. He waited, silently, for her to make the next move.

Finally, Y/N took a deep breath and looked at him, her expression soft but still guarded. “We need to figure this out, Draco. But not for them. Not for the press. For us.”

Draco nodded, his heart lighter than it had been in days. “I know. I’m willing to try if you are.”

As the media speculations continued to swirl, it was clear that Draco and Y/N weren’t ready to give up on what they had.

"Malfoy, party of two?" the maître d' inquired, his voice smooth as aged port.

"Yes," she replied, her tone clipped. "He'll be along shortly."

With a sigh, she allowed him to lead her to their reserved table by the window. 

The plush velvet of the seat offered little comfort as she settled in, a single place setting before her, stark against the crisp white tablecloth. 

The heavy silver gleamed under the soft glow of the table lamp, and a single, perfectly formed rose sat in a crystal vase, its petals unfurling in silent beauty. The candlelight flickered, casting dancing shadows that seemed to mock her solitude. 

She picked up the menu, its leather cover cool beneath her fingertips, but her eyes merely skimmed the extravagant offerings. 

Her appetite, usually robust, felt momentarily muted by the slow simmer of impatience.

Five minutes passed. 

Then ten. 

The gentle murmur of other diners, once a soothing background, began to grate on her nerves. 

She watched a young couple across the room, leaning in close, their laughter soft and conspiratorial. 

A pang, not quite of jealousy, but of a longing for shared presence, twisted in her stomach. 

She checked her watch again. 

7:35 PM. 

Fifteen minutes. 

He knew how much she detested tardiness, especially for something as important as their monthly dinner date.

Her irritation began to build, a slow, steady burn beneath her carefully composed exterior. 

She tapped a manicured nail against the rim of her water glass, the faint chime a counterpoint to the rising tension within her. 

She considered sending a sharp, pointed text, but decided against it. It would only lead to a flurry of apologetic owls later, and she’d rather enjoy the evening, however late it started.

After twenty minutes of waiting, her patience wore thin. She signaled a passing waiter, a young man with an earnest expression. 

"A glass of the Bordeaux, please. The '98." Her voice was calm, but the subtle tightening around her eyes betrayed her. 

He nodded, jotting it down, and disappeared towards the bar. She watched him go, then turned her gaze back to the window, the bustling London street a blur of black cabs and hurried pedestrians.

As she waited for the wine, her initial annoyance began to soften, replaced by a quiet tide of memories. 

It wasn't the grand gestures or the dramatic declarations that came to mind, but the small, often overlooked moments that truly defined their relationship.

She remembered the first time he'd cooked for her. 

A disaster, really. 

Burnt toast, overcooked eggs, and a kitchen filled with smoke. 

She'd been about to launch into a scathing critique, her Malfoy upbringing dictating a certain standard of perfection, but then he'd looked at her, his dark eyes wide with a mixture of exasperation and genuine amusement at his own ineptitude. 

He’d just shrugged, a lopsided grin on his face, and said, "Well, at least I tried. We can always order in." And just like that, her sharp retort had died on her tongue. 

There was no argument, no defensiveness, just an easy acceptance of the situation. 

It was then she realized how different he was from anyone she’d ever known.

That was one of the things she cherished most about him: he rarely, if ever, argued with her. 

Not in the way others did, pushing back, demanding to be heard, escalating a minor disagreement into a full-blown confrontation. 

With him, it was always a quiet understanding, a gentle redirection. If she was being particularly stubborn, he'd simply let her finish, then offer a perspective so subtly different, so logically sound, that she'd find herself agreeing without even realizing she'd changed her mind. 

He didn't need to win; he just needed to be understood, and in turn, to understand her. It was a refreshing balm to her often-fiery temperament.

She recalled a particularly heated discussion about a new Ministry policy. 

She had been vehemently against it, citing all the historical precedents and potential pitfalls. 

He had listened, truly listened, his gaze unwavering. When she finished, flushed with indignation, he hadn't countered her point by point. Instead, he'd simply said, "I see your concerns. Have you considered the long-term implications for magical creature rights, though? It could open a new dialogue there." 

And just like that, the entire framework of her argument shifted. 

He hadn't dismissed her, hadn't argued, but had gently nudged her towards a broader perspective, a more nuanced understanding. 

The waiter returned, placing the heavy-stemmed glass of Bordeaux before her. 

The rich, ruby liquid swirled as he poured, releasing a faint aroma of dark berries and oak. She took a slow sip, letting the warmth spread through her. 

The wine was exquisite, a perfect antidote to her lingering annoyance.

She thought of the silly inside joke they had about a particularly pompous pure-blood socialite. 

A simple glance between them, a shared, silent understanding in a crowded room, and they would both struggle to suppress their laughter. 

It was a secret language, a bond forged in shared amusement that needed no words. 

He didn't need grand declarations; his presence, his quiet understanding, is enough. 

At least that’s what  she liked to tell herself. 

A faint smile touched her lips. 

He might be late, infuriatingly so at times, but he was her late. And in a world filled with bluster and conflict, his quiet, steady presence, his unwavering understanding, and his refusal to engage in petty arguments were treasures she wouldn't trade for anything.  

She took another sip of wine, her gaze now fixed on the restaurant's entrance, a genuine smile ready to greet him when he finally arrived.

But the smile faltered. 

The warm anticipation began to curdle into something sharper, something far less pleasant. 

She checked her watch again. 

7:50 PM. Forty-five minutes. 

The Bordeaux, which had initially soothed her, now felt like a mere prelude to a storm. 

The gentle hum of the restaurant, once a distant comfort, now seemed to mock her, each clink of cutlery and burst of laughter a reminder of her solitary vigil. 

Her jaw tightened, a muscle twitching beneath her skin. 

This wasn't just "late" anymore; this was disrespectful. 

The memories, once comforting, now felt like a cruel irony. 

How could someone so understanding, so attuned to her moods, be so utterly oblivious to the simple concept of punctuality? 

A cold knot formed in her stomach, and for the first time that evening, she felt a genuine, simmering anger begin to take hold. Her fingers, no longer idly tapping, clenched around the stem of her wine glass.

Just as the anger threatened to boil over, the heavy oak door of "Gourmet Groove" swung open, and a figure stepped inside. 

Y/N's eyes, still fixed on the entrance, widened imperceptibly. 

Her breath hitched. 

It wasn't her boyfriend. 

It was Severus Snape. 

Her ex-best friend. 

Her first love.

His dark, flowing robes seemed to absorb the dim light of the restaurant, and his usual severe expression was softened, if only slightly, by the ambient glow.

He paused, his gaze sweeping the room with that familiar, unnerving intensity. 

Y/N felt a jolt of something akin to panic. Her hand, still gripping the wine glass, trembled. 

Without thinking, she gulped down the remaining Bordeaux in one swift, desperate swallow, the rich liquid burning a path down her throat.

She slammed the empty glass onto the table with a soft thud, immediately signaling the waiter again. 

"A bottle," she whispered, her voice a little hoarse. "The same Bordeaux. And quickly." 

Her heart hammered against her ribs. She wanted to disappear, to melt into the opulent wallpaper, to become invisible. 

She hunched slightly, trying to make herself smaller, hoping against hope that his piercing gaze wouldn't land on her, that he wouldn't see her. 

Not now. 

Not like this.

Her mind, already reeling from the prolonged wait and the sudden surge of anger, now plunged into a chaotic torrent of memories, all revolving around the man who had just entered. 

Severus. 

His name, unspoken, tasted like ash on her tongue.

She remembered him as a boy, all sharp angles and burning intensity, hidden beneath a perpetually scowling facade. 

Their friendship had been an unlikely alliance, born in the shadowed corners of Hogwarts, a shared understanding of being outsiders in their own ways. 

He had been the one who truly saw her, beyond the Malfoy name and the expectations that came with it. 

He’d seen the girl who devoured forbidden texts in the library, who argued with professors about obscure magical theory, who sometimes felt stifled by the very world she was born into.

Their first love had been a tentative, fragile thing, like a rare, delicate bloom trying to push through concrete. 

It was in whispered conversations in deserted corridors, in the shared silence of late-night stargazing from the Astronomy Tower, in the way his hand would brush hers accidentally, sending a jolt through her that she still felt, years later, at the mere sight of him. 

He had been fiercely protective, his loyalty absolute, even when his methods were questionable. 

She remembered the sting of his sharp wit, but also the rare, almost imperceptible softening of his eyes when she was truly upset. 

He’d known her fears, her ambitions, her deepest secrets. He had been her confidant, her anchor, her first true connection outside the rigid confines of her family.

The memory of their parting, sharp and painful, sliced through her. 

A misunderstanding? 

A clash of ideals? 

A betrayal, perhaps, on both sides, fueled by youthful pride and the pressures of a war-torn world. 

The details were hazy now, deliberately blurred by years of avoidance and emotional distance, but the ache remained. 

A raw, unhealed wound that seeing him now, so unexpectedly, tore open anew.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a fleeting second, trying to regain control. 

He was still standing by the entrance, seemingly waiting for someone, his dark eyes still scanning. 

Every instinct screamed at her to flee, to apparate away and pretend this never happened. 

But the Malfoy in her refused to be seen as weak or flustered. 

She was Y/N Malfoy, and she would not cower. 

Yet, the desperate hope that he wouldn't see her persisted, a tiny, irrational plea echoing in her mind. 

The waiter arrived with the bottle of Bordeaux, its dark glass cool against her trembling hand. She clutched it, a shield against the sudden, unwelcome onslaught of her past.

"Get it together, Y/N," she muttered to herself, the words barely a whisper, lost in the restaurant's ambient noise. 

Her cheeks felt hot, a flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck. 

This was ridiculous. A Malfoy, looking like a nervous schoolgirl, trying to hide behind a wine bottle. 

It was utterly undignified. 

With a sharp intake of breath, she forced her shoulders back, her spine straightening against the plush velvet. 

She picked up the newly arrived bottle, its label a blur, and with a hand that was still not quite steady, poured a generous amount into her empty glass. 

The rich scent of the wine filled her nostrils, a small comfort. 

She would not let this ruin her evening. 

She would not let him see her like this.

Her gaze, now firmly fixed on the glass she was filling, flickered back to Snape, who was now being led to a table further across the room, thankfully out of her direct line of sight if she kept her head angled just so. 

A strange, unsettling comparison began to form in her mind, an unwelcome juxtaposition of past and present.

Her current boyfriend, for all his infuriating tardiness, was a balm. He was sunshine and easy laughter, a comfortable silence, a gentle hand. 

He didn't argue, he understood. He smoothed the sharp edges of her Malfoy temperament with a quiet patience that she hadn't known she needed. 

He was the calm after the storm, the steady presence that grounded her.

But Severus... 

Severus had been the storm itself. 

He was all sharp edges and biting wit, a constant intellectual challenge, a tempest of emotions hidden beneath layers of carefully constructed ice. 

He had argued with her, not with malice, but with a fierce, unyielding conviction that had often pushed her to her own limits. 

He had challenged her, provoked her, and in doing so, had forced her to think, to defend, to grow. 

Their connection had been raw, intense, and often painful, but undeniably profound. 

There was a fire in their interactions, a passionate clash of wills that, even now, she felt a strange, almost nostalgic ache for.

Her boyfriend's hand in hers was comforting, a soft embrace. Severus's touch, even the accidental brush, had been an electric current, a spark that ignited something deep within her. 

Her boyfriend's understanding was gentle, a quiet nod. Severus's understanding had been a piercing insight, a knowledge of her soul that felt almost invasive in its depth.

The wine in her glass trembled slightly as she held it. 

She had chosen her current path, her comfortable, stable life, a life where arguments were rare and understanding was a given. It was what she believed she wanted, what she needed. 

Yet, seeing Severus, the ghost of a past so intensely lived, so deeply felt, stirred a forgotten longing. A dangerous, exhilarating yearning for the sharp, demanding intellect, the fierce loyalty, the challenging dynamic that had once defined her world. 

It was a life she had walked away from, a love she had left behind. 

And now, here he was, a dark, potent reminder of a path not taken, a flame that, despite everything, still held a faint, dangerous flicker within her.

The comparison, unwelcome as it was, settled heavily in her chest. 

The wine, even a full bottle, suddenly seemed inadequate. She needed something with more bite, more immediate impact. 

Her current boyfriend was an hour late now, the clock on the wall above the bar glaring 8:20 PM. 

The initial anger had morphed into a cold, hard resentment, a feeling that demanded a stronger antidote than mere Bordeaux.

With a decisive push, Y/N rose from her seat, the plush velvet sighing softly in protest. 

She ignored the curious glances from a nearby table, her gaze fixed on the gleaming, well-stocked mini-bar nestled discreetly in a corner of the restaurant, near the entrance.

 She walked with a deliberate, almost defiant grace, her head held high, though her internal turmoil was a roaring tempest. 

As she approached the polished wood counter, the bartender, a young wizard with a surprisingly ornate mustache, looked up expectantly.

"Firewhisky," she stated, her voice clear and steady, betraying none of the chaos within. "Neat. A double." 

The words felt like a declaration, a desperate attempt to assert control over a night that was rapidly spiraling into a maelstrom of past regrets and present frustrations. 

She watched him pour, the amber liquid glinting under the soft lights, a potent promise of oblivion.

She took the heavy glass from the bartender, its warmth seeping into her palm. The fiery scent of the Firewhisky filled her senses, a sharp contrast to the delicate bouquet of the Bordeaux. 

She needed to calm herself, to regain the composure that was her birthright as a Malfoy. 

This was not the time or place for a public display of emotional disarray, especially not with him in the same room.

She took a deep, slow breath, the Firewhisky's fumes stinging her nostrils, but also bringing a strange sense of clarity. 

Her eyes, which had been darting nervously, settled. 

She was Y/N Malfoy. 

She had faced far worse than a late boyfriend and an unexpected encounter with a past flame. 

She had navigated political intrigue, survived a war, and built a life for herself on her own terms. 

A few moments of discomfort in a fancy restaurant would not break her.

She lifted the glass, the amber liquid catching the light. 

This was a strategic retreat, a momentary fortification. She would drink this, steady her nerves, and then return to her table, head held high. 

She would present an image of serene indifference, a woman perfectly content in her own company, awaiting her partner with elegant patience, not simmering fury or nostalgic angst. 

The Firewhisky was a tool, a means to an end. A means to reclaim her composure, to put the ghosts of the past back in their proper place, and to brace herself for the inevitable, and likely awkward, arrival of her current, infuriatingly late, boyfriend.

Just as she was about to take a fortifying sip, a shadow fell over her. A familiar, unsettling chill prickled her skin. 

She didn't need to look. 

Her breath hitched, the Firewhisky suddenly feeling heavy in her hand. 

Slowly, deliberately, she turned her head.

Severus Snape was there, already looking at her. His dark eyes, as unreadable and intense as ever, held hers. There was no surprise in them, only that familiar, piercing gaze that seemed to strip away all pretense. 

He had seen her. And he had chosen to approach. 

The corner of his mouth, almost imperceptibly, twitched, a ghost of a sardonic smirk. 

He hadn't said a word.

Y/N didn't say a word either. 

Her mind raced, a thousand retorts and greetings dying on her tongue. Instead, she lifted the Firewhisky to her lips, taking a slow, defiant sip. 

The fiery warmth spread through her, a small, internal battle won. Then, with a calculated slowness, she lowered the glass, her gaze unwavering as she met his. 

