brontide.

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[verklcmpt]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𝘾𝙖𝙣'𝙩 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙎𝙚𝙚 𝙄'𝙢 𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚? (𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩)

You’re a first-year Hogwarts student, thrown into a world of magic and rigid expectations you never quite agreed with. Your relationship with Draco Malfoy is push-and-pull chaos. Sharp words, lingering glances, and tension that never fully breaks nor resolves. You challenge him, he provokes you. And beneath the pride, the politics, and everything you stand on opposite sides of, there’s something unspoken that neither of you is willing (or able) to name… but neither can quite let go of.

for faster updates, please visit AO3

*This is a reader-insert fic that will follow you throughout your Hogwarts year till the end aka this is canon-adjacent :) enjoy! 

tags:    eventual    smut,    enemies    to    lovers,    angst,    rough    sex,    insanely    slow   burn    okay,    characters    are    aged    up,    depictions    of      abuse , implied/referenced suicidal thoughts, shameless smut, rough sex, orgasm edging, orgasm denial   (will    add    more    as    I    go).

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

masterlist

Don't be a foolish Gryffindor!

Book 1 (Completed): 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

Book 2 (Completed): 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

Book 3 (Completed): 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

Book 4 (Completed): 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, [E] 9, 10, 11, [E] 12, [E] 13, 14, 15

Book 5 (WIP) 1, 2, 3, [E] 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, [E] 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, …

[verklcmpt]

⋆˙⟡Can't You See I'm Here? (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Masterlist or visit AO3 for faster updates

Book 5 pt. 9 — A Bloody Smooth Talker

summary: Your morning was colourful to say the least. With the Slytherin Quidditch team down the pitch, their voices boomed with jeers and mockery. Of course, Draco Malfoy was at the centre of that. He frayed your nerves, but that wasn't the end of it. That evening a whirlwind of a chase happened between you, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Draco—and fuck damn, Draco Malfoy was a bloody smooth talker.

The next morning, you woke up extra early just to bandage Harry’s hand. He stayed entirely quiet while you worked. Hermione and Ron were still kept completely in the dark about the jagged scar on the back of his hand.

“Are you sure you don’t want to tell them?” you quietly asked as you smoothed down the edge of the linen.

“No—I mean… not yet,” he answered, staring down at your fingers gently holding his now-bandaged hand.

“Alright,” you softly let his hand go, giving it a reassuring pat. “Before you head back to her office this evening, find me and I’ll give you some murtlap essence. We’ll have to treat it so it doesn’t scar too deep. I’ll have to go ask Pomfrey for some ingredients later.”

“Good morning!” said a cheery voice behind you.

You both jumped slightly. Hermione had just walked down the stairs with Ron right behind her, both of them ready for their morning patrol.

“Morning, Hermione,” Harry said quickly, shoving both of his hands down into his pockets.

“You’re up early?” She looked at him in question.

You exchanged a brief glance with Harry before jumping in. “I told him about my morning run, but he has Quidditch practice this morning.”

“Gryffindor’s Quidditch practice is this morning?” Ron asked, rubbing his eyes and yawning wide.

“Angelina moved it after I told her about my detention with Umbridge at five for the rest of the week,” Harry explained. “Besides, we’re free until the end of second period, so I’m going to use the time for Quidditch.”

“Oh! She told me last night she’s looking for a new Keeper,” you told them, a sudden thought striking you. You turned over to Ron, grinning. “Why don’t you try out, Ron?”

“Huh—me?” Ron blinked, completely caught off guard, his face turning a little pink.

“That’s not a bad idea, actually. Do you reckon you can come down to the pitch right now, Ron? We can warm up,” Harry asked, a wide grin finally breaking across his face. He reached down to grab the broom resting against the long sofa and slung it over his shoulder.

Ron looked tempted.

“Change your outfit first, Ron,” you said, placing your hands on your hips. You tilted your head toward Harry, who was already dressed in his scarlet Gryffindor Quidditch uniform.

“You don't plan on trying out in your school uniform, do you?” you asked dryly.

Ron glanced down at his white shirt and loosely tied tie before groaning. “Right. Good point.”

“Our morning patrol doesn’t start for another hour and a half,” Hermione added, giving Ron an encouraging push on the shoulder. “You should definitely go.”

“It’s settled then. We’ll see you there!” You beamed.

Leaving a jittery Ron behind with Harry, you and Hermione headed out the portrait hole and made your way down toward the Black Lake for your morning run.

The morning air was crisp and chilly as you stepped out of the castle doors onto the dew-covered lawns.

“I can’t believe you’ve been doing this morning run since our second year,” Hermione said, adjusting her grip on a massive, heavy volume she had tucked under her arm. It was a book you had lent her straight from your father’s library. The Essence of Modern Restoration: A Guide to Advanced Healing Magic.

“Yeah, it’s just a habit at this point,” you shrugged, tying your hair back securely. “Plus, I can finally have a bit more peace out here now that Viktor Krum isn’t around anymore.” 

You huffed at the memory, thinking back to the annoying, noisy crowd of groupies that used to follow him everywhere—and how you had practically broken his ribs during that Durmstrang-style duel last year.

Hermione let out a bright laugh, her eyes twinkling. “He actually asked how you were doing yesterday in his letter.”

You looked at her in surprise. A teasing smirk grew on your face as you noticed the sudden, faint blush spreading across her cheeks. “You still keep in contact with him, huh? I’m impressed, Hermione.”

She rolled her eyes at you, smiling as she linked her arm through yours. “Can’t a girl have a pen pal?”

“Uh-huh, sure, ’Mione. An ordinary pen pal. Who just happens to be a World Cup Quidditch player,” you teased, and the two of you dissolved into giggles.

The two of you finally reached your usual spot near the edge of the Black Lake. The water was calm that morning, broken only by the occasional ripple drifting across the surface. Hermione settled against the trunk of a large beech tree and opened the heavy book. 

“Alright, I’ll be doing my rounds,” you said, handing her your robe as you stretched your legs. Hermione only hummed in response, her nose buried deep in the pages as she took it from you.

The morning air was cold against your cheeks as you set off at a steady pace around the lake. The castle gradually disappeared behind the newly autumn trees as you ran, their leaves painted in shades of gold, amber, and rusty brown—a breeze swept across the grounds, sending loose leaves skittering over the path ahead of you.

By the time you neared the end of your tenth lap, sweat clung lightly to your thin shirt despite the chill. You slowed slightly, wiping at your forehead as another gust of wind stirred the rippling lake and sent a scatter of leaves tumbling across the shoreline.

Halfway, you noticed a group of tall figures standing near the water's edge. You squinted against the nascent morning sunlight reflecting off the lake and slowed to a jog.

Is that Graham Montague, Cassius Warrington, and… who is that third one again?

“Hey,” Cassius called out, using your name to get your attention. The boy beside him was tossing rocks across the lake, watching them skip over the water’s surface and send ripples spreading outward.

You slowed to a halt in front of the trio and used the back of your hand to wipe the sweat from your neck.

“Hey, uh, Warrington, right?”

He nodded, a wide grin spreading across his face. You didn't like the way his eyes began roving down your body, openly checking out the shirt clinging to your skin and the shorts you wore. “Cassius. I heard you do morning runs around here pretty often.”

“I do. What about it?” You looked between the three of them, your eyes finally landing on the one boy whose name you couldn’t quite place.

“Have you met Adrian?” Graham Montague asked, gesturing with his chin toward the short-haired brunette standing next to him.

“Pucey. Adrian Pucey,” the brunette said, tilting his chin up slightly. “Just call me Adrian. Nice to meet you.”

You hummed flatly. “Likewise.”

“We’ve been watching you from here,” Graham said, glancing at Cassius. “You run pretty fast. Any chance we can join you sometimes?”

“The castle is big enough, no?” You rolled your eyes. Your gaze swept over the three of them, all dressed in their green Slytherin Quidditch uniforms, the serpent crest pressed proudly against their chests. “Why don’t you just do it down by the Quidditch pitch?”

You could feel a similar Krum-like twitching behind your eyes. Not this again. Utilize the damn castle grounds!

You took long, deliberate strides back toward the clearing. The fallen leaves crunched beneath your feet as Cassius easily caught up beside you, a bemused tone in his voice as he murmured, “Touché, but how cold.”

“You haven’t answered my last letter,” Graham muttered, taking matching strides on your other side.

He was an imposing guy, and his massive frame casted an unwelcome shadow over you as he fell into step. Honestly, you couldn’t be bothered to care about his correspondence—it was probably buried deep among the towering pile of letters you didn’t find important, the ones you'd just let your Quick-Quotes Quill lazily reply to for you.

“I asked if you’d like to go to Hogsmeade on the first October weekend with us,” he continued.

“It’d be fun, we can take you to places we frequent,” Cassius added, his arm nearly brushing yours as he moved to tightly occupy your other side, crowding you in.

“I don’t know, boys. I might be busy,” you droned flatly.

“How awfully cold,” Adrian mused from behind you, his footsteps shadowing yours. “So where are you heading now?” he asked, sounding adamant.

You passed a large tree, its thinning canopy rattling beneath a heavy gust of wind. Golden-brown leaves fluttered from the branches as a small wood warbler chirped loudly, hopping from branch to branch.

Graham and Cassius were leaning in close on either side of you, looming over you as they waited for your answer.

Up ahead, Hermione noticed your approach and seemed to catch your souring expression. She tucked her heavy book under her arm. Her brow furrowed—bewildered as she took in the odd mix of older Slytherins trailing behind you.

“What can I do to really help you, boys?” you asked, coming to a halt before turning around with a sweetly mocking smile. Adrian stopped short, nearly colliding with you.

“Now, we're just asking,” Cassius grinned, his tone dripping with insincere innocence. “Is curiosity not allowed?”

“Besides,” Graham added, grin turning shameless as Cassius snickered beside him, “if we’re talking about what you can do to really help, I can think of a few activities that are far more… hands-on. Definitely more interesting than running laps around a lake. A much more… enjoyable form of exercise.”

Should I start with breaking his leg or his arm? Choices, choices. 

Cassius waggled his eyebrows suggestively, leaning in with a lazy smirk. “Personally, I’ve always found that the best kind of exercise involves having your legs over someone's shoulders. Much better cardio, don't you think?”

You squinted at him with a mocking smile, crossing your arms and shifting your weight onto one leg.

Definitely just go with the fucking neck.

“Look, we just want to know where you're going, that's all, really,” Adrian cut in, grinning as he swatted away a brown leaf drifting down from the trees overhead.

You let out a heavy sigh. Your irritated gaze drifted to the tree beside you, where the small bird continued its loud chirping alongside several others darting up and down the bark.

“I’m going to the pitch,” you answered dully.

“We're heading down to the pitch as well. Come with us,” Adrian said with a smile.

Out of the three of them, he was perhaps the only one maintaining anything close to a neutral expression. Unlike Graham and Cassius, who were still throwing you suggestive looks and cocky grins you’d very much like to punch off their faces.

“We got practice to do anyway,” Cassius explained with a careless shrug.

You turned slightly and saw that Hermione was now standing, her features tight. Her book was clutched firmly in her hand, and her posture made it clear she was ready to walk away with you at a moment's notice. Or fight the boys with you, in case they did anything out of line. 

You glanced back to Adrian, waving your hand dismissively. “You boys go on ahead, I’ll catch up.”

Graham looked past you toward the quiet clearing, his cocky expression hardening into a dark scowl. “You’re here with Granger?”

You twitched, looking back at Graham, instantly hating his tone.

“Problem?” you asked. Cassius’s lips twisted in distaste, but Graham was the first to speak.

“Aren’t you a pureblood?” He sneered with a sharp click of his tongue. “So why would you associate yourself with a mud—”

“Care to finish that sentence,” you asked quietly. The stray leaves that had been gently flying through the air fell straight down, dropping as though weighted. “Montague?”

The air grew colder and thicker with each passing second. The frantic rustling of the overhead leaves halted mid-sway. Along the Black Lake, the ripples flattened into a still surface, and the loud wood warblers fell silent mid-song.

Your surroundings turned eerily silent, the air growing heavier by the moment.

“Wait—What’s—?” Cassius panicked, his eyes darting wildly around the clearing. He choked, his hand flying to his chest. 

“Do you think the same way, Cassius?” You asked, your eyebrows knitting up in mock concern.

Cassius's mouth hung open, his posture turning rigid. “Huh—Well, I—”

“I seem to recall you were all present down by the pitch when I gave Flint a friendly reminder years ago,” you smiled, though your eyes were cold in warning. “Should we revisit with an example?”

The colour was rapidly draining from their faces. 

“I won’t hesitate to find something else more enjoyable than breaking teeth,” you said softly as you narrowed your eyes at them. The colour had drained from their faces entirely, their bodies frozen between alarm and disbelief.

“No—we—” Graham stammered, his voice catching in his throat.

“Hey,” a sudden tight grip landed firmly on your shoulder.

As if released, Graham and Cassius stumbled backward, their mouths still gaping as their hands clawed at their shirt collar to give room.

“What the fuck—?” Adrian panted, his chest heaving. He spun around in a circle, searching the empty air.

The birds erupted back into frantic chirps, and the wind crashed back through the trees, rippling the lake. The branches rustled, and the leaves flew sideways once again.

All three Slytherins sucked in huge, jagged breaths of air.

You turned before smiling warmly. “Hermione.”

“The tryouts are starting soon, we should go,” she said, casting wary glances at the three boys before handing you your robe back.

“Alright,” you nodded, taking it from her and draping it carelessly over your shoulder. “Wouldn’t want to miss it.”

“Coming, boys?” You craned your neck to look back one last time.

The three of them looked apprehensive, still frantically pacing and eyeing the empty air around them.

You walked together with Hermione, heading down the sloping lawn toward the stadium. Yet, you could still hear the cautious thud of their footsteps following at a very safe distance.

“What did you just do?” Hermione whispered fiercely, looking carefully over her shoulder. The boys were still trailing behind you, the colour slowly returning to their faces.

“The closer I got to you, the more ponderous the air felt,” she murmured. “Every breath became more laboured. It was suffocatingly heavy.”

“Hm, really?” you said, disinterested.

“I got goosebumps all over. Everything… stilled. It was uncanny,” Hermione said, rubbing her arms as if she were still trying to shake off the chill. She looked at you dead-on before asking, “Did you do something?”

Ahead, the Quidditch pitch finally cleared into view. A dozen dark shapes on flying brooms were already zooming through the sky, and the faint, muffled shouts of players echoed across the grass.

“Not sure,” you lied, keeping your eyes on the pitch. “A fluke in the air, probably.”

Once you were down by the pitch, you saw both the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams gathered on the grass.

“Is it a joint practice?” you wondered aloud.

“It’s not supposed to be,” Hermione answered, looking around the field. 

The three Slytherin boys passed you. Adrian looked at you with hesitation, his pace slowing slightly. Cassius didn’t even cast a glance your way, keeping his eyes glued to the grass, but Graham blurted out a stiff, “See you around.”

You only nodded, smiling tightly in response. 

You glanced to the side and saw Draco standing with the other players. His arms were crossed over his green robes, and he was narrowing his eyes at you in a sharp squint. In hindsight, he really was the tallest among his teammates. 

Wait, stop. Don’t go there.

Up in the air, you could see Ron flying on his broom. He was… definitely struggling. He was supposed to be guarding the hoops, but he kept misjudging the trajectory of the Quaffle. He looked incredibly tense, his knuckles white on his broom handle, nearly slipping off entirely every time he violently jerked his broom to make a save. 

It was horrible to watch. Hermione winced at the sight before saying, “I’m going up to the stands, it’s a better view.”

