#draco fluff

Summary: You were taught to never go near a Malfoy, ever. But how could you? He's very much unavoidable.

wc: 1.1k+

cw: potter!reader x draco, reader is twins w harry, au where voldy doesn't exist, jily is alive, kinda unsupportive james, reader and james fight.

A/N: I can't stop with the potter!reader x draco fics.😔

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

Your parents only ever gave you and Harry one command before your very first year at Hogwarts. Not “study hard,” not “stay out of trouble,” not even “stick together.” No. It was a singular warning, sharp and unwavering, as you stood on Platform 9¾ with your trunks at your feet and nerves buzzing under your skin.

James Potter crouched in front of you, eyebrows furrowed beneath his messy hair, and pointed at both of you as if branding the rule into your very soul.

“You do not go near a Malfoy,” he said with finality. “Ever,” Lily echoed, folding her arms across her chest.

You and Harry glanced at each other, unsure whether to laugh or panic. But neither of you asked questions. You didn’t have to. Their faces were carved from stone—resolute, nostalgic, and more than a little haunted.

So you promised.

And for the first few years, you kept that promise.

⸻

You were now heavily making out with Draco Malfoy.

Summary: Being Draco Malfoy’s twin means never being alone, especially when Theodore Nott has always been right beside her. Warnings: None. MalfoyTwin!Reader Word Count: 9.5K

. . • ☆ . °.•°:. *₊° .☆. . • ☆ . °.•°:. *₊° .☆ :.

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Ever since they were young, Draco and Y/N Malfoy had been inseparable, not simply because they were twins, but because something deeper kept pulling them back together. A bond that lived under skin and bone. Beyond matching faces and shared birthdays. It was instinct. It was certain. As natural as breathing.

No matter how vicious their arguments became, no matter how cruel their pranks were, they always circled back.

Always chose each other.

They fought loudly, dramatically, the way only children raised side by side could. Doors slammed through the endless corridors of Malfoy Manor. Insults were hurled with the fearless precision of two people who knew exactly where the other was weakest and knew, too, exactly how far they could go before it stopped being a game. Pride bruised. Tempers flared. Threats were made that neither of them ever truly meant.

Yet when it mattered, when the world felt too large or too sharp, they were always side by side.

Draco was her shield.

Y/N was his anchor.

She still remembered the day everything changed.

They had been five, far too young to understand the weight of magic, or the fear it carried when it slipped its leash. The argument was ridiculous in hindsight, something trivial and childish: the last sweet on a silver tray in the drawing room. Draco insisted she’d taken it. Y/N swore she hadn’t. Voices rose, sharp and indignant, echoing off marble walls and gilded frames. Small hands shoved. Frustration bubbled over into something hot and uncontrollable.

And then Draco’s magic exploded.

It wasn’t intentional. It wasn’t aimed.

It simply was.

The force hit her without warning, throwing her backward across the room as though the air itself had turned solid. Pain flashed sharp and blinding, and then nothing.

When she woke, she was tucked safely into her bed, silk sheets drawn neatly around her like they could keep the world out. The familiar scent of her room, lavender oil, polished wood, something faintly metallic wrapped around her. Voices filled the air, sharp and overlapping, frantic in a way the manor never allowed.

Her parents stood nearby, but it was her father’s voice that cut through everything else.

Lucius Malfoy, usually so controlled, so precise, sounded furious and terrified all at once as he scolded Draco. His tone was clipped, edged with something dangerously close to panic.

Draco.

Y/N turned her head.

He stood at the foot of the bed, small shoulders shaking violently, pale face streaked with tears. His hands were clenched at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them, like he was afraid to touch anything ever again. He looked shattered. Devastated. Like a child who truly believed he had destroyed the only thing that mattered.

His sister.

His other half.

He thought he had killed her.

The realization softened something deep in her chest. So when her eyes fluttered open, she didn’t scream. She didn’t cry. She smiled wide and bright, utterly unconcerned, as if the whole thing had been an exciting surprise.

So wide, in fact, that both of her parents froze.

“Mummy! Daddy!” Y/N exclaimed, voice filled with wonder rather than fear. “Dray’s magic finally exploded!”

For a heartbeat, no one moved.

Then Draco broke.

A broken sob tore out of him, and he launched himself forward, climbing onto the bed and clinging to her as though she might vanish if he let go. His hands twisted in her nightshirt, desperate.

“I’m so sorry,” he cried into her shoulder. “I thought I killed you, sissy—I thought I hurt you forever.”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She wrapped her arms around him just as tightly, small fingers threading into his hair, holding him like he was the one who needed saving.

“I’m fine,” she murmured, steady despite everything. “See? I’m right here.”

Lucius, who had been the most worried of all, felt his anger melt away, leaving only a tight, aching relief he would never admit to anyone outside these walls. His pale eyes softened as he watched his children tangled together on the bed, so alike, so fiercely bonded.

Narcissa’s smile was gentler than the room deserved. Her hand found Lucius’s sleeve, a quiet touch that calmed him more than words ever could.

“I told you,” she said softly. “Draco would never hurt his sister. Not truly. Not ever.”

And from that day on, it was clear to everyone in Malfoy Manor: no matter how sharp their words became, no matter how loud their arguments, Draco and Y/N were two halves of the same soul, unbreakable, protective, devoted.

Each other’s constant.

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As the years passed, the world around them slowly expanded. Alliances were formed with careful precision, conversations were held behind closed doors, and names began to matter more than playthings. Soon enough, the Malfoy twins were introduced to other children who came from the same world.

Theodore Nott was the first.

They met when the twins were six, on a cold afternoon at Nott Manor, though Draco would later insist the weather alone warranted dramatic complaints. Theo was quieter than the Malfoy twins from the moment they met him: dark-haired, pale, watchful. He didn’t rush forward like Draco. He didn’t meet Y/N with bold confidence, either.

He observed.

Measured.

And Y/N, who was used to being watched, used to the way adults weighed her worth before they even learned her favorite sweets, noticed it immediately. Not the scrutiny of an adult, but something different. Something… careful. Like he was trying to understand her, not judge her.

The adults called it a playdate.

None of the children believed that.

Lucius and Narcissa watched with polite smiles and sharper eyes. Theo’s father remained silent, his presence heavy and unreadable, like a shadow cast across the room. This wasn’t about toys or laughter.

It was about assessment. Who led. Who followed. Who watched quietly from the corners.

Draco, of course, detonated into the day like a firework. Within minutes, he’d tried to pull Theo into whatever reckless game he and Y/N had invented, issuing challenges and dares with an enthusiasm only a Malfoy child could muster.

Y/N lingered closer, studying Theo with curiosity rather than suspicion, her gaze sharp and quick. She didn’t like people who looked at her as though she were an extension of her father’s reputation. Theo’s eyes didn’t do that. His attention landed on her face, her hands, the way she stood beside Draco as if the space between them had always belonged to her.

Theo didn’t protest. He didn’t laugh loudly, nor did he shrink away.

He simply joined them.

Quietly.

And somehow, without anyone noticing exactly when it happened, he fit.

It was small at first. A steady presence that didn’t demand anything. A boy who stepped out of Draco’s chaos not because he feared it, but because he didn’t need to compete with it. He watched. He listened.

And he remembered everything.

Y/N noticed it most when Draco got carried away. When Draco’s dares became too sharp, too close to cruel, Theo’s gaze would flick to Y/N—not asking permission, but checking. Are you alright with this? Are you laughing, or are you forcing it?

And every time she met his eyes, something in Theo’s chest tightened an unfamiliar pull he didn’t yet have language for. He didn’t know why he cared whether she was truly amused. He only knew he did.

The adults would later say it was inevitable that children of their standing were bound to grow close.

But Theo knew, even at six, that what he felt wasn’t inevitability.

It was choice.

Because Draco was loud and impossible to ignore.

And Y/N—Y/N was the center of gravity.

She didn’t have to raise her voice to be noticed. She could stand perfectly still, and the room would tilt toward her anyway. Draco orbited her like a planet that didn’t know it was tethered. Theo… Theo learned to do it more quietly. He learned to be close without crowding. Present without demanding.

It started as a simple thing: Theo liked being near her.

Then it became something sharper, something that settled into him like a secret.

Theo noticed the way Y/N’s smile changed when she was genuinely entertained—softer, warmer, less guarded. He noticed how quickly she put that guard back up when adults turned their eyes on her. He noticed the second she stopped breathing whenever Lucius’s voice went cold.

And without ever meaning to, Theo began collecting those details like they mattered.

Like she mattered.

Someone who saw her without needing her to speak.

Someone who understood the spaces between words.

Someone who, even then, was already learning what it meant to stand beside her—not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

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Months later, Lorenzo Berkshire and Blaise Zabini arrived. The Berkshires were new to England, newly rooted in a country still reeling from the war’s aftermath. They’d heard the stories of the chaos, the devastation, the fear that had once gripped the wizarding world. But more importantly, they understood something far more practical: survival required allegiance.

And allegiance meant choosing a side.

They chose the Malfoys.

And the Notts.

Blaise Zabini’s family was spoken of in quieter tones. His mother’s name was whispered with intrigue and caution, followed by a long list of husbands who had vanished just as mysteriously as they’d appeared. No one questioned it, not when Mrs. Zabini’s inheritance alone rivaled most old families.

That afternoon, the Malfoy twins and Theo were sprawled across the manicured gardens of Malfoy Manor, circling a cluster of protesting garden gnomes. Draco was shouting instructions with far too much authority for a six-year-old, while Y/N laughed as she nudged one of the gnomes back toward its hole with the toe of her shoe. Theo lingered nearby, arms crossed, watching the chaos with the quiet amusement of someone who preferred storms from a safe distance.

“Draco, stop yelling at them,” Y/N said, crouching. “They don’t listen when you shout.”

“They should,” Draco huffed. “This is our garden.”

Theo tilted his head. “You’re arguing with gnomes.”

Draco scowled. “And you’re standing there doing nothing.”

“I’m supervising,” Theo replied calmly, and when Y/N laughed, that same warm pull tightened in his chest like it had hands.

A familiar pop sounded at the edge of the lawn.

Dobby appeared, wringing his long fingers nervously. Behind him stood two boys.

One had shaggy brown hair and wide eyes, his gaze darting between the towering manor and the three children as if he wasn’t sure where to place himself. The other dark-skinned, sharp-eyed held himself with effortless confidence, hands folded neatly behind his back as though he’d been taught to look like he belonged anywhere.

Y/N straightened first, brushing grass from her dress. Draco followed immediately, shoulders squaring as he stepped half a pace in front of her without thinking.

Theo noticed.

He always noticed.

It wasn’t jealousy yet. Not quite. It was simply… a quiet alarm bell in his bones whenever the world moved too close to her.

“Ms. Y/N,” Dobby squeaked, bowing. “Mr. Little Malfoy, sir—this is Mr. Lorenzo Berkshire and Mr. Blaise Zabini.”

Draco eyed them critically. “You’re late.”

Lorenzo flushed. “S-sorry. The Floo—”

“It’s fine,” Blaise interrupted smoothly, stepping forward. His eyes flicked over Draco, then Y/N, then Theo—assessing, calculating. “Thank you for having us.”

Y/N’s smile was polite, practiced, but her eyes were curious, bright. “You don’t have to sound so serious. We were just torturing gnomes.”

Theo added, dry as ever, “Against their will.”

Blaise’s mouth tipped into a small grin. “They look like they deserve it.”

Draco snorted. “Finally, someone with sense.”

Lorenzo hesitated, then blurted, “Your house is… really big.”

Draco smirked. “Obviously.”

Y/N shot him a look. “He means it’s impressive,” she corrected, gentler. Then she offered her hand to Lorenzo first, because she could always sense who needed kindness more. “I’m Y/N. That’s Draco, and this is Theo.”

Theo gave a small nod. “You don’t have to be nervous.”

Lorenzo swallowed. “I’m not.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow. “He is.”

Draco laughed outright, clearly approving. “I like you already.”

Theo didn’t laugh, but he watched Y/N as she smiled, and felt that same strange certainty settle deeper: she pulled people in. Whether she meant to or not.

And Theo… Theo stayed close enough to catch anyone who fell into her orbit too hard.

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Four more years passed, and with them came sharper awareness. The war no longer felt like a story told in hushed tones; it lingered in glances, in careful conversations, in the names their parents spoke with caution.

It was during one of those carefully arranged afternoons that Mattheo Riddle was introduced into their already forming circle.

