The Art Of The Stars
Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader x Theodore Nott (soulmate triad) Summary: A Hufflepuff with a habit of doodling starts noticing her sketches appearing on two Slytherin boys’ wrists—unfortunately, they’re Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott, who used to make her life miserable.
Word Count: ~2.8k
Warnings: light bullying (past), Slytherin snark, mild language, soulmate trope, tension/awkward dynamics, mentions of blood status prejudice
Author’s Note: i just really wanted messy soulmate magic, so here i am😭 also this is my first fanfiction, so constructive criticism would be appreciated! just be kind!
Draco thinks he might actually lose his mind if another flower shows up.
It’s not even the worst thing that could be happening, he knows that. There are far worse fates than soulmate markings, even inconvenient ones—but still.
Daisies.
Peonies.
Little clusters of them, scattered across his wrist like he’s been pressed into someone’s idea of a spring garden.
It’s ridiculous.
“You can’t seriously be alright with this,” Draco says, staring down at his wrist again like it might change if he looks at it long enough. “We can’t just—walk around like this.”
Theo hums from where he’s sitting across from him, not even looking up. “Like what?”
“Like this,” Draco repeats, turning his wrist slightly. “Covered in flowers.”
That gets Theo’s attention.
He sets his quill down slowly, pushing his sleeve up without being asked.
His wrist looks exactly the same.
Daisies, soft and uneven. A peony just beneath them, fuller, like whoever drew it took a bit more time. The ink sits dark against his skin, fresh enough that it almost looks wet.
Draco’s expression tightens.
It’s always the same.
Same drawings. Same placement. Same timing.
Like whoever’s doing this is… careful about it.
“It’s new,” Theo says quietly.
“I know it’s new.”
“No, I mean just now.” Theo’s brow furrows slightly as he looks at it. “It wasn’t there a minute ago.”
Draco stills.
The faintest trace of that familiar feeling lingers at his wrist—the aftereffect of it happening.
He exhales slowly. “Brilliant.”
Theo glances up at him, something unreadable flickering across his face. “You felt it too.”
“Obviously I felt it.”
A pause settles between them.
It’s not uncomfortable, exactly. Just… full.
They’ve known about the third person for weeks now. Long enough that the initial confusion has worn off, replaced by something quieter. More frustrating.
Because they still don’t know who it is.
“Maybe they just like flowers,” Theo says after a moment.
Draco looks up sharply. “Then they can like flowers somewhere else.”
Theo’s mouth twitches, like he’s trying not to smile. “You’re taking this very personally.”
“It is personal,” Draco says flatly. “It’s on my skin.”
Theo doesn’t argue with that.
Instead, he glances back down at his wrist, his expression softening in a way Draco doesn’t comment on.
“They’re getting better,” Theo says. “The drawings.”
Draco hates that he’s right.
The first ones had been messier. Uncertain. Like whoever was doing it didn’t realise it was happening.
These feel… intentional.
Careful.
Draco looks down again, his gaze catching on one of the petals. It’s not perfect—but it’s close. Like the person drawing it cared just enough to try.
His wrist tingles again, faint and lingering, and he drops his hand.
“I’m not going to the Great Hall like this,” he mutters.
“You are,” Theo says mildly. “Unless you plan on hiding in here for the rest of the day.”
Draco considers it.
Briefly.
You don’t mean to draw them.
You never really do.
It just… happens.
Your quill is already in your hand, your book open in front of you, and your mind drifts for a second too long. The tip presses lightly against your wrist, and before you can stop yourself—
a petal.
Then another.
You pause, frowning slightly at the shape.
It’s a daisy this time. You think. It’s a bit uneven, one side slightly off, but you fix it without really thinking, adding a few softer lines to round it out.
A peony comes next.
That one takes longer.
You don’t rush it, your hand moving slower as you fill it out, layering the petals until it looks… right.
You only realise what you’re doing when you stop.
You pack your things a few minutes later, trying not to think about it too hard.
It doesn’t work.
It never does.
You hear them before you see them.
You always do.
Raised voices carry easily through the corridors, and there’s something about this particular argument that feels familiar enough to make you sigh under your breath.
You really don’t want to get involved.
“…just admit you were wrong—”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Draco Malfoy cuts in, his voice cool and sharp in that way that always seems to make things worse, “was I meant to care?”
You close your eyes for a second.
Of course.
You should keep walking.
You don’t.
You round the corner instead, already rolling your eyes a little, because this is—what, the third time this week?
Harry Potter looks tired more than anything. Ron’s saying something under his breath, Hermione watching both sides like she’s waiting for it to tip too far.
And opposite them—
Draco, looking exactly as put together as ever.
Theo beside him, quieter, but no less present.
You lean back slightly against the wall, not really interested.
It’s the same argument. It always is.
You’re just about to leave when something catches your attention.
Draco lifts his hand slightly as he speaks, the sleeve of his robe shifting back just enough—
And your breath stutters.
Ink.
You don’t mean to stare, but you do.
A daisy.
A peony.
Your stomach drops.
“No,” you whisper, so quietly you’re not even sure you said it out loud.
Theo moves beside him, adjusting his sleeve, and you see it again.
The same flowers.
In the same place.
Your heart starts beating a little too fast.
That’s—
You drew those.
You know you did.
Your fingers curl slightly at your sides, your gaze flicking down to your own wrist like you expect it to still be there.
It isn’t.
It never stays.
When you look back up, Theo is already looking at you.
Not casually.
Not by accident.
Like he’s noticed something too.
Draco follows his gaze a second later, irritation already there—
until it isn’t.
You don’t think before you move.
You step forward slightly, your sleeve slipping back just enough as your hand shifts.
Just enough.
There’s a small pause.
Then a longer one.
The corridor goes quiet in that strange, sudden way it does when something shifts.
Theo’s eyes drop to your wrist.
Then lift back to your face.
“You,” he says softly, like he’s still figuring it out as he says it.
You swallow. “Hi.”
It comes out more awkward than you meant it to.
Draco lets out a short breath, somewhere between disbelief and something else you can’t quite place. “You’ve got to be joking.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” you admit.
Theo takes a step closer.
Careful. Like he doesn’t want to startle you.
“That was you,” he says, nodding faintly toward their wrists. “The flowers.”
You hesitate for half a second.
Then nod.
“Yeah.”
There’s another pause.
Not tense. Just… heavy.
Draco looks down at his wrist again, then back at you. “We’ve been walking around with flowers on our hands for weeks,” he says, like he’s only just processing it.
“I didn’t know it was you,” you say quickly. “Either of you. I just—”
You stop, not sure how to explain something you don’t fully understand yourself.
“I just draw them,” you finish, quieter.
Theo’s expression softens slightly.
Draco looks at you for a long moment.
Then exhales.
“Well,” he says, a little dryly, “that’s inconvenient.”
You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Yeah.”
Behind you, someone shifts.
“Oh,” you say, glancing back briefly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—interrupt.”
“You didn’t,” Harry Potter says, though he’s looking between all three of you like he’s trying to catch up.
Draco doesn’t even look at him.
He’s still looking at you.
And there’s something different in it now.
Less sharp.
More… uncertain.
Theo hasn’t looked away once.
And you get the quiet, creeping feeling that whatever this is—
it’s not something you can just walk away from.