You nodded at her. But as soon as she walked away, you could hear the Slytherins exploding into jeers and harsh boos from the sidelines, directing all their insults at Ron up by the hoops.

They were screaming, “Weeeaseeel!” at the top of their lungs.

To make as much deafening noise as possible, they began violently banging the tails of their broomsticks against the hard turf, creating a rhythmic, rattling thud across the pitch. They pointedly laughed at every shaky move Ron made, throwing insulting hand gestures up toward the goals just to rattle him further.

“Gryffindors are losers! Gryffindors are losers!” They chant across the grass.

You turned your head to look. Draco had a cruel grin plastered across his face. He was laughing along with them, entertained by his teammates' mockery.

“C’mon, Weasel, you can do much better than that!” Draco bellowed, cupping his hands around his mouth. “My grandmother flies better, and she’s fucking dead in the ground!”

The laughter turned rowdier. He reached over and gave Marcus Flint a hard, celebratory high-five without ever losing that smug smirk.

You glanced around, incredibly irritated as to why the Slytherins were even here during a Gryffindor practice slot! Aloft in the air, Angelina Johnson swooped down and landed hard on the turf, huffing aggressively at the snickering Slytherins.

“Johnson! Give Weasel a chance t’be a Keeper, would ya?” Miles Bletchley called out, laughing loudly with the others. “It’ll guarantee us the House Cup this year.”

Another loud round of mocking laughs erupted from the Slytherins. You marched straight toward Angelina, completely fed up. “Why the hell are they here?!”

Angelina groaned, running a frustrated hand over her face. “We booked this time, but apparently Snape gave them signed permission to practice too, so it’s a total clash.”

“They’re grating my ears,” you complained loudly, pointing directly toward the green-clad group. Hearing you, Draco raised a single eyebrow in your direction, his cocky smile turning into a sharp mock.

“You got a problem?” Draco drawled from across the turf. Every head turned toward the two of you, and a loud chorus of ‘ooooh’ rose from the rest of the Slytherins.

Draco shoved his broom toward Goyle and started walking over to you. Your mouth twisted in deep disapproval at the sight of him—though your heart did a peculiar little flip.

Has he ever approached you in public like this before?

“I do,” you replied, narrowing your eyes as he stopped a few strides in front of you. “You got a problem?”

“Malfoy, isn’t that your hot date from the Yule Ball?” Terence Higgs called from the back, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t tell me that dare of yours worked out a little too well.”

Draco slowly turned around, a broad, suggestive grin pulling at his lips.

You snapped your head toward Higgs. “I’d sooner volunteer to scrub cauldrons for Filch,” you sneered, turning to glare at Draco, “than be with a fuckwad like him.”

“Watch your mouth. I’m still a prefect,” Draco drawled. “My saying goes, and you still have a disciplinary punishment waiting for you.”

Behind him, a few of the Slytherins let out low whistles. 

“Careful now. Our prefect takes his duties very seriously,” someone called to you, earning a round of snickers.

Draco stepped even closer, towering over you. You glanced to the side, painfully aware that the few Gryffindors on the turf and the Slytherins on the sidelines were all watching this play out.

Wait—isn’t he being way too close?

“And I do have a problem,” Draco murmured, his voice dropping into a low baritone that made you shiver. His eyes tracked downward, lingering on your chest beneath the thin, tight fabric of your shirt. He trailed his hand up, his knuckles grazing the sensitive skin of your throat before he slowly gripped the collar of your robe.

Your breath snagged in your throat. Hey—isn’t he being a bit too brazen in public?!

You immediately gripped his Quidditch robe in a mirroring defiance. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing, Draco?” you grit out, trying to keep your voice steady despite the heat rising in your cheeks.

He looked down at you with a taunting smirk and gave your collar a sharp tug, pulling you close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body.

Truly—TRULY!—you hated yourself in this moment, because why were you finding this so agonizingly arousing?

“Is it that hard for you to behave for me?” he murmured, his sonorous voice low enough that only you could hear it. Your knees felt like they might give way.

His attention dropped to your lips, weighted with intent. You watched him run his tongue over his bottom lip—a slow, deliberate motion that sent an unwelcome flutter low in your stomach.

You gripped his collar harder. You wanted nothing more than to crash your lips against his and, in the same breath, punch him square in the face.

“Fuck. You. Malfoy,” you bit out, keeping your eyes locked on his—refusing to back away—despite having to tilt your head up. Your heart was drumming harder than it had during your morning run, leaping erratically in your chest. 

His jaw ticked.

“Alright! Alright!” Angelina said, striding forward and planting herself between the two of you. Grabbing both of your arms, she firmly pulled you apart. “That’s enough, you two. And back off, Malfoy. You look like you’re about to kill each other. Enough!”

You jerked your arm free from her, becoming aware that your breathing had grown a little heavier. Draco still wore that arrogant, mocking grin.

Insufferable cunt.

“You should head up to the stands,” Angelina told you, jerking her head toward the pitch. Up above, Hermione was leaning forward in her seat, her eyes glued to Ron as he wobbled precariously on his broom in the air. “Go on and—”

“No, Johnson,” Draco drawled. “You’re getting a bit ahead of yourself, aren’t you?”

“You don’t get to make the rules for this one,” he tilted his head toward you. You shot him a venomous look. 

Angelina snapped her head back toward him, her brow furrowing deeply. “What?”

“She’s staying right next to me,” Draco drawled imperiously as he pointed a lazy finger toward the empty spot directly at his side.

“Huh?” Angelina blinked, looking between the two of you in utter confusion. “And why on earth is that, Malfoy?”

“Because I said so. Don’t question me,” he said, giving Angelina a bored expression before his eyes slid back to yours. “Besides, calling a prefect a ‘fuckwad’ and saying ‘fuck you’ is a direct violation.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward. “It’ll go right into the prefect’s disciplinary report, and I’ll have to write that one down.”

“Now...” Draco’s grey eyes glinted with dark amusement. “You don’t want any more trouble, do you? Two reports, and we’re not even through the first week.”

Your jaw clenched. Is this going to be his tactic with me now? Using his fucking Prefect badge as a weapon?!

“Draco. You sniveling cun—” you hissed.

“Care to make it three?” he asked silky, cutting you off with a smug arch of his brow. You clamped your mouth shut, blazing with infuriation. 

Angelina glanced between the two of you, her mouth opening slightly. She looked completely out of her depth, entirely unsure of how to break up the tension between you two.

“Just—just leave her alone, Malfoy,” Angelina muttered, shaking her head. “We’re finishing up soon anyway—you’ll have the pitch. Leave her!”

She gave you a brief, apologetic look before kicking off the ground, flying back up into the chilly morning air to restart the Gryffindor tryouts. A piercing blast of her whistle echoed across the grass a second later.

You let out a loud, frustrated exhale. 

“Stay here,” he ordered. Draco turned on his heel and walked back toward his teammates, who immediately burst into snickers as he joined them.

“Dishing out more detentions, Malfoy?” Bletchley called out.

“Is she going to Filch, or is she cleaning up the Slytherin common room?” another laughed, prompting a chorus of crude chuckles. 

“Personally, I’d love to see her down in the common room.”

Draco scoffed, his mouth twisting with feigned annoyance. “She’s fucking insufferable. I’ll have to write her up.” He cast a pointed glance back across the grass at you.

You were seething, your fists clenched so tight your knuckles turned white. Sensing your annoyance, he merely rolled his eyes, grossly unbothered.

“Goyle,” Draco drawled, extending a lazy hand for his Nimbus. Goyle obediently handed the broom over.

“Crabbe,” Draco snapped, extending his other hand without even bothering to look in the boy's direction. Crabbe quickly handed over his heavy leather Quidditch shin guards and thick arm padding.

“Where are you heading, Malfoy?” Flint barked from across the grass, looking up from buckling his own gear. “We’re starting our drills soon.”

Draco didn't answer. With his hands full of heavy equipment, he strode right back over to you and shoved the entire pile of gear into your chest. “Carry this.”

You hissed, staggering back a half-step. “Why do I have to carry this?”

“Because I fucking said so,” he whispered harshly, leaning in close enough that you could feel the cool rush of his breath against your face. It sent a treacherous, confusing jolt straight through your veins. “Just listen to me, or I will make your actual punishment worse.”

Before you could snap back, he pulled away and continued walking down the sidelines, heading toward a vacant wooden bench far away from the rest of his team. Behind him, the Slytherins were still boasting and jeering loudly at the Gryffindors above, their raucous laughter echoing across the pitch.

He sat down leisurely on the wooden bench while you grumpily hauled his heavy gear after him. You were about to set the pile down next to him, but before the leather could even touch the wood, he drawled, “Did I tell you to put that down?”

You rolled your eyes, pivoting to sit on the bench right beside him. Midway through lowering yourself, his voice cut in again, “And did I tell you you could sit?”

Fucking—

You lifted the heavy gear back up, your eyes twitching in fury. You were so close to throwing every single piece of his equipment right into the grassy turf, but he simply leaned back against the bench and murmured, “You drop it, and I’ll make sure you beg harder than you did on my bedsheets, until you cry.”

He looked at you lazily, though his lips curled wickedly. Your mouth gaped open in sheer disbelief.

You looked around frantically—the two of you were farther away from the crowd. Down the pitch, some of the Slytherins were snickering at you for carrying his things, but they only spared you a few glances before returning their attention to the sky.

“You’re a fucking asshole, Malfoy,” you spat, keeping your gaze fixed straight ahead to avoid looking at him.

“What did you call me, brat?” he asked, shifting his position to look up at you, the muscles in his jaw twitched.

You glanced down at him, and your stomach twisted as you met his gaze. You wanted to squirm, utterly humiliated by the sudden, betraying throb in your lower stomach.

“Draco,” you corrected yourself, your voice a little tighter this time.

He huffed, clicking his tongue against his teeth. You stayed silent, forcing yourself to look up at the zooming players trying out ahead.

“What were you doing with Montague, Warrington, and Pucey?” he abruptly asked.

“What?”

“Answer me,” he warned. 

“None of your business,” you answered curtly.

What is his problem?

“When I asked you a question, you answer me,” he snapped, his eyes flashing as he glared up at you.

You were starting to get annoyed by his idiotic demands. “I don’t have to answer you shit, Draco.”

He laughed dryly and ran a hand through his white-blond hair. It’s a bit messier this morning, you found yourself wondering for a second whether he had time to style it. “Bloody hell, you’re damn difficult, you know that? I asked one simple question.”

“Why do you even want to know?” You asked harshly. 

“Is my question so difficult for your troll-brained head to process?” He spat. 

You gripped his gear tightly. You wanted nothing more than to hurl the entire pile at his face and kick him right off the bench. You snapped your head away, fixing your gaze resolutely on the pitch ahead.

You were done talking to the bastard.

“Hey,” Draco called out, but you stayed quiet. “I’m talking to you.”

“Tsk. Are you deaf?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, focusing on the dull ache to keep from screaming your mind at him.

“Answer me,” he snapped, his voice tight.

He growled your name, the sound low and warning. You kept silent, refusing to meet his eyes or grant him the satisfaction of a reaction.

“For fuck's sake! Stop looking everywhere except at me,” Draco snarled, slamming a fist against the wooden bench. “Look at me!”

You finally lowered your eyes to him, your chest heaving with irritation, though your heart thumped hard against your ribs. He looked oddly… concerned.

“Where were you with Montague, Warrington, and Pucey?” he demanded sharply.

“Um, by the Black Lake,” you told him, your eyebrows furrowing as your anger gave way to confusion. “I was doing my morning runs.”

“Did they ask you anything?” he pressed.

“No—well, Montague just offered an invite to Hogsmeade—”

“Stay the fuck away from them, hear me? Especially Montague and Warrington,” he cut you off.

You glanced over toward the other side of the pitch, watching the two massive Slytherin players rowdily shoving each other and laughing with the rest of the team.

“Why?” you asked, puzzled by his sudden request.

He clicked his tongue, a scowl settling over his features. “Because I said so. Stop asking so many damn questions—bloody Gryffindors.”

You scoffed under your breath, shifting the weight of his gear in your arms. 

Right. Why do I even bother talking to him?

“Were they always down there? By the Black Lake… with you?” he asked quietly, his eyes tracking Montague’s movements across the grass.

“No, that was the first time I’ve seen them there.”

“Alright,” he murmured, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

Up in the air, it was finally Ron’s turn to guard the hoops. The moment the Quaffle was thrown, Ron’s broom wobbled violently, his tracking completely off.

Draco snorted harshly. “What an idiot.”

“Don’t say that, Draco!” you snapped, defensive of your friend.

“What?” he said, gesturing with an open palm toward the sky where Ron was currently fumbling a basic dive. “He’s doing horribly. I won’t be surprised if he’s entirely excluded from the roster.”

“He’s trying,” you insisted.

“No, he’s not,” Draco answered flatly, his eyes fixing on Ron’s bizarre flying technique above. “Look at his grip. He’s choking the broom handle so hard he can’t make a fluid turn, and his center of gravity is completely off-balance. He’s anticipating the Quaffle's trajectory way too early, which is why he keeps overcorrecting and slipping off the stirrups. He has zero situational awareness up there. It’s pathetic.”

You blinked, staring down at the side of his face in surprise. You had expected another lazy, cruel insult but that... was actually a legitimate analysis. 

“What… what do you think he could do better?” you asked slowly, hooking him with a curious glance.

“He needs to stop watching the chaser and start watching the Quaffle’s rotation,” he said, his eyes narrowing as he followed Ron’s movement. 

“Weasley reacts to the body language, which is useless against a decent feint. If he aligns his broom parallel to the middle hoop and trusts his reach instead of lunging blindly, he’d actually cover the radius. But he’s too panicked to calculate that. He plays like he’s terrified of failing, rather than playing to win.”

You stared at him, leaning slightly closer. “You’ve watched him play before, then?”

“I watch everyone,” he countered, sliding his gaze back up to yours. “Know your enemy. Though calling Weasley an ‘enemy’ gives him far too much credit. He’s beneath me.”

You tilted your head, genuinely amused. “That’s actually impressive, Draco.”

“What?” He blinked at the unexpected praise.

“You being able to give that analysis. You truly love the sport, don't you?” You smiled at him softly.

“It’s an alright sport,” he drawled, looking back toward the pitch. “I don’t love it. You’re just imagining things.”

You chuckled incredulously. “How can you say that? The day I met you at Madam Malkin's in Diagon Alley, you were talking about brooms. When you took me around, your eyes were practically glued to the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies. There were other moments too—like at Paris.”

“You—remembered?”

“Huh? Of course. Oops—,” you said easily, catching his slipping broom before the tail could hit the grass. You adjusted your grip back on his heavy equipments. “Why wouldn't I?”

He looked away, his jaw tightening as he stared fixedly at the turf. A flush of pink crept up his neck and colorized his cheeks. He muttered a string of unintelligible words under his breath as his fingers restlessly tapped against his knee.

“Malfoy!” Flint’s harsh voice boomed across the turf. “Get over here! Let’s get ready for practice!”

Draco let out a soft click of his tongue before standing up from the wooden bench. “Just put my gear down here.”

You huffed, gladly setting the heavy pile of leather and his broom down onto the bench. Draco took a few paces away, then stopped.

“I’ll see you around,” he said, turning halfway to face you. “And if any of those three come near you again—if anyone bothers you—you come find me and tell me immediately.”

You stared at him, still a bit confused by his sudden demand. Why do I have to do that?

He glared at you, turning fully to face you and waving his hand mockingly in front of your face. “Hey! That wasn’t a bloody request. Answer me.”

“Sheesh! Yes!” you snapped, rolling your eyes.

