DRACO MALFOY X CEDRIC DIGGORY X READER
Something Different | Part Four
a/n: so glad to be back! things start getting a bit more, uh, intense – but stay tuned for p5 bc it’s about to get vv steamy hehe.
tag list: @call-me-banana-bandit @pillowjj @truly-insatiable @natsiboo @justmesadgirl @boredoffmebox @jjjmaybank @jejegu @ superpowereddonut @irritantive @salemlilly @marshmelloyellow02 @puffymints @is-it-really-a-secret @i-mmunity @sebastiansass @hisoldlover @kyobien @averagefangirl21 @inurealiyah @fuzzzwald @lesfleursmonet @you-bleed-just-toknowyouarealive
If matters had been bad between Draco and the girl before, it was safe to say that the strength of their bond now was at an all time low, underground, even. On his end, she was a thieving traitor who was joined in Potter’s ranks against him, and in hers, he was a treacherous snake who was incapable of trust and had been solidified into his cruel habits. Their last encounter, at quidditch tryouts, had been the worst yet. It went something like this: Draco, as he left the field of Slytherin’s recently finished tryouts, jeered some nonsense about “any old fool who can swing a bat (Y/N played the role of beater) being allowed onto the team,” which was met by a swift reply from Y/N, who suggested cooly that Draco’s groin should be her bat’s next target. This had led to quite the eruption of bickering between both of the teams, one which Madam Hooch, who was entirely fed up with both houses, abruptly put an end to. After that, the girl simply rode the wave of Draco Malfoy induced rage, and during the tryouts, envisioned the barrelling quaffles to be differing versions of his arrogant head. Shockingly, by an act of God, it had worked. Or, not really. Really it was months of training with Cedric over the summer that won her a place on the team, but, well, the rage certainly helped. And yet, despite it all, a nagging truth scratched relentlessly at the back of her brain. And this truth was that somehow, despite it all, Draco Malfoy was the thing of which she was apparently most attracted to.
“Whaddya reckon?” the voice of Ronald Weasley interrupted the girl’s drifting thoughts.
She and her three Gryffindor comrades had just escaped to the side of the Great Lake following the end of their first week of classes. Desperate to get the last of the sun before the soon to come autumn leaves and grey skies, the quartet had stripped free their thick robes and laid out a crimson picnic blanket upon which they sat surrounded by goods. Around them, other Hogwarts students of every year had done the same. With bellies now full, they’d thrown themselves happily back, their chins all turned towards the bright blue sky. As it was, Ron sat beside Hermione, who sat beside Harry, who sat beside Y/N. As they watched the ginger, he jovially made a stream of rainbow colored bubbles fly forth from the tip of his weathered wand.
“What’re you going to kill Voldemort with multi-colored bubbles?” Harry choked on the last pumpkin pastie with a snort.
“Harry!” Hermione scolded, poorly attempting to conceal her own giggles.
“Laugh all you want,” Ron said, “some girl is going to fancy this, I’m telling you.”
Suddenly Hermione wasn’t laughing at all, and she’d gone quite pink, the girl noticed. Next to her, Harry turned into his elbow to cough, which was really just an attempt to cover the big stupid grin he was wearing. The girl chuckled and batted him away with the back of her hand. He winked in reply.
“I want to go for a stroll,” Harry beamed suddenly, sitting upright in a flash.
“Lovely, shall we come?” Hermione began to stand.
“No!” he protested quite loudly. Then, “sorry, just want a quick chat alone with Y/N, if you don’t mind.”
The girl arched a brow at the jet black haired boy beside her, reluctantly standing and throwing Hermione a confused stare as she padded slowly alongside Harry and away from her other friends. The boy drifted farther from the patch of red blanket and closer to the water’s edge, where the grass was long, green, and swampy around their shoes. For a moment, the girl caught sight of one of the Giant Squid’s long tentacles, and she watched as it went sweeping against the surface of the black water and sending ripples across its inky surface.
“What is it then?” she said when they had gotten far enough away.
“What is what?” Harry said stupidly.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” she replied gruffly.
“Ah,” Harry scoffed and shook his head, “just said that so we could give Ron n’ Hermione some time alone together.”
“Oh?” the girl answered quizzically.
“Totally fancies him,” he continued excitedly, “not that she’s ever going to admit it, mind you.”
