#draco angst

---

Morning light filters through the dorm window. You wake up disoriented, hair a mess, and find a folded note on your bedside table small, familiar handwriting.  You smile softly to yourself, the gesture giving you a whiff of nostalgia. You already know who it is before reading it.

"Couldn't bear to wake you again so I carried you back. Sorry for what I said, it was way out of line. You shouldn't throw away the life you've worked hard for to save me." - D.M.

You felt a pain in your chest as you read it twice, fingertips lingering over his initials. For a second you almost smile, then you realise how crushed he probably felt when you didn't return his feelings. He was probably feeling terrible for opening up like that. And all you had said to him in return was that you couldn't leave Chris. 

You tuck the note into your journal quietly looking around for Hannah but your feet take you to the dining hall before your brain can think, needing to tell someone about all of what's happened.

Taking a seat next to Hannah and Zach at the Hufflepuff tables and Justin squeezes next to you asking if you're gonna eat your food and taking it anyway when you don't respond.

Your attention is elsewhere.

You spot a familiar head of blonde hair at the Slytherin tables. He looks solemn, isolated from the present world as his eyes are fixed on his untouched plate in front of him. When he finally glances up, his eyes meet none other than yours. It's short, but it hold a thousand words.

As quickly as you looked, you snap your head away, tapping Hannah on the shoulder as she laughs along with Chris. 

"Hannah can we leave?" you say in an urgent tone

"Sure? Is everything okay?" she asks her fingers intertwined with Zach's, reluctant to leave.

"I just... a lot happened I need your help. I just need my best friend" you plead.

Hannah nods quickly understanding the importance of the situation. By the time you got back to the dorms, the Hufflepuff common room was nearly empty, the warm glow of the lanterns casting soft golden circles on the walls. Hannah was sprawled across her bed, half-buried under her yellow blanket, muttering to herself. You could tell something was up, she usually was more cheery than this. Looks like you both had some drama to spill. 

“Okay, what’s wrong with you?” you asked, shrugging your robe off as you sit next to her sprawled figure on the bed. "And don't say nothing, it's clearly something."

She groaned dramatically. “Zach. Obviously. He told me he doesn't like my PDA. After two months of holding hands, sneaking kisses in the corridor, and holding my waist in public. Why is he only telling me now! If it bothered him he could've told me earlier, now I'm going to have withdrawals” She pouts playfully.

You couldn’t help but laugh, folding your legs beneath you. “He’s probably just scared. You know him, Zach is shy, cut him some slack.”

Hannah threw a pillow at you. “You’re defending him? You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“I am on your side!” you said through a fit of giggles. “But Hannah come on, you know Zach’s basically obsessed with you. He just needs a little push.”

She grumbled but smiled, her frustration fading. “Yeah, well, I wish things were as simple as you make them sound.” Her tone softened, her eyes flicking toward you. “What did you need to tell me? You sounded pretty urgent at breakfast.”

You hesitated, chewing your lip. “I don't even know where to start, it’s… complicated.”

“Complicated like boy complicated?” she teased, sitting up instantly.

You nodded slowly.

“Is it Chris? Hah! Spill,” she said, cross-legged now, eyes wide with curiosity. “Everything. Right now.”

"It's- It's not Chris... that's why it's complicated" your eyes flick to your lap not really wanting to face Hannah. 

You sighed and started talking. About the willow tree. About the note. About how Draco looked at you that night, like he finally saw you for real. You told her about the confession, his apology, the way he’d said it was you all along.

Hannah didn’t interrupt once. She just listened, her hand tracing the stitching of her blanket as you poured it all out every messy, aching detail. The apology note, how he knew it was you who told Hermione about the ring, how he had broken up with her because he said he needed you.

When you finished, there was a long silence.

Finally, Hannah exhaled softly. “Y/n… I think he means it.”

Your heart thudded painfully. “What?”

“I mean, the way he looks at you... even I can tell he's in love, and I don't give half a fuck about that bastard. You know I’m not his biggest fan, but… it’s different now. He’s different. Dare I say he's changed.” Hannah say's incredulously.

“He said he didn’t care about Hermione anymore. That he missed me. That he-” you stopped, your throat tightening. “That he loves me.” you say in a smaller voice, almost hoping Hannah didn't fully hear you.

Hannah's jaw dropped, clearly taken aback. “He said that? Oh my gosh Y/n!!!” She's in full excitement panic mode from the revelation slamming a pillow into the bed repeatedly as you grimace. "Y/n the dude hasn't talked you properly in weeks then suddenly says he loves you? Zach hasn't even been able to say it to me its been months."

You nodded, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. "But I feel terrible I mean obviously I didn't say it back- but like I straight out dismissed his feelings, said that I was with Chris now. It didn't matter what he felt."

She quickly stopped her little freak out episode as she realised how genuinely overwhelmed you were by the situation. She reached over and took your hand gently.

