Chapter Eighteen - Chasing Fire
An academic rivals to lovers story
or: {You want a chase? You got it.}
1k words ✧ go to landing page
DRACO
“Where is she?” I roar, storming into the dorm.
Lightning cracks across the window, painting the room in a pale grey as I slam the door behind me.
Theo looks up from his desk, a floating candle casting shadows across his face as he scribbles in a notebook.
I’ve been all over the grounds. The Astronomy Tower is empty. The library felt like a tomb without her in it. All her usual haunts are deserted. Even the godforsaken dragons are alone out there under the night sky.
I searched until I was soaked to the bone. Until my hair lay plastered to my neck and forehead, and the warming charms were barely holding the cold at bay.
I need to speak to her.
There’s so much she doesn’t know. If she’d stop running from me then I could just explain—
“Welcome back,” Theo says breezily, ignoring my question as his gaze flicks over my drenched suit. “How was the ceremony?”
I rip the soaked tie off my neck and drag a hand through my hair. He gets nothing but a grunt in response. I have no interest in reliving any part of today. Or, frankly, any moment since she walked out of the manor last week.
“So,” he presses, “it’s done then?”
I sigh heavily. “It’s done.”
Theo nods once, then returns to this scribbling. I’m grateful he doesn’t pry further.
I cross to the drink cart, free a glass, and retrieve my hidden bottle of Firewhiskey. The alcohol hits the crystal in a heavy pour that pulls Theo’s eyes up again.
“You having all that, straight? It’s better with a lemon twist. There’s some in the—”
“I didn’t ask you to fucking bartend,” I interrupt sharply. “I asked you a question.”
He sighs. “She’s with Cassian.”
The glass stills halfway to my lips.
Theo must see the look in my eyes because he, wisely, continues unprompted.
“She asked him to the dance tomorrow.”
For a second, it feels like I’m being branded all over again.
“She did what?” I seethe.
Fucking Flint.
The glass bites my palm, and I flinch, loosening my hold on it.
Theo raises his hands in defense. “Look, I tried to stop it, but she ran into a past version of me. I didn’t know where you were at with her.”
“Past version—” I scoff, knocking back the drink in one swallow. It burns my throat, but does nothing to ease the tension in my chest. I told him to quit the time magic shit.
Apparently, he didn’t listen. But, really, I shouldn’t be surprised. You can’t tell Theodore Nott anything—especially when it comes to girls.
“Anyway,” Theo continues, “after I told her I was sorry I never responded to her note, Cassian showed up and—”
“Wait.” I cut him off. “You told her—”
I swear under my breath and slam the glass down onto the cart.
Theo scoffs. “Yes, she thought I’d already answered her. How many things are you hiding from this girl?” He shuts his notebook and stands, reaching for his satchel. “Why didn’t you just…talk to her? She seems like—”
“You don’t know her,” I say quietly, jaw pulsing.
I’m the only one who understands her. The way she thinks.
She’d never forgive me.
I rub at my chest absently, trying to ease that aching emptiness behind my ribs.
Theo moves about the room, collecting his things, and preparing for his shift at the bar.
I’m jealous that he’s seen her today. Spoken with her today. And the fact that I can’t find her anywhere means only one thing.
She doesn’t want to see me.
That burns worse than anything in this bottle.
Part of me wants to whirl on Theo and demand answers to all my questions.
What exactly did she say? How did she sound? Was her hair up or down? Because that depends on her mood. Was she in class? Who am I kidding, of course she was in class.
I lean over the drink cart and brace myself on the edges, cringing at my own thoughts. Water drips from my hanging hair into my empty glass.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
I drag a hand down my face and shrug off my shirt, eager to feel something other than…cold.
“I mean, it’s not like I was never really going to accept her offer,” Theo adds from across the room, “Given the fact that all you talk about besides Quidditch, and your parents giving you shit,…is the Snitch.”
“Don’t call her that.”
Theo laughs, standing by the door. “She said the same thing.”
My head snaps up. “What?”
He levels my gaze. “She told Cassian not to call her that, too.”
Something sparks deep in my chest, and I turn my back on him so he doesn't see it in my eyes.
She still feels something.
If I know her—and I do—she’s determined to continue with her plan, with or without me. And the fact that it’s Flint—well, that’s just icing on the cake to her.
But even if all she feels is anger…
It’s something.
The door opens and shuts behind Theo, but I don’t bother with a goodbye. Because a plan is already beginning to form in my mind.
I know her anger. That fire in her eyes? It matches mine, flame for flame. And I’ll chase that fire every day if I have to. Just to keep indifference from slipping across her features. To stop her from ever looking up at me like she did right before she got in that car.
I stride to my closet and wrench the doors open. Rain pelts the window as I search for the long black box that was delivered to my room last week.
When I lift the lid, sparkling silk pours out. Lightning flashes, illuminating the subtle shifts in color. Purple and blues blink back at me, their hues so rich they almost appear black in the dim light. It reminds me of a glittering night sky.
It reminds me of her.
The box clicks shut and I set out to enact my plan.
She wants me to be angry?
Fine. I'll play her game.
Because when it comes to games with the Snitch... I always win.
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a/n: hi! short update again because I have to set the sceneeeee lol. By the way, if you're feeling confused at this point, GOOD. I decided to write this story in a way that the reader (you) and the reader (character) lol both experience things and learn things at the same time. I think it just makes for a more immersive experience, although it takes a bit more work and vagueness on my part, I think this story is really taking shape, and I can't wait to show you what happens next!!!! :)
ft. mattheo riddle, theodore nott, draco malfoy, lorenzo berkshire
mattheo riddle as... TOLERATE IT
(the toxic ex)
lyrics - "Now I'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life." + "Took this dagger in me and removed it?" + "I sit and watch you."
when you were together, you and mattheo would be constantly going in circles. I don't see mattheo as the kind of guy that would cheat necessarily because i feel like he wouldn't get into a relationship if he was just gonna cheat on you the whole time, but he is most definitely the kind of guy that has horrible habits (drugs, alcohol, etc.) and always tells you he's gonna clean himself up but never does.
as an ex, mattheo is 1000% the kind of guy that is m e s s y throughout the breakup (i.e. yelling, cursing, saying that he's better off without you) only to turn around and literally be miserable without you. and what's worse is he actually believed that he'd be better without you so now it's genuinely just wallowing in self pity. he won't outright beg for you to come back to him, but you'll never truly escape him either. (he's def stalking you).
theodore nott as... EVERMORE
(the apathetic ex)
lyrics - "writing letters addressed to the fire" + "I had a feeling so peculiar that this pain would be for evermore" + "In the cracks of light I dreamed of you"
when you were together theo was... emotionless to be blunt. he has this "don't care" attitude that everyone thinks adds to his mysteriousness and a lot of girls find the whole act cute except... it's not really an act. he genuinely doesn't care. not that he doesn't care about you, but he's never gonna be that guy to get on his knees and pour his heart out. and you thought that you could be okay with that but his apathetic attitude carries over when you're fighting. even if you know it's not true, he gives off this energy like he could give a fuck less if y'all broke up and that is ultimately what does you in.
as your ex theo is going to wholeheartedly avoid you. he won't stare at you or ask about you or even really acknowledge that you exist. however, internally, theo is FIGHTING within his own head. your breakup kind of blindsided him in the sense that he saw it coming but he wasn't expecting it to affect him this much. that part is entirely new for him. i'm a little undecided on if i think that he would be silently hoping y'all got back together or if he would just push his feelings down like usual.
draco malfoy as... CLOSURE
(the bitter ex)
lyrics - "It cut deep to know you, right to the bone" + "I know that it's over, I don't need your closure" + "But it's fake and it's oh so unnecessary"
when you were together draco was like your best friend in the world. you guys are super close, spend all your time together, laugh, joke, eat, whatever. it's very... strange when you start to have issues because it sort of catches both of y'all off guard. i would argue though that draco feels way less prepared to deal with arguments. with his parents, they always just kind of ignore it and then are back to normal the next day. and he doesn't really realize that that's not gonna work until y'all break up.
as an ex draco is somewhat of a petulant child throwing a fit. the fact that y'all were such good friends when you were together honestly just makes this all the more confusing because how did he go from being besties to literally just like... pretending he never knew you?! he's incredibly bitter and his pride is hurt a little that you even had the nerve to breakup with him. i think that with some coaxing, IF you wanted to, you could probably get him back into a relationship but he would definitely require some serious work.
lorenzo berkshire as... RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME
(the on-again off-again ex)
lyrics - "break-ups happen everyday you don't have to lose it" + "if our love died young, I can't bear witness" + " but if you ever think you got it wrong, i'm right where you left me"
when you were together you and enzo were often called the perfect couple. you grew up together and it was really easy for you guys to fall back into this rhythm of blossoming feelings no matter how much time passes, but it's a very round and round thing where you're kind of getting together, breaking up, missing each other, getting back together. it's definitely not the healthiest relationship but enzo feels like a warm hug in the absolute best way and it's something you have a hard time walking away from.
as your ex, enzo snaps right back into place as your best friend. i think of the four boys he's the most accommodating to what you need, the most "water under the bridge" kind of ex. neither of you hold what happened during the relationship against the other, even if it's something that you would normally hold a grudge on. with enzo, you inevitably end up forgiving him and, as time has told, end up getting back together.
(fluff, slight hurt/comfort) you were out strolling, trying to find a secret place for you to make your own; until you heard tiny cries from the corner of the hall. This is when you meet the arrogant 2nd year, Draco Malfoy; someone that you haven't properly introduced yourself to. You didn't really expect that you'd be his friend from then on.
includes: fluff! young love, comforting char (tho she kinda hurt him..), pureblood & slytherin reader (she/her used), first meet, draco crushing on you, pov in 2nd year ~ (wc: 1.5k)
a/n - since the newgen!hp verse is coming... I wanted to do a cute fic for our new Draco ! I will ALWAYS love young love fics nyehehe part 2 next ? (in your older years + longer too) ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ) p.s. this is not proofread...,, oml
Stomps.
It was heard all over the empty halls as you scurried to find an empty corner, wanting to breathe in the quiet air to get some rest. Merlin, Snape is terrifying. I can't wait to get out of here soon. You thought, too focused on your words. Because of that, you hadn't realized someone was sniffling quietly. And you had bumped into that someone, making the both of you stumble backwards. "Do you not know how to use your eyes?!" The voice screamed, the back of his palm on his eyes as he hurried to remove the traces of tears.
"... Malfoy...??" You said under your breath, your eyes trying to search his. He couldn't look at you, no. How could he? A Malfoy has and will always be prideful, which is why it shocked you how destroyed he looked. He scoffed, rolling his eyes as he tried to walk away. At this point, you didn't know what compelled you to do what you did; but you had slowly followed him and tugged at his sleeve. "What's... wrong?"