The girl felt her lips split, “really?! I did always wonder… though I couldn’t be sure.”
“I’ve spent the last five years watching those two fight, believe me, I am,” he wrinkled his nose with a grin. “Duck,” he added.
Without hesitation, the two friends bent their knees, covering their heads as the Giant Squid sent a tentacle soaring into the air and slapping the water, making millions of airborne droplets come cascading over them. Knowing the system well by now, the girl snapped her wand up, creating a clear arc above herself and Harry. The dazzling white stream of magic sheltered them safely from the Squid’s tidal wave, repelling all liquid outwards from its top. From around the shore, the sound of unsuspecting student cries of surprise echoed loud in reply.
“Anyways,” the girl stood cooly, like nothing had happened, “I assume this means I shouldn’t be saying anything of it to Hermione?”
“Absolutely not,” he said, “she’d throw herself into the lake if she knew we knew.”
The girl laughed. He wasn’t wrong.
For a few minutes they walked, quiet as they enjoyed the hot sun on their skin. Behind them, though she only snuck a quick glance, Ron and Hermione were bickering; apparently Hermione had made bigger bubbles than Ron and he’d taken it as a personal attack. The girl shook her head, letting the moment pass her and the fresh air flow through her lungs before she spoke again.
“Harry,” she started nervously, “there er, is something I actually wanted to speak to you about.”
He stopped walking, sinking his hands into the pockets of his pants as he sighed deeply with understanding, “you mean you causing a row with Malfoy?”
The girl froze in her tracks, “you knew about that?”
“Well apparently you weren’t too quiet about it,” he smiled half-heartedly. “I just… don’t understand what you were doing with him in the first place,” he admitted.
The girl felt her throat go hard, “dunno that myself, really.”
He blinked at her with his big green eyes, awaiting her explanation patiently.
“I- I just,” she started unconfidently, pausing to think. “I’d noticed there was something off about him. I just wanted to see what it was about.”
“And you think Malfoy’d tell you if there was?” Harry said, voice thick with doubt.
“Well, yes,” she admitted. “I know because he – well, because he kind of told me so.”
Harry’s mouth dropped, “he did?”
“Yes,” she repeated, feeling her face prickle with warmth.
“So what does he,” Harry began, bewildered, “does he fancy you or something?”
“No!” the girl blurted, tucking her windswept hair behind her ears and finding her eyes suddenly glued to the muddy ground. “Of course not!”
“That’s brilliant!” Harry realized, ignoring her completely as he came quickly to an understanding of how this newfound information could play to his advantage, “and what did he tell you?!”
“Erm,” she gave a weak sigh, eyes back on him, “he said he knew I was working with you and told me to shove off, basically.”
Harry’s expectant smile faltered, “oh.”
“Yeah,” she gave him a reluctant glance.
“But you’re not,” he said confusedly.
“Yes I know that,” she echoed.
Harry began walking once more, letting his thoughts brew a little before he continued. The sun’s rays were hitting his glasses hard, sending bright beams of light refracting off of them. The Gryffindor chewed his lower lip thoughtfully and gave his head a scratch.
“So then, if that was all, what was it that you’d wanted to tell me?” he said at last.
“I wanted to ask you how I could help,” she said, folding her arms over her chest and keeping her eyes forward on the nearing edge of the lake.
“You want to help me?” he asked.
“Course,” she shrugged. “I still believe he’s off, or up to something at least. And you seem to be the only other one around here who’s noticed it, I’ve heard.”
“You’re right,” he affirmed, “and given that Malfoy’s got some sort of soft spot for you or something, I bet you’d have more luck than me finding out what exactly that is.”
“Er, yes,” she voiced hesitantly. “Only, I think I stomped the soft spot out when I called him a fool,” she said. “And he seemed to have taken it a bit personally.”
“Has he?” Harry said with mock surprise.
“You know he spat on me in the hallway the other day?!” she recalled suddenly. “I mean, literally spat on me. Him and his goons were by the courtyard when it happened,” she recounted sourly.
“Ah, the Malfoy rain,” Harry grinned knowingly.
“Ron calls it that,” Harry continued without hesitation, “because it’s like rain… but from his mou-”
“Disgusting!” she gave her friend a shove, making him cackle.