Her left brow, perfectly arched, rose in a silent, challenging question. 

What do you want, Severus? And why are you here?

Severus's voice, low and smooth as aged potion, cut through the din of the restaurant, a sound she hadn't heard directed at her in years. 

"Y/N Malfoy. What are you doing here?" His tone was devoid of warmth, yet held a subtle, almost imperceptible inflection that suggested more than mere curiosity. 

It was the same tone he used when he already knew the answer but wished to hear it from her lips.

Y/N took another, more deliberate sip of the Firewhisky, letting the potent warmth spread through her veins. It was a small defiance, a moment to gather her scattered thoughts. 

She lowered the glass, the crystal clinking softly against the polished bar. Her gaze, cool and steady, met his. 

"Sorry, Severus Snape," she answered, her voice a low, even tone that belied the turmoil within. "But I'm here for someone else."

His eyes, those fathomless pools of black, dropped almost imperceptibly to her left hand, resting on the bar. 

His gaze lingered there for a fraction of a second, noting the absence of any ring on her fourth finger. 

When his eyes flicked back up to hers, a flicker of something unreadable passed through them before his expression settled back into its usual stoic mask.

"Who?" he asked, the single word sharp, almost accusatory, cutting through the ambient noise like a well-aimed hex.

Y/N took another slow sip of her Firewhisky, letting the burn settle in her throat, a physical anchor against the swirling chaos of her emotions. 

She didn't flinch under his intense stare. Instead, she met his gaze, her own eyes, usually a cool grey, now holding a spark of defiance. 

A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched her lips, a mirror of the one he'd just given her. 

"That, Severus," she replied, her voice smooth as silk, "is none of your concern."

A muscle in Severus's jaw tightened, a barely visible tremor. 

He leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper, yet losing none of its cutting edge. 

"Indeed? I find it curious, then, that 'someone else' has left you waiting for an hour, nursing Firewhisky alone at a public bar. A rather undignified display for a Malfoy, wouldn't you agree?" 

His gaze flicked pointedly to her glass, then back to her eyes, challenging her. 

He wasn't giving up. 

His persistence, once a source of comfort, now felt like a suffocating weight.

Y/N's grip on the Firewhisky glass tightened, her knuckles turning white. The accusation in his voice, the subtle sneer at the mention of her family name, was classic Snape. 

It pricked at her pride, igniting a fresh spark of anger that momentarily overshadowed the lingering ache of nostalgia.

"My arrangements are hardly a matter for your judgment, Severus," she retorted, her voice a low, dangerous purr, carefully modulated so as not to draw undue attention. 

"And my choice of beverage is even less so. Perhaps you should concern yourself with your own affairs, rather than hovering like a particularly unwelcome Dementor." She took another defiant gulp of the Firewhisky, the heat spreading through her chest.

He didn't flinch. His dark eyes narrowed, a flicker of something akin to amusement, or perhaps exasperation, dancing within their depths. 

"A Dementor, Y/N? Such hyperbole. I merely observe. And what I observe is a Malfoy, alone, and clearly agitated, attempting to drown her... disappointment... in cheap spirits." 

He paused, a cruel twist to his lips. "Unless, of course, your 'someone else' is merely a convenient fiction to avoid admitting you are, in fact, alone."

"You're still annoying like always, Severus," she snapped, the words slipping out before she could fully rein them in. 

The familiar dynamic, the old dance of barbed words and unspoken history, was dangerously easy to fall back into.

To her surprise, a low, dry chuckle escaped Severus's throat. 

It was a rare sound, rusty from disuse, and it held a hint of genuine amusement that softened the sharp lines of his face, if only for a fleeting moment. 

His dark eyes, usually so devoid of warmth, crinkled at the corners. 

"And you, Y/N," he drawled, the sardonic edge still present but now laced with something lighter, "are still as predictable as a first-year's potion attempt. Always resorting to personal insults when logic fails you."

A genuine, albeit slightly startled, laugh bubbled up from Y/N's own chest. 

It was a sound she hadn't realized she'd been suppressing, a release of tension that had been building for the better part of an hour. 

The Firewhisky warmed her from the inside, but it was Severus's unexpected wit, the familiar back-and-forth that felt so strangely comforting, that truly eased the knot in her stomach. 

She found herself smiling, a real smile this time, not the forced, polite one she'd worn for the maître d'.

"Perhaps," she conceded, the corner of her mouth tilting upwards. 

"But at least I'm not the one lurking in the shadows, judging others' social engagements." 

The barb was softer now, playful almost. The heavy atmosphere between them, thick with years of unspoken history and lingering resentment, began to dissipate, replaced by the faint, fragile echo of their old camaraderie. 

The tension, for now, had broken.

Severus settled onto the stool beside her, his long robes pooling gracefully around him. He signaled the bartender with a subtle nod, and a glass of something dark and potent, likely a similarly strong spirit, appeared before him without a word. He took a slow, contemplative sip, his gaze still fixed on her, though the intensity had softened into something akin to thoughtful observation.

"So," he began, his voice still low, but less guarded, "what precisely has occupied your time since last we... conversed?" The word 'conversed' was delivered with a dry emphasis that implied their last interaction had been anything but a polite chat.

Y/N took another sip of her Firewhisky, feeling the liquid courage bolster her. 

This was it. 

The inevitable catch-up. 

"Oh, you know," she said, feigning nonchalance, "the usual. Ministry work, investments, avoiding tiresome social functions. And you, Severus? Still terrorizing students and brewing questionable concoctions in the dungeons?"

A flicker of that rare amusement crossed his features again. 

"Some things, Y/N, remain constant. The quality of student intellect, for instance, remains depressingly low. And the need for certain… preparations… never ceases." 

He swirled the liquid in his glass, his eyes momentarily distant. 

"Though my current focus is less on pedagogical torment and more on advanced research for St. Mungo's. A new antidote for a particularly stubborn strain of dragon pox."

Y/N felt a genuine surge of surprise. 

"Dragon pox? That's... ambitious. And rather benevolent for you." She couldn't resist the dig, a reflex born of years of their particular brand of affection.

He merely raised a brow, a faint ghost of his old sneer. 

"Benevolence is a luxury few of us can afford, Y/N. Practicality, however, is often a necessity. The current remedies are inefficient." He paused, then turned his full gaze back to her, the dark depths of his eyes seeming to probe. 

"And your 'someone else'? Is he equally... practical? Or merely a distraction from the inherent chaos of your nature?"

The question, delivered with such typical Snape bluntness, momentarily caught her off guard. 

The ease of their banter had almost made her forget her current predicament. 

She glanced at her watch again, a fresh wave of irritation washing over her. 

8:30 PM. An hour and ten minutes. 

Her boyfriend was now officially beyond fashionably late and well into the realm of rude.

"He's... different," Y/N said, choosing her words carefully. 

"He brings a certain... calm. A stability." She avoided his gaze, knowing he would dissect every nuance of her expression. 

"Not everyone thrives on constant intellectual sparring, Severus."

His lips twitched again. 

"Indeed. Some prefer placid waters. Though I recall a time when you found such tranquility rather... dull." The implication hung in the air, thick with shared history and unspoken regrets. 

He wasn't pressing, not overtly, but his words were a subtle, potent reminder of the fiery, passionate girl she once was, the one who had found his challenges exhilarating.

"People change," she murmured, taking a larger gulp of Firewhisky than was strictly necessary. The burn was a welcome distraction. 

"And some things are more important than... intellectual stimulation." The words felt hollow, even to her own ears, especially with the growing resentment towards her absent boyfriend.

He said nothing, merely watched her, his dark eyes seeming to absorb her unspoken thoughts. 

The silence stretched, no longer awkward, but heavy with the weight of their complicated past and the unspoken question of her present. 

The Firewhisky was doing its job, dulling the sharp edges of her anger, but it couldn't erase the gnawing emptiness of the seat across from her table, or the unsettling presence of the man beside her who understood her better than almost anyone.

Then, a genuine, hearty laugh erupted from Severus, a sound so unexpected, so utterly unlike the dry chuckles she was accustomed to, that it startled her. 

It was a deep, rumbling sound, full of dark amusement, and it made the few patrons near the bar turn their heads. 

Y/N found herself laughing too, a bright, uninhibited peal that mingled with his. 

The absurdity of the situation, the sudden, easy camaraderie, and the sheer unexpectedness of his mirth, was infectious.

As their laughter subsided, leaving a comfortable quiet in its wake, Y/N felt a strange, exhilarating flutter in her chest. It wasn't the steady, comforting beat her current boyfriend brought, but a wild, almost forgotten drum. 

Her heart raced, a frantic, joyful rhythm against her ribs. 

It was the thrill of the familiar, the spark of an old, potent connection rekindled. 

The tension that had held her captive for the past hour and a half completely dissolved, replaced by a lightness she hadn't realized she'd been missing. 

She looked at Severus, truly looked at him, and for the first time in years, the bitterness faded, leaving only the warmth of a shared past and the surprising joy of a present moment.

Y/N opened her mouth to reply, a carefully worded evasion already forming on her tongue, when the heavy oak door of "Gourmet Groove" swung open once more. 

This time, a figure she recognized all too well stepped inside. 

Her boyfriend. He scanned the room, his eyes finally landing on her at the bar, a broad, apologetic smile spreading across his face.

Y/N felt a complex mix of emotions surge through her: relief that he had finally arrived, irritation at his extreme tardiness, and a sudden, sharp pang of something akin to disappointment that this unexpected, strangely comforting interlude with Severus was about to end. 

She let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, a tiny exhalation of the tension that had returned with his arrival.

She turned back to Severus, her expression shifting, the warmth in her eyes dimming slightly, replaced by a more formal, polite demeanor. 

"Sorry, Severus," she said, her voice regaining a touch of its earlier crispness, though still softer than her initial barbed exchanges. 

"I'm here for someone else, as I mentioned." She offered him a small, polite smile, a clear signal of dismissal. 

"It's good to see your face, Severus. I hope you're doing well."

Severus gave her a curt, almost imperceptible nod, his dark eyes sweeping over her once more, then briefly flicking towards the approaching figure of her boyfriend. 

A shadow of something unreadable, perhaps a flicker of understanding or a hint of his old melancholic resignation, crossed his features. 

"Enjoy your night, Y/N Malfoy," he said, his voice low and even, a finality in his tone that closed the brief, unexpected chapter of their reunion. 

With that, he turned, his robes swirling around him, and walked towards the table the maître d' had indicated earlier, disappearing into the elegant shadows of the restaurant.

Y/N watched him go, a strange mix of emotions swirling within her. 

The lightness from their shared laughter still lingered, a faint echo, but it was quickly being overshadowed by the familiar, slightly deflating reality of her current situation. 

She took a final, fortifying sip of Firewhisky, the burn a sharp reminder of the present.

Her boyfriend, a tall, impeccably dressed wizard with a charming, if somewhat harried, smile, reached the bar. 

"Y/N, my dearest! I am so incredibly sorry. There was an absolute nightmare with the Floo network, and then a minor incident with a rogue Niffler at the Ministry. You wouldn't believe it." He leaned in to kiss her cheek, his apology tumbling out in a rush.

Y/N offered him a tight, almost automatic smile. 

"It's quite alright, darling," she said, her voice perhaps a shade too bright. 

She quickly dismissed his explanations with a dismissive wave of her hand. 

"Let's just get to our table, shall we? I'm absolutely famished." 

She didn't mention the hour-long wait, the building anger, the Firewhisky, or the unexpected, unsettling reunion with Severus. 

Some things were best left unsaid.

They walked back to their reserved table, her boyfriend still chattering about the Niffler incident, oblivious to the emotional landscape he had just walked into. 

Y/N nodded along, offering appropriate murmurs of sympathy, but her mind was elsewhere. 

They settled into their seats, and a waiter immediately appeared to take their order. They chose their dishes with practiced ease, a familiar routine.

As her boyfriend launched into another anecdote about his day, Y/N found her gaze drifting, almost involuntarily, across the dimly lit restaurant. 

Her eyes sought out the table where Severus Snape had been led. He was seated now, a solitary figure, his dark silhouette stark against the muted backdrop of the dining room. He was engaged in quiet conversation with what appeared to be a Ministry official, his expression unreadable, as always.

She watched him for a moment longer than necessary, the Firewhisky still a warm hum in her veins. 

The easy laughter, the sharp wit, the profound understanding that had flowed between them just moments ago felt like a vivid, almost tangible dream. 

Her boyfriend's voice, though pleasant, seemed to fade into the background. She was here, at this elegant restaurant, with the man she had chosen, the man who brought her calm and stability. 

But her thoughts, stubbornly and persistently, kept returning to the dark, enigmatic figure across the room, and the unsettling question of what might have been.

Her mind slipped back, effortlessly, to Hogwarts. 

She saw herself, younger, perhaps a little more reckless, perched on a dusty pile of ancient scrolls in the Restricted Section of the library, Severus beside her. He would be poring over some obscure tome, his long fingers tracing lines of arcane script, while she, ever the curious one, would be peppering him with questions.

"Severus, do you think this theory on transfiguration is truly sound, or just a desperate attempt to impress the Ministry?" she'd whisper, nudging him with her elbow.

He'd sigh, a long-suffering sound, but then he'd launch into a meticulous, scathing critique, dissecting the theory with surgical precision, his eyes alight with intellectual fire. 

And she would listen, utterly captivated, sometimes arguing back, sometimes simply absorbing his brilliant, if cynical, insights. 

Those were the moments. 

The shared intellectual hunger, the unspoken understanding that they were both sharper, more complex than the world gave them credit for. 

The way he would correct her, not with condescension, but with a quiet intensity that showed he truly cared about her understanding.

She remembered a particularly cold winter evening, huddled together in a deserted classroom, practicing advanced charms. 

Her wand had flickered, the spell refusing to coalesce. 

Frustration had bubbled up, and she'd been on the verge of throwing her wand across the room. 

He had simply reached over, his cool fingers briefly brushing hers as he adjusted her grip, his voice a low murmur, 

"Focus, Y/N. Precision, not power." 

And then, with his quiet guidance, the charm had sprung to life, a delicate, shimmering thing. There was no argument, no judgment, just quiet, unwavering support.

And then there was the Black Lake. Countless afternoons, especially in their later years, they would seek refuge there, away from the bustling castle and the prying eyes of their peers. 

They’d find their usual spot under a gnarled old willow tree, its branches weeping over the dark, still water. 

He would bring some obscure, often morbid, book of potions or dark arts, and she, a volume of ancient runes or advanced charms. 

But the books were often just props.

They would talk for hours, about everything and nothing. About the hypocrisy of the Ministry, the ineptitude of certain professors, the ridiculousness of pure-blood traditions, and the baffling intricacies of obscure magical creatures. 

Their banter was sharp, quick-witted, a verbal fencing match where each parry and thrust was met with a delighted glint in the other's eye. 

He would tease her about her occasional bursts of Malfoy arrogance, and she would mock his perpetually gloomy disposition. 

And they would laugh. 

Real, uninhibited laughter that echoed across the quiet lake, a stark contrast to the stifling formality of their lives within the castle walls.

It was in those moments, under the silent gaze of the Black Lake, that they were simply Y/N and Severus, two sharp minds finding solace and exhilaration in each other's company.

