#dracoxyou

Draco scoffed, filling his plate with mashed potatoes.

“Romantic? We’re talking about the girl who jumped me in a pub, Blaise. Hardly a delicate flower. She likes it rough, you see...”

“Well, clearly” Blaise grinned.

Draco reached for his fork, still thoughtful. 

“Oh, and her legs. Can’t even remember if I left any marks. Should’ve paid more attention. She was trembling so hard I nearly lost my rhythm.”

“Merlin’s sake, mate, you sound like you’re writing a bloody report. What’s next, diagrams?” 

Draco smirked, as his gaze flicked over to you again, before he went on.

“…I’m just saying it’s hard to keep track when someone’s clawing you raw. The marks haven’t even faded yet.” He tugged his sleeve back an inch, showing faint red lines along his wrist like trophies.

“And you know what she does when she comes?” Draco went on.

“She rolls her eyes back, completely loses it. Merlin, it’s… unbelievably hot. ” 

He shook his head, lost in his thoughts. 

“Now whenever she does it in class, it’s going to drive me mad. And she does it all the time! You must’ve noticed.”

Blaise just shrugged.

“I don’t exactly spend my time staring at her, Draco. You do enough of that for all of us.”

Draco only smirked wider, unashamed. 

“Someone has to… and you can’t deny she’s quite worth the view”

Blaise finally gave the smallest shrug. 

“I’m not saying that. I’m saying she’s…kind of yours, mate. I wouldn’t look at someone you like.”

Draco hummed in approval, spearing a piece of steak and biting down.

“So? You’re seeing her again?” Blaise continued, and Draco only shrugged. 

“That’s what the princess decided.”

He chewed in silence for a few moments, eyes drifting back across the Hall to where you sat. “If it were up to me, she’d already be bent over this table.”

Then he shook his head, irritation flickering across his face. “It’s just… I didn’t even do half of what I wanted. Didn’t even scratch the surface of what I had in mind.”

Blaise only shrugged, casual as usual.

“Heat of the moment... Happens.”

“Yeah, I know” Draco muttered, but his eyes locked on you again, laughing with your friends. 

“Still… I’d have loved to get my head between her legs. Can’t stop picturing how she’d look being eaten out. And Merlin, I can’t wait to see her on her knees...”

Blaise shook his head, grinning. 

“You know what gets me?” Draco went on, unable to shut up about you.

“She pretends she hates me, but she was the one moaning into my mouth. All that attitude…gone.” He gave a short laugh, shaking his head.

 “Drives me mental.”

Blaise cut him a side glance, smirking. 

“That’s textbook Gryffindor. They always act like saints until they don’t…or maybe your cock made her change her mind ”

Draco didn’t hold a laugh, dragging the last streaks of potato onto his spoon.

“I guess she needed a bit of a special treatm…” then he stopped narrowing his eyes.

“What the fuck does Finnigan think he’s doing?” Draco snapped, as Seamus Finnigan dropped into the seat beside you.

Blaise snorted. 

“Talking to her, apparently. Don’t explode, mate.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed, watching Finnigan lean in a little too comfortably. 

“Yeah, no chance he’s sitting that close to my girl.”

Blaise finally set down his fork. 

 “Your girl? Didn’t realize you two were official.”

“We’re not. But that doesn’t mean she can fuck around, does it?”

Blaise smirked into his goblet.

“Maybe he’s asking her about you.”

That made Draco flick his gaze toward him, suspicious.

“Plenty of people saw what went down in Hogsmeade yesterday night” Blaise went on, unbothered. 

“You think word isn’t spreading? He could just be fishing for details.”

Draco mulled that over, the tight line of his mouth easing into a hum. 

“Yeah… possibly. Still too close, though.”

He shifted his gaze back to you, the corner of his mouth twitching. 

“Maybe I should help him out. Go over there and give the whole table the full story.”

For a moment, he stayed put, chewing slowly, almost convincing himself to let it slide.

Then you split a muffin clean in half, slid one piece across to Finnigan, and watched him take a bite.

His lips curled in disgust.

“Yeah, not a fuckin’ chance” he muttered under his breath. 

He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, then shoved his chair back and stood in one fluid motion.

Blaise sighed, half amused, half resigned. 

“Here we go.”

When he reached the Gryffindor table, he just stopped behind you and Finnigan, his shadow spilling over you both.

“Afternoon” he drawled

His gaze swept the two of you, lingering on Finnigan. 

“So, what’s it going to be? You two enjoying the gossip, or should I save you the trouble and give you the uncut version?”

Lavender nearly choked on her pumpkin juice and Seamus blinked, caught somewhere between confused and offended.

“Merlin’s sake, Malfoy, what are you rambling about this time? What story?”

“We were talking about weather charms, Malfoy” you chimed in, tone flat and bored.

“Why don’t you go back to your table and tell whatever story you want to your idiot friend?”

Draco smirked, irritation flickering in his eyes.

“Oh, but I imagine plenty of people at this table would find it fascinating. Don’t you agree, love?” He tilted your chin with two fingers, but even as you allowed it, your wand was already leveled under the table, aimed straight at him.

Noticing, he pressed a hand to his heart in mock agony.

“Oh, you wound me.”

“That’s the plan, love” you shot back.

“Careful now” he murmured, smirk curling. 

“Wouldn’t want a repeat of the library incident.”

Seamus frowned, utterly lost. 

“What the hell is he on about?”

You shoved your wand harder into Draco’s ribs, unimpressed. 

“Leave.”

“Lower that down…” Lavender whispered, leaning in close

“Snape is watching you…”

Snape’s stare caught you from the professors’ table, cold and unwavering. Reluctantly, you put your wand away.

“Well, we wouldn’t want Professor Snape to take points off my favorite girl, would we?”

“Then fucking leave, Malfoy. You’re not welcome here!”

“I wasn’t speaking to you, Finnigan. Miss Attitude and I need a word.”

“About what, exactly?” you asked, daring him to slip and his smirk only sharpened.

“Oh, I don’t know… weather charms sounds like a fine subject.  There’s a book in the library that can whip up storms, made quite a scene this morning when it sent half the shelf crashing down.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, the allusion hitting its mark.

“Well I’m eating, now ” you said flatly, stabbing your fork into your plate. 

“You can wait until I’ve finished.”

“Then I’ll wait here” he snapped, and before you could stop him, he dropped down shamelessly between you and Finnigan.

“The hell you are!” Seamus barked, shoving hard at his shoulder.

“Shut it, Finnigan. This is none of your business! ” 

You tried to play it cool, lips pressed tight but the air around you was thick with tension.

 Potter and Weasley, a few seats down, were already leaning forward, trading glances with Finnigan like they were just waiting for his signal to jump Malfoy.

On the other side of the table, whispers had broken out. 

You caught Colin's wide eyes and even Granger’s audible sigh of irritation as she muttered something about immaturity under her breath.

“Fine” you snapped at last, slamming your fork down. 

“For fuck’s sake, you’re insufferable” you muttered, pushing up from your seat.

The moment you cleared the doors of the Great Hall, you rounded on him.

“What the hell is your problem?”

“My problem” Draco shot back instantly, stalking at your side 

“...is that you said we’d do it again.”

“Seriously? That is your problem?” you snapped, incredulous.

“You said it!” His voice pitched higher, like a child denied sweets.

You groaned, throwing your hands up. 

“I meant eventually, Malfoy, not three fucking hours later! What, you thought it was a three meals arrangement?”

“...You said it!” 

“Merlin’s sake!” you huffed dramatically. 

“If a single sentence ties me to some unspoken contract where you crash at my table, then consider that contract broken”

Draco cut in front of you, grey eyes sharp furious.

“Oh don’t act so outraged, Gryffindor! You are the one in the wrong here! You were moaning under me hours ago, and now you’re practically flirting at the Gryffindor table.”

“I wasn’t flirting, Seamus is a friend!”

Draco scoffed.

“You really are naïve, aren't you! Half the castle’s thinking about fucking you and you call it “friendship” and share bloody muffins.”

You groaned, exasperated, and shoved open the first door you found, luckily finding the room empty.

“This was a bad idea… a very stupid, drunk idea. It should’ve never happened.”

Something snapped in Draco’s head. 

No chance in hell you were ending this now...not when it had barely begun!

So he sighed theatrically, let his body slacken, and slipped into the one talent he trusted most…

Lying.

“Listen” he said, jaw tight. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

You stopped in your tracks, pivoting on him with a glare.