“Listen to me, okay? You don’t have to make any decisions tonight. You’ve got Chris, and he’s good to you, just let it play out, whatever happens; happens.”

“But he said he loves me, Hannah...” you said weakly, the words barely leaving your mouth.

“Do you still love him?” she asked softly.

There was silence for a few minutes, neither of you daring to speak.

"I don't know but I wish I could just pretend it didn't happen. Just store it away in a safe and never unlock it again" you admit quietly.

“But you’re trying to bury something that’s still alive. And one day, it’s gonna dig itself back up.”

You stared at the afternoon sun creeping through the curtain slits. The room was warm, but your chest felt hollow.

“I hate this,” you whispered. “I hate that I still care.”

“I know you do,” Hannah said, squeezing your hand tighter. “But that's just you y/n, you always care.”

You laughed through the ache, leaning into her shoulder. “When did you get so wise?”

“When I started dating an idiot,” she quipped, earning a tired giggle from you both.

The room fell quiet again just the faint crackle of the fire and the soft hum of the castle outside.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, breaking the silence.

“Don't do anything then.” Hannah simply stated. “Just breathe for now. Let things happen. The right people always find their way back to you.” She held your head as you leaned into her shoulder comforting you.

"Thank you bestie. For being there for me." You whispered vulnerably, grateful that you had her with you.

You didn’t notice the faint shuffle of footsteps outside your door.

---

Chris had been standing there for longer than he meant to. Flowers in one hand, a folded Gryffindor jersey and a golden Quidditch ticket in the other. He’d come to surprise you with front row seats to watch the next finals that he was playing, to make you smile after the stressful week. He hadn’t meant to listen. But then he heard his name.

And Draco’s.

Your voice carried softly through the crack in the door, every word slicing through him like glass. He said it was me all along. He said he loves me.

Chris froze. For a second, he thought maybe he’d misheard. But he listened on.

“But he said he loves me, Hannah…”

“Do you still love him?”

Silence.

The painful silence confirming every fear he’d ever buried.

You still loved Draco.

He felt his throat tighten, eyes burning with something he didn’t want to name. The flowers trembled in his grip before he slowly lowered them to his side as they slip slightly from his grip.

He didn’t storm off. He wasn’t that kind of person. He just stood there, letting the ache sink in. It was the kind of betrayal that didn’t come from lies, but from truth. And he definitely didn't expect to feel betrayed by you.

When you finally stopped talking, he took one long breath, forcing his heartbeat to steady. Then he fixed his expression plastering a forced smile, cleared his voice, and knocked on the door.

The sound made you and Hannah jump.

“Come in” you called softly, glancing at Hannah before the door opened and you beamed, happy to see another familiar face after all the events of the week. "Chris" you simply say his name in relief, utter relief.

He smiled, or at least, he tried to. “Hey, y/n” he said, holding out the bouquet. His tone was gentle “Thought you could use some flowers. And… front-row seats to tomorrow’s match.”

Your heart melted at the gesture. You threw your arms around him, hugging him tightly. He hugged you back, but didn't go in for a kiss as he usually did when he first saw you.

You noticed. 

"Are you alright? You seem tense?" you ask him worriedly, holding his shoulders as you pull away and scan his figure.

"Yeah I'm just tired" He chuckles "Y'know, big match tomorrow"

You embrace him and sooth him by running your hand along his back in a repeated motion. "You'll do amazing, you do every year when Gryffindor and Slytherin battle it out in the finals. And I'll be there".

To Chris, your arms still felt like home, and that was the worst part. The scent of your hair, the warmth of your voice when you said his name it all made the ache in his chest twist even tighter. Because for the first time since you’d started dating, he realized he wasn’t the one in your thoughts.

And in that moment, Chris promised himself.

He’d never let Draco Malfoy take something from him again.

---

a/n: Omygosh guys I feel so bad for Chris, but yk we gotta do what we gotta do. The reader obv ends up with Draco so he was going to get heartbroken eventually:( Side note- really glad I gave the reader and Hannah some bestie bonding time hehe

Guys!!! Be excited the next chapter is one of my FAVSSS. It hurts in all the right ways. follow and like to stay updated and all followers will be added to my taglist:) Comments keep me going so lmk what you thought of this <3333

Wishes to mimic the tiny bubbles in her glass. To float upupupup until she disappears up into the surface.

That would be nice, she thinks.

Floating, until she reaches the ceiling. Until she reaches the pretty chandeliers, her fingertips grazing the golden sparkling masses.

She imagines them making a sound once she does. A pretty one, light and airy. Her fingernail taps the glass in her hand, that’s the sound.

Ting.

She does it again, and again and again, in no certain rhythm. A pretty sound that she’s sure would be appreciated by everyone else in this crowded ballroom.

“What’s got you smiling and all?”

She hadn’t known she was smiling, but the familiar voice only made her grin grow wider.

“Can you help me up there, please?”