“Yes, who?”

“Yes, Draco,” you muttered, the words feeling far too intimate on your tongue.

He offered you a thoroughly devastating grin that made your pulse jump. “Good girl. Isn’t that much better?”

With that, he turned and walked away toward his laughing teammates. You could feel your entire face instantly heating up, a consuming warmth rushing straight down through your body. 

I… I hate Draco Malfoy! Why do I even bother! you screamed internally, your mind racing as you tried to force down the blush and regain your composure. 

Your internal panic was cut short when a shadow loomed overhead and Ron dropped onto the turf right in front of you. 

“Ron!” You rushed forward. “Is it done? How are you feeling?”

“I have only one chance left,” he muttered bitterly, his face pale and his hair sticking up in sweaty clumps. He wouldn't even look you in the eye, staring miserably at his worn Cleansweep. “I’m bloody failing this, am I? I look like a total idiot up there.”

“Ron, no—don’t say that, you're not—” You reached out, gripping his shoulders firmly, trying to inject some confidence into him. 

But as you looked at him, you knew he was right. He looked incredibly jittery, his shoulders hunched and his eyes clouded with defeat. He was completely trapped inside his own head.

Then you remembered Draco's advice. Your lips twisted into a reluctant grimace. It killed you to admit it, but the bastard actually knew what he was talking about.

And right now, Ron needed it.

“Uh—Ron,” you started slowly, loosening your grip on his shoulders. “Can I offer you a bit of advice? Just something I noticed from down here.”

He paused, turning his gloomy eyes to look at you, desperation flickering in his expression. “What is it?”

“You were bloody brilliant in that second round, Ron!” Harry said, leaning eagerly over his dinner plate, his eyes widening. “Angelina told me that you’ll be our Keeper—you actually made it onto the team!”

Ron’s mouth hung open in shock. He looked at Harry, then at you, clearly at a loss. “Blimey, you tryna’ pull my leg there, Harry?”

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “No, I’m serious! I just spoke to Angelina after our Herbology class. We both saw you really had it in you.”

“He’s right, Ron,” Hermione chimed in, her smile widening as she set down her goblet of apple juice. “You were so stable on your broom during that last stretch. It’s like something just suddenly clicked for you.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “Exactly. You actually paid attention to the Quaffle’s rotation and movements instead of the chasers, and you really stood your ground. Brilliant work.”

Ron turned his head slowly to look at you, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of awe and immense pride. “If it weren’t for you, I bloody wouldn’t have done it. Really.”

You stammered, your stomach doing a nervous flip. “Oh, er—I didn’t do much, Ron. Seriously, you did all the actual work.”

“Are you kidding me? The advice you gave me down on the pitch was bloody spot-on,” he breathed, shaking his head. “You told me exactly how to fix the placement of my hands on the broom so I wouldn't choke the handle, and what not. You even told me how to calculate the Quaffle's trajectory and exactly where to look.”

“I thought you didn’t care for Quidditch,” Harry said, his eyebrows raising in mild amusement as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

The trio all stared at you, waiting for an answer.

“Ah-ha,” you laughed nervously, the sound a bit too high-pitched. “Well, I was standing directly below the hoops, Ron. I had a really great angle from down there—so—um, yeah. Just basic observation.”

You hastily cleared your throat, ducking your head and shoving a forkful of roasted carrots into your mouth to avoid further questioning.

“I… saw you down by the turf with Malfoy again,” Harry said, his voice dropping into a more serious register. He looked at you with a flash of guilt. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to fly down there to help you out.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. “But if he’s doing anything to you, just tell—”

“We’ve told her,” Ron and Hermione interrupted in unison. Harry blinked, staring between the two of them in surprise.

You let out a soft laugh. “Thank you, you three. Really. And I will, Harry, don’t you worry.”

“Why were you even standing with him in the first place?” Hermione asked curiously. 

“Er—I got another disciplinary warning from him,” you grumbled, leaning your chin on your hand. “Called him a fuckwad and told him off.”

”Good. He deserves that,” Hermione grimaced.

Ron groaned loudly, nearly dropping his fork. “The git needs to be stopped. Seriously! He’s completely abusing his power with that stupid badge.”

“Has he given you a punish—” Harry started, his protective instincts kicking in.

“He hasn’t,” Ron and Hermione answered together for you yet again without missing a beat.

You, Ron, and Hermione shared matching grins. Harry just blinked at the three of you before saying, “Okay, then.”

Once dinner ended, Ron and Hermione hurried off to start their Prefect rounds. You leaned across the wooden table, dropping your voice to a low whisper. “Harry, shall we go? I’ve got the Murtlap essence.”

“Let’s go,” Harry said, a flicker of relief crossing his tired face.

You walked together through the crowded corridors. Groups of students huddled near the stone pillars, turning their heads to stare and whisper loudly as Harry passed—even the moving portraits along the corridor are throwing side-way glances at him. Glaring coldly at a group of whispering students, you linked your arm tightly through Harry's, anchoring him to your side and pulling him along.

You eventually found a quiet, empty corridor on the third floor and sat down together on a cold stone bench. You took his hand gently, peeling away the makeshift bandage. 

With a quiet murmuring of “Accio bowl,” directed into your bag, the bowl of murtlap flew into your hands. The Murtlap essence—a strained, yellow liquid that smelled strongly of brine and pickled herbs. You opened the lid of the box and set it in between you.

As soon as you guided his hand down into the bowl, Harry winced, his shoulders tensing at the initial sting. But within seconds, the soothing, numbing properties of the essence took over, and his posture eased.

You watched his face, observing the dark shadows under his eyes. “You know,” you started carefully, keeping your voice soft. “Hermione might have made this better than me. She’s really good at medicinal magic.”

“I don’t want either of them to know yet,” he said softly, staring fixedly at the yellow liquid.

“Harry...” You gently held his wrist steady inside the bowl. Through the clear liquid, the angry, red words etched into the back of his hand—I must not tell lies—seemed to soothe, the raw edges of the cuts turning a pale pink. “You know we care about you.”

“I know.”

“And please, lean on us more,” you told him, looking directly into his green eyes. “You don’t have to earn our support or carry everything by yourself. You’re family to me, Harry. You always will be.”

He looked a bit rattled. Shifting in his seat, he gaze down at your hands holding his, your fingers carefully grazing his skin beneath the surface of the water.

"I left that graveyard... all by myself," he muttered hollowly, his voice cracking slightly. "I was the only one who survived."

He shook his head, a suffocating guilt settling over him. "And I should've done better. If I was capable enough, I could've helped Cedric—" His eyes locked onto yours, glinting. You could practically feel the raw sorrow radiating from him in waves.

"I know people are talking about me being crazy," he continued, his jaw tightening. "But I can't stand that no one is speaking the truth about Cedric. What actually happened to him."

"We'll start it, Harry. He won't be forgotten, and we'll find a way to push your truth out there," you said gently, squeezing his wrist. "We’ll be right there with you. And it's not your fault, Harry. Please, please don't blame yourself for what happened. You-Know-Who is to blame, not you. You fought him, head-on—the fact you’re here with us is just… a miracle.”

He stared at you for a long moment before finally nodding. You stayed there in the quiet corridor for a few more minutes, sitting in comfortable silence while the essence did its work. Once the redness had faded from his skin, you dried his hand, tucked the bowl securely back into your bag, and stood up together to leave.

As you walked, he gently caught your wrist, slowing you down until you stopped. He shifted his grip to hold your hand. “Thank you.”

You turned fully to face him. “We care for you deeply, Harry,” you said softly, giving his fingers a supportive squeeze. “Always remember that.”

“Again, thank you,” he said, looking down at your joined hands. “I feel the same way for you three.”

Harry stepped closer, leaning in toward you.

“What are you doing?” You grinned, tilting your head back slightly.

“Leaning in to kiss your cheek,” he said with an amused, lopsided smile. “As a thank you.”

You snorted. “Look at you. I’m guessing you’re this bold with Cho now?” you teased.

He laughed, a faint pink coloring his nose. “We kissed, actually. The other day. And... again today.” He let out a small laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “It was really nice.”

His smile softened. 

“I really like her,” he said. “And I think she likes me too. At least... I hope I'm not completely imagining it.”

“I can definitely tell you that she does,” you replied, unable to hide your smile as the two of you shared a warm look.

“Okay, fine. Go for it, wonder boy,” you told him with a bright smile, turning your face to give him your cheek. “Though you’d have to thank me with something better than a kiss on the cheek—or anything similar—later. This won’t work on me.”

“I will,” he murmured with a smile. He leaned in closer, just about to plant a warm, friendly kiss on your cheek, when the temperature in the corridor seemed to plummet.

From the shadows behind you came a cold, menacing drawl.

“What the fuck?”

You turned to find Draco—this guy, again?!—glowering at Harry. His mouth curled into a sneer, though his eyes looked strangely hollow, his grey eyes frost-cold.

Draco marched closer; your heart pounded against your chest and your breath grew heavier. While Harry looked annoyed that he was here, a wave of anxiety washed over you.

You wanted to say, Draco, it’s not what it looks like! or You’ve got it all wrong! But why did you feel the need to explain anything to him? Why did he deserve that, again?

Harry gently let go of you, pushing you behind him. The gesture seemed to irk Draco even further, because he lunged forward and grabbed Harry by the collar with both hands, shoving him back so hard that Harry had to rise onto his tiptoes to keep his balance.

“D—Draco!” you cried out breathlessly.

“What were you doing, Potter?” he asked softly, wearing an eerie, empty smile.

Harry grabbed hold of Draco’s own collar, bracing himself. “The fuck, Malfoy?!”

“I asked you ONE question, Potter,” he seethed, their faces inches apart. “What. The fuck. Were you doing. With her?”

You looked between them, your mouth gaping as you prepared to intervene, but Harry spoke first.

“I’m going to kiss her.”

Harry's face was twisted with growing indignation, but Draco looked ready for murder. Draco shoved Harry back until he stumbled down. You wanted to move toward Harry, but you found yourself frozen, caught in the middle of their crossfire.

“Hey,” Draco said, slowly turning his gaze toward you. You stood straighter, your skin prickling. “Is that true?”

You shook your head. “N—”

“Yes, I was about to kiss her until you interrupted, you git,” Harry snapped, standing to your side again. “If you could leave us, that’d be bloody great. I'd like to return to what I was about to do.”

HARRY?!! Explain BETTER, please! You paled, pleading that he would understand you somehow.

Draco let out a maniacal, mocking laugh, looking thoroughly entertained by the absurdity of it, though the amusement sat strangely in his eyes.

“How romantic,” he said sarcastically, turning to you with a look of aggrieved incredulity. “Fourth day in this damned, forsaken castle and you’re already a constant fucking headache for me. I’m sick of you.”

“And I know exactly what to do,” Draco muttered. He sidestepped Harry in one swift motion and closed a hand around your wrist. Before you could protest, he was already striding away, dragging you forward with him.

The pace escalated—from a sharp walk to a jarring jog, and then into a full-blown sprint as he rounded the first corner. You looked back at Harry, his eyes widening in shock. “Where are you ta—hey! MALFOY!”

You had to match his frantic pace, your robes snapping around your legs, or you would have stumbled face-first onto the stone floor. “Draco! Wait! It's not what you—”

You heard the heavy thud of Harry’s boots running from behind you, chasing after you both. “Malfoy!”

Draco whipped his wand out with his free hand. “Locomotor Wibbly!”

Harry managed to deflect the curse with a frantic swipe of his own wand, but the effort forced him to skitter to a halt, slowing him down. 

Draco ran faster, dragging you through narrow corridors and plunging down a flight of stairs. Students scattered out of the way as he barreled past. Others hurriedly parted for him, twisting around to watch the bizarre procession rush by.

You caught snippets of confused whispers as you passed.

“Woah! What’s going on?”

“Is that Potter…?”

“Oh no—she’s in trouble with a prefect.”

You’re damned embarrassed!

Behind you, Harry shoved his way through the students in pursuit, his face flushed red with anger right on his tail

“MALFOY!” he shouted.

As you passed the entrance to the Great Hall, you spotted Ron and Hermione. Their eyes widened, their mouths dropping open as they saw you and Draco fly past, followed by Harry just a few paces behind.

They joined the chase immediately. 

“Draco! Stop this!” you shouted, stumbling as he quickened his pace even further. You looked back to find the trio right on your heels. Their wands were drawn and ready. 

“MALFOY, if you don’t let go of her, I will hex you into next week!” Hermione shrieked from behind, her hair wild from the wind of the chase.

Just as suddenly as he’d started, Draco halted in front of a heavy oak door. He shoved you backward with just enough force that Ron—who was still skidding to a stop—caught you before you could fall.

“Malfoy, you bloody numpty fucker!” Ron hissed, gripping your arm to steady you as he doubled over, completely out of breath.

Draco sneered at him, ignoring the insult as he rapped sharply on the door. You were beyond irritated at this point—you’d actually strangle him dead. “Draco, what the actual fuck! You’ve been an insufferable piece of shi—”

“Mr. Malfoy?” a soft, familiar voice called out. The door swung open by its own to reveal Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape hunching over a desk littered with parchments.

“Do you need something again, Mr. Malfoy?” McGonagall asked, her glasses sliding down her nose.

“Professors,” Draco nodded smoothly, his hands now tucked neatly behind his back as though he hadn’t just been sprinting through the castle like a madman. Not a single silver strand was out of place; his shoulders were squared, his posture perfectly poised and immaculate.

You and the trio stood there dumbstruck, all four of you looking flustered with messy hair, flushed faces, and crooked collars. You gaped, wondering why you were now in front of the Gryffindor and Slytherin Heads of House.

“And why are you four here?” McGonagall straightened her spine, her raised eyebrows demanding an explanation.

“I found these two, Professor,” Draco said, pointing directly at you and Harry. “How am I to phrase this delicately… canoodling in the corridor on the third floor.”

You and Harry gasped in unison. Ron and Hermione snapped their heads around to stare at you, their jaws dropping. Draco walked further into the room, leaving the four of you hovering by the threshold while both professors donned expressions of sheer surprise.

“Is this true?” McGonagall asked, her voice turning stern as she focused entirely on you. “Third floor, Mr. Malfoy?”

Oh, no—the practice room you'd been permitted to use was on the third floor! You couldn't afford another misunderstanding.

“No—no! Professor, Malfoy has got it all wrong,” you stammered, frantically looking over at Draco, who kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, perfectly collected. “I wasn’t—not with Harry—I mean, it was a misunderstanding. It was a—”

“She’s right, Professor,” Harry said, stepping further into the room to back you up. “We weren’t… canoodling. I would never—she’s my friend. I wouldn’t do anything like that,” he added bitterly, annoyed at having to explain the truth in front of Draco.

“Then Mr. Malfoy, I don’t see why this requires our immediate attention,” McGonagall said, turning her gaze back to Draco.

“Professor, I do have my case,” Draco countered smoothly, gesturing toward you. “She has repeatedly undermined prefect authority, publicly directing profanities and insults at me. Such a blatant lack of respect makes it exceedingly difficult to enforce and explain the rules of our institution when my efforts are constantly met with resistance.”

“Is this true?” Snape asked coldly, his dark eyes pinning you in place.

“Professor—” you stammered, your face flushing.

“It’s true, Professor,” Draco interrupted, sounding every bit the pained prefect. “Earlier this morning, she did so right in front of the crowded Quidditch pitch. I will spare you the exact words, but they were truly unkind and uncouth.”

Your eyes widened, snapping toward him in absolute disbelief at his blatant manipulation.

“And while I understand, Professors, that I as a prefect have the ability to hand out standard punishments, I can only do so much,” he said, shaking his head with a sigh. “I have generously let it slide multiple times, but respect for a prefect's work is needed, and thus, I do have a proposal.”