“I’m surprised this is only your first time,” he chuckled, “I’ve been getting the treatment since my first year.”
“That’s foul,” the girl curled her lip.
“Yes, well,” Harry shrugged, unfazed.
The boy-who-lived adjusted his glasses, pushing them up his skinny nose before stopping at the water’s edge. The surface had gone completely still, making the water look like nothing more than a black sheet of paper. It was beautiful, she thought. Harry stared too, before turning back to her, his smile gone and his face hardened with seriousness.
“Y/N,” he started softly and gave a stiff sigh. “Whatever he says, or whatever he does, that soft spot is still there. Vulnerability like that doesn’t just go away, y’know?” he said. “If he had it before, he can get it again.”
The girl looked at him. There seemed to be some kind of knowing in his green eyes. It made her heart lurch nervously.
“And how might that happen?” she asked.
Harry shrugged, looking her dead on, “you’ll just have to make him get it back.”
“Well,” she tried, “how do I look?”
The girl stood before a large gold framed mirror in her room, her other self glaring steelily back at herself from within the reflective surface. It was late in the afternoon now. Yolky orange light rays seeped from the half-circle windows that encircled the girl’s bedroom and filled the space with a hot haze. One window, with its peeling paint flakes, had been forced open, providing a comforting breeze and the smell of fresh grass to the dormitory room. The circle shaped room, with its exposed brick walls, thick cream carpets, and vine stuffed walls, seemed like the nicest place for her to be at the moment. But, with Slughorn’s unfortunate dinner party approaching at an alarming rate now, the girl was soon to depart and had found her stomach turning faster and faster the closer her deadline approached. Truthfully, she’d take reading an old book whilst tucked sleepily away into her thick sheets over this charade any day of the week. And, judging by the look on her face, this feeling wasn’t one she was successfully concealing. The girl curled her fingers over her faded wooden dresser, sucking in a slow breath as she reluctantly brought her glittering eyes back up to the mirror before her.
She wore a flowing sheer cream dress, one with long sleeves and little patterns embroidered into its circumference. Wanting to stay casual, she’d thrown on her usual scuffed black boots, but swapped her school socks out for ruffle trimmed white ones that peeked over her shoe’s tops. Her hair was in its usual messy state atop her shoulders, too. Behind her, Hannah Abbott stood with her arms crossed, her head tilted as she looked her friend over.
“Erm-” Hannah started unsurely.
“Oh no,” she said, turning around with wide eyes, “is it that awful?”
“No!” the blonde assured her with a wave of her hand. “Just, well, come here.”
The girl stepped timidly closer, nervous as her friend procured her wand, looked her over, and then gave it a flourish. First, the girl’s hair started magically flattening, before finding itself lifting dreamily from her shoulder tops and into a thick bun, one with a huge loose french braid on its side, and with stray pieces dangling at the front to frame her face. Smiling with like, Hannah then stuck her tongue cheekily out and shortened her friend’s dress a noticeable chunk of inches, so that it stopped flirtatiously at the tops of her legs.
“Oi!” the girl laughed in embarrassment, throwing her hands nervously over her front.
“Oh loosen up,” the blonde giggled, looking pleased with her work.
“I’m rarely out of robes,” the girl huffed, turning back to the mirror.
“Exactly,” her friend said from over her shoulder. “You only get so many chances to show those legs off to Cedric Diggory.”
“WHA-” the girl clapped a hand over her mouth in shock, spinning around. “HANNAH!?”
“Oh please,” Hannah said, sinking down onto the plush yellow quilts that were draped over her bed. “Like I haven’t seen him trying to sneak a peak before.”
She felt her face go red quite suddenly, “excuse me?”
Hannah smirked, leaning against one of the four oak posters that closed in around her bed. She twirled her hair around a finger with glee as she blinked slyly at her friend. Wordlessly, she closed her eyes and waved her friend off towards the Common Room.
“Well,” she shrugged, “go on then!”
The girl glared daggers at her unattentive friend as she cautiously approached their room’s door frame. She stuffed her hands in her dress pockets nervously, her feet feeling as if they were sinking through the now goo-like floor with every step. The green vines that trickled down the large woody door waved their tails in an encouraging goodbye.
“Well,” the girl decided with a smile, “I’m going to throw up.”