Draco dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. 

“I’m jealous, alright? One second I’m telling Blaise how I can’t stop thinking about you, and the next I see you handing muffins to Finnigan like it’s nothing. It pissed me off.”

He thought he’d sold it perfectly.

But then your brow arched. 

“So that’s what you were doing? Giving Zabini a full play-by-play of how you fucked me in the library?”

Draco held your gaze for a beat before his mouth curved into a grin, shameless and knowing.

“Well, I did fuck you in the library, didn't I?”

Shock flickered across your face, your mouth parting with the start of a yell, but what came instead was an annoyed smirk.

“Well in that case, maybe I can tell you what you did wrong , since you’re so desperate for feedback”

Draco’s smile faltered, irritation flashing in his eyes. “You loved every second of it, Gryffindor. Spare us both the charade.”

“Could be…” you reluctantly allowed, crossing your arms.

“But that doesn’t mean it can’t be improved.”

The air shifted at once. 

You caught it in his eyes, annoyance replaced by a flood of filthy thoughts, excitement sparking at thought of another round…purely for educational purposes...

He tilted his head, grin sharp. 

“Go on, educate me.”

You froze.

That sentence had slipped out without much thought and now you couldn’t think of a single thing to follow it with.

Draco’s smirk widened at your silence, his lip caught between his teeth. “What’s the matter, love? Cat got your tongue?”

Fuck, had his eyes always been that grey? That sharp? 

The way they pinned you knotted your stomach, pressed your thighs tight, dragging back the library in your mind, only rougher, better, the way you’d been craving it all morning.

Draco’s eyes narrowed, reading every flicker across your face. 

“Merlin… you’re thinking about it right now, aren’t you?” he drawled.

“Why…” you said with an amused smile, gaze flicking to his lips.

“...you are not?”

His smirk curved sharper as he stepped in, crowding your space until your back hit the edge of the desk. 

“Thinkind about what? About ruining you?” he murmured

“...been on my mind daily for years, really.”

You laughed slightly at his honesty, soft lips baring your vampiresque teeth for a second as his lips got closer.

Then your mind went deliciously blank, a deep ache pulling low in your stomach as you leaned in, closing the distance for a kiss.

Slow, brief, and anything, ANYTHING, but innocent.

The second your tongue grazed his lips, he broke. 

His body surged forward like he’d been starving, hands gripping your waist hard enough to bruise. 

“You want to hear one of my poems?” you whispered, pulling back just enough to tease and he smirked, eyes raking over you like he could strip you bare with his gaze alone. 

“Please” he drawled, thumb brushing eagerly the hem of your jumper., like he couldn't wait to get under it.

You smirked.

“They say Slytherins can talk their way into anything. Wonder what else those tongues are good for.”

Draco’s tongue swept across his teeth, his gaze unfocused for a heartbeat, like he was caught somewhere between hunger and control. 

Then, he slid his wand free and whispered a casual “Muffliato.”

The hum of magic filled the classroom, the air thickening as the lock clicked shut. 

Silence, heavy and absolute, fell around you.

“Charming. ” he drawled, fingers already tracing higher up your thigh,

“Let’s see what I can do… and this time,” his eyes flicked to the door

"...you can be as loud as you want, darling”

The next instant his mouth crashed onto yours. Rough.

Before you could blink, he had you lifted onto the desk, skirt hiked up and panties dragged down to mid-thigh.

You knew you shouldn't have goaded him.

But it felt so good to see that arrogant smile slip off his face, replaced by a look of pure hunger.

“Wait…” The word barely left your lips before dying the instant his tongue found you.

Then he devoured you.

Breath caught in your throat, as you bit down hard on the moan clawing up your throat.

Your elbows buckled, collapsing onto the desk that was far too fucking small to hold you, to let you stretch, to let even think about gettin comfortable.

Which became a real problem when your body started to shake, not even ten seconds in.

“Fuck…” you whimpered, hips rolling helplessly to meet his mouth.

Draco’s hands clamped tighter on your hips, possessive, determined to show you exactly what you’d been missing, strutting around as the high-and-mighty Gryffindor you clearly were not!

Every time your eyes flicked down, you caught the hunger burning in his gaze, like you were his favorite show and he wasn’t about to look away.

You tried to hold composure, but it shattered fast,as his lips sealed tight around your entrance, sucking hard at the sensitive flesh until your thighs clenched around him.

And when his mouth closed over your clit, sucking rough and merciless, you saw stars.

A groan ripped from your throat before you could stop it, nails clawing harshly into the desk.

If only you’d kept quiet …oh , god!

 If only you had an ounce more composure, just a little bit…

If only you weren’t such a perv, if you could be something cleaner, softer, more of a fucking romantic or… … fuck!

You cried out.

Your body spasmed, instinctively jerking back until you nearly slipped off the desk like a fool.

But Draco’s hands kept you in place, dragging you forward in one violent pull until you were seated flush at his edge of the table. 

Before you could catch your breath, his fingers were on your face, gripping your cheeks hard enough to leave bruises as he leaned in close. 

“Going somewhere, love?” he drawled,, thumb brushing over your lower lip hard enough to make you gasp.

You tried to muster a retort, lips parting, but you didn’t get further than that before his mouth crashed against yours, swallowing the word in a kiss so bruising it stole your breath. 

In one swift motion, he spun you around, your palms catching against the wood for balance.

“Wouldn’t want you falling and hurting yourself” he whispered against your ear, breath hot, hands already roaming under your skirt. 

“Not when I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”

You felt his hand slid possessively between your legs, and you caught his wrist with the last spark of defiance you had left.

“That's not what I asked for, Malfoy” you panted, hips shifting against his hand anyway.

“But when do you ever listen?”

He laughed, almost tenderly, his fingers finding you slick, making you realize how fucking wet you were.

“Oh, trust me, love, you won’t be complaining” he whispered, lips grazing your ear.

And the moment his fingers pushed inside you, curling just right, you knew he was right. 

Whatever protest had been on your tongue dissolved into a shudder, your body giving him the answer your mouth refused.

You cried out, hips bucking shamelessly as Draco's fingers drove into you. 

His palm ground against your clit, stoking the flames of your arousal higher. 

You could feel  his fingers sliding inside you, the rasp of his breath hot against your neck, the thick press of his cock grinding into your backside.

Your grip on his wrist tightened, nails digging into his skin as you sought more. Just.

Fucking.

More.

“Oh my god, Draco…” the words tore out of you before you could stop them.

The instant sound of his name on your lips wrecked him. 

A guttural groan escaped his throat, raw and loud, like the very syllables had undone him.

It’s plan to make you come apart on his fingers like a puppet, completely went to pieces in that moment, replaced by the brutal, consuming urge to just bend you over that dusty desk and fuck you senseless.

“Fuck…” he groaned, rough and ragged. 

You had barely two seconds to hear him unbutton his trousers before he gripped your hips roughly, shoving you forward over the desk. 

Your skirt bunched high around your waist, your cunt already slick and waiting when he drove into you with a single brutal thrust. The force knocked the breath from your lungs, his cock burying deep inside as a hiss tore from his throat.

You cried out, nails raking across the wood of the desk as you pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts with desperate bucks of your hips.

 The desk screeched across the floor under the force of his movements, your mind unraveling.

How can he be this fucking good? How does his cock fit so fucking perfectly?

But then you reminded yourself, this was purely for educational purposes . Purely.

“Pull my hair…” you barely managed to gasp, the words breaking apart, and you hadn’t even finished before his hand tangled in your hair and yanked your head back, sharp and merciless.

Your body shudders under the assault, every nerve alive with the raw intensity. 

"...fuck...just like that..please." you babbled, the desk creaked beneath you, rocking with each powerful thrust.

In a moment is fist twisted in your hair, yanking you upright until your back slammed against his chest. 

One hand slipped under your jumper. Rough, possessive, he cupped your breast beneath your bra, your warm skin searing against his palm.

A shiver racing through you when the cold metal of his ring grazed your nipple while the other hand slid mercilessly down to your clit, circling with ruthless precision.

That was it, enough to wreck you completely. 

Your body clung desperately to his hands, legs giving out as release tore through you, hot liquid spilling down your thighs while you shook violently in his grip.

Draco caught himself on the desk with one hand, the other locking you hard against his chest, because without him, you would have crumpled straight to the floor.

He pressed his lips to the curve of your jaw, voice low and wrecked. “Fuck, you’re perfect when you break like this.”