Snape leaned back slightly, his fingers intertwining. “Pray tell, Mr. Malfoy?”

“She is to accompany me on my prefect duties for the next month,” Draco proposed.

“I believe it would be a far more educational experience than an ordinary detention. It would allow her to observe firsthand the work that goes into maintaining order within the walls. After all, prefects are entrusted with upholding the standards, traditions, and reputation of Hogwarts—responsibilities that are often overlooked by the wider student body.”

“This is also a good way to demonstrate inter-house friendship,” he added, turning to McGonagall with a disarmingly pleasant smile. “And it would give her a better understanding of why we do what we do to maintain order.”

Draco paused, placing a hand over his chest with theatrical humility. “I am prepared to take this case forward, Professors, and assume full responsibility. If necessary, I can submit a formal proposal for your consideration. Naturally, I won’t proceed without both of your permissions, as I hold your authorities in the highest regard.”

...Holy fuck.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were flabbergasted, each wearing the exact same look of complete bafflement as you—shocked by the fact that Draco was such a bloody smooth talker that he'd managed to turn this into a serious proposal.

But you were even more horrified by the expressions of the two professors, who actually seemed to be mulling the ridiculous idea over.

“How merciful of you, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said, his voice a low, oily purr. Draco only nodded with a practiced smile. “I’ll grant it. You do not need my written permission.”

“I’ll grant it as well, Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall agreed, her tone ringing with approval. “This is an excellent initiative. Send me your proposal as soon as possible.”

“Professor—you can’t do this!” Harry panicked, stepping forward, fists clenched. “He’s lying and manipulating you. You don’t know what he’s going to do to her—”

“Are you truly so arrogant, Mr. Potter?” Snape coldly dismissed, his dark eyes narrowing into slits. “To assume your warped perception dictates the rules of this institution? You are not the headmaster here, despite your delusions to the contrary.”

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy is a prefect, as are the two friends standing behind you. They were chosen by Professor Dumbledore himself, and respect for their position is required,” McGonagall added, turning a stern gaze upon you. You took a sudden, shallow breath under her intense focus. “Mr. Malfoy brings a compelling case. I will let you formally appeal, but only if the accusations he mentioned are entirely untrue.”

Harry stammered, his defense collapsing. He looked back at Ron and Hermione, his expression practically screaming do something!

Snape capitalized on the hesitation, shifting his target. “Miss Granger, is it true that she has been throwing profanities at Mr. Malfoy?”

“Professor—” Hermione stammered, her face turning bright red.

“I did, Professor,” you finally confessed through gritted teeth, cutting off any further interrogation.

“Very well, then,” McGonagall said, clapping her hands together to dismiss the matter. “Now out, all of you. Mr. Malfoy, I await that proposal. And the rest of you, remember you have Astronomy at midnight.”

Draco gave a final bow before straightening, a hand pressed lightly to his chest in yet another display of practiced deference. “Thank you, Professor. I shall do my utmost to justify your confidence.”

The four of you turned and shuffled out of the office, still reeling from the sheer absurdity of what had transpired.

Out in the corridor, the trio stood seething, their glares burning holes into Draco’s profile.

He turned to face you. Whatever polished courtesy he’d been performing for the professors was gone. His hands were shoved into his pockets as he leaned in slightly, one eyebrow arched tauntingly.

“I’ll see you around,” he drawled, looking unbearably pleased with himself. “And you better be fucking ready.”

He spun on his heel and sauntered off, leaving you and the trio too breathless and dumbfounded to speak.

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[verklcmpt]

I’m usually a silent reader, but Can’t You See That I’m Here is on of the best fanfictions I’ve read in a while. I read the whole thing front to back in 1 night. Patiently waiting for your next update <3

HELLOOO that's too kind of you to say UGH thank you for dropping by to share this w me ! I hope u can enjoy the journey till the end with 'Can't You See I'm Here?' 🥹

[verklcmpt]

Idk if you’ve answered this before but who’s your favorite characters in Harry Potter?

HM! Oh gosh - is it bad to say I've never thought about it? Or basic of me to say Draco Malfoy? LOLOLOL the amount of fanfiction I've read about him (Dramione / Drarry) growing up is unhealthy ! Truly will find him in every universe and medium — it makes me so happy.

[verklcmpt]

⋆˙⟡Can't You See I'm Here? (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

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Book 5 pt. 8 — A List of Things

summary: Harry's heated exchange with Umbridge spread throughout the castle, but your mind was still wandering to what Draco Malfoy might do to you as part of his prefect “punishment.” As you pushed your thought to the side, a few students have their own thoughts of how they see Draco—interesting thoughts.

Harry’s outburst in Umbridge's class spread like wildfire throughout the castle. Later that evening, that was all the whispers in the corridors were about. Students huddled over their dinner plates in the Great Hall, pointing and murmuring every time Harry walked past, their voices dropping to low hisses.

“Hey, did you hear about Harry Potter’s mad rant?”

“Potter has gone nuts, mate!”

“Hush. Don’t listen to his insane ramblings.”

“Fear-monger asshole. And Dumbledore is just the same.”

It was infuriating to listen to! Especially when the whispers happened right in front of your face at the Gryffindor table. But every time you, Ron, or Hermione turned around to defend him—ready to snap at a group of gossiping third-years or glare down a judgmental Ravenclaw—Harry would reach out and stop you.

He would catch your arm or kick Ron's leg under the table.

“Just let it go,” Harry would mutter, staring straight down at his untouched plate.

You and Hermione would exchange a frustrated look, but seeing the dark circles under his eyes, you ultimately stayed quiet, letting the murmurs wash over the hall.

To your relief, Cho Chang seemed to be one of the few people who didn't care about the rumors. In fact, it seemed like the gossip actually pushed her to seek you out.

The day after Harry's outburst, she caught up with you in the crowded corridor. You were walking early morning to breakfast alone. Ron and Hermione were off somewhere on a prefect task. Harry was probably still getting ready.

“Hey,” she called out, hurrying her pace to catch up with you. Her blue-and-bronze Ravenclaw Quidditch uniform rustled with every step, the leather padding clicking softly.

Her eyebrows were knitted and she kept looking nervously over her shoulder at the passing students. “I heard about what happened to Harry. Is it true?”

“Hey, Cho. What is?” you asked, looking at her a bit confused.

“Well, people are saying Harry was screaming about… You-Know-Who, in the middle of class,” she whispered, leaning in closer so the nearby group of Hufflepuffs wouldn't overhear. “And talking about how—”

She paused for a second, her throat tightening and her eyes glancing down before she forced herself to continue. “—Cedric was murdered by him.”

It has really spread, huh.

“Yeah,” you stifled, a fugacious wave of discomfort passing over you as your hand moved up to rub your arm, before you looked back up at her. “Harry is… going through a lot right now. He’s going to need all the friends he can get around him.”

Cho nodded, a quiet resolve settling over her expression as she straightened her posture. “Alright, I understand. I want to be there for Harry.”

You smiled at her. “And you should. He would be very happy about it, actually.”

She smiled back weakly, but then her eyes dropped down to her shoes. She restlessly shifted her weight from one foot to the other, twirling a strand of her dark hair around her finger before she asked, “Just a question… are you and Harry… together?”

“What?!” Your voice echoed loudly through the stone hallway, causing a few passing students to stop and turn to look at you. You quickly flushed, clearing your throat as you lowered your voice to a harsh whisper. “Whaaat?”

“Oh no—I just thought—” she started, her eyes widening as she waved her hands frantically in front of her face to cut you off. “I just wanted to make sure! Because you two are always together, and…”

“No, Cho. He’s family at this point,” you laughed. “I don’t like Harry that way, and he doesn't look at me that way either. Trust me.”

“Make your move, Cho,” you added, leaning in a little and grinning playfully at her.

She turned bright red, blushing furiously all the way to her ears. She started stammering out nonsense words, completely flustered, before looking away to hide her face.

“I will,” she finally managed to say, a small, shy smile breaking through her blush.

“Alright, I’ll see you—”

“Are you okay?” Cho interrupted softly.

“Huh?” You blinked.

“About… Cedric,” she said, her voice dropping to a somber whisper.

You took a heavy breath, the air burning in your lungs for a second as you stared back at her. “No, Cho. I’m not,” you admitted. “But it’s been hard, and not just for me.”

“I understand,” she said quietly, stepping a bit closer to you.

“But I… I’ll honor him by keeping my chin up and living,” you said with conviction.

You then offered her a small smile. “I’ve always admired his warmth. I should try—no, I want to extend the same warmth to others.”

Cho’s eyes softened. “Alright,” she said, stepping closer and gently taking your hand in hers. “If you need anything, anything at all…”

You squeezed her hand back before slowly pulling away, giving her a nod. “Thank you, Cho. I’ll see you around. Good luck with Harry.”

With that, you turned and left, walking toward the Great Hall. 

You felt a sudden, sharp tinge of pain in your chest, but as you walked, you forced yourself to remember his warm, sunshine-like smile.

I miss him.

And with that, the day officially started. You had a double period of Charms first thing in the morning. The class was filled with the whispers of students and the sound of desks scraping against the floor as Professor Flitwick stood on his usual stack of books at the front of the room.

Today was a review on Summoning Charms. All around the room, your classmates were visibly sweating through their uniforms, swishing unrefined wand movements, and barking "Accio!" at varying volumes. 

Across from you, Neville Longbottom gave his wand a particularly clumsy swirl, only for his cushion to rocket backward, hitting a nearby Vincent Crabbe squarely in the face. The cushion tumbled aimlessly across multiple desks, ripping the fabric in half, and eventually leaving a cloud of white feathers to drift aimlessly through the air.

“Neville!” Seamus Finnigan hissed, swatting the feathers away from his face.

Neville hunched as the classroom groaned loudly. He looked like someone who wished the floor could swallow him whole, his voice thoroughly chastened as he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Your eyes met for a brief second. You gave him an encouraging smile and mouthed, “It’s okay, Neville.”

He smiled a bit afterwards. 

While the others struggled with their focus amidst the mess, you sat back and summoned your cushion by lazily flicking your wand without saying the words. At this point, you were so used to the spell that you were practically able to do it with just a flick of your fingers. 

Professor Flitwick beamed at you from his tower of books, clapping his hands together. "Great job! Excellent form!" 

You smiled back at him with a nod.

When you returned to the Great Hall for lunch later that day, the heavy scent of roasted food filled the air, but your attention immediately drifted elsewhere. You saw Draco sitting across the aisle at the Slytherin table—grinning and chattering away with his usual crowd.

You hadn’t seen him at all after the chaos in Umbridge’s class. He had stayed reserved for the rest of the lesson. The second the bell rang, he stood up and left.

If you could curse your own mind right now, you would. You couldn’t seem to stop it from drifting back to how his fingers had grazed the bare skin of your thighs—tauntingly riding up your skirt as his touch trailed higher—and how his gaze had seemed to linger appetently on you.

Or how his fingers had gently held you to calm you before softly pulling away, leaving your brain a tangled mess and every inch of your skin burning warm.

The memory of his touch was making you squirm in frustration in your wooden seat. You silently questioned yourself. 

Why don't I just touch myself and get it over with? 

Why let myself obey a prick like him?

Right then—as if he could feel the weight of your stare—he lazily turned his head. Your eyes met across the gap between the rows of seated students. He instantly put on an irritating! pompous! expression, a small smirk playing on his lips as he locked eyes with you.

Draco Malfoy kept sending your head into a never-ending spin.

It infuriated you. But instead of making you back down, his look felt like a silent challenge you absolutely had to meet.

Maybe I’m just fucking sick in the head, you thought, tearing your eyes away and staring down at your lunch.

Once the bell rang and third period started, Transfiguration was the lesson you had been looking forward to. Professor McGonagall stood at the front of the classroom, tapping her wand against her palm to get everyone's attention as she introduced vanishing spells with live snails.

Huh. Evanesco is an O.W.L-level spell, huh?

Your mother had actually made you learn this exact spell two years ago back at home, except she made you practice with a butterfly. It had made you half insane, honestly. The stupid thing kept moving and fluttering around the room, forcing you to channel every bit of your magic and focus your mind just to lock onto it.

You watched Hermione next to you, her brow furrowed as she flicked her wand aggressively at the sluggish creature on her desk.

You let out a quiet, "’Mione," to get her attention. You leaned over slightly, and gave her a quick demonstration with your own wand, showing her the exact wrist movement.

She caught on instantly. Nodding, she tried it again, and this time her snail completely disappeared into thin air. You grinned at her, genuinely impressed.

It had taken you half a day of solid frustration to make that butterfly disappear and finally understand the spell when your mother taught it to you. Hermione had just done it in three tries with her snail.

You both had matching, triumphant grins on your faces as you high-fived under the desk.

“Well done, ladies. Twenty points for Gryffindor,” McGonagall said as she looked over your empty desks.

You and Hermione beamed. Thanks to that, you were both officially free from extra Transfiguration homework for the rest of the week.

Even better, Herbology ended early that day. Professor Sprout had clapped her soil-covered hands together and dismissed the class with a cheerful, “Go on, get some fresh air—it’s only your first week back!”

You quickly gathered your things and rushed out of the damp greenhouses together with the trio.

As you walked across the lawn, the sun had slowly fallen. The sky was a brilliant hue of red and orange. You were walking together to dinner when Harry suddenly stopped in his tracks.

“I should get going,” Harry said.

“Huh? Where are you going?” you asked, looking at him.

“My detention with Umbridge starts this evening, at five o'clock,” he said grimly. “For a whole week.”

“Already?” Ron groaned, shaking his head. “Mate, she’s fucking awful. It’s barely the start of term!”

You clicked your tongue, shaking your head. “Start of term? It’s our second day.”

Harry opened his mouth to say something back but quickly stopped when he heard someone calling his name.

“Harry!” Cho was jogging across the grass with a bright smile on her face. She stopped right in front of him. “Do you want to walk to dinner… with me?”

Harry visibly blushed, his ears turning pink as his eyes darted nervously from Ron, to Hermione, to you, silently pleading for help on how to answer.

“Uh, I—”

Cho tilted her head, her smile turning a little curious as she waited for his reply.

“I have to go to Umbridge’s office… for detention,” he finally stammered out, his expression crestfallen.

“Oh? Then, I’ll walk with you there,” she said easily, her smile widening.

Harry’s eyes widened. “You would?”

Seeing the two of them locked in their own little world, Hermione caught your arm. “Come on. I’m starving,” she said loudly, tugging you toward the castle. Ron quickly followed suit, leaving Harry and Cho to walk off together.

“Hey, has Malfoy given your punish—“

“He hasn’t,” Hermione answered for you, looking at Ron unimpressed.

“I’m asking her,” Ron pointed a sliced beef-stabbed fork at you from across the table. “Look. If the git does anything out of line, I can—“

“I’ve told her,” Hermione answered, biting into her dinner. She reached into her bag, thumping a thick book onto the table.

“Bloody hell, Hermione!” Ron said exasperatedly. “I am trying to talk to her.”

You laughed at their exchange, helping yourself to a spoonful of roasted potatoes. “No, Ron. He hasn’t. And frankly, I’m honestly wishing he’d forgotten.”

“He hasn’t,” Hermione repeated, absently munching on a piece of garlic bread as she scanned the open book beside her plate.

You and Ron turned to her.

“I suppose he’s told you that?” Ron asked, one eyebrow arching high as he fixed her with a skeptical look.

Hermione sighed, closing the thick book with a loud thump. “Of course not! It’s his second day as prefect and he’s been dishing out detentions and deducting house points like Muggles with candies on a Halloween night.”