A faint, almost wistful smile touched her lips as her boyfriend's voice broke through her reverie, asking her opinion on the wine list. She nodded, offering a vague agreement, her thoughts still caught in the echoes of a past that felt, in that moment, more vibrant and alive than the present.

In the present, Y/N's gaze flickered across the opulent dining room. 

Severus Snape had risen from his table. He stood, a dark, imposing figure, and shook hands with the Ministry official he had been conversing with, a brief, formal gesture. Then, with a characteristic swirl of his robes, he turned and began to head towards the grand exit of the restaurant. 

Her eyes followed his retreating form, a strange mix of relief and a lingering, undeniable pang in her chest. He was leaving. The unexpected, jarring, yet strangely invigorating reunion was over. 

The thought brought a fresh wave of something akin to emptiness, a stark contrast to the vibrant laughter they had shared just moments before.

Her frown deepened as another memory surfaced, sharp and poignant. It was their last day at Hogwarts. 

The air was thick with the bittersweet tang of farewells and uncertain futures. They had sought out their familiar willow tree by the Black Lake, the silence between them heavier than usual.

"I'll miss this," she'd confessed, her voice barely a whisper, tracing patterns on the damp grass.

He had merely grunted, but his dark eyes, when she finally looked at him, held a vulnerability she rarely saw. 

"Indeed. The world outside these walls is... less tolerable."

"We'll still see each other, though, won't we?" she'd pressed, a desperate plea in her tone. 

"We promised. Friends, always."

He had given her a curt nod. 

"One would hope your memory is not as deficient as your Transfiguration skills, Malfoy. Of course." The usual bite was there, but it was softened by an underlying current of genuine sincerity. 

They had made promises, vague yet earnest, to bridge the chasm of the coming years.

Just then, the first fat drops of rain began to fall, splattering on the dark surface of the lake, then on their faces. 

Y/N had stood up abruptly, pulling him to his feet with a surprisingly strong tug. 

They stood there, under the sudden downpour, the willow branches dripping around them like a mournful curtain. 

Their eyes met, and in that moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them, the drumming rain, and the raw, potent emotion that flared between them. 

Without a single word, without a thought, they leaned in. 

Their lips met, a desperate, hungry kiss that ignited something within her, a wild, untamed fire that burned through the chill of the rain and the uncertainty of their future. It was a kiss that promised everything and nothing, a silent testament to a bond that defied logic and convention.

The memory, so vivid, sent a shiver down Y/N's spine, despite the warmth of the restaurant. 

She blinked, pulling herself back to the present, to the clinking of cutlery and her boyfriend's amiable chatter. She forced herself to focus on the menu, but the image of Severus's dark eyes, and the ghost of that long-ago kiss, lingered persistently at the edge of her awareness.

"Y/N? Is everything alright, my love?" her boyfriend asked, his voice laced with a gentle concern that pulled her sharply back to the present. He had noticed her distant gaze, the slight furrow in her brow. 

"You seem a little... preoccupied."

Y/N's eyes snapped to his, a fleeting moment of panic before she composed herself. 

She forced a bright, reassuring smile. "Preoccupied? Nonsense, darling. Just thinking about the menu. So many delightful choices!" She gestured vaguely at the leather-bound book in her hand.

But her mind was a whirlwind. 

Don't do it, Malfoy. Malfoy, don't do it. I said, Malfoy, don't do it. 

The silent chant was a desperate plea to herself, a mental ward against the sudden, overwhelming urge to... what? To run after him? To call his name? To acknowledge the raw, unsettling truth that the brief encounter had stirred within her? 

The comfortable, stable life she had built, the placid waters she had chosen, suddenly felt less appealing, less real, than the turbulent, exhilarating memories of a past she had tried so hard to bury.

Her gaze, drawn by an invisible thread, flickered back to the restaurant's exit. Severus Snape's dark silhouette was just disappearing through the grand oak doors, a final swirl of his robes swallowed by the night. 

A profound sense of loss, sharp and sudden, pierced through Y/N. 

The carefully constructed calm, the placid waters she had sought, shattered in that instant. 

The chant in her mind became a desperate scream. Don't do it, Malfoy. Malfoy, don't do it. I said, Malfoy, don't do it. 

But it was too late. 

The dam had broken.

She couldn't take it anymore. 

The realization hit her with the force of a powerful spell, a truth she had buried deep for years, now erupting with undeniable clarity. 

It wasn't just nostalgia, or a fleeting spark of camaraderie. 

It was still there. 

The wild, untamed fire. 

The deep, aching connection. 

She was still in love with Severus.

With a sudden, jerky movement, Y/N pushed her chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the polished floor, drawing startled glances from nearby diners. 

Her boyfriend looked up, his pleasant smile faltering, a confused frown replacing it.

"Y/N? What is it?" he began, his voice laced with concern.

Y/N barely registered his words. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat urging her forward. 

She looked at him, her eyes wide and unseeing, the carefully constructed facade crumbling around her. 

"I need to go," she whispered, her voice raw, barely audible above the restaurant's hum. It wasn't a request. It was a desperate, undeniable command to herself.

Before her boyfriend could utter another word, Y/N was already moving. She snatched her small, beaded clutch from the table, almost knocking over a water glass in her haste. Her chair lay askew behind her. 

She didn't look back at her bewildered boyfriend, didn't offer another explanation. Her eyes, now fixed on the grand oak doors that Severus had just passed through, burned with a singular, desperate purpose.

She was running. 

Not a graceful, Malfoy-esque glide, but a frantic, almost clumsy dash through the elegant dining room, weaving between tables, oblivious to the stares and murmurs she undoubtedly left in her wake. 

Her heart was a frantic drum, echoing the desperate chant that now screamed in her mind: Severus. Severus Snape. Don't lose him again.

The cold night air hit her face as she burst through the restaurant doors, the sudden chill a shock after the warmth of the interior. 

She scanned the busy London street, her breath coming in ragged gasps. 

Where was he? 

The street was a blur of black cabs and hurried pedestrians, but no dark robes, no familiar, imposing figure. 

Panic, cold and sharp, began to claw at her throat.

He was always the one. Always. 

The thought resonated with a painful clarity she had denied for too long. 

The stability, the calm, the gentle understanding of her current relationship, all of it felt like a pale imitation, a comfortable cage compared to the exhilarating, challenging, and profoundly real connection she had with Severus. 

She couldn't lose him again. 

Not after all these years. 

Not after that brief, potent rekindling of something she had foolishly believed was long dead.

"Severus!" she cried out, her voice thin and reedy against the city's roar, a desperate plea thrown into the vast, indifferent night. 

She started to run, blindly, in the direction he had taken, her elegant heels clicking frantically on the pavement, chasing a ghost of a past, and the desperate hope of a future she now knew she truly wanted.

She ran, her lungs burning, the unfamiliar exertion a sharp contrast to her usual composed existence. 

The city lights blurred into streaks, the sounds of traffic and distant chatter fading into a dull roar in her ears. 

Her focus was singular, absolute: find him. 

She pushed through a small group of wizards arguing loudly about Quidditch, barely registering their annoyed exclamations. 

She rounded a corner, the grand facade of "Gourmet Groove" now behind her, and saw him.

Severus. He was a few paces ahead, his dark robes a distinct silhouette against the glow of a streetlamp, seemingly about to Apparate.

"Severus!" she gasped, a desperate, ragged shout that tore from her throat.

He paused, his hand already raised, and slowly turned. 

His dark eyes, usually so impassive, widened fractionally in surprise as he registered her frantic, disheveled appearance. 

He had barely a moment to react.

Y/N, fueled by adrenaline and a lifetime of suppressed emotion, didn't slow. 

Her elegant heels, not designed for sprinting on cobblestones, betrayed her. Her foot caught on an uneven flagstone, and she stumbled, pitching forward with a gasp.

Before she could hit the unforgiving pavement, a strong, familiar hand shot out, catching her arm. Then another gripped her waist, steadying her. 

She collided with a solid, unyielding chest, the scent of old parchment and potions, uniquely Severus, filling her senses. 

His grip was firm, preventing her fall, holding her upright against him. 

For a breathless moment, they stood there, frozen in the sudden silence of the street, the city's noise a distant hum. 

Her heart, already racing from the run, now hammered against her ribs with a new, overwhelming intensity, a frantic, joyful rhythm that echoed the truth she had just unearthed.

Y/N pushed herself upright, her hands instinctively gripping his robes to steady herself. Her eyes, wide and glistening, met his. 

The surprise in his dark gaze was quickly replaced by that familiar, unreadable intensity, but now, beneath it, she saw a flicker of something else – a question, perhaps, or a dawning realization. 

Her breath hitched, still ragged from the run, but her voice, when it came, was clear, fueled by the raw truth that had propelled her out of the restaurant.

Without a word, without a thought, she leaned in. 

Her hands, still on his robes, tightened, pulling him closer. 

Her lips, slightly parted, found his. 

It was a kiss that was desperate and hungry, a lifetime of unspoken words and suppressed emotions pouring into it. 

The cold night air, the distant city sounds, the bewildered expression of her abandoned boyfriend back in the restaurant – all of it vanished. 

There was only the fiery warmth of his mouth on hers, the familiar scent of him, and the electric current that surged through her, igniting something deep within her that had long been dormant. 

It was the same wild, untamed fire from that last rainy day at Hogwarts, burning brighter now, consuming everything in its path. 

This kiss was not a promise of a future, but a desperate, undeniable claim on a past that had always been hers, and a love she couldn't afford to lose again.

End.

The room stilled for a moment, reporters glancing at one another as if to say, Oh, this is going to be good.

Y/N tilted her head, the question clearly amusing her. A playful smirk danced on her lips as she leaned back, crossing her legs. 

“Oh, that’s a tricky one,” she said, tapping her chin in mock contemplation. “My favorite ex-boyfriend?”

She let the question hang in the air for just long enough to build suspense, watching the reporters’ pens poised over their notepads.

Her publicist, standing nervously off to the side, visibly tensed, mouthing something that looked suspiciously like, Don’t say anything reckless.

Finally, Y/N shrugged with an air of nonchalance and grinned. “Well, that’s an easy one—none of them.”

The room erupted into a mix of laughter and surprised murmurs, reporters exchanging raised eyebrows and smirks. Before the interviewer could jump in to press for more, Y/N leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her smirk widening.

“You see,” she continued, her voice playful but sharp enough to cut through the noise, “I don’t have a favorite ex. Because my favorite isn’t an ex at all—he’s my current boyfriend.”

The room fell into stunned silence for half a second before the chatter exploded. Cameras flashed wildly, and reporters leaned forward with renewed excitement. 

A loud murmur spread through the room as one reporter blurted, “Wait, are you saying your boyfriend is—”

Y/N held up a hand, her grin turning smug as she decided to put the speculation to rest.

“Yes,” she said, drawing out the word with deliberate ease, “my boyfriend is Draco Malfoy. England’s star Seeker and my partner on and off the pitch.”

The announcement sent the room into chaos, the murmurs turning into a full-on buzz of excitement. A reporter raised their hand, trying to speak over the noise. “Were you two secretly dating during your Hogwarts years?”

Y/N chuckled and shook her head. “Oh, no. This didn’t happen until much later. Draco and I were just teammates back then. Hogwarts was all about Quidditch rivalry and maybe some playful bickering on the pitch.” She paused, her eyes sparkling with a touch of nostalgia. “But I guess somewhere along the line, that rivalry turned into something else.”

A reporter near the back called out, “So, what makes Draco your favorite?”

Y/N’s grin softened into something more genuine. She glanced down for a moment before meeting the reporter’s eyes. 

“Draco gets me. He knows what it’s like to live in the spotlight, to deal with the pressure, and to still want more for yourself. He’s competitive, driven, and yeah, maybe a little insufferable at times.” She smirked. “But he’s also thoughtful, funny, and surprisingly good at making me feel like I’m the only person in the world when we’re together.”

Across the room, a different reporter asked with a sly smile, “And what does he think about all this attention?”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, he’ll be mortified when he sees this. He likes to pretend he’s all stoic and untouchable, but deep down, he’s the softest guy I know. He’ll probably say something like, ‘You’re ruining my reputation, Fletcher.’” She mimicked Draco’s dramatic drawl perfectly, earning a round of laughter from the crowd.

“Speaking of ruining reputations,” another reporter chimed in, “how does it feel dating someone with such a notorious past?”

Y/N’s expression turned serious for a moment. “Look, people grow, and Draco’s done a lot of that. The person he is now—he’s nothing like the boy everyone remembers. He’s proven himself on and off the pitch, and I couldn’t be prouder to be with him.”

The room buzzed with approval as Y/N leaned back in her chair, her confident smirk returning.

“Now,” she added, crossing her arms, “if you’ll excuse me, I think we’ve spent enough time talking about my love life. How about we focus on Quidditch again?”

But as the interview wrapped up, and the reporters filed out, it was clear that her playful yet heartfelt response would dominate the headlines. 

And Y/N couldn’t help but grin, already imagining Draco’s embarrassed reaction when he read the news.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Draco Malfoy sat at the kitchen table in the Malfoy manor, a cup of coffee steaming in front of him. He had just returned from his personal workout, his hair still damp and tousled, when an owl swooped in, dropping the Daily Prophet neatly onto the table. He gave the bird an absent wave, reaching for the paper.

As usual, he expected another headline about England’s latest Quidditch win or maybe a scandal involving one of his teammates. But as he unrolled the paper, his eyes widened in horror.

The headline read:

“England’s Star Girl Declares Her Favorite Man: Draco Malfoy!”

Right below it was a massive photo of Y/N Fletcher during her recent interview, casually leaning back in her chair, grinning confidently at the camera. Next to it was a smaller photo of him from a recent match, looking every bit the brooding Quidditch star.

Draco stared at the headline for a moment, blinking as though it might change if he looked at it long enough. It didn’t. His gaze dropped to the opening lines of the article:

“When asked about her favorite ex-boyfriend, Y/N Fletcher shocked everyone by declaring her favorite man isn’t an ex at all—it’s her current boyfriend, Draco Malfoy. The infamous Seeker, known for his stoic demeanor and sharp tongue, apparently holds a softer spot in Fletcher’s heart. She described him as ‘competitive, driven, and thoughtful,’ even admitting that he’s ‘a little insufferable’—a sentiment fans of the Malfoy name might agree with.”

Draco groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“Merlin’s bloody beard,” he muttered, his ears starting to burn. 

He quickly skimmed the rest of the article, his mortification growing with each word.

“When pressed further, Fletcher added, ‘He’ll probably say something like, “You’re ruining my reputation, Fletcher,” but honestly, I think I’ve done the opposite. I’ve made him more lovable.’

By the time he finished the article, Draco was thoroughly flustered. His cheeks were pink, his ears practically glowing, and his usual cool composure was nowhere to be found. He slammed the paper down onto the table and leaned back in his chair, muttering to himself.

“Ruining my reputation? She’s bloody destroying it,” he grumbled, though the faintest trace of a smile tugged at his lips.

As if on cue, the fireplace roared to life, and Y/N’s face appeared in the green flames. 

“Good morning, Malfoy,” she chirped, far too cheerful for someone who had just set his life ablaze in the tabloids.

Draco narrowed his eyes at her. “Do you ever stop talking about me to reporters, Fletcher?”

Y/N grinned, clearly unbothered by his irritation. “Oh, come on. You should be flattered. I called you my favorite, didn’t I?”

