#malfoy!reader

“And why is that?” he asked, his face inching closer to yours, determined to know why you chose snakes over frogs.

"Snakes are far more dangerous," you reply smoothly, a glint of amusement in your eyes. "People might like frogs—some even keep them as pets. But snakes? They strike fear. If you want real panic, snakes will always get you the reaction you're looking for." A slow, knowing smirk curves your lips.

"Wow..." his mouth was now agape instead of that cheeky grin a few moments ago. "You are... wow... that was amazing. You are definitely getting added on my 'people I want to be friends with' list!"

You stare at him, brows furrowed as he rattles on about the people that are on his list.

"I'm Fred by the way!" he exclaimed, his hand extended in front of you, hoping you would shake it.

Your eyes darted away from him to the sound of a trolley just behind him. The colorful cart easily caught your attention more than this boy's hair. You can already smell the chocolate frogs and the sherbet lemon waiting for you to devour them.

'The old lady selling candies!' you thought.

You brushed right past Fred, ignoring his outstretched arm as you marched directly toward the reason you’d left your compartment in the first place.

You could practically feel his glare burning into the back of your head as you neared the trolley where the old witch stood. You didn’t turn around, but you were almost certain you caught the tail end of his muttered complaint:

“Rudest white-haired person ever.”

You rolled your eyes and pretended not to hear him, too focused on piling your arms with every sweet you’d been craving since the train left the station.

⸻

The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall was beautiful, showing a deep twilight sky where stars twinkled softly, matching the real weather outside. The loud whispers of older students bounced off the stone walls—talk of Quidditch, exams, and quiet gossip filled the room, blending with the familiar magic of the castle.

Unlike the other students in your year—their backs slouched, fingers nervously fidgeting—you stood tall, shoulders squared, head held high, and hands calmly poised before you, radiating the composed authority of a headmistress.

You were a Malfoy after all.

But unlike your younger brother—who was cold, dull, and uninterested in anything fun—you were full of life, sharp-witted, and always up for an adventure. Especially when it came to pranking.

Your Father never approved of your foolishness but you never minded him. Your father adored you.

Behind that mischievousness of yours, you understood the importance of blood purity. You swore to your father you would never marry a man that doesn't have clean blood. Your father was proud.

You grew up in a house where your mother would teach you proper etiquettes of a pure blooded woman before you could even read. You carried yourself with proper poise, grace and elegance.

So when you walked through the Great Hall, students' whispers grew rapidly.

"White hair?" "Is she a Malfoy?" "She must be!" "Look at the way she acts, it screams pure blood."

You could hear them talking about you. As they should.

You weren't a mean person. You just... like to boast.

You like to tell people the new things your father bought you. You love to show off. Show off every expensive dress, every polished pair of shoes, every glinting necklace that probably costs more than their family vacations.

It’s not your fault you have taste—and money.

You walk like the hallway is a runway and talk like everyone’s dying to hear what you'll say next. And they usually are. Eyes follow you when you pass, even if it’s just to roll them. Jealousy’s loud like that.

And whenever you prank your little brother and turn out successful, you would tease him for weeks with no end.

"You could never be like me Draco. Father actually smiled when I pranked you. Slightly, but anyway! He's going to buy me more prank stuff from Zonkos that I would use on you!"

Draco would roll his eyes and retreat into one of his classic sulks, convinced your father liked you more than him.

As you reached the front of the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall began calling students one by one to sit on the stool, gently placing the old, tattered Sorting Hat atop their heads.

“HUFFLEPUFF!” the hat bellowed as it touched the head of a boy named Cedric Diggory. Cheers exploded from the Hufflepuff table, the students in yellow welcoming him with proud claps and bright smiles as he made his way over.

Professor McGonagall looked back down on her parchment, "Y/N Malfoy!"

Your breath hitched as your name got called out. You walked up the steps and sat on the stool, the talking hat pressed on your head. It wasn't even a second when the pointed hat shouted "SLYTHERIN!"

You smiled in relief and started to walk towards the sea of students wearing green robes. That was when you locked eyes with a particular red head.

His brows was furrowed as you look him in the eye, a small smile plastered on your lips. He was staring at you with curiosity, his head slightly tilting as he watches you. His eyes looked away from yours as his name got called out.

"Fred Weasley!"

A Weasley, huh. The family your father had always told you to avoid at all costs. Even if they were pure-bloods, they were the biggest blood traitors alive.

Fred jogged up to the stool, his usual grin back in place as the Sorting Hat was placed on his head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" it shouted a second later.

He shot you a wink as he hopped off the stool and ran to join the cheering Gryffindors. You rolled your eyes and were about to look away—until you heard the next name.

"George Weasley!"

You blinked, your head tilting slightly. Another one?

Sure enough, an identical boy stepped forward, the same red hair, same build, same smug grin. Twins. Fantastic. He gave a playful nudge to Fred as he passed him, then sat down and was sorted just as quickly.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The two high-fived as George dropped into the seat beside his brother, both of them stealing a glance across the room toward you. Fred pointed discreetly, clearly whispering something to George, who looked at you, laughed, and nodded as if they were already plotting their next move.

You pressed your lips together, holding back a smile. Two of them. Double the trouble.

This year was going to be interesting.

⸻

Settling into Hogwarts was easier than you thought. Your Slytherin dorm under the Black Lake was cold but pretty, with green light dancing on the stone walls. You unpacked fast, hanging up your best robes and filling your shelves with sweets you bought from the trolley. For once, everything felt right. No strict parents watching you—just freedom and a castle full of chances.

You went to bed with a smug smile, already imagining how fun this year was going to be. And in the back of your mind, you kept replaying that brief encounter with Fred Weasley. The nerve of him… but also, the boldness. You almost admired it.

The next morning, after breakfast, you decided to get a head start on the day and wash up. The bathroom was surprisingly empty, the stone floors chilly beneath your feet as you stepped into one of the stalls. You grabbed the fancy soap you had brought from home—a pure white bar, scented with lavender—and started lathering it onto your hands.

That’s when you noticed it.

A thin, slick shape slithered down your wrist.

You froze.

Another one dropped from the bar of soap and landed with a soft plop on the wet floor. Then another. And another. Before you knew it, tiny snakes—green and black, hissing and coiling—were appearing one by one, wriggling free from the soap like it was some kind of cursed egg.

Your eyes went wide in shock as you dropped the soap, stumbling back against the wall.

“What the—” you muttered, heart racing.

The snakes kept coming, a writhing little pile now forming by the drain. None of them looked dangerous—they were too small to be deadly—but still, the sight was enough to make your skin crawl.

And yet, as the panic settled into irritation, only one name flashed through your mind.

Fred Weasley.

Of course.

You narrowed your eyes, lips twitching into an unwilling smile. That absolute prat must have enchanted your soap when you weren’t looking. You don't know how, but he for sure did!

You almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of it. He asked, you answered, and he delivered—exactly as promised.

“Well played, Weasley,” you muttered under your breath, staring down at the last of the tiny snakes slipping down the drain. “But if you think this means war, you’re absolutely right.”

Because if Fred Weasley wanted to play games… you were more than ready.

After Fred pranked you with those snakes, which he kept denying that it wasn't him—"I swear! It wasn't me!" he stammered, but a small smirk was forming on his lips—you got him back by making his toothpaste spurt out slugs.

"What in the Godric's beard was that Malfoy!" he scowled, storming toward you during breakfast.

"What do you think it was?" you smirked, crossing your arms. "It was payback for your pathetic Snake Spawn soap—the idea you stole from me!"

Fred Weasley didn’t let the slug-toothpaste prank slide—and from that moment on, you both knew it was war.

⸻

It was an ordinary Tuesday afternoon in the Hogwarts library. You sat at a far table, head bent over your parchment, scribbling notes on magical creatures. The air smelled faintly of old books and dust, and the only sounds were the gentle scratching of quills and the occasional creak of a chair. You didn’t even notice Fred Weasley slip in, his bright red hair barely visible behind the tall shelves.

You reached for your ink bottle, dipping your quill without looking. The second the quill touched the liquid, the bottle gave an odd hiss. Frowning, you leaned closer just as the bottle exploded—not with a bang, but a poof of thick, emerald-green smoke that enveloped you entirely. Coughing and spluttering, you waved your hands wildly to clear the cloud, but when it faded, the real horror set in. Your arms, your robes, even your face were stained neon green, glowing faintly under the dim library light.

“Fred Weasley!” you hissed, spinning around—but he was already gone. You stormed out into the corridor, cheeks burning, catching sight of his retreating back as he disappeared around a corner, laughter trailing behind him. You clenched your fists, seething.

The embarrassment was bad enough, but the fact that Fred had done it so effortlessly, so smoothly, infuriated you. Oh, he thought he was clever, did he? Thought you’d just let it go? Not a chance.

That night, lying in bed, you stared up at the canopy, plotting. You weren’t going to rush your revenge—no, you were going to wait, plan, and strike when Fred least expected it.

You replayed his routine in your head: how he swaggered into the Great Hall every morning, always late, always grinning, always taking the same seat beside George. Perfect. You smiled to yourself as you drifted off to sleep, your mind already working on the trap you’d set for the following week.

By the time Friday rolled around, you were ready. You watched from the Slytherin table as Fred sauntered into breakfast, completely unaware of what was coming. Just as he sat in his usual spot, the plate in front of him screamed, loud enough for the whole hall to hear:

“THE UNDERWEAR FRED WEASLEY IS WEARING RIGHT NOW HAS PINK CARTOON DRAGONS ON THEM!”

The Great Hall went silent for a beat—then exploded with laughter. Fred froze, his face turning bright red as he grabbed at the plate, trying to shut it up.

You nearly choked on your pumpkin juice, laughing so hard you had to wipe tears from your eyes. Across the room, you met his gaze with a sweet, innocent smile. “Enjoy your breakfast, Weasley?” you called. Fred’s eyes lit up with that gleam you knew too well.

The prank war had officially begun.

⸻

After your triumphant revenge in the Great Hall, you thought you’d earned at least a few days of peace. But you should have known better—Fred Weasley never let a challenge sit unanswered for long. Sure enough, by midweek, you caught him sneaking glances at you across the corridors, a glimmer of mischief dancing in his eyes. You tried not to let it rattle you, but something inside warned you: Fred was planning something, and he was planning it soon.

The real blow landed in Charms. You were sitting near the front, feeling unusually confident. Professor Flitwick had just posed a question, and your hand shot up without hesitation. “Yes, Miss Malfoy?” Flitwick called brightly. You opened your mouth, ready with the perfect, well-rehearsed answer—and instead of words, a loud quack echoed through the classroom.

You froze. Heat flooded your cheeks as the entire room burst into laughter. Eyes wide, you clamped your mouth shut, blinking furiously. Surely not—surely you hadn’t just—

“Quack,” you tried again, panicking. The sound was even louder this time, like an angry goose. Across the room, Fred was doubled over, shaking with silent laughter, his shoulders trembling as he bit his lip to keep from howling outright.

“Miss Malfoy?” Flitwick asked gently, though even he looked dangerously close to giggling. Mortified, you covered your mouth with both hands and sank low in your seat, glaring daggers at Fred the whole time.

He gave you a little wave and an infuriatingly innocent grin, as if he’d had nothing to do with it. You seethed in silence for the rest of the lesson, burning with embarrassment—but inside, your mind was already racing. Fred thought he’d won? He had no idea who he was messing with.

That night, you lay awake, arms folded behind your head, plotting your next move. You weren’t about to let him win this round. If Fred wanted a prank war, he was going to get one. You smiled darkly to yourself, already imagining the look on his face when you hit back—because this time, you were going to make sure everyone remembered your victory.

After the humiliating Charms class quacking incident, you knew you couldn’t let Fred get away with it. He’d crossed a line — and it was time to hit back, harder. You needed something clever, something unexpected, something that would rattle his pride without hurting a hair on his head… or maybe, you thought slyly, right on his head. That’s when the idea struck you late one night, as you watched Fred swagger past in the corridor, his famously messy red hair sticking up in every direction. Oh yes. His hair was the perfect target.

You spent two days perfecting the potion: harmless, temporary, but utterly impossible to ignore. It would activate on contact — the moment it touched Fred’s hair, it would transform it into a neon, bright pink masterpiece, styled into chaotic spikes that no charm could fix for at least a full day.

The hard part, of course, was slipping it into his shampoo bottle undetected, but you were determined. One well-placed distraction, one quick charm, and the bottle was yours. You switched the contents with a satisfied grin, and the trap was set.

The next morning, you sat casually at the Slytherin table, sipping your pumpkin juice and waiting. The Great Hall buzzed with chatter—until the doors swung open, and Fred Weasley strolled in. And then, slowly, the room fell silent.

One by one, heads turned, eyes widened, and whispers filled the air. Fred blinked, confused, looking around. He frowned as people snickered, nudged each other, pointed. Finally, his hand shot up to his head—and he froze.

His jaw dropped as he yanked a lock of his hair down in front of his eyes, only to stare in horror at the vivid, bright pink. He tugged at another piece, then another, pulling on the spiky strands as George burst into laughter beside him.

Across the hall, you raised your goblet in a smug, silent toast, locking eyes with Fred. His mouth opened in an outraged protest, but he couldn’t even form words. His hands flew up to his hair again, as if sheer willpower could tame the wild spikes.

That entire morning, Fred Weasley was the talk of Hogwarts. People stopped him in the corridors, poked at his hair, and grinned as he passed by, fuming.

You, meanwhile, glided through your day with a satisfied smile, feeling like you’d finally evened the score. But deep down, you knew this wouldn’t be the end. Fred wasn’t the type to back down — not when the game was just getting interesting.

⸻

By third year, the pranks had become legend.

By now, you understood each other’s pranking style well—Fred never struck back immediately. No, he waited, let you drop your guard, and then unleashed something that would leave you shrieking. You just didn’t know when or how.

The answer came one chilly morning when you woke up, stretched lazily in bed, and felt something… odd. There was movement, faint but undeniable, under your blanket.

Blinking blearily, you propped yourself up and slowly peeled back the covers. That was when dozen—no, hundreds—of tiny green frogs came leaping out, landing on your pillow, your nightstand, even right into your lap.

You let out a blood-curdling scream that echoed through the Slytherin dormitory. Your roommates bolted upright, shrieking alongside you as frogs bounced off beds, desks, and curtains, their little webbed feet slapping against the stone floor.

Chaos erupted as girls danced around, trying to dodge the tiny invaders, while you sat frozen in your bed, fury bubbling in your chest. You didn’t even have to think about who was behind this.

Fred found you later that day in the corridor, his grin stretching ear to ear. “Sleep well, Malfoy?” he drawled innocently as he strolled past. You whipped around, eyes blazing, but he was already gone, leaving only his laughter trailing behind him like a victory banner.