At first, the adults hesitated. The name alone carried consequences. There had been long discussions behind closed doors, low voices and measured words. But eventually, a decision was made.

By then, the others were inseparable.

Draco Malfoy. Y/N Malfoy. Theodore Nott. Lorenzo Berkshire. Blaise Zabini.

They rotated through one another’s homes weekly, drifting between grand manors and inherited estates. The visits were no longer supervised closely; the parents watched from a distance, now trusting the children to occupy themselves while still observing carefully from the edges.

They were ten. A year away from Hogwarts.

That afternoon, the Malfoy sitting room was filled with the kind of comfort that only came from familiarity. Sunlight filtered through tall windows, turning dust motes into floating gold. The silver accents gleamed. The air smelled faintly of parchment and Narcissa’s perfume.

Y/N sat at the grand piano, fingers hovering over the keys as she worked through a piece Narcissa had assigned her. Theo stood close, too close for coincidence, leaning against the piano’s side, eyes fixed not on the music, but on her hands.

He’d been doing that for years: finding excuses to be near her without announcing it. Standing just off her shoulder in crowded rooms. Sitting beside her instead of across. Quietly becoming the place she could lean without realizing she’d leaned at all.

“You’re rushing the left hand,” Theo murmured.

Y/N glanced up at him, amused. “I’m not.”

“You are,” he said calmly. “Just a little.”

She narrowed her eyes, playing anyway, deliberately dragging the left hand even slower just to spite him. “Are you correcting me,” she asked, “or admiring me?”

Theo’s ears went faintly pink. It always happened with her, like she could reach inside him and tug on every thread he tried to keep neat.

“Both,” he admitted, voice quieter than usual.

Y/N laughed softly, warm and unguarded, and Theo felt that familiar pull in his chest, uncomfortable only because it was too big for him to hide. He liked making her laugh. Liked when she looked at him like the world felt safer with him near.

Across the room, Draco lounged in an armchair, arguing loudly with Blaise.

“There’s no question,” Draco insisted. “The Holyhead Harpies are overrated.”

“They are not,” Blaise shot back. “You just like being difficult.”

“I like being right.”

“You like being annoying.”

Lorenzo, curled up on the rug with a book he’d stolen from Draco’s bedroom, didn’t look up. “You’re both loud.”

Draco scoffed. “You’re reading upside down.”

Lorenzo blinked, rotated the book slowly, then frowned. “So I am.”

Theo’s mouth twitched. Y/N’s smile widened. He stored it away like he always did, another moment of her joy that felt oddly like something precious he was responsible for.

Then the door opened.

Narcissa Malfoy entered with her usual grace, her presence commanding attention without effort. Beside her stood a boy unfamiliar to them, with dark curls falling lazily over his forehead, posture casual but eyes sharp. Confident, but braced, like he expected the air to turn against him at any second.

All of the children rose immediately.

Narcissa’s gaze swept over them, soft but thoughtful. It lingered on Draco and Y/N a moment longer than the rest, as though she were measuring risks she could not name.

“Children,” she said gently, resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder, “this is Mattheo Riddle.”

The name echoed. No one reacted outwardly. They had been taught better than that. But Theo felt the shift instantly, the careful stillness. Draco’s shoulders squared. Blaise’s eyes sharpened with interest. Lorenzo’s grip tightened on his book.

Mattheo felt it too. He kept his smile in place, but Theo saw the tension in his jaw. He was used to the pause. The judgment.

Then Y/N stepped forward.

She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t glance at Draco or Theo for permission. She simply extended her hand, smile warm and unguarded.

“Hi,” she said easily. “I’m Y/N Malfoy.”

Mattheo blinked, startled, before taking her hand. “Mattheo.”

Theo watched his jaw tighten just slightly, something sour and instinctive twisting in his stomach. He didn’t like how easily she smiled at him. Didn’t like the relief that flashed across Mattheo’s face.

And without thinking, without deciding, Theo shifted closer to Y/N. Not touching her. Just there. A quiet line drawn in the air that said: You’re not alone. You never are.

Draco cleared his throat. “Draco Malfoy,” he said coolly. “That’s Theo, Blaise, and Enzo.”

Blaise inclined his head politely. “Nice to meet you.”

Lorenzo blurted, “Do you like books?”

Mattheo’s mouth quirked. “Depends on the book.”

Theo studied him carefully before speaking. “You can sit.”

It wasn’t exactly an invitation. It was permission. Mattheo nodded, grateful, taking a seat near the others. Narcissa observed them for another moment before turning to leave, her hand lingering briefly on Y/N’s shoulder, maternal, protective, before the door closed.

The room fell quiet.

Draco broke it first, as always. “So… wizard chess?”

Mattheo exhaled. “I’m terrible.”

Draco grinned. “Even better.”

Y/N laughed, and Theo felt it the way that sound anchored him. No matter who joined them, no matter how the circle expanded, she was still the center. And Theo knew, even then, that whatever he felt for her wasn’t fleeting. It wasn’t childish. It wasn’t something he could simply grow out of.

It had been building since he was six years old, quiet and stubborn and unshakable.

A devotion he didn’t name yet.

But he carried it like a promise anyway.

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It wasn’t until Hogwarts that the boys and Y/N began to understand just how tightly bound they truly were.

They moved through the castle like a unit, even when they weren’t standing together. People noticed. Whispers followed them down corridors. Sneers lingered at the edges of classrooms. Eyes narrowed whenever they passed. Other houses watched them with thinly veiled disdain, judging them before they ever spoke.

They didn’t always say it to their faces.

They were too afraid for that.

But Y/N heard it anyway, murmured insults behind hands, sharp laughter that cut just a second too long. Words like Death Eater. Dark. Tainted. Words meant to peel the skin off.

She told herself she didn’t care.

That she was used to it.

And in a way, she was raised in a manor where reputation was a second spine, where fear was a language people pretended not to speak.

But there was a difference between whispers in passing… And what people did when they thought no one would stop them.

It was a rare afternoon when she was alone.

No Draco at her side. No Theo lingering close. No Blaise scanning a room like a blade. No Lorenzo quietly trailing behind. No Mattheo leaning against a wall with that lazy smile that never quite reached his eyes.

For once, the boys were elsewhere, arguing about Quidditch and house points and some stupid bet that had dragged them toward the courtyard. Y/N had slipped away to breathe.

She sat near the Black Lake with her shoes discarded beside her, skirt tucked neatly under her legs, the grass cool beneath her palms. The water shimmered lazily; the giant squid’s shadow drifted far out in the distance like a secret too large to name. The sun was pleasant. The air smelled like damp earth and leaves.

For a few minutes, she let herself pretend she was just a girl beside a lake. Not a name. Not a reputation. Not a target.

She closed her eyes. That’s when the sunlight disappeared. A shadow fell across her face, sudden and deliberate. Y/N opened her eyes. Three Ravenclaw girls stood in front of her, older third years, maybe fourth. They wore confidence like armor and cruelty like perfume, the kind of girls who only felt powerful when someone smaller was in reach.

“Well,” the tallest drawled, “look at that. Finally alone without your little Death Eater gang, little Malfoy?”

Y/N’s spine went stiff. She hated that nickname, the way people used it, like she was nothing more than Draco Malfoy’s shadow. She didn’t rise immediately. She forced her expression into something cool and blank, the same mask she’d worn her whole life.

“Move,” she said flatly.

One of the girls laughed, as if Y/N’s voice were entertainment. “Still bossy. Figures.”

“You think you’re untouchable,” the first continued, stepping closer. “Because of your brother. Because of your friends.”

Y/N stood, brushing her hands over her skirt even though it wasn’t dirty, anything to keep her body moving, anything to keep them from seeing the way her pulse had jumped.

“I’m not bothering you.”

“No,” the third girl said softly, circling. “But your name does.”

Y/N’s fingers curled at her sides. “I don’t control my last name.”

“Oh, please,” the first snapped. “You control who you stand with.”

“And you stand with them,” the second added, eyes narrowing. “The ones who think they’re better than everyone.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened. “If you don’t like who I stand with, walk away.”

The tallest girl smiled slowly and satisfied. “Or we could teach you what it’s like to be alone.”

Before Y/N could step back, a hand shoved her shoulder. She stumbled, heel sliding dangerously near the edge. Her stomach dropped.

“Stop,” she warned, voice sharper now.

They didn’t. Another shove harder. Her back foot slipped on damp soil. And then the ground vanished. She fell backward into the lake with a splash that knocked the breath clean out of her lungs. Cold slammed into her like a curse, stealing thought, stealing air. Her clothes grew heavy instantly, dragging her down. Her skirts tangled around her legs like hands.

She couldn’t swim.

Panic exploded in her chest. She opened her mouth to scream, and water poured in instead. She thrashed, disoriented, kicking uselessly. The surface seemed impossibly far away, a bright, wavering ceiling she couldn’t reach.

On the shore, the Ravenclaws froze.

For half a second, none of them moved.

Then—

“What the hell—?!”

Draco’s voice cut through the air like a whip.

The boys were running five figures, tearing across the grass from the path above. Draco was first, face twisted with horror and fury. Blaise was right behind him, faster than he looked. Lorenzo sprinted with his robes in his hands so he wouldn’t trip. Mattheo followed, long strides eating distance, eyes locked on the lake.

Theo didn’t shout.

He didn’t hesitate.

He ran past them all and dove. The cold hit him like a fist. It stole his breath so violently his lungs seized his body, screaming to surface, to survive. But Theo forced himself down anyway, eyes burning as he opened them underwater.

Find her.

He saw her shadow beneath the surface hair, floating like ink around her face, movements frantic and weakening.

Theo’s heart nearly stopped. For one terrible second, all he could think was: No. Not her. Not Y/N.

He kicked hard, arms slicing through the water, and reached her just as her thrashing slowed. He wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled upward, fighting against the weight of her soaked clothes.

Up—up—

They broke the surface with a gasp.

Theo coughed, choking on water, but he didn’t let go. He couldn’t.

“I’ve got you,” he rasped, voice cracking. “I’ve got you—don’t fight me—”

Y/N sputtered, half-conscious, terror-stricken. Her fingers latched onto his robes like he was the only real thing left in the world.

On shore, Draco reached the girls.

“What did you do?” he demanded, voice shaking with rage. “What did you do to her?!”

“She—she fell—” one stammered.

Blaise’s voice went icy. “She didn’t fall. You pushed her.”

Lorenzo planted himself between the Ravenclaws and the lake, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles went white. “Step back. Now.”

Mattheo didn’t speak at first. He just looked at them. His expression was calm in a way that didn’t match the moment, too still, too quiet. His eyes flicked from their faces to the lake and back again, and something dark settled there, something old.

The tallest Ravenclaw tried to scoff, but her voice wavered. “It was just a joke—”

Mattheo finally smiled. It wasn’t friendly. It wasn’t warm. It was the kind of smile that made people remember his last name, too.

“A joke,” he repeated softly, as if tasting the word. “That’s funny. Because she could’ve died.”

The girls’ faces paled.

Draco took a step forward, shaking with rage. “You’re going to the Head of House,” he snarled. “You’re going to Flitwick—someone—”

Blaise’s hand shot out, gripping Draco’s sleeve, grounding him before he did something that would land them in trouble too. “Draco,” Blaise warned under his breath. “Not here.”

Draco’s breathing was ragged. “They pushed her.”

“I know,” Blaise said, clipped. “And we’re handling it.”

Mattheo leaned in slightly toward the Ravenclaws, voice low enough it felt private and dangerous. “If you ever touch her again,” he said, “I’ll make sure you spend the rest of your Hogwarts years afraid of empty corridors.”

One of the girls swallowed hard. “You can’t—”

Mattheo’s eyes flicked to her. “Try me.”

Meanwhile, Theo dragged Y/N toward shore, muscles screaming, lungs burning, teeth chattering so hard it hurt. Lorenzo rushed forward, grabbing Y/N’s arm and helping pull her onto the grass.

Y/N collapsed, coughing violently as water spilled from her mouth. She shook uncontrollably, soaked hair plastered to her cheeks. Her eyes were wide and glassy with fear.

Theo dropped beside her instantly, too fast, too desperate, one hand bracing her back, the other gripping her wrist like he could keep her tethered to the earth if he held tight enough.

“Breathe,” he pleaded, voice breaking. “Please—breathe. Look at me—look at me—”

Y/N gasped, chest heaving, and suddenly she was sobbing—quiet, broken sounds she tried to swallow down like she was ashamed of them. Her fingers clenched in Theo’s robes again, desperate.