“That’s not the point!” Draco snapped, though the redness in his ears betrayed him. “Do you have any idea what they’re going to say about me now? I’m supposed to be intimidating, not… not lovable!”

Y/N burst out laughing, her image in the flames flickering slightly. “Oh, Malfoy, you’ve been lovable since the moment I met you. You’re just mad because now everyone else knows it too.”

Draco groaned again, rubbing his temples. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet,” Y/N said, smirking, “you’re still with me.”

He let out a resigned sigh, finally letting the smallest of smiles creep onto his face. “You’re lucky I like you, Fletcher.”

“Oh, I know,” she said with a wink. “And you’re lucky I’m going to save that article for future blackmail material.”

Before Draco could retort, she disappeared from the flames, her laughter echoing in the room. He sat back in his chair, staring at the paper again with a mix of exasperation and reluctant amusement.

“Merlin help me,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. “I’m doomed.”

Draco was still at the kitchen table, the Daily Prophet splayed out in front of him like an incriminating piece of evidence. He glared at it as if his deathly stare could somehow erase the headlines.

The soft pop of the fireplace made him look up, his brows furrowing when Y/N stepped through again, now carrying a basket.

She was grinning from ear to ear and looking entirely too pleased with herself.

“You know,” she began, setting the basket down on the table, “for someone who just got declared my favorite person in front of the entire wizarding world, you look awfully grumpy.”

Draco leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You mean you haven’t embarrassed me enough for one day?”

Y/N ignored him, pulling out a stack of neatly packed containers from the basket. The smell of roasted chicken, fresh bread, and something sweet filled the air. “I thought I’d soften the blow with some homemade food. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Draco watched her unpack the food, his irritation wavering as the aroma hit him.

“You cooked?” he asked suspiciously, leaning forward to inspect the food.

Y/N shot him a mock glare. “Yes, Malfoy, I cooked. You sound surprised.”

“Well, forgive me for doubting, but the last time you were near a kitchen, you nearly set it on fire.”

“That was one time,” she huffed, pulling out a chair and sitting across from him. “And for your information, I’ve improved. This,” she gestured dramatically at the food, “is proof.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, reaching for a piece of bread. “I suppose it’s edible?”

“More than edible,” Y/N said confidently, watching as he cautiously bit into it.

He chewed in silence, his expression carefully neutral, but the faintest flicker of approval passed across his face. 

“Alright,” he admitted begrudgingly, “it’s not bad.”

“Not bad?” Y/N echoed, feigning offense. “I slaved over a hot stove for you, and all I get is ‘not bad?’”

Draco smirked, finally giving her a proper look. “Fine. It’s good. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” she replied, leaning forward and stealing a piece of chicken from his plate.

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the tension from the earlier interview slowly melting away. Eventually, Y/N leaned back in her chair, watching Draco as he picked at the dessert she’d made.

“You know,” she said casually, “you didn’t deny it.”

Draco looked up, narrowing his eyes. “Deny what?”

“What I said in the interview.” She grinned, her tone teasing. “That you’d say, ‘You’re ruining my reputation, Fletcher.’”

He groaned, setting his fork down. “Because you were right. I’d never hear the end of it if I tried to deny it.”

Y/N laughed, leaning over to poke his shoulder. “Admit it—you secretly loved every second of it.”

Draco leaned back in his chair, giving her a long, appraising look before smirking. “Only because you make a decent roast chicken.”

Y/N threw a napkin at him, but the sound of their laughter filled the room, the earlier drama of the day fading into the background.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It started gradually, so slowly that Y/N didn’t even notice at first.

At first, it was just small things—like the way Draco always seemed to be near her during practice, even when their positions didn’t require them to work together. Or how he’d instinctively pull her out of the way of stray Bludgers without even thinking about it.

Then there were the moments outside of Quidditch, during their “fake dating” charade. The way he’d press his hand to the small of her back at events, guiding her through a crowd with an easy confidence. How his sharp wit would make her laugh even when she tried not to. And the rare moments when he dropped the sarcasm and let his guard down, revealing the softer, quieter side of himself he kept hidden from the world.

She started noticing how his gray eyes softened when they lingered on her a little too long. How his lips twitched into a smirk when she’d sass him, like he secretly enjoyed the challenge.

And then, of course, there was the necklace.

It wasn’t just the gift—it was the way he’d slipped it around her neck, his hands brushing against her skin, his touch surprisingly gentle. The way he’d looked at her afterward, like she was the only person in the room. That moment had lingered in her mind far longer than it should have.

Now, during practice, she found herself sneaking glances at him when he wasn’t looking. Like now, as he hovered mid-air, his focus completely on tracking the Snitch. The sharp angles of his face were highlighted in the afternoon sun, his platinum hair glinting like silver against the blue sky.

“Y/N!” one of her teammates called, jolting her out of her thoughts.

She barely had time to dodge a Quaffle aimed her way, fumbling as she caught it just in time.

“Pay attention!” her coach barked, but Y/N barely heard him, her heart racing for an entirely different reason.

She scolded herself internally. 

Get it together, Fletcher. This is just fake dating. It’s just for the sponsors. He’s still Draco Malfoy, for Merlin’s sake!

But the problem was, he wasn’t just Draco Malfoy anymore.

He wasn’t just the arrogant Slytherin she remembered from Hogwarts or the playboy Seeker whose face graced magazine covers.

He was the person who waited for her after practice to make sure she didn’t forget her broom. The person who snuck chocolates into her bag when she was stressed about press interviews. The one who gave her those rare, almost shy smiles when no one else was looking.

And that was the worst part—because those moments weren’t fake. Not for her.

Uh, oh. 

She was falling for him, and she didn’t know how to stop.

Later, as they walked off the pitch together, Draco fell into step beside her, as he always did.

“You were distracted today,” he remarked, his tone light but curious.

Y/N shrugged, forcing a casual smile. “Just tired, I guess.”

Draco glanced at her, his eyes narrowing slightly like he didn’t quite believe her. But instead of pressing, he smirked. “Don’t let it happen again, Fletcher. Can’t have my fake girlfriend looking like an amateur.”

She rolled her eyes, her usual comeback dying on her lips as she caught the faint hint of teasing in his tone.

“Don’t worry, Malfoy,” she said finally. “I’ll make it up to you during the match.”

Draco grinned, his confidence infuriating as always. “You’d better.”

But as he walked ahead, Y/N found herself watching him again, her chest tightening with something she couldn’t quite name.

I’m in so much trouble, she thought to herself, biting her lip to hide a smile.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Draco Malfoy sat across from Y/N in one of Diagon Alley’s trendier cafés, the kind of place frequented by the well-dressed and perpetually busy.

The late afternoon sunlight spilled through the large glass windows, reflecting off the polished wooden tables and highlighting the subtle tension that always seemed to follow whenever the two of them shared a conversation.

Y/N leaned back on the couch, a playful grin tugging at her lips as she observed Draco, who was sitting across from her, seemingly relaxed. The press had been relentless all day, but now, away from the cameras, they were in a private moment.

"Diamond boy, keep me so shiny," Y/N teased, her voice light and carefree.

Draco's eyes flicked up at her, a faint flush creeping up his neck. He quickly turned his gaze away, clearing his throat.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" he asked, trying to sound indifferent, but the blush spreading across his cheeks gave him away.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a smirk dancing on her lips. "Are you blushing? Gross."

The comment hit harder than he expected. Draco's usual sharp composure faltered, and he squirmed, quickly brushing a hand through his hair to hide his embarrassment. 

"I’m not blushing," he said, voice a little too defensive. "Just... feeling warm."

Y/N chuckled at his flustered attempt to save face. "Uh-huh. Sure, Malfoy. 'Feeling warm' is what you’re calling it."

Draco shot her a pointed look, though the smile tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

"Yeah, but you love it," Y/N teased, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

Draco rolled his eyes dramatically but couldn’t keep the grin from spreading across his face. 

"I do, don't I?" he muttered, more to himself than to her, before shaking his head in mock exasperation.

"Just admit it, Draco," Y/N said with a laugh. "You can’t handle me."

Draco leaned forward slightly, his smirk returning with full force. "Oh, I can handle you. You just keep me on my toes."

"Yeah, well, don’t be surprised if you trip," Y/N quipped, enjoying every moment of teasing him.

Draco shot her a sidelong glance, still a little pink in the cheeks, but now there was a warmth in his eyes that suggested he didn’t mind it one bit. "I think I’ve already tripped a few times."

Y/N’s grin softened at his words, and for a brief moment, the playful banter between them was replaced with something else. 

She could tell Draco was still trying to maintain his usual, cool persona, but it was clear to her that there was more to him than just the public image. He was still the same Draco Malfoy—arrogant, confident, and a bit cocky—but now, with her, there was a vulnerability that made him even more real.

The table between them was cluttered with two coffee cups, a plate of half-eaten pastries, and Draco’s sleek leather wallet, which had been carelessly left open. 

Y/N’s gaze drifted over it, her eyes catching on something that made her pause.

A photo, her photo to be exact, was unmistakably tucked inside, peeking out just enough to be recognizable.

Her brows furrowed as she leaned in, pointing at it with a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“Wait a minute... Is that my picture?”

Draco, without even looking, snapped the wallet shut with an elegant flick of his wrist and leaned back in his chair. 

“Yes,” he replied, his tone completely nonchalant as though she’d asked about the weather.

Y/N blinked at him, momentarily at a loss for words. 

“Why?” she asked, her curiosity laced with suspicion.

Draco sipped his espresso leisurely, letting her question hang in the air for a moment before smirking.

“It reminds me of how ugly you are,” he said, his voice casual but laced with just enough mockery to make her eyes narrow.

“Ugly?” she repeated, leaning back in her chair as her lips curled into a disbelieving smile. “Are you seriously calling me ugly? I obviously look gorgeous in that picture.”

Draco tilted his head, his gaze flickering to hers with a maddeningly smug expression. “Gorgeous? That’s... a generous interpretation.”

“Oh, come on!” she exclaimed, leaning forward now, her voice filled with faux outrage. “You keep it because I look amazing, and you can’t bear to be without me. Just admit it, Malfoy.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rich, as he set his cup down and laced his fingers together in front of him. “Admit what, exactly? That your oversized ego amuses me to no end? Fine. I’ll concede to that.”

Y/N rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oversized ego? You’re one to talk. You probably carry around a mirror to gaze lovingly at your own reflection.”

“Hardly,” Draco drawled, his smirk widening. “Why would I need one when I can so easily crush someone else’s delusions of grandeur?”

“Right,” she said, leaning even closer, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Because carrying my picture in your wallet screams ‘detachment.’ Sure, Draco. Totally convincing.”

Draco shrugged, his smirk never faltering. “It’s not about you, darling. It’s about me. Looking at it guarantees me a good laugh, especially on bad days. You’re practically my personal source of comic relief.”

Y/N scoffed, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward despite herself. 

“You’re such a liar,” she said, shaking her head. “You keep it because you’re obsessed with me. Just admit it. I won’t judge.”

“Obsessed?” Draco echoed, his voice softening into a velvety murmur. 

He leaned forward, closing the distance between them slightly, his gray eyes glinting with mischief. “Let’s not get carried away. I keep it because... well, let’s just say it’s a reminder that even you have your uses.”

Y/N tilted her head, her grin growing wider as she rested her chin on her hand. “You know, for someone who insists they don’t care, you’re awfully defensive.”

Draco chuckled, shaking his head as if she were the most exasperating person alive. “Defensive? You’re imagining things. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll let you believe whatever nonsense helps you sleep at night.”

“Too late,” she said, raising her coffee cup in triumph. “I’m already convinced. You’re hopelessly attached to me, Malfoy.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was a trace of warmth in his expression now, subtle but unmistakable. “If believing that keeps you quiet for five minutes, I’m happy to indulge the fantasy.”

But as Y/N took a victorious sip of her coffee, her grin lingering, she couldn’t help but notice that Draco hadn’t tucked the wallet entirely out of sight. It sat there, resting on the edge of the table like an unspoken confession he wasn’t quite ready to make. And despite his biting words, she caught a fleeting, softer look in his eyes—gone as quickly as it appeared.

Draco, for his part, sipped his espresso and smirked to himself. Y/N might have been impossible, but she was also right: there was no way he’d ever admit just how often he looked at that photo.

Y/N tilted her head, a mischievous grin spreading across her face as she set her coffee cup down. “Alright, Malfoy. Hand it over.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, his smirk softening into a quizzical expression.

“Hand what over?” he drawled, clearly already anticipating trouble.

“Your picture,” she said, leaning back and crossing her arms. “If you get to carry around my photo, it’s only fair that I get one of you for my wallet. Balance, you know.”

He snorted, leaning back in his chair and adjusting the cuffs of his tailored jacket. “Balance? Darling, I hate to break it to you, but life isn’t fair. And I certainly don’t go around handing out pictures of myself to feed other people’s delusions.”

“Oh, come on,” Y/N said, rolling her eyes. “You’re practically made for a wallet photo. All that brooding and posing you do? It’s like you’re auditioning for it.”

Draco leaned forward slightly, his lips curling into a smirk. “And you think I’d willingly subject myself to the indignity of being tucked away next to... what, receipts and loose change?”

Y/N shrugged, her grin unfaltering. “You’d get to live next to my library card. That’s a prestigious company.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “And here I thought your sense of humor was the only thing keeping you from being completely insufferable.”

Y/N leaned forward, mirroring his posture, her eyes twinkling with mock determination. “You keep my photo for laughs, right? Fine. I’ll keep yours for emergencies—like when I need to frighten someone away.”

Draco smirked, his voice dipping into a soft, teasing tone. “Flattering as always.”

“Just give me the picture, Malfoy,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “You know you’ve got one tucked away somewhere. Probably autographed, too.”

He studied her for a moment, as though debating whether to indulge her request or continue teasing her. 

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he reached into his wallet and pulled out a small photograph of himself.

The picture, enchanted to move like all wizarding photos, captured Draco in his natural state of smug elegance—arms crossed, lips quirking into a faint smirk, his hair immaculately styled.

He slid it across the table, his expression unreadable. “Here. Try not to faint.”

Y/N picked up the photo, studying it with exaggerated seriousness. 

“Hmm,” she said, tapping her chin. “This is... okay, I guess. Not your best angle, though.”

Draco scoffed, leaning back and pretending to look offended. “Not my best angle? Every angle is my best angle.”

She laughed, slipping the photo into her wallet with a flourish. “If you say so. But now you’ll have to live with the knowledge that you’re officially my backup plan in case my day gets dull.”

Draco shook his head, his smirk returning. “And I’ll have to live with the knowledge that I’m probably now sharing space with half-eaten gum wrappers and Galleon receipts. How utterly demeaning.”

“Deal with it, Malfoy,” Y/N said, grinning as she closed her wallet. “It’s only fair. You started this.”

Draco raised his cup in mock acknowledgment, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “To balance, then.”

“To balance,” Y/N agreed, her grin widening as she sipped her coffee. 

Despite the teasing, she couldn’t help but think the photo looked surprisingly fitting nestled in her wallet. And by the way, Draco’s smirk lingered, she suspected he didn’t mind as much as he pretended to.

Draco chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “You looked like you were about to hex that one reporter.”

“Don’t tempt me.” She grinned, shaking her head. “Honestly, how many times can they ask the same question about us? ‘When did you two fall in love? What’s the secret to your chemistry?’ It’s exhausting.”