She doesn’t look at him when she says it. She’s afraid if she does, she’ll just come crashing back down.

Instead, she tips the glass just enough to watch the champagne slosh, the bubbles still climbing like they have somewhere better to be. She imagines them escaping without her.

“Up where?” he asks.

She lifts her chin, eyes tracing the curve of the ceiling. The chandeliers glow brighter tonight, strung with extra lights for the occasion, glass and gold catching every flicker. They look heavier somehow, like they’re holding the weight of the year above everyone’s heads.

“Up,” she says, vague. “There.”

He follows her gaze, then looks back at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He looks like he thinks she’s being dramatic. Or drunk. Or both.

“You’ve had a lot to drink,” he says.

She hums, not denying it. The champagne has left her feeling light, slightly detached, like her body is a half-step behind her thoughts.

“It’s New Year’s,” she says. “I think it’s allowed.”

He nods, conceding easily. And that small act, how quickly he lets it go, makes something in her chest tighten. He didn’t used to do that. Before, he would’ve teased her, pressed the point, tried to pull her back down to earth when all she wanted was to float somewhere above it.

Around them, the room shifts. People move closer together, laughter growing louder, glasses clinking more often. The air feels charged, like everyone’s waiting for a signal only they can hear. Someone brushes past her shoulder, murmuring an apology before disappearing into the crowd.

Without thinking, he steps closer. Close enough that she can feel the warmth of him at her side. Close enough that it feels familiar and dangerous.

She wonders if he notices it too. If he feels that quiet pull, the muscle memory of a year spent leaning into each other without hesitation. A year that ended, somehow, without ever really ending.

At the far end of the room, a large screen flickers on. The glow shifts, brighter, cooler. A few people cheer prematurely, the sound rippling through the ballroom like static.

Her attention drifts back to him.

He looks different tonight. Not dramatically, just subtly. Quieter. More thoughtful. Like he’s standing in the doorway between what was and what might be, unsure which side he belongs to.

“Do you want another drink?” he asks, voice raised just slightly to cut through the noise.

She glances down at her glass, at the bubbles still rising, stubborn and endless.

“No,” she says after a moment. “I want to remember this part.”

His brows lift, surprised, but he nods. Doesn’t ask what she means. Doesn’t make a joke out of it. She appreciates that more than she can explain.

The screen flickers again, settling into place. Numbers appear briefly, testing, before disappearing.

A low murmur spreads through the crowd. Anticipation tightening, time suddenly louder than before.

She stays where she is, feet planted, body warm and grounded despite the buzz in her head.

Still here, she thinks. Still deciding.

The room feels warmer now, bodies pressing closer as the minutes thin out. Someone laughs too loudly behind her. Someone else starts explaining resolutions no one asked for. It all blends together, a low, restless hum.

She shifts her weight, the heel of her shoe digging into the marble. For a second she imagines what it would be like to leave before midnight. To step outside, let the year turn without her, avoid having to choose anything at all. The thought is tempting. Cowardly. Honest.

She glances at him again.

He’s watching the screen, jaw set, hands tucked into his pockets like he doesn’t quite know what to do with them. He rocks back on his heels, then forward again. A nervous habit. She remembers noticing it the first time they ever waited for something together- tickets, a table, an answer that took too long to come.

He catches her looking.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” she says, too quickly.

He studies her for a second longer than necessary, then nods like he’s decided not to push. Instead, he pulls one hand out of his pocket, lets it hang between them.

The space between their fingers feels deliberate.

She wonders if he’s thinking the same thing she is. If this moment will end up mattering more than it should. If midnight will make something official that neither of them has fully agreed to yet.

The screen lights up again. This time it stays.

A cheer ripples through the room. People begin to drift closer to whoever they came with. Arms slide around waists. Heads tilt together.

She feels a familiar ache in her chest, not jealousy, exactly. More like memory.

She feels perched. Balanced on something thin.

He clears his throat, glancing down at the numbers, then back at her.

“Hey,” he says, softer than before.

She tilts her head.

“If you want some space,” he adds, “I won’t take it personally.”

It’s such a small thing. An offhand comment. But it lands heavy.

He wouldn’t have said that before. Before, he would’ve assumed. Would’ve stepped in close without asking, confident she’d follow.

She searches his face, trying to decide whether this is growth or distance.

“Okay,” she says carefully. “And if I don’t?”

His lips twitch. “Then I’m here.”

The answer isn’t grand. It isn’t even reassuring in the way she’s learned to expect.

But it’s honest.

The numbers on the screen shift again, brighter now, harder to ignore. The room responds instinctively, voices rising, bodies edging closer, as if time itself is pulling everyone toward someone else.

She becomes acutely aware of where she’s standing. Of where he is. Of how easily she could close the gap between them, how natural it would feel to tuck herself into the space she knows so well.

She doesn’t. Not yet.

Instead, she watches the clock tick down. Nine minutes, then eight. Each number feels heavier than the last, like it’s asking her a question she isn’t ready to answer.