Ron groaned, rolling his eyes as he reached for another helping of roast chicken. “I know, Hermione. Filch has been enjoying it, for sure, getting all the bloody random younger years helping him throughout the castle.”

“The reason why I asked—if you had waited to listen, Hermione,” Ron added, pointing his fork at her, “is because usually punishments are straightforward. He should direct you to your assigned duties. The fact he hasn’t is making me worried.”

Hermione looked genuinely surprised by Ron’s explanation. Honestly, so were you.

“You read your prefect handbook?” she asked.

“Duh,” Ron replied, exaggeratedly puffing himself before flashing you a cheeky grin. “Only the punishment section.”

“Honestly, Ronald,” Hermione muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Well, after he handed her a punishment on the—not even first night, mind you—the first hour we got back, I had to make sure!” Ron said defensively. “I saw we have the right to appeal, so if he does anything out of line, I’ll be there.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little at that. For all his complaining, Ron could be fiercely protective when it mattered.

“Thanks, Ron,” you said warmly.

You hummed, looking down at your roasted potatoes and half-eaten chicken as Hermione and Ron continued talking. “I’ll be sure to let you both know.”

After dinner, you made your way toward the library—not exactly to study, but to start managing your schedule for the year. Before leaving for Hogwarts, your parents had handed you a detailed schedule outlining the additional studies and training they expected you to maintain throughout the year.

Between regular coursework, the O.W.L.s, private reading, and physical conditioning, the list looked more like an Auror drill than a school plan.

You stared down at the parchment as you walked, your thumb tracing the crisp cursive of your mother’s handwriting.

Let’s see… the first parchment’s heading was 'Advanced Defensive Magic,' and next to it, heavily underlined, were the words:

Must be done daily!

Under it was practicing shield charm variations and counter-curses, sharpening Occlumency, alongside relentless non-verbal and wandless casting drills.

You grumbled and switch to the second parchment. 'Supplementary Reading,' written in your father's heavily capitalized handwriting. Next to it was a small note:

To my dearest, read up! Keep your mind sharp. Love, Dad.

Underneath was a dense list of texts he'd made you pack for Hogwarts. Deflection and Deception: A Modern Duelist's Guide; The Intricacies of Advanced Transfiguration; and Curses and Counter-Curses: Unknown Secrets to the Art.

You switched to the third parchment.

Huuuuh—there’s still more reading?!

Your father had added several obscure, leather-bound Dark Arts volumes—such as Shadows of the Mind: A Study in Darker Enchantments and Spells of the Blood: The Body and Power.

You flipped to the fourth parchment. “Merlin,” you muttered.

In heavy ink were the words, ‘Physical Requirements’ and your father’s tiny note, with a little smiley face, that read:

Don’t slack off! We’d know. 

It was a demanding checklist that made your muscles ache just reading it.

Did they think I have twenty-eight hours in a day?

Pushing open the heavy oak library doors, you scanned the room for an empty table, your mind still reeling from the exhausting list on the parchment.

“Psst. Hi.”

You looked up at the sound of your name.

Padma Patil was waving you over from a nearby table, a welcoming smile on her face. “Would you care to join us?” she whispered, gesturing to the empty space beside her.

Seated around the long table were Terry Boot and Michael Corner, both completely surrounded by towering stacks of open books and scattered rolls of parchment. A little further down sat Susan Bones, Ernie Macmillan, and Hannah Abbott, studying beneath the soft glow of a green-shaded lamp.

“Oh!” Hannah's eyes widened with pleasant surprise when she spotted you. “Come and sit with us!” she said in a hushed voice.

You laughed quietly.

“Here,” Padma said, pulling out an empty chair for you. You smiled and slid into the seat between Padma and Hannah, setting your parchments down on the table.

“Evening,” you greeted, nodding to the others.

Another boy sitting beside Ernie looked up from his notes, his arms crossed over his chest. Zacharias Smith. He gave you a brief nod—looking you up and down—before returning to his work.

You stowed away your parents’ parchment inside your bag.

“Are you here to study?” Padma asked, while Hannah leaned in from your other side.

“Not exactly. I’m trying to manage my schedule throughout the year,” you smiled, your eyes landing on Ernie, who seemed to flush and look down at his Herbology chart.

Around you, the library was alive with its usual magic. A leather-bound volume launched itself from a top shelf nearby, its pages flapping as it soared across the aisle to join a stack on a higher row. On the wall just past Ernie's shoulder, the painted figures in a historical portrait began moving, whispering fiercely to one another and shifting their chairs to get a better look at your table's clutter of parchments.

You all spent the next few hours quietly scratching away with your quills and exchanging class schedules. Their group discussed about dividing up study groups for each lesson's notes.

All of a sudden, Susan Bones leaned forward over her history book—the picture on the page moving as a wizard crept behind a tree, casting cautious glances out at them—and lowered her voice slightly. “Hey, I know it’s a bit late to say this, but you looked so beautiful that night at the Yule Ball.”

You turned to look at her, swiftly ducking your head to dodge a rogue textbook that came zooming low over the table toward the returns drop. Straightening back up, you beamed at her. “Thank you, Susan.”

“Almost ethereal. Everyone was looking at you,” Padma giggled from your side, making you start to feel a bit sheepish.

“I can’t believe you went with Draco Malfoy!” Hannah said, her voice dropping in a stunned, breathless whisper. “I thought you were going with—”

Everyone turned to her, and the table went dead silent. Suddenly, all of their expressions turned forlorn.

“Cedric?” You smiled gently, tilting your head at her. 

You didn’t want his name to be something taboo to talk about. If anything, it should be talked about often and remembered with kindness amongst his friends. “He didn’t get to ask me, actually. He went with Cho because Professor McGonagall wanted him to submit a partner's name quickly.”

“But I’m glad I got to dance with him that night,” you admitted softly. Hannah’s eyes glinted, and she smiled, nodding at you in understanding.

“I heard you went with Malfoy because he dared you to,” Ernie asked, his voice lowering as he leaned closer over the table.

“Er—I did,” you laughed quietly, feeling a bit amused by how fast rumors spread.

“I told you!” Terry Boot hissed toward Ernie, who looked instantly slumped in his seat.

“Seemed like the boys were fighting amongst themselves to see who could ask you out first,” Padma grinned, bumping her shoulder against yours playfully. “You did reject most of their requests, after all.”

“But you really did look lovely dancing with both Malfoy and Cedric,” Susan added softly, closing the book in her hands.

“Malfoy looked so good that night,” Padma said in a low voice, giggling into her hand. “All the girls secretly had their eyes on him.”

The boys collectively groaned around the table. “Malfoy? Seriously?” Michael Corner scoffed, rolling his eyes in utter disbelief.

“Yes!” Padma, Susan, and Hannah said in unison, a wide grin across their faces.

“I saw a few Beauxbatons girls throwing themselves at him all year round, too. Apparently, he speaks fluent French! Did you know?” Susan looked at you, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“No,” you lied, keeping your expression neutral. If you said yes, it would only invite more questions about how you knew. You definitely didn't want anyone to find out.

“The git is an asshole and plays rough on the pitch,” Michael said, his lips twisting into a sour scowl.

“Oh, you’re just a sore loser because he easily beats you at Quidditch,” Padma sighed, waving her hand dismissively at him.

“He’s still second best to Potter as a Seeker, though,” Terry grinned.

“That I have to agree with,” you chided, immediately defending Harry. “He’s definitely a boy wonder.”

“Yeah, but don’t you think he’s changed a bit?” Hannah said, her eyes drifting thoughtfully.

“Who, Potter?” Zacharias Smith asked, crossing his arms. His face turning into a mocking twist.  “Didn’t he—”

“No, Zach,” Hannah clicked her tongue, cutting him off. “Malfoy! He’s the tallest on the Slytherin team right now, and he looks broader than before.”

Wait—why are we on this topic?

“Second-ranked in our year for five consecutive years. He's got top marks in most of our subjects,” Hannah added matter-of-factly.

“Now that you mention it...” Susan tapped her chin, a wide grin spreading across her face. “He is hotter than ever.”

The girls immediately nodded in enthusiastic agreement. Across the table, the boys scoffed and rolled their eyes, though not a single one of them actually tried to argue otherwise.

Please! Please! talk about anything other than Draco Malfoy. You slumped lower in your chair, already regretting sitting down at this table.

“Hey, about Potions—” you started, trying to put an end to the conversation.

“Seeing him walk around with Nott and Zabini is definitely a triple kill,” Padma interrupted with a breathless sigh, biting her lip. 

Several of the girls groaned in agreement. 

HUH?

“Merlin, I know,” Susan pressed a hand dramatically to her chest. “But I suppose the collective consensus still falls on Malfoy.”

She waggled her eyebrows suggestively at the group and everyone agreed, though half the table—the boys, specifically—did so begrudgingly.

“You girls only like him because he's a Malfoy,” Ernie said grumpily, crossing his arms tighter over his chest.

“Okay, Macmillan,” Susan rolled her eyes. “Jealous much? What, do you want him to invite you to one of his little Malfoy Manor tea parties?”

“NO!” he hissed far too loudly. 

A sharp shuush erupted from the surrounding library tables. Ernie visibly shrank in his seat—his ears turned bright red, and his scowl deepened as a few nearby students glared over before returning to their work.

"I mean, c'mon, aside from being a Malfoy," Susan continued, holding up one finger to start a list. "He's tall—"

"Built," Hannah giggled, extending a second finger.

"Devastatingly handsome," Padma continued, pointing a third finger into the air.

“Oh, oh!” Susan whispered excitedly, holding up a fourth finger. “I don’t know how he does it, but his silver—or, I suppose, white-blond—hair is always so perfectly groomed.”

“Gives him that whole Ice Prince look, huh?” Hannah sighed dreamily before giggling and nudging Susan's shoulder.

Susan nodded. “Exactly.”

Around the table, the girls murmured their agreement while the boys looked increasingly exasperated. Even Zacharias finally looked up from his notes, wearing the expression of someone deeply regretting every life choice that had led him to this conversation.

Then, almost as one, they all turned to look at you.

The girls leaned forward expectantly, their eyes twinkling with excitement. Across from them, the boys furrowed their brows, bracing themselves for whatever attractive feature you were inevitably about to contribute.

The entire table waited as you slowly raised your hand.

“An asshole,” you droned flatly, holding up a fifth finger to finish the count. “Who once turned into a bouncing white ferret.”

There was stunned silence before the table exploded—laughter burst from every direction. Padma doubled over, nearly knocking over her ink bottle. Hannah buried her face in Susan's shoulder. Even Zacharias let out a reluctant snort before quickly pretending he hadn't.

An immediate chorus of furious shhhhs rose from the surrounding library tables, which only made it worst. Everyone dissolved into another round of breathless laughter, ducking their heads and burying their faces in their arms to muffle the noise against the wooden table.

“Whatever,” Susan whispered, still laughing as she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “Nobody can deny he's fucking hot.”

You scrunched your nose at that, utterly refusing to give him the credit, though you couldn't help sniffling away a laugh.

“Nice one,” Terry grinned from across the table, looking thoroughly relieved that someone had finally broken up the Malfoy praise-fest.

“I bloody forgot about that bit, mate!” Michael slung an arm around Terry’s shoulders, his whole frame shaking as he struggled to hold back another loud burst of laughter. “Yeah, that’s a good one. A bouncing ferret.”

The boys were still chuckling amongst themselves, leaning into each other and wiping away stray tears, when Padma’s eyes suddenly lit up. A deeply mischievous smile spread slowly across her face as she perked up straighter in her chair.

“Speaking of... hot,” she began, her voice dropping into a tantalizing purr. “I seem to know someone here who got onto a certain heavily shared list—one that's been circulating around all the common rooms.”

Michael’s laughter died instantly in his throat. Next to him, Terry stiffened, coughing roughly into his fist. Ernie dropped his gaze straight to the table, his shoulders hunching up as if he could somehow blend into his Herbology chart. Zacharias closed the book he had been reading with a glare at Padma.

Padma locked eyes with you, her expression glowing. “Wanna know?”

She clearly shared the exact same chaotic love for gossip as her twin sister.

“Padma!” Terry hissed, his face pale as he cast a frantic, panicked glance around the table.

“Shut up, Padma,” Ernie muttered under his breath, a burning flush crawled up his neck until he was completely beet red.

“Who?” you asked, leaning your elbows on the table and tilting your head. Your eyes twinkled with curiosity, hooked by their bizarre reactions.

“No one!” Terry, Ernie, and Michael hissed out, their voices ringing almost too loudly.

Geez.

“I know an easier explanation,” Zacharias opened his mouth after a long silence. He leaned forward, squinting slightly. “Hey, are you part Veela?”

You blinked.

“Huh?”

“Just be honest. It would explain a lot of some things, anyway,” Zacharias snided, a skeptical look on his face.

“Uh—no,” you said flatly.

“Huh? A family member, perhaps? Grandparents?” He blinked, looking genuinely puzzled.

“Nope,” you said, popping the 'p' sound with your lips as you crossed your arms and leaned back in your seat.

“Er—right. Nevermind, then,” he muttered, quickly turning back to his notes. You raised your eyebrows at him in question, entirely unimpressed.

Weird guy.

“Anyway,” Padma said. “Here.”

She scribbled a time and date on a scrap piece of parchment and slid it across the table to you. “If you’d like to join us again, feel free. We’d be happy to have you.”

“Thanks, Padma,” you smiled at her, picking up the note.

You all continued going through the lesson notes and discussing what each subject would be focusing on for the O.W.L.s. The Ravenclaws already seemed to be preparing for N.E.W.T.s, even though those were two years away.

As the evening grew darker and the library began to empty out, you bid your goodbyes to them and gathered your things.

You left the library to head down the corridor to Professor McGonagall’s office. You knocked gently, wanting to ask her permission for the empty classroom on the third floor to be opened back up for you this year so you could practice your spellwork in peace.

“I’ll permit it. However—” she said as she signed the parchment. “You should be careful who you let in there with you.”

“Why is that, professor?” you asked nervously, your heart skipping a beat.

Wait, does she know I had taken Draco to that classroom last year? 

Merlin, please no.

You could still hear the heavy, desperate sound of your own moans in that room, the wet squelch of his fingers entering your pussy, and the wet slap! slap! slap! sound of palm against your folds while you held your legs up high for him.

You swallowed hard, trying desperately to keep your face completely blank.

“It might not be well accepted by… Professor Umbridge,” she said, her voice dropping lower as she glanced toward her office door. “I say this to you because I know you have improved throughout the school year, showing exceptional skills. This gesture I am providing you may not be well received as we dive further into the curriculum.”

You nodded. “I understand, professor. Truly, I appreciate your trust in me and for giving a space to practice this past year. I’ll be sure to keep your word.”

“Alright. Now run along, it’ll be past curfew soon.”

Once you had exited her office, it was already a little past ten o'clock. You moved quietly through the empty, shadowy corridors until you heard a very, awfully familiar drawl echoing around the next corner.

“I don’t care, Parkinson. Just deal with them,” Draco said, sounding bored and annoyed.

“But Draco, they were passing it around right under our noses during study hours!” Pansy complained, her voice high and irritated. “As prefects, we’re supposed to confiscate stuff like this.”

“Then throw it in the fire and stop whining to me about it,” Draco sneered. “I don’t give a bloody fuck about it.”

“Look at what they wrote!” Pansy jeered, and you could hear the loud, aggressive crumple of a piece of paper being handed over to Draco. “It’s a voting list from the stupid younger years and seniors on who the hottest girls are. I think it’s idiotic and absolutely braindead. And that foul-mouthed idiot is number one with the most votes. Can you believe this?”