“I—I couldn’t—” she choked. “I couldn’t—”

“I know,” Theo said fiercely, leaning close, forehead nearly touching hers. His hands shook as he held her, anger and fear tangled together until he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. “I know. You’re safe. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Draco knelt on her other side, face white with terror and rage. He touched her shoulder carefully, like he was afraid she’d shatter. “Sissy—” his voice wavered, and he swallowed it down. “Y/N. I’m here.”

Blaise turned back to the Ravenclaws, expression polite but lethal. “Walk away,” he said smoothly. “Now. Before you make this worse.”

Lorenzo didn’t move, jaw clenched, eyes bright with fury. And Mattheo, still calm, still terrifyingly quiet, kept his gaze on the girls until they finally backed away, stumbling over their own feet.

Only when they were gone did Theo look down at Y/N again.

Her cheeks were flushed from coughing, lashes clumped with water, and lips trembling. She looked small, too small for the weight her name forced onto her. Too breakable for the world’s cruelty.

Theo’s throat tightened.

This wasn’t just anger.

This wasn’t just fear.

This was something that had been building in him for years—quiet and stubborn, living in the way he always stood a little closer, listened a little harder, watched her a little too carefully.

Love.

And as he held her there on the grass—soaked, shaking, alive—Theodore Nott knew one truth with terrifying clarity: He had been hers since he was six years old. He just hadn’t known what to call it.

And now that he knew that the word existed in him like a vow, he would destroy anyone who ever tried to hurt her again.

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.

.

It was in their third year when Y/N began to realize something had shifted. At first, she told herself it was nothing.

The third year changed everyone. Hogwarts felt smaller somehow, corridors darker, expectations heavier. Lessons stopped being games. Professors stopped indulging mistakes. The whispers sharpened, too, as if the castle itself had decided they were old enough to be punished for their surnames.

People didn’t see children anymore. They saw names. Legacies. Consequences. Still, through it all, one thing stayed constant.

Theo.

He had always been there quietly, steadily, without demanding space or attention. Where Draco was loud in his protectiveness, Theo was subtle. Where Draco burned, Theo endured. He stood beside her in crowded corridors, drifted near her shoulder in the Great Hall, waited outside classrooms as if he’d simply ended up there, like it wasn’t intentional at all.

Like it wasn’t always about her.

Theo knew her moods before she did.

When she grew sharp and distant, he didn’t push. When she laughed too brightly—too polished, too rehearsed—he watched closer, gaze narrowing the way it did when he saw something no one else was meant to notice.

When the world became too much, he simply stayed.

Sometimes, she thought he knew her better than Draco did. That realization frightened her more than anything else. Because Draco was her twin. Draco was woven into her like blood. It made sense that he knew her.

Theo… Theo wasn’t supposed to.

And yet. It didn’t crash over her in some dramatic moment. It crept in quietly, through small things she only noticed afterward.

Like the way her eyes searched for Theo first when she entered a room without meaning to, without thinking. Like how her shoulders loosened the second she spotted him leaning against a wall, arms crossed, dark eyes already on her as if he’d been waiting. Not in the obvious way, not like a puppy left at a door—just… present. Ready.

Grounding.

As if the chaos of Hogwarts softened when he was near.

She started noticing the details.

The way he always walked on the outside of the corridor, placing himself between her and the press of students without ever making a show of it. The way he handed her books before she even realized she needed them. The way he remembered things she’d said once, months ago, in passing, like her words were something he kept instead of something he endured.

“You don’t like thunder,” Theo had said one night, voice low in the common room.

Y/N blinked at him. “I don’t?”

“You tense up,” he replied simply. “Every time.”

She didn’t remember telling him that.

Worse—she didn’t remember anyone noticing.

There were nights when they sat together long after the others had gone to bed, the Slytherin common room hushed beneath green light and the slow crackle of the fire. Draco would be asleep already. Blaise distracted with whatever drama he pretended not to enjoy. Mattheo off chasing something reckless. Lorenzo buried in a book, half-asleep over the pages.

Leaving just the two of them.

Theo never rushed to fill the silence. And somehow that made it intimate. Because silence with Theo wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t empty.

It was chosen.

She began to notice how close he sat. Not touching Theo, but near enough that she could feel his warmth, near enough that their shoulders almost brushed when she shifted.

She told herself it meant nothing.

Until it did.

Until one evening, when she laughed at something Blaise said and turned, instinctively, to Theo as if he were the person she wanted to share it with first. Only to find him already watching her. Not in the casual way he watched everything, always attentive, always aware.

In a softer way.

Like she was something precious he didn’t want to startle.

Her breath caught.

Theo’s gaze flicked to her mouth just for a second, quick enough that she could pretend she imagined it.

Then he looked away first, jaw tightening like he was angry at himself.

That was when it truly began. Because once she saw it, she couldn’t unsee it.

She thought about him when he wasn’t there. Wondered where he was during lessons they didn’t share. Felt something twist uncomfortably in her chest when other girls spoke to him, especially when they smiled too brightly, lingered too long, acted like they were entitled to his attention.

She told herself it was stupid.

Theo was her best friend.

Theo was safe.

Theo was constant.

But she was learning quietly, miserably, that safety didn’t always mean the absence of risk. Sometimes it meant the presence of something worth losing everything for.

She started noticing the way he said her name. Not rushed. Not careless. Like it mattered. Like it was something fragile in his mouth. She noticed how his hand would hover near her back in crowded spaces, never quite touching, but always ready.

Like if the world shoved too hard, Theo would catch her.

And then there were moments—small, cruelly gentle moments—that shattered her defenses.

The night she couldn’t sleep after a nightmare, she slipped quietly into the common room, expecting emptiness.

Theo was already there.

Sitting awake with a book open in his lap that he clearly wasn’t reading.

He looked up the moment she stepped into the room, as if he’d been listening for her without realizing it.

“You too?” he asked softly.

Y/N nodded, throat tight.

He didn’t ask why. Didn’t demand details. Didn’t try to fix it. He just shifted closer on the sofa and, without a word, draped his blanket over her shoulders, warm and heavy, smelling faintly like parchment and smoke.

She didn’t give it back.

And Theo didn’t ask for it.

It was then wrapped in his warmth, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, that the truth settled in her chest, heavy and undeniable.

She was falling for him.

Her best friend.

Her quiet constant.

The boy who knew her almost as well as Draco did—if not better, sometimes.

Theodore Nott.

And the most terrifying part wasn’t the fear of rejection.

It was the fear that he already knew.

.

.

.

It wasn’t supposed to be a confession.

That was the thing about it.

Fourth year had settled into something familiar, comfortable routines, shared meals, laughter in the common room, late-night walks that didn’t need explanations. Y/N told herself nothing had changed. That whatever she felt was normal. That best friends stayed close. That comfort didn’t have to mean more.

Theo told himself the same.

He had been telling himself the same for years.

So when they found themselves by the Black Lake that evening, neither of them thought anything of it. Not at first.

The sun hung low, turning the water molten gold. The surface rippled gently, calm in a way that felt intentional, as if the lake were holding its breath. Y/N sat in the grass with her knees drawn up, tracing absent patterns into the earth with her fingers. Theo stood a few steps away, hands in his pockets, gaze fixed on the water like it was easier to look at anything else.

“This place always feels quieter,” she said softly.

Theo nodded. “It’s easier to think here.”

She glanced up at him. “You’re thinking now.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, the sound almost reluctant. “Am I that obvious?”

“To me,” she said.

That earned her a look that lingered a second longer than usual. Not intense. Not searching.

Just… honest.

Theo sat beside her, leaving space between them out of habit rather than intent. Like his body still remembered years of not taking too much.

“I figured something out here,” he said after a moment.

Y/N tilted her head. “About what?”

“About you.”

Her fingers stilled in the grass. “That sounds ominous,” she tried to joke, lightness forced, heart suddenly too loud in her ribs.

“It wasn’t,” Theo said quickly. Then he corrected himself, mouth twitching like he regretted the words already. “Well. It was, but not in a bad way.”

She waited.

Theo swallowed, eyes still on the lake. “Do you remember first year? After… everything that happened here?”

Her chest tightened. Of course she remembered. The cold. The panic. The way the world had vanished beneath her feet.

“You almost drowned,” he continued quietly, voice stripped down to something bare. “I jumped in without thinking. Didn’t even realize what I was doing until I had you.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “I remember.”

“I told myself that was just panic,” Theo said. “Fear. Adrenaline. I told myself anyone would’ve done the same.”

He finally turned to look at her, and something in his expression cracked open just enough for her to see what he usually kept locked away.

“But that wasn’t it.”

Y/N frowned, breath shallow. “Theo…”

“I think I liked you before that,” he admitted. “Probably since we were six.” A beat. Then, softer: “Since you smiled at Mattheo like his name didn’t matter. Since you always pulled me into Draco’s chaos even when I didn’t want to be.”

Her breath caught.

Theo’s voice lowered, as if the lake might overhear. “But that day… that’s when I realized I loved you.”

The word settled between them, heavy and quiet, like the world had paused to listen.

“I was eleven,” he said, almost like he couldn’t believe it himself. “And all I could think was that the world would be wrong if you weren’t in it.”

Y/N stared at him, stunned like she’d been struck clean through.

“You—” She let out a weak laugh, shaking her head as if that could make it less real. “Theo, I didn’t even know I liked you until last year.”

“I know,” he said gently. His eyes softened in a way that made her stomach flip. “You’re terrible at noticing things about yourself.”

She scoffed automatically. “Excuse me?”

“You notice everyone else,” he said. “Just not you.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then stopped. Because he wasn’t wrong.

Theo looked back at the water like he needed something steady to hold onto. “I didn’t say anything. Because I didn’t think it mattered. Because I didn’t want to change anything.” His jaw flexed. “And because… I was content just being here.”

Her chest felt too full. Too tight.

“And now?” she asked quietly.

He shrugged, helpless in a way Theo never was. “Now I realized I can’t pretend I don’t feel it anymore.”

Y/N looked out at the lake, the same water that had once terrified her, that had nearly taken her, that had shown Theo his heart before he understood it himself.

“I thought,” she said slowly, voice trembling at the edges, “that what I felt was just comfort. That you were just… home.”

Theo’s lips curved faintly. “Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

A shaky breath left her. “I’m scared.”

“Me too,” he admitted, and the honesty in it made her want to cry.

“Not because it’s dangerous,” she clarified quickly. “But because I don’t want to break what we have. Or the group. Or Draco.”

Theo nodded once. “That’s why I never said anything.”

She turned to face him fully now, searching his expression like it held the answer to a question she’d been too afraid to ask. “So what are we doing?”

Theo hesitated, then answered with the kind of truth he always gave her. “We tell the truth. And we go slow. And we don’t make it obvious until we’re sure.”

Her fingers brushed his.

Neither of them pulled away.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Theo smiled, not wide, not triumphant.

Just relieved.

“Okay,” he echoed.

He leaned in carefully, giving her space to stop him.

She didn’t.

Their kiss was gentle and uncertain, two people learning something new about themselves together. When they pulled back, her forehead rested against his, both of them breathing like they’d been holding it for years.

“So,” she murmured, a shaky smile breaking through, “you’ve loved me since I was eleven.”

Theo chuckled softly. “And you only just noticed.”

She laughed, warmth blooming in her chest like something waking up. Behind them, the Black Lake rippled unchanged, patient, keeping their secret, just as it always had.

.

.

.

Pansy Parkinson had always prided herself on her observant nature. But even she hadn’t seen this coming.

The Slytherin common room was loud in the way only Slytherins could manage, controlled chaos wrapped in green firelight and stone. Conversations overlapped. Laughter bounced off the walls. Ambition lingered in the air like smoke, sweet and sharp.

Their group had claimed their usual corner.

Draco lounged across an armchair like he owned it—which, frankly, he did. Blaise sat on the couch opposite him, boots crossed at the ankles, expression bored in the way that meant he was listening to everything. Lorenzo was on the floor with his back against the sofa, skimming through a book he’d absolutely “borrowed.” Mattheo leaned against a pillar nearby, arms crossed, scanning the room with half-lidded eyes as if he was waiting for something to amuse him.

Y/N stood near the sofa, arms folded loosely as she listened to Draco complain about literally everything.

Theo stood beside her.

Casual. Relaxed. Normal.