Oh, he was delighted with himself — and honestly, you had to admit, it had been a brilliant prank. But you weren’t about to let him have the last laugh.

That evening, as Fred and George made their way up to their dorm, they opened the door—and were immediately hit by a horrible stench. The entire room was overflowing with thick, slimy bubbles that weren’t just foam—they reeked of rotten eggs and old socks. Every surface was coated in sticky, smelly slime that clung to their clothes and hair, making a disgusting squelching sound with every step. The more they tried to wipe it off, the more it spread, leaving their skin itching and their eyes watering.

Fred stormed into the Gryffindor common room later, drenched in stinking goo, his hair matted down, his face twisted with fury. You passed by the open entrance just then, humming cheerfully, and couldn’t resist tossing over your shoulder: “Sweet dreams, Weasley.” You could practically feel his glare burning into your back—and you knew the prank war was only just beginning.

⸻

By the time the Slytherin vs. Hufflepuff Quidditch match rolled around, you were riding high on your latest victory. You’d nailed Fred and George’s dorm with the multiplying bubble charm, and you were sure they were still scrubbing soap out of their ears.

You strolled confidently to the pitch that Saturday morning, bundled in your house colors, ready to cheer on your team with the rest of Slytherin.

The stands were packed, banners waved, and the air was buzzing with energy. You couldn’t help glancing smugly toward the Gryffindor section—where Fred was undoubtedly plotting, but surely, surely not ready yet.

Oh, how wrong you were.

The first hint came when you felt a strange shimmer in the air around you—like the prickle of a spell. You frowned, looking down at your robes just as they poofed—transforming in an instant into a massive, fluffy pink tutu complete with glittering bows and frilly trim.

A horrified gasp escaped your lips as you spun in a circle, trying to make sense of what had happened. The crowd exploded into laughter, students pointing, hooting, clutching their sides as they doubled over. Even the Hufflepuff Beaters flying overhead paused to stare.

You whipped your head toward the Gryffindor stands, and sure enough, there was Fred, laughing so hard he was wiping tears from his eyes. He leaned against George for support, both of them howling with glee as they pointed directly at you.

Your face burned as you glared daggers at Fred, fists clenched at your sides. You yanked at the tutu helplessly, but it stayed stubbornly fixed, sparkling in the sunlight as if mocking you.

By the end of the match, you had sworn revenge. You stormed off the pitch with as much dignity as you could muster, but the laughter followed you all the way back to the castle. That night, as you lay awake in bed, you plotted carefully.

Fred had humiliated you in front of the whole school. This couldn’t be a small response—no, this needed to be legendary. You smiled darkly to yourself, already imagining the chaos you’d unleash at the next Gryffindor match. Let Fred laugh now. His time was coming.

⸻

You spent the entire week before the Gryffindor match planning your masterpiece. After the tutu incident, you knew Fred would be watching his back, so you had to be subtle — quiet, clever, and completely foolproof.

You studied his broomstick when he wasn’t looking, charmed it carefully, triple-checked your work, and then waited.

The pitch was packed on the day of the match, the crowd roaring with excitement as the Gryffindor team zoomed out onto the pitch. You sat calmly in the stands, heart racing, a small, satisfied smile curling on your lips.

Fred flew like he always did — fast, flashy, confident. He soared past the stands, weaving between players, pulling off little stunts just to rile up the crowd.

But then, slowly, the audience’s cheers shifted. The laughter began, rippling through the rows of students like a wave. Heads turned, fingers pointed, and a roar of amusement filled the air. Fred slowed slightly, frowning in confusion — and then glanced back.

Trailing behind his broomstick was a giant banner, magically tethered to the tail. And in enormous shimmering letters, it read:

“PROPERTY OF SLYTHERIN’S PRINCESS.”

Fred’s jaw dropped. His eyes darted up toward the stands—and there you were, lounging comfortably, chin in hand, flashing him a radiant, triumphant smile. You lifted your hand in a mock wave, watching as realization crashed across his face like a tidal wave.

Midair, Fred began twisting and spinning, yanking desperately at the banner, but no matter how he twisted or turned, it stayed firmly attached, fluttering proudly behind him like a royal flag.

The Gryffindor Beaters were doubled over on their brooms, howling with laughter; even the Slytherin players slowed down just to watch the spectacle unfold. The entire stadium roared with delight, students nearly falling out of their seats with laughter.

By the end of the match, Fred landed red-faced and panting, yanking the banner off and storming into the changing rooms. You stayed seated, basking in the victory, knowing full well that you’d just made history in the long-running prank war. B

But deep inside, you also knew Fred wouldn’t let this slide. His pride had taken a hit — and next time, he’d strike back harder. The game was far from over.

⸻

By fourth year, the prank war between you and Fred still hasn't stopped.

First-years whispered about it in the corridors; even the professors exchanged amused glances when your names came up together.

But after your spectacular broom-banner stunt the previous year, Fred had gone unusually quiet. For weeks, you waited, suspicious. Surely, he was planning something. Yet days turned into weeks, and… nothing. You began to relax—maybe he was finally calling a truce.

That was your mistake.

One afternoon in Potions, you were diligently working on your essay, head bent over your parchment, quill scratching away. You dipped your quill into the inkpot — only to have it float just out of reach, hovering playfully in the air.

You frowned, stretching a little farther, but it danced upward again, spinning tauntingly. A flicker of annoyance sparked in your chest.

You stood slightly, reaching — but the quill zipped even higher, twirling right above your head. Suddenly black ink spilled right over you.

He definitely charmed the ink pot because by the time the ink stopped dripping, you were covered from head to toe.

Around you, students began to snicker, and when you shot a sharp look across the room, there was Fred, lounging at his desk, arms folded behind his head, wearing that unmistakable smirk.

By the time class ended, you were fuming. But you didn’t rush to retaliate. No—you waited, planned, prepared.

You spent two days brewing a harmless little potion (with a bit of help from a very amused friend in Ravenclaw), and when the time was right, you slipped it discreetly into Fred’s morning pumpkin juice. The next day, the results were glorious.

Fred burst into the Great Hall, laughing and talking—but every word came out in a ridiculous, high-pitched, chipmunk-like squeak. His eyes widened in horror, and as he tried to speak louder, it only got worse.

The entire Gryffindor table collapsed in laughter, banging fists on the table, tears streaming down their faces. Even Professor McGonagall struggled to keep a straight face when Fred tried to answer her roll call.

You watched the scene unfold from the Slytherin table, coolly sipping your tea, giving Fred a calm little wave. His cheeks were scarlet as he glared at you, voice cracking absurdly as he hissed,

You smiled sweetly. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

⸻

By fifth year, things between you and Fred had reached new heights. The pranks were no longer casual skirmishes — they were full-out battles, planned with military precision.

You both had reputations now: you, the sly Slytherin strategist; Fred, the Gryffindor king of mischief. Neither of you could walk down a corridor without someone whispering, “What do you think they’ll do next?” You’d been planning your next move carefully—but Fred got to you first.

It happened on an ordinary morning, as you confidently strutted through the corridor, feeling untouchable. Suddenly, you felt the sharp tug of a spell.

Before you could even reach for your wand, you were yanked upward, shrieking as you dangled upside down in midair, robes flapping wildly around you.

Students gasped, then burst into laughter, pointing and clapping. You twisted frantically, trying to cover your face, heart hammering in humiliation.

And there was Fred—leaning casually against the wall below you, looking utterly pleased with himself. He grinned up at you, arms crossed, his brown eyes dancing with laughter. “New perspective, Malfoy?” he called, smirking as you fumed and flailed above him.

You shouted at him to put you down this instant, but Fred only chuckled, drawing out the moment until you were red-faced with fury. Finally, with a flick of his wand, he released the spell, and you crumpled ungracefully to the floor.

Oh, you were going to make him regret that.

The next Hogsmeade weekend, you struck back. You waited until Fred was seated comfortably at the Three Broomsticks, surrounded by friends, lifting a butterbeer to his lips — boom — the bottle exploded in his hands, sending sticky foam splashing all over him.

He yelped, startled, but laughed it off — until the second glass exploded. And the third. And the fourth. No matter what glass or bottle he picked up, no matter where he went, the moment butterbeer touched his lips — boom.

By the end of the day, Fred was soaked, hair dripping, robes sticking to his skin as he glowered at you from across the room. You hummed cheerfully as you passed by, offering him a bright, innocent smile.

The war was far from over—and both of you knew it.

⸻

And yet, no matter how ruthless the pranks became, there was always a secret thrill between you—a challenge, a spark. Fred would catch your eye across the room, mischief shining bright, and you’d lift your chin, daring him silently to try again.

Because with Fred Weasley, it was never just a prank war.

It was your thing. And neither of you was planning to stop any time soon.

By sixth year, things between you and Fred Weasley were… complicated. The pranks were still part of your lives, but there was something else now. Something you couldn’t name.

A fluttering in your chest when your eyes met across the Great Hall. A lingering glance after a shared joke. But neither of you said anything, hiding behind the comfort of your prank wars.

And then Fred went and ruined everything.

It all started when Fred and George Weasley decided it would be “fun” to sell love potions to unsuspecting students. The twins had always been known for their mischievous ideas, but this one took the cake.

They had somehow managed to make the potions look like ordinary sweets, luring in the girls of Hogwarts with promises of a little extra charm for their crushes.

But things got weird fast.

First was Seamus Finnigan, who’d never paid you much mind beyond the occasional “Oi, pass the vial.” Out of nowhere, he appeared at your side one morning, holding a crudely folded origami flower. “For you,” he’d said, practically shoving it into your hand. “You’ve got the nicest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

You stared at him, bewildered. “Thanks…?”

Then came Terry Boot, cornering you in the library with a shaky smile and a book of sonnets. “I wrote one. For you,” he blurted, cheeks blazing as he read, voice cracking horribly:

“Your hair is like a broomstick’s sweep, your eyes like—uh—cauldrons deep…”

You snatched the paper away before he could butcher any more.

By the third day, it was full-on chaos. Boys trailed after you like a parade, bringing you ridiculous gifts—fizzing whizzbees, hand-knit scarves, even a foot massage coupon from some over-eager third year.

Anthony Goldstein left enchanted bubbles floating around your head between classes, each one popping with a heart-shaped puff. And one morning, Dean Thomas literally serenaded you at breakfast with a shaky guitar and the most awkward grin you’d ever seen.

Everywhere you went, there they were—dozens of them—pushing, shoving, offering to carry your books or walk you to class. Some you barely even knew.

It was exhausting.

You were cornered by the Black Lake one afternoon when it finally clicked. A group of lovesick boys surrounded you, all chattering over each other.

That’s when you overheard one murmur, “It must’ve been that love potion… Fred said it’d work wonders…”

You froze, eyes narrowing dangerously.

Fred Weasley.

You found him at their little booth that night, selling potions with George, looking smug as ever.

“WEASLEY!” you snapped, storming up to him.

Fred grinned lazily, biting into a chocolate frog. “Evening, Princess. Enjoying all the attention?”

“You complete git!” you hissed. “You did this! Your stupid potions—why are they all in love with me?”

Fred shrugged, feigning innocence. “Funny thing… must’ve been a little cross-contamination. The potions got… mixed up.”

George snorted into his drink. “Mixed up, my arse. You spiked them, Fred.”

Fred elbowed him, eyes sparkling. “Purely accidental, of course.”

You glared at him, seething. “Well, fix it.”

But before Fred could answer, a bold Gryffindor stepped up behind you. “Hey—want to grab a butterbeer at Hogsmeade this weekend?” he asked, puffing out his chest. Before you could react, he reached out and roughly grabbed your face, eyes locked on yours in that same bewitched daze—and leaned in to kiss you.

You gasped, frozen—but Fred was faster.

With a sharp, “OI, BACK OFF!” Fred grabbed the guy by the collar and yanked him back so hard he nearly toppled over a chair.

“Not happening, mate,” Fred growled, stepping protectively in front of you, eyes blazing.

The room fell silent.

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t think it would go this far,” Fred said, his voice serious now.

You stared at him for a moment before answering, your voice icy with frustration. “You went too far, Fred. This is beyond a joke now.”

For the first time, you saw Fred falter. He swallowed hard, then nodded, his usual cheeky grin nowhere to be found. "I know. And I’m going to make it right."

The next morning, you found a neatly folded note on your bedside table:

“I know I went too far. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that chaos. – F.W.”

Beside it sat a small bag of your favorite sweets—the same ones you always got off the trolley on the Hogwarts Express. Your chest tightened as you stared at it, fingers brushing the paper.

You huffed, stuffing the note in your pocket. But later, in Potions, you caught Fred’s eye across the room—and your stomach did that stupid fluttering thing again. You scowled, focusing hard on your cauldron, but couldn’t stop thinking about the note.

The next day, another note appeared tucked into your Transfiguration book:

“I know you’re angry with me, but I can’t help myself. I miss the way we used to mess with each other. I miss the banter, the pranks. And maybe, just maybe, I miss you a little bit too much. – Fred”

Your heart fluttered unexpectedly. You were mad at him. Furious, even. But somehow, those words… they made your frustration feel like a tangled knot in your chest.

You missed him too. The teasing, the way he always knew how to get under your skin, the way he made everything feel exciting.

And the worst part? Every time you looked at him now, your chest felt tight and fluttery, your head full of memories you couldn’t shake.

Later that evening, you sat under the archway outside the Slytherin common room, arms crossed tightly as you watched the lake ripple through the glass wall. You hadn’t heard Draco approach, but suddenly he was there beside you, arms folded and expression sharp.

“You’ve been moody,” he observed.

You didn’t look at him. “Nice to see you too, Dray.”

He raised a brow, then sighed. “Let me guess. Weasley trouble?”

You stiffened. Draco caught that immediately and scoffed.

“Seriously?” he asked, disbelief creeping into his tone. “You’re letting Fred Weasley of all people get under your skin?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“It’s exactly like that,” he said, leaning against the wall beside you. “You’ve been weird for days. Distracted. Flushing like a third year every time someone says his name.”

You rubbed your temple, exasperated. “He’s… he’s just being Fred. Annoying. Charming. Infuriating.”

Draco snorted. “And yet you’re reading his little notes like they’re love poems from Merlin himself.”

“I’m not!” you shot back, but your face betrayed you instantly. Draco tilted his head, eyeing you with an amused smirk.

“He’s reckless,” Draco said, more serious now. “Immature. A walking explosion. You really think someone like that knows how to… I don’t know. Handle someone like you?”

You bit your lip, unsure of what to say. Draco wasn’t being cruel—he was being honest like a true brother could ever be.

“I think…” you began slowly, “I think he sees me in a way most people don’t. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

For once, Draco was quiet. Then, he sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Just don’t let him play you,” he muttered. “You’re more than a prank war.”

You turned your head slightly, studying him. “You almost sound like you care.”