When you heard your own name—being ranked number one, no less—you winced behind the stone pillar.

Why do I always find myself eavesdropping in the oddest conversations?!

“Who did you get this from?” Draco asked, his voice turning into a lower tone, almost icy.

“I don’t know, some younger Gryffindor or senior Ravenclaws, I saw a familiar Slytherin but I don’t—”

“WHO! Give me bloody names, Parkinson,” he snarled so harshly that even you flinched a little from your hiding spot.

“I—I said I don’t know, Draco!” Pansy stammered, clearly taken aback by his sudden temper.

“Rubbish list,” he muttered, and you could hear the heavy thud of their shoes starting to move again, their footsteps getting closer to where you were pressed against the wall.

“I know! It’s unbelievable,” Pansy huffed, hurrying to keep up with his sudden, long strides. “They’re even saying they’ll try and—”

“Huh? Try. What. Exactly?” Draco gritted, his steps halting to another stop.

“Uh—I’m not sure gifts? Ask her on a date during the first Hogsmeade weekend, I didn't hear much. I took the paper and—”

You could hear a booming, derisive laugh erupt from Draco.

“Gifts and a date, huh,” Draco scoffed, his laugh cutting off into a low, amused sneer. “Alright. That settles it, then.”

“Right? As if anyone sane would—“

“Do we have to keep on this stupid night patrol?” Draco said, suddenly back to his usual drawled tone.

“Well, yes, Draco—”

“I want to go back to the common room,” Draco interrupted, and to your immense relief, the sound of their footsteps began to pivot, heading in the opposite direction down the corridor. “Next time, don’t drag me along on these useless patrols if you can handle it yourself, Parkinson.”

You ran straight back to the Gryffindor tower, your heart still thumping a bit from the close call in the corridor. 

“Geez,” you muttered, catching your breath as the Fat Lady's portrait swung shut behind you.

“Well, well! Who do we have here?”

To your surprise, Fred and George were still up, sitting around the main table near with Lee Jordan and Angelina Johnson. A few crumpled pieces of parchment and what looked like Skiving Snackbox prototypes were scattered between them.

“Oh, hi,” you beamed, walking over and sinking into an empty armchair right by the fireplace.

“Out past curfew? Naughty, naughty,” George teased, leaning back in his chair with a lazy grin. Angelina was sitting right next to him, her shoulder resting against his as she combed through a messy stack of Quidditch strategy diagrams.

“I was with McGonagall, actually,” you said, sticking your tongue out at him.

“Trouble on your second day back? We might have rubbed on her, George,” Fred tilted his chin toward his brother, both with matching grins.

“No! I was just checking on what’s ahead on the curriculum. I wanted to make sure,” you lied, shrugging as you say the words.

“How ambitious of you,” Lee Jordan chimed in. He gave you a goofy, wide smile, leaning forward on his elbows. “You know, if you ever need a partner to help you study, I’m entirely available—lean in to your seniors a little bit. Free of charge for you.”

Fred snorted loudly, elbowing Lee hard in the ribs. “In your dreams, mate. She’s got options, Jordan. Way better options than a guy who still drops his dungbombs in his own pockets.”

“Hey! That was one time!” Lee protested, turning bright red as George and Angelina burst out laughing.

You laughed together with them before you turned your attention to Angelina. “Hey, congratulations on making captain! I heard that you got chosen recently,” you grinned at her.

“Thanks,” Angelina said, a proud but slightly stressed expression crossing her face. “Wood left big shoes to fill, and we’re going to need a new Keeper first thing. I’m thinking of doing tryouts soon. Why don’t you join? We could use a solid backup.”

“Oh, Merlin. No, thank you. Quidditch is definitely not my thing,” you laughed, holding your hands up in surrender.

You got loudly booed by the entire circle.

“Boring!” Lee Jordan yelled playfully, tossing a crumpled bit of parchment at you.

“Sheesh! Enemy territory much?” you teased, easily catching the crumpled parchment.

“You’re the enemy!” they all said together, grinning widely. You all laughed together, the sound blending with the warm, comforting crackle of the fire.

Shortly after that, the group started yawning and gathering their parchment, turning in to their dormitories for the night. Once the common room fell completely silent, you stayed by the dying fire, pulling out a thick, leather-bound volume from the bottom of your bag. Spells of the Blood: The Body and Power Vol. II.

It was a specialized advanced defensive book—bordering heavily on Dark Arts theory. You got so entirely sucked into the patterns and complex diagrams that you hadn't realized how late it had gotten. You pulled your pocket watch out of your robes and clicked it open. 

1:00 AM.

You let out a quiet sigh, rubbing your tired eyes and closing the heavy book. You stood up, stretching your stiff muscles and preparing to head up. Then the portrait hole swung open with a dull scrape against the floor.

You turned around to see... Harry?

“Harry?” Your eyes widened as he stepped fully into the dim light of the dying fire. He looked awfully pale and his whole frame was a bit shaky. “Where have you been?”

“Umbridge,” he said quickly, his voice tight and flat. He kept his head down, trying to brush past your chair toward the stairs. “I’m a bit tired. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“It’s one in the morning, how can she—”

You grabbed his right hand to stop him, but the moment your fingers made contact, he flinched.

“Agh,” he hissed as he instantly pulled his arm away from you.

Your eyes narrowed. Before he could hide his hand in his robes, you grabbed his forearm tightly and pulled it up into the firelight to look.

“What. The. Fuck.”

The words I must not tell lies were written across the back of his hand in a deep, jagged, bleeding line, the skin around the raw cuts angry and swollen. You stared at it, the shock quickly fading as you felt a burning anger begin seeping through you.

“She did this to you?” You squinted your eyes to look closer at the horrific words, but Harry quickly yanked his hand back, tucking it against his chest.

“Don’t even think about telling anyone,” he hissed.

“Harry, are you kidding—”

“No,” he said your name sharply. “Don’t. I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing she got to me. I'm not giving her that win. And don’t tell Ron or Hermione.”

“Harry, we have to do something with the wound. It's bleeding. I should at least go get some essence of murtlap or—”

“No,” Harry sighed, his angry posture suddenly deflating as he looked at your worried face. He reached out with his left hand and gently held yours, his grip tight and pleading. “Look, I—I’m just really tired. Please.”

Your eyebrows knitted, your chest tightening with a mix of frustration and sadness for him. “Alright. But Harry, we are fixing that hand tomorrow. No excuses. You still have—have a few days to go with her.”

He gave you a weak, exhausted smile, nodding once before he let go of your hand and turned toward the boys' dormitories. You stood there by the hearth, watching his slumped shoulders disappear up the spiral stairs.

Left entirely alone, you sank back into the armchair, staring blankly as the last logs in the fireplace finally burned down, dimming the whole common room into complete darkness.

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[verklcmpt]

⋆˙⟡Can't You See I'm Here? (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

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Book 5 pt. 7 — Classes After Class

summary: Now that you're a fifth year, the O.W.Ls loomed over everyone. Though you found yourself realizing you share multiple classes with an arrogant white-blond—why is your heart thrumming every time he cast you a look?

You had just returned from your usual early morning run along the Black Lake. After a quick shower to wash away the sweat, you began putting on your uniform for the day.

As you reached for your watch on top of the cabinet, your eyes caught the silver necklace Draco had given you.

You hadn't paid much attention to it when he first handed it over, but looking at it now in the morning light, it really was beautiful. It was a remarkably thin, delicate silver chain with a tiny, brilliant teardrop diamond catching the sun.

You hesitated for a moment—should I? It belongs to me now anyway.

Your fingers hovered over the metal before picking it up and fastening it around your neck. You tucked the pendant beneath your shirt, hiding it completely under your uniform.

One of the best things of being a fifth year was that the strict uniform rules finally relaxed. You didn't have to wear the full, rigid set anymore, leaving room for a bit more freedom.

You threw on your white shirt; left the two top buttons undone and tying your red Gryffindor tie loosely around your collar. You completely ditched the stifling knit vest, opting to just drape your black school robe carelessly over your shoulders instead.

Finally, you pulled on your grey pleated skirt. It was noticeably shorter now, but you secretly thought it looked much cuter that way.

Satisfied, you headed down the spiral stairs into the common room. You tossed a casual “hi” and “good morning” to a few familiar faces and flashed an encouraging smile at sheepish-looking first years who quickly scrambled out of your way.

Near the portrait hole, you spotted Hermione looking remarkably cheery for a Monday morning, while Ron stood beside her looking utterly miserable.

“Good morning,” you chirped, sliding up behind them and slinging your arm over Ron’s shoulders.

Ron let out a yawn so wide his jaw practically clicked, prompting Hermione to scoff loudly and roll her eyes.

“Blimey, why do we have to wake up so early as prefects?” Ron grumbled, craning his neck away from your arm to rub the sleep out of his nape. He accidentally bumped his head to yours.

“Ow,” you laughed. You stepped back, letting your arm drop to properly watch his visible suffering. “Oh, it's only your second day as a prefect and you’re already complaining, Ron!”

“The only thing great about being a prefect is the big private bathroom we get. But even then, we still have to add our names to the schedule board,” Ron groaned. “Stupid Malfoy got the best times, too.”

Hermione stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she took in your loose collar and tie. Without a word, she reached out and started fixing your tie. “Honestly, Ron, if you spent less time monitoring Malfoy’s bathing habits and more time reading the prefect handbook, you wouldn't find the morning rounds so shocking,” she said crisply, her fingers already working on your collar.

You tried to push her hands away, laughing nervously. “Hermione, stop, I’m fine—”

She lightly slapped your hands down, giving you a stern glare. She fastened your buttons all the way up, smoothing down the fabric, and yanked the knot of your red-and-gold tie until it was nestled tightly against your throat, slightly choking you.

“Hngk! ‘Mione—,” you wheezed, tugging your tie down to give yourself some breathing room.

“Use your uniform properly!” she scolded, giving your robes a final, sharp pat on the shoulders. “We are fifth years now. We are supposed to be setting an example for the younger students.”

Ron gave you an annoyed, see-what-I-mean? look from behind her back, and you could only let out a defeated grumble, silently cursing the sudden lack of airflow around your neck.

A moment later, the sound of footsteps on the wooden stairs caught your attention. The three of you looked up to see Harry coming down from the boys' dormitories. He looked like he hadn’t slept a wink; his hair was messier than usual, and his eyes were bloodshot behind his glasses. He muttered a quick, “Let’s go,” and headed straight for the portrait hole.

You, Ron, and Hermione exchanged a quick, worried glance before following him out into the corridor.

Walking down the corridors with Harry this morning was definitely… something else. People were actively shuffling against the stone walls, avoiding him like he was a shark ready to bite. A group of second-years literally yelped a sharp, “eek!” and turned to walk the other way.

Harry kept his eyes glued straight ahead, his jaw locked tight. But his face hardened significantly when Lavender Brown passed by, nudging Parvati Patil and whispering loudly behind her hand while staring right at him.

Harry stopped walking so abruptly that Ron almost ran into his back.

“I suppose everyone thinks I’m a lying git, huh?” Harry irked, his voice echoing slightly in the drafty hallway.

“Well… they definitely think something, Harry,” Hermione said carefully, her voice soft as she stepped closer to him. “The Daily and Evening Prophet have been hammering away at your reputation all summer. People are bound to be confused and scared.”

“And you? Do you definitely think that way, too?” Harry muttered, finally snapping his head around to look at her. “Do you think I'm just making things up to get attention?”

“Harry, how can you even ask that?” you said. You reached out, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “We trust you. Ron, Hermione, and I are always going to be here for you. We won’t leave your side, no matter what.”

“We’re on your side, Harry,” Hermione added confidently. “We believe what you saw. We believe what happened.”

Ron moved past Hermione to put a solid hand on Harry’s shoulder, giving it a rough shake. “We’ve got your back, mate. Always. If anyone has a go at you, they’ll have to go through us first. Even if it means more fistfights in the common room.”

He looked down at his shoes as you all resumed walking, a faint flush creeping up his neck. He looked thoroughly guilty for snapping.

“Right,” Harry mumbled, his voice much quieter now. “Sorry.”

When you reached the Great Hall for breakfast, the tables were buzzing with noise as Professor McGonagall moved down the aisle, handing out the new schedules. You took yours, and as your eyes skimmed down the tightly packed columns, you gripped the parchment so hard the edges crumpled.

You let out a heavy groan, immediately reaching up to loosen your tie and undo the top buttons of your shirt.

Managing this workload on top of everything my parents expect me to do for them? I’m dead this year, you thought grimly.

Ron was already audibly complaining, pointing a fork at his own schedule. “Look at this! Look! They’re trying to kill us.”

Hermione ignored him and looked across at you, swallowing a bite of her toast. “Let’s aim for Outstanding in all our subjects this year,” she said, her eyes bright with determination. “We can share the workload and swap notes regularly.”

You gave her a weak smile. “I think I might be the one begging for your notes this year, Hermione.”

“Wait, can we have a look at your notes too, Hermione?” Ron chimed in around a mouthful of eggs.

“No,” Hermione said flatly, not even looking at him. She turned back to you to continue talking, but Harry cut in.

“Come on, Hermione. You could literally save us from failing our O.W.L.s,” Harry said.

“Yeah! They’re super important,” Ron added earnestly. “Bill told me your O.W.L. results affect what jobs you can apply for later. I really want to be an Auror.”

Harry looked over at him, his eyes shining with sudden enthusiasm. “An Auror? Yeah, that actually sounds brilliant. Defending people, catching Dark wizards... that would be worthwhile.”

Hermione stopped chewing, a slight frown crossing her face. “I kind of want to do something more worthwhile than that.”

“More worthwhile than an Auror?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Well, yes,” she said, stabbing a piece of sausage a bit too hard with her fork. “Something that actually makes a systemic difference, like S.P.E.W. You’re all still part of the organisation’s structure, you know.”

You, Harry, and Ron all exchanged a long, silent look. Nobody wanted to start an argument about house-elves rights before first period, so the three of you slowly and simultaneously turned your attention back to your plates, chewing in quiet solidarity.

Hermione looked back at you. “What about you? What do you want to do after Hogwarts?”

Harry and Ron stopped eating, looking up expectantly to hear your answer.

“Oh, I’m not really sure,” you said honestly.

Both of your parents had highly unconventional lines of work—running their own private businesses and dealing with things that happened strictly underground. And deep down, you knew you wanted to look into following their footsteps rather than spending your life behind a desk at the Ministry.

Shortly after breakfast, you exited the Great Hall and trudged down the corridor. Your feet dragged helplessly a few paces behind Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

Whoever thought of putting History of Magic first period on a Monday morning must be a fucking sadist.

As you turned a corner toward the classroom, a soft voice called out. “Oh—hi, Harry!”

It was Cho Chang. She hurried over from a intersecting hallway, her dark hair swinging over her shoulder. Harry stopped dead in his tracks, looking thoroughly startled.

You watched him closely, a small smile tugging at your lips seeing a bright pink flush crept up his neck and flooded his cheeks. You hadn't actually asked him how things went with Cho after they danced together at the Yule Ball, but thinking about that night always brought a sudden, sharp pang to your chest.

Cedric.

The memory of him dancing with you—laughing in his dress robes under the enchanted snow in the Great Hall—hit you out of nowhere, and you quickly shook your head, forcing the heavy feeling away before it could swallow you up.

“Hi, Cho,” Harry stammered, shifting his book bag from one shoulder to the other.

Before Cho could say anything else, Ron loudly inserted himself right into the space between them. “All right, Cho? Bad luck about the Tornados over the summer, eh? Did you see the match against Cannons?”