(He was not normal.)

Pansy lounged nearby with Witch Weekly magazine, which she hadn’t turned a page of in ten minutes, watching everyone like a hawk.

Theo’s shoulder brushed Y/N’s. His body angled toward her, subtle and instinctive. One hand rested on the back of the couch behind her, not touching, but close enough that it might as well have been a line drawn in stone.

Pansy noticed immediately.

And then Marcus Flint’s younger cousin approached.

He had the unmistakable Flint confidence—too much of it, really—and the audacity to think this was a good idea. He lingered at the edge of their space, cleared his throat, and stepped forward like he belonged there.

“Y/N.”

Theo went rigid.

Not dramatic, Theo never did dramatic. Just… still. Alert. Like a blade being drawn an inch from its sheath.

Y/N turned politely. “Yeah?”

“Hogsmeade’s this weekend,” Flint said, rocking back on his heels, smiling like he expected her to be flattered. “Thought maybe you’d want to go with me.”

Theo didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, fully blocking the space between them. “She’s not going.” The words came out sharp. Final.

The corner of the common room went quiet like the air itself had paused to listen.

Theo blinked, realizing too late that everyone was staring.

Y/N frowned. “Theo?”

“She’s—” He swallowed, then rushed on, eyes flicking anywhere but hers. “She’s already busy.”

Draco’s brows knit together. “Busy with what?”

Theo panicked. “With me,” he blurted.

Dead silence.

Blaise squinted. “You?”

Lorenzo sat up like he’d been shocked awake. “Since when?”

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, slow and delighted. “That’s new.”

Flint scoffed. “She didn’t say that.”

Theo’s jaw tightened. “She doesn’t need to.”

Flint crossed his arms. “I was talking to her, not you.”

That was a mistake. Draco shot to his feet. “And you’re talking to my sister.”

Flint rolled his eyes. “Relax, Malfoy. It’s just Hogsmeade.”

Theo cut in quickly, words tumbling out now. “We all know how the Flints are with girls—”

Flint snapped, “Oi, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re not exactly known for your respect,” Theo shot back, then immediately looked like he wished he could grab the words out of the air. “I mean—historically—”

Blaise nodded thoughtfully. “He’s not wrong.”

Lorenzo added, far too earnest, “It’s kind of a reputation thing.”

Flint bristled. “You lot think you’re better than everyone.”

Draco stepped closer, eyes cold. “I don’t think it. I know it.”

Mattheo smirked. “Also, she’s too pretty for you.”

Draco whipped his head around. “Watch it.”

Mattheo held up his hands. “Protective brother privilege.”

Flint scoffed again. “Whatever. Didn’t realize she needed a committee.”

Theo’s hand slid without thinking to Y/N’s wrist. Firm. Protective. Possessive enough that Pansy’s eyes widened.

“She’s not going with you,” Theo repeated, quieter now, but somehow more dangerous. “Drop it.”

For a moment, Flint looked like he might argue again.

Then he took one look at Draco’s expression, Blaise’s calm stare, Mattheo’s amused menace, and Theo’s hand on Y/N like a promise and decided he valued his skin.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Didn’t want to deal with this anyway.”

He turned and walked off, grumbling under his breath. The common room noise slowly returned, as if it had been holding itself back.

Draco sat back down, irritated. “Honestly. The audacity. Glad you pretended to take my sister out, mate.”

Blaise shook his head. “Flints.”

Lorenzo shrugged. “You did the right thing, Theo.”

Theo nodded faintly, still bright red from the horror of what he’d just blurted out in front of half of Slytherin. “Yeah.”

He tried to play it off, chin lifted, shoulders squared, expression carefully neutral, but it was impossible to look intimidating when your ears were the exact color of Gryffindor banners.

Y/N stared at him. Half stunned. Half amused. Entirely doomed.

Because Theo Nott—quiet, composed Theo Nott—had just announced with his whole chest that she was “busy with him,” and now he was sitting there like a man awaiting trial.

Pansy Parkinson stopped breathing.

Literally.

One second she was lounging like a bored aristocrat, the next she went statue-still, eyes widening so fast it was like someone had cast a spell on her face.

Her gaze dropped.

To Theo’s hand still resting at Y/N’s wrist like it belonged there. To Y/N leaning into him just slightly, barely anything, but Pansy had the observational skills of a predator and the soul of a gossip columnist.

To the fact that Theo hadn’t moved an inch away. Not even after the entire table went silent. Not even after Draco noticed.

Pansy’s mouth fell open. A soundless, reverent sort of horror. “Oh,” she whispered, like she’d just solved an ancient rune.

Theo saw it.

Too late.

Pansy’s eyes widened again—somehow wider—like her brain was trying to expand past the limits of her skull. Her hand flew to her mouth.

“Oh—OH—”

It wasn’t even a word anymore. It was the beginning of an explosion.

Theo reacted on instinct. He grabbed Pansy’s arm like he was intercepting a Bludger. At the exact same time, Y/N grabbed her other arm.

“Nope,” Theo muttered, voice flat with sheer panic.

“Absolutely not,” Y/N hissed, eyes sharp as daggers.

They hauled Pansy upright so fast her magazine slid off her lap and flopped onto the floor like a defeated witness.

Pansy tried to speak.

Tried to inhale.

Tried to make the noise.

Y/N leaned forward, smile bright and fake. “Bathroom,” she called over her shoulder in a sweet, perfectly normal voice, as if nothing suspicious was happening.

“Emergency,” Theo echoed immediately, too fast, too intense, like he’d rehearsed it.

Draco frowned. “Why do you both—”

“It’s Pansy,” Blaise said calmly, sipping his drink like this was weather. “This tracks.”

.

.

.

The door slammed shut behind them with the finality of a courtroom verdict. In the bathroom, Pansy detonated. She doubled over laughing, one hand braced on her knees, the other clutching her chest like she was having a spiritual experience. She wheezed so hard her shoulders shook.

“I KNEW IT!” she choked out between gasps. “I KNEW IT—THE STAMMERING—THE HAND—THE FLINT EXCUSE—”

Theo clapped a hand over her mouth so fast it was practically a reflex curse. “Quiet,” he hissed, eyes wild, scanning the bathroom like Filch might leap out of a tapestry.

Pansy muffled-laughed against his palm, eyes glittering with pure evil delight. It was the most pleased Theo had ever seen her, which was saying something.

“You practically short-circuited!” she wheezed the moment he loosened his grip. “You said ‘busy with—ME’ like you were claiming territory!”

“I panicked,” Theo muttered through his teeth, rubbing the back of his neck like the skin might detach and float away from embarrassment. “It was tactical.”

Pansy gasped again, pointing at him with accusation. “TACTICAL? You sounded like a feral kneazle!”

Y/N covered her face with both hands. “Merlin. I’m never showing my face at breakfast again.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” Pansy said, still breathless, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “This is the most entertaining thing Slytherin has had since someone tried to smuggle a pygmy puff into Transfiguration.”

Theo’s voice went flat. “How long do you think before you tell someone?”

Pansy pressed a hand to her chest in mock offense. “How dare you. I have integrity.” She paused, smirked. “Sometimes.”

Y/N dropped her hands, eyes narrowing. “Pansy.”

Pansy held up both palms immediately. “Fine. I won’t tell. Not because I’m kind, but because I like having leverage.”

Theo groaned, tipping his head back against the cold stone. “Of course.”

Pansy’s gaze snapped back to them, suddenly sharp again. “How long.”

Theo hesitated, like saying it aloud would make it worse.

“Four months,” he admitted, and it sounded like a confession in court.

Pansy stared at him for a beat… then sighed dramatically. “I deserve compensation.”

Y/N’s eyes sharpened. “No.”

Pansy pouted. “At least let me enjoy this. I have suffered through Draco Malfoy’s ego for years.”

Theo muttered, “We all have.”

Pansy brightened again, grin returning. “Oh, this is going to be delicious. I get to watch you both panic every time someone breathes near you.”

“You cannot tell anyone,” Y/N warned, tone suddenly all Malfoy—cold, precise, dangerous.

“I won’t,” Pansy promised instantly, a hand over her heart like she was swearing a vow. Then she leaned in, eyes gleaming. “But I will absolutely enjoy knowing.”

Theo made a low, defeated noise.

“And watching you both panic,” Pansy finished smugly.

.

.

.

Back in the common room, Draco sat with his arms crossed, expression sour. “Still,” he said firmly, like he was announcing a law, “no Flints near my sister.”

The boys nodded in agreement, solemn as if they’d just signed a treaty.

Pansy returned moments later, wearing the most smug smile Hogwarts had ever seen, radiating the satisfaction of someone holding a secret that made everything infinitely more entertaining.

And Theo Nott, trailing behind her looking like he’d aged five years in five minutes, realized with absolute dread: This wasn’t the end of the disaster.

It was just the beginning.

.

.

.

Mattheo Riddle went to the Astronomy Tower for one reason and one reason only.

Peace.

Well, peace and a cigarette, he definitely wasn’t supposed to have.

Fifth year had been a slow, grinding, and exhausting kind of year. O.W.L's pressure dug its claws into everyone; professors watched them like they were waiting for someone to crack, and the castle buzzed with a tension that never quite settled. Even Slytherin’s common room, usually controlled chaos, felt too loud lately. Too many eyes. Too many conversations that turned sharp the second his name entered them.

The Astronomy Tower was different.

It didn’t care who your father was. It didn’t care what people whispered. Up here, the air was colder, cleaner. The sky felt closer. The stars didn’t judge.

Mattheo leaned against the stone wall, pulled the cigarette from his pocket like it was a secret he’d earned, and flicked his lighter. The flame cupped itself against the wind, stubborn and bright. He inhaled, held it for a beat, then exhaled slowly.

Smoke curled into the night.

For the first time all week, his shoulders loosened.

Then he heard voices.

Soft ones.

Mattheo paused mid-drag, frowning as he angled his head toward the far side of the tower where the shadows were deeper and the starlight brighter. He considered turning around. Not my problem, his brain offered. Not my business.

But then he heard it.

Y/N’s laugh.

Not her polite laugh. Not the one she used in corridors when people were watching, sharp and controlled like a blade.

The real one. Warm. Unfiltered. The kind that slipped out when she forgot she was a Malfoy for a second.

Mattheo froze.

He took another step quietly now, careful in the way only someone raised around danger could be careful. Smoke drifted from his lips as he moved toward a pillar just out of sight, back pressed to cool stone, the cigarette held low so the ember wouldn’t give him away.

Theo’s voice followed low, warm, stripped of the careful distance he usually wore like armor. “You’re going to get us caught one day,” he murmured.

Y/N laughed again, softer now. “You say that every time.”

“And every time,” Theo replied, voice almost smiling, “I’m right.”

Mattheo’s eyebrows lifted. That didn’t sound like casual conversation. He leaned his shoulder into the pillar, eyes narrowing as he peered around the edge, and promptly forgot how to breathe.

Theo stood close to her. Too close for coincidence. Not the polite, careful distance he kept from almost everyone else. This was familiar closeness. The kind that belonged to people who didn’t have to ask permission anymore.

His hand rested at her waist, gentle, like he was afraid of nothing except startling her. His thumb brushed absent patterns against her robes like muscle memory. Y/N tilted her head up, fingers already fisted in the front of his jumper before he even leaned down, tugging him in like she’d been doing it for months.

They kissed.

Not rushed.

Not stolen.

Not hesitant.

Soft and unguarded like two people who had stopped worrying about firsts a long time ago, and now only cared about here. About this. About each other.

Mattheo choked. He turned sharply, clapping a hand over his mouth as he coughed into his sleeve, eyes watering, lungs screaming like traitors.

“Merlin—” he hissed under his breath.

The sound echoed off the stone. Theo froze. Y/N stiffened instantly. They broke apart like they’d been hexed.

“Did you hear that?” Y/N whispered, voice sharp with panic.

Theo scanned the tower, heart clearly hammering even from where Mattheo stood. “Probably just the wind,” he murmured too quick, too hopeful.

Mattheo laughed out loud. “Oh, come on,” he said, stepping fully into view, cigarette dangling loosely between his fingers. “Even Hogwarts isn’t that dramatic.”

Theo nearly jumped out of his skin.

Y/N gasped. “Mattheo!”

Theo’s face drained of color so fast it was almost impressive. “How long were you—”

“Long enough to traumatize me,” Mattheo replied dryly, taking one last drag like he needed it to survive this conversation. “And short enough that I’m choosing to pretend I didn’t just witness something sacred.”