You stumbled again as he pulled his sleeve back, his gaze avoiding yours. "Don't treat me with pity. I'm not like you." He spat, pushing you away. Though despite his words, he stayed stationary on his feet. Raising a brow, you crossed your arms with an unimpressed expression. "Y'know, I'd have thought you'd treat me better considering I'm a pureblood as well." You tilted your head, stepping closer. "Maybe that's why you're treated horribly; only serves you rig-"
"Shut up." He said firmly, finally looking at you with glassy eyes as he cut you off. You were speechless, he never looked like this. His reputation consisted of a brave, carefully thought out image. One that made even fellow purebloods threatened, because of his fathers power and influence. Never in a million years would you imagine a Malfoy looking vulnerable, and you certainly didn't expect to see one like this. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Then at least tell someone." You shot back, brows furrowing. "Look- I apologize for bumping into you. And saying those things... As a student, fellow classmates' wellbeing's worry me." A sigh came out of your mouth, indicating you had given up a bit. Before you walked away, you searched for something in your pocket. The platinum blond raised a brow, until he looked at your giving hands with... a music box?
You gave him an affiliative smile, something small and tight-lipped just right before you walked off. He tilted the box around, seeing a small message engraved there. "Be yourself; everyone else is already taken." — Oscar Wilde. It read. He felt... surprisingly better? And a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest had developed. He pocketed the toy, of course.
Why wouldn't he treasure the gift he got from the girl he liked?
35 hours later. Wednesday, 3pm.
Ever since that day, you had felt his presence lingering in every moment. You could feel someone looking at you; but as soon as you looked around, you'd see no one. You'd shrug every time, and he would smirk to himself at how good he was at hiding his little sneaks. Though, you had started to hear a few snickers from his circle about a little crush on you.
You could hear them in every step you made in the halls. 'Maybe it's because they're both purebloods. Her father probably had something to do with it. She's just chasing after their money.' That was what most of them said, and it annoyed you. You weren't that shallow, and you certainly didn't need another person for your own success. It had annoyed you to the point that, you had to try and find another place to hide in.
Thank Merlin, you had. Being an adventurous kid has its perks, and you struck gold when you found the hidden library room. Though dusty and filled with cobwebs, that was an easy fix for you with a few flicks of your wand. You breathed in the air, now clean and smelled like old books; it comforted you. It had always reminded you of your mother's old study.
It had been 3 days after your discovery of the room, 3 days of hearing rumors about you. It was honestly getting annoying, you couldn't really bare to listen to any of that anymore; and you found yourself making the hidden room your second place at Hogwarts. Your back slid down against the wall as you sat down, legs giving up from how tired you were of hearing stories about you.
Are people seriously gossiping about me? Merlin, this is outrageous. Maybe I shouldn't have talked to him... Your words scrambled in your mind, as your back laid against the brick wall of the hidden library room. You were enjoying the time you had to yourself, petting the pygmy puff you had on your lap as your wand lit the pages of the photobook you had.
Glacius.
Your head snapped, body stiffening for a bit until you forced yourself to hide behind the large chair. "Who are-" Your wand was raised, pointing at the curly haired boy who was crawling in; who, mind you, was just as shocked as you. "Oh." You managed to say out loud, your wand slowly dropping as he brushed off the ash on his robes.
"Thought this was hidden." He said with a sour expression. Excuse me? You said to yourself. "I was here first." The pygmy puff was hiding behind your back now, sneaking glances at the boy and locking eyes with him every now and then. Staring at each other with a guarded expression, a moment passed as the silence grew. You were expecting to banter with the boy, spitting venom to each other about something your family has done.
You didn't expect to have him sit down next to you 5 minutes later as the pages of the photobook flew open.
"Is this you?" He asked, pointing at the baby nibbling at its toy. A giggle came out of your mouth as you looked at yourself in the image, nodding to answer his question. Although your interactions were rare—if you had interactions at all—you felt a pull towards him. And he did too. A feeling that, made you comfortable in his presence. That made you feel that this was right.
Maybe it was how quick you were getting close already, maybe something else entirely; but you had finally asked him about that day. "What's wrong?" He answered you with a raise of his brow, unsure of what you were referring to. "That day, of course." His hands dropped as you brought it up, his body shifting uncomfortably next to you. You scrambled to try and save the situation, until he stopped you.
"I don't think you should know." He breathed out, not looking at you. Anyone with a brain knew that you shouldn't push someone too much. Though, even if he came from a family full of arrogance and cruelty, he was still human; and you cared about your peers. Your hand went to his shoulder to offer comfort, rubbing softly to at least let him loosen up. "You don't have to tell me. But I can listen."
He smiled. Actually smiled, and it wasn't because of other's misfortune. You could feel the air getting heavier as the seconds passed, until he cleared his throat. "It's hard to keep up appearances. Just because of my name, no less." He was looking down at the book now, trying to distract himself from letting the tears fall down his cheek.
You hummed, listening intently as to not say something wrong. "I'm sure you've seen the music box." You voiced out, turning your head to face his; hoping to lock eyes with him as to read his mind. "It's true, you know. You don't have to pretend you're someone you're not." Your hand slowly moved to wrap around his forearm, squeezing softly. "You can be yourself around me. I mean, I think I'm a good friend?" You chuckled out, trying to lighten the mood.
He let out a small laugh, finally looking at you. The relit fireplace didn't help him focus as the light showered your face perfectly, undertones of orange, yellow, and green painted on your features. He couldn't help but blush, his smile faltering slightly as he felt the world stop for a second. You felt your cheeks flushing pink as you looked at him, realizing how close you were to each other.
You shifted away, looking at anything else other than his eyes as you both awkwardly sat next to each other. After a few moments, you spoke again. "So... friends?" He gave you a smile. For the first time, a small weight from his shoulders was lifted; and it was only with you. The heaviness seemed to ease, being replaced with something fragile.
Warnings: Smut. P in V. Oral (female receiving). Unprotected Creampies.
MDNI!
Mattheo Riddle
You sat in the dimly lit corner of the Slytherin common room, the green glow from the lake windows casting eerie shadows across the stone walls. It was late, past curfew, and the fire had died down to embers, leaving a chill in the air that seeped into your bones. You'd always prided yourself on your composure, the way you could navigate the treacherous waters of Slytherin politics without so much as a flicker of unease. But tonight, that control felt fragile, like a potion bubbling too close to the edge of the cauldron.
Mattheo Riddle lounged across from you on the worn leather armchair, his legs sprawled out as if he owned the entire dungeon. His dark curls were tousled, falling into his eyes, and that perpetual smirk played on his lips, the one that made your stomach twist in ways you hated to admit.
You'd known him since first year, childhood friends forged in the fires of shared secrets and Slytherin ambition. Lately, though, those feelings had shifted into something sharper, more insistent. A crush, you supposed, though you'd buried it deep.
He'd cornered you here after dinner, insisting on 'a chat' about some meaningless gossip. But his eyes had that glint, the one that said he knew something you didn't want him to.
"So," he drawled, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, fingers steepled. His voice was low, laced with that rough edge from too many late nights and forbidden smokes. "Heard you had quite the dream last night."
Your quill paused mid-scratch on the parchment you'd been pretending to study. Heat crept up your neck, but you forced your expression to stay neutral, cool, detached. "I don't know what you're talking about, Riddle."
He chuckled, a dark sound that echoed off the walls. "Oh, come off it. Pansy couldn't keep her mouth shut. Said you were tossing and turning in the dormitory, muttering my name like it was a bloody incantation."
Your heart slammed against your ribs. Pansy....traitorous cow. You'd woken up flushed and disoriented, the remnants of the dream clinging to you like sweat-soaked sheets: Mattheo's hands on your skin, his breath hot against your ear, the way he'd pinned you down and-
You shoved the memory aside, setting your quill down with deliberate calm. "Dreams are just dreams. Means nothing."
Mattheo tilted his head, his brown eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made the room feel smaller. He stood slowly, unfolding his tall frame until he towered over the low table between you. "Nothing? You were dreaming about me fucking you, weren't you? That's what Pansy implied. Said you woke up all hot and bothered, looking like you'd just been thoroughly shagged."
The words hit like a hex, blunt and unfiltered. Your cheeks burned, but you lifted your chin, meeting his gaze. "Even if I was, it's none of your business. Go bother someone else."
He didn't move. Instead, he rounded the table, closing the distance until he was right in front of you. The scent of him, smoke and sandalwood, filled your senses, making your pulse race. You stayed seated, refusing to back down, but your hands clenched in your lap.
"None of my business?" He crouched down, eye-level now, his smirk widening into something predatory. "You've been avoiding me all week, love. Flushing every time I look at you. And now I find out you've been fantasizing about me pinning you against the wall, my cock buried deep inside that tight little-"
"Mattheo!" The word escaped sharper than intended, your composure cracking just a fraction. You stood abruptly, chair scraping back, putting space between you. But he rose with you, fluid and unyielding, like a shadow you couldn't shake.
He laughed again, softer this time, but it didn't reach his eyes. Those were fixed on you, dark and hungry. "Hit a nerve, did I? Tell me, did I make you scream in that dream? Beg for more?"
You turned away, grabbing your books as if to leave, but his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist, not hard, but firm enough to stop you. The touch sent a jolt through you, straight to your core, and you hated how your body betrayed you, heat pooling low in your belly.
"Let go," you said, voice steady despite the tremor in your chest.
He didn't. Instead, he tugged you closer, his other hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your face. His thumb lingered near your lip, tracing the edge. "Why? Afraid I'll see how much you want it? How wet you get just thinking about it?"
Your breath hitched. You yanked your wrist free, stepping back until your calves hit the armchair. "This isn't funny. You're being an arse."
Mattheo's expression shifted then, the teasing edge softening into something more serious, though the smirk lingered. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "Maybe I am. But fuck, when I heard… it got to me. Knowing you've been thinking about me like that. Wanting me."
You froze, the air thickening between you. The common room was empty, the only sounds the distant lap of water against the windows and your uneven breathing.
"What are you saying?" Your voice came out quieter, the control slipping further.
He stepped forward again, invading your space without apology. His hand found your waist, pulling you flush against him. You could feel the hard lines of his body, the heat radiating from him. "I'm saying I've wanted you for months. Watching you strut around like you own the place, all composed and untouchable. Drives me mad. And now… knowing your dreams? I want to make them real. Right here."
His words hung heavy, the tension coiling tighter. Your mind screamed to push him away, to reclaim your poise, but your body leaned into him, traitorous and aching.
"Mattheo…" It was a whisper, half-protest, half-invitation.
He didn't wait for more. His mouth crashed down on yours, rough and demanding, teeth nipping at your lower lip until you opened for him. His tongue swept in, tasting of firewhisky and sin, and you kissed back despite yourself, hands fisting in his shirt.
He groaned into your mouth, backing you against the wall beside the fireplace. The stone was cold against your back, a stark contrast to the fire building between you. His hands roamed, sliding under your blouse, fingers rough on your skin as he cupped your breast, thumb circling your nipple until it hardened under his touch.
You gasped, breaking the kiss. "We can't. Not here."
"Why not?" He nipped at your jaw, trailing kisses down your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. "No one's around. And you want this. Your dream, remember? Me, fucking you senseless."
His hand dipped lower, slipping beneath your skirt, fingers brushing the edge of your knickers. You were soaked, and he knew it, chuckling darkly as he pressed against your clit through the fabric.
"See? Dripping for me already." He rubbed slow circles, watching your face with that intense stare. Your knees buckled, but he held you up, his body pinning yours.