“I do,” he said quietly, eyes on the lake. “I just know how easy it is to fall for someone who makes everything feel like fun—until it’s not.”

The third note came the following night, slipped under your pillow:

“Can’t stop thinking about that look you gave me when I saved you. Never want to see you scared like that again. – Fred”

You hugged your pillow, scowling at yourself, frustrated and flustered. Why did your heart betray you every time? Why did Fred Weasley, of all people, make you feel like this?

Days passed, the awkward tension between you easing little by little, especially with Fred’s persistent peace offerings. Slowly, your anger melted, leaving behind that familiar fondness and something… more.

So when Fred finally cornered you near the entrance of the Great Hall one evening and muttered, “Astronomy Tower. Tonight. Please,” you found yourself nodding—despite the voice in your head screaming danger.

“It better not be another prank, Weasley,” you warned, crossing your arms.

Fred smirked, eyes warm. “Promise. No tricks. Just… meet me.”

That night, you climbed the tower steps, heart thudding painfully. When you reached the top, Fred was there waiting, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking up at the stars.

“You made it,” he said, his grin soft.

“I’m still convinced you’re about to drop a bucket of slugs on me,” you shot back—but there was no venom in your voice now, only teasing.

Fred’s eyes twinkled. “Nah. Too easy.”

He lifted his wand—and the sky exploded.

But this wasn’t any ordinary fireworks display.

First came a soap and it started to spawn snakes. Next, a toothpaste that squirted out slugs.

Then, bubbles—huge, shimmering orbs that floated above the tower, popping into sparkly trails just like the time you’d enchanted Fred's dorm. Then a giant sparkly tutu spiraled through the night sky, glittering silver and pink—the very same tutu Fred had hexed you to wear in the middle of a quidditch match. You laughed despite yourself, eyes shining.

Next, sparkling green and silver snakes slithered across the stars, intertwining with floating butterbeer mugs that frothed and fizzed—exact replicas of the butterbeer you’d once hexed to explode all over him.

A shimmering banner unfurled in the sky, sparkling with the words: “PROPERTY OF SLYTHERIN PRINCESS”—the prank you did with his broom.

One by one, every prank, every memory, every laugh you’d shared burst into glowing shapes above you, dancing against the night sky. Your chest tightened painfully, your eyes misting up.

And finally, in huge, crackling gold letters:

“Let's end this war, but first... Fall for me at Hogsmeade?”

Fred turned, his expression surprisingly vulnerable despite his trademark grin. “No jokes this time. No potions. Just me… asking you the normal way.”

Your heart pounded as you stared at him, overwhelmed. “That’s… honestly the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard,” you whispered, voice shaking.

Fred’s grin widened, eyes locked on yours. “Yeah, but admit it—you love it.”

You shook your head, laughing softly despite the tears pricking your eyes. “You’re unbelievable.”

“So… is that a yes?”

Your breath hitched, chest aching with everything you’d been holding back for years.

“Yeah, Weasley. It’s a yes.”

And when Fred pulled you into the warmest, stupidest, most wonderful hug in the world—fireworks still echoing above you—you realized something terrifying and exhilarating all at once:

You’d fallen long before this firework show. You just hadn’t admitted it until now.

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

Sanctimonia Vincet Semper. Toujours Pur.

Purity Always Conquers. Always Pure.

The two unyielding, unwreckable marble columns the House of the Malfoy based themselves on. The true fundamentals of their whole education, their whole thinking. Them whole.

Narcissa Malfoy née Black. A respectable and most importantly elegant woman, raised under the iron fist and scrutiny of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. The epitome of elegance, properness and the ideal pureblood woman.

Lucius Malfoy. Son and heir to Abraxas Malfoy, one of the most influential families of all Britain. Him, too, was a magnificent example of pureblood man. He had power, he had powerful allies. Was ranked high in the Ministry of Magic.

Centuries of blood purity, power, money and reputation passed over their children. Draco Lucius Malfoy and his twin sister. Their futures had already been written and planned way before their birth. They were expected to continue the tradition, to uphold the family reputation. To surpass their ancestors, even. And that, of course, came with strict rules, made to preserve the Malfoy prestige.

In any situation, no associations with muggle–borns and half–bloods. The two often united under one same category: Mudbloods. The disgrace to the wizard society, that the superior race had yet to demolish. And since no one had succeeded in doing so in the past, they had to do everything in their power to aid the one courageous wizard that was putting himself on the line.

The Malfoys, loyal followers of the feared Tom Marvolo Riddle. You–Know–Who, He–Who–Must–Not–Be–Named, the Dark Lord. He had many names, and every single one held every wizard by the neck, slowly choking and dying.

Yet, the two columns of the family of the Malfoys unexpectedly crumbled down on the first of September of 1991. Their beliefs shattered like glass beads the moment their female heir was sorted into Gryffondor. It was an unspoken rule between the Sacred Twenty–Eight. Get sorted in Salazar's Slytherin house. There wasn't another choice. Either in Slytherin, or in Slytherin.

Nevertheless, their only daughter had accomplished the impossible. Few before her wore a red tie in her family, and none had a happy ending. Sirius Orion Black the Third. Burned off the family tapestry, erased from their memory and from the fund, disowned.

While others, like Andromeda and Cedrella Black. Blasted off and disowned for marrying respectively a muggle and a blood traitor. No mercy was reserved for who was to transgress the pureblood rules.

Would the same fate befall her? Would she be scrutinized over something she couldn't control?

She was never quite like her family. Never quite like her brother. She did what she had to, head down and quiet. However, in the intimacy of the deepest place of her heart, she knew she was different. And she was proven right when she parted from her brother to stand with the red lions.

Silence followed. No arguments, no shouts. Silence. The kind that creeps in your bones, cold shivers constantly running down the back, down to her feet. Displeased looks on her parents’ porcelain faces, the slightest frowns whenever she was in the room. Utter disgust from her brother, Draco. Sneers and insults were the only way he'd acknowledge her ever since.

From her housemates, too, uncomfortable stares and silence arrived. The older ones made no move to acknowledge her presence in the common room. The younger ones avoided her like the plague. Inside the Gryffindor Tower, whispers of her being an outcast flowed every night and day. Her family were all poisonous snakes, uptight and racist. Following their reasoning, she must have been one too.

And for the first three years of Hogwarts, she was alone. Truly alone. Not a single student had tried to give her a chance, to prove herself different. And she was certain of it. She wasn't like them.

Then, came Fourth Year with the Triwizard Tournament and the Yule Ball. With Harry Potter being roped into participating, despite being underage, and the threat of Death looming over their heads, every day closer than ever.

This was the year she got her first, true friends. The Golden Trio, unexpectedly. They had been trying to help Harry decipher the Egg’s clue, digging into every possible book they could find that vaguely talked about screeching sounds. And that's where the Malfoy female heir came into the picture. She had been the one to suggest it was the merpeople language, to their surprise. And to their further surprise, she had been right all along, and Harry was able to get the clue for the second task.

That help was what made her part of the group. The Golden Quartet. Many looked upon them, sending them confused or weirded out glances. It's not everyday you see a Malfoy willingly befriending muggle–borns, blood traitors and half–bloods. Indeed, Hogwarts wasn't used to see a platinum head running around with Potter, Weasley and Granger.

Hermione, even if a tad hesitant at first, had become her best friend. Being the only girls, brought them closer and made them confidants. They lended notes, swapped essays and occasionally helped each other out with more feminine problems.

With Ron, it was pretty rocky in the first period. He was the one who knew better how her whole family acted, and thought of his family. It was difficult for him to wrap his head around the fact that she wasn't like them at all. Perhaps, the only thing she picked up was the etiquette expected from the Sacred Twenty-Eight. But once he got to terms with it, to him she was just like everyone else. One of his best friends.

Harry, though… They were friends, alright. However, in their group there was this unspoken thing that they were something more. The fleeting glances, the caring acts and jokes went over friendship. Ron, Hermione, and even them knew it. It was just never brought up.

Except on the Yule Ball night. Harry had invited her, in need of a partner to open the dance with, as one of the champions. And she had been the obvious choice. Though, not the first one. Only after Ron’s encouragement– that sounded more like complaints to Harry– he had given in and asked her to be his date.

The night had been one of her favorites in her whole life. Alright, Harry had stomped over her heels a couple of times, but he apologised with one of his lopsided awkward grins, and she knew she couldn't hold him accountable. That night, too, had been the first time they've talked about their special friendship. The conversation was short–lived, only coming to the conclusion that they were the only ones for each other before sharing a shy, first kiss.

Things only escalated from that time onward. She and Harry never went official. Until sixth year, when they realised that Hogwarts and London were becoming a dark place, with little hope left for wizards. Indeed, her ancestors' dream was on the right path to become real.

Sixth Year was also the year she had been dreading for since eleven. Her disownment. Harry Potter being her boyfriend had been the straw that broke the camel's back for her parents, on top of refusing the Dark Mark.

And though, a Potter and a Malfoy were united by love. A half-blood and a pureblood. Star–crossed lover. Romeo and Juliet.

The Wizarding World was on its way to end. Pureblood supremacy had the upper hand. The Dark Lord had it in his grasp once again.

Sanctimonia Vincet Semper.

“We should get up.” Neville mumbles against the shell of your ear, yet despite his words, his arm tightens around your waist.

“The game will be starting soon.” You hum quietly, turning the page of your book.

The Gryffindor common room unusually quiet as nearly the entire house filled the quidditch stands. The dark unused fireplace howled with cheers as students from all houses cheered for their favorite team.

“I know but it's so comfy here.” You whisper, eyes finally pulling away from your book to look at your him. Neville’s poor heart stutters at your natural beauty.

He heard the envious whispers, the girls who wished they had an ounce of beauty you effortlessly had or the guys who wanted you just for you look.

Neville smiles, closing the distance between. Soft lips press against yours as his hand tilts your head up further.

He was lucky, getting to have this version of you all to himself. The one who enjoyed reading, your hair pulled together into a messy bun, dressed in your prettiest pair of jean skirts, in his shirt.

Pressing one last kiss to your lips, Neville pulls back. “Your brother will avada me if you miss this game.” You giggle, kissing his cheek. “I'll save you."

This is how the entire morning had gone. Plans to get up from the sofa but never followed through. Small kisses pressed to the nearest body part as you continued reading your book. A perfect morning, if anyone asked Neville.

But today was the most anticipated match of the year. Gryffindor vs Slytherin for the house cup. Harry and Ron would be disappointed if he missed it and your brother would be furious if you missed it, claiming you always choose the lions over your own house.

Neville's cheeks flush a similar color to his shirt on you, the ghost of your lips linger on his skin, like a silent promise. Your words echo in his head.

“Even if he does, it'll be worth it,” Neville murmurs, looping his finger through your belt loop, guiding you onto his lap. Your finger threads through his hair, tugging gently at the small tangles as he cups your cheek. “You will always be worth it.”

And if Slytherin wins, which they do, maybe just maybe Draco will spare Longbottom, especially if he finds the two of them fast asleep in the lion's den.

Draco shakes his head, huffing. Even in his sleep, Neville holds onto you, scared you might disappear. Your back pressed against the back of the sofa as you curled into the Gryffindor’s chest. His arm wrapped tightly around your waist as if he was ready to send you.

“He loves her.” Hermione whispers, smiling from her spot on the arm chair. Draco tsks. “Whatever.”

------------------------------------------------

Theodore Nott wasn’t the type to openly express his feelings, least of all to someone like her. Y/N was a Malfoy, after all, and despite their shared house and mutual acquaintances, there was an unspoken divide between them.

Theodore Nott and Y/N Malfoy had always known each other, and their families had been good friends for many years. Growing up, they were frequently dragged together at family gatherings, whether at Malfoy Manor or in the gardens of the Nott estate.

Theodore remembered her as a little girl, a bit shy but was always the first to stand up for what she believed in, always the first to make sure he wasn’t left out of games or conversations, and always the first to offer a hug when things weren’t going well. He especially remembered her as the one who rushed up to him the first time she saw him after his mother had died. It was the first time, after his mother, he had ever received a hug from anyone. And that stook to him. 

But when they entered Hogwarts, everything changed. As Theodore and Draco were in the same year, they entered first, meaning it had been a few months before he got to see the young Malfoy again. They weren’t particularly close, no. So, they had no reason to keep up with each other’s business. 

The following year, as the young Malfoy entered Hogwarts, Y/N, like Draco, seemed to easily settle into her role in the Slytherin House—charming, sharp-tongued, with a quiet confidence. She wasn’t like the little Y/N he had once known when they were younger. She felt different. Like a little flower waiting to blossom.

With Draco being a protective brother, the young Malfoy quickly became a part of Draco’s inner circle with him, Blaise, and Pansy. 

Despite being in the same friend group for a couple of years, Theodore always felt that she was untouchable, in a way—too much of her family’s reputation clung to her for him to ever really consider her an equal.  Not to mention that she was his best friend’s little sister.

Yet today… there was something different. As she moved down the hall, her gaze still hovering on him for just a heartbeat longer than necessary, Theodore couldn’t help but feel like there was more to Y/N than the icy, untouchable Malfoy name. Her smile was fleeting, but it made him question everything he had assumed about the youngest Malfoy.

“Are you going to stare at that book all day, Nott?” Her tone was teasing, light, but there was an underlying note of something more—something that hinted she had noticed his attention.

His heart skipped, and he quickly looked up, startled. "I… uh, wasn’t staring at the book," he said quickly, unsure how to respond.

Malfoy smirked, clearly entertained by his flustered response. “I’m sure,” she said with a raised eyebrow, her tone dipping into something more challenging.

“Anyways,” she started, “I heard you’re not coming to the Hogsmeade trip again. Why so?” 

“I’m…uh…busy.” 

The girl scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Busy with what? Staring at another book?” 

“I…”

Theodore heard the girl groan.

“Come on, Theo, don’t you want to spend some time with us? With me?” Y/N asked, her gaze on him lingering for a few beats. 

Theodore's cheeks flushed, but he couldn't help but admire her boldness. It wasn't just that she had taken him off guard; it was also that she appeared so at ease with herself, so confident in her demeanor. She didn't need to prove anything to anybody, which was both frustrating and intriguing.

"I didn't know you wanted me to be there," he eventually mumbled, the words escaping before he could stop them. He quickly regretted it, although Y/N did not appear offended. Instead, she inclined her head, examining him briefly, her look softening somewhat.

"Well, of course, Theo," she said, her voice still light but with an edge that indicated she wasn't completely dismissive. "You are our friend after all." 

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Theodore felt out of place as he walked through the snow-covered streets of Hogsmeade, the air frigid and sharp against his skin. He'd spent the last few weeks avoiding this—and everyone. But something had changed. It was something about Y/N and how she approached and invited him to join. He had been reluctant, questioning if he was ready for the social engagement. But now, with the wind cutting his cheeks and the promise of Y/N's grin waiting for him, he was determined to overcome his second thoughts.

