#dj!reader

So when Pansy Parkinson found you lounging in the Great Hall, writing some lyrics on parchment, headphones glowing purple and silver, it wasn’t a request — it was a decree.

"You’ll be DJing Draco’s birthday party," She said breezily, dropping onto the Ravenclaw bench at lunch like she owned it. She was wearing serpent-green eyeliner and a look that dared you to argue.

You blinked, taking off your headphones. “I’m sorry—was that a question?”

“No, darling,” she said sweetly. “It’s an order. Room of Requirement. Ten PM. We’ve already prepped the fog spells.”

You sighed dramatically. “And if I say no?”

She gave you a dangerous smile. “Then I’ll cry. And Draco will pout. And do you really want to be the girl who ruined Malfoy’s birthday?”

You stared at her.

Then smirked. “Fine. But I’m bringing strobe charms. And no one’s allowed to touch my booth unless they want to be hexed into the Stone Age.”

Pansy grinned. “Knew you’d see reason.”

The Room of Requirement had outdone itself. It looked like a club ripped out of a Milan fashion show—black marble floors, glowing green chandeliers, floating drink trays, velvet couches in dramatic corners. Enchanted fog swirled over everything. And at the center, your DJ platform rose like a throne.

You stood behind your setup—crop top glittering, hair styled for maximum bounce, eyes rimmed in silver glam. With one flick of your wand, your decks lit up. The air shimmered with potential.

You grabbed the mic. “Let’s get loud, Hogwarts!”

The beat dropped into Drake's “One Dance”—remixed with a thunderclap charm that shook the walls—and the crowd exploded.

Every house was there. Gryffindors jumping like maniacs. Ravenclaws with color-changing drinks. Hufflepuffs forming a line-dance of doom. And Slytherins? They were pretending they weren’t into it, but their shoulders betrayed them.

And him.

Draco Malfoy.

Leaning against a pillar with one hand in his pocket, the other wrapped around a glass of firewhisky. White button-up slightly unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to his forearms. His silver-blond hair a little tousled like he didn’t care—except you knew he definitely cared.

And he was watching you like you were a flame he couldn’t help but lean into.

You rolled your body to the beat. Slow. Teasing. Wicked. Your hips moved like you knew exactly what you were doing and truthfully, you did. The room pulsed with your energy, the floor shifting with heat and rhythm, but all of it blurred around the way Draco’s gaze tracked you.

He took a slow sip from his firewhisky, his lips barely touching the glass as his eyes darkened, devouring every movement you made. He was still, coiled like a serpent, watching you like a secret he wanted to unwrap slowly.

You smirked and switched the track into a mashup of The Weeknd's "Die For You" and SZA’s “Low.”

“HEY EAGLE!” someone shouted. “YOU’RE A WIZARDING ICON!”

“DJ!” another screamed. “PLEASE STEP ON ME!”

You blew a kiss at the crowd, spun in your booth, and let the music melt into a remix of "Kiss It Better" by Rhianna that soon transitioned to "Positions" by Ariana Grande—crowd control charms at max. Bodies moved like waves. Lights flickered in time. Sweat, magic, and adrenaline painted the air.

And every time you glanced at the birthday boy—he was still watching. Sipping. Like he wanted to devour the whole scene and you with it.

After your fourth set, sweat glistening on your forehead and your heart pounding from the energy pulsing through the room, you finally stepped down from the DJ booth, leaving on "Love Me Like You Do" by Ellie Goulding for the 'getting drunk' music.

Someone immediately pressed a glittering, frosted drink into your hand—its chill a welcome contrast to your flushed skin. A nearby Hufflepuff leaned in with a wide smile, whispering, “You’re literally the life of Hogwarts.”

You laughed, breathless and exhilarated, basking in the glow of the crowd’s adoration. The music still thrummed through the walls, but your mind was already drifting, seeking a quieter corner to catch your breath.

Turning sharply, you almost collided with him

You're the light, you're the night.