You bit your lip, stifling a moan, but he wasn't having it. "Let me hear you. Like in your dream."
The teasing reignited the flush on your cheeks, but the pleasure overrode it. You arched into his hand, composure shattering as he pushed your knickers aside and slid a finger inside you, then two, curling just right.
"Fuck, you're tight," he murmured, voice husky. He pumped slowly, building the rhythm, his thumb still on your clit. "Imagine my cock instead. Stretching you, filling you up."
You whimpered, head falling back against the wall. The tension had been building all evening, every teasing word a spark, and now it ignited. Your hands clawed at his shoulders, urging him on.
He withdrew his fingers suddenly, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean with a wicked grin. "Taste so good. But I want more."
Before you could protest, he spun you around, pressing your front to the wall. Your skirt hiked up as he yanked your knickers down, the cool air hitting your exposed skin. You heard the rustle of his belt, the zipper, and then-
His cock nudged against your entrance, hot and thick. He teased you there, sliding the tip along your folds, coating himself in your wetness. "Tell me you want it. Say it."
Your pride warred with desire, but the ache won. "Please, Mattheo...fuck me."
He thrust in with one sharp motion, burying himself to the hilt. You cried out, the stretch burning sweetly, and he stilled, letting you adjust. His hands gripped your hips, bruising, as he leaned over you, breath ragged in your ear.
"That's it. Take it." Then he started moving. Slow at first, deep thrusts that had you pushing back against him, chasing more.
The common room faded; it was just him, pounding into you relentlessly. Each snap of his hips built the tension higher, your bodies slick with sweat. He reached around, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing in time with his thrusts.
"Come for me," he growled, nipping your earlobe. "Like in your dream, say my name."
You did, shattering around him, walls clenching as waves of pleasure crashed over you. He followed seconds later, groaning your name as he spilled inside you, hot and deep.
You both slumped against the wall, panting. He pulled out gently, turning you to face him, his expression softer now, vulnerable, almost.
"That dream?" he said, brushing your hair back. "Make it a reality every night. I like you...more than like. Be mine."
You nodded, composure be damned, as he kissed you slow and sweet.
Theo Nott
You hunched over a thick tome in the restricted section of the Hogwarts library, the air thick with the scent of aged parchment and dust. Madam Pince's domain was quieter than usual this afternoon, the high shelves casting long shadows that muffled the world outside. You'd always found solace here, your composed nature thriving in the ordered silence where you could lose yourself in ancient runes or potion theory without interruption. As a Slytherin, control was your armour, cool glances, measured words, never letting anyone see the cracks.
But today, that armour felt thin. Daphne Greengrass had cornered you earlier near the circulation desk, her sly grin promising trouble. You'd known her since first year, part of the same tight-knit circle that included the boys, but she had a knack for ferreting out secrets, especially yours. And now, as you tried to focus on the page before you, her voice drifted from behind a nearby shelf, low but insistent.
'Come on, spill it,' Daphne whispered to you, her tone laced with mischief. You could picture her leaning against the books, blonde hair falling over one shoulder. 'Pansy told me everything. You were dreaming about Theo last night, weren't you? All hot and sweaty, calling out his name like he was the only wizard in the world.'
Your quill froze, ink blotting the margin. Heat flooded your face, but you kept your eyes down, pretending not to hear.
Theo Nott. Your childhood friend, the one with the quiet intensity and sharp wit that hid deeper shadows. Lately, your thoughts had wandered to him in ways that blurred the line between friendship and something more forbidden. A crush, unspoken and buried under layers of restraint.
Daphne's laugh was soft, teasing. 'Don't play coy. Was it his hands? Those long fingers tracing your skin? Or maybe him pressing you down, whispering in that accent of his while he—'
'Shut it, Daphne,' you hissed, finally glancing up. Your voice stayed even, controlled, but your pulse thrummed. The library's hush amplified every word, and you prayed no one else was near.
She sauntered around the shelf, eyes sparkling. 'Oh, please. You're blushing. Imagine if Theo found out. He'd probably drag you off to some dark corner and recreate it.'
You slammed the book shut, standing with deliberate poise. 'It's nothing. Just a dream. Drop it.'
Daphne opened her mouth to retort, but a shadow shifted in the aisle beyond. Footsteps, soft, measured, approached, and your stomach dropped. Theo emerged from the stacks, a volume on defensive spells tucked under his arm. His dark hair was slightly dishevelled, as if he'd been running his hands through it, and his green eyes flicked between you and Daphne with that unreadable calm he always wore. He moved like he was conserving energy, every step purposeful.
'Daphne,' he said, voice low and accented, the Italian lilt making it roll off his tongue. 'Avoiding studying again?'
She straightened, feigning innocence. 'Just chatting with our friend here. Nothing you need to worry about, Nott.'
His gaze settled on you, lingering a beat too long. You met it steadily, willing your expression to neutrality, but the flush on your cheeks betrayed you. He tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, not mocking, but knowing. 'Chatting about what, exactly?'
Daphne shot you a wicked look before slipping away. 'You'll have to ask her. I've got essays to finish.' She vanished into the stacks, leaving you alone with him.
Theo set his book on the table, pulling out the chair opposite yours. He didn't sit yet, just stood there, hands in his pockets, watching you. The tension thickened, the silence stretching like a taut wire. You sat back down, reopening your tome as if nothing had happened, but your fingers trembled slightly.
'So,' he started, voice casual but edged with curiosity. 'Dreams, eh? Daphne seemed awfully eager to share.'
You didn't look up. 'She exaggerates. It's not important.'
He finally sat, leaning forward on his elbows. His presence filled the space, the faint scent of cedar and ink wafting toward you. 'Not important? You were muttering in your sleep. My name, apparently. Sounded… intense.'
The composed mask you wore cracked just enough for your eyes to widen before you schooled it. 'Daphne talks rubbish. Forget it.'
Theo's smirk deepened, but there was a heat in his eyes now, something darker than his usual reserve. He reached across the table, his fingers brushing yours as he tapped the book. The touch was electric, sending a shiver up your arm. You pulled back, but he didn't let the moment pass.
'Rubbish? Daphne said you woke up flushed, like you'd been… satisfied.' His voice dropped lower, the words deliberate. 'What was I doing in that dream? Telling you to be quiet while I fucked you over this very table?'
The bluntness hit like a stunning spell. Your core tightened involuntarily, memories of the dream flashing: Theo's body covering yours, his mouth on your neck, thrusting deep and unrelenting. You gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white. 'Theo, stop. This isn't funny.'
He chuckled softly, a rare sound—dry, almost self-deprecating. 'Isn't it? I've been watching you, you know. All composed and controlled, like nothing touches you. But I see the way you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention.' He stood again, rounding the table with slow steps, until he was beside you. The library felt smaller, the shelves closing in.
You rose to match him, keeping distance, but he followed, backing you against the bookcase. The spines dug into your back, and his body heat radiated, close enough to feel but not touch. 'You're brushing me off, but your eyes say different. Tell me, did I make you come in that dream? Scream my name while I filled you up?'
Your composure frayed, breath coming shorter. You pushed at his chest, but it was half-hearted, your palm lingering on the firm muscle beneath his shirt. 'This is ridiculous. We're friends. Go away.'
He caught your hand, holding it there, his thumb stroking your wrist. His other hand braced the shelf beside your head, caging you in. Up close, his eyes were stormy, the teasing giving way to raw intent. 'Friends? That's what we've been telling ourselves. But fuck, hearing about your dream… it stirred something. I've liked you for ages...more than liked. Wanted to pin you down, taste every inch, make you lose that control you cling to.'
The confession hung between you, the air charged. Your heart pounded, the dream's echoes mingling with reality. The library was deserted in this section, but the risk heightened everything, the thrill of being caught, his proximity making your skin tingle.
'TTheo…' You meant it as a warning, but it came out breathy, inviting.
He closed the gap, his mouth claiming yours in a kiss that was slow at first, exploratory, lips firm, tasting of mint and restraint finally breaking. You resisted for a heartbeat, then melted, kissing back with a hunger that surprised you. His tongue slipped in, tangling with yours, and he groaned low, the sound vibrating through you.
He broke away only to trail kisses along your jaw, down your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point. 'Shh,' he murmured, accent thickening with arousal. 'Can't have Madam Pince hearing.'
His hands moved then sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through your blouse. You arched into him, composure dissolving as he unbuttoned your top with deft fingers, exposing your bra. He pushed the lace aside, mouth descending to suck on your nipple, tongue flicking until it pebbled hard.
You bit your lip to stifle a moan, but he pulled back, eyes dark.
Emboldened, you tugged at his shirt, pulling it free from his trousers. Your fingers explored the warm skin of his abdomen, tracing the lines of muscle. He hissed, pressing his hips forward so you felt his erection straining against his pants, hard and insistent.
'Feel that?' he whispered, grinding against you. 'All for you. Been hard just thinking about this.'
You fumbled with his belt, the clink of metal loud in the quiet. He helped, shoving his trousers down enough to free his cock, thick, veined, the tip already leaking. Your hand wrapped around it, stroking slowly, and he bucked into your grip, breath ragged.
'Merda,' he muttered, head dropping to your shoulder. 'Your hand feels good, but I need more. Need to be inside you.'
He hiked your skirt up, fingers hooking into your knickers and yanking them down your thighs. You stepped out of them, the cool air hitting your wetness, and he knelt briefly, spreading your legs to lick a stripe up your slit. His tongue delved in, circling your clit with precise flicks that had your knees weakening.
You gripped his hair, guiding him, the tension coiling tight in your belly. He sucked gently, then harder, two fingers sliding inside you, curling to hit that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.
'Theo! Please,' you gasped, voice breaking.
He rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes feral. 'Please what? Tell me.'
'Fuck me. Make it real.'
He lifted one of your legs, hooking it over his hip, and positioned himself at your entrance. The head of his cock nudged in, stretching you inch by inch as he pushed forward. You both stilled when he bottomed out, the fullness overwhelming, your walls clenching around him.
'Tight,' he breathed, forehead against yours. 'So perfect.'
Then he moved. Slow thrusts at first, building rhythm, each one deeper, harder. The bookcase rattled faintly, books shifting, but you didn't care. His hand covered your mouth as you moaned, muffling the sounds, while his other gripped your thigh, holding you open.
He pounded into you steadily, the angle hitting deep, pleasure building in waves. Sweat beaded on his brow, his control slipping as he chased release. 'Come for me,' he urged, thumb finding your clit and rubbing fast circles. 'Let go.'
The orgasm hit you like a curse, body seizing, pulsing around him. He followed with a choked groan, thrusting erratically as he came, filling you with hot spurts.
You slumped against the shelves, legs trembling. He pulled out carefully, tucking himself away before straightening your clothes with gentle hands. His expression softened, the intensity fading to something tender.
'That dream?' he said, kissing your forehead. 'We'll have more. I want you. Properly. Be with me.'
You nodded, the last of your composure yielding to the warmth in his eyes.