When he spotted the group outside the Three Broomsticks, the first thing that struck him was how normal they all looked, standing together, chatting and laughing as if nothing had changed.

Draco was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed in his trademark pose, while Blaise stood nearby, looking far more interested in the weather than in the conversation. Pansy was standing just a little farther down, her laughter carrying in the cold air, and Y/N was beside her, looking effortlessly calm, her eyes scanning the crowd.

As Theodore drew closer, Draco was the first to notice him. He straightened up and blinked in surprise. “Nott? You’re actually here?”

Theodore smiled a little awkwardly and nodded. “Yeah. Thought I’d join you lot for once.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised, but there was no mocking in his voice. “You’ve been a bit of a ghost lately. Didn’t think you’d show up.”

Theodore shrugged, trying to downplay his nerves. “Guess I just needed a change. Why not join the fun for once?”

Blaise, who had been watching the exchange silently, finally spoke up. “Well, well. The reclusive Theodore Nott emerges from the shadows.” His tone was teasing, but there was no real judgment behind it. Blaise knew Theodore well enough to tell when something was up.

Theodore chuckled but his gaze shifted to the young Malfoy, and his heart skipped a beat.

She looked at him with a warm stare as if she wasn't surprised to find him here. Something about how she looked made him feel like he belonged, as if his hesitancy and distance had been rewarded only for this moment.

The girl smiled, her lips curving gently as she stepped toward him. “I’m glad you came,” she said, her voice quieter than the others, but her words carried a warmth that sent a shiver through him. “We’ve missed you.”

Theodore swallowed, feeling a little embarrassed by how his chest tightened at her words. “I’ve missed you all too,” he said, his voice unexpectedly soft as he gently looked at the young Malfoy. He realized then that he hadn’t been missing just the group but the feeling of belonging with them—of being able to be himself without pretending.

Pansy, ever observant, smirked at the exchange, her sharp eyes catching the subtle way they looked at each other. “Interesting. Finally dragged him out of his cave, Malfoy?”

The girl rolled her eyes, but the smile never left her face. “Not everything’s a game, Pansy.”

“Clearly,” Pansy teased, but her voice was light, playful.

Draco, still standing nearby, was watching Theodore closely. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—curiosity, maybe—but he didn’t comment further. Instead, he clapped Theodore on the back, more out of habit than anything else. “Well, now that you’re here, don’t expect to be left out of anything. Let’s get inside and warm up.”

Theodore trailed behind Y/N as they entered the Three Broomsticks, embracing the comfort of the fire as soon as he did so. 

He looked around at the busy pub, but his focus kept returning to her. She was standing next to him, close enough that he could feel the soft brush of her sleeve against his arm.

Theodore was unsure what had changed. He had no idea how things had changed so quickly, but now they were together, surrounded by friends, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was exactly where he needed to be.

As they settled at a table, the usual banter started up again. Draco and Blaise were arguing about something trivial, Pansy was making her usual sarcastic comments, and Y/N was laughing quietly at it all.

But Theodore found himself watching her, how she smiled, and her eyes sparkled when she laughed. There was something so easy and effortless about her presence, something that made him feel at home.

At that moment, he realized that showing up today was the right choice. He wasn’t just there for fun; he was there because he wanted to be. And more importantly, he wanted to be there with her.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Theodore found himself sitting alone at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, pushing his food around without really eating. His mind is elsewhere, and his usually calm demeanor has shifted to a kind of quiet detachment. He looks pale, his eyes a little duller than usual, as though he’s carrying a heavy weight no one else can see. 

Y/N, seated at the opposite end of the table, can't help but notice. She studies him for a minute, sensing something is wrong but unsure how to approach him.

After a while, she stands up and walks over to Theodore’s side of the table, slipping into the seat next to him. He doesn’t look up at her immediately, but she can feel the tension from him.

“Hey,” she says softly, her voice gentle but firm, not wanting to startle him. “You’ve hardly touched your food.”

Theodore flinches slightly as if her voice pulled him out of some distant thought. He forces a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not really hungry,” he mutters, his tone clipped and almost dismissive.

The girl studies him closely, catching the way his fingers are gripping the edge of his plate tightly, his knuckles slightly white. She knows Theodore well enough to recognize the signs. There’s something deeper going on—something more personal than just not feeling hungry.

“It’s okay to not be okay, you know,” The girl says quietly, her voice low so only he can hear. She leans in slightly, trying to make him feel comfortable. “You don’t have to pretend everything’s fine.”

Theodore shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze dropping to his hands. His heart is heavy, and the grief of losing his mother years ago still stings in ways he doesn’t often let himself feel. It’s the anniversary of her death, and he’s been trying to keep himself busy, to bury the sadness deep within him.

He’s unsure how to express this grief, especially not to anyone at Hogwarts—especially not to Y/N Malfoy, who always seems so put together.

“I’m fine,” he says quickly, but his voice wavers slightly. It’s a lie, and he knows it, but he can’t bring himself to admit it. Not here, not now.

Y/N doesn’t push, but she doesn’t back off either. She knows when to give someone space and when to offer comfort gently. 

She watches him for a moment longer, then says softly, “You don’t have to hide it, Theodore. You don’t need to be the strong, silent type all the time.”

Theodore feels a pang in his chest at her words, their raw vulnerability cutting through his carefully constructed walls. He’s always been the quiet one, the one who keeps his emotions buried. But Y/N sees right through him, making him feel exposed, almost too fragile.

“I don’t… want to burden anyone,” he admits quietly, his voice low. “I don’t want anyone to see… how much it still hurts.”

Y/N’s heart softens at his words, and she reaches out gently, placing her hand over his on the table. The gesture is simple but sincere, an unspoken offer of support. “You’re not burdening me,” she says quietly. “You don’t have to carry everything on your own, you know. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

Theodore tenses at the touch, but there’s no bitterness in it. He doesn’t pull away, but the vulnerability is too much to handle all at once. He takes a deep breath as if trying to steady himself, but his chest tightens. “It’s… hard. I don’t know how to talk about it.”

The girl squeezes his hand, her touch reassuring and firm. “I’m not asking you to talk about it if you don’t want to. But you can share what you feel whenever you’re ready.”

Theodore looks up at her, then meets her gaze for the first time since she has sat down. Her eyes are warm and understanding, and she expresses quiet support. She doesn’t expect anything from him, making the moment feel safe.

His heart beats a little faster as he realizes that Y/N isn't judging him despite how difficult this moment is. She’s offering him the space to simply be.

“I don’t know how to do this…” he murmurs, his voice trembling slightly. “I don’t know how to let people in like that.”

The girl gives him a small, understanding smile. “You don’t have to have it all figured out right now. But I’m here for you, Theodore. Whenever you’re ready.”

For a long moment, Theodore doesn’t speak. He just sits there, feeling the weight of his grief, the warmth of her hand still over his. It’s comforting, in a way he doesn’t fully understand yet. Slowly, the tightness in his chest begins to ease, though it doesn’t go away entirely. For the first time, he doesn’t feel like he has to bury everything deep down. He doesn’t have to hide.

“Thank you,” he finally says, his voice barely a whisper.

Y/N simply nods, her hand still resting over his, offering the quiet reassurance that she’ll be there for him, no matter how much he chooses to share.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Theodore, once withdrawn and shy, now spends almost every free moment with Y/N. Maybe even more than he spends time with Draco and Blaise. 

They study together, talk about their dreams and worries, and share moments of quiet companionship. There are still times when Theodore retreats into himself, but Y/N has learned to recognize the signs. She gives him the space he needs without pushing, and when he’s ready to talk, she’s there.

Theodore leans back into the couch, his feet resting on the edge of a table, hands folded across his chest. His posture is relaxed, no longer the stiff, withdrawn figure he used to be when he first arrived at Hogwarts. Sitting beside him with her legs tucked under her, Y/N smiles as they talk about everything and nothing at all.

“You know,” The girl says, grinning mischievously, “I’ve never understood why you’re so good at Potions, but I can never get a single spell right without accidentally turning something into a pile of mush.”

Theodore laughs quietly, the sound surprisingly light. “It’s all about concentration,” he says, voice teasing but warm. “You need to focus. You’re too easily distracted.”

The girl raises an eyebrow. “Says the guy who once spilled an entire cauldron of Veritaserum because he got distracted by a book.”

Theodore chuckles at the memory, shaking his head. “I didn’t spill it because I was distracted! I just... didn’t realize the book had melted into the cauldron.”

Y/N laughs, and it’s a full, genuine laugh that fills the room. Moments like this make Theodore realize how much his friendship with her has changed him. She’s never judged him for his quirks or awkwardness; she’s simply accepted him for who he is, even if he’s sometimes a little scatterbrained.

“It’s honestly refreshing,” Y/N continues, “having a best friend who can make me laugh. You’ve got a dry sense of humor, but it works.”

Theodore smiles, but there's something more in his gaze—a soft affection. “I’m glad you think so.”

He glanced over at her. “You know, for someone who’s always so guarded, you’re surprisingly easy to talk to.”

She scoffed, but there was no bite in it. “You think so?”

He nodded, his smile faltering slightly. “Yeah. You get me, Malfoy. It’s… not something I’m used to.”

She glanced up at him. “I get you?”

Theodore’s usual air of cool detachment was replaced by something softer, something almost vulnerable. “Yeah. You do. And I get you, too. It’s…” He faltered as though struggling to find the right words. “It’s easy with you.”

“I don’t think I could have gotten through everything without you,” Theodore says, his voice quieter, more serious. “You’ve been there for me when I needed someone the most, even when you didn’t know how to help. You always know exactly when to just... listen. Or sit in silence with me.”

“I’m glad,” she said quietly, her voice soft.

They continued sitting in comfortable silence, the weight of their conversation hanging between them. There’s a brief pause, a shared understanding between them. They don’t need to say much more.

She wasn’t just the friend he had relied on for the past few months—she was the person who made him feel seen, understood, and… well, maybe more than just a friend. Theodore wasn’t sure yet.

The silence between the two friends was broken when Pansy saunters into the Slytherin dungeons, her sharp eyes darting between Y/N and Theodore as she took her place across them together with Blaise. 

"So, when's the big confession happening, hmm?" She teased. 

The young Malfoy laughed at her friend’s antics.

"What?" Theodore asks.

Pansy rolled her eyes at the response. "Come on, you two. We’ve all noticed it. You’re practically joined at the hip these days." 

 "Oh, please, Pansy. It’s just friendship." Y/N tried to convince. 

"Sure, just friendship. You two have spent nearly every waking moment together for the past year. It's definitely just friendship."

Theodore and Y/N exchange a glance, both slightly flushed but unwilling to admit anything.

Their friendship has always been easy, natural, but lately, there's been something more—something neither of them has quite figured out yet. The teasing from their friends only makes them more aware of it, but neither is quite ready to confront the possibility that it might be more than just friendship.

"Honestly, you two are impossible," Blaise muttered. 

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Theodore’s chest tightened as he watched the stranger lean in toward Y/N, his hand brushing her arm casually as he spoke. She laughed, the sound soft and familiar, but the sight of her so at ease with someone else sent a wave of jealousy surging through Theodore’s veins.

He turned away sharply, gripping the bar's edge until his knuckles turned white.

This wasn’t fair.

Y/N had every right to talk to whomever she wanted. She wasn’t his. She’d never been his. And yet, the idea of someone else taking his place in her life was unbearable.

“Someone looks like they’re about to explode,” Pansy drawled as she slid beside him, putting on her gloves. “What’s the matter, Nott? Can’t stand the competition?”

“Not now, Pansy,” he muttered, not even glancing her way.

She smirked, clearly delighted by his discomfort. “You know, Nott, for someone so clever, you’re absolutely hopeless. Honestly, how many more boys asking her out, will it take before you admit you like her?”

Theodore’s jaw tightened. “I’m not—I don’t believe in love.”

It's true.

Theodore didn’t believe in love.

He didn’t believe in feelings, in general.

Growing up without the presence of his mother, Theodore’s father needed to emphasize and demand that love doesn’t exist. And this was proven true when his own father didn’t even show up to his mother’s funeral.

“Save it,” she interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “We all see it. You’ve been pining for months. The only person who doesn’t know is Y/N herself. Or maybe…you’re the only one unaware of it.”

His silence was answer enough.

Pansy leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “You know, if you keep standing here brooding like some tragic hero, you’re going to lose her. Maybe it’s time you did something about it.”

Theodore’s eyes flicked toward the Malfoy girl again. She was still talking to the stranger, her smile easy and genuine. He hated how natural they looked together as if there was no room for him in her world anymore.

“Do something like what?” he asked bitterly. “Interrupt their conversation and declare my undying love? That’ll go over well.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “You’re hopeless. But fine, keep sulking. Just don’t be surprised when someone else sweeps her off her feet while you’re busy hiding in the shadows.”

With that, she slipped away, catching sight of Blaise as they headed together to meet Draco, leaving Theodore alone with his thoughts as he stared at the young Malfoy.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The evening at the Three Broomsticks was winding down, and the company was unwinding after a few rounds of butterbeer. The warmth of the fire and the murmur of laughter filled the room, but as the clock struck later in the evening, the talk inevitably moved on to the approaching Yule Ball.

Draco, who had been taking in his drink as he listened to Pansy discuss prospective clothing options, smirked at Blaise. "So, are you intending to attend the Yule Ball this year, or are you avoiding it for some other strange reason, like you did last year?" 

Blaise rolled his eyes but didn't appear offended. "I am going, of course. I have a few possibilities. Not all of us have to scurry for a date like some people." He gave Draco a playful look, who shrugged unconcernedly.

"Right," Draco murmured, turning his attention to Theodore sitting next to his sister. "What about you, Theodore? Have you planned a date for the ball, or will you sit this one out as usual?" 

“I don’t plan on going,” Theodore said, his voice casual. “It’s not really my thing. Besides, I don’t have the energy to pretend to enjoy that sort of thing.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “You really are a buzzkill, aren’t you? It’s one night, Theo. A chance to get dressed up and show off a little. You could at least think about it.” He glanced at his sister momentarily as if daring her to chime in.

Before Theodore could respond, he noticed Y/N, who had been quietly watching the conversation unfold, was now looking at him with a faint frown.

“What about you, little Malfoy?” Blaise asked, turning his attention to her. “You planning on going?”

The girl nodded. “I am, actually,” she said lightly, glancing at Theodore. “But Theo,” she added, her voice soft but firm, “you should reconsider. You should go. It’s your last chance to have fun, enjoy the music, and dance. You can’t just skip it because it’s ‘not your thing.’”

Theodore, who had been about to protest, looked at her. Her eyes were serious, and a kindness in her expression made something shift inside him.

He’d never thought about the Yule Ball as something he could enjoy, but Y/N was looking at him as if it was necessary as if it was important for him to go.