Last year, she would’ve known. Last year, she would’ve wrapped her arms around him without thinking, certain she’d be carried into the new year without having to choose anything at all.

She remembers how that certainty dissolved. Quietly. Without a fight.

The crowd swells again. Someone starts a chant, then laughs when it falls apart. Confetti cannons sit untouched in the corners of the room, waiting their turn. The air smells faintly like champagne and perfume and something electric, anticipation maybe.

He moves beside her, closer now, though he doesn’t touch her. She feels the warmth of him through the thin fabric of her dress, the way his presence still steadies her even when she doesn’t want it to.

His hand moves again, just adjusting at his side. Restless. Unsure.

She wonders what he’s thinking. If he’s counting down too. If he’s measuring whether this version of them is something he wants to carry forward, or something he’s afraid of repeating.

The screen flashes. Five minutes.

People start pairing off in earnest now, laughter sharpening into something more focused. A woman nearby links arms with her partner, presses her forehead into his shoulder like she’s already claimed the moment.

She feels a flicker of envy.

She glances at him again.

His gaze is fixed on the screen, but his posture has softened, shoulders no longer tight. He looks almost contemplative. Like he’s letting himself feel the weight of this instead of avoiding it.

As if he senses her looking, he turns.

Their eyes meet.

Neither of them smile.

It’s strange how much can pass in a single look. How much history lives there. The year they spent learning each other. The months they spent pretending they could let go. The quiet agreement that brought them back into the same room on the last night of the year.

He takes a breath, like he’s about to say something, then thinks better of it.

She’s glad he doesn’t.

Some things feel too fragile to name before midnight.

The clock drops to three minutes.

Her heart beats a little faster now.

Whatever happens next, whatever she chooses to d will feel intentional. There will be no pretending this time.

The room changes without warning.

It isn’t loud at first. It’s a collective inhale. Voices soften, bodies angle toward the screen, champagne glasses hover forgotten in midair.

One minute.

She feels suddenly too aware of herself, of him beside her, of the thin space that’s been holding all night. The question she’s been avoiding sharpens into something unavoidable.

Is this what she wants to carry with her?

He straightens, rolling his shoulders back like he’s bracing for impact. His hand lifts halfway between them, stops. She sees the hesitation. The choice.

The countdown begins, uneven and shouted.

Ten.

Nine.

Her pulse beats hard against her ribs. She doesn’t look at the screen. She looks at him.

Eight.

Seven.

He’s already watching her. There’s something tight in his expression, something unresolved. Like he’s afraid that whatever happens in the next few seconds will matter more than he’s ready for.

Six.

She thinks of the nights she waited. The mornings she told herself not to care. How loving him used to feel like standing on the edge of something with no railing.

Five.

Her hand moves before she can stop it, brushing against his wrist. Testing. Asking.

Four.

He turns his palm up, meets her halfway. Their fingers slide together, not quite interlaced.

Three.

The room gets louder.

Two.

She steps in, close enough to feel his breath. Close enough that there’s no pretending this is casual.

One.

The room erupts in cheers, confetti bursting, glasses clinking, music surging back to life.

For a second, they just stare at each other.

The year turns.

He leans in first, tentative, like he’s giving her time to pull away. She doesn’t.

Their mouths meet, soft at first, uncertain. Not the kind of kiss meant to impress anyone watching. The kind meant to check something still exists.

She feels the familiar pull immediately. The ache. The comfort. The danger.

He deepens it slightly, hand tightening at her waist, grounding her. She responds without thinking, rising onto her toes, closing the distance she’s been guarding all night.

The noise around them fades.

When they pull apart, it’s slow and reluctant.

She rests her forehead against his for half a second, breathing him in. He doesn’t say anything. Neither of them does.

She knows the kiss didn’t fix anything.

She also knows it wasn’t nothing.

Around them, the new year roars forward, full of promises, full of certainty she doesn’t have.

She stays where she is anyway.

The Great Hall felt louder than usual. She sat between Harry and Hermione, but her eyes barely registered the plates in front of her, let alone the sea of students filling the long tables. All she could think about—relentlessly, bitterly—was the incident in that frozen hallway. The way Draco had just stood there, watching, doing nothing. 'Coward. Useless, pathetic coward' .The thought pulsed through her over and over, each repetition twisting tighter inside her chest.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Hermione murmured, leaning closer. “Are you… feeling any better?”

She forced a nod, though Hermione didn’t look convinced. Harry was distracted, rubbing at his forehead and avoiding glances from down the table. She didn’t understand why until she heard the drawling voice drifting from the Slytherin side.

“ Potter! Is it true you fainted? I mean, you actually fainted?" Draco’s laughter carried across the hall, sharp and grating. A few of his friends snickered with him.

Her hand shot instinctively toward her wand, anger sparking so suddenly it almost frightened her. Hermione’s fingers closed around her wrist before she could stand.