Enzo Berkshire
The Astronomy Tower's chill seeped through the stone walls, the night sky sprawling above like an endless black canvas dotted with stars. You'd gathered here with the usual Slytherin crew (Mattheo, Theo, Draco, Blaise, Daphne, Pansy, and Enzo) after curfew, the thrill of breaking rules pulling you all together. Bottles of smuggled firewhisky passed around, loosening tongues and inhibitions. The tower's circular room felt intimate under the moonlight filtering through the arched windows, telescopes pushed aside to make space for the circle on the worn rugs.
Truth or Dare had started innocently enough, but with this group, it never stayed that way. Laughter echoed as Pansy dared Draco to mimic Snape's sneer, and Blaise confessed a ridiculous crush from third year. You sat cross-legged, nursing your drink, trying to blend into the fun without drawing attention. But your mind wandered to the dream from last night. Enzo, of all people, his easy smile turning predatory as he took you apart piece by piece. Childhood friend turned recent fixation, his charm always disarming you.
It was Daphne's turn to ask you. She leaned in, eyes glinting with that familiar mischief. 'Truth: What's the wildest dream you've had lately? And don't skimp on details.'
The group hooted, egging you on. You hesitated, heat creeping up your neck. 'Pass. Too boring.'
'No passing!' Mattheo called, smirking. 'Spill or take the dare. Kiss Theo.'
You rolled your eyes, brushing it off with a laugh. 'Fine. It was… just a dream about flying. On a broom. Nothing exciting.'
Daphne snorted. 'Liar. Pansy heard you moaning Enzo's name in the dorms last night. Come on, was he chasing you on that broom or something dirtier?'
Your stomach flipped. The circle went quiet, then erupted in whistles and jeers. Enzo, lounging against a pillar with his legs stretched out, froze mid-sip. His brown eyes locked on you, playful surprise flashing across his handsome face, sharp jaw, tousled hair, that effortless charisma that made him the group's easygoing heartthrob.
'Wait, what?' Blaise chuckled. 'Enzo? Really?'
You shot Daphne a glare, face burning. 'She's making it up. Dreams are stupid. Forget it.' You waved it away, forcing a casual shrug, but your pulse raced under Enzo's stare. He didn't laugh like the others; instead, a slow grin spread, intrigued rather than mocking.
The game rolled on, but the air shifted. Teases flew your way. Theo muttering about 'hidden talents,' Draco sneering that it figured but Enzo stayed quiet, watching you with that intent gaze. When the firewhisky ran low and yawns hit, the group started packing up. 'Prefects will be patrolling here soon,' Pansy said, standing. One by one, they filed out, Daphne winking at you as she passed.
You lingered, pretending to adjust your robes, hoping to shake off the embarrassment alone. But Enzo didn't move. He pushed off the pillar, sauntering over as the door clicked shut behind the last person. The tower fell silent, save for the distant hoot of an owl.
'Think you can brush that off and run?' His voice was light, teasing, but laced with something deeper. He stopped a few feet away, hands in his pockets, head tilted. The moonlight caught his profile, making him look almost ethereal against the dark stones.
You straightened, keeping your tone even. 'It was nothing. Daphne exaggerates everything. Let's go.' You moved toward the stairs, but he stepped into your path, not touching, just blocking.
'Nothing? You were dreaming about me. Moaning my name.' He stepped closer, his height forcing you to look up. Enzo was built solid, quidditch broad shoulders, warm energy that contrasted the tower's cold. 'What was I doing? Come on, tell me. Was I scoring goals… or something else?'
Heat pooled low in your belly, the dream vivid: Enzo's hands pinning your wrists, his mouth hot on your skin, cock driving into you with relentless rhythm. You crossed your arms, chin lifted defiantly. 'You're imagining things. Drop it, Enzo. We're friends.'
He laughed softly, the sound rich and unhurried. 'Friends don't dream like that. And friends don't look at each other the way you do when you think I'm not noticing.' He closed the distance, his fingers grazing your arm light, testing. You jerked back, but the spark from his touch lingered. 'Daphne didn't lie, did she? You woke up all flushed, wanting more.'
'That's not-' You cut off, flustered, words tangling. The tower's isolation amplified everything: his cologne, faint and spicy; the way his eyes darkened with curiosity turning to hunger. 'It's embarrassing. Just forget it.'
Enzo's grin faded, replaced by a serious intensity. He cupped your cheek, thumb brushing your lip. 'Embarrassing? Or exciting? I've been crazy about you for months. Watching you laugh, the way you bite your lip when you're thinking. Hearing this? Fuck, it makes me want to show you what reality's like.'
Your breath hitched. The confession hung there, raw and honest, his usual playfulness stripped away. Tension crackled, the stars above witnessing as you searched his face. Part of you wanted to bolt, but the pull was stronger, the dream bleeding into now.
'Enzo…' It was a whisper, half protest, half plea.
He kissed you then, soft at first, lips warm and coaxing. You stiffened, then sighed into it, hands fisting his shirt. The kiss deepened, his tongue sweeping in, tasting of firewhisky and promise. He backed you against the stone wall, cool against your spine, his body heat chasing it away.
'Been wanting this,' he murmured against your mouth, hands sliding down to grip your hips. He pressed forward, letting you feel his arousal, hard length against your thigh. 'You in that dream… tell me to stop if it's too much.'
But you didn't. You pulled him closer, kissing his neck, nipping the skin. He groaned, fingers working your blouse open, exposing your skin to the night air. His mouth followed, sucking marks along your collarbone, down to your breasts. He freed one from your bra, latching on with a hungry pull, tongue swirling the nipple until it ached.
You arched, fingers in his hair. 'Enzo, here? The prefects could come by.'
'Risk makes it better.' He dropped to his knees, hiking your skirt up, bunching it at your waist. His eyes met yours, dark with want, before he tugged your panties aside. 'So wet already. For me?'
He didn't wait for an answer, mouth descending to lick your folds, broad strokes that made your legs shake. His tongue probed deeper, fucking into you shallowly, then focusing on your clit, sucking, flicking, relentless. You clamped a hand over your mouth, muffling the whimpers, but he pulled it away.
'Let me hear. Like in your dream.' Two fingers pushed inside, scissoring, curling against your walls. The pressure built fast, your hips bucking against his face.
'Please. More.' The words tumbled out, control slipping.
He stood, shedding his trousers just enough, cock springing free, long, thick, curving slightly. You stroked him, base to tip, smearing the pre-cum. He hissed, thrusting into your hand. 'Enough. Need to fuck you now.'
He spun you around, bending you over the low astronomy table, the wood smooth under your palms. Your skirt stayed hiked, panties shoved down. He rubbed his cock along your slit, teasing, then thrust in. Deep, filling you in one go. You gasped at the stretch, walls fluttering around him.
'Tight! Fuck, you feel amazing.' He set a pace, hands on your hips, pulling you back onto each stroke. The table creaked, stars blurring as pleasure coiled. He reached around, fingers circling your clit, syncing with his thrusts.
Harder, faster, he pounded into you, skin slapping, his breaths ragged. 'Come on, come with me. Want to feel you squeeze my cock.'
The orgasm crashed over you, body tensing, pulsing around him. He followed, groaning your name, spilling inside with hot pulses. He held you through it, collapsing forward, kissing your shoulder.
As you both caught your breath, he turned you, expression soft, affectionate. 'That dream? Just the start. I want you. For real. All of you.'
You smiled, leaning into him, the tower's magic feeling complete.
Draco Malfoy
The summer heat clung to Malfoy Manor like a second skin, even at night. The sprawling estate felt both grand and isolating without the usual house-elves bustling about. Lucius and Narcissa had insisted on a quiet holiday, leaving Draco to host the sleepover with the Slytherin inner circle. You'd all piled in after a day of lounging by the lake: you, Pansy, Blaise, Theo, and Enzo crashing in the guest wings. Draco's room was down the hall from yours, the one with the four-poster bed and silk sheets that screamed old money.
You'd changed into a loose tank top and shorts for bed, the fabric sticking slightly from the humidity. Sleep came fitful, the dream pulling you under fast. It started innocent, Draco's pale hair falling into his eyes as he smirked at you during a Quidditch match, but twisted quick. In the dream, he cornered you in the manor's library, his usual arrogance melting into command. 'Say my name,' he'd growled, fingers digging into your thighs as he spread you open, his mouth devouring your pussy like he owned it. Then his cock, hard and insistent, slamming into you against the shelves, books tumbling as he fucked you senseless, whispering how you'd always been his.
Your body reacted in sleep, hips shifting restlessly, soft whimpers escaping. 'Draco… yes, harder…'
Down the hall, Draco stirred, throat dry from the wine you'd all shared earlier. He slipped out of bed in just his boxers, the cool marble floor grounding him as he padded toward the kitchen for water. The manor's silence amplified every creak, but as he passed your door, a sound stopped him—muffled gasps, your voice murmuring his name. Frowning, he paused, hand hovering over the knob. Nightmares? You'd mentioned once how summers stirred up old family crap for you, same as him. Concern overrode his usual reserve; he twisted the handle quietly and pushed in.
Moonlight slanted through the tall windows, casting silver across your form. You lay tangled in the sheets, eyes squeezed shut, chest rising and falling fast. Another moan. His name again, breathy and needy. Draco froze in the doorway, the glass pitcher he'd grabbed from the hall table forgotten in his grip. Not a nightmare. Something else entirely.
He should leave. Back out, pretend he heard nothing. But curiosity and that flicker of heat low in his gut, kept him rooted. He stepped closer, the door clicking shut behind him. Your shorts had ridden up, exposing the curve of your ass, and as you arched slightly, he caught the damp spot on the fabric between your legs. Fuck. The dream was about him. You, his sharp-tongued friend who'd been driving him mad all summer with your easy laughs and the way your eyes lingered on him during games of Exploding Snap.
'Draco…' You shifted again, hand twitching toward your thigh as if to touch yourself.
He set the pitcher down on the side table, voice low and edged with that Malfoy drawl. 'Having trouble sleeping?'
Your eyes snapped open, body jolting upright. The room spun for a second, Draco standing there, moonlight highlighting the lean lines of his torso, blond hair tousled from bed, grey eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart hammer. 'What? Draco? How long have you been…'
'Long enough.' He crossed his arms, leaning against the bedpost, but there was no mockery in his tone, just a quiet command. 'Sounded like you were in distress. Thought it was one of your nightmares. But it's me, isn't it? In your head.'
Heat flooded your face, the dream's remnants making your skin tingle. You pulled the sheet up, clutching it to your chest. 'I...it's nothing. Go back to bed. Please.'
He didn't move. Instead, he sat on the edge of the mattress, close enough that his knee brushed yours. The air thickened, charged with the unspoken. Draco had always been like this, guarded, superior, but with you, cracks showed. Summers at the manor had blurred lines; late-night talks by the fire, his hand lingering on your arm a beat too long. 'Nothing? You were moaning my name like I was doing unspeakable things to you.' His gaze dropped to your lips, then lower, where the sheet tented slightly over your hardened nipples. 'Tell me what I was doing. Or should I guess?'
You swallowed, pulse thundering. Deny it, laugh it off. That's what friends did. But his proximity, the faint scent of his soap, stirred the dream alive. 'You… we were in the library. And you… touched me.'