“I don’t know, Y/N,” he replied, his voice quieter. “It’s just not my scene. You know how I am with those things.”

“I do,” She said, her voice softening. She leaned a little closer, her hand brushing against his on the table. “But this isn’t just about going to a ball. It’s about having fun with your friends. You don’t have to have everything figured out or be the life of the party. Just go for the night. You don’t want to regret it later.”

Her words were sincere, and for a moment, Theodore felt something warm in his chest. How she looked at him, almost as if she could see through all the walls he’d built up around himself, made him reconsider.

“Come on, Theo,” Draco chimed in with a smirk. “You can’t possibly say no after Y/N’s given her stamp of approval. It’s practically an order.”

Blaise added, “You might actually have fun, you know. And who knows? Maybe someone will ask you to dance.”

Theodore snorted, though it was more out of surprise at the direction the conversation had taken than anything else. “You think I’d get asked to dance?” he said, his tone a little more teasing than usual, but his voice had a hint of self-consciousness.

“Of course,” Y/N said with a playful grin, her hand lightly resting on his. “Anyone would be lucky to have you as a dance partner.”

Her words were simple, but they made his heart race.

He didn’t know why, but hearing her say that made the idea of the ball seem less like a burden and more like something he might actually enjoy—especially if she was going to be there.

“Alright, fine,” he finally relented, glancing at the young Malfoy. “I’ll think about it. But I’m not promising I’ll enjoy it.”

“You will,” she said, her smile lighting up her face. “Trust me.”

There was a small pause as the group resumed chatting, but Theodore’s mind was no longer on the conversation. Instead, he found himself thinking about the Yule Ball in a new light.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe it could even be fun.

And, if nothing else, he’d get to spend the evening with Y/N and the rest of his friends.

He looked at her then, really looked at her, and for the first time, he understood. She wasn’t asking him to transform into someone he wasn’t. She wasn’t asking him to be the life of the party or to pretend to enjoy every aspect of the night. She was just asking him to show up. To be there with the people who mattered, to make memories that, for once, didn’t revolve around his usual reluctance to engage in things like this.

For a moment, Theodore just stared at her, the warmth of the lights flickering in her eyes. He felt that familiar tug in his chest, that sensation of something more than just friendship. But he didn’t let it show, not yet. He wasn’t ready for that conversation.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

The girl smiled and shook her head. “Nope. You’re going to the ball, Theo. And you’re going to have a good time. We’ll make sure of it.”

He sighed, but the corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “Alright, fine. I’ll go. But only because you said so.”

Y/N grinned, her eyes lighting up. “I knew you’d come around.”

Blaise coughed. “Softie.” He muttered, shaking his head. 

“Shut up, Blaise.” 

He wasn’t sure what he expected to happen, but as the snow continued to fall outside, he realized that this might just be the start of something unexpected—something he wasn’t ready to let go of just yet.

Y/N had a way of making everything seem possible, and for the first time in a long while, Theodore was starting to believe it.

Blaise wasn’t wrong, though. Theodore might have had a soft spot for the young Malfoy.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The Yule Ball was well underway, with the Great Hall sparkling beneath a canopy of floating golden stars, their gentle light reflecting off the magical ice sculptures dispersed across the hall. Students at Hogwarts moved in bunches.

The anticipation was apparent as rich, colorful dresses whirled beneath the dazzling floating candle lights. The air was filled with a subtle buzz of music, the delicate sounds of the orchestra flowing over the room, and laughing that seemed to come from everyone.

Y/N Malfoy stood near the entrance, her figure effortlessly poised in a gown of silver silk that shimmered with each movement. The dress hugged her form perfectly, a subtle tribute to her aristocratic lineage, but the soft drape of the fabric gave her an almost ethereal quality, as though she were more a figure from a painting than a living person. Her hair was styled in an elegant updo, small curls framing her face, as her eyes scanned the room.

Theodore Nott lingered near the refreshment table, quietly observing the swirling crowd. Unlike his peers, he didn’t seek the spotlight. His tailored black robes were simple but elegant. In usual Theodore fashion, the boy preferred the edges of the room, where he could avoid unnecessary chatter and instead focus on the rhythm of the night.

“You look like you’d rather be anywhere else,” The girl teased as she approached him, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

“Not anywhere,” Theodore replied, his voice calm and steady. “Just somewhere quieter.” 

He tilted his head slightly. “And you? Surely, the Malfoy princess enjoys a night like this.”

The girl hummed in response, shrugging nonchalantly.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Theodore continued to stand off to the side throughout the Yule Ball, his eyes drifting over the swirling crowd. The music was loud, the flickering candles cast a warm glow across the room, and the students' laughter filled the air. But in the middle of it all, his gaze was fixed on one person-Y/N.

Blaise tilted his head, his dark eyes scanning the crowd with a bored yet calculating air. “You’ve been staring at her all night, Theo,” he said smoothly, his voice low enough to avoid prying ears.

Theodore didn’t look away from where Y/N Malfoy stood, laughing lightly at Pansy's judging words directed towards Harry Potter and his unfortunate date. The girl's smile was radiant, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she exchanged playful banter with Pansy. 

Theodore felt his chest tighten as he watched her, unable to look away. The way she laughed and how her eyes lit up when she was genuinely happy. It was all so mesmerizing.

With a jolt, he realized that he hadn't just noticed how beautiful she was; he had fallen for it.

For her.

“I have not,” Theodore replied evenly, though his tone lacked conviction.

Blaise chuckled, taking a leisurely sip from his goblet. “Right. You’re just monitoring the general well-being of the crowd. Completely selfless of you.”

Theodore finally tore his gaze away, fixing Blaise with a sharp look. “What do you want me to say?”

Blaise raised a brow, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe something like, ‘Y/N looks stunning tonight, and it’s driving me mad watching her spend time with someone else.’”

Theodore frowned, his grip tightening on his goblet. “She does look stunning,” he admitted quietly, his voice carrying a rare softness.

“Understatement of the century,” Blaise said, smirking. “Every bloke in this room has noticed, but she hasn’t noticed any of them.”

Theodore’s frown deepened. “What are you getting at, Zabini?”

Blaise sighed dramatically as though speaking to a particularly dense child. “I’m saying, Nott, that she hasn’t noticed them because she’s too busy noticing you. And instead of doing something about it, you’re standing here sulking into your drink.”

Theodore looked at him sharply, but Blaise remained unfazed, his smirk unwavering.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Theodore muttered.

“Ridiculous? Hardly.” Blaise gestured toward the Malfoy girl with his goblet. “She’s barely looked at any other boy all night. But every time she glances over here—and she has, by the way—you’re too busy brooding to notice. Not to mention how she literally turned down every boy that asked her to dance.”

Theodore glanced back at Y/N, his jaw tightening.

“She’s just…” He trailed off, struggling to find the right words.

“Perfect?” Blaise supplied. “Unattainable? Completely and utterly worth it?”

She’s a dream. 

“She’s Draco’s little sister.” Theodore shot him a withering look. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Immensely,” Blaise said with a grin. “But don’t let that stop you. I’m certain our friend would be cool about it. Go on, lover boy. Do something about it before her date gets it into his head to try to get it on with her even after beyond this night.”

For a moment, Theodore didn’t move, his mind racing. Then, without a word, he set his goblet down and stepped away from Blaise.

“Finally,” Blaise muttered, shaking his head in amused disbelief as he watched Theodore cross the room.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The music in the Great Hall slowed, shifting to a softer, more intimate melody. Couples on the dance floor moved closer, their steps in perfect harmony with the hauntingly beautiful tune. Y/N had been content lingering in the shadows of the grand room, nursing a goblet of punch when Theodore approached her.

He stood with his hands tucked into the pockets of his tailored robes, his sharp features softened by the warm candlelight.

“You’ve avoided every dance invitation tonight,” he said, his tone dry but not unkind.

The girl raised an eyebrow. “And yet here you are, about to offer one.”

“Only because I suspect you’ll say yes.” He extended a hand, his expression unreadable but his voice carrying the faintest hint of a challenge mixed with nervousness.

For a moment, Y/N hesitated. But then she placed her hand in his. “Let’s see if you can keep up, Nott.”

Theodore led her to the dance floor, his movements confident but unshowy. The girl followed his lead, their steps falling effortlessly into sync. 

“You’re surprisingly good at this,” she remarked, glancing up at him.

He smirked. “Surprisingly?”

“Well, you don’t exactly strike me as the waltzing type.”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think,” Theodore replied, his tone low but playful. “I hate to dance, but I’d dance with you.”

He’s never been one for dancing—especially not in front of a crowd—but there’s something about how she looks tonight, something that makes him want to hold onto her forever and show her off to the world as his.

The two swayed to the rhythm, the world around them fading into a blur of swirling gowns and glittering lights. Theodore can’t help but notice how effortless it is to be with her. His nerves, which were there when they first started, slowly fade as he focuses on Y/N. Her laugh, her smile, the way her eyes sparkle with joy—it’s all so captivating.

Y/N glanced up at him. For a moment, the world around them—the glittering lights, the watchful eyes—faded.

"You know, for someone who didn’t want to come to the ball, you seem pretty content dancing here with me."

Theodore glances at her, a small, awkward smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He’s not one for grand events, but Y/N being here beside him makes the entire night feel less daunting. He feels out of place, but the world feels a little smaller in her presence. "It’s... not so bad. Besides, it’s not like I had a better option than being with you. You’re the most stunning person in this room."

Y/N’s heart skips a beat at his words. She’s always known there was something deeper between them, something more than friendship, but hearing him admit it in his quiet, reserved way fills her with warmth.

“You’re full of surprises, Nott. I’m glad you’re here,” she said softly.

Theodore looks down at her, his heart skipping a beat.

He’s not used to compliments or to feeling this seen by someone. There’s a warmth in her voice that he can’t ignore, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world has faded away.

They continued to dance, and the silence between them was comfortable now. It wasn’t until the music ended that Theodore played with the idea that maybe love does exist, especially with how Y/N Malfoy was making him feel right now.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

As the music faded, Y/N and Theodore stepped off the dance floor, their steps slowing in unison. She brushed a strand of hair from her face, still feeling the faint adrenaline buzz from the waltz.

Draco strolled over, his expression unreadable at first but softening when he saw the two of them. He was dressed impeccably, as usual, his posture relaxed and confident.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” Draco drawled, his lips curving into a slight grin. “You, dancing, Y/N?”

The girl rolled her eyes—this time deliberately—and crossed her arms. “Always so supportive, aren’t you, Draco?”

“Supportive, sure. But mostly curious.” He turned to Theodore with mock seriousness. “What’s your secret? She never agrees to dance with me.”

Theodore shrugged casually. “I have my ways.”

“Must be the brooding charm,” The girl quipped, earning a chuckle from both boys.

Draco smirked. “Brooding? You give him too much credit. He’s been brooding since we were eleven—it’s nothing new.”

“And you’ve been insufferable since we were five,” Theodore shot back smoothly.

“Touché,” Draco conceded, clearly amused.

The playful banter flowed easily between the three of them, the formalities of the ball forgotten. The girl leaned back against one of the stone pillars, letting the moment's warmth wash over her.

“So,” Draco said after a pause, looking between them with a raised eyebrow, “should I be concerned about this little partnership?”

Y/N rolled her eyes again, this time with a smirk. “You act like it's the first time seeing me and Theo together. And Please. Like I’d need your approval for anything.”

Theodore gave her an approving nod. “Now, that’s the Malfoy spirit.”

Draco held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fair enough. Just don’t forget who your favorite brother is.”

“You’re my only brother,” She deadpanned.

“Exactly.” Draco grinned before clapping Theodore on the shoulder. “Keep her out of trouble, yeah?”

Theodore smirked. “No promises.”

“I need another drink.” The young Malfoy declared, pushing off the pillar and brushing past them both. “You coming, Theo?” 

“I’ll meet you there.” He replied.

“Well, well, Nott,” Draco’s voice cut through the music and chatter like a knife, smooth and mocking. “Look at you. I thought you were planning on hiding away all night.”

Theodore narrowed his eyes at Draco but couldn’t help the slight smile that tugged at his lips.

Draco’s smirk widened, and with a dramatic flair, he stepped closer, leaning in as though to whisper a secret. “I’ll admit, I didn’t think you would be the one to sweep her off her feet, but—” He paused, giving Theodore a quick, mischievous look. “—now I’m curious. What exactly are your intentions with her, Nott?”

“My intentions are none of your business, Malfoy,” he said firmly, trying to keep his voice steady, though there was a faint warning tone underneath.

Draco’s smirk only grew, and he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Just remember, Nott… if you hurt her, there will be consequences.”

It wasn’t said in a threatening tone, but something in Draco’s eyes—a glint of seriousness beneath the teasing mask—made Theodore freeze.

Draco was always fiercely protective of the people he cared about, and Y/N, as his sister, was no exception.

Theodore raised an eyebrow, meeting Draco’s gaze squarely. “You’re really going to try to intimidate me over Y/N, of all people?” He tried to stay composed.

Draco chuckled, straightening up and folding his arms. “I’m just making sure you know the stakes, mate,” he said nonchalantly, though his eyes glimmered with a challenge. “You can be as charming as you like, but don’t forget who you’re dealing with.”

Theodore fought back a smile. “You always take things so seriously, Draco.”

Draco shrugged casually, but the glint in his eyes never faded. “Someone has to keep you in line.”

Before Theodore could respond, Draco gave him a quick, knowing glance and clapped him on the shoulder with an exaggerated show of camaraderie. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave you to your… affairs with my sister. Just don’t mess it up, all right?”

Theodore stared after Draco as he moved through the crowd, the playful tension still hanging in the air. His heart was still pounding slightly from the exchange.

Draco might have been joking, but his words also revealed truth. Theodore wasn’t sure how to navigate the complex feelings he had for Y/N—especially now, when it seemed like the whole world, Draco included, had an opinion on the matter.

Still, a small part of him couldn’t help but feel a little more determined. He wouldn’t let Draco’s teasing—or anyone else’s—stand in the way of what he and Y/N were building together.

As the music swelled and couples swirled around him, Theodore glanced over at Y/N from across the room. She was talking to Pansy again, her expression bright.

He wasn’t going to mess this up, not with her.

With a final glance at Draco, who was now lost in conversation with Blaise, Theodore squared his shoulders and approached Y/N.

He wasn’t going to let anything, or anyone, stop him from finally going after what he wanted.

ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The Yule Ball had faded into the background as Theodore and Y/N found themselves alone in a quiet, secluded room. The soft crackle of the fire filled the silence as Y/N sat across from him, her expression calm, but there was an undeniable tension in the air. The kind that made everything feel more intense, more real.