“At least wait til’ you’ve gotten out of our bedroom,” Hannah said, leaning back in bed with a sigh. “I’m not cleaning up your vomit.”
She snorted, shaking her head as the door slammed tight behind her, and she went tapping quietly down the stone staircase and out into the Common Room. There weren’t many students around, as many of the non Slug Club members had the luck of eating their normal meals and going about their usual after-dinner-weekend plans, unlike her. Cedric was already awaiting her however, and he looked incredibly dashing in his white button up shirt. The shirt was peppered with little black dots, and had its first two buttons undone, so as to expose just a hint of the god-like collarbones Cedric was sporting. His gold streaked chestnut hair was stood just a little straighter than usual, like he’d attempted to neaten it before giving up shortly thereafter. Still, it was quite cute.
When he saw her, Cedric’s face became the sun, his lips splitting into that dazzling smile, and dimples coming to life across his lightly bronzed skin. From above her, one of the hanging plants whistled, not for the first time that year, she noted.
Cedric tilted his head towards the creature, “yeah, what it said.”
The girl chuckled, off put by the flattery and finding it hard to keep looking at the deathly attractive boy before her.
“Ced,” she protested bashfully, worming her fingers nervously around in her dress pockets.
He smiled wider, if possible, and put his own hands timidly into the pockets of his black pants.
“Sorry,” he chuckled warmly, letting her come to him. “You look lovely.”
They met in the centre of the Common Room. With the sun practically set now, the only light was from the flickering of the massive fireplace’s flames, which cast shadows over the hollows of her friend’s cheeks, jaw, and lips. For a moment, neither said anything. Instead, they just looked at each other. It was Cedric who cleared his throat first.
“Erm,” he said, “shall we?”
“O’course,” the girl responded awkwardly, trailing Cedric out of the Common Room and into the deserted halls.
The two were quiet as they made their way around corners and over moving staircases. Neither spoke, or looked at each other, really. Halfway up a moving staircase, Peeves had attempted to toss a water balloon onto the two, but Cedric stopped the thing midair and sent it flying back at the ghost, who cackled as it went through his stomach and splattering against a wall. The two friends couldn’t help but give a laugh there. One of the portrait’s, which was just nearly missed, screamed defiantly at the friends in protest. Then, about a minute later, Cedric and Y/N turned into the corridor outside Slughorn’s, where they ran into none other than Harry and Hermione.
“Mate,” Cedric scrunched his nose with a smile, the two boys clapping a hand together in greeting.
“Y/N!” Hermione beamed, “you look lovely! You too, Cedric.”
Hermione was wearing a pale pink blouse, Harry a black button up. Both looked nice for the occasion. Also, both looked a little nervous.
“You as well,” Cedric and the girl replied in unison.
Hermione smiled, mumbling, “nothing really,” or something like that.
Harry, uninterested, had jerked his head towards the girl, “I take it you’re not interested in being here, either.”
“How’d you know?” she chuckled with a roll of her eyes.
“Well, me n’ you are only here because Slughorn fancies our dead parents-” he began.
“Harry!” Hermione gaped, slapping her friend upside the head so as to shut him up.
The girl let out an explosive cackle, going weak in the knees with laughter, “he’s not wrong you know.”
Harry rubbed his head as he flashed his teeth at her and raised a hand for her to slap hers against. She did, making the two only laugh harder.
“You two are awful,” Cedric said with alarm, gaining a supportive nod from Hermione.
It had seemed that the group’s commotion had drawn the attention of Professor Slughorn, who poked his head out from around the entrance of his room. He wore, on his body, a quite excessive frayed brown blazer with his black pants, and on his face, an almost terrifyingly supportive smile. When he smiled in such a way, his forehead creased with a set of expressive little lines, and he looked somewhat like a happy frog, she thought.
“Dear boys and girls, you’ve arrived!” he declared loudly.
“We have,” Harry echoed in an obvious reply.
“Come in! Do come in!” Slughorn chuckled joivally, ushering his students into the room he’d cleared for them.