Draco Malfoy—who caught your elbow with a steady hand, his icy gaze locking with yours. “Careful,” he murmured, his voice low and calm amid the chaos.

You looked up at him, flashing a sly grin. “Enjoying the party, birthday boy?” you teased.

He gave a dry chuckle, the corner of his mouth twitching into something like a smile. “It’s tolerable.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh wow. That’s basically a love letter coming from you.”

Instead of letting go, he kept his hand lightly on your arm, anchoring you in the moment. “You’re unreal,” he said quietly, his tone thick with something more—admiration, maybe something like awe.

"You flirt with the music, tease the crowd, make even the portraits blush. And Merlin, I can't believe someone can do all that and still look at me like I’m the one worth noticing.

Your breath caught, your heart stuttering in your chest. You blinked up at him, the air between you electric and heavy.

“I don’t dance,” he admitted, his voice dropping softer, more vulnerable, “but every time you roll your hips like that, I forget how to breathe.”

You smiled, slow and deliberate, the kind of smile that promises trouble. “So breathe with me,” you dared him. His eyes flickered to your lips, then back up to your eyes, hesitation warring with desire in their depths.

The space between you shrank until you could feel the warmth radiating off his skin, the faint pulse of his heartbeat in sync with your own. His fingers brushed your wrist, lingering just long enough to send sparks down your arm, as if testing his own restraint.

You leaned in just a fraction, your lips barely brushing the curve of his cheek as you whispered against his skin, “You’ve been staring all night, Draco. What are you waiting for?” His breath hitched, and you could see the flush rising in his cheeks, the pulse pounding at his throat like a frantic drum. Yet still, he held himself back, barely.

His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke, low and rough with barely contained longing. “If I kiss you right now, I won’t stop.”

You tilted your head, a wicked smile curling your lips. “Maybe I don’t want you to.”

The tension coiled tighter, a delicious electric ache between you. The music continued to hum in the background, but all you could hear was the relentless pounding of your heart in your ears.

Then, as if the universe were waiting for the perfect moment, your music rig pulsed with life, signaling the chorus.

So love me like you do, la-la love me like you do.

Draco let out a quiet, incredulous laugh. “Seriously? we're about to kiss with this song?” you didn’t flinch.

“Fitting, isn’t it?” you tease. His gaze locked on your lips, eyes dark and burning with intent.

And then—finally—he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t frantic. It was deliberate—like he’d been counting the seconds since the first beat dropped, biding his time, waiting for a moment when the rest of the world would fall away.

His lips met yours with a kind of quiet certainty, soft but hungry beneath it, like he needed to be sure this was real. His hand slid up to your jaw, fingers curling just under your ear, tilting your face as if he wanted to memorize the angle. The warmth of his palm sent a shiver down your spine, grounding you even as your knees threatened to give out.

You gasped softly against his mouth, and he took that as invitation, deepening the kiss with a slow-burning hunger that made your head spin. Your hands found the front of his shirt, bunching the fabric between your fingers, desperate to anchor yourself to something—anything—as the world blurred into fog and light and heat.

His other arm circled your waist, tugging you flush against him. There was no more space between you, no more tension—only release. His mouth moved against yours like he knew exactly how you liked to be kissed—like he’d imagined this a thousand times and was now trying to make up for every second he hadn’t done it sooner.

He tasted like firewhisky and trouble. Sweet and sharp and utterly addictive. The kind of kiss that felt like a secret and a promise all at once. Somewhere in the room, music pulsed and people shouted, but none of it touched you. Not here. Not inside this space of want and heat.

You broke apart just enough to breathe—your foreheads pressed together, your lips still brushing, your pulse hammering wildly beneath his thumb.

And he whispered, low and wrecked, “Told you. I don’t stop.”

You grinned, breathless. “Good.”

Then, he kissed you again.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.

“THE DJ’S SNOGGING MALFOY!”

From somewhere in the throng, Pansy raised a glass high and shouted triumphantly, “FINALLY.”

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