“Don’t,” Hermione whispered urgently. “Not now. He’s not worth it.”

She swallowed the hot reply burning at the back of her throat, though her glare remained fixed on Draco until Dumbledore rose to speak.

The room fell into a hush. She tried to listen, but her mind wandered - until she heard the name Lupin. She blinked, finally focusing as Dumbledore announced him as their new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Then, unexpectedly, her spirits lifted when Hagrid’s booming name followed—Professor Hagrid. She had never seen the half-giant so happy, and the warmth of that thought eased her tension for a fleeting moment.

But the comfort shattered the moment Dumbledore mentioned dementors being stationed at Hogwarts. The word alone made her stomach plunge. She stiffened. The rest of the speech blurred into indistinct noise as she stared at her plate, heart pattering too fast. She could almost feel the creature’s presence, the weight of that despair pressing down on her again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She didn't get much sleep that night. She kept replaying the same scene in her head over and over again - the feeling of despair, that flash of platinum hair, the rush of cold flooding her body. That feeling of helplessness followed her into the early hours. Sleep, when it finally came, was thin and restless.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Divination classroom smelled of herbs and burning incense, the dim light casting flickering shadows across the walls. She sat stiffly on the edge of her seat, teacup in her hands. When Professor Trelawney leaned over Harry’s cup, her expression darkened, and she muttered something about a “storm approaching” and “a darkness that lingers too close to the boy.” Those words sent a chill up her spine. She found herself worrying for him, uneasy and restless as Trelawney’s gaze lingered far too long on the leaves.

When it was her turn, she lifted her own cup, careful to avoid spilling the dark tea onto the table. She stared down at the swirling shapes, hoping for something simple—some safe, vague omen—but before she could focus, Trelawney’s long, bony fingers snatched the cup out of her hands. She went to protest, but the teacher interrupted her.

“The leaves are impatient with you,” she whispered, her voice trembling, almost a hiss. “They tremble, they see something before you do. Beware who you trust, and beware what you think you know.”

The words sounded weirdly cryptic. She began to think the professor Trelawny was just spewing straight up nonsense, and that Divination was nothing but a sham . 'I'd be crazy to think some leaves told her all that' she thought to herself. She set the cup down with a little too much force, but the leaves refused to settle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After Divination, she made her way towards Hagrid’s class along with Hermione and the boys. Ron broke the silence “You don’t think that Grim thing’s got anything to do with Sirius Black, do you?”

Hermione’s response was dismissive, but amused. “Oh, honestly, Ron. If you ask me, Divination’s a very woolly discipline. Now, Ancient Runes, that’s a fascinating subject.”

She nodded along, agreeing with Hermione. When they reached Hagrid, he greeted them warmly.

“Alright, yeh lot, open your books to page forty-nine. We’ll start right there.” She looked at the book in her hands, which was jolting and growling, and let out a small chuckle. Hermione leaned over and said “I think they’re funny,” and she let out a quiet, amused laugh.

Draco had positioned himself just beyond their little group, leaning slightly with Crabbe and Goyle behind him. “Oh, yeah, terribly funny. Really witty." Draco began in a mocking tone "God, this place has gone to the dogs. Wait until my father hears that Dumbledore’s got this oaf teaching classes.” he continued, eyeing her and the rest of the group. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled behind him.

She tried her best to just ignore him, willing herself to focus on the lesson, but she could feel her anger starting to bubble inside her. Harry’s quiet voice interrupted her spiraling thoughts. “Shut up, Malfoy,” he said firmly. The Slytherins murmured and ooh’d, and Draco's smirk only widened.

He pulled his bag from his shoulder and approached Harry with slow, dramatic steps. Suddenly, his eyes went wide as if startled, his voice sharp as he pointed toward the sky. “D-Dementor! Dementor!” he yelled.

Everyone turned to look at where he was pointing, and she did the same, only to find that there was nothing there. The Slytherins around Draco then raised their cloak hoods, cooing and oohing in ghostly mimicry. This thing must've been planned, then - That's it.

She turned to face him, eyes narrowing “You really think you’re in a position to make fun of someone for being scared of a dementor? Last time I checked, you were the one that froze like a chicken when you met one .” she mocked. There were a few surprised gasps coming from the students around them.

Draco’s eyes shot toward her, sharp and piercing, and for a fraction of a second, she could swear she saw something else in them—something that flickered and vanished before she could name it, perhaps shame, perhaps something he wanted to bury deep. Pansy, who was apparently Draco's new self-aquitted spokeswoman, stepped in . “Oh, shut up, L/n .Mind your own business.” she hissed, giving her a dirty look.

She turned her back to the Slytherins, pretending to focus on Hagrid, but the weight of Draco’s stare pressed against her skull. She could feel it, cold and piercing, like he was trying to burn a hole through the back of her head.