It was an interesting sight to see. In the middle of the room, a huge polished oak table had been set up, around which just over a dozen large and eloquently carved wood chairs stood. Students of every house had gathered; notably, Blaise, one of Draco’s henchmen, and Neville, their friend. The table had been filled with large glass mugs, which were topped to their brims with seven massive scoops of decadent chocolate ice-cream each, atop which were further chocolate shavings. Neville, who looked just about ready to faint, sighed in heavy relief as his friends pulled aside chairs next to his own. Instantaneously, Slughorn began his unsurprising fire of questions. First he spoke to two dark haired Ravenclaws the girl was unfamiliar with, then the boisterous Marcus Belby, and finally he landed his beady little eyes on Hermione.
“My parents are dentists,” Hermione blurted nervously when Slughorn asked of her.
The girl slid her mug forward, dipping her silver spoon uninterestedly into the dessert and swirling it around dismissively. Beside her, Cedric was taking polite tastes of his desert, and, beside him, Harry was uncomfortably shoving spoonfuls worth of ice-cream down his throat. The girl snorted, elbowing her friend, who snapped his gorgeous hazel eyes to hers, his lips crinkling into a little smile as he shifted his attention over to Harry. Cedric nudged Harry, who lifted his chocolate covered face up slowly.
“What?” he said defensively, his voice low so as to be unheard as Hermione continued speaking.
“Is that a dangerous profession?” Slughorn asked the frizzy haired brunette.
“Erm… no,” Hermione said awkwardly.
Everyone, including Cedric, stared at her in awkward silence.
“What’s a dentist again?” Cedric said through the corner of his mouth.
On either side of him, Harry and Y/N tried miserably to stifle their giggles. Luckily for them, a perfectly timed interruption shifted the attention away from the two, and instead to Ginny Weasley, who had just entered the room sporting a cute black dress and some unfitting red eyes. Harry scooted loudly back in his chair, emitting a deathly screeching sound that matched perfectly with the absolute silence of the room. Hermione put a hand over her mouth, a smile spreading beneath her fingers.
“Ah, Miss Weasley,” Slughorn beamed, “come in!”
“Sorry,” she replied through a mumble, “not usually late.”
Harry let out a loud grunt and scooted back forward in his chair as if unaware he’d done anything odd. The girl looked first at the-boy-who-lived, then to Ginny, her brows furrowing in confusion as her eyes travelled. Next she looked to Cedric, who mirrored her expression, and finally to Hermione, who flickered her eyes indicatively at the two Gryffindor’s before turning her nose back to her food.
“Miss (Y/L/N),” Slughorn said loudly, refocusing his attention once again to the girl.
Her eyes darted forwards to her professor, “yes, sir?”
“Your parents,” he said, “tell me a bit about them, will you?”
It had been expected, of course. But she’d dreaded it nonetheless.
“I’d rather not, sir,” she tried.
“Please,” the old man quite literally begged.
“Uh, well erm, she started awkwardly, not knowing where to begin. “They both died when I was quite young-”
“Yes, actually about that,” Slughorn fed in, “how was it your father passed? There was little heard of him after he joined You-Know-Who’s ranks.”
The girl was quite taken aback. How bold of him. Actually, how rude.
“Er,” she blinked frustratedly, “an explosion, I think.”
“Go on,” the professor encouraged.
Everyone, not just Y/N, it seemed, wasn’t comfortable with such a discussion. What was the point of asking such things? How did this add a shine to his little collection of trophy students? Mostly, though, how was it that the man was so oblivious to his indiscretion?
“The Ministry notified me about it when it happened. He took out a bunch of muggles with himself, they said. Only, they didn’t do much reporting on him because…”
“Because?” Slughorn persisted.
But the professor looked absolutely carefree as he took a large spoonful of ice cream in with a wave of his small chubby hands, “do tell us, Y/N, we all want to know.”
The eyes of every student in the room were glued eagerly to her, whether in mild interest, discomfort, or both.
The girl felt her whole body heat up. She’d never disclosed the second part of that story with anyone before, let alone a whole damned Slug Club. Flustered, she blinked rapidly, turning her head left, right, and back left again, as the left was where the door was. And by God, did the door look good at that moment. She could feel the blood rushing to her ears, her feet preparing to bring her to a sprint, a nervous glimmer soak her brow, and yet, just as she’d decided to stand and run, something stopped her.