Theodore’s fingers brushed against the edge of his glass, his thoughts a whirlwind. He hadn’t planned for this. He hadn’t expected to say anything at all, but now, in the quiet room, with Y/N’s gaze steady, the words that had been stuck inside him for so long seemed to burst free, unavoidable.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice quieter than he intended. He cleared his throat, trying to steady himself. “I… I need to say something.”

The girl looked at him, her brow furrowing slightly, her curiosity piqued. “What’s on your mind?”

Theodore swallowed hard, his chest tight. This was harder than anything he had ever done, but it felt like it would eat him up from the inside if he didn't say it now.

“I’ve been trying to ignore it. Trying to tell myself that it’s not a big deal,” he confessed, looking down at his hands for a moment before meeting her gaze again. “But I can’t anymore. I’ve… I’ve fallen for you, Y/N. I think I’ve been in love with you for a while now.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of truth. Theodore held his breath, waiting for her reaction. His stomach twisted with uncertainty.

What if she didn’t feel the same?

What if he had ruined everything?

The girl didn’t say anything at first. She just watched him, her expression unreadable. Her eyes were soft, though, and her lips parted as if she were about to speak but held back.

Theodore’s heart beat wildly, and his palms suddenly clammy.

“You don’t have to say anything, Y/N,” he rushed to add, his voice shaky. “I just… I needed you to know. I didn’t want to keep it hidden anymore.”

The girl’s gaze softened even more, and she took a small step toward him, closing the distance between them. The firelight reflected in her eyes, making them look even brighter.

Then, finally, she spoke, her voice low and steady.

“Theo,” she said softly, his name like a gentle caress. “I’ve known. I’ve known for a long time.”

Theodore froze, his breath catching in his throat. “What?”

Y/N smiled faintly, a kind of tenderness in her expression that made his heart ache in the best way. “I’ve known. I think I’ve always known. I just… didn’t want to rush you. I wanted you to figure it out in your own time.”

Theodore’s mind raced, processing her words.

She knew? She had known all along?

It was almost too much to take in, but simultaneously, it was like the weight in his chest lifted a little. She hadn’t pushed him away, hadn’t turned him down.

“So… you…” He trailed off, struggling to find the words. “You feel the same?”

The young Malfoy nodded, her smile softening into something more knowing. “I do. I’ve felt the same way for a while now.”

Relief flooded through Theodore, overwhelming him in the best way possible. He couldn’t help but smile back, the tension in his body melting away. He hadn’t expected it to be this easy, this… perfect.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he admitted, his voice a little more relaxed now, the uncertainty slowly fading. “I’ve never been good at this. Saying how I feel.”

“I know,” The girl said, her voice full of understanding. “But you don’t have to be perfect, Theo. You just need to be you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Theodore chuckled softly, feeling lighter than he had in ages. “I’m not sure I can be anything else.”

She reached out then, her fingers brushing against his, sending a jolt of warmth through him.

He looked at her, his heart pounding again, but this time in excitement rather than fear.

“You don’t have to,” Y/N whispered, leaning closer, her gaze never leaving his. “You’re exactly what I want.”

Without a word, he closed the gap between them, his hands reaching for her, pulling her into him. Her lips met his with a sudden urgency, a kiss that was more than just an exploration. It was a release, a culmination of everything that had been building between them for so long.

Y/N’s hands moved to his chest, fingers trembling against the fabric of his shirt as she pulled him closer, her lips parting slightly, deepening the kiss. Theodore responded without hesitation, his hands moving to her waist, drawing her against him until they were pressed so close he could feel the quick beat of her heart beneath her ribcage.

The firelight danced across their faces, casting a warm, golden glow as they kissed, the world outside this moment disappearing entirely. It was as if they were alone in the world, the only two people who mattered.

Theodore’s head swam with the feeling of her lips on his, the way her body seemed to fit perfectly against his like they had always been meant to be this way.

Y/N’s fingers slid into his hair, pulling him closer, her breath coming faster. He could feel the heat radiating off her skin, the tension between them giving way to something raw and real.

Every touch, every kiss, seemed to ignite something inside of him—something he couldn’t contain, something that had been building for months, years, even finally spilling over.

When they finally pulled away, their breaths were ragged, their faces flushed. Theodore’s chest rose and fell with each breath, his pulse racing in his ears. Y/N’s eyes were wide, her lips swollen from their kiss, and a soft smile played at the corners of her mouth.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” she said, her voice soft but full of affection. “I think we both were.”

Theodore smiled back, feeling like he had just found a piece of himself he never knew was missing. “I think I’ve always known, too,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I just had to figure it out.”

The girl chuckled lightly, her hand still resting in his. “Well, I’m glad you did. Because I’ve never been more certain of anything.”

Theodore’s heart skipped a beat. He had never felt more seen, more understood in his life. Everything that had been building inside him, all the uncertainty, the fear of rejection—suddenly, it didn’t matter. She was here with him, and that was all that mattered.

He leaned forward again, this time more slowly, savoring the moment. As their lips met again, it was different—deeper, more intense.

This time, it wasn’t just the thrill of a new kiss. It was the recognition of something real they had both been waiting for. The kiss wasn't just about passion; it was about connection, about sharing something growing between them for longer than either of them realized.

As they broke apart again, they stayed close, their foreheads resting against each other, their breathing still heavy. Theodore's hand reached her cheek, his thumb gently brushing over her skin.

"I don't want this moment to end," he whispered, his voice barely audible, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the peace that had settled over them.

Y/N's eyes met his, and she smiled softly, her fingers curling around his. "It doesn't have to end, Theo," she murmured. "We're just getting started."

And in that moment, Theodore realized that everything had changed. His soft spot for Y/N Malfoy was something deeper than he could have ever anticipated.

Flickering Twin Flames

The common room was quiet, with only a few students sitting in the large room. Most people were out at dinner. It was nearly winter, and the castle grew ever so colder at night. This made the fireplace the most perfect place to lounge. You were propped up against the back of a loveseat, Theodore curled up with his head in your lap. You ran your fingers through his soft and silky brown curls, admiring his features as he dozed. Rather than go to dinner, your boyfriend managed to grab some food from the kitchens and you had a romantic meal by the firelight. It was the perfect end to a nice Saturday spent with Theo. The rest of your friends, including your twin brother Draco, went down the Hogsmeade for the day and left the two of you to hang around your dorm lazily, cuddling and kissing for pretty much the whole afternoon. 

However, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt when you remembered your brother. He was pretty bummed when you bailed out on Hogsmeade, and even more annoyed when you told him you weren’t going down to dinner with him. You knew he was feeling jealous and abandoned, because he’d tell you exactly how he was feeling at all times of the day. That was one good thing about Draco, he never left you guessing. He was always upfront and blunt, though sometimes he was a bit too blunt. Last week, he made a second year cry when he attempted to give her flying lessons with the rest of the Slytherin quidditch team. He wasn’t the most tactful. 

When the entrance to the common room opened and about six younger students filed in, you assumed dinner was ending and people would start filling up the common room. You weren’t happy about waking up your precious boyfriend, but you knew he wouldn’t like it if a whole bunch of fourth years saw him napping. You poked at his side, startling him awake. “Whazzit?” He mumbled, and you couldn’t help but lean down to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“People are coming back from dinner, sweetheart, would you like to move this to the dorm? You can keep sleeping on me.” Theo blinked up at you, wiping the sleep from his tired blue eyes. 

“Hmm, that depends,” his voice was low and his accent thick as he struggled to wake himself up. “Do I get to grope you a little bit first?” You chuckled and nodded your consent, allowing yourself to be tugged up and toward the dormitory. Your back hit the door the moment you closed it behind you, allowing yourself to be manhandled by Theo. He pressed his lips to your neck and began sucking a bruise as his hands reached out and clutched at the hem of your shirt. You pressed forward and pushed him toward your bed at the back of the room, next to the window. The back of Theo’s knees hit the bed and he collapsed backward, bringing you along with him. It was then that the door swung open and your twin brother waltz into the room. 

“Oh, for fucks sake.” Draco covered his eyes and groaned, but continued forward nonetheless. “Get off him and scoot over, I want to talk.” Theodore looked at him in disbelief, as if he couldn’t believe that Draco was barging in on you in this way. But to you, it was normal. When Draco wanted your attention, he didn’t let anything stop him. You clambered off Theo’s lap and moved to sit up against the headboard. Theo didn’t let Draco’s presence deter him too much, following you up the bed and wrapping his arm around your waist, his face buried in your side. You guessed that he decided he’d take you up on that nap while Draco did whatever he wanted to do. 

What Draco wanted to do, apparently, was also climb into your bed and lay across the end, facing you. “Did you need something, Draco?” You asked, clearly irritated at him for interrupting. 

“Well, I’m bored for one. And you’ve been with Theodore all damn day, is it such a surprise I wanted to spend some time with you?” You had to admit, he hit you where it hurt. You knew that your brother had been missing you, but you’ve continued not to make time for him. It was so much more fun opting to hang out with Theo, in hidden alcoves and the back of the library where the two of you can have some privacy to your conversations. 

“I suppose that’s fine. How’s Pansy?” While Draco droned on about his girlfriend, you felt Theo snuggle in deeper, and you couldn’t help but look down and admire the handsome boy. 

“Oh for- Y/n!” Your brother whined, grabbing your attention once again. 

“What? I was listening!” You said, indignately, despite it being a complete lie. 

“Really, then tell me what I was saying?” You didn’t have an answer to this, and the silence in the room was deafening. Draco huffed angrily. 

“I’m… gonna let you two talk.” Theo mumbled into your shirt, before scooting off the silk sheets and onto the floor. His feet patted along the hardwoods toward the door, mouthing “good luck” to you as he headed out of the dorm room. Draco didn’t say anything, he just looked up at the ceiling and huffed again. You knew what he was waiting for. 

“I’m sorry, Draco.” You spoke softly, to show that you were being sincere. He huffed again. So dramatic. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t just listening to you, for one. Not only that, I’m sorry for spending so much of my time with Theo and not enough with you.” 

“It’s just… I didn’t ditch you for Pansy, you know? But with Theo, it’s like you don’t have any time for me whatsoever. Who else would appreciate the joke I played on Granger this week more than you?” You looked over at him, curious. 

“What did you do to Granger?” 

“Spelled her books shut when she wasn’t looking. She had to go to Flitwick to reverse the charm.” You laughed, wondering how you managed to miss that happening until you remembered you skipped Charms Tuesday to hangout with Theo. Oops. 

“Damn, did that make that vein in her forehead pop?” 

“It sure did. She was so frustrated, it was hilarious. But you weren’t there, so you missed it. Skipping classes isn’t like you, either. Maybe Theo is a bad influence on you.” You considered this, thinking back to before you started dating through now. While it was true that you had never skipped class, Theo had also never snuck into Filch's office like you convinced him to do a few weeks ago to recover your missing dungbombs. 

“I think we’re equally bad influences on each other. In our own unique ways.” Your twin rolled his eyes, but dropped it when you gave him a look. “I haven’t dropped you, Draco, and you’ve been dating Pansy since you learned how to talk. So you can’t compare me and Theo to you and her. Our relationship is still really new, okay, we’re in the Honeymoon phase. It’ll pass and return closer to normal soon. But I really, really like him and if you somehow mess this up for me, I’m going to kill you.” Draco’s hands went up in the air, giving you a look of innocence. 

“I wouldn’t dare mess with your precious Theo, Y/n. I’m just asking that you don’t forget me in the process.”

“I’ll carve out more time for you, I promise. How about tomorrow?” You asked him, reaching up and pulling his head to your shoulder. You stroked his blonde hair, making him sigh in delight. 

George stopped paying attention to you after four years of playing pranks on you elicited no reaction. Fred didn’t. He couldn’t. He looked at you every time something remotely funny happened. He wanted to see your face show some kind of emotion. Hate, disgust, annoyance, amusement, adoration, anything. Fred felt like he and George were failing at being pranksters if they couldn’t make you smile or roll your eyes or scoff. 

“You know Snape doesn’t like students in his personal storage,” you said, coming across the twins in the dungeons.

Your prefect badge glinted in the dim light. Fred stepped out of the closet and closed the door most of the way, blocking George from view. 

“Malfoy! Just doing a little inventory. Make sure no students are taking what isn’t theirs,” he said with an easy smile. 

“Mhmm. I’m sure. And you’d know what he has in stock because…” You drew out the word as you flourished your hand in front of you. “You’re secretly still taking Potions?” 

He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned forward slightly.

“You would know we didn’t meet Snape’s requirements.”

“I do. And I really should take points from Gryffindor for finding you here. Where you are, trouble follows.”

“Ah, you wouldn’t do that. M’not taking anything.”

Then George bumped into something inside the closet. You put your hand out to push the door open to reveal him. 

“Ten points from Gryffindor for attempted theft,” you said. “Weasley, out.”

George grumbled something you couldn’t make out but walked out of the closet, which you closed behind him, tapping the knob with your wand to lock it. 

“Don’t you two have anything better to do?” you asked dryly. 

“No,” George said. “I think this is a great use of our time.”

“Keep telling yourself that. I’m sure you’ll make your parents proud.”

George rolled his eyes and started walking away. Fred didn’t move right away. He watched you notice he was still standing there, give him a once over and then raise your eyebrows, silently asking why he was still standing there. He flashed you a smile before following his brother. You waited until the two boys were out of sight before continuing on your way. 

“Did you get what we needed?” Fred asked.

“No. Wanker rearranged everything and I couldn’t find it.”

“So we’ll have to go back.”

“Obviously. And this time, I’m on lookout. Don’t think McGonagall would be too happy  with us losing more points over this.”

“Whatever you say, Georgie.” Fred nudged his brother. “It’ll be worth it.”

---

Fred really did try with his jokes to make you laugh, talking a little louder and glancing to see if you reacted – you never did. It didn’t matter what he did either. Professor Vector’s voice coming out an octave deeper? Nothing. Random seventh year Ravenclaw’s shoes flying off his feet when he lifts his foot to take a step? Nothing. Bouncing fireworks being tossed across a courtyard? Nothing. You appeared to be incapable of emotion. 

Come Saturday, Fred was walking out of Spintwitches alone. Lee and George hadn’t wanted to look around so Fred told them go ahead, he’d meet them in Zonko’s. The moment Spintwitches’ door closed behind him, you walked out of Bingle & Blatch. 

“Spending daddy’s galleons, are you, Malfoy?” he called with a smirk on his face. 

You paused, raising your eyebrows slightly as you turned towards Fred. 

“Nothing with having a few galleons to spend.” 

He walked closer to you so he didn’t have to yell. “I’m willing to bet it’s more than a few.”

“How much you wager?” you asked.

“What?”

“How much do you wager?”

“It’s a figure of speech, love.”

You reached into your pocket to pull out a shiny gold coin. You pushed it into Fred’s hand.

“Well, you’re right. It’s more than a few,” you said and you turned in the opposite direction of Zonko’s.