The words hit almost as hard as his thrusts, softened only by the sweet press of his lips against your cheek before he guided you carefully down to the floor.

You layed there, still annoyingly shaking, your body aching in more than one place as you tried to catch your breath.

After a moment, you turned to him, watching him tug his trousers back into place with maddening composure. 

“You didn’t come?” you murmured, voice still hoarse, half-accusation, half-genuine disbelief.

“No…” He only murmured, no trace of displeasure in his voice. “But don’t worry…you’ll make me come tonight.”

Your head snapped up.

 “I…what?” you sputtered, yanking your jumper back down over your stomach.

“You’ve lost your bloody mind!”

“Three-course meal” he reminded you buttoning his cuffs with irritating calm. 

“That’s what you promised.”

“I did not!” you shot back.

 “I said the exact fucking opposite, Malfoy. Take that ridiculous idea out of your…”

You tried to push yourself upright, but your legs gave out instantly, and you collapsed back onto the floor with a frustrated huff.

“Need a hand? Or maybe a visit to the hospital wing?” Draco taunted, voice dripping with smug amusement.

“Please, Malfoy, let’s not overestimate yourself” you shot back, venom lacing every word as you crawled toward your knickers by the desk.

But before you could reach them, he snatched them up in one smooth motion.

“Temper, temper, Gryffindor” he said smoothly, twirling the fabric around his finger like a prize. 

“You really should be nicer to me. After all, you owe me the best orgasm of your life ”

You instinctively rolled your eyes to the ceiling 

“That’s debatable.” you murmured.

You turned toward the door, but his hand caught your arm, surprisingly soft.

“You know you do that when you come?” he murmured, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

You blinked.

 “Beg your pardon?”

He leaned in, voice low, smug and lethal all at once. “You roll your eyes when you come. Drives me insane. 

So here’s the deal, next time I catch it, I won’t even try to stay away from you. And given how often you do it, I’ll be back inside you before the last candle burns.”

You stared at him, one brow arched, holding his gaze for a long, loaded beat. Then your hand cracked across his cheek, sharp and unapologetic.

“You’re absolutely deranged.”

Without another word, you turned on your heel and strode for the door, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a backward glance.

Draco’s hand rose slowly to his cheek, fingers brushing the sting.

“Now, that wasn’t deserved.”

SNIPPET RELATED TO THIS STORY:

Library ✶ Tongues ✶ Skirts

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3 you are reading it 💕

PART 4

PART 5

1 9 9 2, Sep 1st

Families, friends and siblings bid goodbye to students who would be starting their term at Hogwarts.

The compartment was quiet, it was also darker than Nel remembered. She sat with her hands being kept busy knitting. A hobby she had picked up since she was seven to entertain herself back at Wool’s. It was fairly time consuming and gave her something to do since she wasn’t allowed to have any art supplies and the hours of watching TV were limited to all orphans.

She still couldn’t shake off the memory of what had happened during this painful holiday. The only redeeming quality about being at Wool’s was that Lucy, probably the person she cared for the most, was there.

“Where’s Lucy?” She had demanded from a girl that was in the girls’ dormitory. The seven-year-old shrugged. She snapped her head to the side and asked a slightly older girl. “Where’s Bonilla?” She asked again.

And again, the girl muttered a simple ‘dunno.’

Hearing a slight snicker, she turned around, eyes fixed into slits as they landed on Wool’s favorites. Aisha and Alf, two orphans that were always together, and did everything and anything just to be on the Matron’s good graces with complete and absolute disregard to others.

“Oh? Don’t you know?” Aisha asked complacently. Her thick hair braided over her shoulder. In that moment Nel wanted nothing more than to drag her out of the orphanage by it. She still wore pink just like Wool.

“Your dear friend didn’t tell you? Didn’t bother writing to you?” Alf added.

“Bonilla got adopted,” Aisha announced.

That was a lie if Nel had ever heard one. Adoption was rare. Even more if you were a teenager. Children amongst the ages of one, two and three are the lucky ones, they’ll be in and out of here in a flash. Parents like that you see, their easily moldable to their ideals and virtues, still not hardened by trauma or the ruthless punches of life. After you turn five and stop being cute, your chances decrease more and more with each year. Being twelve, almost thirteen and living here. Nel had no question that she would be stuck living in this hellhole until she turned eighteen.

When she was a child Nel was kept locked up in the laundry room and prevented from attending the adoption fairs. Wool didn’t want to risk her doing something “done by the devil,” and have her make a teacup accidentally levitate or make butterflies come out from under her sleeves. This trauma scarred her innocence.

“That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one,” she scoffed not buying their shit for a moment.

There was no way Lucy, as wonderful as she was, had been adopted. If anything, maybe Wool had gotten out of hand with one of the little ones one day, maybe she had gotten out of hand with her and ran away? It wasn’t uncommon, but why would she leave without telling her?

“You best believe it,” Alf said clicking his tongue. “Besides, why would she even want to stay here and put up with you?” “She couldn’t wait to get away,” his sidekick commented snidely arms crossing over her chest.

“I know you’re lying,” she scowled at him. “Tell me where she it. What did Wool do to her?” She marched forward towards them with threatening steps.

“Truth hurts, don’t it?” Alf sneered with a malicious scowl.

She stopped a couple of steps away from them. The expressions on their faces were enough to set the girl’s already boiling blood into a blur of madness.  Nel couldn’t remember the last time she had been this angry. She didn’t even realize how mad she was until several loud pops echoed the room and shards of glass began raining down as the ceiling’s lights popped. Several girls scrambled out of the room screaming fearfully with Aisha leading the way.

“Freakshow,” Alf added.

She could hear Wool’s steps stomping up the steps as her large body came wobbling thought the door and gaping at the scattered glass. She didn’t waste a moment in throwing Nel into her room without dinner and locking her in. The girl was glad she had brought some treats with her. Treats she was going to give to Lucy…

She snapped out of her thoughts when the compartment door opened. Theodore leaned against the entrance. “Nel!” He greeted with a smile joining her in the compartment. His curly hair had gotten longer, but his green eyes remained the same. Soulful, insightful, his clothes dark and crisply ironed.

Both had exchanged a handful of letters over the summer and despite the friendship the two had, neither ever crossed the line of inquiring about anything outside of their school lives. Prying into their familiar lives was out of bounds. Nel had only heard rumors that circled the school, but she knew that Nott’s parents had been loyal followers of You-Know-Who, just like had Malfoy’s, Parkinson’s, Crabbe, Goyle and others in the class. She figured some things were better left unsaid. “What you got there?” He commented dropping opposite of her, raising his feet so that he could comfortably sit across the seat.

“Just trying to keep busy,” she responded mindlessly as she continued to knit a pair of black winter gloves.

“I trust you’re more than halfway ahead of all of our classes already?”

When you’re locked up in a laundry room 24 hours of the day with not much to do you really don’t have much of an alternative to preserve your sanity. “I have a business to tun Nott,” she hid her anguish and smiled before whipping out a handful of hard-earned galleons most courtesy of Misters Crabbe and Goyle. “Pumpkin pastries on me today!” She beamed at him.

Again the compartment’s door opened and much to her distaste Draco Malfoy stepped in.

“Nott,” He acknowledged, and his silver eyes turned to seethe at Elowen who was staring back at him with contempt. Let’s just say things hadn’t gone well when the two had a recent tun in at Flourish and Blotts.

“"I'm sure you can find better company that Saintday," Malfoy coughed. Looking between the two aghast at the friendship.

The twelve-year-old dark-haired girl was wondering inside of the shop scanning over the countless of book covers, titles and authors. She didn’t want to get any more books than what was required of the curriculum. Her brain was already more than fried from all of those exhaustive readings. It seemed like she had picked the wrong day to come to Diagon Alley since the bookshop was overcrowded with a famous Wizard that was doing a book signing. Not that she paid much attention to that.

Presently she walked around with a stack of books in her arms. This time she was alone. Seeing as Professor Snape had already showed her the ropes and string of Diagon Alley she did not require to be escorted. Not that she minded, it was almost better like this.  

Another twelve-year-old also happened to be in Flourish and Blotts. The bitter blonde was a couple of steps away on a balcony watching the girl with his eyes narrowed. He saw how she was taking her sweet time browsing the large stack that was on the shelf.

He looked down at the book he was reading and ripped off a page simply because he felt like it and folded it away. He walked down the short steps of the balcony and approached the Slytherin girl he had been carefully observing. She didn’t seem to have noticed his presence yet and if she did, she chose not to acknowledge it. Her hair was longer than the year before now reaching her shoulders and there was a distant look in her dark eyes. Of course, not that, that would’ve stopped him from acting like a total dick.