Beside her, the girl felt one of Cedric’s large hands snake under the table and take a reassuring hold of her wrist. It caught her off guard, the way he’d so swiftly done it. The boy’s long fingers dipped straight into her own, first landing on her wrists for a soft little rub, then sliding right up into her palms, where he closed his fingers in on her own. His hands were wam. Warm and rough. This settled her hard beating heart, if only for a moment. And that was all she needed.
“Sorry professor,” she responded flatly, “but no.”
Her eyes scanned those of her classmates more confidently, and most all of them glittered back proudly in reply. Across from her, Slughorn released a disappointed sigh, before continuing on his little train of questions and peppering Cedric with his next rounds of interrogation. Of course, Cedric was as cool, calm, and collected as ever. The boy put on his most handsome and proud lopsided smile as he answered the professor’s questions of – well, honestly she wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying. For while he spoke, Cedric had released her fingers and found himself absentmindedly tracing the patterns on his friend’s hand, not that anyone could have known. And she, incredibly flustered, but more comforted than anything, let him. Only when dinner ended did the boy retract his touch.
“Excellent,” Harry declared, the second they’d stepped foot outside of the dungeon. “You were excellent, Y/N.”
The jet black haired boy gave his friend a huge slam of appreciation to the back. He, Cedric, Hermione, Neville, and Y/N were making their tired escape from Slughorn’s party. Together, the group made their defeated and slumped ascent out of the dungeons.
“Thanks, Harry,” she half laughed and half grumbled. “I couldn’t have done it on my own.”
Her large bright eyes flickered up to Cedric’s glowing ocean ones, and they twinkled adoringly at her in silent communication. Beside her, Hermione raised a quizzical brow, though, truth be told, Y/N wasn’t paying her much attention at that moment.
“I don’t suppose I’ll be getting an invite back, though…” she’d muttered dryly.
“It’d be his loss,” Cedric fired back confidently, earning a half smile from his favorite girl.
She’d gone to say something else, but her lips had hardly opened when she saw him.
Draco. Draco, with his snow white skin and blue-grey eyes, was heading their way. This was unsurprising, given that they were on Slytherin’s side of the castle. Honestly, he was the last thing she’d wanted to be confronted with at that moment, and judging by the look on his sallow face, it went both ways. As he drew nearer and nearer, his hands stuffed into the black folds of his robes, she waited for the blades of his sharp words to slice her, for him to mouth insults her way as he had so frequently loved to do. But, shockingly, the boy was quiet. In fact, it seemed he had no plan to say anything, but rather to snake right past them, silent and unheard, like a figment of their imagination. He’d almost done it, actually, but the girl had other plans.
“What?” she said, stopping dead in her tracks.
Draco had just passed her, and gone deathly still.
She turned on her heel, asking again, “what? Not going to say anything?”
The boy turned slowly to face her, his icy eyes narrow with dislike, his teeth clenched so hard she could see the definite pulse of his hard jawline beneath his porcelain skin. Beside her, her friends all warily stopped walking, their faces clouding with concern. Apparently, they all thought it better to not acknowledge his existence. The snow white boy blinked silently, keeping his pale lips pressed harshly together.
“What? So now that you don’t have any goons around, you’re no longer interested in making a show out of us?” she asked with a bitter chuckle.
Malfoy’s nostrils flared, a hard grimace taking shape on the curvatures of his perfect mouth.
“You know what I think, Draco? I think you don’t actually care for it. I think you only do it for others to maintain some sort of facade. And I think, you’re too cowardly to face us alone.”
“Y/N,” Hermione tried, “don’t fire him up.”
Draco flickered his narrowed eyes to Hermione, then settled back on Y/N’s. Finally, he spoke.
“Much to Granger’s disappointment,” he started softly, “you don’t have the power to fire me up.”
Her lips split into a sour smile, “don’t I?”
“Y/N,” Cedric huffed with concern, “just drop it.”
Now Draco’s eyes were on Cedric.
“You, however,” he drawled, “are all very easy to fire up.”
Y/N opened her mouth to retaliate, but, as she should have expected, was beaten to it.
“Diggory,” he began, “congratulations on giving your little girlfriend an express pass onto the Hufflepuff quidditch team. I expect she returned the favor nicely with her mouth.”
Cedric flushed a bright red, his nostrils flaring, and eyes growing cold with distaste. This enraged Y/N, yes, but it enraged Cedric more. Before he had the chance to fight back, however, Draco was onto his next target.