Draco's breath hitched, eyes darkening. He reached out, fingers tracing your jaw, tilting your face up. 'Touched you how?' His thumb pressed your lower lip, parting it slightly. Vulnerability flickered in his expression, rare for him, the weight of expectations always there, but tonight, alone in the manor, it eased. 'I've thought about it. You. More than I should. Hearing this… Merlin, it's torture.'
The confession hung, raw. You leaned into his touch, the tension coiling tighter. 'Draco, if you're teasing-'
'I'm not.' He closed the gap, kissing you fiercely, lips demanding yet careful, like he was afraid you'd shatter. You kissed back, hands sliding up his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. He groaned into your mouth, tongue delving deep, tasting and claiming.
He pulled back just enough to tug the sheet away, exposing you. His hands roamed, palms skimming your sides, thumbs circling your breasts through the thin tank. 'Lift your arms.' You obeyed, and he peeled the top off, mouth immediately latching onto one nipple, sucking hard while pinching the other. The pull shot straight to your core, wetness soaking your shorts.
'Draco...' You threaded fingers through his hair, arching as he switched sides, teeth grazing just enough to sting.
He hooked his fingers in your shorts, yanking them down along with your panties. Cool air hit your bare skin, but his gaze burned. 'Spread your legs. Let me see.' You did, knees falling open, and he settled between them, elbows bracketing your hips. His breath ghosted over your pussy, already slick and swollen. 'So wet. For the dream me? Or real?'
'Both.' The word escaped on a gasp as his tongue flicked your clit, light at first, then flattening to lap broad strokes. He ate you out like a man starved, nose bumping your mound, fingers parting your folds for better access. One digit slid in, then two, pumping slow while his mouth sucked your clit, humming vibrations that made your thighs quake.
You bucked, chasing the pressure. 'More. Fuck, Draco, don't stop.'
He curled his fingers, hitting that spot inside, and you cried out, hand flying to your mouth to muffle it, Pansy was just down the hall. But he grabbed your wrist, pinning it above your head. 'Let me hear. Want to know how good I make you feel.' His free hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as he devoured, tongue thrusting in alongside his fingers, sloppy and insistent.
The build was relentless, your walls clenching, orgasm hovering. 'I'm...close...'
'Come on my tongue.' He sucked harder, fingers twisting, and you shattered, body convulsing, juices flooding his mouth. He lapped it up, not stopping until you whimpered from overstimulation.
Draco rose, shedding his boxers. His cock stood rigid, long, veined, tip flushed and leaking. You reached for it, stroking firmly, base to head, twisting at the top. He hissed, hips jerking. 'Fuck, your hand feels better than I imagined.'
'Want more than that.' You guided him, rubbing the head along your slit, coating him in your arousal.
He thrust in slow, inch by inch, stretching you with a burn that bordered pleasure-pain. 'Tight. Merlin, you're gripping me so hard.' Fully seated, he paused, forehead against yours, breaths mingling. 'You okay?'
'Yes. Move.' You wrapped legs around his waist, urging him.
He started shallow, rolling his hips, then deeper, pounding with controlled force. The bed creaked softly, his hand bracing beside your head, the other kneading your breast. 'Like this? In your dream?'
'Better.' You met each thrust, nails raking his back, the slap of skin quiet but obscene in the room.
He shifted, hooking your leg higher, angle hitting deeper, brushing your g-spot with every drive. Sweat beaded on his brow, control fraying. 'Can't hold, come with me. Squeeze my cock.'
You clenched deliberately, and he groaned, pace faltering into erratic slams. Your second climax hit, pulsing around him, pulling him over. 'Fuck...yes!' He buried deep, cock twitching as he came, hot spurts filling you.
He collapsed half on you, both panting, his weight grounding. After a moment, he lifted, kissing your temple, then lips, soft, lingering. 'That nightmare? Won't happen again. Not when you have me for real.' His voice was hushed, affectionate, the arrogance softened into something genuine. 'Stay with me tonight. In my room. I want more of this, of you.'
You nodded, smiling as he helped you up, the manor's shadows feeling less lonely.
Blaise Zabini
The Three Broomsticks buzzed with the usual Hogsmeade weekend chaos, students crammed into wooden booths, tankards foaming over with Butterbeer and stronger stuff smuggled from the back. You'd come with the Slytherin crew: Pansy giggling over firewhisky shots, Theo nursing a pint with that brooding stare, Enzo charming the barmaid, Draco sneering at the Gryffindors across the room, and Blaise lounging against the bar like he owned the place. His dark skin gleamed under the lantern light, tailored robes hugging his broad shoulders, that easy confidence making him stand out without trying.
You'd matched them shot for shot, the warmth spreading through your limbs, loosening your tongue. The dream had haunted you for days. Blaise, all smooth power, pinning you to his four-poster in the dorms, his full lips on your neck, hands gripping your hips as he thrust deep, his voice a low rumble: 'Take it all.' Waking up soaked and aching hadn't helped. Now, buzzed and bold, you leaned into Pansy during a round of Never Have I Ever.
'Never have I ever had a sex dream about someone in this room,' Pansy declared, smirking as half the table drank.
You hesitated, then tipped back your glass, the burn masking your flush. 'Guilty. And it was intense.'
Enzo whooped. 'Spill! Who?'
Laughter bubbled, but your eyes flicked to Blaise, who raised a brow over his drink, amusement curling his lips. The alcohol pushed words out before you could stop them. 'Fine. Blaise. Dreamed he… well, fucked me senseless in the dorms.'
The table erupted. Pansy cackling, Theo choking on his beer, Draco's eyes widening. Blaise just chuckled, deep and rich, but his gaze locked on yours, dark eyes sharpening. 'Careful what you confess, love. Dreams have a way of coming true.'
Mortification hit as the haze cleared. You buried your face in your hands, mumbling excuses about the whisky. The night blurred on, but Blaise's presence lingered, his occasional glances sending heat pooling low.
Morning light filtered through the castle windows, your head pounding as you stumbled to the Great Hall for breakfast. The dream confession replayed in fragments. Merlin, why'd you say that? The Slytherins were scattered: Pansy still asleep, the boys grabbing toast. You piled eggs onto your plate, avoiding eyes, when a shadow fell over you.
Blaise slid into the seat across, plate in hand, looking infuriatingly fresh, crisp shirt, hair neat, no trace of hangover. 'Rough night?'
You poked at your food, cheeks warming. 'Don't. I was drunk. Forget it.'
He leaned in, voice a smooth murmur that cut through the hall's din. 'Forget dreaming I fucked you? Hardly. You've got me curious now.' His fork paused midway to his mouth, eyes tracing your face. 'What exactly did I do? Details, darling.'
The word sent a shiver down your spine. Blaise had always been like this, polished, teasing without cruelty, but with an undercurrent that made your pulse race. You'd been friends since first year, his quiet wit drawing you in, but lately, stolen moments in the common room had sparked something more. 'Blaise, people are around.'
'Then walk with me.' He stood, offering a hand, his touch warm and firm as you took it. He led you out, down toward the lake, the autumn air crisp against your skin. Willows draped the water's edge, providing cover as you reached a secluded bench.
You sat, knees together, while he stretched out beside you, arm along the backrest, fingers brushing your shoulder. 'No escaping now. Tell me about the dream.'
Tension coiled in your gut, his proximity, the scent of sandalwood and clean linen, stirring memories. 'It was… you in the dorms. Late, everyone gone. You kissed me, then pushed me onto the bed.'
His thumb traced your collarbone, light but deliberate. 'Go on.'
'You undressed me slow, hands everywhere. Then your mouth...' Your voice dropped, breath hitching as his fingers dipped lower, grazing your side.
Blaise's expression stayed composed, but his eyes heated. 'And?'
'You ate me out until I came, then fucked me, hard, like you couldn't get enough.' The words tumbled out, raw, the air thickening.
He shifted closer, leg pressing against yours. 'Sounds like me. Controlled, but thorough.' His hand cupped your cheek, turning your face to his. 'You know I've wanted you. Watching you laugh last night, tipsy and honest… it sealed it. No more dreaming.'
Heart slamming, you searched his gaze—sincere, hungry. 'Blaise—'
He kissed you then, lips firm and unhurried, tongue sliding in to taste you deep. You melted into it, hands fisting his shirt, the bench creaking as he pulled you onto his lap. His erection pressed against your core through layers of cloth, solid and promising.
Breaking the kiss, he nipped your earlobe. 'Here? Risky, with students about.' But his hands were already under your skirt, palms sliding up your thighs.
'No one's near.' You rocked against him, friction sparking need.
He hummed approval, fingers hooking your panties aside. 'Wet already. For the real thing?' Two digits probed your entrance, slick and easy, thrusting in with a curl that made you gasp.
'Yes! Fuck, Blaise.' You clung to his shoulders, riding his hand as he pumped, thumb circling your clit in firm strokes.
'Quiet. Don't want Filch hearing.' His mouth claimed your neck, sucking marks while his fingers worked faster, scissoring inside you. The pressure built quick, your walls fluttering.
'Close-'
'Hold it. Want you coming on my cock.' He withdrew, unzipping his trousers with one hand, freeing his length—thick, dark, veins prominent, head glistening. You stroked him, base to tip, feeling him throb.
He lifted you, positioning, then lowered you slow. The stretch burned sweet as he filled you, inch by inch, until seated fully. 'So tight. Grip me like that.'
You started moving, hips circling, his hands guiding your ass. He thrust up to meet you, deep and steady, the bench groaning under the rhythm. 'Like the dream?'
'Better, deeper.' You bounced harder, breasts pressing against his chest, his mouth latching onto one through your blouse, biting the nipple.
He flipped you suddenly, laying you back on the grass beside the bench, hidden by branches. Kneeling between your legs, he hiked your skirt, pounding in with renewed force, balls slapping your skin. 'Look at you, taking my cock so well. Mine now.'
The possessiveness tipped you over, orgasm crashing as you clenched around him, crying out softly. He followed, groaning low, spilling inside with hot pulses, hips grinding to ride it out.
Panting, he pulled out, tucking you against him, kisses soft on your hair. 'No more slips of the tongue needed. Whenever you want, I'm here.' His arm wrapped secure, the lake's ripple a peaceful backdrop to the shift between you.
Tom Riddle
Steam curled from the Prefects' Bathroom like a living fog, the air thick with the scent of lavender and something sharper, like polished marble. You'd claimed the space late that evening, after curfew, knowing the other prefects were occupied with rounds or studying. The massive tub, enchanted to hold endless hot water, cradled your body, bubbles foaming around your breasts as you sank deeper, trying to wash away the knot of anxiety in your chest.
Avoiding Tom Riddle had become a full-time job these past weeks. Slipping out of common room conversations, dodging his piercing gaze in the corridors, even skipping the Slytherin table at meals when he sat too close. He noticed, of course. Tom always noticed everything.
The dream replayed unbidden as you trailed fingers over your skin, remembering his imagined touch. Those long, elegant hands pinning your wrists above your head, his mouth claiming yours with bruising force, then trailing down to suck hard on your nipples before he spread your legs and drove his cock inside, relentless, making you beg. Waking up tangled in sheets, body thrumming with unmet need, had only made it worse. He was your childhood friend, the brilliant, enigmatic Slytherin who commanded respect without raising his voice, but lately, every interaction crackled with unspoken tension. Confessing that dream? Impossible. It would shatter the careful balance.