He forcefully ran into her on purpose. The impact so strong the tower of books she had been holding came tumbling down to the wood floor. He grabbed her lower arm before she could fall holding her up.

“Watch where you’re going Saintday,” He greeted her with a terribly rude scoff.

“Maybe you should watch where you’re going Malfoy,” she snapped back irate quickly withdrawing her arm back to her person. She groaned at the unwelcome presence and bent down to reach for her books when she saw his brand designer shoe stomp on them.

“Get your foot off my books, because Merlin help you if you don’t, I will gladly sock you,” she threatened with an angry scowl.

He huffed a weak chuckle. ‘Physical threats. How typical of Saintday,’ he thought to himself humorously. Not that he was unaware that the orphan would deliver on her promise. Instead, he stood unbothered and leaned against the bookshelf next to him with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Hm.. No, I don’t think I will. You see, I don’t really feel like it,” he hummed calmly while pretending to look at some invisible dirt underneath his fingernails.

Nel seetehed in her anger. Great. Now her day had been ruined. “What do you want Malfoy? Don’t you have anything better to do like hold your moms hand or something?”

“Jealous?” He was quick to respond. “At least I have one,” he shot back sharply. “Oh, boo-hoo,” she cried out the words mockingly, dripping with sarcasm. “Thank you for stating the obvious. Insulting an orphan on not having a family? That only makes you an even bigger prick!” She exclaimed. “Now move, before I make you,” she raised her want at his nose.

“Watch it slugbreath,” he did not move an inch, yet there was some hesitation in his voice divulging he was intimidated.

Nel suddenly stopped. She froze when she felt what felt like a harsh tap come down on her shoulder. She was familiar with this sensation. She turned slightly to see the shimmering silver snake head from Lucius Malfoy’s cane. It felt just as bad even worse than Old Man Cowell’s down by the General Store. “Mind your manners Draco. That is not way to speak to a lady,” a slithering voice spoke from behind her. The voice cold and emotionless holding a scolding edge. Without any hesitation whatso ever Draco finally stepped back and off her books.

Nel turned in surprise to see Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father, standing behind her. The man stood tall and was a refined contrast to the other witches and wizards in the room. His snake cane once again reached for her face and he brushed the stray bangs out of her face to get a better glance at the beauty marks that dotted her face.

“We meet again Ms. Saintday,” he said darkly. "I trust your studies are going well?" He pulled out his wand from his cane and with a flick all of her books neatly arranged in a tower back into her hands. She remained silent eyeing the man with suspicious. Draco appeared to be just as confused as to why his father was being so damn polite and to a Muggle-born witch out of all people. Why was Lucius Malfoy, one of the biggest muggle haters of all time, the man that had probably taught Draco the filthy slur of Mudblood and all of his hating virtues, being so damn polite? After all, racism was a learned behaviour. So why be so kind?

“Thanks,” she responded curly in a dry tone and witch much unease looking down at the stack of books.

"Draco's told me all about you,” Malfoy Sr. began. “He says you're quite the accomplished witch."

What?

Her expression shifted into one of pure shock. Eyes quickly darting to pale boy who was presently scarlet in the face. A more than irritated expression on his eyes as he shot his father a silencing glare.

“Also heard you have a knack for mischief. Particularly for head swelling spells…”

Boy, wouldn’t she like to swell his head right now. “I have to do well in order to keep my scholarship." She answered dully, disregarding his praises or mention of the head swelling hex. No way she was apologizing to daddy dearest over that. "And may I ask what you intend on doing after finish your studies?"

Why was he asking her so many questions? Why was he so invested in this topic of conversation?

She was twelve, soon to be thirteen in November. How on Earth was she supposed to know what she wanted to do the rest of her life.

"For now, I just want to make my own living in the world."

Which was a normal ambition for anyone. Getting out of Wool’s. Being able to afford decent clothing that wasn’t washed away, eaten by moths or destroyed by former owners. Beautiful things. Being able to treat her friends and loved ones to lovely things like ice cream and pastries… It was not an impossible dream.

"Of course. How ambitious of you." He paused for a moment and looked at her. Simply starred at her face. His intense glare made Nel shrink slightly. She had never been so uncomfortable when interacting with an adult. "We best be moving on," He turned his eyes to his son instructing him to follow.

"Wait Mr. Malfoy," Nel paused seeing something on top of her pile of books. "This isn't mine," she said handing out the small black book to him. "I've got more than enough reading to do. Don't need any more books to sit gathering dust in my dormitory," she said sheepishly. Malfoy Sr. Looked at the black book and then back to her before taking it in his hand and turning away without another word.

"I never said that!" Malfoy growled out at her leaning in closer wearing a scowl. His face angry. Elowen smirked at him. "Sure Malfoy." She said haughtily.

"Hmm…" Nel hummed an evil smirk growing on her face. "You know some people would describe me as being a terribly charming witch, others might even say, accomplished." She dangled his father’s words in his face, subtley taunting him.  

Again, Malfoy's ears turned red with embarrassment.

"My father only said that out of pity! What else was he supposed to say to a pitiful, filthy,Muggle-born orphan!" He shouted angrily before storming out of the compartment.

She highly doubted that Lucius Malfoy was a man running a charity of compliments to give to strange second years at bookstores. There was an underlying motive to his words. A secret he was hiding. Something even Draco didn’t know.

Theodore let out a small chuckle and brought his watch up to his face taking note of the time. "And… it begins," he laughed. "Merlin, we're not even there yet and you and Malfoy are already at each other's throats."

"He started it," She shrugged. "You saw!" She said incredulously meeting his green judging gaze.

"It's weird, I feel like he has a strange fixation on you… Sometimes it's almost like he goes out of his way just to bug you." Nott shook his head.

"Of course, he's got some strange fixation. I'm the only Muggle-born Slytherin as far as I know." Nel rolled her eyes. "He'd be just as bad if Granger had been sorted into Slytherin."

"But you're not," Theodore interjected. She arched an eyebrow in confusion. "Muggle-born, I mean." He closed the book he had initially opened to read and lowered his feet, so he was sitting up straight. "You don't know that. You don't know who your parents were."

"Are," She corrected icily in a strained voice. This was crossing on the boundary the two had outspokenly agreed never to cross which meant family or life outside of Hogwarts was outside of the bounds of conversation. "I also don't know if they're with life or not. For all that I know they abandoned me at a Muggle orphanage. When they could've left me anywhere else in this bloody damn world. I would've preferred to be left at Gringotts for all I care!" She didn't realize that her voice pitch had raised into an upset tone. Her eyes darkening as she shed a ray of light into her life and harbored resentment due to her abandonment.

Her parents had abandoned her, like it or not. Whatever had or hadn't happened to them. And Lucy… Wool had insisted that she had gotten adopted and refused to give Nel her new address claiming it was confidential information; Wool said that if Lucy wanted, she would’ve returned for Nel, even written to her. Even Lucy had abandoned her... Which almost stung more than her own parent's going amiss. Perhaps Aisha and Alf really were right. Maybe Lucy didn't want to be stuck with a freak like her. A freak that set rooms on fire when upset, that made light fixtures explode and bathrooms pipes burst and floor. She felt her eyes water and turned away from Nott. The emotional wound still fresh. She didn't apologize for her outburst.

Nott looked at her upset expression. At the pain behind her eyes and in that moment he knew. He knew that no matter how many hits life threw at her. How many punches and jabs others threw at her. She wasn't made of steel, she was wounded, every jab digging deeper and deeper. He was about to speak when the compartment's door was thrown open.

"Well if it isn't Nelly and Teddy!" Tracey tossed it open and put her trunk away before jumping on the seat next to Nel. She gave her a side hug. The interruption seemed to be enough for her to snap out of her dark thoughts.

"Salazar," Theodore grimaced, "I beg you, please do not start calling us that."

"What should we call you then?" Nel grinned at her friend despite the great distaste for the nickname. It was refreshing being back with her little Hogwarts family. With people she actually cared about.

Xxxxx

Arriving at Hogwarts second years don't take the boats to cross the lake to the castle. Instead they ride in enchanted carriages that take them across the road and up to the school.

Nel almost fell back when she saw the creatures that were pulling the carriages. She made a sound. Animals generally did not like her, and mutually she did not like them.