“Good thing we’re excellent actors,” Draco teased, his smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Y/N shot him a sidelong glance. “Speak for yourself, Malfoy. I wasn’t acting when I said you were a pain in the arse.”

Draco laughed, the sound softer than usual. “Fair enough. But admit it, Fletcher—you’d be bored without me.”

Y/N scoffed, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward. “You wish.”

Their banter faded into comfortable silence as they both looked out at the twinkling city lights.

It wasn’t often they got a moment like this, away from the pretense, the constant scrutiny.

“You were incredible today,” Y/N said after a moment, her voice quieter now. “That catch—it was unreal.”

Draco turned his head to look at her, his expression softening. “You’re one to talk. That shot you made? The crowd went insane.”

Y/N shrugged, pretending to be modest, but her cheeks warmed under his gaze.

“We’re a good team,” she said lightly, but the words held a weight neither of them acknowledged.

Draco took a step closer, the teasing edge in his voice replaced with something gentler. “We are.”

The way he said it made her heart skip. She turned to face him, and for the first time all evening, she noticed how tired he looked—yet his silver eyes still sparkled under the moonlight.

“Draco…” she started, but her voice caught when she realized how close he had gotten. 

His hand brushed hers on the railing, and suddenly the air between them felt heavier, charged with something unspoken.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, “for a fake relationship, we’re awfully convincing.”

Y/N’s lips parted, but no clever retort came to mind. Her pulse quickened as his gaze flickered to her mouth, lingering there for a moment too long. She felt rooted in place, unable to move, her heart hammering in her chest.

“Draco,” she said again, this time softer, almost a plea.

He leaned in, so close now that she could feel his breath on her skin, warm and unsteady.

His hand moved, brushing against hers again, this time intentional.

The world seemed to fall away—the noise of the event inside, the weight of their pretend relationship, the cameras that would inevitably be waiting for them.

And then, just as his lips hovered a fraction away from hers, the door to the balcony creaked open.

“Fletcher! Malfoy!” Their manager’s voice cut through the moment like a knife. “They need you for a final round of photos.”

Y/N flinched, stepping back as if reality had slapped her in the face. Draco straightened immediately, the cool, confident mask slipping back into place, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of frustration.

“Of course they do,” Y/N muttered, trying to sound unaffected, though her voice wavered.

Draco smirked faintly, but there was something softer in his expression as he met her gaze. “We should get back,” he said, though he made no move to leave just yet.

Y/N hesitated, biting her lip.

For a moment, she thought about what might have happened if they hadn’t been interrupted. But then she nodded, turning toward the door.

As she walked past him, he caught her wrist lightly, stopping her in her tracks.

“Next time,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

Y/N looked back at him, her heart stuttering in her chest, but she didn’t reply. Instead, she let his words linger in the air as she slipped back inside, leaving Draco alone under the stars.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The spotlight on Draco and Y/N had grown brighter by the day.

With every match, every brand partnership, and every magazine cover, their “relationship” seemed to cement itself more firmly in the public’s eye. 

The fans loved the drama of it all—the Quidditch stars, the famous last names, the so-called “star-crossed lovers” storyline. But with that came a dark side.

The envy.

At first, it was subtle. A few snide comments from rival players during games, a few fans questioning Y/N’s place in Draco’s world, but then the gossip started to grow louder. Magazine covers featuring the perfect couple were paired with scandalous titles and questionable quotes. They weren’t just reporting on their success—they were questioning the validity of it.

“Can Y/N Fletcher, so-called “star girl’ be the perfect match for England’s diamond boy Draco Malfoy?” read one headline from Glamour Quidditch.

The article dissected her background, questioning her lack of a “pedigree” compared to Draco’s, suggesting she was just another “glamour girl” in his long list of conquests.

“Draco’s recent Romance: How Long ‘Til It Ends?” another magazine questioned, offering backhanded compliments that painted her as a “convenient arm candy.”

It wasn’t just the gossip columns. Their relationship was a topic of heated debate on social media platforms. Fans of both players—some loyal, others scorned—had started their own campaigns, calling out everything from her appearance to her past relationships, even going as far as comparing her to Draco’s past romances. It was overwhelming, and it started to get to Y/N in ways she hadn’t expected.

The press had never been kind to Y/N.

With every passing day, the stories grew more invasive, the speculation more malicious. They’d latched onto her like a story they couldn’t stop writing about, questioning every detail of her life. Her relationship with Draco, too, became a headline. They picked apart their interactions, scrutinized their every move, and attempted to fabricate drama where there was none. It didn’t help that the media loved to pit Draco against his past relationships, comparing them to his “new” love interest.

But Y/N had gotten used to the whispers. Or so she thought.

The tipping point came during a press event at the Ministry of Magic, just days after one particularly hurtful article had been published. 

The magazine had suggested that Y/N was simply a “flavor of the month” for Draco, and worse, that she wasn’t truly good enough for him. 

The words felt like a slap in the face.

The reporters gathered in a chaotic group around Draco and Y/N as they made their way through a charity event, flashes of cameras blinding them as questions flew.

"Draco! Can you tell us what your relationship with Y/N Fletcher is really about?" one reporter called out, a smirk on their face as they posed the loaded question.

Y/N glanced at Draco, already feeling the familiar sting of media scrutiny. She opened her mouth to respond, but Draco beat her to it, his voice cutting through the noise.

"Enough." His tone was sharp, and the crowd instantly fell silent, sensing the change in his demeanor.

Y/N blinked, surprised by the sudden fierceness in his voice. Draco’s usual confident charm was replaced with something much more protective. 

He stepped closer to Y/N, placing a possessive hand at the small of her back, his gaze turning to meet the reporters head-on.

"I’m going to make this very clear," Draco began, his voice low but commanding.

"The way you’re treating her—" he pointed to Y/N, who stood slightly behind him, "—is disgraceful. You have no right to scrutinize her, to question her, or to make her feel anything less than what she is—perfectly capable and more than enough for me."

The reporters looked taken aback, clearly not expecting Draco to speak up like this. He continued, his voice getting louder with each word.

"Y/N Fletcher is not just my girlfriend; she’s a strong, talented, and brilliant woman who doesn’t need to prove anything to any of you. I’ll be damned if I let any of you degrade her for your own little stories." Draco’s icy blue eyes locked onto the reporter who had asked the question. "If you have a problem with that, take it up with me. Not her."

The room was dead quiet, the tension palpable as the other reporters exchanged glances, unsure of how to respond. The power of Draco's words and the unmistakable protectiveness in his voice was something none of them could ignore.

Y/N felt a rush of emotions—surprise, gratitude, and something deeper that she couldn’t quite name. She knew Draco had always been protective of her, but hearing him speak out so fiercely on her behalf was unexpected, and it left her feeling a bit vulnerable, yet appreciated.

The silence in the room stretched on for a moment before another reporter, cautiously, asked, "So you're both saying that you’re in a relationship? This is serious?"

Without giving her a chance to process, Draco cupped her face gently in his hands. His thumb brushed over her lower lip, and for a split second, everything else in the room seemed to fade away.

Then, in a moment that seemed to stretch forever, Draco leaned in and kissed her—softly at first, but with an undeniable intensity.

The kiss deepened as Y/N, taken aback for a moment, melted into his touch. Her hands found their way to his chest, feeling the beat of his heart beneath his shirt. His lips were warm, pressing against hers with a force that spoke of more than just physical attraction.

For a few long seconds, the rest of the world ceased to exist. They were just two people, caught in the intensity of a moment that felt very real, despite everything the press had said.

When they finally pulled away, breathless and a little dazed, the room seemed to rush back in. The chatter around them had stopped, and a few heads had turned. The press who had been watching from a distance were now staring, phones out, likely already crafting their next headline.

Y/N looked up at Draco, her heart racing. “That’s one way to shut them up.”

Draco, smirking with that signature confidence of his, leaned in close, his lips brushing against her ear.

“That wasn’t just for them. It was for you. Don’t forget that.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Draco Malfoy and Y/N Fletcher: Quidditch’s Power Couple Kisses for the First Time in Public! one headline read, with a photo of the two of them caught in the tender moment.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she clicked on the link, the words on the screen only confirming what she feared.

The article was filled with all the details—too many details. It described their kiss with sensational flair, suggesting it was “a bold move that shocked fans” and “a declaration of their relationship’s seriousness.” It mentioned their chemistry, their sudden shift from “quidditch teammates to something more,” and even speculated on whether this would lead to a “wedding announcement.”

Could Y/N Fletcher Be the One to Tame Draco Malfoy? Another article, from Witch Weekly, posted. 

The title alone made Y/N roll her eyes.

Is This The End of the Bad Boy Malfoy Era?

The headline from Quidditch Monthly was perhaps the most jarring, painting Draco as a reformed man, suddenly stepping into the role of a loving boyfriend. Y/N couldn’t help but shake her head in disbelief.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, tossing her phone onto the couch as she tried to focus on getting ready for the day. Her reflection in the mirror was steady, but underneath the calm exterior, she could feel the pressure mounting. Was the kiss really that big of a deal?

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The next PR stunt was simple: Draco Malfoy and Y/N Fletcher were to spend the day in Diagon Alley, casually photographed while shopping together. 

The goal? To solidify their image as Quidditch’s most glamorous couple, raking in more sponsors and fueling the public’s obsession with them.

The two strutted down the cobblestone streets, Draco in a perfectly tailored suit, his platinum blond hair gleaming in the sunlight, and Y/N in an effortlessly chic outfit, her presence drawing as much attention as his. 

Paparazzi lingered discreetly (or not-so-discreetly), snapping pictures as the “couple” walked into a high-end jewelry store.

Y/N smirked as she glanced at Draco. “This is a bit much, even for you, Malfoy. What are we doing here? I don’t need jewelry to make headlines.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh, please. This isn’t about you needing anything. It’s about reminding the world that we’re untouchable.”

She rolled her eyes but followed him inside, where a gleaming display of diamonds and emeralds awaited them. A salesman, clearly flustered by the sight of Draco Malfoy and Y/N Fletcher in his store, hurried over, bowing slightly.

“Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Fletcher, it’s an honor! How can I assist you today?”

Draco didn’t hesitate, gesturing toward the most extravagant section of the display. “Show us your finest pieces.”

Y/N laughed under her breath. “Subtle as always.”

The salesman quickly retrieved a tray of diamond necklaces, each one more dazzling than the last.

Y/N leaned over to inspect them, her sharp wit ready. “What are you going to do, Draco? Buy me a necklace to prove your undying love? The headlines would eat it up.”

Draco smirked, his gray eyes glinting with mischief. “Undying love? No. But it’ll look fantastic in tomorrow’s photos.”

He picked up a particularly stunning piece—a diamond necklace with a delicate, intricate design that shimmered like starlight.

Without waiting for Y/N’s input, he turned to the salesman. “We’ll take this one.”

Y/N blinked, taken aback. “What? Draco, that thing probably costs more than the whole quidditch team.”

Draco shrugged, holding the necklace up to her neck. “It suits you. Besides, if we’re doing this publicity stunt, we might as well do it properly.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, though her lips twitched into a faint smile. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“And you’re welcome,” he replied smugly, handing the necklace to the salesman for wrapping.

As they left the store, paparazzi swarmed, capturing every angle of the two of them walking arm in arm.

Y/N leaned toward Draco, her voice low so only he could hear. “You do realize this is going to fuel the ‘Draco Malfoy spoils his girlfriend’ headlines for weeks?”

Draco smirked, glancing at her with a playful gleam in his eye. “Good. Let them talk.”

Y/N shook her head, unable to suppress a laugh. “You really love the drama, don’t you?”

“Only when it involves you, Fletcher,” he quipped, his smirk softening into something that almost looked genuine.

And as the cameras flashed around them, Y/N glanced at the bag containing the diamond necklace and couldn’t help but wonder if Draco Malfoy was starting to blur the line between publicity and something else.

The moment they stepped out of the jewelry store, the world seemed to stop, if only for a few seconds. The flashes from cameras exploded around them, blinding them in a kaleidoscope of light.

Y/N and Draco continued walking side by side, the buzz of the crowd becoming a distant hum in the background. But Draco was laser-focused, not just on the headlines they’d create, but on the moment itself.

Without a word, he paused, turning to face Y/N. She raised an eyebrow at him, wondering what he was up to.

Draco’s fingers delicately pulled the diamond necklace from its velvet box, and before Y/N could protest, he reached around her neck, gently clasping it into place.

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Draco, you didn’t—”

“Shh,” he whispered, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “Just play along.”

Y/N couldn’t help but notice the look in his eyes—something between mischievous and genuine.

As the necklace settled around her neck, it sparkled, catching the light in every direction, and she found herself momentarily speechless.

The flash of cameras intensified, the photographers clamoring to capture the moment. The headline was practically writing itself: Draco Malfoy, in rare public display of affection, gifts Y/N Fletcher a diamond necklace.

Y/N blinked, snapping back to reality as she realized the spectacle they were creating.

“You’re going to have everyone thinking we’re a couple for real now,” she muttered, a little caught off guard.

Draco didn’t respond immediately, instead adjusting the necklace around her neck with a steady hand. “Let them think whatever they want. It’s good for business. Besides, you look stunning.”

She couldn’t deny the necklace was beautiful, and it certainly did make her look like the centerpiece of the grandest event.

She smirked at him. “You know, you’re quite the showman, Malfoy.”

“Only when it’s worth the drama,” he replied with a grin, his voice almost teasing.

By the time they reached the end of the street, the buzz around them had exploded into full force. Their names were already trending on every gossip column. 

“Y/N Fletcher, Draco Malfoy’s diamond girl?” 

“Malfoy Gifts Fletcher Diamond Necklace Amid Public Outing, Is Y/N Fletcher the New Queen of Malfoy’s Heart?”, and “Draco Malfoy’s Public Romance With Fletcher Takes the Spotlight.”

As they sat together later that evening, the whirlwind of media coverage still swirling around them, Y/N glanced over at Draco. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Draco didn’t meet her gaze immediately, his smirk curling up at the corners. “Not as much as I enjoy watching you wear that necklace.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “So this is all just for the attention, then?”

“Not just for the attention,” Draco replied, leaning back in his chair, his tone still playful. “But I won’t deny it—it’s working.”

She shook her head, still processing the whirlwind of events. “You’ve definitely got a knack for causing chaos, Malfoy.”

“And you’re just the right person to handle it with me,” he shot back, the sincerity behind his words unmistakable, despite the playful glint in his eyes.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The Quidditch pitch was quiet, save for the soft patter of rain falling from the grey skies.

Y/N stood in the middle of the field, her Chaser robes soaked through, her hair clinging to her face, yet her laughter rang through the air, light and unrestrained. She spun in place, arms outstretched, reveling in the cool rain as if it were a long-lost friend.

On the sidelines, Draco stood beneath the shelter of the stands, his blonde hair slightly damp and his arms crossed over his chest. 

His grey eyes followed her every movement, a mix of amusement and bewilderment playing across his features. 

“You’re insane, Fletcher,” he called out, his voice cutting through the rain.

Y/N paused mid-spin, turning to face him with a grin so wide it could have rivaled the sun. “Am I? Or are you just boring, Malfoy?”

Draco rolled his eyes but felt the familiar tug of her infectious energy pulling him in. He stepped out from under the shelter, his boots squelching in the wet grass as the rain began to soak through his robes.