The heavy door creaked open behind you, and you froze, water sloshing as you twisted. Tom stood there, robes impeccable despite the hour, dark hair slightly tousled as if he'd run a hand through it in frustration. His eyes—cold blue, unyielding—locked onto you immediately, taking in your exposed shoulders, the way the water lapped at your collarbone.
'Tom! Get out!' You snatched a sponge to cover yourself, heat flooding your face, indignation sharpening your voice. The bathroom divided into sections, but prefect privileges blurred lines, and he knew it.
He didn't move, shutting the door with a soft click that echoed like a lock. 'You've been avoiding me.' His tone was even, but laced with that quiet edge that made spines straighten. He stepped closer, shoes silent on the tile, stopping at the tub's edge. 'For weeks. Skulking in shadows, changing routes. Why?'
You sank lower, bubbles your only shield, heart pounding. 'I'm not avoiding you. Just… busy. Prefect duties, classes.' The lie tasted bitter; he could spot deceit from across a room.
His lips thinned, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. Rare for him, who always maintained control. 'Lies don't suit you.' He crouched beside the tub, close enough that you smelled his cologne, crisp and commanding, mixing with the steam. 'Tell me. Now.'
Indignation flared hotter than the water. 'You can't just barge in here while I'm bathing! It's indecent!'
'Indecent?' He arched a brow, voice dropping to a murmur that sent chills racing over your wet skin. 'You've been indecent in your evasion. If you won't speak, perhaps I'll look.'
Before you could protest, his hand shot out, not touching, but hovering near your temple. His eyes bored into yours, and a pressure built in your mind, invasive and cool, like fingers prying open a locked door. Legilimency. You'd heard whispers of his skill, but feeling it.
'No! Tom, stop!' You jerked back, splashing water, but it was too late. Images flooded from your subconscious, unbidden: the dream in vivid detail. You, naked on his bed in the prefects' dorm, him looming over you, shirt unbuttoned to reveal pale, muscled chest. His fingers digging into your thighs as he knelt between them, tongue flicking your clit before sucking hard, making you arch and moan his name. Then him rising, trousers shoved down, cock hard and thick, pushing into your pussy with a single thrust, hips snapping as he fucked you deep, whispering how you'd always been his.
The connection snapped, leaving you gasping, mind reeling. Tom's face had paled slightly, but his eyes darkened, pupils blowing wide. He straightened slowly, jaw clenched, a muscle ticking there.
'You… dreamed of that?' His voice was low, controlled, but rougher than usual, betraying the storm beneath.
Mortification burned through you, hotter than any fever. 'You had no right! That's private-'
'Private?' He leaned in, forearms braced on the tub's rim, caging you without touch. Water droplets beaded on his skin from the steam, and you couldn't look away from the intensity in his gaze. 'You dream of me fucking you, begging for my cock, and you avoid me? As if I wouldn't want it too?'
Your breath hitched, the words hanging heavy. 'What?'
He reached into the water, ignoring your flinch, fingers wrapping around your wrist, not pulling, but holding firm. 'I've watched you for years. The way you bite your lip when you think, how your laugh cuts through the noise. I thought it one-sided, but this…' A ghost of a smile touched his lips, dark and promising. 'This changes everything.'
Tension coiled tight in the humid air, your pulse thundering in your ears. Part of you wanted to shove him away, scream about boundaries, but the heat in his eyes mirrored the ache low in your belly, the same one from the dream.
'Tom…'
He released your wrist, but only to trail his hand up your arm, water sluicing off his fingers. 'Tell me to leave, and I will. But I saw how you came in that dream. Clenching around me, screaming my name. Do you want the real thing?'
The question hung, raw and direct. You swallowed, voice barely a whisper. 'Yes.'
That was all he needed. In one fluid motion, he stood, shrugging off his robes to reveal the crisp shirt and trousers beneath, then yanked the shirt over his head. His body was lean and powerful, scars faint from old hexes, chest rising with controlled breaths. He stepped into the tub fully clothed, water overflowing as he settled between your legs, pulling you against him.
His mouth crashed onto yours, demanding, tongue thrusting in to claim every inch. You kissed back fiercely, hands tangling in his damp hair, the scrape of his trousers against your bare skin adding friction that made you whimper. He broke away to nip your jaw, then your throat, sucking hard enough to mark.
'Out,' he commanded, voice husky. He lifted you effortlessly, water cascading off your bodies as he set you on the wide marble ledge beside the tub, bubbles clinging to your curves. Kneeling in the water, he spread your thighs wide, eyes devouring the sight of your pussy, already slick and swollen.
'Tom-'
'Shush.' His hands gripped your hips, pulling you to the edge, and he leaned in, breath hot against your folds. His tongue licked a slow stripe up your slit, tasting you, before his lips sealed around your clit, sucking with precise pressure. You cried out, fingers digging into his shoulders, the sensation sharper than the dream—wet, insistent, his nose bumping your mound as he devoured you.
He pushed two fingers inside, curling them against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes, thrusting in rhythm with his tongue's flicks. 'So wet for me. Taste like you need this.' His free hand pinched your nipple, rolling it between fingers, sending jolts straight to your core.
The build was merciless, pleasure coiling tight as he worked you, fingers pumping faster, mouth relentless. 'Come on my tongue. Show me.'
You shattered, back arching, thighs clamping his head as orgasm ripped through you, walls pulsing around his digits. He didn't stop, lapping every drop until you trembled, oversensitive.
Rising, water dripping from his trousers, he unzipped them, shoving them down just enough to free his cock, long and rigid, tip leaking pre-cum. He stroked himself once, eyes locked on yours. 'Turn around. Hands on the ledge.'
You obeyed, ass presented, the cool marble biting your palms. He stepped up behind, one hand guiding his cock to your entrance, rubbing the head through your slickness. 'Beg for it.'
'Please, Tom. Fuck me.'
He thrust in hard, burying to the hilt in one go, the stretch making you gasp. His hands clamped your waist, holding you steady as he pulled back and slammed forward again, setting a punishing pace. Water splashed with each drive, his hips snapping against your ass, balls slapping your skin.
'Tight. Fuck, you take me so well.' He reached around, fingers finding your clit, rubbing circles that reignited the fire. Leaning over you, his chest pressed to your back, he bit your shoulder, thrusts deepening, hitting that angle that made you see white.
'Harder-'
He growled, pounding faster, the sound of wet skin echoing off the tiles. 'Mine. Always have been.' The possessiveness pushed you higher, pleasure cresting again as he pinched your clit, sending you over. You clenched around him, milking his cock, and he followed with a guttural moan, spilling deep inside, hips jerking as he filled you.
He stayed buried a moment, breaths ragged against your neck, then pulled out slowly, cum trickling down your thigh. Turning you gently, he kissed you soft, almost tender, wiping water from your face.
'No more avoiding me.' His forehead rested against yours, voice quiet but firm. 'I want you, real, every night. Be mine.'
You nodded, wrapping arms around him, the steam wrapping you both in warmth. 'Yours.'
Summary: Draco loves to spoil you. Too much if anyone were to ask you.
Tags: fluff, Draco is the best, I need this love in my life, established relationship
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Snowflakes dance around Diagon Alley as you and Draco leisurely stroll towards your favorite cafe, arms linked together. The cobblestone road barely visible under the dusting London received early this morning. The two of you decided early in the morning to take advantage of your rare aligned day off, visiting Flourish and Blotts.
Walking in, you claim you were just browsing. Draco simply hummed, pressed a kiss to your forehead, and followed you through the whole store. In the end, you walked out of the shop with two brand new books that you, absolutely did not need, to add to your overly crowded bookshelves.
“Darling,” Draco comes to a stop, in front of the window, squeezing your hand. “can you go in and find us a table? I want to go look something real quick.” A frown tugs on your lips, the heat from Draco's touch disappears as he slips his arm out of your hold.
“Are you sure? I can come with you.” Draco slips his hand on your waist as the other cradles your cheek. “I am certain I would prefer you inside the warm cafe than you freezing nearly half to death for me.” You laugh, your breath visible in the space between. “I would do anything for you. Draco nods, brushing his lips against your forehead. “Then do this for me.”
By the time Draco finally reappears, you have order both of your favorite drinks, talked to the barista as if she was an old friend, and found the perfect table in the corner beside the frosted glass. Beaming, your eyes trail as Draco stops to greet the barista before he scans across the cafe, eyes lighting up once he spots you. “Draco what did you get?” He shrugs, lips curling into a knowing smile. “For you.” Draco hands you a rather heavy tote bag, dropping a kiss to the top of your head. Your eyes widen at the realization that this was every book you looked at earlier.
Every book you picked up and read the back of. Every book you casually tapped, adding it to your tbr list in your head. Every book you turned and poured all your excitement to your loving boyfriend before placing it back in its proper place. Every single book.
“Wha…why?” He smiles, dropping into the chair across from you. “You deserve them.” Draco says, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “B..but we don't have room for anymore.” Shaking your head, your finger traces along the spines of the book. “Not for this much at least.” Draco slides his hand the table, cold fingers wrapping around your wrist. “Then I will build you as many bookshelves as you need.”
The image of a sweaty Draco building bookshelves just for you send a heat throughout your body. Quickly, you take a drink, hoping it will hide your blush, yet the signature smirk on Draco's face proves it did not work. Love and unfiltered adoration shines in his silver eyes as he leans forward. “You deserve so much and I am determined to give it all to you.”
Rating:*Teen and Up (T) – fluff, slow-burn pining, light angst from past, no explicit content
Warnings:Mild language, references to war aftermath/trauma (kept very light), high school boarding school dynamics, scar mentions (Draco's arm), cozy/romantic yearning.
Summary:In the crisp autumn haze of Hogwarts' final year, you—a quiet Ravenclaw with a penchant for hidden corners and violin melodies—keep crossing paths with Draco Malfoy in the least expected places: foggy Hogsmeade streets, empty library alcoves, and the Slytherin common room's edge. What starts as reluctant tolerance amid shared silences blooms into something warmer—stolen glances over coffee, shared scarves against the chill, and quiet confessions under falling leaves. Even serpents can learn to seek sunlight.
---
The first time you truly saw Draco Malfoy that year wasn’t in the Great Hall or during Potions. It was late October, rain misting the cobbled streets of Hogsmeade like silver veils. You’d ducked into The Three Broomsticks to escape the damp, your scarf—deep burgundy with faint silver threads—damp at the ends.
He was already there, alone at a corner table near the fire, black coat draped over the chair back, sleeves rolled to reveal the faint pink scar tissue on his left forearm. No Dark Mark anymore; the healers had done their work. He stared into his untouched butterbeer like it owed him answers.
You didn’t mean to sit nearby. The pub was crowded with chattering third-years. But the only open stool was two away from him.
He glanced up. Gray eyes narrowed, then softened—just a fraction.
“Malfoy,” you said neutrally, sliding onto the stool.
“Ravenclaw,” he returned, voice low. No sneer. Progress.
You ordered coffee—black, strong. The barman slid it over with a knowing look. You pulled out your notebook, sketched absentmindedly: the curve of a violin neck, ink bleeding like spilled secrets.