“Mudblood,” he mouthed, addressing Hermione. “Did it hurt when Potter here beat your pompous, self righteous self to the Felix Felicis? Is that why you’ve told everyone that he cheated his way to it?”
“N-no,” Hermione replied unconvincingly.
“Shut up,” Neville added.
“You,” Draco chuckled, snapping his attention mechanically to Neville, his lashes fluttering to the beat of his laughter. “Longbottom, please. You’re so pathetic, I could almost find the sympathy to feel bad for you. Everyone can. But, I really needn’t say anything for you to know that, do I?”
Harry had a hand on his wand now.
“Go ahead,” Draco dared, focusing now on the boy-who-lived. “You’re awfully more of a milksop than one would expect of a Gryffindor,” he said, “so you won’t. Especially not on my side of the castle, where you’d be under professor Snape’s jurisdiction.”
He had a point. About that second part, of course. Slowly, Harry released the grip on his wand.
And then Draco’s eyes were back on the girl, and they were a cold stormy gray, touched lightly with a hint of mild intrigue. The girl felt her fingers shaking now, practically aching to take form into a fist. But she had to stand her ground. She had to prove his lack of power over her.
“And you,” he finished with a heavy sigh. He brought his eyes up to her friends before saying his next words. “As of late, this little thing has been of most interest to me.”
Everyone seemed to have frozen in place, including Y/N, who was capable only of blinking up angrily at him, her jaw tilted up so as to be able to reach his searing and curious gaze.
“And d’you know why?” he arched a silver-blond brow, stepping closer to her.
He looked like he wanted to touch her. Wanted to force her jaw up within the tight grasp of his hands. Wanted to step close enough that her heaving chest would bump against his own. But a flicker of his eyes to her friends stopped him, and instead he just stood there, about a foot apart from her, his hands still buried in his pockets.
“Because,” he continued bemusedly, “unlike everyone else here, you have a secret.”
“And what’s that?” she dared lowly.
Draco’s lips split into an awful, cruel, smile.
“You like having me put you in your place.”
The girl wanted to speak. She’d tried. But only a mute and incoherent stutter toppled forth from her agape lips.
“Fascinating,” his lips stretched wider yet, his voice dropping lower yet, “isn’t it?”
And then his hands withdrew from his pockets. Draco let his slender and silver ring clad fingers find themselves on the bend of his knee as he lowered his height so as to be level with the girl’s fiery stare. For a moment, he just let the blazing blue sear of his scrutiny make its way across her face. She could smell his cologne invading her lungs, the inexplicably alluring scent of Draco Malfoy growing vile to her. He lowered his voice, then, so that only she could hear his almost inaudible murmur.
“This little game of ours,” he whispered. “I quite enjoy it.”
Then he raised a finger, a long and slender index finger, and tapped the tip of her nose.
She just stared at him, and it was a long and wordless encounter. His icy blue eyes pierced straight through her own and into the depths of her soul. He seemed eager to see her either crumble beneath him or expel with rage, but what he did not expect is what she said next.
Suddenly, her dress was on fire.
Draco leapt back in surprise, his brows knitting as the base of the girl’s cream colored clothing went up in flames. Around her, her friends all gawked and toppled back in shock. In her right hand was Draco’s wand, plucked straight from his pocket only a moment ago.
“Catch,” she grinned, throwing the boy his wand.
The blond chuckled in bitter surprise, “and what does that achieve?”
“A spell search will reveal that you just casted a fire charm on me,” she gaped in mock shock as she extinguished the flames on her dress with a newly learned Aguamenti charm.
Beside her, the faces of her friends told her they were utterly lost. But it was alright, they’d soon find out what had happened.
Draco let loose a chuckle, “and you think Snape is going to believe that, from you?”
“Sure I do,” she shrugged, “because I also did.”
Now it was Draco whose clothes erupted in flames. Quickly, he stifled the orange licks up his robes with his own water charm. Now it made sense. The boy’s pale face had gone flush with rage upon realizing what she’d done.
“Oh no,” she shrugged sarcastically.
And then they heard the footsteps. No doubtedly, Snape was on his way to see what the commotion was about. From behind her, her friends all gaped, impressed. Then, on her command, they took their cues and bolted, cackling as they disappeared down the hall and away from the scene of the crime. In front of her, Draco’s mouth trembled with a newfound sense of rage. His white and slender figure slumped slowly with defeat, knowing he’d been outsmarted.