When Harry stepped up to bow to Buckbeak, she found herself glancing toward Draco again, unable to stop herself. His eyes were on her, sharp and cold, a mixture of anger and that fleeting shadow she couldn’t quite place. She met his gaze with a glare just as unwavering, refusing to flinch.

~

After Harry climbed down from Buckbeak, the group around him erupted into cheers. Hagrid beamed, clapping him on the shoulder. But, the celebration didn’t last long. Draco - clearly upset for not being the center of attention for more than 5 minutes - pushed through the crowd of students, making his way towards Buckbeak. This was, without a doubt, going to end badly .

“You’re not dangerous at all, are you, you great ugly brute?” Draco sneered, leaning toward the hipogriff with an insufferable grin on his face .

“Malfoy. No!” Hagrid’s voice rang out, but the warning came too late -- Buckbeak reared, wings flaring and talons flashing in the sunlight. As it came down, the talon slashed the fabric of Draco's arm. He let out a high-pitched, exaggerated yelp, stumbling backward, and she couldn’t stop the gasp that ripped from her throat. “Oh, it’s killed me! It’s killed me!” he cried while rolling onto the ground.

Hagrid yelled in frustration, trying to regain control of Buckbeak. “Calm down! I-It’s just a scratch. Away, you silly creature!”

She rolled her eyes so hard it hurt her temples, watching as Draco flailed and floundered on the ground, making a fool of himself. While he was carried away by Hagrid, she stayed put, her lips pressing together. She didn’t feel sorry for him—not exactly. 'Serves him right' she thought darkly, watching him disappear down the path toward the castle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Great Hall hummed with its usual midday noise, candlelight floating lazily above the tables and the faint, silvery trail of the Headless Hunt drifting through the walls as they made their disruptive entrance. Students craned their necks and laughed, but all the noise only made his voice stand out more.

Draco Malfoy sat at the Slytherin table with his arm bound in a sling far more dramatic than anything Madam Pomfrey would’ve approved. Pansy Parkinson hovered beside him, drinking in every word as if he were retelling a life-ending battle.

“Does it hurt terribly, Draco?” she asked, leaning in like she expected him to collapse at any moment.

“It comes and it goes,” Draco said, tone dripping with theatrics. “Still, I consider myself lucky. According to Madam Pomfrey, another minute or two and I could’ve lost my arm. I couldn’t possibly do any homework for weeks.”

She resisted the urge to groan aloud; she’d already rolled her eyes so many times since breakfast that she worried they might get stuck there. Draco Malfoy, terrified of a hippogriff one moment and parading around Hogwarts like a fallen soldier the next. How he managed to embarrass himself and still demand the world revolve around him was almost impressive.

Ron, hearing him from a few seats away, snorted loudly. “Listen to the idiot. He’s really laying it on thick, isn’t he?”

“What can you expect from someone like Malfoy? If a breeze hit him the wrong way, he’d claim it left permanent damage.” her reply was met with an approving nod from Ron.

Draco stiffened but pretended not to hear her, which somehow made it funnier.

Conversation shifted quickly when Seamus burst in, shouting for attention.

“He’s been sighted—he’s been sighted!”

“Who?” Ron asked.

“Sirius Black!”

A ripple of gasps traveled down the table. Even the floating candles seemed to flicker colder. Hermione leaned closer, whispering, “Dufftown? That’s not far from here…”

She swallowed hard, fingers curling against her robes. The thought of Black was unsettling, but the mention of dementors stationed around the castle grounds—that was what made a shiver run down her spine. She could practically feel the cold creeping along her skin whenever her mind wandered back to them.

~

In professor Lupin’s classroom, dusty light streamed through old windows, illuminating the long wardrobe at the front of the room—the wardrobe which was rattling and jolting uncontrollably.

Lupin stood beside it, hands folded calmly. “Intriguing, isn’t it? Would anyone like to venture a guess as to what is inside?”

“That’s a boggart, that is,” Dean Thomas said.

A murmur spread. Even though they’d discussed boggarts in theory, facing one was another matter.

“And can anyone tell me what a boggart looks like?” Lupin asked.

“No one knows,” Hermione answered before anyone else had the chance.

Ron frowned. “When did she get here?”

Hermione ignored him. “Boggarts are shape-shifters. They take the shape of whatever a person fears most—”

“So terrifying,” Lupin agreed with a nod. “But a simple charm repels them. After me: Riddikulus.”

The class repeated the spell. Somewhere near her, Draco muttered loud enough for everyone around him to hear “This class is ridiculous.”

She let out a short huff under her breath, not bothering to hide the sound. If anyone was going to complain about facing their fears, it would be Draco Malfoy.

Neville was called forward first, and despite his trembling hands, the moment Snape appeared and transformed into the frumpy, handbag-toting image of Neville’s grandmother, laughter burst through the room. One by one, students stepped up: Ron with the spider, Parvati with the snake. Every transformation earned a round of relieved giggles.

But, the line was shrinking, and she was getting closer to the front.