"What is it?" Tracey asked confused trying to see what was making her friend so upset.

"What are those?" Nel asked fearfully not removing her eyes from the large winged horses. Their gaunt bodies seemed to be skeletal almost ghostly with reptilian features, their skin leathery and worn and with massive wings that resembled a bat's or some nocturnal monster straight from your nightmares. Their eyes resembling foggy crystal balls.

"Nel, what are you talking about?" Tracey squinted really trying to see what the big deal was yet saw nothing. Hesitantly they approached the carriage and the three of them took a seat. They were joined by three Hufflepuffs who seemed too absorbed discussing which Quidditch team was better if the Holyhead Harpies or the Appleby Arrows.

Of course, Tracey felt the need to weight in her two cents and defend that Puddlemere United was the best of the best.

"You can see them too?" She turned to see Theodore with surprise. Tracey was much too distracted to listen in their conversation.

"They can't see them, can they?" She noticed the blank looks on the students around them and in the other carriages.

"Am.. Am I going mad?"

"No," Theodore explained. "They're Therstals, I've read about them." He licked his lips, his eyes forward expression turned into a solemn one.

"Only people who've witnessed death can see them."

Her jaw went slack at the information.

"So…" She egg shelled on that topic they never spoke about, their home lives. "You've seen someone die?"

He nodded grimly, pondering deep in his painful memories. "My mom, when I was five," he said. A dull expression on his eyes. She didn’t want to pry further.

"But…” She paused taking in a deep frustrating breath. “How can that be? I've never seen anyone die."

xxxxx

“You stole my dissertation idea. That’s the same thing.”

He sighed dramatically and dropped into the nearest armchair, dragging a hand down his face with an exasperated groan.

“So this is it? Revenge? You’re writing your dissertation on Muggle Studies just to irritate me?”

“How exactly does that qualify as revenge, darling?” you said sweetly.

“You’re my girlfriend, for Merlin’s sake! Do you have any idea how ridiculous this makes me look?”

“Maybe I do…” 

You dipped your quill into the ink, deliberately casual. 

“But since someone stole my original dissertation topic on the evolution of European Dark Arts, I had to pick something else.”

“It’s not my fault you left your notes lying around my dorm... Besides, you wouldn’t have done them justice.”

“I agree…” you said, to his surprise, slipping your glasses off. 

“I think this will be much more entertaining for me. So, do you want to hear it?”

Draco let out another sigh, sinking further into the armchair. 

He knew it was his sacred duty, as a good boyfriend, to suffer through your academic obsessions, he always had. 

But the thought of wading through pages about Muggles just because you were a petty, evil little creature made his head ache.

“Fine” he snapped at last, flicking his hand in a nervous, dismissive gesture.

“Tell me then. What the hell is it about?”

You smiled, far too pleased with yourself. 

“Oh, you’re going to love it. The entire dissertation will focus on a very special individual. Someone you like very, very much.”

He narrowed his eyes, skepticism etched into every line of his face. 

“I highly doubt Salazar Slytherin ever tolerated Muggles. Apart from slaughtering them, maybe.” Draco muttered.

“I was talking about you” you said with a bright smile, rising from your chair.

His eyebrow shot up. 

“Me?! What in Merlin’s name would I ever have to do with Muggles?”

“As a matter of fact…” 

You began gathering the thick pile of parchment on your desk, pages stacked in frighteningly neat order.

 “Professor Burbage conducted a rather fascinating experiment a few years ago. Almost no one in the magical community knows about it." you said grabbing a pile a book from the floor.

“...She and a few colleagues commissioned a particularly talented Squib to spread wizarding culture among Muggles. In disguise, of course.” 

You leaned down to skim a note on one of your sheets. 

“A certain… J.K. Rowling.”

Draco sighed, bored. 

“Fascinating.”

“Oh indeed.”

You tapped the parchment smugly. 

“Apparently, the books made her the richest woman in Britain. Second only to their precious queen. ”

“ So you’re telling me your entire dissertation is about a Squib publishing fairy tales for Muggles.”

“Exactly.” 

You beamed. 

“But you will never believe who those fairy tales are about...” you teased.

He narrowed his eyes.

“If you say Potter, I’m walking out.”

You smiled again, that sly, infuriating smile that had him wrapped around your finger for years. 

Without breaking eye contact, you reached for a book from the stack at your side and turned the cover toward him.

A boy with messy hair and round glasses stared back, lightning-shaped scar etched on his forehead.

“May I introduce you to…Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets?”

Draco’s face drained of colour. 

“You’ve got to be joking.”

His expression shifted from disbelief to something closer to disgust. “You’re telling me that bloody Potter is… a novel?”

“Oh yes” you said, far too cheerfully. 

“The whole saga… The Philosopher’s Stone, The Prisoner of Azkaban, all the way up to the grand finale…” you dropped your voice into a mockingly deep, dramatic tone.

“Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.”

Draco’s lip curled in disgust.

"What the hell are the Deathly Hallows?"

“Oh, something like Horcruxes, I think.”

“Horcruxes don’t even exist” Draco scoffed.

“I know” you said, rolling your eyes.

“But she had to come up with some grand finale, so she threw in Horcruxes. Apparently writing that Dumbledore actually killed the Dark Lord two years ago wasn’t dramatic enough. So, Potter was shoved into the hero role.”

“As fucking usual” Draco muttered darkly, his voice low and bitter.

“But it’s all there” you went on, shuffling through your notes with irritating enthusiasm.

 “All of us… though apparently I was dismissed to some secondary role.” 

Your tone soured, and Draco’s mouth twisted into a smirk.

“Well, it’s hardly surprising. Your family erased every Squib from existence, why would a Squib author treat you any differently?”

“Oh, right, because the Malfoys have always marched their Squibs straight to the altar, haven’t they?”

Draco’s looked at you, brows furrowing.

“What are you saying? That I’m in there? My family is in there?”

You nodded solemnly, only to be rewarded with a scoff.

“That’s illegal” he said flatly. 

“They can’t just use my name in Muggles novels…”

You dismissed his protest with a lazy wave of your hand. 

“The texts are enchanted. No witch or wizard could ever so much as read a line. 

Not even Muggleborns could stumble across it. The magical community will stay oblivious forever, exactly as Muggles will stay oblivious to us.”

Draco leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose like the weight of this revelation was physically painful. 

“This is even worse than I imagined… You really do want to ruin me, don’t you? Tell me you’re not writing your dissertation on bloody Potter.”

“Oh I would never!” you corrected.

“As a matter of fact, my dissertation is on the way Muggles perceive my complex, misunderstood, brilliant, ever-so-charming and devastatingly handsome... boyfriend.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed, your praise sliding neatly into all the soft spots of his ego.

“Go on.”

“Oh, they captured you perfectly.” you smiled.

“The arrogant Draco Malfoy, aristocratic, spoiled, insufferably smug. That bit, I must admit, is painfully accurate.”

Draco’s face tightened, his voice low and edged.

“So that’s all I am to them? That’s how I’m described?”

“Yes. In the canon.”

Draco frowned. 

“What the hell is the canon?”

“The books” you explained breezily. 

“Then, of course, there’s the fanon.”

“Bloody hell, what is the fanon?”

You gave him a wicked grin. 

“Well, my dear… Muggles have this peculiar habit of writing...” 

You glanced at a note, lips twitching.

 “Fan fiz… hold on, fan fictions. That’s the word. And you have so many stories that, Merlin help me, I nearly got sick of it.”

Draco’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker in his eyes, curiosity he refused to admit.

 “More than Potter?” he asked, carefully casual.

You rolled your eyes.

 “Oh, more than anyone. More than Potter, more than Cedric Diggory himself, and I mean…”

“Careful, darling. ” he cut in sharply, his voice low with warning as he leaned forward. 

"You seem to forget your boyfriend is sitting right here in the flesh, not just some story character"

“Oh, I know” you said smoothly.

“That’s the only thing that kept me from losing my mind, you know, knowing that  I’m the only one who gets to deal with the real thing and…” 

Your eyes flicked to a document in front of you.

 “…to do all that shit for real.”

Draco’s curiosity sharpened. 

He leaned forward, snatching the parchment before you could stop him. 

“What, there’s sexual stuff? About me?”

You straightened a bit, caught between irritation and amusement. 

“Sexual stuff is an understatement, I would say... Oh, that one is one of the bests!” you jolted when Draco plucked a random document from the pile and began to read.