Cho blinked, her smile faltering into a visibly awkward expression as she took a half-step back. You caught Hermione’s eye and tilted your head sharply toward Ron, What on earth is he doing?

Hermione looked ready to strangle him. With a sharp hiss, she grabbed the back of Ron's robes and yanked him backward. You stepped in, placing a hand on Ron's shoulder to keep pushing him down the hall away from the two of them.

You turned your head slightly back over your shoulder, giving Harry a knowing wink. “See you in class, Harry.”

“Hey! What is wrong with both of you?” Ron barked, trying to twist around as Hermione kept her arm locked around his elbow, dragging him forcefully down the corridor. “I was just trying to talk to her! She's a Tornadoes supporter, can you believe it? I was letting her know how rubbish their defense was!”

“Ron, you are so incredibly insensitive!” Hermione whispered sharply, throwing her hands up in frustration.

“Seriously, Ron,” you chimed in, leaning closer so your voice wouldn't carry back to Harry. “She didn't walk over to talk about Quidditch tactics. She wanted to talk to Harry. Alone. You completely ruined the moment.”

Ron groaned, scratching his head as he looked between the two of you in utter confusion. “Women are so weird,” he sighed, shaking his head as you finally reached the door to the history classroom.

The second you sat in class, you genuinely wished someone would just cast a hex straight at your head. Professor Binns was already floating a few inches above his chair, droning on in a flat, monotone wheeze that made the entire room feel heavy with sleep.

How was it humanly possible for someone to be this boring? Wait, ha… Jokes on me! He’s dead.

You propped your elbow on the desk, digging your chin into your palm as you mindlessly twirled your quill between your fingers. Next to you, Hermione’s quill was scratching furiously against her parchment, her eyes locked on the blackboard as she jotted down every single date.

Something about the nineteenth-century goblin rebellions, or giant wars—you honestly couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Bored out of your mind, your eyes drifted away from the front of the room and glanced over at the row of desks next to yours.

Theo was sitting two seats over, his head slumped forward—his arms crossed over his chest—visibly asleep as he drifted off. But right next to him, Draco was wide awake.

And he was looking right at you.

Your heart jumped. The heavy drone of Binns' voice seemed to fade into the background. One minute passed, maybe two? It felt like hours under his stare, neither of you willing to be the first to break contact.

Draco slowly tilted his head, a faint smugger grin tugging at the corner of his lips. He finally looked away, turning his attention back to the blackboard.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around your quill as you tried to force your pulse to slow down. Your chest was thumping furiously—way more than it had any right to.

What the hell is wrong with me lately? you thought, staring fixedly at your blank parchment, your face suddenly burning hot.

A torturing hour later, Professor Binns finally—Merlin, finally!—concluded his lesson. You could see Theo’s head snap up, a slight smear of drool at the corner of his mouth, after Draco roughly elbowed him to wake up. The two of them walked out of the classroom first.

But the nightmare hadn’t ended, because you now had to head straight down to Potions.

As you walked outside to change buildings, a chilly September wind blew across the courtyard. Harry, Hermione, and Ron immediately started adjusting their robes, pulling them tighter against the cold.

But you had taken off your robes, draping them over one arm while carelessly rolling up your sleeves and letting the wind whip against your bare legs under your short skirt as you walked.

“Aren’t you cold?” Hermione asked, frowning at your rolled sleeves.

You shrugged, completely unfazed. “Not exactly. This is nothing compared to what I’m used to.”

By the time you reached the dungeons, the corridor outside the classroom was already crowded with students waiting to enter. Everyone started pushing forward to form a line, and in the squeeze, you were cut away from the trio.

Your back hit someone solid standing right behind you. When you turned around to apologize, the words caught in your throat.

Draco.

With his annoying height, he looked straight down at you. His grey eyes slowly leered down from your unbuttoned top, taking in your tight uniform, before lingering on your short skirt.

“Ah, is that mine?”

His fingers lifted toward you. They brushed lightly through the strands of hair resting over your shoulder, the touch lingering for just a second too long as they traced the line of your neck. His knuckles grazed your collarbone before catching on the chain of the necklace.

You quickly swatted his hand away, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed him touching you like that. “It’s mine now.”

You turned away at once.

You wore your robes back and pulled them around yourself to block his gaze, desperately trying to ignore the familiar, throbbing heat stirring inside you—one you really didn’t want to put a name to.

“Settle down,” Snape's cold voice echoed the moment the heavy door swung open, and everyone quickly filed into the room.

The air inside was chilly and smelled heavily of sulfur and dried herbs. Harry looked over at you, catching your eye through the crowd and gesturing you to the empty table right next to him. You began walking toward him, but before you could take more than two steps, a firm grip caught your arm and yanked you over to the opposite side of the aisle.

You stumbled slightly, only to find yourself standing right next to Draco who was staring flatly ahead at the blackboard.

Ass, you thought bitterly.

Your eyebrows furrowed in annoyance as you glanced at his stupidly entrancing side profile—the straight line of his nose, the curve of his lips, and that sharp, clean jawline. Your eyes drifted to his hair—perfectly groomed at the sides—with a few strands brushing over his eyebrows. Then lower to his neck and the width of his broad shoulders under his uniform.

It immediately had your mind racing back to the sight of his well-defined muscles, and then to his cock inside your mou—STOP! You mentally slapped yourself, your face burning as you forced the intrusive thought out of your head.

You looked back across the room at Harry. His eyes were locked dead on the side of Draco’s head, looking very much like he wished he could pick up the heavy pewter cauldron in front of him and throw it over.

“This feels nostalgic,” a low voice whispered from right behind you.

You turned your head to see Theo and Blaise standing at the table behind yours, both of them wearing matching, highly amused grins.

You rolled your eyes at them, a small smirk playing on your lips. “I see the devils are right behind me,” you muttered.

“And the demon prince is right next to you,” Theo shot back, nodding toward Draco, who whirled his head over and glared at him. Theo just grinned, completely unfazed.

You turned your attention to the front of the room. Written across the blackboard in Snape’s handwriting was the name of the potion: The Draught of Peace. Scanning down the text, you saw the instructions.

It was damn fucking detailed. Every single step had to be precise, or the whole thing would ruin.

When Snape gave a cold, sweeping command to “Start,” the dungeon immediately filled with the sound of scraping chairs. You gathered your ingredients from the cupboard, set up your scales, and got to work.

You followed the instructions closely, waiting a few minutes for the liquid to simmer before stirring, lowering the heat, and getting ready to stir again—

Draco’s gripped your wrist tightly before you could move the glass rod.

“What are you doing?” he gritted out. His voice so low, Snape couldn't hear.

“What are you doing?” you countered, looking down at his fingers wrapped firmly over your wrist, then up at his face.

“You’re doing it wrong,” he muttered, nodding sharply toward the blackboard. “Do you want to fail miserably? Look at the board.”

You looked ahead.

Add powdered moonstone before the second stir. You winced slightly, realizing you had almost skipped a step.

You glanced at Draco’s cauldron. It was already perfect; a beautiful silver vapor was rising from the surface, and the liquid was bubbling very kindly.

Behind you, you heard Theo let out a loud grunt as his cauldron suddenly sputtered and spit a hot glob of potion onto the desk. Blaise let out a low hiss, “Fucking hell, Theo!”

A quick look around the rest of the dungeon showed a chaotic mix of toxic-looking colors and smoking disaster zones.

You muttered a quick, “Thank you,” before finishing the final steps of your potion. You watched with a wave of relief as the liquid shifted from a muddy purple to a silver vapor.

“Only a dunce can make a simple mistake like that,” he drawled. You hissed at him about to share your own biting remark until Snape swept past your table.

He paused to look down into your cauldrons. He didn’t say a single word to you, but he leaned down slightly toward Draco’s cauldron. “Excellent, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape whispered smoothly, before gliding away.

You caught Hermione looking at you from across the crowded room. She craned her neck to catch a glimpse of your cauldron and offered you an encouraging smile—hers was, of course, a flawless silver as well. But then her eyes landed on Draco standing right beside you, and her smile vanished as she quickly looked away.

“Tell me, Potter,” Snape said softly, stopping dead in front of Harry’s desk, “can you read?”

Draco snorted right next to you. You immediately snapped your head up and narrowed your eyes at him, but he just kept his eyes fixed on Harry, looking highly amused. You felt a wave of empathy for Harry as Snape began to ruthlessly berate and embarrass him in front of the entire class.

It was completely unfair.

Just a few tables away, Pansy suddenly shrilled at the top of her lungs. Goyle’s cauldron had spit out a stray spark, and his robes had caught on fire, the small flame jumping straight onto the sleeve of Pansy's robe. She began swatting at it frantically, completely derailing the rest of the lesson.

Once Potions finally ended, you filled your small glass flagon with your Draught of Peace, labeled it with your name, and placed it on Snape’s desk.

You turned around just in time to see Harry throwing his books into his bag and taking long, furious strides out of the dungeon classroom.

You hurried to clean your desk, pointing your wand into your cauldron and muttering a quick “Evanesco” to vanish the leftovers.

Blaise, who was packing up his things at the table behind you, raised an eyebrow. “In a hurry?”

“Er—” You glanced toward the door, watching Harry’s dark robes disappear. “Yeah.”

“Is he a baby who always needs comfort?” Draco drawled, his arms crossed over his chest.

You looked back at him, frowning. “Don’t say that, Draco.”

“I can say whatever I want based on what I can see,” he shrugged carelessly. As you turned to walk away, his voice dropped an octave, laced with a dark promise. “And don’t forget... you still owe me your punishment.”

You squinted your eyes at him, a shiver running down your spine, before turning away to rush out the door.

You caught up to them in the corridor, with Hermione and Ron trailing a few steps behind Harry, locked in a low, tense bicker about what had just happened during Potions.

“Harry—” you called out, catching up to his side.

Harry stopped dead in his tracks and whipped around, his face completely flushed with anger. “Shut up! Both of you!” he yelled, glaring past you at Ron and Hermione. “You two just keep bickering and bickering, and you’re being incredibly noisy! I can’t handle it right now!”

The sudden outburst immediately shut Ron and Hermione up. They both stepped back, looking stunned.

Then, Harry’s burning green eyes turned directly onto you. “And you!” he hissed, stepping closer. “Socializing with the enemy? I’m supposed to be your friend. You were supposed to be standing next to me today, not with Malfoy!”

You blinked, completely frozen. You felt your heart suddenly sinking right into your stomach.

“Harry, there should be nothing wrong with inter-house friendship...” Hermione said softly, trying to step in and defend you.

“Whatever. You’re all driving me completely mad,” Harry snapped. He took off, storming down the corridor and leaving the three of you standing.

You looked down on your shoes. Am I… really socializing with the enemy?

Ron gave a hard pat on your shoulder. “Don’t get it to you,” he smiled softly, looking a bit hurt as well.

You offered a tight, small smile at him before nodding.

“Talk to him, Ron,” Hermione added. “It might be easier coming from you, instead of us.”

He took a deep breath, looking between the two of you. “Alright.”

Soon after, you headed back to the Great Hall for a quick lunch with Ron and Hermione, the atmosphere at the table between you still a bit heavy after Harry's outburst. You waved goodbye to Ron as he left the hall, groaning about having to climb all those stairs toward the North Tower for Divination.

You and Hermione walked together toward the next class, Ancient Runes, both of you clutching your bulky copies of Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms tightly against your chests.

When you walked through the door and scanned the room, your eyes landed on a familiar white-blond hair.

Of course, Draco Malfoy is in this class too.

“Why are we in so many classes with Slytherins this year?” you grumbled under your breath, sitting down at a vacant desk near the middle of the room.

Professor Bathsheda Babbling started the lesson almost immediately, explaining the subtle differences between Elder Futhark and early Egyptian glyphs.

With a wave of her wand, lines of glowing, intricate symbols began magically appearing in the air, casting a faint blue light over the front row.

“I suppose because we’re in fifth year now,” Hermione whispered back, adjusting her inkwell. “We’re all preparing for our O.W.L.s, so the classes aren't split much anymore. It's just based on your chosen electives.”

You twisted your lips, not entirely thrilled about the explanation, and tried to focus on the board ahead.

A few minutes into the lecture, Hermione’s hand gently brushed against your arm to get your attention. “Hey,” she whispered, leaning in close. “Have you gotten your punishment from Malfoy?”

Your posture immediately straightened.

You instinctively glanced across the room toward Draco. He wasn't paying attention to the board at all. He was leaning back in his chair, wearing his usual cocky grin as he chatted quietly with Blaise and Pansy in the row right in front of him.

“He hasn’t said anything yet,” you told her, keeping your voice barely above a breath.

“Alright, well, you tell me if you need an out,” Hermione whispered back, her brow furrowing. “He does have the right to dish out prefect punishments, but I'm a prefect too. If he tries to cross a line or do something unfair, I can appeal to the professors.”

She paused, dipping her quill into her inkwell, before asking in a softer tone, “So... I guess you’re back as... civil again?”

“Huh? What does that mean?”

“Well, after the Yule Ball, you two weren’t exactly speaking—I’m not sure if you’ve ever properly spoken to him, but I know you talk—and he kept following you around,” Hermione added, keeping her eyes fixed on her parchment but leaning closer to you.

Ah. This again.

You supposed you were bound to give an explanation to the trio one way or another. But had you ever properly spoken to Draco Malfoy aside from that lunch date he had taken you on?

“He looked really flustered when you ignored him,” she said, letting out a small chuckle. “And… oddly miserable, if that’s the right word for it.”

You glanced back over at Draco, who had finally stopped talking to Blaise and Pansy. He was now paying close attention to the blackboard, where Professor Babbling was tracing the unpredictable properties of the Ehwaz rune.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, staring blankly at the glowing symbols on the board. “We’re... I don’t know, ‘Mione.”

You looked down, mindlessly tracing the feather of your quill with your thumb before looking straight at her.

“Am I really socializing with the enemy?” your eyebrows furrowed. Harry’s words from the corridor were stinging more than you wanted to admit.

And objectively, he had a point. If you trusted Harry—and you did—then you knew Lucius Malfoy and Theo’s father were Death Eaters who had stood in that graveyard. But somewhere in your heart, you couldn't just write Draco and Theo off.

You had spent enough time around them—heard them talk when they thought no one was listening—to know they weren't their fathers. They sounded as if… trapped and terrified of the path being forced onto them.

“You know them best,” she whispered, her voice dropping so low it was almost swallowed by the scratching of quills around the room. “With the upcoming... war, we don't know what kind of unexpected paths will open up, or who will surprise us. I’ll have your back, the exact same way I know you’ll have ours.”

You briefly leaned your head against her shoulder. “Thank you, Hermione,” you said softly.

As you turned back toward Professor Babbling, you caught Draco’s eye again—bright sparkle specks of icy grey. He was leaning lazily back in his seat, one hand draped over the back of Blaise’s chair with his eyebrows raised. Looking over at your empty parchment, he gave you a mocking smirk and tauntingly held up his own well-written notes.

Normally, that would have pissed you off, but maybe Hermione’s words had gotten to you. You laughed softly, flashed him a warm, cheeky smile, and turned your attention to the Ehwaz rune ahead, dipping your quill in the ink to finally start writing.

“Draco, what’s up with you?”

You could hear Pansy’s shrill question through the noisy corridor behind you as you and Hermione walked toward your final class of the day.

“You’re suddenly so—well…” You could hear Pansy pausing, waiting for an answer, while Draco just grumbled something completely unintelligible under his breath. “I mean, right after Professor Babbling started writing that Ehwaz rune, you stayed completely quiet throughout the whole rest of the—”

“Shut up, Parkinson,” Draco’s sharp voice trailed closer from behind you.