There was a beat of horrified silence.

Then Y/N groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Oh no. Oh no.”

Theo raked a hand through his hair and paced once, like movement could undo the last ten seconds. “You weren’t supposed to be up here.”

Mattheo shrugged. “Neither were you.”

He studied them more carefully now, not teasing, not smug. Observant. The way his eyes always went a little sharper when something mattered.

Theo hovered half a step closer to Y/N without noticing. Y/N’s fingers caught Theo’s sleeve as if her body had already decided where safety lived. Neither of them looked embarrassed, not really.

Just… caught.

“How long?” Mattheo asked quietly.

Theo hesitated, jaw tight, calculating the fallout.

Y/N answered for him, voice soft. “Almost a year.”

Mattheo blinked.

Then blinked again.

“A year?” he repeated, disbelief cracking through his usual composure. “You’ve been dating in secret for a year?”

Theo nodded once, grim. “We didn’t want to change things.”

Mattheo let out a low whistle, eyes flicking to Theo’s hand still at Y/N’s waist like it belonged there. “That explains a lot.”

“What exactly?” Y/N asked cautiously.

Mattheo ticked them off with lazy honesty. “The way he watches rooms before you enter. The way you always know where he is. The way neither of you can lie convincingly when asked if you’re tired.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “And the way Theo looks like he’s one bad day away from murdering anyone who breathes too close to you.”

Theo winced. “I knew I was obvious.”

“You’re not obvious,” Mattheo corrected, voice unexpectedly gentle. “You’re consistent.”

That quiet kindness landed strangely in the cold night air.

Then Mattheo’s mouth curved into mischief again, returning. “Also… Pansy knows, I’m guessing.”

Theo stiffened. “How—”

“Because she’s Pansy,” Mattheo said, like it was the simplest answer in the world. “And because she’s been watching you like she’s holding a secret over her own head for entertainment.”

Y/N sighed, shoulders sagging. “She swore she wouldn’t tell.”

“And she didn’t,” Mattheo said easily. “Neither will I.”

Theo studied him, suspicion flickering. “You’re… okay with this?”

Mattheo shrugged, gaze softening just a fraction. “You’re good to her. She’s happier.” Then he added, deadpan, “And somehow you managed to keep Draco completely clueless for a year.”

That earned a weak, helpless laugh from Y/N.

“That part took effort,” Theo admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

Mattheo smirked. “I believe it.” He stubbed out his cigarette against the stone and straightened, hands sliding into his pockets. “For what it’s worth, you chose a terrible hiding spot.”

Theo groaned. “This was our place.”

Mattheo’s grin widened. “Not anymore.” He stepped past them, then paused like an afterthought had just occurred to him. “Oh,” he added over his shoulder, voice bright with impending chaos, “Pansy’s going to be insufferable when she finds out I know.”

Y/N groaned again. “Please don’t tell her you saw us.”

Mattheo’s smile turned wicked. “No promises.”

Y/N flushed. Theo scowled. Mattheo laughed as he descended, footsteps echoing down the spiral like punctuation. When he was gone, silence settled again thick, private, almost tender.

Theo turned to Y/N, eyes searching her face like he needed to make sure she was still here, still okay. “You alright?”

Y/N nodded, stepping closer until her forehead rested against his. Her voice was small, but steady. “I think so.”

Theo smiled faintly, breath ghosting against her lips. “That makes three of us now.”

Y/N laughed quietly, and Theo’s hand slid back to her waist like it had been waiting.

Above them, the stars burned on as witnesses to a secret that had survived almost a year. And somehow, despite everything, Draco Malfoy still had no idea.

.

.

.

Blaise Zabini and Enzo Berkshire were absolutely not supposed to be in the girls’ dormitory.

This was important.

This was criminally important.

This was the sort of rule that existed for extremely obvious reasons, like dignity, privacy, and the very real possibility of Draco Malfoy committing a homicide.

Unfortunately, Blaise’s Potions notes—his very expensive, very organized, very aggressively color-coded Potions notes—were currently sitting on Y/N Malfoy’s desk because she’d borrowed them earlier.

And Enzo, in a moment of supreme overconfidence and very poor decision-making, had said:

“We’ll just grab them quickly.”

Quickly.

Those were famous last words.

They crept down the Slytherin corridor like two criminals with the survival instincts of damp socks, their shoes barely making a sound against the cold stone floor.

Enzo kept glancing over his shoulder like Snape might materialize out of thin air.

“If Snape finds out we were here,” Enzo whispered, “I’m blaming you.”

“You need to borrow my notes,” Blaise hissed back. “This is a joint crime.”

“I didn’t realize borrowing notes required breaking into the girls’ dormitory.”

“Adaptability is an important life skill.”

They reached the door.

It was slightly ajar.

Blaise stopped.

He frowned.

“The girls never leave it open.”

Enzo shrugged. “Maybe they forgot.”

“Y/N Malfoy forgetting something?” Blaise said skeptically. “That seems unlikely.”

“Maybe Millicent exploded something.”

“That seems extremely likely.”

Blaise pushed the door open slowly.

It creaked. Both of them froze. Nothing exploded. No screaming. No curses. Encouraged by the absence of immediate death, they stepped inside.

The room was dim, lit only by a floating candle near the window. Green curtains stirred softly in the draft, and the whole place smelled faintly like expensive perfume and parchment.

Very lived-in.

Very peaceful.

Very much like they had just walked into somewhere they absolutely should not be.

Blaise took two steps forward.

And stopped so abruptly Enzo walked straight into his back.

“OW—what is—”

Enzo leaned around him. And his brain immediately left his body.

Y/N Malfoy stood near her bed. Theodore Nott was right there. And they were kissing. Not a startled kiss. Not an oh gods someone might see us kiss. A slow, comfortable, deeply familiar kiss.

Theo’s hands rested at her waist like they’d lived there for years. Y/N’s fingers were tangled in the collar of his jumper, tugging him closer without hesitation. They were murmuring something between kisses, laughing softly like they had absolutely nowhere else to be.

They did not notice Blaise and Enzo.

At all.

Blaise blinked.

Once.

Twice.

A third time, just to confirm he hadn’t accidentally inhaled something illegal during Potions earlier.

Enzo made a noise. It was not a word. It was a sound. Something between a gasp and the dying squeak of a very confused mouse.

Theo froze mid-kiss. Y/N froze mid-laugh.

They turned.

Four people stared at each other.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

The silence was so intense the floating candle flickered like it was uncomfortable too.

Then Enzo whispered very softly, very sincerely: “…Is this a prank?”

Theo’s soul left his body. Y/N slapped both hands over her face. “Merlin.”

Blaise pointed weakly. “You’re—” He pointed at Theo. Then at Y/N. Then waved his hand vaguely between them. “You’re… doing that?”

Theo opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “…Yes.”

Enzo staggered backward and immediately sat down on the nearest bed like his legs had resigned from their position. “No,” he said firmly. “No, I need to sit for this.”

Blaise dragged a hand down his face. “How long?”

Theo glanced at Y/N. She peeked through her fingers like someone watching a disaster unfold. “… A year.”

Enzo made a choking noise. “A year?!”

Blaise laughed once, sharp and horrified. “You’ve been dating for a YEAR?”

Theo winced. “We were trying to be discreet.”

Blaise gestured wildly around the room. “You are kissing in her DORM.”

“It was locked!” Y/N protested.

Enzo slowly pointed toward the open door. “WAS IT?”

Y/N groaned and slid down onto the edge of the bed.

Blaise began pacing like a man solving a murder mystery. “Okay. Okay. No. This explains everything.”

Enzo frowned up at him from the bed. “What's everything?”

Blaise stopped pacing. Memories from the past year began assembling themselves in his brain like an extremely irritating puzzle. “How many times did Pansy say ‘they’ll be back in a minute’?” he muttered.

Theo rubbed his face. Blaise pointed dramatically. “Pansy knows.”

Theo sighed. “Yes.”

“And Mattheo,” Enzo added suddenly.

Theo stared at him. “How did you—”

Enzo shrugged. “Because he’s been smirking at you like he’s watching a very entertaining disaster unfold.”

Theo slumped like gravity had suddenly increased. Blaise crossed his arms, finally studying them properly. Not shocked anymore.

Just thoughtful.

“You’re happy,” he said.

Y/N nodded. “Yes.”

Theo met his gaze. “Very.”

Blaise sighed dramatically, like he’d just been handed an extremely inconvenient responsibility. “Great. Fantastic. Wonderful.”

"Why do you sound annoyed?" Y/N asked.

“Because,” Blaise said, pointing between them, “now I have to supervise.”

Theo blinked. “You were already doing that.”

“Yes,” Blaise said. “But now you’re a couple. Which means you’re statistically more likely to do something incredibly stupid.”

Enzo nodded gravely like a man agreeing to a military operation. “And if you make her cry, Nott, we will absolutely ruin your life.”

Theo raised his hands slightly. “Fair.”

Blaise tilted his head, still watching him carefully. “To be clear, we approve.”

Theo exhaled in relief.

“But,” Enzo added, pointing a finger at him, “she’s basically our little sister.”

Blaise nodded once. “Which means if you hurt her—”

Theo sighed. “You’ll kill me.”

“No,” Blaise said calmly.

“We’ll start with humiliation,” Enzo clarified.

“Then public embarrassment,” Blaise added.

“And then we kill you,” Enzo finished helpfully.

Theo groaned. “I liked you both better five minutes ago.”

Blaise shrugged. “Five minutes ago you weren’t secretly dating Draco Malfoy’s twin.”

Enzo gasped suddenly. “Oh no."

Theo stiffened. “What?”

Enzo looked between them with dawning horror. “We have to lie to Draco. I'm assuming he doesn't know?"

Theo and Y/N shook their heads, signaling Blaise and Lorenzo of the true horror.

Blaise immediately nodded. “Of course. Constantly. Convincingly. For an unknown amount of time.”

Theo swallowed. “You won’t tell him.”

Blaise snorted. “I like living.”

Enzo nodded seriously. “I enjoy my limbs unbroken. And for the record,” he added earnestly, “this is the worst possible way I could’ve discovered this information.”

Theo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m sorry.”

Enzo shrugged, already recovering. “Worth it.”

Blaise rolled his eyes and strode over to Y/N’s desk, snatching his precious Potions notes like a man reclaiming stolen property.

“Next time,” he muttered, flipping through them to make sure nothing had been ruined, “try revealing life-altering secrets somewhere less inconvenient.”

Enzo lingered by the door, giving them one last deeply judgmental look. “Also,” he added, pointing at them both, “if Draco kills us for this, I’m haunting you.”

Theo sighed. “Fair.”

With that, Blaise grabbed Enzo by the collar and hauled him toward the door. “Let’s go before we witness anything else we can’t emotionally recover from.”

They slipped out into the corridor, the door closing behind them with a quiet click. Silence settled over the room again.

Y/N leaned back against the bed, covering her face as she laughed weakly. “Well,” she said between breaths, “that happened.”

Theo stepped closer, resting his forehead against hers. “We are running out of people who don’t know.”

She smiled softly. “At least Draco’s still clueless.”

Theo closed his eyes. “For now.”

And somewhere down the corridor, Blaise and Enzo walked in stunned silence, carrying the weight of the dumbest, most inconvenient secret Hogwarts had ever witnessed.

.

.

The Astronomy Tower was wrapped in stillness.

Not the eerie kind, just the soft, breathing quiet that came when the castle finally let go of the day. The stone beneath them held the cool of the night, and above, the sky stretched endlessly, stars scattered like secrets that had learned patience.

Draco and Y/N sat shoulder to shoulder against the curved wall, knees bent, cloaks pulled tighter around themselves against the wind. Below them, the Black Lake reflected the moon in broken pieces.

This was theirs.

No expectations.

No watching eyes.

Just twin time.

Draco flicked a small pebble over the edge and watched it vanish into the dark. He didn’t rush. He never did when it mattered. His fingers drummed idly against the stone, a rhythm she’d known since they were children, his tell when something heavy pressed at his chest.

“You’re unusually quiet,” she said softly.

He huffed. “So are you.”

She smiled faintly. “I’m enjoying it.”

“Mm.” He paused. “I’m building courage.”

That made her turn her head toward him. “Since when do you need courage?”

Draco glanced at her, silver eyes catching the starlight, and for a moment he didn’t look like the polished Malfoy heir or the sharp-tongued Slytherin prince everyone else saw.