“Boring? I’ll show you boring.”

Before she could react, he closed the distance between them in a few long strides, grabbing her hand and pulling her into an unplanned dance.

“What are you doing?” she asked, laughing as she stumbled into his arms.

“Proving a point,” he replied smoothly, his smirk growing as he twirled her around.

Their movements were anything but graceful—more of a chaotic shuffle than a proper dance—but neither of them seemed to care. The rain fell harder now, cascading over them, but it only added to the magic of the moment. Y/N tilted her head back, laughing as Draco spun her under his arm, the water dripping down her face like glittering pearls.

“See?” she teased, looking up at him. “Not so boring after all.”

Draco arched a brow, his smirk deepening.

“You’re a terrible dancer,” he quipped, though his grip on her hand never loosened.

“And yet,” she shot back, her eyes sparkling with mischief, “you’re still holding on to me.”

He let out a chuckle, shaking his head as the rain plastered his hair to his forehead.

“Maybe I’m the insane one, then,” he muttered under his breath, though the small, tender smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

For a moment, the world around them seemed to fade. The weight of their roles, the endless expectations, the pressure to perform for England, the ever-present gaze of sponsors and fans all melted away. 

There was no crowd, no cameras, no rivalry.

Just the two of them, drenched in rain and laughter, dancing as though they had all the time in the world.

Y/N stumbled slightly, and Draco caught her, his arms instinctively wrapping around her waist. 

She looked up at him, her laughter fading into something softer as their eyes met. For the first time, neither of them had a teasing remark ready.

“Careful, Fletcher,” Draco said quietly, his voice losing its usual edge. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your perfect Quidditch form.”

“Or your perfect reputation,” she shot back, though her voice was equally soft, almost unsure.

“Maybe it’s worth ruining,” he murmured, his gaze lingering on her just a second too long.

The rain continued to fall, but neither of them noticed anymore.

Time seemed to freeze on that stormy Quidditch pitch as they stood there, caught in a moment they both knew they’d never forget.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The rain-soaked memory of their impromptu Quidditch pitch dance lingered between them for days, a moment neither could shake off. It wasn’t long before Y/N Fletcher, ever the bold one, proposed a casual outing. 

They met in Diagon Alley, the busy street alive with the chatter of witches and wizards. Draco Malfoy, clad in his usual sleek black robes, looked every inch the composed and untouchable pureblood. Y/N, on the other hand, breezed in wearing a carefree smile and casual, mismatched attire, her hair still slightly windswept as though she’d just stepped off her broomstick.

“I’m trusting you to keep this low-key,” Draco said as they started walking.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Relax, Malfoy. It’s just two friends spending the day together. Besides, your reputation could use a little shaking up.”

He scoffed but didn’t argue, following her as she wandered from shop to shop. Everything was fine—normal, even—until she stopped dead in her tracks outside of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.

“Oh, we have to go in,” Y/N said, her eyes lighting up as she grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the brightly colored shop.

Draco balked, planting his feet like a stubborn Hippogriff. “Absolutely not. I’m not stepping foot in there.”

“Why not?” Y/N teased, pulling harder. “Afraid of a couple of joke products? C’mon, Malfoy, live a little.”

He sighed dramatically but relented, letting her drag him inside. The shop was a chaotic mess of color, laughter, and explosions of smoke from various gadgets. 

Fred and George Weasley, stationed behind the counter, both looked up when they entered. Fred nudged George with his elbow, grinning like he’d just won a bet.

“Malfoy,” Fred said, smirking. “Didn’t think we’d see you here. Finally decided to trade in that dreary wardrobe for something fun?”

Draco scowled, his cheeks tinged pink. “I’m here against my will.”

Y/N burst out laughing, clearly enjoying his discomfort. She darted off to browse the shelves, leaving Draco awkwardly standing by the door, arms crossed.

It didn’t take long for her to return, arms full of ridiculous items—a Nose-Biting Teacup, a Puking Pastille pack, and something called a Skiving Snackbox. Draco stared at her in horror.

“You’re actually buying that rubbish?” he asked, appalled.

“Of course,” she said, grinning. “This stuff is gold. And Fred said he’d throw in a free love potion.”

Draco groaned, rubbing his temples. “You’re ruining my reputation, Fletcher.”

Y/N handed her Galleons to Fred, who chuckled at Draco’s discomfort. “I think she’s improving it, mate.”

Draco shot him a glare but didn’t respond. Instead, he grabbed Y/N’s bag of joke products and marched toward the exit, muttering under his breath.

Outside, Y/N caught up to him, grinning from ear to ear. “Oh, come on, Malfoy, admit it. You had fun.”

He glanced down at her, the corners of his lips twitching despite himself. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” she said, looping her arm through his, “you’re still holding on to me.”

Draco sighed, shaking his head as they continued down the cobblestone street, Y/N laughing beside him, her bag of Weasley Wheezes products swinging with each step. He didn’t say it, but deep down, he knew she was right.

Y/N shot him a deadpan look. “Nervous? Not at all.”

She wasn’t nervous. She was just… slightly uncomfortable. 

Sure, they’d played the “fake dating” card for a while now, but this? This was different. The shoot was all about them looking like a couple, getting cozy on the cover in a way that would have made any PR team jump for joy. The photographer was already setting up, gesturing for them to come closer.

"Alright, you two," the photographer said, his voice booming with excitement. “I want you to be natural. The chemistry between you two is electric—let’s make it work. Come on, Draco, Y/N, let’s get those intimate poses. Lean in a little more. Perfect."

Y/N’s heart thudded in her chest as she exchanged another look with Draco. They both knew how to fake it for the cameras, but this felt different.

The photographer moved around them, snapping pictures as they stood, side by side, shoulders brushing, the space between them growing smaller with every instruction.

“Closer,” the photographer insisted. “Touch each other. Play with the chemistry.”

Y/N blinked, a wave of unease rushing over her. She could already feel the heat from Draco’s body radiating against hers as he subtly closed the distance. His hand brushed against hers, then lingered, just enough to send a shiver through her.

“Relax, Fletcher,” Draco whispered under his breath, his voice low and surprisingly comforting. “It’s just a picture.”

She shot him a sideways glance, her heart racing a little faster than it should have. “It’s more than just a picture. We look like we’re about to—”

“Shh,” Draco cut her off, grinning. “Just go with it.”

The photographer was still giving instructions, urging them to wrap their arms around each other. Reluctantly, Y/N let her arm settle around Draco’s waist, the touch unfamiliar despite the many times they’d been close before. Draco responded by placing his hand lightly on her back, his fingers brushing her skin as he moved to fit the pose.

It felt too intimate. Too real.

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat, but she didn’t break character. She couldn’t. 

The flashes of the camera continued, clicking rapidly, capturing the scene as if their “chemistry” was the most natural thing in the world. But Y/N felt anything but natural. She could feel Draco’s heartbeat through his clothes, the warmth of his body so close to hers, and it took every ounce of control not to pull away.

“Perfect, perfect!” The photographer called out, pleased with their “effortless” closeness. “Now, Draco, Y/N, look into each other’s eyes. Let’s see that longing.”

Y/N swallowed, feeling the weight of the moment settle over her. She forced herself to look into Draco’s gray eyes, finding them already trained on her, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. He didn’t look uncomfortable, not in the slightest. His lips twitched, and for a split second, Y/N wondered if he was too comfortable with all of this.

For the next few shots, they held that intense, staring moment, the camera clicking relentlessly. She could feel Draco’s breath on her skin, his hand now resting firmly on the small of her back, pulling her even closer. It felt like the distance between them was shrinking, and not just physically.

“Alright, we’re almost there,” the photographer announced, seemingly satisfied with the direction the shoot had gone. “One last shot. A kiss. Just a quick one, for the cover. Think passion, connection—let the audience feel it.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped, her body frozen in place at the suggestion.

She met Draco’s gaze, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. The kiss…this wasn’t part of the plan. She had agreed to all of this, but this?

She caught a glimpse of the smirk on Draco’s lips as he leaned slightly forward. “What’s wrong, Fletcher? Afraid of a kiss?”

Y/N fought the urge to laugh, the absurdity of the situation pulling at her. “It’s not the kiss I’m worried about,” she said dryly, her voice low enough that only he could hear.

He shrugged, still smirking. “It’s just a picture.”

Before she could respond, the photographer counted down. “Five... four... three... two...”

Y/N’s breath hitched again, her mind racing. Draco’s face inched closer, and before she could stop herself, she found herself leaning into him, eyes closing as their lips nearly touched for the shot. It was everything the photographer wanted—passion, chemistry, connection—but for Y/N, it felt like a line had been crossed.

The camera flashes went off in a burst of light as they locked eyes one last time, and for a brief second, Y/N forgot where they were. Forgotten was the pretense, the performance, the cameras—it was just her and Draco, that damn close, too close.

Then the photographer called it. “That’s a wrap!”

Y/N pulled away immediately, breathing hard, her pulse racing. Draco didn’t move right away, his eyes holding hers for a beat longer than necessary, his gaze intense.

“Well, that was… something,” she muttered, trying to regain her composure.

Draco chuckled lowly, his grin widening. “You survived. And I must say, Fletcher, you’re a natural.”

Her heart was still racing, but she shot him a pointed look. “You’re not so bad yourself, Malfoy.”

"Let's see if they get the chemistry right on the cover," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm, as he winked at her.

Y/N wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or unsettled. Either way, she was more than ready to get out of the spotlight.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The latest issue of Witch Weekly was flying off the shelves, with Draco Malfoy and Y/N Fletcher gracing the cover under the headline: “From Rivals to Lovers: Inside the Life of Quidditch’s Power Couple!” 

The feature spread was nothing short of stunning. A photo of Draco and Y/N seated in an elegantly styled lounge opened the article, their chemistry impossible to miss. Draco looked every bit the sophisticated gentleman in his tailored charcoal-grey wizarding suit, his silver cufflinks gleaming under the soft, enchanted lighting. Beside him, Y/N radiated effortless charm in a sleek dress, her arm brushing against his as if it were second nature.

The setting was perfect for an intimate interview, but as the reporter dove into their relationship, it became clear that the true magic lay in their dynamic.

The interviewer, an enthusiastic young witch named Clara Vane, couldn’t hide her excitement. “Thank you both for being here today. You’re arguably the most talked-about couple in Quidditch right now, and everyone is dying to know—how did this all begin?”

Y/N leaned back with a playful smirk, her fingers brushing lightly over Draco’s knee. “Oh, you know, the usual way these things go. He glared at me from across the pitch every time we played, I scored a ridiculous number of goals past him, and eventually, he realized he was in love with me.”

Draco let out a soft laugh, his usual cool demeanor melting away in her presence.

“That’s not exactly how it happened,” he countered, though the amusement in his voice betrayed his affection. “Yes, she scored a few impressive goals—”

“A few?” Y/N interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

“Fine, several,” Draco admitted, shaking his head as a smile tugged at his lips. “But what she’s leaving out is how insufferably smug she was about it. She made it impossible not to notice her. On and off the pitch.”

Y/N grinned, clearly pleased with herself. “Well, you’re not exactly easy to ignore either, Malfoy. All that brooding and dramatic hair flipping? I thought you were trying to distract me.”

“Not intentionally,” Draco said smoothly, though his smirk suggested otherwise.

Clara’s quill scribbled furiously, enchanted to capture every word. “So, it started as a rivalry. At what point did it change? When did you realize there was something more?”

Draco’s expression softened, and for a moment, he seemed to forget they were in the middle of an interview. 

His gaze fixed on Y/N, his voice quieter as he said, “It wasn’t any one moment. It was… everything. The way she laughed, the way she never backed down, even when I was at my most difficult. She saw me for who I really am, not who people expect me to be. And somewhere along the way, I realized I didn’t want to imagine my life without her in it.”

Y/N blinked, her playful demeanor faltering as his words sank in. She glanced at him, her teasing smile replaced by something far softer. “Draco…”

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “You wanted the truth, didn’t you?”

She laughed quietly, shaking her head. “You’re going to make me cry in the middle of Witch Weekly. How embarrassing.”

Clara beamed, clearly thrilled with the candid moment. “Y/N, what about you? What’s it like being with Draco? He’s had quite the reputation over the years.”

Y/N’s grin returned, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, it’s an adventure, that’s for sure. He’s infuriatingly stubborn and a complete perfectionist, but he’s also… well, he’s not who people think he is. Once you get past the layers of sarcasm and brooding, he’s surprisingly kind. And thoughtful. And loyal to a fault. Not that I’d ever tell him that outright—I don’t want it going to his head.”

Draco smirked, his hand slipping into hers. “Too late.”

Clara’s quill was nearly smoking from the speed at which it recorded their every word. “You two seem to balance each other so well. What’s it like being in such a high-profile relationship? Does the fame ever get in the way?”

“It has its moments,” Y/N admitted, shrugging. “There’s a lot of pressure, especially with Quidditch. People love to speculate, and there’s always some rumor or another. But at the end of the day, we know what’s real. That’s what matters.”

Draco nodded in agreement. “The fame can be exhausting, but having Y/N makes it manageable. She’s my anchor. And honestly, the headlines don’t bother me as much as they used to. As long as she’s by my side, they can say whatever they want.”

As the interview reached its peak, Clara leaned forward, her enchanted quill hovering over the parchment like a predator about to pounce. 

She cleared her throat, her tone delicate but curious. “Y/N, you’ve been quite open in the past about your reputation as, well, a bit of a playgirl. Your fans have always admired your carefree attitude and confidence, but there’s been some speculation… Is Draco just another fleeting moment, or is this something more?”

The room seemed to still.

Y/N tilted her head, a flicker of her characteristic mischief playing in her expression, though there was a subtle shift in her demeanor.

She wasn’t offended, but the question clearly struck a chord.

Draco tensed slightly beside her, his jaw tightening as his gray eyes darted toward Y/N. He didn’t interrupt—this was her question to answer—but the protective set of his shoulders showed exactly how he felt about the insinuation.

Y/N, however, handled it with the same effortless confidence that made her famous. She leaned back in her chair, resting her elbow on the armrest as her fingers played with a strand of her hair. 

“It’s true,” she said, her voice calm and unbothered. “I’ve dated a fair few people. Quidditch players, healers, even a musician once—though that was a disaster.” She chuckled, earning a soft laugh from Clara, though Draco’s smirk barely twitched.

“But here’s the thing,” Y/N continued, her tone sharpening slightly, her gaze locking onto the interviewer’s.

“Just because I’ve had my fun doesn’t mean I don’t know when something’s real. And Draco…”

She turned to look at him then, her expression softening in a way that felt like peeling back a layer of her armor. “He’s not a fleeting moment. He’s… different. He makes me want things I didn’t think I wanted. Stability, trust, someone to come home to. So, no, he’s not just another name on a list. He’s it for me.”

The weight of her words hung in the air for a moment, the vulnerability in her tone catching even Draco off guard. His tense posture softened, and the corners of his lips lifted in a faint smile. 

“You could’ve told me all that sooner,” he teased, though his voice was low, almost reverent.

“I like keeping you on your toes,” she quipped, but her hand found his, lacing their fingers together on the armrest between them.

Clara, clearly moved by the sincerity of the moment, hesitated before turning to Draco. “Draco, it seems like Y/N is certain about you. Are you just as certain about her?”