Her heart pounded uncomfortably. There was no pretending she didn’t know what she feared most - a dementor… that cold, suffocating feeling, draining her from the inside out. The thought alone made her palms damp.

As she moved forward, Pansy leaned toward her “Can’t wait to see you shiver like a chicken in front of the boggart.”

She turned her head sharply, fixing Pansy with a flat, unimpressed stare before her eyes shifted to Draco, who was watching the exchange with an infuriatingly satisfied smile tugging at his mouth.

“Find that funny, Malfoy?” she said, mockingly. "Knowing you, your boggart is probably Buckbeak.”

His expression faltered—just for a moment, but she saw it. A flash of humiliation, irritation, something sharp beneath it. Draco shot her a glare that could kill, which she reciprocated.

She stepped behind Harry in the line, swallowing hard when Lupin called his name. The boggart hesitated only a second before twisting into......a dementor. The room seemed to darken around it. Her knees weakened despite her best efforts, and helplessness overcame her once again. She could only stare back at it, terrified.

Thankfully, Lupin reacted almost immediately. “Here!”

He stepped in front of Harry, forcing the dementor to warp into a glowing moon and then into a floating white balloon that drifted harmlessly around the room. Laughter broke out again.

She exhaled slowly, too aware of how pale her face must've looked, how tight her chest felt. Hermione moved closer, fingers brushing her shoulder in a silent reassurance. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “Lupin stopped it quickly.”

She nodded, pulling herself together. She’d gotten through it. No one had—

Her thought cut short when she turned slightly and saw Draco's expression - he wasn’t sneering. For once, there was no smugness, no mockery lighting up his expression. He was standing very still, grey eyes fixed on the place where the dementor/boggart had stood only a few seconds ago. Even from across the classroom, she could see the tension in his jaw, the slight unsteadiness in his breathing. His complexion—usually pale—was even paler now, almost chalk-white.

He looked… shaken.

Not theatrically. Not performatively.

Genuinely shaken.

The moment he noticed she was watching, his spine straightened and the familiar scowl snapped back into place, sharp and defensive. He looked away fast, as if staring at her burned him, and within seconds he had slipped out of the classroom behind the other Slytherins, shoulders rigid, steps too quick to be casual.

She frowned slightly.

Whatever she’d expected to see on his face, it hadn’t been that.

The fourth year at Hogwarts felt busier and more stressful than any year before it. Harry being thrown into the Triwizard Tournament had everyone on edge, and Moody’s unpredictable lessons kept the whole school jumpy. But, out of everything happening around her, what annoyed her most was none other than Draco Malfoy .

They had never liked each other - he’d written her off the moment she was sorted into Gryffindor, and becoming close to Harry pretty much guaranteed Malfoy would treat her like an enemy. Their families never got along either, so there was no real chance of them being friendly.

But lately, something about him had changed . Not in a good way—no, in the most irritating way possible.

He suddenly seemed to be everywhere she was. Every corner she turned, every hallway she crossed, Draco was already there with that smug look on his face, ready to say something that would get under her skin. His comments had become more frequent, sharper, and impossible to ignore.

In Potions, her cauldron had nearly exploded after extra ingredients somehow slipped in when she wasn’t looking. Snape gave her a full lecture in front of the class while Draco sat at his table trying to hide his grin.

When she passed him in the corridors, he and Pansy would whisper loudly enough for her to hear. Crabbe and Goyle always laughed on cue. And Draco would add something rude, just quiet enough that only she caught it.

Across classrooms, during meals, even from opposite sides of the courtyard, she would sometimes catch him watching her. A quick stare. A raised eyebrow. A look that said he’d noticed her long before she noticed him.

Needless to say, it drove her crazy.

Tonight, though, she refused to think about Draco Malfoy. Tonight was the Yule Ball. After weeks worrying about Harry and the Triwizard horrors he kept surviving by inches, she was desperate for a night of calm—music, friends, dancing. 

The Great Hall looked nothing like it normally did. Silver decorations hung from the walls, the ceiling was full of floating snowflakes, and the whole place glowed soft and white like winter had crept indoors. The music filled the air in a way that made it hard not to smile.

Her dress flowed behind her as she walked—simple, pretty, and nothing too dramatic, just enough to make her feel a little more confident than usual. 

“You look amazing!” Hermione said when she saw her.

“So do you,” she said with a grin. “Viktor’s going to faint when he sees you”

Hermione blushed while Ron turned tomato-red for a totally different reason.

Harry just looked relieved to be away from reporters and danger for one night.

Her Durmstrang date—polite, handsome, and a bit stiff—met her near the dance floor, and for a while she let herself enjoy the music, the dancing, and the warm, bright atmosphere of the Ball.

But then she felt it again—that strange awareness in the back of her mind, like someone was staring at her. She turned her head slightly.