“It nearly traumatized me with all the, well, sexual abuse and twisted power games. But you know me, I’ve always had a soft spot for dark novels. And, boy, are you sexy as an High Reeve…”

His brows knit together, half disgusted, half fascinated.

“A what? ”

“Doesn’t matter. Point is, the Muggles have imagined you in roles you couldn’t dream of, darling.”

Draco stared at the page, his mouth tightening. 

“So all that crying and snapping at me for the past two weeks was over Muggle fanfiction?... Shit, that’s fucking mental.”

“Oh, what part are you on?”

His brow furrowed as he scanned the parchment.

 “Someone’s… raping someone.”

“Oh yes! You rape someone too.”

His head snapped up, horrified. 

“Why the hell would I ever do that?”

 “Oh, because you lost your memories and you are this terrible DeathEater, and then you recover them, but then you basically… oh, it’s too long to explain. But don’t worry, you save the world in the end because you find all the Horcruxes and…”

But Draco wasn’t listening. His eyes were flying across the page, his face draining of colour until he looked like he might faint.

“Why the fuck is the Mudblood’s name all over this?!” he hissed, a little too loud, earning a vicious glare from Madam Pince across the room.

You shrugged.

 “Because that’s Dramione, darling.”

“Dramione?”

“Draco and Hermione” you said sweetly. 

“Apparently, Muggles love the idea of you two together.”

Draco practically threw the pages across your desk, the sudden motion making you stutter mid-breath. 

“Burn them. Burn them and erase them immediately!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls.

You only smiled, unfazed, and pointed at the largest row of files stacked neatly at your side. 

“Dramione is the main ship, I am afraid...”

Draco leapt from the armchair, storming over, his pale hands rifling through the rows like he might strangle the parchment itself. 

“This...” he shook the pages in his fist, voice rising,

“...this entire collection is about this crap?”

“Oh no” you said lightly, tapping the pile he had just pulled open. 

“These are all  ‘Draco x Original Character.’ Some of those are actually quite nice. Like this one… ”

You pulled a file from the stack, but before you could open it, Draco snatched it out of your hand.

“‘My dearest darling love…’ he read aloud, his voice dripping with disgust.

He unwillingly raised an eyebrow.

“That sounds like me.”

“It does, doesn’t it? And it’s kind of sweet! She dies tragically during the Battle of Hogwarts, and you’re devastated—but then it turns out she isn’t really dead. Only, you don’t know that, so you move, heartbroken, into the Muggle world.”

Draco froze

“I would never on earth move to the Muggle world. I’d rather hex myself!”

“I know, I know, but it’s character development here!” you said airily.

 “The good thing is you get back together, until your father tries to kill her and kicks you out of the Manor.”

Draco’s voice shot up again, scandalised fury vibrating in every word: 

“MY FATHER WOULD NEVER DO THAT!”

A sharp “Shhh!” came from Madam Pince in the corner.

Draco flicked her a venomous glance before whipping his head back toward you, his outrage still blazing.

“My father would sooner burn down the Ministry than throw me out! I am his only son!” he hissed, as if the very suggestion were sacrilege.

“And what, my mother would just stand there and stare at him?” Draco shouted.

“Yes, she’s… well, she is a little scared of him, really.”

“My mother?!” Draco exploded, eyes blazing.

“Fucking Narcissa Malfoy?! My mother frightens me and him togheter, half the time. That’s bloody insulting!”

“It’s just a story, darling. And…” 

You broke off when you saw his expression shift.

He was scanning the rows again, first pausing at the Drinny stack, his lip curling in pure disgust, and then....

He went completely pale.

His pale eyes scanned the label once, twice, as if hoping it would change. His lips parted in horror.

“That says…” he started slowly, his voice dropping.

“Drarry?”

You pressed your lips together, fighting a grin. 

“Mhm.”

His head snapped toward you, grey eyes blazing. 

“What the hell is Drarry?”

You tilted your head, savoring the moment.

“Well just think about it… if Dramione is Draco and Hermione…”

“Stop saying that!” “And Drinny is Draco and Ginny, then Drarry must be… Draco… and…Harry”!

“OH I DON’T THINK SO!” Draco’s voice thundered through the library, making several students jump. 

“That is, bloody disgusting! They pair me with Potter?!”

“Well, you know…” you said casually, twirling a lock of hair between your fingers.

 “The whole school rivalry apparently gave gay vibes. Maybe it’s the crocodile shoes that convinced them.”

Draco’s face darkened. 

He slammed the stack of documents back onto the desk, the sound cracking through the silence. He snatched one parchment open, skimmed a single line, then slammed it shut again before his eyes could catch more filth.

His cheeks were faintly pink despite the fury twisting his expression. 

“This is sick. Perverse. I’d never, ever…”

“Well, according to the Muggles, you’d do it quite often.”

His head snapped toward you again, scandalized beyond measure. 

“Do you think this is funny?” he demanded, voice outraged.

“Oh, and did you think it was funny to cheat on me?”

“For the millionth time” he hissed in a harsh whisper, half-shouting

“I didn’t cheat on you! It’s just a bloody dissertation! Take it back if you want it so much…”

“I wasn’t only talking about that” you shot back.

You grabbed the heavy copy of The Deathly Hallows from your desk and slapped it down in front of him, jabbing a finger at the very last page. 

“You marry Astoria. Astoria fucking Greengrass. In these books. You bloody cheater.”

Draco glanced down, then scoffed, infuriatingly calm.

 “Well, that’s far more reasonable than Potter.”

Your face went purple. Without thinking, you swung the book and smacked him square across the shoulder with it.

The thwack echoed across the library.

“Now here is what’s going to happen, Malfoy” you whispered.

“You will hand over all of your notes gathered so far on my dissertation subject. Every last one. And every book you’ve stolen from the Restricted Section about it. And most importantly…” you jabbed him for emphasis

“...you will never, ever, ever so much as speak to or glance at Astoria Greengrass again.”

Draco’s mouth fell open, equal parts shock and outrage.

“I didn’t even look at her! Meanwhile, I’m apparently the star victim of a thousand different sick fantasies, maybe get upset about that instead!" he hissed. 

“I don’t care” you shot back stubbornly.

“She doesn’t exist for you. Not in canon, not in fanon, not in real life. Understood?”

“I barely know her!” Draco protested, exasperation flaring in his voice.

“It’s just proof the Squib hates your family!”

“UNDERSTOOD DRACO?”

He threw up his hands. 

 “Fine! Merlin, you’re absolutely mental.”

Then his gaze darted furiously to the desk, narrowing at the piles of parchment.

“But I am taking all this bullshit with me.”

Before you could react, he seized the seven thick Harry Potter volumes, stacking them under his arm with a glare sharp enough to cut.

“I’ll send these to my father” he said coldly. 

“We’ll see how this Squib of yours handles herself against our lawyers.”

He turned on his heel, already marching toward the door when your voice, soft and mocking, slipped after him.

“Draco, my love?”

He stopped, shoulders stiffening, and glanced back.

“Are you sure, you don’t want to send your father some lovely Drarry goodnight stories, too?”

Color rushed to his pale cheeks, climbing high on his face. 

“Burn them!” he hissed, nearly choking on the words. 

“Burn all of it!”

“Look at her…starving kitten eyes.”

“And for the number of times he’s crossing that parchment, she’s looking at a solid Troll.”

“…Did she just giggle?” you whispered, scandalized, as the high-pitched sound of Calissia’s laugh floated back to your table.

The three of you snorted, laughter muffled behind your sleeves, and the sound carried across the quiet library, sharp enough to make the Professor’s head lift. 

As his grey gaze found you, you all bit down on your lips instantly, smothering the giggles, pretending to be deeply absorbed in your studies.

When Calissia finally returned to the table, you already knew what was coming. “He is so fucking hot” she whispered, collapsing into her chair. “No idea why I got a Troll, but honestly? Worth it. The way he says my name…”she fanned herself dramatically.

“Merlin, Calli…” you muttered, smirking.

“Make sure you wipe down the chair when you stand up.”

That set your friends off again, shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter.

Professor Malfoy’s gaze sliced through the room once more, cutting straight to your table, heavily irritated.

You all ducked your heads in unison. 

But then, when you risked glancing up, you realised he wasn’t looking at your group.

He was looking at you.

You barely managed to hold his gaze for two seconds before cowardly looking down again, the weight of it sinking straight to your stomach.

It wasn’t the first time.

Not the first time your eyes had clashed with his, not the first time that stretch of space between desks felt like pure torture.