His answer was immediate, his voice steady and sure. “Absolutely. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”

He looked at Y/N then, his gray eyes meeting hers with an intensity that seemed to make the rest of the room fade away. “She might have a past, but so do I. That’s not what matters. What matters is that I know who she is now, and I wouldn’t trade her for anything in this world.”

The interviewer leaned forward, clearly relishing the chance to stir the pot. “Alright, Draco, let’s get to the juicy stuff. What do you think about Y/N’s ex-boyfriends?”

Draco, lounging in his chair with his usual air of superiority, quirked a brow at the question.

“Her ex-boyfriends?” he drawled, as if the very idea was amusing. “Well, let’s just say she clearly didn’t have the best taste before I came along.”

The interviewer laughed, but Draco wasn’t done. “I mean, don’t get me wrong—they tried, I suppose. But you know how it is. Some boys just don’t know how to handle someone like Y/N. She’s… what’s the word? A handful.”

The crowd chuckled, and the interviewer pressed on. “So, you’re saying you’re the only one who can handle her?”

Draco leaned forward slightly, his smirk growing. “Oh, absolutely. Let’s be honest—Y/N needs someone who can keep up with her wit, her stubbornness, and her… unique way of seeing the world. Those poor blokes she dated before me? They didn’t stand a chance. They were probably overwhelmed.”

“Overwhelmed, huh?” the interviewer teased. “So, do you think you’re the best she’s had?”

Draco didn’t hesitate. “I’m not saying it—I’m just stating the obvious. But if you asked her, I’m sure she’d agree.”

Y/N’s voice suddenly cut through the laughter. “Don’t push your luck, Malfoy!”

Draco turned his head, feigning innocence. “What? I’m just being honest!”

Y/N crossed her arms with a smirk. “Honest? Please. If you’re the best, Draco, then the bar was on the floor.”

Draco chuckled, leaning back in his chair with a wink. “Careful, Fletcher. You’re only proving my point.”

“I think we’ve got our answer, folks. The two of you are definitely something else.”

“One last question, then. What’s next for the two of you? Fans are already calling you the ‘power couple of Quidditch,’ but what’s on the horizon?”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “World Cup champions, obviously. But who knows? Maybe Draco will surprise me with something else.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a sly smile. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The practice session was nearing its end, but the air was still thick with the adrenaline of competition.

Draco hovered near the edge of the pitch, his eyes flickering between his teammates and Y/N, who was darting across the field, her broom swishing smoothly beneath her. 

She was in the zone, as always, the Quaffle effortlessly passing through her hands as she skillfully maneuvered past the Bludgers and Beaters.

Draco had seen her play countless times before, of course. He knew her talent like the back of his hand. But today, for some reason, he couldn’t look away.

Y/N’s movements were fluid and confident, a combination of speed and grace that was almost hypnotic. She weaved between defenders with an ease that made it look effortless. 

With every goal she scored, Draco felt his heart skip, his gaze glued to her as she caught the Quaffle and sent it flying through the hoops, the crowd’s cheers echoing in his mind even though it was just practice.

He watched her pull off a particularly perfect maneuver, dodging a Bludger and sending the Quaffle through the middle hoop with a swift flick of her wrist. The way her body shifted mid-air, the determination in her eyes—it was intoxicating.

Draco hadn’t realized it until now, but there was something magnetic about the way she played.

Her laugh rang out across the field when she looked back at him, catching him staring.

“Enjoying the show?” she teased, her breath still even from the effort.

Draco blinked, quickly shifting his gaze as if trying to recover some of his composure. He hadn’t meant to get so caught up in watching her, but seeing her in her element was something else. His heart had been racing with every goal she scored, each one feeling like a quiet victory for him, too.

“You’re good,” he said, his voice a little rougher than usual. He tried to sound nonchalant, but there was no denying the awe that had crept into his tone.

Y/N tilted her head, a playful smile dancing on her lips.

“Just good? I’m great, Malfoy.” She flew closer, slowing down just enough to hover next to him, her eyes glinting with mischief.

Draco’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he looked away, a small smirk on his face. “Alright, great then.” 

He tried to maintain his usual confidence, but there was something different now. His mind still replayed the way she scored that last goal with such ease, her confidence and skill—he couldn’t shake the feeling of being completely captivated.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly aware that something was off. “What’s going on with you today, Malfoy? Never seen you so… distracted.”

Draco cleared his throat, regaining his composure. “I’m not distracted,” he muttered, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Just thinking about… tactics. You know, how to beat you next time.”

Y/N laughed, the sound light and teasing. “You wish. I’ll be scoring circles around you all day.” She gave him a wink before darting off again, taking her place back on the field as the practice continued.

But Draco didn’t immediately follow. Instead, he stayed there for a few seconds longer, watching her move with a new kind of appreciation—one that wasn’t just about her skill, but about everything that made her who she was. The way she held her broom, her fierce focus, the way her hair fluttered behind her.

And, for the first time, Draco realized that he wasn’t just mesmerized by her talent on the field. 

He was mesmerized by her.

With a shake of his head, he finally pushed himself off the ground and joined the others, but the feeling of being completely drawn to her lingered. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it was becoming harder and harder to deny what was building between them.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The sun had just begun to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and pink as Draco and Y/N sat on the edge of the Quidditch pitch after practice. Their brooms lay abandoned in the grass nearby, the air still charged with the energy of their recent training session.

Y/N leaned back on her elbows, looking up at the fading sky. “You know,” she began, her voice light, “I miss the old Slytherin team sometimes. Back at Hogwarts, when things were simpler.”

Draco, sitting beside her with his knees drawn up, glanced at her with a smirk. “Simpler? You mean back when everyone was terrified of us because we were a bunch of ruthless, overly competitive lunatics?”

Y/N laughed, nudging his shoulder with hers. “Exactly. Those were the days. Remember how Flint used to scream at us during practices? I swear he nearly gave me a heart attack when I missed that Quaffle in my third year.”

Draco chuckled, the sound surprisingly genuine. “Flint was unhinged. I’m convinced he cared more about winning the Cup than his actual N.E.W.T.s. But to be fair, you did miss an easy shot.”

“Excuse me?” Y/N sat up, narrowing her eyes at him. “It wasn’t an easy shot. Pucey passed it too high.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, the trademark Malfoy smirk playing on his lips. “Blame the pass all you want, Fletcher. A real Chaser would’ve made it.”

Y/N gasped in mock offense, grabbing a handful of grass and tossing it at him. “Says the Seeker who got knocked off his broom by a rogue Bludger during the final against Gryffindor!”

Draco groaned, brushing the grass off his robes. “I told you, that was a foul! And besides, Potter only caught the Snitch because the bloody thing flew straight into his hand.”

“Sure, Malfoy, keep telling yourself that.” Y/N grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Admit it, you just couldn’t handle the pressure.”

Draco scoffed, leaning back on his hands. “The pressure? Please. I thrived under it. If anything, you were the one who cracked during games. Remember when you dropped the Quaffle during the semi-final because you were too busy showing off for that Ravenclaw bloke in the stands?”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed. “That was one time! And for your information, he was very cute.”

Draco rolled his eyes, his smirk softening into something more nostalgic. “You were insufferable back then.”

“And you were unbearable,” Y/N shot back, though her tone lacked any real bite.

They fell into a comfortable silence, the memories of their Hogwarts years washing over them. The thrill of their matches, the camaraderie of the Slytherin team, the late-night strategy meetings in the common room—it all felt like a lifetime ago.

“You know,” Draco said after a moment, his voice quieter, “for all the chaos, those were some of the best years of my life. Being on that team, playing alongside you… It was the only time I felt like I wasn’t just ‘Lucius Malfoy’s son.’”

Y/N turned to look at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his tone. “You were more than that, Draco. Even back then. You were a great Seeker, a great teammate… and honestly, you were a great friend, even if you were a bit of a prat.”

Draco huffed a laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Thanks, Fletcher. You weren’t so bad yourself. A pain in the arse, but not bad.”

She smiled, leaning her head against his shoulder. “I’d say we made a pretty good team.”

“We did,” Draco agreed, his voice soft as the sun dipped lower, leaving the sky painted in twilight hues.

“We still do.”

A flash of gold appeared near the Gryffindor goalposts, and without hesitation, Y/N shot forward, her broom slicing through the air. Snape leaned forward instinctively, heart pounding despite himself.

“Come on, Black,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the fabric of his robes as she closed in on the Snitch.

The Gryffindor Seeker, a wiry seventh-year, was just a few feet behind her, pushing his broom to its limit. But Y/N was faster. Snape had seen her fly countless times, had even watched her practice in secret when she thought no one was looking. 

He knew her style. She didn’t lunge blindly for the Snitch. She was patient, calculated. 

And then, just when it seemed like the Gryffindor Seeker might overtake her, she swerved at the last second, forcing him to adjust. That split-second hesitation was all she needed.

With a sharp dive, she stretched out her gloved hand, her fingers closing around the Snitch.

The stadium erupted into noise, but Snape barely heard any of it. His eyes were locked on Y/N as she straightened up, wind whipping through her hair, her triumphant smirk unmistakable even from a distance. She held the Snitch high as the Slytherin stands exploded in cheers.

Across the pitch, Sirius Black groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Bloody hell, Y/N! You’re supposed to be a Gryffindor at heart!” he yelled, though there was a grudging sort of pride in his voice.

Y/N turned her broom sharply toward the Gryffindor stands and, without missing a beat, flipped her older brother off.

Severus let out a rare chuckle, shaking his head. 

That was Y/N Black. She was unapologetic, sharp-tongued, and effortlessly brilliant. 

He found himself smirking as she landed, her teammates swarming her in celebration.

Part of him wanted to go down there, to congratulate her before the rest of Slytherin stole her attention. But instead, he simply watched from his spot in the stands, arms crossed, as she basked in her victory. She didn’t need his words to know he was proud. She would just know.

As Y/N landed, her teammates swarmed her, shouting, clapping her on the back, and ruffling her hair. She barely acknowledged them, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd instead.

Then, without a word, she pushed past them.

“Oi, where’s she going?” one of the Chasers muttered.

“She’s probably off to rub it in her brother’s face,” another laughed.

But they were wrong. 

Y/N wasn’t heading for Sirius. She wasn’t even acknowledging the rest of Slytherin’s celebration.

She was walking straight toward the stands, straight toward him.

Severus Snape sat frozen for a moment, his arms still crossed, before hurriedly schooling his expression back into indifference. His heartbeat, however, betrayed him.

Y/N reached him, standing just in front of where he sat, her broom still clutched in one hand, the Snitch resting in the other. She tilted her head at him, her smirk sharp and teasing.

“You gonna congratulate me, or are you too busy sulking about whatever it is that you sulk about?” she taunted, breathless from the match.

Snape rolled his eyes. “As if I care about Quidditch.”

Y/N scoffed. “Oh, please. I saw you watching me.” 

She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “You always do.”

Severus’s grip on his robes tightened, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You fly like an idiot. One wrong move, and you could’ve broken your neck.”

“Ah, so you were worried,” she teased, grinning.

“Hardly,” he muttered, but there was no venom behind it.

Y/N studied him for a moment before extending her hand, the one holding the Snitch. His brow furrowed in confusion as she placed it in his palm.

“A souvenir,” she said, shrugging. “For sitting through an entire match just for me.”

Severus stared at the Snitch in his hand, then back at her. His fingers curled around the cool metal, and for once, he didn’t have a sharp remark ready.

Y/N grinned, clearly pleased with herself. “Come on, Snape. Walk with me before the team kidnaps me for some over-the-top victory party.”

And just like that, she turned, expecting him to follow.

With a sigh, one that was far too fond for his liking, Severus tucked the Snitch into his pocket and stood, trailing after her.

As they walked away from the roaring Slytherin crowd, Severus fell into step beside her, hands shoved into his robes. The Snitch sat in his pocket, its tiny wings twitching now and then, but he ignored it.

Y/N strode forward with that effortless confidence of hers, broom over one shoulder, head held high like she owned the castle. And in some ways, she did. 

She was a Black, a Slytherin, a bloody brilliant Seeker. Everyone either admired her, feared her, or wanted to be her.

And yet, here she was. Choosing to spend her post-victory moment with him.

They reached a quieter corridor, the distant cheers fading behind them. Y/N finally exhaled, tilting her head back against the cool stone wall. “Merlin, I thought that match would never end.”

“You made quick work of it,” Severus muttered, leaning beside her. “Wasn’t even a challenge, was it?”

She smirked, eyes glinting. “Not even close.” Then, nudging him with her elbow, she added, “You enjoyed it, admit it.”

He scoffed. “I tolerated it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but let it slide. Instead, she turned to him fully, studying him with an unreadable expression.

“You know,” she mused, “you’re the only one I actually wanted to talk to after that match.”

Severus swallowed, caught off guard. “Why?”

“Because you don’t treat me like I’m some bloody trophy,” she said simply. 

“Everyone else is off celebrating me—but you just… I don’t know.” She paused, as if searching for the right words. “You see me. Not just the captain, or the Seeker, or ‘Sirius Black’s little sister.’ Just me.”

Severus felt his throat go dry. He looked away, unsure what to say to that.

Y/N didn’t push him for an answer. Instead, she grinned, leaning closer. “So, since you’re such a dedicated fan now, you coming to my next match?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If I must.”

She laughed. It was bright, unapologetic, and it was the kind of laugh that made even his cold, guarded heart warm just a little. 

“You must.”

Y/N pushed open the door to an empty classroom, stepping inside like she owned the place. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows against the stone walls, the only sound the faint echo of the ongoing celebration down in the dungeons.

Severus followed, closing the door behind them. “Skipping the victory party entirely, then?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N tossed her broom onto an abandoned desk and hopped up onto another, swinging her legs. 

“Please. If I stay any longer, they’ll shove Firewhisky down my throat and make me listen to Mulciber’s tragic attempts at flirting.” She smirked. “I’d rather be here.”

Severus leaned against the opposite desk, arms crossed. “With me?”

“With you.” Her voice was softer now, less teasing.

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he looked down, pulling the Snitch from his pocket and watching it twitch in his palm.

Y/N’s eyes flicked to it. “Like it?”

Severus huffed. “You forced it on me.”

She tilted her head. “But you haven’t given it back.”

He hesitated, fingers tightening around the Snitch. The truth was, he liked having it. A reminder that, out of everyone in that bloody Quidditch pitch, she had chosen him to share her moment with.

Y/N grinned, clearly pleased with his silence. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Rolling his eyes, Severus flicked his wand at the candles, dimming them slightly. The atmosphere shifted into a quieter and more intimate setting. The usual playful edge between them softened, replaced with something unspoken but heavy in the air.

She watched him carefully, then sighed, leaning back on her hands. 

“You know, for someone who ‘doesn’t care about Quidditch,’ you sure looked invested today.”

Severus exhaled sharply. 

“I wasn’t invested—”

“You were leaning forward in the stands.”

“I was watching.”

“You muttered something under your breath when I went for the Snitch.”

“That doesn’t—”

“You were worried about me.” Her voice was light, teasing, but there was something searching in her gaze.

Severus clenched his jaw. “…You could have broken your neck.”

Y/N’s smirk faltered just slightly. “But I didn’t.”

“That’s not the point.”

She studied him for a long moment, then hopped down from the desk, stepping closer. 

“Sev.” Her voice was softer now, almost careful. “You do care.”