He practically snarled, his eyes alight with a blazing hatred.
“I thought I couldn’t fire you up, Draco?”
“Our detention will be next week!” the girl exclaimed.
Beside her, Julian, Hannah, and Ernie all roared with approval, the group meeting their large mugs of butterbeer together in celebration. After being issued a lovely disciplining from professor Snape, the girl had headed back to the Common Room in her tattered dress, only to enter a hero to her friends, who’d heard of the encounter from Cedric. Together, by the light of the dying fire, the group celebrated the girl’s triumph over Draco Malfoy. She could only assume that somewhere, on the other side of the castle, a set of Gryffindors were doing the same.
Now, by the dim light of the fire’s embers, the group had jovially devoured a set of gooey celebration biscuits and leaned back lazily in the overstuffed armchairs of the Hufflepuff Common Room. From above and around them, plants snored lazily as they embarked upon their nightly slumber. Slowly, one by one, her friends departed for their beds, until it was only Cedric and Y/N who remained in the Common Room. Cedric was unusually quiet as they left. In fact, he’d been unusually quiet the whole evening. It’s not that she hadn’t noticed, but rather that she didn’t want to. And so, upon being left alone with him, she said nothing. Finally, after a minute of deathly awkward silence, he spoke.
“So. What was all of that about then?”
He’d said it softly. And not the way he usually did when he spoke softly to her. No, he sounded outright disappointed in her.
“What d’you mean?” she arched a brow at him.
Cedric sat stiffly upright on the squashy yellow couch, his ocean blue eyes set forward in thought. His previously neat goldish brown locks had found themselves resuming their usual messy state atop his head, with one little curl springing forth attractively upon his forehead. He still wore his button up, but his hands were folded gently upon his lap in an odd manner.
“I mean,” he continued softly, “why would you do what you did tonight?”
He turned now, his stare intense as it bore into her own. The girl found her throat closing up, and her chest tightened with uncomfortability.
“You went explicitly out of your way to rile Malfoy up. And then- and then you make some feat of landing yourself in detention with him.”
“It was about time someone stood up to him-” she began.
“No, but that’s not why you did it,” he interrupted, hurt.
She didn’t know how to respond to that, or to him, really. The boy looked weakened, his handsome figure bent over with a sort of sadness, casting a rather sad looking silhouette over the dark wooden floors of the Common Room. She’d opened her mouth, but upon meeting his eyes, stopped. They were strained. They were strained and ever so softly moistened with hurt.
“Is it?” he asked, more quietly this time, the look on his face desperate for her next word to be ‘yes.’
“I don’t know,” she admitted begrudgingly, her shoulders falling. “Something about him just gets me going, Ced. Now more than ever. It’s- It’s because I know he’s capable of better.”
“Is he?” Cedric said with a raise of his brows.
Cedric, more than anyone, knew how to see the good in people. And Cedric, now, voiced doubt for the redemption of Draco Malfoy.
“There’s just something different,” she exhaled, feeling far too guilty to hold her friend’s gaze.
“I see that now,” Cedric agreed. “I do.”
She blinked up curiously at him.
There was an eerie silence. Aside from the faint chirping of crickets, the rustling of the flora and fauna upon the stone walls, and the gentle crackles of the dying fire, the only thing to be heard was her own faltering breath.
“But not about him,” he said. “About you.”
“I see it, you know?” he murmured lowly. “I see the way you look at him.”
:And I know in that… in that look, you know?” he continued. “There’s something different.”
Her heart was racing now. Cedric had never talked like this to her before, and the feeling was one she was unfamiliar with. And then there was the way he was looking at her, which hurt. It hurt because he was hurting. It hurt because she didn’t know why it hurt him. And then, this certainly wasn’t a revelation the girl had either expected or wanted to be confronted with, of course. But more to the point, to have it told to her like this, by the person she loved most in the world, was too much.
“How would you know that, Ced?” she murmured, the sound of hot blood in her ears making her dizzy.
Then he stopped. His lips quivered and his lashes fluttered, a tell-tale sign that this next act was going to injure him further, that his next words weren’t ones he could take back.
“Because it’s how I look at you.”
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