He watched without comment. Minutes passed. The fire crackled.
“You still play?” he asked suddenly.
You paused mid-stroke. “How do you know I play?”
“Saw you in the Astronomy Tower last spring. Moonlight on strings. Thought it was a ghost at first.”
Heat crept up your neck. “It was just scales.”
“It was beautiful.” The admission sounded dragged from him. He looked away. “Forget I said that.”
You didn’t.
---
Over the next weeks, autumn deepened. Leaves turned molten gold and crimson, carpeting the grounds like spilled treasure. Hogwarts felt smaller somehow—everyone healing in quiet ways.
You started noticing him more. In the library, he claimed the alcove by the restricted section, books on advanced Occlumency stacked like shields. You took the opposite table, violin case at your feet.
Once, you caught him staring at your open page: a quick sketch of the Black Lake under fog, a serpent curling through reeds.
He didn’t deny it when you raised a brow. “Your lines are… precise.”
“Yours are sharper,” you replied, nodding to his own parchment—tight, angular script.
He huffed what might’ve been a laugh.
---
The turning point came on a Saturday when rain turned to sleet. You’d forgotten your cloak in the rush to Hogsmeade. By the time you reached the village, you were shivering, teeth chattering.
The Shrieking Shack loomed ahead—abandoned, but the path cut through it. You ducked under the low branch that served as a natural arch, leaves catching in your hair.
Footsteps behind you.
Malfoy appeared, coat open, scarf loose. Without a word, he unwound the silver-green one from his neck and draped it over your shoulders.
It smelled like cedar, ink, and something faintly metallic—him.
“Keep it,” he muttered. “You look half-drowned.”
You clutched it tighter. “Thanks.”
He fell into step beside you. No questions. No barbs.
The branch overhead dripped. Maple leaves spiraled down, catching in his pale hair like tiny flames.
At the village edge, he stopped. “Why do you keep ending up where I am?”
You met his eyes. “Maybe I’m following the warmth.”
He reached out, brushed a leaf from your cheek. His fingers lingered.
“Come to the dungeons tonight,” he said. “After curfew. Password’s ‘aspire.’”
Your heart stuttered. “Why?”
“Because I want to hear you play. Properly.”
---
The Slytherin common room at midnight was green-lit and quiet, lake water shifting overhead like living glass. You slipped in—scarf still around your shoulders.
Draco waited by the fire, sleeves rolled again, a small table set with two mugs of something steaming.
“Hot chocolate,” he said. “With cinnamon. Mother used to make it.”
You sat across from him. Violin case open. You tuned slowly, strings humming under your fingers.
He watched like you were unraveling a spell.
You played—a slow, melancholy piece, autumn in notes: falling leaves, crackling fires, unspoken longing. The fire painted gold across his face, softening sharp angles.
When you finished, the room held its breath.
He exhaled. “That… makes the silence bearable.”
You set the violin down. “What silence?”
“The one inside.” He tapped his temple. “After everything.”
You moved closer. “You don’t have to carry it alone.”
His hand found yours—cold, hesitant. Then warmer.
“I know.”
---
From then on, it became routine.
Study sessions in hidden alcoves: your sketches next to his potions notes. Coffee in the mornings, shared under the Great Hall table when no one looked. Walks through the Forbidden Forest edge—never deep, just far enough for quiet.
One evening, frost on the windows, you sat by the common room fire again. Your head on his shoulder, his arm around you—tentative, like he feared breaking something fragile.
“You’re different this year,” you whispered.
“So are you.” His thumb traced circles on your wrist. “Softer. Braver.”
You tilted your face up. “Kiss me?”
He did—slow, careful. Lips cool at first, then warming like embers catching. Tasted like chocolate and secrets.
When he pulled back, forehead to yours: “I don’t deserve this.”
“You do.” You kissed the scar on his arm. “We all do.”
---
Winter crept closer, but autumn lingered in small ways: leaves pressed in books, your scarf permanently his (and vice versa), violin melodies drifting through corridors.
One night under harvest moon, by the lake: leaves floating like tiny boats.
He took your hand. “Stay after graduation?”
“With you?”
“With me.”
You smiled. “Always.”
The serpent in him uncoiled, just a little, seeking light.
And in the quiet rustle of falling leaves, two unlikely hearts found their way home.
Pairing Draco Malfoy x Slytherin! Female Reader (second-person "you")
Wc: 4,850
Rating:Mature (16+)
Warnings: Slow-burn romance with heavy tension and suggestive scenes; supernatural horror elements (time slips, hallucinations, vanishing passengers); references to Second Wizarding War trauma and pureblood legacies; possessive language, mild jealousy; atmospheric dread and mild swearing; no explicit sexual content but strong emotional/physical intimacy.
Short Summary: A mysterious antique radio summons you and Draco Malfoy to the legendary Eskdale Express - a cursed train that tests ambition and memory. Trapped together in maroon carriages filled with haunted luggage, the former rivals must confront buried secrets and each other before the train claims the unworthy.
You stood ankle-deep in the past.
The attic of Blackthorn Manor smelled of cedar, mildew, and the faint metallic tang of old magic. Towering before you was a precarious ziggurat of suitcases — deep oxblood leather, battered tan canvas, glossy black with silver clasps, a single defiant scarlet case wedged halfway down like a wound. Candlelight from two wrought-iron holders flickered across their brass corners, throwing long shadows that made the stack seem alive, breathing. Your great-aunt’s instruction had been simple: clear the attic before the Ministry inspection. But nothing in Slytherin blood ever obeyed simple instructions.
Your fingers brushed the topmost case. Dust rained down. Beneath it, half-hidden by a collapsed tower of hatboxes, sat a small mahogany box. You pried it open.
Inside lay the radio.
Dark walnut casing, speaker grille like a lattice of secrets, and across its cream face a tuning dial marked 88–108 MHz. A crimson needle rested at 98.7. Draped over the top like a shroud was a delicate ivory lace doily, its floral pattern yellowed but intact — the same one your grandmother had crocheted while listening to wartime broadcasts. You remembered the stories. The radio had never worked in your lifetime. Until tonight.
You lifted it carefully, lace and all, and set it on the scarred oak table. The power knob turned with a satisfying click. No batteries, no cord. Yet static bloomed, soft as moth wings.
Then a voice, crisp and aristocratic, cut through.
“Platform thirteen-and-a-half, extension. Ravenglass hidden sidings. The Eskdale Express departs at eleven fifty-nine precisely. Bring only what you cannot bear to leave behind.”
The dial spun on its own. The needle locked. A low chime sounded — the Hogwarts Express whistle, distorted, older.
Your heart slammed against your ribs. Slytherin ambition roared to life. You knew the legend. Every pureblood family had one: the train that ran when the world needed culling, when secrets grew too heavy. It carried the ambitious to power, the weak to forgetting. And it had not run since 1998.
You moved fast.
You chose the oxblood case first — the largest, monogrammed with your family crest. Then the black one with the silver clasps. The scarlet. The tan. You stacked them exactly as they had stood, only now they were yours. Inside you packed what the voice demanded: your grandmother’s journals, the silver snake ring that had once belonged to Salazar’s own line (or so the family lied), a vial of memories you had never dared view. The lace doily you folded and tucked into the smallest case like a talisman.
By eleven you were on the platform at Ravenglass, muggle side deserted, wind off the estuary slicing through your cloak. The real La’al Ratty sat dark and silent in its shed. But beside it, shimmering into existence like heat haze, waited another train.
Maroon carriage, gleaming as if freshly painted in 1947. Wooden panels glowed under gas lamps. Gold lettering arched across the side in elegant serif: ESKDALE. The windows reflected nothing — not the stars, not your face. Steam hissed from the engine somewhere up the line, though no engine was visible. A single porter in a 1950s uniform waited, cap brim low.
“Ticket, Miss?”
You had none. Yet when you met his eyes — flat, pupil-less — he stepped aside.
The compartment door slid open with a sigh.
Inside smelled of polished brass and old cigars. Velvet seats the color of dried blood. A small table already held two crystal glasses and a decanter of firewhisky. And opposite the door, lounging as if he owned the century, sat Draco Malfoy.
He looked up. Silver eyes widened a fraction — the only crack in the mask.
“Well,” he drawled, voice low and rough like the train’s wheels on gravel, “if it isn’t the only other snake ambitious enough to answer a fifty-year-old summons.”
You let the door click shut. “Malfoy. Still crashing parties you weren’t invited to?”
“Technically, the radio invited me first.” He lifted his own small case — sleek black dragonhide — and set it beside yours. “Family heirloom. Same frequency. Same lace doily, funnily enough. Mother kept it in the drawing room like a bloody shrine.”
The train lurched. No whistle, no announcement. Just smooth acceleration into darkness. Outside, the Lake District blurred — fells folding into themselves, stars streaking like wandlight.
You sat. The radio — you had brought it, of course — rested on the luggage rack, lace fluttering though there was no breeze. It crackled again.
“Next stop: Memory Junction. Mind the gap between what was and what must be.”
Draco’s gaze flicked to the cases stacked in the corner. “You brought the whole bloody archive.”
“Only what I couldn’t leave behind.”
His mouth twitched — almost a smile. “Sentimental for a Slytherin.”
“Says the man who still carries his father’s old pocket watch even after everything.”
Silence stretched, comfortable in the way only old enemies could manage. The train rocked gently. You poured two fingers of firewhisky each. The liquid burned like shared history.
Hours passed, or minutes — time behaved strangely here. You opened the oxblood case first. Letters spilled out, yellowed, addressed to your grandfather from “the Eskdale Vault Committee, 1943.” Blueprints of the train itself. A manifest of artifacts: the Slytherin locket that had never been destroyed, a diadem fragment, a ring said to hold the last true echo of the Founder’s voice.
Draco watched you read, then opened his own case. Inside lay a single photograph: Hogwarts, 1996, the two of you in the Slytherin common room, arguing fiercely about something forgotten. Behind the image, pressed flat, was a pressed sprig of white heather — the kind that grew only on the fells above Dalegarth.
“You kept that?” you whispered.
“I keep everything that matters.” His voice had gone quiet. “Even when I pretended it didn’t.”
The radio hissed louder.
“Passenger count decreasing. Ambition insufficient. The train remembers.”
You both looked up. Through the compartment window, the next carriage was empty. Hadn’t there been silhouettes earlier? A woman in a fur stole? A man with a silver cane?
Draco stood, wand out. “Lumos.”
The corridor lights flickered. One by one, compartments were vacant. Luggage remained — open, ransacked by invisible hands. On a table in the next car lay a single lace doily, identical to yours, slowly turning to ash.
“The train tests,” Draco murmured. “It always has. Father told me once, after too much brandy. Those who hesitate, who cling to weakness… they become part of the line. Fuel. Memory. Whatever.”
Your fingers found the snake ring in your pocket. It burned cold. “Then we don’t hesitate.”
You moved together — the way you once dueled, synchronized without speaking. Case after case opened under whispered spells. Each revealed another layer: a locket that screamed when touched, a diary page that bled ink when read, a child’s drawing of the train signed “D.M., age 7.”
The final suitcase — the scarlet one — refused to open.