But the worst was when circumstances pushed you close.

It had happened in class more times than you dared to count.

The brush of his sleeve as he leaned to correct your work. 

The shift in his tone when he addressed you in front of the class.  

The way your back burned whenever his footsteps slowed, pausing behind you as he checked cauldrons.

Every time, your muscles locked, your breath stuttered, and your throat went treacherously dry.

Surely every other sixth, or seventh-year girl reckless enough to sign up for Advanced Potions must have felt it too. That shattering, trembling, traitorous fall into those grey eyes…

Merlin, those eyes.

But for you, it was different. You knew it was!

Because every time a shiver ran down your spine under his stare… 

You swore he felt it too.

⟡────────────────⟡

Blue eyes, dark hair. Smart enough to be infuriating, and pretty enough to always get away with it.

That was you.

The never-satisfied Slytherin, finding company only among those who carried names as tarnished as your own.

The roll call of bloodlines blackened by the war.

Montague. Nott. Bulstrode. Vaisey. Warrington. 

All sounded about right alongside yours.

Yaxley.

Not that the war was still felt as sharply anymore. Almost nine years had passed, but the scars on Slytherin House were slow to heal, carved too deep to forget.

You were all one squad now, bound by gazes of steel and bloodied knuckles, surviving the condescending stares of the high and mighty Gryffindors.

In a way, you all felt represented by that one professor who had stayed behind, his surname heavier than any of yours.

Malfoy.

He was the one who snapped at Longbottom when he came down too hard on Slytherins, the one who flicked his chin to let you pass when you were caught after curfew.

Just Slytherins being Slytherins, he’d mutter.

You could never tell if it was laced with pride or annoyance. 

Maybe that was the very thing, the unreadable curve of his mouth, the ambiguity in his voice, that kept you circling closer, falling harder year after year.

You told yourself it was nothing. 

Just a silly girl’s crush. 

Just hormones chewing through your sanity.

But that excuse crumbled against the one thing you couldn’t deny.

The chemistry.

You swallowed hard, clearing your throat, eyes darting anywhere but him.

“Is that it?” Draco asked, flicking through the three parchments of your essay with an edge of surprise.

“Sir?” you asked.

He lifted his gaze, eyes locking onto yours with that usual, unsettling intensity.

“Is this truly all you’ve written?” he asked again, his stare pinning you in place.

You gave a half-shrug, apparently unbothered.

“It’s incomplete, but with the deadline tomorrow, this is all I had.”

He regarded you for a long moment, disbelief flickering across his face before he dropped his eyes back to the parchment.

“This doesn’t sound like your work. Not at all.” 

The pause stretched unbearably, until his gaze cut back to yours, colder now, tinged with suspicion.

“Did you have someone else write it for you?”

You held his gaze as you always did when anyone accused you of anything, especially a professor.

“I’ve been in detention all week, Professor. I couldn’t possibly write ten parchments on top of that.”

Draco exhaled hard, letting the essay slip from his hand onto the desk.“Every week, Yaxley. How do you even manage getting detention every week?”

“I swear it wasn’t deserved this time. Really. Me and Justin were just…”

“Spare me, I don’t even want to hear what you did with Justin” He cut you off, dragging his chair back with a scrape before lowering himself into it.

“Just know this will cost you a full mark. Detentions piling up, and now trying to trick me into thinking someone else hasn’t done your essays? You think that’s acceptable?”

You bit your cheek, then arched a brow, words slipping out before you could stop them.

“Just Slytherins being Slytherins, I suppose…”

The silence snapped taut.

“Beg your pardon?”

Your head dropped instantly, submissive. 

“Sorry. I don’t… don’t know why I said that.”

For half a heartbeat, you could’ve sworn there was the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth, but you didn’t dare check again.

“Yeah, I thought so” he murmured, ice-cold. 

“Good thing is it won’t take more than five minutes to review this rubbish…”

Normally, you would have snapped back at the choice of words, but with Malfoy it was never worth it. 

All of his students were used to his cutting remarks, and you were no different. 

Besides, you didn’t particularly care. 

You had no idea what was even written on that parchment anyway.

As his quill scraped across the page, you drifted toward the shelves along the wall, his private trove of curiosities. 

Dusty jars filled with preserved roots and claws. 

A silver dagger etched with unfamiliar sigils. A stone serpent coiled mid-strike. A row of books so old their spines looked ready to crumble at a touch.

Your gaze landed on a blackened mask, lacquered and almost hidden, but still well preserved.

You smirked recognizing the Death Eater mask.

“My father had one of those” you said casually.

The quill stopped dead.

“I know he did” Draco said finally. 

“I knew your father. He was a…”

“A freak? A murderer? Psychotic?” you cut in with a smirk, turning toward him.

He raised an eyebrow, gaze steady. 

“That is not what I was about to say.”

You tilted your head, lips curling. 

“Better to leave it unsaid, then. Imagination tends to fill the gaps better.”

The tip of his quill tapped once against the desk, before he lowered his eyes again.

“Stop lurking around. This is not a museum…” he said dryly.

You didn’t listen.

Truth be told, listening wasn’t much of a habit for you, especially not to professors.

You wandered further, turning to the dim corridor leading toward the private quarters. 

Your eyes flicked to the closed door at the end, lingering just a moment too long before you forced your thoughts elsewhere.

You forced your gaze to the shelves and something caught your attention. 

A frame, half-hidden between heavy tomes, with a photograph in.

Six boys, sprawled across the emerald couches of your beloved common room. 

The picture wasn’t recent, probably a couple of years or so before the war, when faces could still look that careless.

Your gaze found him instantly and you felt your lips curve.

Professor Malfoy, frozen at sixteen, all sharp cheekbones and arrogant smirk.

He had been unfairly attractive even then.

But the boy in the frame didn’t hold a candle to the man he’d become.

“What are you doing?”

His voice snapped you out of your thoughts, sharp enough to make you turn, but you didn’t flinch. 

Unlike most, the war had burned surprise out of you. If anything, it left you steadier.

You shrugged, eyes flicking back to the photograph in your hand. 

“I was just wondering… What was this? Some special occasion?”  you asked, noting the formal cut of the suits the six boys wore.

Professor Malfoy followed your gaze, his expression carved in stone, no nostalgia, no emotion. “Not really. It was a random Saturday… Just Slytherins being Slytherins, I suppose.”

The corner of your mouth curved, but the smile faltered when he reached for the picture, fingers brushing against yours to return it to its place on the shelf.

Your skin betrayed you istantly. That usual burn. That ache. Biting at the base of your spine simply because of his nearness.

By now, you had realized the problem wasn’t desire itself. Not really.

Desire had never made you stumble. Never made you weak.

The problem was the impossibility of it, the constant deprivation of a touch you craved too much.

Your failure to contain it, the way it leaked out of you. Through your heartbeat. Through your eyes.

As it did now, when you dared to look at him.

He catched istantly.

The filth of your gaze, seeing far too much.

His jaw tightened, teeth clenching, like he’d felt it too.

“I would probably suggest you drop the course, Yaxley” he said at last, and your stomach sank.

Still, you managed to answer, though your voice wasn’t as steady as you hoped. “Because of the essay? Was it that bad?”

For a moment, he didn’t speak. His eyes shifted to the photograph you’d held a moment ago, then back to you, icy, unrelenting, like they pinned you against the shelves.

“It was bad” he said finally.

“But that’s not the reason.”

Your breath caught. “Then what is it?”

His stare didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened. 

You could see it then, the restraint tearing at the seams.

The hard line of his jaw.. The tension knotting across his shoulders. 

His hand curling into a fist, like he didn’t trust what it might do if it strayed any closer to you.

“I think you know what it is” he whispered.

Yes. You knew damn well what it was.

And for a heartbeat you almost said it out loud.

To speak the words, clear and unflinching: I crave you. I love you. I want you.

The sentences burned at the back of your throat, ready to tear free.

But instead, you said something else entirely.

“I think… I make it harder for you to do your job. I distract you... You can’t hide it as well as you think.”

The words slipped out in a strange collision of cockiness and trembling voice.

“Oh, you think so.” 

“I do think so” you forced out.

The guilty smirk that curved across his mouth made your chest tighten painfully.

“I do have a problem with you, Yaxley. More than I should.” he said.

“It’s not a problem” you shot back, too quickly but his brows drew together, darkening.

“Of course it’s a problem, you foolish girl!" he hissed, the words slicing the air. Any normal person would have lowered their head at that tone, or at least flinched. 