He just looked like her brother.

The boy who used to steal her sweets and swear he hadn’t.

The boy who once cried because he thought he’d hurt her with accidental magic.

Just Draco.

“I know,” he said quietly.

Her breath caught.

“…Know what?”

Draco exhaled slowly, gaze drifting back to the sky. “About you. And Theo.”

The world didn’t collapse.

It simply stilled, like everything had been waiting for this sentence.

She swallowed. “How long?”

“A while,” he admitted. “Long enough that pretending I didn’t notice started to feel insulting.”

She nodded slowly. “I was going to tell you.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “That’s not why this hurts.”

That word—hurts—settled deep in her chest.

She shifted closer. “Draco…”

He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them. “It stung that you didn’t tell me sooner. Not because I’m entitled to every part of your life—but because you’ve always told me everything. Even the things that scared you.”

Tears burned behind her eyes. “I was scared,” she whispered. “Not of you. Of what it would change.”

He nodded, accepting that. “I figured.” He hesitated, then let out a quiet laugh—soft, almost fond. “You know,” he said, “Mum knew before either of us did.”

She blinked. “She did?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Draco replied. “She always does.”

He leaned back, hands folded over his stomach, voice slipping into something more reflective. “She used to say it to Father and me when we were younger. That Theo watched you differently.”

Her heart tightened.

“Father would scoff,” Draco continued, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Said Nott was just quiet. Reserved. Polite.”

“And Mum?” she asked.

“Mum said that boys don’t look at girls like that unless it’s already decided somewhere deep inside them.”

She laughed weakly through the ache. “That sounds like her.”

“She told us Theo didn’t see you as a sister like the other boys do,” Draco said softly. “Not really. Even when you were small. Even when the rest of us were just… loud and stupid and pulling your hair.”

She closed her eyes, memories flooding back, Theo always standing a step closer, always calmer, always watching.

“She said he saw you as something else,” Draco went on. “Something precious. Something to be careful with.”

Her throat tightened.

“And Father?” she asked quietly.

Draco snorted. “Father pretended not to notice while glaring at every boy who even looked in your direction.”

She smiled sadly. “That tracks.”

He glanced at her again, expression gentler now. “So yes. I suppose I always knew it was bound to happen. You and him.”

She rested her head lightly against his shoulder, just as she had a hundred times before. He didn’t move away.

“I didn’t keep it from you because I didn’t trust you,” she said. “I kept it from you because I needed to know it was real. That it wasn’t just comfort or familiarity or something that would fade.”

Draco hummed thoughtfully. “And now?”

“And now I know,” she whispered. “And I wanted to tell you when I was ready. When it was mine to give.”

He was quiet for a long moment.

Then he lifted an arm and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling her in. “I would’ve waited,” he said softly. “However long you needed.”

She pressed her face briefly into his sweater. “I’m sorry it hurt.”

“I can live with a little hurt,” he replied. “But I can’t live with you thinking you had to protect me from your happiness.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him. “You really are okay?”

Draco met her gaze steadily. “I’m still overprotective. I still glare at people. And I will absolutely hex Theo into oblivion if he ever hurts you.”

She laughed through tears. “Naturally.”

“But,” he added, voice dropping, “I’m glad you’re loved the way you deserve. And I’m glad it’s someone who’s always known your worth—even before you did.”

Her eyes shone. “You always knew it.”

He smirked faintly. “Someone had to. You’re my other half.”

They fell into silence again, the comfortable kind this time. The stars continued their slow journey overhead, and the lake below reflected their light in gentle fragments.

Nothing had broken.

Nothing had been taken away.

If anything, something old and precious had simply been folded into something new.

And for the first time since the secret began, Y/N felt like she wasn’t carrying it alone anymore.

.

.

.

The next morning, Hogwarts woke up like nothing monumental had happened.

The Great Hall buzzed with its usual chaos—clinking cutlery, animated conversations, the low roar of students arguing about homework, Quidditch, and absolutely nothing of consequence. Sunlight streamed through the enchanted ceiling, bright and deceptively peaceful.

Y/N walked in with Theo at her side.

That alone was not unusual.

They had mastered the art of looking normal. Walking close but not too close. Talking quietly. Laughing at the right moments. Separate plates. Separate seats.

Except today—

Today felt different.

Y/N felt lighter. Relieved. Like she’d finally set something down she’d been carrying for far too long.

Theo, on the other hand, looked like a man waiting for his execution.

They reached the Slytherin table.

Draco was already there, posture immaculate, flipping through the Daily Prophet with an expression of mild disdain. Blaise and Enzo were mid-argument. Pansy sat between them, watching Theo with far too much interest. Mattheo leaned back in his chair like a man who knew a secret and was enjoying every second of it.

Theo slid into his seat. Y/N paused beside him.

Theo looked up. “What—”

She leaned down and kissed him. Just like that. A soft, certain kiss pressed to his lips like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The Great Hall did not explode.

But Theo’s soul did. His eyes went wide. His body locked. His brain was fully disconnected. He pulled back so fast his chair screeched across the stone floor.

“What—” he hissed, looking wildly around the table. “What are you doing?!”

Blaise blinked. Enzo choked violently on his pumpkin juice. Pansy beamed like someone had just handed her front-row seats to a show she’d been waiting years for. Mattheo’s smirk widened.

And Draco—

Draco slowly lowered his newspaper.

Theo’s heart stopped.

“Oh gods,” Theo whispered. “Draco—”

Draco looked between them. Then he rolled his eyes. “For Merlin’s sake,” he drawled. “You’d think someone died.”

Theo stared at him. “You—You saw that.”

“Yes,” Draco said flatly. “I have eyes.”

Theo’s pulse thundered. “And you’re—?”

“Annoyed,” Draco said. “But not surprised.”

Theo blinked. “You… knew?”

Draco took a calm sip of tea. “Obviously.”

Theo turned slowly to Y/N. “You didn't tell me you told him last night.”

“I didn't,” she said calmly, sitting down. “He figured it out on his own. He was very mature about it.

Draco sniffed. “Don’t exaggerate.”

Theo ran a hand through his hair. “I thought I was about to be murdered at breakfast.”

“You still might be,” Draco said lightly. “Just not for that.”

Theo swallowed. “Right.”

Draco leaned back in his chair, finally giving Theo his full attention.

“Listen carefully, Nott.”

Theo straightened instantly.

“I see you as my brother,” Draco said. “Have for years.”

Theo nodded cautiously. “Same.”

“That,” Draco continued calmly, “is the only reason you’re allowed to sit there breathing.”

Theo exhaled. “Fair.”

Draco glanced at Y/N, his expression softening just slightly. “If you ever hurt my sister—”

Theo didn’t hesitate. “I won’t.”

“I know,” Draco said.

Then he leaned forward just a little. “But if you do, my father and I will end you.”

Theo nodded solemnly. “Understood.”

Blaise leaned across the table.

“Is this the part where we clap?”

Enzo whispered, “I feel like I should be taking notes.”

Pansy sighed dreamily. “This is exactly how I imagined it.”

Draco paused. Then, very slowly, he turned his head toward the rest of the table. His eyes narrowed. “Actually,” he said thoughtfully.

“Oh no,” Blaise muttered.

Draco looked from Blaise… to Enzo… to Pansy… to Mattheo.

“You lot,” Draco said slowly, “owe me an explanation.”

The table went silent.

“An explanation,” Draco continued, voice dangerously calm, “for why every single one of you apparently knew about this before I did.”

Pansy froze.

Enzo stared at the ceiling.

Blaise suddenly found his toast extremely interesting.

Mattheo leaned back in his chair, grinning.

Theo whispered, “Oh no.”

Draco pointed at Blaise first. “You.”

Blaise cleared his throat. “Technically—” he pointed at himself and Lorenzo, “—we discovered it accidentally,” Blaise finished carefully.

Draco turned to Enzo. “You.”

Enzo held up his hands immediately. “In my defense, I was traumatized.”

Then Draco turned to Pansy. She smiled sweetly. “I took an oath of silence.”

Draco looked unconvinced.

Finally, his gaze landed on Mattheo. Mattheo didn’t even try to pretend. He just shrugged. “I thought watching you figure it out would be funnier.”

Draco stared at all of them. Slowly. Then leaned back in his chair. “Incredible,” he said dryly. “I am surrounded by traitors.”

The table shifted uncomfortably.

Then Draco smirked. “Though technically,” he added lazily, “I knew before all of you.”

The table froze. “What?” Blaise, Enzo, Pansy, and Mattheo echoed in unison.

Draco took another sip of tea, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. “Oh, please,” he said. “Nott’s been in love with my sister since first year. Though I'm sure he had liked her before that.”

Theo choked.

“FIRST YEAR?” Enzo blurted.

Pansy whipped around to stare at Theo. “Merlin, Nott, you’ve been pining that long?”

Theo buried his face in his hands. Draco continued calmly, as if he were explaining basic arithmetic. “He has been following her around like a bodyguard for years. It wasn’t hard to notice.”

Mattheo leaned back, laughing. “So you’ve just been sitting on that information?”

Draco shrugged. “I was curious how long it would take them to figure it out.”

Y/N groaned. “Draco.”

He smirked. “And watching Nott panic around you for years has been extremely entertaining.”

Theo looked personally betrayed. “You let me suffer.”

Draco nodded once. “Correct.”

Then his gaze shifted back to the rest of the table.

“Which brings us back to my original point.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “You still owe me an explanation for why none of you told me.”

Blaise sighed. “Because,” he said, “you’re Draco Malfoy.”

Enzo nodded solemnly. “And we enjoy being alive.”

Theo muttered, “They were trying to protect me.”

Draco shot him a look. “They were protecting themselves.” Then he turned back to Y/N. “And you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Public displays of affection,” Draco said dryly, “kept to a minimum around me.”

She smirked. “Jealous?”

“Traumatized,” Draco corrected.

Theo cleared his throat cautiously. “So… we’re good?”

Draco nodded once. “We’re good.”

Theo sagged in relief. Then Y/N leaned over and kissed him again. Theo nearly fell out of his chair.

Draco groaned. “I said minimum.”

Mattheo laughed. “You’re never going to survive this.”

Theo stared at Y/N. “You’re enjoying this.”

She smiled sweetly. “Immensely.”

Draco stood, folding his newspaper. “Eat your breakfast,” he said. “Both of you.” Then he paused and looked at Theo. “And Nott?”

Theo looked up nervously. “Yes?”

Draco smirked. “Good luck telling my father you’re dating his daughter.”

Theo stared at him in horror. “…You’re going to enjoy that conversation, aren’t you?”

Draco nodded, repeating Y/N's words. “Immensely.”

And just like that, the secret was no longer a secret. It sat openly at the Slytherin table—protected, accepted, mildly threatened, and very much alive. Exactly the way it was always meant to be.

.

.

.

REMINDER: If you want to be on the taglist feel free to comment or message me :) and if I missed you pls lmk

⟢ pairing. draco malfoy x fem!reader. ⟢ summary. unfortunately enough, you were stuck doing detention out in the forbidden forest with draco malfoy himself—the person you hated most. ⟢ enemies to lovers. he fell first, he fell harder. draco being in absolute denial. ⟢ wc. 2,5k ⟢ masterlist!

“but—professor, i was the one who caught her out of bed, and i reported it! she’s the one who deserves detention, not me!” draco complained with a hiss, causing you to scoff in disbelief.

“hello? you too were out of bed! if anything, the two of us should be getting detention. use your brain, malfoy.” you snapped, shaking your head in pure exasperation.

“well—well—i reported it! i shouldn’t be lumped in with the likes of her.” he spat back, his face twisted in anger. your jaw tightened as you glared back.

“you are impossible. professor, clearly—”

“enough! i will not hear anymore none-sense bickering! the two of you will serve detention, and that is final. you will both be helping hagrid in the forbidden forest. further instructions will come from him,” professor mcgonagall announced sharply, her voice clipped with frustration.

silence fell upon the two of you, letting the moment stretch, taut and uneasy. professor mcgonagall then sighed, her sharp eyes glinting behind her square, half-moon spectacles. “as much as i appreciate your initiative in reporting a fellow student, mr. malfoy, it does not excuse the fact that you were out of bed yourself. therefore, you will also serve detention—along with her.”

feeling a wave of triumph wash over you, you glanced to your right with a proud smirk, sticking your tongue out at him. his jaw could only clench tighter than before, as if though he was holding back a retort that burned on the tip of his tongue. this sight, however, only added to your pure satisfaction.

if only you had a camera, you would picture his snotty, angered looking face right here, right now. it would for sure make a good laugh out of your friends.