Fred stood there for a second with the coin in his hand. He glanced behind him before deciding to follow you. It didn’t take him long to catch up and match your pace. He held the coin out for you to take, but you don’t.

“I don’t need your money,” he said flatly. 

“Rumors of your family’s financial status beg to differ.”

He let out a short groan. “I don’t want your money.” 

He waved the galleon near your face, but you still didn’t take it. 

“You made a bet and won. It’s prize money.”

“I told you, it’s a-”

“Figure of speech. I know.” You sighed. “Then consider it a sponsorship or donation or whatever. I don’t care.”

“A sponsorship?” Fred ask incredulously, almost insulted. 

“Go buy whatever you were trying to steal from Snape. Just make sure whatever you do with it is actually funny.” 

Fred stopped walking. You disappeared into a different shop with your galleon still in Fred’s hand. He stood there for a complete minute before heading to the Magic Neep, hoping they’d have what he needed. At least he knew that you paid attention when he did things with George. He didn’t know how he felt that you really had seen everything with no visible reaction. 

“There you are!” George said when Fred finally arrived to Zonko’s with a bag full of plants and various other ingredients. “That doesn’t look like it came Spintwitches.”

“Merlin, Fred, how much did that cost?” Lee asked.

“Galleon, few knuts.”

“Galleon? Where’d you get that?” George asked.

“Won a bet.” Fred shrugged. 

It wasn’t a lie, but he hoped George wouldn’t press him too much about the bet. He didn’t need to know that he got the galleon from you. Fred was still iffy on why you actually gave him the galleon. You said you knew it was a figure of speech and to consider a sponsorship, which was more than bizarre to him. 

A few days later, you were sitting in Potions, listening to Professor Snape lecture about some poison. You were only half-paying attention, writing down key words as your eyes glossed over. 

You barely heard it. A soft clank of something metal hitting the floor. It sounded like it came from near the door. There was a click, click, click, followed by a pop. Clank, click click click, pop. It repeated several times until you saw a small machine-like creature waddling in the areas between the brewing stations. Then the clicking stopped. There was only a moment of silence – Snape had noticed the devices – before an alarm went off. Loud, irritating noise filled the classroom as the devices emitted something akin to a mandrake’s scream, or at least that is what it felt like. Snape did the best he could to gather the room’s attention to motion for them to leave. He couldn’t teach like that. 

In the chaos that was leaving the classroom and dispersing into the castle, you came across Fred, or rather, he came across you. You were walking alone until you suddenly weren’t. You barely noticed him in your peripheral vision.

“Suppose that was your doing?” 

“Funny enough for you?” 

“Less funny, but appreciated.”

Appreciated, yet you didn’t have a smile. 

“What did that need from Snape’s stores?” you asked.

“Nothing. That’s for something else. We’re still tinkering with it and then we’ll be waiting for the perfect moment. Can’t waste it, you know.” 

“I’d say the suspense builds, but…” you said, emphasizing the ‘t’ and shrugging. “I’m not expecting much.”

“Ouch, you don’t think I’m funny.”

“Be honest with yourself, Weasley. I’m not your target audience.”

Then you turned into a girls’ loo. Fred thought their target audience was everyone. Sure, a good portion of their pranks were pulled on Slytherins, but other jokes could be appreciated by all. Getting you out of Potions wasn’t an attack on Slytherins. He would have to convince George to test their finished product somewhere you could witness without being affected. 

Another week or two passed and Fred was still looking for your reaction whenever he pulled a prank or told a joke. He and George had a handful of smaller tricks up their sleeve. It gave them something to do during the day when they couldn’t be working on the bigger prank. 

The day it was ready and they had decided when and where and how everything was going to go down, Fred grabbed your arm in the post-lunch crowd as you left the Great Hall.

“If you go into the Charms classroom, stay in the back row,” Fred said in a low voice directly into your ear before immediately letting go of your arm and disappearing into the sea of students.

You barely caught sight of ginger hair when you looked over your shoulder. Of course you were going to go into the Charms classroom. You had Charms next, with the Weasley twins. But you listened to him. A few minutes before class was to start, students were still milling around and talking to their friends, lingering in the middle of the classroom. Then someone tried to move, only to realize their feet were stuck to the ground. And then another person and another. It seemed the only area of the classroom unaffected was the back row parallel to the door. Underneath the roar of confusion, you heard some laughter. Ginger hair and wide grins peered through the door.

You caught Fred’s eye and gave him a single wave. He seemed to smile more at the fact that you were in the back row and not stuck to the floor. You looked back across the classroom and edges of your lips tugged upwards. It wasn’t a full smile. But it was the most that the Weasleys had ever gotten out of you and Fred saw it. His original mission was to get any reaction, but now? Now he wanted to see a full smile. 

And it didn’t take long until the want began to feel like a need. 

Every time he was about to make a joke, he wondered if you would like it. Every time he got an idea for a prank, he thought what your opinion would be before he even told George. He even tried to figure out when the best time to pull pranks and tell jokes were, in relation to if you were adjacent. 

This led to needing to know your schedule more, and with that came watching you with your friends. It made Fred feel a little better to know that you didn’t react much to them either. Your parents really had trained you to keep neutral, keep your opinions to yourself. You had been told to focus on school because everything else was a distraction, and you more or less listened. 

At some point, Fred discovered what your favorite kind of tea was. He’s not sure what gave him the idea to do it, and he told himself it was just an attempt to coax a full smile out of you, but he ordered you a fresh tin of leaves. He didn’t leave a note when he ordered it and it was delivered by one of the company’s owls. You had no reason to think it was Fred and, with no note, you thought it was from your mother, just a simple “Thinking of you” kind of gift. Usually your mother did leave a note but not always. You tucked it into your bag and returned to your breakfast. 

Fred frowned slightly at the Gryffindor table, having seen the owl dive down in front of you. No smile. 

“Oi, Fred, what’s with the long face?” Alicia asked. 

“Hm? Oh, nothing. Just thinking,” Fred said, looking away from you.

“Not your thinking face,” she said.

“Does he have a thinking face?” Angelina asked. “I didn’t know he could think.”

“Oh, right!” Alicia said with a nod. “Him and George share a brain cell. I totally forgot.”

“We do not!” Fred and George said at the same time.

Angelina gave Alicia a look that said, See? Just proved my point. 

---

Realization hit him when Fred was trying to convince Lee and George to go to the library with him to work on an assignment from McGonagall. The other two boys said they’d work on it in the common room, but Fred could go to the library if he wanted to – they weren’t going to stop him. Although, they were curious as to why he was being so insistent that they needed to go. What they didn’t know was that you usually worked in the library after classes on Tuesday and it was, in fact, a Tuesday. 

Why was it that Fred wanted to go to the library? He knew you’d be there. In his head, that shouldn’t be enough to draw him to the library. Why did he need to be there just because you were there? It could also be asked why did Fred care if you thought he was funny? Why did he care if you saw the pranks he pulled with George? Why didn’t George care? 

Fred sat with his thoughts, in the library alone. You were pretty. More than pretty, really. You didn’t flaunt your lineage or put down others for theirs. Despite your parents and younger brother, you actually seemed nice. And Fred wanted your approval because he liked you. He wanted to be your friend and more. To do that, he needed to be funny. Funny to you. He couldn’t be unable to make the girl he liked laugh. 

It took more than one to fully accept that he fancied you. It made ordering you fancy tea leaves make more sense to himself, and why he put so much effort into learning your schedule, and why he made sure you weren’t affected by the stickiness in Charms. 

But when he did accept it, he knew he had to do something about it. And hope. There was now a lot of hope. Your families weren’t exactly friendly. The Malfoys thought all Weasleys were bloodtraitors, but you seemed different than your family so maybe you wouldn’t think of him as a bloodtraitor. Just maybe. He had to get closer with you before he could do anything, actually see if your personality was what he thought and if you were worth the risk. 

You, however, weren’t just someone that he could approach. There was some thought that he had to put into this. So, slowly and with purpose, he tried to simply be closer to you. He just needed to exist in the vicinity of you to make it less weird for him to be near you. And after a little bit of that, he had an idea. 

You were walking out of the library at the exact time that Fred knew you would be. He tried to not appear like he was waiting for you. You spotted him immediately. Not many students around means that his bright red hair stuck out like a sore thumb, not to mention you’d notice him hanging around you lately. He seemed to always be there with a witty joke. Really, you’d gotten used to his little interjections despite him not being a large part of what you considered to be the main conversation. Part of you thought he wasn’t quite comfortable with all the people you called friends, but this was Fred Weasley, a boy known for social confidence. He wasn’t supposed to falter in the face of classmates who were more strangers than peers even after years. 

“Ah, Malfoy!” he called as he walked up to you.

You stopped walking and waited for him. You cocked one eyebrow. 

“Been working on something. I wanted to get your opinion on it.”

“Why?” you asked. It came out sharper than you had intended. “Is it… what, going to blow up when I touch it? Stick to my hand? Turn my skin purple?”

Fred smiled and you ignored the way your heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t supposed to do that and if you didn’t acknowledge it, it didn’t exist. That was surely how emotions worked. 

“No, nothing like that. Just watch.”

He sounded genuine. You crossed your arms, expression blank as ever.

“Okay then.”

He produced a wand from his cloak pocket. It wasn’t impressive. It looked like a regular wand, although you were pretty sure that it wasn’t his. It was different than the one you’d seen him use in class and in the courtyards. 

You opened your mouth to say something along the lines of “Oooh, a wand, very cool. A rare sight in a wizarding school.” Then Fred waved the wand. It was a general moment, no words. A bouquet of lilies appeared out of the end – more impressive – and then he handed them to you.

“Oh,” you said quietly. 

You smiled. It’s small and genuine, and you tried to hide it in the flowers. Fred was floored. Stunned. Dazzled. 

He succeeded. You actually smiled for the flowers. Which made him wonder if any had given you flowers before, or maybe lilies were your favorite and he had a lucky guess. 

When he regained his ability to speak, Fred said, “You… you have a nice smile.”

“Thank you,” you replied, allowing him to see your smile for a moment longer before it melted away into your trademark neutrality. 

“So, um, I hear they last longer if you put them in water?” 

“That is true. I fear most people know that.” 

He nodded as he shoved his hands in his pockets, semi-awkwardly bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

“I’m going to go do that,” you said. “Thank you, Fred.” 

He watched you walk in the direction of the Slytherin Dungeons. He was unsure what to do with himself. He was still in awe of your smile, wondering why you didn’t show it more often. Fred decided he’d continue trying to get you to smile; it was something that more people needed to see. It definitely had absolutely nothing to do with the feeling that bloomed in his chest when you did smile at the flowers. 

Fred kept putting himself in your vicinity, saying hi when he passed your desk and trying to be in more conversations with you – that included ignoring the strange looks and stink eyes that your fellow Slytherins often sent his way. You didn’t. Sometimes he got an eye roll from you, but that was always in response to something purposefully stupid he said or a joke that made others laugh. An eye roll wasn’t the same as a smile so Fred kept trying.

Fred thought it was his lucky day when he walked into Charms and saw you sitting alone. He could talk to you for a little bit before class without annoying your friend.

“No Veronica yet?” he asked.

“She’s sick. Something’s not agreeing with her stomach.”

Fred nodded, trying not to let it show that he was happy your friend was sick. That meant the spot next to you was open. George was sitting with Lee so Fred wouldn’t really be abandoning his brother and other best friend. Fred set his books down in the empty spot and sat down. 

“Bold move,” you muttered, but Fred just smiled. 

“I’m testing a theory. My little brother’s friend says you’re productive if you surround yourself with productive people.”

“One of Ron’s friends?” you asked.

“Yeah, that’d be Hermione. Bit of a swot sometimes.”

“She’s practically the bane of Draco’s existence,” you said with a hint of amusement. “He gets pissy when he comes second to a muggleborn.” 

Muggleborn. You said muggleborn and not mudblood. 

“So if it’s her theory, must be true,” you added. 

Then Professor Flitwick gathered the class’s attention to begin his lesson. Fred didn’t change how he usually acts in class. He muttered little jokes and comments for the whole lesson. If you had asked him to stop, he would’ve but you didn’t. You were stifling your smile every time Fred opened his mouth. By the time Professor Flitwick dismissed them, Fred was feeling on top of the world. 

Fred waited at the desk for George and Lee, both of whom sat deeper in the classroom. You left with two of your friends who had been sitting in front of you. One of them turned around to eye Fred briefly. 

“I think Weasley’s got a hard-on for you,” she said. 

They were far enough away that Fred didn’t hear her. There was something about that that made you laugh. You think you’d know if a boy liked you. Plus, he was a Weasley – everyone in that family hated your  family. There was absolutely no way that Fred liked you. He was simply nice. Friendly. Considerate. 

Except Fred did like you, and now he had heard your laugh. It was a wonderful sound and Fred needed to be the reason for it. He knew it was going to be a challenge. Getting you to smile was hard enough as it was. 

He put more thought into his jokes and pranks. He kept being around you, randomly sliding into the seats next to you during class. He would always tell you that he was still testing that theory. Neither of you knew it, but your friend had told Veronica to sit elsewhere during Charms, and when Veronica listened, Fred essentially became your new desk partner. 

George and Lee noticed Fred’s change. It was like he was pulling away from them. He wasn’t always walking with them, joking with them, scheming with them. Fred was elsewhere, even if he was physically with them. They never said anything about it to him, which was odd for them. They were usually the first to call each other out for their bullshit. 

George eventually saw that it was you who was pulling Fred away from them, although it didn’t appear to be on purpose. George didn’t think you knew the effect you had on Fred. He saw how hard Fred was trying to get your attention and how happy he seemed to be when he came back to the dorm after having talked to you for a little bit. 

“Getting friendly with a Malfoy?” he asked after Fred came up the stairs one evening. Lee was in their dorm and George didn’t think he needed to be a part of this conversation. 

“We’ve become acquainted.”

“And Percy and Penelope were acquainted last year.”

“It’s not that.” Fred moved to go into their dorm, but George grabbed the doorknob to hold the door closed.

“She’s a Malfoy, Fred. Don’t go getting into trouble.”

“There’s not trouble to be getting into.”

“If you were anyone else, I might believe you. But you’re my brother, my twin. What would Mum and Dad think?” George leaned forward. “And I don’t want to see you get hurt when she turns out like her family.”

“She’s not. And Mum and Dad have nothing to worry about.”

Fred put his hand over George’s and pulled the door open. 

He didn’t change how he was acting. So what if his brother was worrying about him? George didn’t know you like he did. George didn’t put in the work to get to know you. George hadn’t seen your smile or heard your laugh or been the recipient of one of your wittier responses. George wasn’t falling in love with you. 