Its locks were shaped like coiled serpents. The radio’s needle spun wildly.
“Only the worthy,” it whispered in your grandmother’s voice. “Only together.”
Draco’s hand covered yours on the clasps. His skin was warm, calloused from years you hadn’t shared. “On three?”
You nodded.
The locks clicked. The lid sprang open.
Inside lay a single object: a silver ring set with an emerald the size of a galleon. Etched inside the band, tiny letters: “Slytherin’s Voice — for the one who dares claim both power and heart.”
The train screamed.
Lights died. The carriage tilted. Outside, the fells had vanished; you hurtled through a tunnel of swirling memories — your sorting, Draco’s sneer across the Great Hall, the night he took the Mark, the night you refused, the final battle where your eyes had met across the chaos and something had fractured forever.
You felt yourself thinning, edges dissolving into the velvet seats. The train was eating the hesitant.
Draco’s arms locked around you. “Stay with me,” he snarled against your hair. “Don’t you dare fade on me now. Not when I finally—”
You slammed the ring onto your finger.
Power surged — cold, ancient, perfect. The emerald flared. The train’s scream cut off mid-note.
Lights returned. The carriage righted itself. Outside, dawn gilded the fells above Dalegarth. Real fells. The muggle line visible in the distance, the La’al Ratty puffing innocently along its track.
The radio gave one last soft chime and went silent. The lace doily settled, pristine once more.
Draco’s forehead rested against yours, breathing ragged. “We made it.”
You looked at the ring, then at him — silver eyes no longer guarded, but raw, hungry, certain.
“We did more than that.”
He kissed you like a man who had waited years across battlefields and train platforms. Slow at first, then fierce, all the old rivalry burning into something sharper, hotter, undeniable. His hands mapped your waist as if memorizing a new spell. You tasted firewhisky and relief and the future.
When you finally pulled apart, the train had stopped at a platform that existed only in moonlight — a small brass sign reading “Eskdale Vaults — Authorized Personnel Only.”
The porter waited again, smiling this time with ordinary teeth.
“Welcome, heirs,” he said. “The vault is yours to claim. The train will return for the next worthy souls in fifty years.”
You glanced at the stack of suitcases, now glowing faintly with preserved magic. At the radio, quiet but no longer menacing.
Draco offered his arm. “Shall we, partner?”
You took it, the emerald ring warm against his sleeve.
As the Eskdale Express hissed and began its long reverse into legend, you stepped onto solid ground together — two Slytherins who had finally, irrevocably, chosen each other over everything the train had tried to take.
Behind you, the maroon carriage faded like a beautiful, dangerous dream.
Falling in love, trying to date, fail, try it again, fail again agreeing to be friends with a fake smile and a heart that wanted more, become roommate's and eventually become real friends again with longing stares at the other.
That was what Draco and you had gone through in the last years.
Currently you were curled up on the sofa feeling disgusting.
Your period started just an hour ago and now the cramps kicked in.
Draco came through the door walking towards the kitchen.
Halting when he saw something slightly move on the sofa.
Taking a closer look he found you curled up around a heating pad and with a painful expression.
"What's wrong?" He leaned over the back of the sofa stroking your hair gently.
You groaned in pain.
"Cramps?" He guessed correctly and you nodded.
"Poor you. I'll make you tea." He kissed your head and went towards the kitchen.
Despite the Breakup, the cuddles and kisses, and the comfortable silence between the two of you never changed much except the time when everything still was awkward.
Both of you had tried to date someone else but it never worked out. Being accused of still being in love with your ex is the most common reason.
Just as it was for Draco.
He had one serious relationship after you and it ended after fife months because he put your needs over her's one too many time.
You scolded him for doing so. Because his girlfriend should be his priority not his ex/ roommate. But a tiny voice inside you was selfish and very glad that he was single again, resulting in you scolding yourself too.
He however couldn't stand to see you with any other man than himself so every time it seemed like someone was interested he would sneakily get you away from that person and lay his arm around your shoulder. And whenever you didn't look he glared at that person who dared try to steal you away from him.
When he was drunk he clung to you. You didn't mind because you enjoyed it very much. And when he would kiss you sweetly while being drunk you never ended it right away.
Your friends had a bet on how long it would take for either of you to confess again.
But surprisingly you never did.
Because this was enough. You liked how things were. You took care of Draco and he took care of you.
"Love, here's your tea." He sat it down on the table Infront of you.
His hand found your head and he stroked your hair gently.
"Thank you." You breathed out.
He helped you sit up and lifted the cup to your mouth.
"That's it, just a sip. You will feel better soon. I promise." When you were finished he sat the cup down and climbed next to you onto the sofa to cuddle you.
Wrapping his arms around you Draco pulled you closer to him.
You felt a lump in your throat. Not knowing what came over you, you started crying.
"Aww, hey love what is wrong?" He asked gently and kissed your head.
"I don't know." You cried.
"You don't know?" He said a bit confused.
"I don't know." You felt the disgusting slime run down your nose.
Reaching for a tissue, he handed you one.
While blowing your nose he looked at you concerned.
"Is it hormones?" He asked gently trying to understand.
"Probably." You murmured.
"Let's cuddle as long as you want to."
"Are you sure?"
"Ofcourse. Anything you want you shall have."
You cracked a small smile.
"You can be so cheesy." He snorted.
"But you love it."
"I do."
The two of you fell back into comfortable silence. Draco hummed gently lulling you into a deep sleep.
"I love you." He whispered. He didn't know if you had heared him but it didn't matter. He knew it was true. Still, he was too scared to break whatever the two of you had now.
So he tightened his arms around you and put his head against yours closing his eyes and drifting into a slumber.
When you woke up, Draco was holding you securely in his arms and you loved it.
Often you felt jealous of his ex girlfriend when you saw them cuddling on the sofa. Feeling insecure about how he looked happier than with you. You had distanced yourself from him, but being the quick witted man he was, Draco noticed right away. Sadly for his ,back then, girlfriend he was pulling away from her to comfort you. Feeling guilty about that you had scolded Draco for it saying that he should prioritise his girlfriend over you but what you didn't understand was that Draco would always prioritise you over anyone else. His then girlfriend realised that very soon after and confronted him about it. That caused a big fight between them and eventually resulted in their break up.
You only noticed the Breakup after it already happened. Comforting Draco, and biting your tongue, to not say 'i told you so'. And you had to calm yourself down too because you could feel yourself starting to hope again.
All of that was in the past.
Draco caressed your cheek, making you jump. You hadn't noticed him waking up.
"...what are we, love?" He whispered.
"We are...us" you whispered back.
His eyes gazed at you with so much love that you wanted to cry again.
"Yes...but.. should we try again?" He murmured.
"It didn't work out before." You gulped nervous.
"It could this time." He touched your lips with a Featherlight touch.
"I don't want to lose you for good if things don't work out again."
"You won't because I could never live without you." Curse his good looks and soft voice. You thought.
"I don't want to hurt you again. Or get hurt again."
"We could talk things out, not like before."
"But I'm a mess."
"I love your mess."
"Draco..." You said breathless and heavy. "Why do you want this again?"
"Because I love you. I always have, I never stopped. Every time you look at someone else, I get jealous. Every time my ex was here you got jealous. Don't deny it. I saw the hurt looks. Every time you cut into your finger while cooking I kiss it better and every time I get lost while buying groceries you find me and take my hand, leading me out of the aisle maze. We may won't be perfect. But I don't want perfection. I don't need it anymore. I found my perfection.... In you, in us."
Your tears started again. But this time he kissed them away.
"Are you sure." You mumbled into his chest.
"About you? I always am."
The rest of the day was spent cuddling with soft kisses and tea.
Who knows what your future would bring but you were sure Draco would be in it no matter what.
The end
An: I had a horrible day so I needed a comforting Draco right now. I hope you also find comfort in this if you need it. (1189 words)
thinking about crushing on fellow slytherin!draco malfoy from afar…
he’s cruel, and you know it. he does things for his own enjoyment, and more often than not it’s at someone else’s expense. he’s ignored you, mostly because you’re an unassuming slytherin and therefore not worth his time or energy.
you wish he did bully you, just so he’d pay attention.
pansy parkinson’s always hanging off of him, and despite your silent prodding, you never know whether they’re dating or not. you know pansy would love to date draco, but draco seems like the kind of person to not really give two fucks.
you keep to yourself, for the most part. you don’t really know if he knows your name, but your eyes linger on him as he snaps at crabbe from across the common room. his white-blonde hair seems to gleam in the dim light, and you think he has never looked more beautiful.
you’re never sure whether to call him draco, or just use his surname like most everyone else does. you’re not friends in any way, and calling him by his first name seems too intimate. and yet, the syllables of “malfoy” sound wrong in your mouth. too distant and strange, like you’re someone random. you don’t want to just be someone random. not to him.
you talk to him one day, during a potions lesson. his mind seems to be split on taunting harry potter and his friends, but he’s slightly in the way of the supply cabinet. you could skirt around him, you really could. but your friend nudges you from behind, so you clear your throat.
“um. drac-malfoy,” you say quietly, and he turns, eyes narrowing for a second before his expression smooths.
“yeah?”
“pass me a dittany root?” a beat passes, and you swallow. “please?”
he blinks, then nods, reaching into the cabinet to hand you the fat tuber. “here,” he says, hand lingering for a minute on it. “you’re good at potions, right?”
you stare at him for a second like an idiot, and then nod too fast. “uh-i mean. yes? i guess?”
“good,” he says. “we don’t need incompetent students to fuck up this class.” he nods towards neville longbottom, a student with a half melted and smoking cauldron. “gryffindor is abysmal at it. if one of ours is just as bad, then…” he trails off, mouth curving in a devilish smirk. “you get my point.”
you stand there stupidly as he turns around, pushes his sleeves back up, and squints at the blackboard. his words still haven’t sunk in, and you’re simultaneously savoring probably the longest encounter you’ve had with him. he notices it though. turns slightly to you just standing next to him, blinking off into the distance, and waves a hand in front of your face.
“hello?” he says your name, the syllables sweeter than anything you’ve ever imagined in his dulcet tone. “anyone home?”
“yeah,” you say, eyes softening. “yeah, sorry. got lost in thought.” but you practically skip back to your workstation, mind abuzz with the feeling of your interaction with him.
you don’t notice, but his eyes are on your back as you leave, the faintest furrow cleaving the smooth skin between his brows. “weird…” he says quietly, but it’s not in his typically cruel way. weird like something he wants to know more about.
it may very well be the start of something.
author's note: lowk pulled this one out of my ass bro sorry 😣 but i’m rereading the series and he’s such an asshole but god he’s so bad
Hi girlyy, I don’t mean to rush at all !! but do you know when you plan on dropping another chapter of “lessons in losing” on ao3 or on here and how many chapters you plan on doing?? I recently started reading it and I’ve been hooked!!
hiii! thank you!! I've had many asks about this!! I'm sorry I'm a little behind on writing, had some family stuff come up this week, but I've been dying to get back to my desk.
I'm still writing chapter sixteen, it will come out this week! And I'm trying my best to get caught up. Believe me, after the week I had, I'll be writing my ass off just because I need the creative therapy lol