“well? what are you two waiting for? off you go!”

the journey down to hagrid’s cabin wasn’t exactly pleasant—not with draco’s constant grumbling at your side—but it wasn’t awful either. though, the walk there felt like decades. you sure didn’t remember hagrid’s cabin being this far off long. what was a 5 minute walk, felt like a one hour walk.

and finally, after what felt like eternal suffocation being stuck with malfoy for the past.. who knows how many minutes, you were greeted by the sight of a pumpkin patch sprawling across the grass, along with a looming silhouette of hagrid’s cabin beside it.

the big wooden door, twice the size of you, stood before the both of you. “well? knock!” you urged, voice higher than intended. with a scowl, he muttered something under his breath—too low for you to catch, and lifted a hand and rapped on the heavy door.

it didn’t take long before you could hear the unmistakable sound of hagrid rummaging about: drawers opening, wood scraping, something heavy being dragged, before the footsteps finally drew closer. you straightened up the moment the sound of his footsteps were merely an inch away.

“ah, there yeh are! ‘ello there, y/n, didn’t expect ter see yeh here,” you let out an awkward laugh, ears turning a faint pink from embarrassment. “knew mcgonagall’d be sendin’ yeh down. got a bit o’ work fer the both of yeh in the forest tonight.” he said, brushing sawdust off his hands before stepping out toward the forest, with the two of you following close behind.

“hagrid, what exactly are we doing in the forbidden forest?” you asked curiously, while struggling to keep up with hagrid’s big footsteps. “ah, nothin’ too difficult,” hagrid said cheerfully, as though dragging two students into the forest at night was the most normal thing in the world. “me skrewts’ve been actin’ up lately—blastin’ holes in their crates an’ such. need yeh two ter help round ’em up before they hurt themselves.”

you blinked. skrewts?

“excuse me—what? did you just say skrewts? blast-ended skrewts?” draco, who almost tripped over a root, asked. the slightest crack in his voice didn’t escape your notice.

oh, don’t tell me he’s scared.

as much as you wanted to laugh, with all your might, you held it in, deciding it would be better to save it for later, when the moment was more.. fitting. although, that didn’t stop you from smiling.

“.. that’s right malfoy, blast-ended skrewts!” hagrid boomed, gesturing toward a crate little way off. “don’ yeh worry now, friendly, they are. just don’ get too close ter the blast ends, or yeh’ll be scorched!”

“scorched? seriously?” he hissed, nose wrinkling. “why, scared?” you mocked, wiggling your eyebrows at him. that seemed to hit a nerve, because he shot you the most nastiest look ever. “you could only dream.” he snapped.

it didn’t take long before the three of you came to a halt near a stack of crates. you nodded, listening intently as hagrid explained all the precautions and instructions, while malfoy seemed completely lost in his own world. soon enough, hagrid lumbered off, leaving the two of you alone in the dark forest, the shadows stretching eerily around you.

you hadn’t noticed how vast and eerie this place actually was—the way shadows twisted between the trees and the forest floor seemed to move under every step. a shiver ran down your spine as you took it all in.

it’s okay, it’s alright. it’s not scary as it seems. just collect the damn skrewts and get it over with.

“let’s just get this over with,” you mumbled towards draco, tugging your sleeves nervously and staring at the crates. “lead the way, your highness.” he snickered, causing you to roll your eyes.

such a nuisance.

for ten whole minutes, the two of you only managed to find, and catch one skrewt. the amount of crates hagrid had provided told that there was at least 10 skrewts lurking around.

but just then, something caught your eye.

“over there!” you hurried off to a rock, where a skrewt was scuttling, its little blast ends sparking now and then. without thinking, you immediately reached for it desperately.

“wait—don’t!” just then, he lunged forward and his arm shot out, pressing firmly against your torso, stopping you mid-motion. “are you mad? the skrewt’s on it’s defensive position, do you want to get burned?” he snapped, his voice sharp.

the creature’s tail sparked violently, shooting a small blast straight toward you, which you were able to dodge since draco quickly dragged you aside in time.

a few seconds passed by and his hands were still on your torso, and it seemed like he hadn’t noticed it either. “draco, your hands? get it off of me.” your voice taut. in a beat, he quickly jerked his hand away, his cheeks slightly flushed in realization. he didn’t know whether or not it was because of pure embarrassment.. or something else. but of course, he brushed it off not long after—and so did you.

and finally, after three failed attempts at catching the skrewt, the two of you finally managed to secure it. “gosh, i’m tired, and it’s only been two…” you huffed, staring at the empty crates at your feet. “oh please,” he scoffed, raising an eyebrow, “you’re already tired? i’ve been doing all the hard work while you’re whining.”

you shot him a look. “all the hard work? don’t make me laugh. you’ve mostly been complaining and getting in my way.” you retorted.

10 minutes.. 20.. 30.. 40 .. turned into an hour and a half.

and at last, you fulfilled your work: all of the crates hagrid had provided was now full of squirming, crackling blast-ended skrewts. “finally, about time..” you huffed with a grin as relief washed over you. just thinking about being on your fluffy bed, away from malfoy.. oh you couldn’t wait.

“you know, i’m surprised,” he started, crossing his arms. you were now looking at him with a raised brow. “i was starting to think you’d never actually finish without burning yourself alive.”

you groaned. “oh, shove off. you’re the one who walked here trembling with fear at the thought of skrewts.” crossing your arms, you mirrored his exact movements. “yeah, right.”

rolling your eyes, you carefully picked up two crates, hugging them firmly to your chest, draco following you shortly after. to say you weren’t struggling would be a lie. carrying two huge, heavy crates filled with skrewts weren’t exactly easy, not to mention how tired you were after hours of endless search.

the skrewts inside wriggled and sparked, making you jump a little with each tiny burst of fire, which made draco snort. “funny,” you mumbled, struggling to balance the crates in your frozen hands. the chill bit even deeper now, creeping up your arms under the oversized robe. you hugged the crates tighter, in attempt to keep some warmth from escaping, but it was hopeless anyways.

meanwhile, unbeknownst to you, draco had an insane thought running through his head. his eyes flickered to your face, then down to your trembling hands. he pushed the ridiculous idea aside, shaking his head. “you’re mad to even think about it,” he muttered to himself. and yet, he couldn’t stop noticing how uncomfortable you looked.

he didn’t know why he had even bothered. it was a preposterous thought, giving you his robe.

you’re mad. he shook his head violently, trying to drown out the thoughts that kept creeping into his mind. he wasn’t going to give in, his pride was way too high for that.

but despite his stubborn insistence, the words slipped out before he could stop them, as though his mouth had decided for him.

“take my robe,” he muttered, way too low. the moment those words left his mouth, he felt like he wanted to die. why would you say that?! he averted his gaze, pretending to check the crates, his ears turning slightly red.

“what? i can’t hear you through these noisy skrewts, eugh,” you scrunched up your face in disgust when a sudden liquid, which you assumed to be either their saliva or piss, landed on your index.

“.. you were saying?” you repeated, a crease forming between your brows. his ears, which had already taken on a faint pink, now burned a deeper shade of red. he shifted uncomfortably, tugging at the edge of his robe as if it could shield him from embarrassment. “never mind. it’s nothing,” he muttered quickly. you simply shrugged, “um, okay. weird.”

with each step you took, your breath grew heavier, puffing out in small, visible clouds in the chilly air. your legs, now aching due to all the walking, felt like it needed a rest. “wait,” you breathed, stopping to a halt, catching your breath.

just how far off did hagrid send us to?

he slowed behind you. “what, seriously? you’re giving up already?” he asked, voice dripping with a hint of sarcasm. however, the moment he set his eyes on you, something in his tone faltered. “you alright?” he asked—softly this time, dropping any bit of sarcasm he had. slowly, he settled the crates next to his foot as he bent down so that he was at eye level.

“it’s nothing, just give me about two minutes.” you said, avoiding his gaze that were on definitely on you. mentally cursing himself for doing this, he pulled off his robes and hesitantly offered it to you. “just take it,” he looked anywhere, anywhere but you. suddenly draco had an insane interest towards trees.

you blinked, stared at it, then snorted. “what the hell, you’re offering me your robe? is this some kind of joke?” you laughed lightly, shaking your head in disbelief. “since when did you care?”

draco, whose cheeks now flushed a deep red, threw his robe at you, which landed squarely on your face, suffocating you for half a second. “hey, watch it!” you sputtered, fumbling to pull the oversized fabric down and now holding it in your hands, examining it cautiously—since, you know, just in case he had pulled some kind of prank. “you’re insufferable,” was all he muttered before bending down, carrying all of the crates—including yours with such ease before striding off, leaving you standing there.

“wh—draco, wait!” you shouted, stumbling a few steps after him, the oversized robe slipping from your shoulders as you tried to keep up. “give me my crates.” you reached out to get them, but he dodged quickly enough.

“giving you these crates would just slow us down, genius.” you frowned. “are you calling me weak or something?” you asked, arching a brow, clearly offended. “just be grateful i’m carrying these for you, idiot.”

clearly, that was half true.

he didn’t even know what he was doing, it was as if his body had controlled him.

you eyed him very much suspiciously. it was odd enough to think he’d give you his robes, and now he’s carrying your crates?

“eugh, your robes for sure stink.” you muttered, wrinkling your nose and trying not to gag as you adjusted it around your shoulders. well, obviously, you lied. his robes smelled good, way too good in fact. you just did so to annoy him of course.

“keep talking and i might just leave you shivering out here with the rest of the skrewts.”

after what felt like endless trudging through the cold and dodging skrewts, you finally spotted the warm, welcoming shape of hagrid’s cabin ahead. you were sure he was sleeping soundlessly with fang on his side.

just like draco had done hours ago, he knocked on the big wooden door to hagrid’s cabin. once.. twice he had to knock before it finally opened revealing a sleepy hagrid rubbing his eyes.

it had seemed that hagrid had forgotten about the task he sent us to do, because he seemed startled and surprised by your sudden presence. “blimey.. what’re yeh lot doin’ out here at this hour?” he yawned, squinting at the crates stacked around you. you stepped forward, trying to catch your breath, and muttered, “brought all the skrewts back, hagrid. safe and sound.”

having handed hagrid’s blast-ended skrewts, you finally sank onto your bed in the dormitory, the weight of the day pressing down on you. you offered to wash draco’s robe before returning it, and at first, he didn’t seem very fond of the idea. eventually, however, he reluctantly agreed—thank heavens it was night, as the dim light fully concealed the dusting of pink on his cheeks.

thankfully, you slept almost immediately. whereas for draco, he found it quite impossible to sleep.

“you’ve seriously gone mental!” he screamed into his pillow, banging it against his head several times.

no, no, no. this wasn’t happening. you’re mad. absolutely mad.

countless images of today’s events kept replaying in his mind. he couldn’t stop thinking about you—he really couldn’t. it was driving him insane. he groaned, rolling onto his back, staring at the ceiling.

why am i thinking about her like this?

he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “she’s y/n for gods’ sake!” and yet, try as he might, the thought of you kept creeping in, filling every corner of his mind, making the night stretch endlessly before him.

Mine | D.M.

summary: draco is jealous about how much time you’ve been spending with harry

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader

includes: reader’s last name is dossett, jealously, possessiveness, suggestiveness toward the end, pansy, blaise, and theo are very curious people lol, harry’s a little annoying

a/n: i haven’t written for the og husband in soooo long

Maybe you were being a little too loud during Potions, or maybe you were busy scribbling away on your parchment, but neither of those things warranted you to be partnered up with Harry Potter for an important project in the only class you knew you could pass in your sleep.

✶⋆.˚ Draco Malfoy is a very traditional man, he’s the type to feel insulted if a woman raised her own hand to pay for a meal, why should she pay when he was right there? His money was yours and any other protests were ignored. He was the type of person who treated you with absolute respect and patience—okay maybe not patience, not when he has to deal with your shenanigans half of the time—but once you gave him a chance to love properly, he assured you that you would never regret it.

On that note, Draco’s tastes in music were very ‘classical’, whenever he turned on a tune, it was usually orchestras and compositions by famous pure bloods, although he would take the occasional listen of well-known muggle music, such as Beethoven and Chopin. But his preferences weren’t the problem at this point, it was how he listened to music; he would conjure a gramophone or spell a piano to self-play on its own in order to enjoy his favourite songs; he listened to music in the most Dumbledore way possible—sorry professor...