But you didn’t. You held his stare.

You couldn’t tell if it was stubbornness, defiance… or just raw, aching hunger.

He breathed out slowly, the restraint carved into every inch of his face, his mouth pressed into a severe line.

“Do you have any idea what I want to do to you when you give me that look in class?” he murmured, voice low.

Your eyes fluttered shut when his hand rose, stopping just short of your jawline.

Not touching. Never touching. And that was the worst of it. The ache of it.

When you opened your eyes again, his fist was clenched tight, nails biting into his own palm. 

“Get out” he rasped, the words frayed, guttural. 

“Before I forget why I shouldn’t.”

When he moved away, the air suddenly chilled, as if he’d taken all the heat with him.

All you saw was his back as he returned to the desk, sliding your parchment across without so much as a glance. A red T was slashed across it, but you hardly noticed.

You bit your lip, then snatched the parchment from the desk. “I’ll see you in class, then… Professor.”

He didn’t reply. Didn’t even look up, as though you were already gone.

You clenched your teeth, pulse hammering, and left the room in a rush.

The pain throbbed between your thighs, your skin burning.

It was infuriating, humiliating, to be dismissed like that when you knew the rejection was a lie.

Cause he wanted you, and that made everything worse.

You foolish girl.

You had a taste for the forbidden, and that much was certain. A hunger for what you were never supposed to touch.

Just Slytherins being Slytherins, Malfoy would have called it.

It had all started with the stupidest fight of the year. McLaggen had leaned a little too close to Ramona during Charms, and Draco had completely lost it. He called her “provocative,” she told him he was being paranoid, and that word, paranoid, only made him more furious.

They spent the entire week fighting. Snide comments in public, sharp silence in private. And when McLaggen had the audacity to slide his arm around her shoulders in the courtyard, Ramona had closed her eyes. Not just from the disgust of being touched by him, but because she knew she’d have to apologize to Draco, and it annoyed her even more.

But in the end, she did it.

That, and hexed McLaggen for good measure.

Now, the wind was cutting against their cheeks, carrying the scent of damp grass and scorched broomsticks at the Quidditch field.

Next to her, Pansy Parkinson was lazily watching Travers, the new sixth-year Chaser, pass the Quaffle to Avery in a decent arc, decent enough, at least, for someone still learning. Eyes half-lidded, chin resting on her palm, she looked like she was analyzing the game… or simply killing time in the least boring way possible.

After all, with half the school pretending to be interested in “technical observation,” everyone knew it was just an excuse to ogle the sculpted physiques of a few Slytherins in flight.

Behind them sat Melanie Griffin, a fifth-year Slytherin, perched one step up.

When Draco shouted orders toward the new Chasers, Pansy sighed quietly, suddenly remembering.

“So? Did he really break up with you last night?”

Ramona made a vague wave with her hand, eyes still on the pitch. “Yeah. For about forty-five seconds.”

Pansy chuckled, tapping a manicured nail against her lip. “Then he changed his mind?” “Mmh.” A sound. Maybe agreement. A few seconds later, Ramona added, with the same calm tone one might use to comment on the weather: “...Maybe I should try being a bit more docile. And listen, sometimes...”

Pansy smirked. “You can say it out loud, Ray.” Then she turned slightly, expecting a sarcastic look, a smirk, something.

But Ramona’s face was blank. Her eyes still locked on Draco, cutting through the air like he’d been born to own the sky.

Behind them, Melanie sighed in dreamy defeat. “Oh… I wish I had a boyfriend too.”

Pansy whipped around, smirk already sharpening. “Yeah, maybe don’t say that while drooling over Ramona’s.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean... I mean, sure, he’s handsome, but…”

Pansy turned back to Ramona. Still no reaction. No scowl. No glare. Nothing. Weird.

“Grimsby?” she muttered, brow raised. “You feeling alright?”

Ramona gave a small nod, eyes still up. Then, absentmindedly licking her teeth, she blinked slowly. “When he lands, I swear I won’t even let him reach the showers.”

Pansy laughed out loud, clutching her cloak tighter. “Merlin, you’re hopeless.”

Ramona bit the corner of her lip, legs still crossed, hair tousled by the wind. She didn’t care. Her eyes tracked Draco mid-turn, flawless on his Nimbus.

“We’ve been fighting for a full week…” she added, voice calm as if talking about lunch options.

“Thought you slept in his bed last night?”

“I did. But the moment my head hit the pillow I passed out. Three hours of detention with McGonagall will do that to you.”

Pansy raised a brow. “What’d she make you do this time?”

“Scrubbed every first-year cauldron. By hand. No wand. I’ve smelled like burnt mint and brass polish all day.”

Pansy chuckled, nudging Ramona’s ribs. “So you’ve got some… repressed frustration, huh?”

Behind them, Melanie giggled. “Bet you can’t wait to sneak into the locker room once practice is over…” she said, a little too pleased with herself. Then added, smiling wider: “And if you need company, I wouldn’t mind catching a glimpse of Avery shirtless.”

Only then did Ramona turn to her. Slowly. “Draco doesn’t want anyone in the locker room unless they’re on the team.”

She said it coldly, like quoting house law.

Ramona shot Pansy a look, the kind that said: Why exactly did we bring her again? Pansy gave a half-smile.

“Melanie’s working on a… project” Pansy explained. “A little Slytherin archive. Something to pass down. To remind future students what standards mean.”

Ramona’s eyes followed Draco again. “I doubt my sex life qualifies for your historical record” she said flatly.

But Melanie wasn’t phased. She lifted her chin, clearly pleased with herself. “Actually, I think it’s perfect. Who better to represent Slytherin pride than the royal couple?”

Ramona raised a brow, uninterested. But Pansy knew her too well. There were few things Ramona loved more than talking about herself and Draco Malfoy.

“So what kind of questions are you asking?” she asked, gaze still fixed on the pitch.

Melanie sat up straighter, about to launch into a monologue, but Pansy cut in first. “She made a list. ‘Interview Questions for the Slytherin Elite – Seventh Years.’ Stuff like: ‘When did you get your first tailored cloak?’ ‘What’s your morning routine in the dorms?’ ‘How do you uphold your bloodline’s social standard at Hogwarts?’”

Ramona made a face.

“And who’s starring in that tragedy?” Ramona ignored her, eyes still on Draco’s perfect arc.

“Obviously you, me, and Daphne” Pansy replied flatly. “Unless Melanie wants to preserve Millicent Bulstrode’s legacy for future generations.”

Ramona gave her a small smirk.

Just as she did, Melanie froze.

The screech of an incoming Bludger cut the air. Then a hard kick. A blast of wind. A silver Nimbus streaked by, still humming with power. The Bludger slammed into the boundary barrier with a crack that shook the whole stand.

Ramona looked up calmly, locking eyes with Draco, who was anything but calm. Cloak whipping around his ankles like a warning.

“You’re distracted, Grimsby” he said, voice sharp like a reprimand.

Ramona sighed, and waved lazily toward the field. “Still much yelling to do, captain?”

Draco clenched his jaw. “At least another hour. We can’t show up to the match like this. The new ones need to get it together.”

He swerved effortlessly, dodging the two Chasers trailing the Quaffle. Ramona stood with bored elegance, brushing off her skirt. “Well, then I’m leaving before I catch another Bludger to the face. .”

Draco opened his mouth, to protest, maybe, or make a snide remark ,but his eyes slid to Melanie, still staring at him like she was trying to burn his face into memory.

“And who the hell is she?” he barked.

“Melanie Griffin” Pansy said quickly, before Melanie could squeak. “She’s writing a masterpiece on Slytherin House. A reportage, apparently. For posterity.”

Draco raised a brow, unimpressed. But before he could reply, Ramona leaned in, brushing her lips to his ear.

She whispered something. Something Pansy and Melanie couldn’t hear but...it landed.

Draco froze. His eyes darted to the pitch. Then to Ramona. Then back again.

He turned to the team in a sharp snap. “Practice is over! Everyone down. If you haven’t figured out how to fly after an hour and a half, you’re not going to today.”

“But Malfoy...” “Now. Or I’ll knock you off myself.”

The players scattered instantly.

Ramona smirked, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from her sleeve. “See?” she said lightly, her voice like velvet laced with steel.

“He may be furious with me, but he still listens...to the right words.”

Melanie exhaled like she’d forgotten to breathe. “He just...he stopped everything. For you.”

Ramona shrugged, utterly unbothered. “He does that.”