He swallowed hard. It was infuriating, the way she could see right through him.

“…You’re so annoying,” he muttered.

She grinned. “And you love it.”

Severus refused to dignify that with a response, but he didn’t move away when she plucked the Snitch from his hand, rolling it between her fingers before throwing it back at him. Severus put it back in his pocket.

Silence settled between them, warm and heavy.

After a moment, Y/N smirked. “So, since we’re skipping the party, what do you suggest we do?”

Severus glanced at her, at the flickering candlelight dancing in her eyes.

“…Stay here,” he said finally. “Talk. Until they give up looking for you.”

Y/N hummed in approval. “Sounds perfect.”

And so they stayed.

Severus sat on the edge of the desk, arms crossed as he fixed Y/N with a sharp look. “Have you even read the new Advanced Potions textbook yet?”

Y/N, who had settled comfortably into the chair beside him, legs draped lazily over one armrest, snorted. 

“No, Severus, I thought I’d just wing it on my N.E.W.T.s.”

He sighed dramatically, pulling the book from his bag and flipping through the pages with an irritated sort of reverence. “Then you haven’t noticed the absurd number of errors in it.”

Y/N quirked an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Errors? In the Slughorn-approved textbook?”

Severus scoffed. “Slughorn wouldn’t notice an error if it exploded in his face. Which, frankly, some of these might.” 

He jabbed at a particular page with his finger. “Here. Draught of Living Death. Ridiculous instructions. If you follow them as written, the potion will be unstable and potentially lethal.”

Y/N leaned forward, peering at the text. “It says to stir counterclockwise seven times.”

“Exactly.” He flipped a few more pages aggressively. “And this one—Babbling Beverage? Why in Merlin’s name would they suggest stewing the rat spleens first? That ruins the consistency completely.”

Y/N grinned, resting her chin on her hand. “You really love this stuff, don’t you?”

Severus paused, caught off guard. His fingers, which had been poised to flip to yet another grievous offense, hesitated over the pages.

“…It’s logical,” he said finally, shrugging as if it didn’t matter. “Precise. Potions do what they’re supposed to if you follow the right process.”

Y/N studied him, something unreadable in her gaze. Then, she reached out and plucked the book from his hands.

“Oi—”

“Relax, Sev,” she drawled, skimming through the pages. “If you hate this version so much, why don’t you just rewrite it yourself?”

He blinked. “What?”

“You already know what’s wrong with it. Fix it. Make notes, change the instructions, do whatever you do with your creepy little personal experiments.” She smirked. 

“Merlin knows you’d probably make a better textbook than this rubbish.”

Severus stared at her, lips parting slightly in surprise. 

“…You might actually be onto something,” he admitted.

Y/N laughed, tossing the book back at him. “A rare moment of brilliance, I know.”

He rolled his eyes but tucked the idea away, running his fingers over the cover thoughtfully.

Maybe she was right.

Y/N smirked as she watched Severus flip furiously through the pages of the textbook, muttering to himself.

“This is completely wrong,” he grumbled, tapping the page with the tip of his wand. “They’re telling students to add crushed asphodel before the infusion of wormwood. That completely alters the reaction time. If anything, it weakens the potion instead of enhancing it.”

Y/N continued to rest her chin in her palm, watching him with amusement. “And what would you do instead, Professor Snape?”

Severus shot her a glare, but his irritation was undercut by the slight twitch at the corner of his lips. “I’d start with finely ground asphodel. Not crushed, because consistency matters. Then, let it steep after the wormwood infusion. That way, the properties mix properly instead of counteracting each other like whatever idiot wrote this thinks they should.”

Y/N whistled. “You really do think this book is a personal insult, don’t you?”

“It is an insult,” he snapped, flipping to another page. 

“This is supposed to be advanced potion-making, not first-year-level incompetence. Look at this. Elixir to Induce Euphoria. The instructions say to stir clockwise the entire time. That’s idiotic. You need to alternate clockwise and counterclockwise to balance the infusion properly, or it’ll be too volatile.”

Y/N couldn’t help but grin. 

There was something fascinating about the way he spoke when he got like this. It was sharp, passionate, as if the entire world should care about potion-making as much as he did.

“I have to say, this is the most passionate I’ve ever seen you about anything that isn’t glaring at my brother.”

Severus sighed dramatically. “If I didn’t have to waste my time dealing with him, I could actually focus on things that matter.”

Y/N chuckled. “So potions matter to you, then?”

He hesitated. “…Obviously.”

She tilted her head, watching him thoughtfully. “Then why don’t you make your own notes? Your own version of the textbook? You know more than half the idiots who’ll be using this, anyway.”

Severus was silent for a moment, his fingers tapping lightly against the cover. Then, slowly, he reached into his bag and pulled out a battered old notebook, its pages filled with scribbles, corrections, and improvements in his precise, slanted handwriting.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You’ve already started, haven’t you?”

Severus cleared his throat, flipping through the notebook as if he hadn’t just been caught red-handed. “I just thought it would be useful to have the right information written down. For myself.”

Y/N smirked. “And for anyone smart enough to steal your book.”

He scoffed. “As if I’d let anyone get their hands on it.”

She grinned. “You’re a genius, Sev. You know that, right?”

He faltered for just a second, gripping the book a little tighter. “…Hardly.”

But Y/N just shook her head, leaning back. “Well, I think so.”

Severus didn’t respond, but he didn’t argue, either.

Instead, he went right back to ranting about the next mistake in the textbook. This time, something about a disastrous bezoar dosage and Y/N just listened, secretly enjoying every second of it.

Severus was mid-rant about improper bezoar usage when he noticed Y/N staring at him, a slow grin tugging at her lips. Her head still rested on her palm, her elbow propped lazily on the desk, eyes bright with amusement.

He faltered. “What?”

Y/N’s grin widened. “Nothing. Just enjoying the show.”

His brows furrowed. “I’m not performing.”

“You are,” she teased, tapping her fingers against her cheek. 

“A very passionate, very angry performance about the dangers of incompetent potion-making. Quite riveting, actually.”

Severus rolled his eyes, closing the textbook with a sharp thud. 

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are, ranting to me instead of to your cauldron in the dungeons,” she pointed out.

He exhaled sharply, leaning back against the desk. “Because you actually listen.”

Y/N’s expression softened slightly. “Of course, I do.”

A beat of silence passed between them. Severus shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, not used to being looked at like that. Like he was worth listening to.

“…You’re staring,” he muttered.

“Observing,” she corrected.

He scoffed. “And what, exactly, are you observing?”

She tilted her head, studying him like he was a particularly interesting puzzle. “Just that you get this look when you talk about potions.”

He narrowed his eyes. “A look?”

“Mhm,” she hummed, lips curling. “Like the rest of the world disappears, and it’s just you and whatever ridiculous mistake you’re trying to fix.”

Severus hesitated, unsure how to respond to that. He’d never thought about it before. But the way she said it made his chest feel strangely tight.

Y/N smirked at his silence. “It’s kind of nice, you know. Seeing you actually care about something.”

He huffed, looking away. “You make it sound as if I don’t care about anything.”

“Well,” she mused, “besides potions, glaring at Gryffindors, and being thoroughly unimpressed with everyone else…” 

She tapped her chin. “No, can’t say I’ve seen you care about much else.”

He shot her a flat look. “Hilarious.”

She grinned. “I try.”

Another pause. The candles flickered, casting soft shadows across the old classroom.

Then, Y/N’s voice was quieter, more thoughtful. “I like when you talk about potions.”

Severus glanced at her, caught off guard by the sincerity in her tone.

Y/N shrugged, still watching him. “It’s nice hearing you talk about something that makes you happy.”

He opened his mouth, but no words came. Because no one had ever said that to him before.

After a moment, he cleared his throat, looking back down at his notebook. 

“…It’s not happiness,” he muttered. “It’s just—logic.”

Y/N just smiled knowingly. “If you say so, Sev.”

And despite himself, Severus didn’t argue.

Severus sat back against the desk, his fingers drumming lightly against the cover of his notebook. 

After a moment, he sighed and said, almost begrudgingly, “You played well today.”

Y/N blinked, then grinned. “Was that a compliment from Severus Snape? Merlin, I must be dreaming.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was the faintest hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Oh, I definitely will,” she teased, leaning back in her chair. “Go on, say it again. Just so I know I didn’t hallucinate it.”

Severus huffed, crossing his arms. “I’m not repeating myself.”

“Pity,” she sighed dramatically. “Would’ve been nice to have it burned into my memory forever.”

He shook his head, but his gaze lingered on her, something softer in his usually sharp eyes. 

“You were impressive,” he admitted after a moment. “Even Slughorn wouldn’t stop talking about how Slytherin finally has a proper Seeker.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Slughorn, huh? What about you? Were you impressed?”

Severus scoffed. “I’m always impressed by competency. And considering the rest of the team is mediocre at best, it’s fortunate you know what you’re doing.”

Y/N laughed. “High praise, coming from you.”

He glanced away, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “It was… entertaining. Watching you completely humiliate Gryffindor.”

Y/N smirked. “So that’s what you enjoyed.”

“Obviously.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Well, I am the best.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “Now you’re pushing it.”

Y/N only grinned, nudging his knee with her foot. “Admit it, Sev. You liked watching me play.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If I admit it, will you finally stop pestering me?”

“Maybe,” she teased.

Severus exhaled, looking at her for a long moment before shaking his head. “…You were good.”

Y/N’s grin widened. “Knew it.”

He shook his head again, but despite his best efforts, he couldn’t quite hide the small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips.

Severus pulled his hand from his robe pocket, the small golden Snitch resting in his palm. The tiny wings fluttered weakly against his fingers, as if reluctant to leave his grasp.

“I believe this belongs to you,” he said, holding it out to Y/N.

She looked at it, then at him, and instead of taking it, she just smirked and leaned back in her chair. “Keep it.”

Severus frowned. “What?”

“Keep it,” she repeated, her voice softer this time. “So you’ll always remember me.”

His fingers curled slightly around the Snitch as he processed her words, his dark eyes flickering with something unreadable. “…Why would I need something to remember you by?”

Y/N grinned. “Because, Sev, someday I’ll be famous. Hogwarts’ best Seeker, a legend in the making. And when that happens, you’ll want to say you knew me first.”

He scoffed, but there was no real bite to it. 

Severus looked down at the Snitch in his palm, the tiny wings brushing against his skin. He could have argued. He could have insisted she take it back. But instead, he closed his fingers around it and slipped it back into his pocket, letting the weight of it settle against him.

“…Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll keep it.”

Y/N smiled. “Good.”

And for the first time that night, Severus didn’t have a single complaint.

The next morning, the Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning chatter, but Severus barely paid it any mind. He sat at the Slytherin table, absently picking at his breakfast, still adjusting to the idea of carrying a Snitch in his pocket. Her Snitch.

And then, like clockwork, Y/N slid into the seat beside him, nudging his shoulder with hers. “Morning, Sev.”

He huffed, not looking up from his plate. “You’re awfully cheerful.”

“I did win a match yesterday,” she reminded him smugly, grabbing a piece of toast. “And, you know, got a very rare compliment from a certain grumpy Potions prodigy.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “I’m beginning to regret it.”

“Oh, don’t be like that.” She smirked, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “Did you sleep well? You and your new prized possession, I mean.”

He stiffened slightly, but kept his expression neutral. “It’s just a Snitch.”

“My Snitch,” she corrected, taking a bite of her toast. “Did you put it somewhere safe?”

Severus exhaled through his nose, reaching into his pocket and subtly showing her the small golden sphere resting in his palm before tucking it away again. “Satisfied?”

Y/N grinned. “Very.”

He shook his head, turning his attention back to his breakfast, but he didn’t push her away when she leaned comfortably against him. 

Narcissa Black sat gracefully across from them, her sharp blue eyes scanning Y/N with mild curiosity as she stirred her tea. 

“You weren’t at the victory party last night.” It wasn’t a question. It was an observation, one laced with subtle judgment.

Y/N smirked, casually buttering her toast. “Oh, you noticed?”

“Of course, I noticed,” Narcissa replied, arching a perfectly shaped brow. 

“You were the star of the match, and yet, no celebratory gloating? No basking in the glory of your own success?” 

She tilted her head slightly. “Very unlike you, cousin.”

Severus huffed quietly, hiding his amusement behind his goblet of pumpkin juice.

Y/N shrugged. “Didn’t feel like it.”

Narcissa’s eyes flickered between the two of them before landing back on Y/N. “You did disappear rather quickly after the match…”

Y/N smirked. “What can I say? Had better company.” She nudged Severus with her knee under the table, earning an unimpressed glance from him.

Narcissa’s gaze sharpened, her lips curving slightly. 

“I see.” She rested her chin on her hand, watching Y/N with something between amusement and suspicion. 

“So, instead of celebrating with your adoring fans, you spent your evening somewhere, locked away with Severus.”

Y/N gave an exaggerated sigh, placing a hand on her chest. “Oh, forgive me, dear cousin, for prioritizing meaningful conversation over drunken debauchery.”

Narcissa rolled her eyes. “Please, you love the attention.”

“True,” Y/N admitted easily. “But I love annoying Sev more.”

Severus scoffed, not looking up from his plate. “How fortunate for me.”

Narcissa observed the two of them for a moment, then smirked. “Well, I do hope he made it worth your while.”

Y/N’s grin was immediate. “Oh, he did.”

Severus stiffened, glaring at her. “Don’t say it like that.”

Narcissa chuckled, sipping her tea. “Interesting choice of company, Y/N.”

Y/N just leaned back, perfectly unbothered. “Best choice, actually.”

Severus didn’t say anything but under the table, his fingers curled around the Snitch in his pocket.

“Anyways…Sirius came looking for you yesterday. Something about introducing you to his best mate, Potter. I think he fancies you,” Narcissa said, her tone light, but her gaze sharp as she watched Y/N’s reaction.

Y/N snorted, tearing off another bite of toast. 

“James Potter? Fancies me? Please, Cissy, don’t insult my intelligence.”

“I’m serious,” Narcissa pressed, twirling a strand of blonde hair between her fingers. 

“Sirius wouldn’t shut up about it. He kept saying how he thinks you and Potter would ‘get on brilliantly.’”

Severus, who had been silent up until now, suddenly gripped his fork a little too tightly. His jaw tensed, but he said nothing, staring at his plate as if it personally offended him.

Y/N sighed dramatically. 

“And yet, somehow, I doubt James Potter would be terribly interested in me, given the way he practically worships Evans.”

Narcissa waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, well, maybe he’s expanding his options. You are the Black everyone actually likes, after all.”

Severus scoffed, finally breaking his silence. “Potter is an arrogant, brainless git. You’d sooner find a Kneazle getting along with a Manticore than have an intelligent conversation with him.”

Y/N smirked at his tone. “Aw, Sev, that almost sounded jealous.”

His scowl deepened. “I don’t get jealous.”

Narcissa raised an eyebrow at him, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Right. And yet, you look like you’re about to hex your plate into oblivion.”

Severus set his fork down with deliberate care, clearly restraining himself. “I simply find it unbelievable that anyone would subject themselves to Potter’s presence willingly.”

Y/N chuckled, nudging him with her elbow. 

“Don’t worry, Sev. If I ever lose all sense of self-respect and go anywhere near James Potter, you’ll be the first to know.”

His expression didn’t soften, but the tight grip on his robes loosened ever so slightly.