Draco Malfoy stood on the other side of the Hall with Pansy Parkinson hanging onto his arm, but he wasn’t paying attention to his date. He was looking at her—steady, focused, almost frowning, as if something about her bothered him. Pansy elbowed him sharply, clearly annoyed he wasn’t paying attention to her, but he barely looked her way.

Their eyes met for only a moment, but it was enough to unsettle her more than she wanted to admit. She broke the eye contact quickly, lifting her chin and pretending it hadn’t happened.

The night went on. She danced with her date. She danced with Hermione. She laughed with Ron when he wasn’t sulking. The music rose and swelled, candles hovering overhead like floating stars. She was having the time of her life.

Every now and then, though, whenever she glanced across the ballroom, she found those pale eyes on her again.

The third time it happened, she shot him a fed-up glare that said plainly: What is your problem?

He didn’t look away.

Eventually, needing a little air and a break from the noise, she slipped out into the hallway. She settled onto a windowsill with a cup of punch, enjoying the cool breeze and the silence. She’d barely taken two sips when footsteps sounded behind her - slow, deliberate.

She turned.

Of course.

Draco Malfoy.

He leaned against the wall, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Well, well,” he drawled, “look who wandered off. What’s wrong, L/n? Your date abandon you already?”

She closed her eyes for a moment. Of all the people she could’ve run into—

“Shove off, Malfoy,” she muttered. “I’m trying to enjoy my night.”

She heard him huff a quiet laugh, and when she turned her head, his smirk had only grown wider.

“Touchy, aren’t we?” he said, sounding far too pleased with himself. “Must be rough getting ditched by a guy who can barely speak English. Can’t say I’m surprised, though.”

Her jaw clenched.

Of course he’d say something like that.

“And I’m surprised Pansy managed to leave your side,” she shot back, heat rising in her voice. “She’s been practically glued to you all night. Why don’t you run back to her and leave me alone?”

Most people would’ve taken that as a hint, but Draco Malfoy wasn't most people.

“Didn’t know you were keeping track of me throughout the evening” he said lightly, though something sharper flickered in his eyes. “Guess that Durmstrang boy couldn’t keep you interested for very long.”

That did it.

She stood up from the windowsill so fast he blinked, surprised by the sudden movement.

“Oh, I was the one keeping track of you?” she snapped. “YOU were the one staring at me all night!”

The words hung between them, louder than she intended.

His smirk faded. For a moment, the hallway felt colder. Then, Draco’s expression tightened into a scowl, his eyes narrowing just slightly.

“Don’t flatter yourself, L/n,” he said, the bitterness in his tone surprising her. Noticing the way he dodged the subject, she decided to push it.

“You mean to say you haven’t been acting strange recently?” she said, folding her arms. “Because you have. And it’s already getting old."

“Strange?” he repeated, eyes narrowing. “How, exactly?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” she shot back. “You’ve gone out of your way to bother me since September. More than usual. Staring across classrooms, interrupting my work, getting me in trouble every chance you get—”

“It’s not strange" he said simply "That’s called not liking someone” he cut in, his voice sharp.

“But that’s the thing,” she said, stepping closer without meaning to. “You never liked me. So why is it suddenly your full-time hobby?”

His mouth opened—then closed.

For once, he didn’t have a snide comeback ready.

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” he said finally, low and cold. He stared down at her, eyes fierce and unblinking, and something in the intensity of it made her feel almost lightheaded—though not in any pleasant way. 

She frowned at the way he said it—sharp, but it also sounded oddly...defensive.

Then he turned sharply, as if that was the end of the conversation.

But she didn’t let it go. He only managed to take a couple of steps before she spoke again.

“If I didn’t know any better,” she called after him, “I’d say you fancy me, Malfoy.”

The words left her mouth before she could stop them. It wasn’t like her to throw something like that out—but he always managed to pull the worst reactions out of her.

He froze mid-step, as if someone had hit him with a Stunning Spell. He then turned around, and she saw that his expression had darkened .

"...Say that again?" He said, voice low and steady. 

Seeing him this worked up, she almost smirked. 

“I said—”

A burst of loud giggling cut her off as a couple rounded the corner at the far end of the hall, too wrapped up in each other to notice them. Draco didn’t look away from her, not even for a second - he used it as a distraction instead.

In two smooth, deliberate steps, he closed the distance between them. She instinctively retreated, her back brushing the cold stone wall before she even processed what happened. He didn’t touch her—he didn’t have to. The space between them thinned until she could see every shift in his expression.

“Careful, L/n” he warned as he held her gaze, his eyes still burning with whatever she’d lit in him. His shoulders were tense, his jaw tight. "You said it yourself - I can't stand you." He continued "So don’t ever mistake my actions for something else.”

She blinked, caught off guard—not by the words themselves, but by the way his gaze flicked down, seemingly lingering for a moment on her lips. Her own eyes never left his, steady and unblinking.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.

Then, almost abruptly, he turned on his heel and strode away. She stayed where she was, leaning against the cold stone wall. She didn’t call after him this time.

_______________