You only learned about it one day, when you browsed through his phone, chilling on his bed, feet kicking back ‘n forth, while Draco sat amongst his books at the little study desk. His focus now interrupted after the quite audible gasp from your end. “What is it?” asking annoyed, knowing it’s probably something stupid.

“How do you listen to music?” you questioned seriously.

“What do you mean, how?”

“I mean how!! You don’t have a single music player on your phone!” You knew he acted like an old man sometimes, but this was another level.

“Like this, of course.” Whipping out his wand in a slick motion, muttering a practiced spell, and the piano began playing a familiar melody.

One, two, three. And after several blinks, you stared at him with the utmost disrespect, “dude.”

“Don’t you dude me, darling,” lifting an eyebrow at your attitude.

“Who listens to music like that?!” Honestly you didn’t understand it, the phone has to be the most genius invention ever, and the fact he refuses to use the efficient technology within his mobile that allows him to listen to whatever he wants wherever he wanted is insane.

“You’re actually a psycho.” You’ve been dating a weirdo this entire time. “You’re being dramatic, it’s simply a matter of preference.”

“Well, you’re preference sucks!” Scooting back into your corner, doing him a favour of downloading Spotify on his phone.

Draco groaned at your childish behaviour and continued to read his dusty materials. Merlin, one of these days you’d be the death of him, drowning his phone with useless applications, but he’d let you do so; not like you would let him deny your assistance anyway.

It was a mission success either way, especially after you bought him those ear-pods! 🤭

author's note .ᐟ.ᐟ Something I came up with in the moment after a conversation with mars 😝 (@/viperify)

INHERITANCE 𓆕 VIGNETTE I

content: fluff, f!reader, childhood friends to lovers, younger draco being soft and pampering you, best bath ever, yearning, forehead kiss, first kiss

synopsis: You return to Malfoy Manor drunk, and Draco falls into the achingly familiar rhythm of taking care of you.

wc: 2k

series masterlist

a/n: something soft and sweet while you wait for the next chapter 🍓

TWO YEARS AGO, EASTER HOLIDAY

“It really did a number on you, hm?”

Draco had been waiting.

A single candle burned low beside him, wax pooling at its base, threatening to snuff itself out at any moment. He’d long abandoned the book in his hand—one finger in between two pages but it had been closed for quite some time now. His thoughts had wandered too far for reading.

He wasn’t worried, not exactly.

He just hated the quiet of his house, the hollowness when you weren’t there.

His fingers had run through his hair enough times to leave it a soft, disheveled mess. His arms folded close to himself, a faint chill settling in as he listened—waiting—for any sign of your return.

And then you appeared.

Barely standing. Crawling.

You were a sight.

Cheeks flushed as if you’d run the entire way home, your once-neat hair now a complete mess. One hand clutched your heels, the other clawed clumsily at your dress, as though it had suddenly become unbearable.

“Mm… Draco!” you called shamelessly. “Where are you? Take it off!”

He exhaled, already standing. “Can we not do this again here?”

You'd nearly ripped the sleeve off of your dress, your bare shoulder and the side of your breast spilling. A familiar antic of yours, really, Draco by now hardly paid it any mind.

“Come on,” he said, stepping closer. “Before my father sees you.”

He reached for your arm, but you sank further onto the floor instead, your body going limp. For a brief moment, he thought you’d passed out—until a lazy smile spread across your lips.

“I should just leave you here,” he said flatly. “You brat.”

He looked down at you—this ridiculous heap of chiffon and limbs—nose tilted high, silver eyes catching the moonlight. Every bit the aristocratic prat he was.

“You really look like your father when you’re mad,” you snickered.

“Mm… He wouldn’t let my mother out of his sight like this,” he trailed off into thought, considering.

You laughed, your mind worlds away.

He crouched, attempting to gather you, though it was hard to tell where you even ended beneath all that fabric. His hand accidentally slipped in between your legs—

“Hey!”

Finally, he managed to scoop you up. You melted into him instinctively, resting your head against his chest.

You loved the smell of him right after his bath.

The world folded in on itself as he apparated, then settled again—

Your bedroom.

'Draco awoke, groggy and small-eyed, to the sound of a gasp.Granger was on the stairs, her fingertips on the balustrade, a foot frozen in midair above a step.She was looking him and his new accessory – the sleeping cat, curled about his neck like a hirsute scarf.“Er – good morning,” said Granger, when she saw that she was being observed.The cat stirred at the sound of her voice. It leapt off of Draco, using his face as a launch point, and sauntered towards its mistress.'

From

Draco Malfoy and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being in Love

Pride Against Pride

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x fem!reader

Summary: When a study session with your boyfriend turned turns into bickering, it quickly becomes a battle of pride, neither you nor Draco were willing to admit who’s wrong

Warnings: no use of y/n

Cw: fluff kinda

Wc: 1k

A/n:  short one for now bc a new series is coming soonnnn and also yes I’m posting every day… I write at night before I sleep and just queue everything like a maniac cause I’m literally free this whole two weeks lol

It had started, like most things between you and Draco, with one of you being wrong.

The problem was that both of you were too stubborn to admit they’re wrong.

You were sitting across from each other at your usual table in the Slytherin common room, the one closest to the fire that you had silently claimed as yours. Books were open, parchment was everywhere, and at some point in the last hour the studying had quietly turned into an argument, the way it always did, the way you both privately looked forward to even though neither of you would ever say so out loud.

"That's wrong," Draco said, not even looking up from his essay.

"It's not wrong."

"It's literally wrong."

"Draco, I swear—"

"Swear all you want," he said, finally glancing up at you with that expression — the calm and unbothered cause he knew he had you — "you're still wrong."

You grabbed the textbook and flipped it open with more force than necessary, the pages fanning out before you found the right one. You slid it across the table so hard it nearly knocked over his inkpot. He caught it without even flinching, which was deeply annoying, steadying it with one hand while he read the page with the other. It took him about five seconds. Then he looked up at you with the single most irritating expression you had ever seen on a human face in your entire life.

"Fine," he said.

You blinked. "Fine what?"

"You're right."

There was a pause while you processed that. "What?"

"Don't make me say it again."

"No, no, hold on," you said, sitting up straighter, "I want to make absolutely sure I heard that correctly, because I could've sworn that you just said—"

"I will take it back."

"You literally cannot take back being wrong—"

"Watch me," he said simply, and pulled the textbook back toward him.

You grabbed it. He grabbed it back without missing a beat, and suddenly you were both holding opposite ends of it, leaning forward across the cluttered table toward each other. He raised one eyebrow, slow and deliberate, like he was daring you to do something about it. You were very aware that his face was about a foot from yours. You were not going to think about that.

"Let go," you said.

"You let go."

"I had it first."

"I need it for my essay," he said pleasantly.

"You just said I was right, so clearly you've already learned what you needed to—"

"I said you were right once," he said, "not that I'd learned anything from it."

From across the common room, Blaise looked up from his own homework for what had to be the fourth time. He looked at Pansy, who was sitting beside him on the sofa with her chin in her hand, watching the two of you with patient, hollow-eyed expression of someone who had been through this many times before and had quietly stopped expecting it to end any differently.

"Are they flirting or fighting?" a fifth year whispered from one of the armchairs.

"I genuinely cannot tell anymore," someone else whispered back.

You let go of the textbook at the exact same moment Draco did. It dropped flat on the table between you with a dull thud. He smoothed down the pages very calmly with his palm, taking his time about it, unbothered in the way that only someone who had won could afford to be unbothered. You pushed your hair back, straightened your parchment, and looked back at your own essay with the dignity of someone who had absolutely not just been in a tug of war over a Potions textbook.

The fire crackled. Someone on the sofa turned a page.

"You have ink on your face," Draco said, after a moment.

You looked up. "Where?"

He didn't answer. Instead he leaned across the table, reaching over all the clutter between you, and wiped it off your cheek with his thumb. He did things like that sometimes without making it a big deal— small, quiet things and the worst part was that it always caught you off guard no matter how many times it happened. It was kind of his way showing you, he cared.

He sat back and picked up his quill like nothing had happened.

"You could've just told me," you said.

"That was faster," he said, eyes on his essay.

"It really wasn't."

He didn't answer, which meant he knew you were right about that one and wasn't going to give you the satisfaction.

You looked back at your own parchment, trying to find your place again. The common room had settled back into its usual quiet, the fire warm at your side, the dark water of the lake pressing soft and still against the windows. Normally this was the part of the evening where the two of you actually got work done, riding the calm on the other side of whatever argument had just burned itself out. Normally.

"Your essay has a mistake in the second paragraph," Draco said.

You didn't look up. "No it doesn't."

"Third line."

"It's fine, Draco."

"It's going to cost you marks," he said.

"My essay," you said, setting your quill down and looking up at him, "is perfect."

He looked at you over the top of his parchment with an expression that was doing a lot of work. His eyes were calm and grey and faintly lit up in a way that had nothing to do with the fire. "Nothing is perfect," he said.

"I am," you said.

Something shifted in his face. It was quick, just a flicker, like a door opening and closing before you could see inside — the way he was always almost smiling around you and pretending he wasn't. He looked back down at his essay. "Read the third line," he said.

You looked at the third line of your essay. You read it once. You read it again. You read it a third time and felt a very specific, very unpleasant feeling settle somewhere low in your stomach, the feeling of someone who is about to have to be quiet about something.

"It's fine," you said.

"It's wrong."

"It's the stylish way of writing—"

"You wrote the wrong name."

You opened your mouth.

"You wrote Golpalott," he said, very calmly, "when you meant Gamp."

There was a pause. A fairly long one.

"That's," you started, "a really easy mistake to make."

"They sound nothing alike."

"They both start with G."

"So do a lot of words," he said. "That's not a defense."

"At least Golpalott sounds better than whatever that is. Come on, who names someone Gamp."

"Just fix it,"he said, fighting the urge to crack a smile.

"I will fix it," you said, with great dignity, "when I'm ready."

He put his quill down. Slowly. Then you saw his shoulders move, just slightly, and you realised that he was laughing. Quietly, with his mouth pressed together, but laughing.

"Are you laughing at me?"

"No," he said.

"You're literally laughing at me right now."

"I would never," he said, which was such an obvious lie that it looped back around to being almost impressive.

The problem, was that him laughing made something in your chest go soft and stupid regardless of what you did about it. He had the kind of laugh he kept small and close, the kind he didn't give out to just anyone, and even when it was at your expense it still felt like something you'd been handed. You had never told him that. You were never going to tell him that.

"I hate you," you said instead.

"Fix your essay," he said.

"I genuinely, deeply hate you."

"I love you too," he said, your cheeks burned red from that sudden confession.

You picked up your quill and crossed out the third line with more force than was remotely necessary, pressing hard enough that the parchment dented. Draco watched you do it in silence, wearing the calm expression of someone who had won and was being very mature about it — which meant he was being smug, but quietly, which was somehow worse.

"Thank you," he said, when you were done.

"Don't."

"Very mature."

"Draco, I will actually—"

"Shh." He reached across the table and tapped the top of your parchment twice with two fingers, light and easy. "Write."

You looked at his hand. He hadn't pulled it back. It was just resting there, near the edge of your parchment, close to yours. You looked up at him and found him already looking back at his own essay, quill moving, like he hadn't noticed. Like it was nothing. He was very good at that — making things seem like nothing while they were quietly everything.

You turned back to your essay and started writing.

The common room had gone properly quiet now, the kind of quiet that settled in late at night when most people had drifted off to bed and left only the fire and the low sound of quills on parchment. It was the kind of quiet that you had come to think of as yours, specifically — yours and Draco's — something that existed on the other side of all the noise you made together.

After a few minutes, his pinky finger hooked over yours where your hand rested on the table. He didn't look up. He didn't say anything. It was such a small thing, barely anything at all, just the side of his hand against yours, but he did it the way he did all the quiet things.

You didn't say anything either. You just wrote, and he wrote, and the fire burned low and warm beside you.

From the sofa, Pansy glanced over at the two of you. She looked at Blaise. Blaise looked back at her. Neither of them said anything for a moment.

"They're so annoying," she said finally, quiet enough that it wouldn't carry.

"I know," Blaise said.

"It's actually kind of disgusting."

"I know," he said again, and smiled at his book, and turned the page.