The sight of Fred being near you slowly became less jarring. He was in your conversations, standing at your desk to talk before lessons started and finding you in the evenings, usually with a homework question as an excuse to talk to you. Your friends stopped looking at him funny when he was around. You even found yourself looking for him as you walked from class to class. If you weren’t having a good day, you knew you could count on Fred to show up with a stupid joke that would tempt you to smile. If he was lucky, one of his jokes would catch you off guard and you’d laugh. It never lasted long, but it was always enough fuel him until the next time.

It was a Thursday evening and students were spread throughout the castle. Fred had found you in your usual spot in the library. He sat down next to you, but he didn’t have any assignments with him. 

“Evening,” he said.

You barely glanced up from your work. 

“Fred.”

“What’re you working on?” 

“Potions. That’d be why you don’t know what it is.”

“Hmm. Need help with it?”

You raised your eyebrows, letting your quill hover above your parchment. 

“Remind me again who's the one in the class?”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t be helpful. You could bounce ideas off me or something. Or I could be a distraction. I’ve been told that can help people think.”

Your lips twitch. “Ron’s friend tell you that?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t believe you.”

“We could still test the theory. Are you going to be the one who stands in the way of academic pursuit?” 

You set your quill and looked at Fred. He was already smiling at you. With a sigh, you rolled up your essay and closed the books you had in front of you.

“Apparently not.” You folded your hands on the table. “What you got for me?” 

Fred’s grin somehow got wider, his eyes brightening at your attention. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small, brightly colored box. It opened with a click when he set it on the table.

“Our latest products,” he explained, taking out candies, charms and vials. “This is a portable swamp, unleash it and it fills whatever area you’re in. Idea is it can be used to block off an area or for like a quick getaway.”

“Hm, okay,” you said, not too intrigued by that one.

“This toffee here turns your tongue purple and makes it swell. Don’t recommend eating it yourself. It would be more for… Draco or someone else.” You smiled at that, a success in Fred’s books. “This little charm gives you a thirty minute daydream. I’d say ideal for Binns’ class. It’s almost entirely undetectable so you could get away with it in other classes too. Um, what else do we have… Oh! We got these custard biscuits that turn you into a canary briefly. Could be fun if you want to give it a try.”

“Why would I want to be a canary in a library?” you asked, your voice sounding mildly amused, another win for Fred.

“Well, I suppose not now since you don’t want to get kicked out. But if you want to try out your bird singing voice or to fly? Plenty of things they can do that we can’t.”

“If I wanted to fly, I’d have you teach me how to properly ride a broom.”

“Not brother dearest?”

Your smile shifted into a smirk. “Like you said, he gets those toffees.” 

“Right,” Fred said, hoping you couldn’t see the tinge of pink under his freckles. “And, of course, we’re working on an entire Weasleys’ explosives line. Mainly fireworks but a few other things that go boom too. Those’ll be fun once we get those perfected.” He pulled out a small pink vial. “We’ve been working on some love potions too. Figured that could appeal to a more feminine audience. Ginny said we should look into makeup. Not really sure where to start with that though.”

“So you’re good enough to brew love potions but not get into N.E.W.T. potions?” 

“Academic potions aren’t our style.”

You hummed. 

“Can’t imagine you’d need one though,” he added.

You tilted your head curiously. Was Fred Weasley flirting with you?

He was. He had gotten you smiling and it made him feel confident, bold. He took a chance, leaning in with the intent of kissing you.

“Fred,” you whispered, turning your face away from him. “Don’t.”

He stopped and sat up straight, running a hand through his hair. His face burned. He was embarrassed. 

“Sorry. I thought-” he started to say.

“No. I can’t.” 

Fred stared at you, unsure what you meant, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

“You’re a goddamn Weasley,” you breathed. “What would Father think?”

“Right, I’m a Weasley. Have been this whole time.” Fred tried to not get defensive. He tried to not feel insulted.

“This whole time… This was some sort of friendship, that’s all. This…” You gestured to the air in between  you. “This is different. It, ugh, it changes things. There are expectations of me.” Fred thought you sounded sad, if not disappointed.

“Those expectations that kept you bottling emotions?”

“Yes, those expectations.”

But,” Fred said as he reached for your hand, “you’ve strayed from those for me before. Smiled. Showed me you have the most beautiful laugh.”

“I told you, this is different,” you said, although your voice was beginning to sound strained. You didn’t pull your hand away from Fred’s. “We could get hurt.” 

“We?”

“Is your family going to like the idea of me?”

“They will once they meet you. And I mean the real you, not the emotionless shell your parents trained you to be.”

“Hmm, yes, Mother and Father will adore you.”

Fred grinned. “They’ll come around. You did.”

“Yeah, I suppose I did,” you said, looking back at Fred. Then you scoot your chair a little closer to him. “So, are you going to try that again?”

Fred leaned in again, and this time, you didn’t stop him. You could figure out how to deal with your families later. 

You’re relationship with Harry Potter was strange. 

Years of rivalry with your brother had strained any relationship you could’ve had, only small moments of sympathy here and there for one and other. But lately it was different, things were changing, both of you feeling estranged from your usual unfamiliarity, finding comfort in each other, small moments. 

It had started in his fourth year, your fifth, when you had walked in on him taking a bath in the prefects bathroom, scolding him for being there when he shouldn't, then advising him with the egg, ending it in becoming completely flustered when you realized Harry Potter was taking a bath and you had walked in on him. Slowly these moments grew, as well your fondness for the other. 

Lingering stares, understanding nods, fond teasing, gravitating towards the other without saying a word, gentle blushes, and soft stutters leading the way for something neither of you really knew where it lead.

“Harry?” You whispered as you watched him come out of seemingly nowhere.

“Oh…y/n… hi,” He smiled at you a bit awkwardly. 

“Did you just come out of a wall?” You walked closer to him. 

“I-I, uh… I…yes,” 

“What are you up to now?” You leaned against the wall. 

“I…” He huffed gently looking around, he grabbed your arm and nudged to stand in front of the wall, you straighten up and walked over to where he stood. Suddenly a door appeared. You looked over to Harry as he put a hand on your back gently guiding you into what appeared to be an empty room, it looked somewhat like the rest of the castle, columns keeping it up, the floor was strange, stone and drains, there was mirrors on the wall, training dummies, and a board with notes and pictures stuck to it. You could read, Dumbledore's Army, and a list of familiar names. 

“What is this place,” You wished Harry's hand had stayed on the small of your back. 

“I’m sort of… teaching the other students… how to defend ourselves… given everything going on,” He said, not quite believing himself. 

“You’re sneaky, Potter, I knew you were up to something… but when are you not,” You remark, looking around the place.

“Could say the same about you, Malfoy,” He smirked, and you stared, almost biting your lip. 

“Speaking off… would you ever…say… lend me your precious cloak?” Harry looked a bit stunned. 

“Don’t play coy with me now, I know you have an invisibility cloak… it's good to be generous, Harry,” You got closer to him, plucking a loose string from his sweater. 

“What do you want it for?” He asked, his hand itching to reach for any piece of you. 

“I’d tell you it's not your business… but it is your cloak… so lets do this… meet me at the bell tower right after dinner, and I’ll show you what I want to do,”

You didn’t wait to get a response, making your way out of what you assumed was the Room of Requirements, dashing off to your lessons. 

---

You knew Harry usually had early dinners, by a quarter before eight you were blending in with the stone of the exit of the bell tower, waiting for Harry. 

“Over here,” You whispered. Harry snapped his head towards the sound and made his way over to you. 

“Hey,” He raised his hand, holding the cloak. 

“Get it on, we can’t be seen,” Harry obliged, awkwardly wrapping it around you and himself, you turned around, facing towards the door, backing into Harry.

“Grab my waist, Harry, we’re gonna do a little dancing… gotta coordinate our steps so we don’t fall on our asses and blow this, alright?...Feel my movement, feel my step and follow it… quiet until we make it to the other side of the gate,” Harry grabbed your waist while you held the cloak together, letting himself be guided by you, looking at your feet and going at your slow pace, he barely had anytime to flush at the fact that you were so close to him. 

You walked in silence, eyes wide, looking around, making sure you truly weren’t noticed. 

You finally made it over the gate, it’d be quiet difficult to be seen by this distance by anyone in the castle. 

“Alright, you can put the cloak away, we’ll still have to be sneaky, but we’re gonna need the mobility if we’re going to lurk around the forbidden forest,” You said, regrettably tearing yourself away from Harry, immediately missing the warmth of his hands on your waist. 

“Forbidden forest… at night? What exactly are you planning on, y/n?” He obeyed anyway, putting the cloak away. 

“Don’t tell me the Harry Potter is scared,” You were already walking slowly through the dirt way. 

“Curious,” He corrected, “And I could go, with my cloak… good luck sneaking around without it,” He threatened. 

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist… I’ll tell you, alright… I was in the owlery the other day, and came across a ghost… Jackwad… jackdaw? Jackdaw… yes… Richard Jackdaw… and he gave me this map… that has this sort of treasure hunt… said he stole it from Peeves,” 

“You’re always doing the weirdest things, y/n,” Harry shook his head gently. 

“Anyway… we have to go to the entrance of the forbidden forest… near there we must find a stone bridge… which I think I already know… then the map shows a wand that’s sort of glowing… then there's a forest…I gathered that we must cast Lumos in the bridge and something will happen,” Harry nodded. 

“How do you know this ghost isn’t trying to play with you?” He questioned, suddenly feeling a bit protective over you. 

“Brought you with me… I was a bit skeptical… the forbidden forest at night… but you’ve done this in your sleep, haven’t you, Potter? Or did I dream that” 

“Dream of me often, Malfoy?”

“Yes, I have this recurring dream where a bludger kicks you off your broom… best way to start my day,” You said in the most serious tone you could find. 

“Ha…ha,” 

“You asked,” You shrugged, “If you are worried about the forest… don’t be… it’s not that bad… there's mostly dubogs… and dark mongrels… which are quite easy to kill… spiders are always in no more than pairs… and worst thing you could find are poachers… looking for magical creatures… but most of them are a bit daft,” Harry nodded along, impressed by you, as always.

“Oh, right there… that’s a stone bridge,” You pointed and made your way, making sure Harry kept close. 

You stood in the middle of the bridge remembering the map, you pulled your wand out. 

“Lumos,” You said, firmly, and the tip of your wand glowed, a few seconds later you gasped softly as a pair of candles appeared out of nowhere, you lowered your wand and watched the warm light radiating of the two floating waxy wicks, you took careful steps toward them trying to grab one.

“Careful, y/n,” Your hand almost wrapped around the candle, and Harry’s hand almost wrapped around your other wrist, but the pair swished out of your reach, in one second. 

“I think we have to follow them, Harry, into the forest… like the map showed,” you turned to look at him and realized how close you were, he was hesitant. Merlin knows how many times he’s been in this forest, how many far more dangerous things he’d done, but not with you, never with you at any risk and it scared him, how his heart was beating faster just thinking of you getting hurt. 

“Come on… we’re already here, Harry… it’ll be alright… we’ll stay close,” You grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers together, now his heart was beating faster for different reasons. 

“Alright,” you smiled at him and started walking towards the candles as they made a path for you, your hand still in Harry’s.

Leaves and sticks crunched under your feet, bellow them a soggy floor, it was freezing, one more layer wouldn’t hurt you right now, you couldn’t see much in front of you, or behind, or to the sides, thick fog surrounding you, making you thankful for the warm body beside you, keeping you company in this little thrill. 

“I swear… y/n, always doing the strangest things… you’re the only person I know that would blindly follow a doodle that some ghost called a map that he claimed he stole from peeves… you’re something else,” Harry scolded you.

“And you still came along,” You reminded him.

“Yes, to make sure you don’t get turned into a werewolf… or spider food,” He argued.

You were so caught up in your little banter you didn’t realize you had made it to your destination, until the candles flickered brighter for a second, and made a chirp-like noise making you both turn to the scene in front of you. 

A small white table with a stone like bouquet of flowers, the candles floating above it, two matching chairs facing each other, the table between them, all sitting in a raised slab of stone, a pretty lake adorning the scene. 

“Is this it?” You muttered, you stepped closer and a small chest appeared on the table. 

You raised your wand and chanted Revelio, waiting to see if it hid anything else. Slowly the chest opened and Harry and you peeked into it, inside it there was plenty of gold, a golden bracelet, and a rolled up piece of parchment.

“Finite,” You wanted to make sure it really wasn’t a trap of some kind, “well… if it’s cursed I can’t detect it… I think I’ll take the risk,” You reached for the note, unraveling it gently.

To whomever finds the bracelet of my beloved, wear it with esteem and it shan’t be dishonest

You must earn it to find it, if you followed the trace of my love then you’ll have it

Call it a charm to find your missing half, I braided the affection I had for mine into the gold of it

Or very well, call it a curse, for you see, she left me to hang by a rope 

Call it what you want then, have it as you please, it’s not my business anymore

All that I have now that I’ve left this bracelet behind is the ghost of our love

You read off the old dry paper. 

“That’s…” Harry started.

“Beautiful,” You finished, “Do you think I’ve earned it? Think it’ll curse me?” you reached to pick it up gently expecting to feel some intense energy from it, but you didn’t, it felt like a normal bracelet. It looked quite rough, like a piece of gold someone beat into the shape it had, a stone was in the middle of it, it was the clasp, you gently opened it.

“Help me get it on?” You whispered to Harry, turning around your faces inches away. He nodded, taking the piece of jewelry from you, putting it on you, as it clicked the colorless stone turned a shade of green, a very familiar shade of green making you gasp softly.

“It’s green,” Harry stated.

You brought your hand up to his face, comparing the shade.

“Like your eyes,” your words made Harry flush, his cheeks red, making the green of his eyes brighter and the stone lit up to match, and right there it was clear to you.

“Charm to find your missing half,” You whispered and  your hand cupped his face, inching closer, Harry felt as if his heart would explode, his hand snaking around your waist. 

“Do you think it’s true? The poem… think the bracelet really does…do all that?” Harry’s lips were slightly parted, his eyes blown, only a ring of green around the black. 

“It might,” He leaned in closer, tilting his head.

Finally the distance was closed, lips brushing together, molding into the other, tasting, savoring, the candles burned brighter, so much they consumed themselves in a second, leaving you in the dark kissing one another, Harry grasping at your waist and hips, you at his hair. 

You were lost on each other, lips and tongues bonding, you could taste treacle tart and he could taste cinnamon, Harry kissed like he was chasing something, bringing you closer, teeth grazing against your bottom lip every time you were pulling away, you couldn’t catch your breath, his tongue making your insides warm, the edge of the table digging against your ass as he pushed you against it, hands going down to your thighs, he cursed and thanked you were wearing pants, wishing he could feel your bare skin under your skirt but knowing that it would’ve not so great to have his hands between your thighs in the middle of the forbidden forest. 

“We… should… get back,” you said in between kisses.