He brushed past you, clipping his shoulder hard against yours. The sudden, blunt impact jolted you to the side, and he kept walking, taking fast, long strides down the hall without looking back.

You stumbled slightly, pushed closer into Hermione as you caught your balance. “What the hell is his deal?” you muttered, watching the back of his head as Pansy hurried to trail closely behind him, trying to keep up.

Blaise was following a few paces behind them. As he passed you, he looked over with a slow grin before sauntering off to catch up with the others.

You stared after them, absolutely confused.

“Boy. The Slytherins are a weird bunch,” Hermione said, shaking her head as she tightly linked her arm through yours to pull you along.

You let out a breath. “Tell me about it.”

The final class of the day was Defense Against the Dark Arts. You and Hermione had been talking the whole way through the corridor, walking as slowly as possible because you were not at all excited for this class.

It was mostly that Umbridge lady. The way she talked, with that fake, sugary voice, made you feel like you were all just dirty rats under her nose.

The moment you walked inside, Hermione spotted Parvati Patil waving at her and went over to say a quick hello, immediately sitting down in the empty chair next to her. You looked around the room for a spot, but the desks were filling up incredibly fast.

Finally, you spotted a single empty seat. Of course, it was right next to Draco.

You hesitantly walked over. Then, Pansy brushed roughly past your shoulder, aiming straight for the chair. But just as she was about to drop her bag down, Draco casually threw his heavy textbook onto the desk with a loud thud.

“Taken, Parkinson,” Draco said, not even looking up at her as he leaned back. “Go find some place else to sit in the back.”

Pansy stammered for a second, her face flushing, before she walked off to the back of the class.

Sheesh.

Just as you were about to move on and pass his seat, he drawled, “Where are you going?”

“Huh? To find a place to—“

“Sit,” he interrupted, kicking the chair out next to him. He crossed his arms and looked straight ahead at the board.

“But earlier you said—“

“Tsk,” he clicked his tongue, glaring up at you. He impatiently pulled the chair back a little further for you.

Weirdo.

You huffed, rolling your eyes before finally sitting down next to him. Almost immediately, you could feel a prickly sensation on the back of your head.

You glanced behind to look. Pansy was glaring at you with absolute poison in her eyes, her jaw clenched tight enough to snap.

Draco stayed silent next to you and just stared lazily at the blackboard. His elbow propped on the desk and his chin resting in his hand, his fingers partially covering his mouth.

The moment the lesson actually started, you absolutely, fucking hated it. The course aims written on the board were completely stupid, focusing entirely on theory rather than actually using magic.

You looked down at the copy of Defensive Magical Theory sitting on your desk. Reading through the first few paragraphs made you want to rip the pages out.

It was a complete joke!

Umbridge had told the class to open to chapter one of the text by Wilbert Slinkhard.

Theory! Defense Against the Dark Arts in theory! If you could scream in class right now, you absolutely would. Theoretical nonsense was your biggest weakness. Now she was telling you to just sit here and read from a book?

Frustrated, you grabbed your head in your hands. Across the room, you could see Hermione raising her arm straight up, but Umbridge completely ignored her, her sugary smile glued to her face as she scanned the room.

You read through the first few lines of the text, and before you could stop yourself, you let out a loud, frustrated tsk that echoed clearly throughout the quiet room.

“Is something the matter, dear?” Professor Umbridge asked, turning her head toward you. She looked at you with a forced sweetness that made your skin crawl.

You were about to open your mouth to reply, but before a single word could come out, she tutted loudly, wagging a stubby finger at you. “Tut-tut. Raise your hand if you wish to speak in my classroom.”

You glanced at Hermione from across the room. Her hand was still raised high, and she gave you a firm, determined nod, silently encouraging you to get to the bottom of this absolute nonsense.

You let out a breath and raised your hand. Next to you, Draco shot you a sharp look, his eyebrows digging together in a silent the fuck are you doing?

Umbridge nodded at you, her smile tightening. You quickly introduced yourself before continuing, “Professor, I don’t see any reason why we have to read during Defense Against the Dark Arts. It should be an active classroom where we practice spells, not a silent reading hour.”

Umbridge’s smile didn’t waver, though her eyes grew cold. “Well, in this classroom, we will be following a carefully structured, Ministry-approved curriculum,” she said, her voice dropping into a slimy, high-pitched purr. “A safe, controlled environment. You will find that learning the theory thoroughly is more than enough to pass your examinations, which is, after all, what you are here for. We have no need for dangerous, unnecessary practical applications.”

Hearing her words, the rest of the class seemed to snap. More students started raising their hands all around the room, the rustle of robes filling the air.

Hermione spoke up next, followed quickly by Ron and Harry, all of them demanding to know how theory was supposed to protect them in the real world.

They all started to loudly express their questions, the classroom dissolving into a chorus of arguing voices as Umbridge tried to talk over them.

“Why can’t you Gryffindors just shut up and listen for once?” Draco whispered harshly next to you, his face tight with annoyance as he watched the chaos.

“If something is wrong, then you say it,” you gritted out, glaring at him. “We aren't just going to sit here and take this nonsense. And you know it.”

“No, you think with a cool, level head and strategize your next steps. You don't just blindly provoke a Ministry official,” Draco leaned closer to you, his shoulder pressing against yours as his voice dropped to a hard whisper. “You're going to get yourself locked in detention before the first week is even over.”

“I don’t care about detention, Draco,” you hissed back, leaning in just as close so only he could hear. “And I don’t need you to start acting again like you care about what happens to me.”

Draco’s eyes darkened, a flare of anger crossing his features. “I don’t care. But there’s a thin line between bravery and absolute stupidity. Does it all come naturally to a Gryffindor?”

“And does being an ambitious, insufferable coward come naturally to a Slytherin?” you shot back.

Draco’s eyes narrowed at you, then slowly trailed from your lips to the diamond necklace glinting between your collarbones. Beneath the desk, his fingers shifted, lightly grazing the bare skin of your thigh beneath your skirt. You froze as you watched him visibly swallow, his throat bobbing before he slowly lifted his gaze to meet yours again.

By now, you weren’t paying attention to the clamor of the classroom anymore. The two of you were locked in each other’s gaze. You could feel his fingers slowly sliding upward, tracing the edge of your skirt as he began to lift it.

“—Maybe Lord Voldemort?” Harry shouted.

Draco visibly stiffened, his breath catching in his throat. His fingers immediately pulled away from your leg. You snapped your head over to Harry, who had started arguing loudly with Umbridge and bringing up Cedric.

“He was murdered!” Harry shouted, his voice echoing off the walls.

You pulled your body back and straightened up in your seat. Over the summer, you had managed to accept Cedric’s death, but coming back to Hogwarts was proving to be difficult with the constant reminders everywhere.

You closed your eyes, forcing yourself to breathe.

Breathe, come back. Breathe.

Tousled dark hair, warm smiles, grey—wait—wait.

You could feel your eyes suddenly prickling. You gripped the book in your hands, your fingers shaking slightly.

What did his whole face look like?

Gently, an index finger brushed against yours, hooking around it and squeezing lightly. The Malfoy signet ring gleamed under the classroom lights.

You turned your head to look up.

Draco’s icy eyes remained fixed straight ahead, his expression impassive, yet his finger was surprisingly warm against yours. The shaking slowly subsided, and a sense of calm settled over you.

He wordlessly interlaced his fingers with yours, holding your hand tightly.

Up at the front of the room, you saw Umbridge scribble something down and hand Harry a pink piece of parchment, telling him to exit the room and go straight to Professor McGonagall. Harry quickly grabbed his things and left, slamming the classroom door hard behind him.

“Now, back to your books,” Umbridge said sweetly.

Before you could hold his hand back, Draco carefully let go, slipping his away. You immediately found yourself missing his warmth as it lingered on your skin, even after the bell rang.

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[verklcmpt]

⋆˙⟡Can't You See I'm Here? (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

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Book 5 pt. 6 — “Piss off, Malfoy!”

summary: You found out that Draco Malfoy is the chosen Slytherin prefect—and of course, he's a fucking walking nightmare. Surely you won't be a victim of his reign of terror right?… right? 

The following weeks were—as you expected—absolutely brutal. By this point, your body had grown used to the dull ache of bruised muscles, the sharp pop of overextended joints, and the raw, dry sting in your throat from barking out spell after spell for hours on end.

Still, a bone-weary exhaustion was beginning to claw its way to the surface.

“It’s only a day before school starts up again,” your mother said slowly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face as she lowered her wand. “Let’s rest up for today and go over your what you’ve learnt so far.”

You let out a long exhale, thankful it was finally over. “Thank goodness. I’m starting to really feel it in my bones.”

You sat down on a nearby rock, letting out a weary breath as your muscles finally relaxed. Your mother sank down beside you, resting her elbows on her knees as both of you looked out at the sunset. Together, you watched the sun dip beneath the mountains, bleeding bright streaks of crimson across the fading blue sky.

“I can’t believe we’ve been training you since you were four years old,” she said softly, watching the sky change colors into a darker hue. “Now it’s been way over a decade.”

You gave a weary laugh. “Way, way over.”

Your mother looked over at you, a faint smile on her lips. “Do you remember when you ran away at six? It was the year we finally notched up the intensity.”

Her smile faded slightly, replaced by a somber look. “As parents, it was especially difficult to put you through that. But after hearing the post-First War council hearings and seeing all the after-effects of the magical law trials... we had to make a decision. We had to make sure you could protect yourself.”

She reached over and held your hand. The sun was sinking lower, and the air was turning crisper, welcoming the start of September.

“I don’t remember much from when I was six,” you admitted, staring down at your entwined fingers. “I feel like that’s the only year completely missing from my head.”

“Yes, well... that was because of the accident you had,” your mother said, her voice dropping a little lower. “We had to use rather heavy magic to fix you up. I suppose a side effect of that was losing half a year's worth of memories.”

You frowned, turning to look at her. “Again, what happened exactly?”

“You—”

You blinked, following her sudden gaze across the grounds. A massive distance away, you spotted the dark silhouette of your father standing perfectly still. You blinked once again—and he was standing in front of your face.

You hissed, nearly falling off the rock. “What the hell, Dad!” Your arms were covered in goosebumps. His sudden presence came with a forbidding silence.

“Ready for school? Got all your supplies packed?” he asked cheerfully.

“I am never going to get used to that flash-step,” you grumbled, rubbing your temples to soothe the sudden spike in your heart rate. “How do you even manage to do it without making a single sound? No cracks, no whooshes, nothing.”

“You just have to feel it in your body,” he grinned, reaching out to playfully pat your head. “I told you, it’s in your blood.”

You swatted his hand away, though you smiled at him. “Wow, thanks for the incredibly detailed and lengthy explanation, Dad.”

“Since term is starting, remember the wand movements for the spells we’ve taught you. You’re good at it, but you get satisfied too easily and you lose focus,” your father said, pointing a stern finger at you. “And don't think your physical skills makes up for it. Your reflexes are sharp, yes, but a wizard who relies solely on brute instinct because their mind drifted is a dead wizard.”

Then, he reached into the inner pocket of his coat. “Which reminds me. I got you something. It was mine when I was a boy.”

He handed you a weathered brown leather sleeve. Unwrapping the strap, you found two pairs of throwing knives nestled inside. You pulled one out, and the cool hilt fit perfectly into your grip. At the very base of the pale handle, your father’s family emblem was cleanly engraved into the pommel.

The blade had a rather peculiar design—past its guard, the steel parted into three long, parallel prongs that tapered into a sharp point. The steel was etched with a flowing gradient of gold and silver cursive script.

Sanguis Manet.

You stared at it for a second, unable to understand until the letters suddenly jumbled and shifted right before your eyes: The blood endures.

You flipped the knife over to the other side of the blade.

Numquam Victi.

Again, the it rippled across the metal until it showed: Never conquered.

“Oh, thank you, Dad. This is beautiful,” you grinned, holding it up to the fading light and watching the sunset glint off the edge.

“The blades are heavily charmed, channel your magic through it,” your father added, watching you balance the weight in your hand, tossing the knife from one hand to the other. “Take good care of them. They got me through many trials, and it is time you learned to handle them. While magic is important, in a battle, you learn to make do with your surroundings.”

“Try it,” your mother said eagerly.

Without warning, she scooped up a jagged stone from the ground and hurled it high into the air. It soared upward, becoming a tiny dark speck against the evening sky—nearly impossible to spot unless you knew exactly where to look.

Your instincts took over. You sprang to your feet.

Your grip shifted on the hilt as your arm snapped back, releasing the knife in one fluid motion. The blade whistled through the air, and a distant clink echoed across the grounds.

You flicked your fingers and silently cast Accio. The knife flew straight back into your open palm. Pinned neatly to its tip was the stone.

A grin spread across your face as you looked between your parents. Plucking the rock from the blade.

“Sweet.”

Once the sun had finally set and the stars glittered across the night sky, you Apparated back to London with your parents. You landed on the hardwood floor of your living room, surrounded by piles of clothes and books you'd pulled from your room to pack into your trunk.

With only a few days left before returning to Hogwarts, your thoughts drifted to the summer that was rapidly coming to an end.

A few weeks earlier, Harry had sent you a letter informing you that his Ministry hearing had cleared him of all charges. You had breathed a huge sigh of relief when you read it. Unfortunately, your mother had been far less pleased.

The moment she discovered Harry had contacted you through Hedwig, she'd immediately scolded you for it. With the Ministry monitoring communications, she insisted it was far too risky.

As a result, you'd switched to speaking with Harry, Ron, and Hermione through the Floo network instead. Since then, the four of you had made a habit of checking in once a week through your hearth.

On the evening you returned to London, you were busy packing for Hogwarts. With a flick of your fingers, your uniform folded itself neatly while stacks of books lifted into the air and arranged themselves inside your trunk.

Then the hearth behind you flared to life. The flames turned a brilliant emerald green, filling the room with soft crackling and familiar voices. Three faces spun into view within the fire.

"Hey!" You immediately turned and dropped cross-legged onto the rug in front of the hearth. "This is a surprise."

"We have great news," Hermione said, her face closest to the flames, beaming.

"Aside from the fact that we'll be seeing each other tomorrow," Harry added dryly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"Ron and I have been made prefects!" Hermione burst out.

"Blimey, I still can't believe—" Ron started, but Hermione cut him off before he could finish.

"Oh, we can't wait to see you tomorrow on the Express!" she said excitedly.

"Merlin. Prefects? That's a huge deal. I'm so happy for both of you," you said, grinning at them through the green flames.

"Mum's throwing a celebration for Hermione and me," Ron said unenthusiastically. "So we'd better get back."

"What's with that attitude, Ron? I'm excited for you two," you said with a laugh.

"Fred and George intercepted my letter," Ron grumbled, rolling his eyes. "They took one look at the badge and immediately decided it was a fake. Ginny laughed the hardest."

"Well, it is a little surprising," you teased before quickly adding, "But you'll do great. Go on and enjoy your party. I'll see all three of you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," they said in unison.

With that, the three heads disappeared with a soft whoosh, and the green flames snapped back to ordinary orange embers.

The smile slowly faded from your face as you stared at the hearth.

Truthfully, you weren't exactly looking forward to the new term. After everything that had happened—and the unease that had quietly settled over the summer—you couldn't shake the feeling that something was coming.

The weekly headlines in the Daily Prophet certainly hadn't helped.

Week after week, the papers mocked Harry and Dumbledore, painting them as attention-seeking liars desperate for publicity. Staring into the dying embers, you could only hope Harry had managed to avoid most of it at Grimmauld Place.

The remaining days of summer slipped by far too quickly.

Before you knew it, September first had arrived, and you found yourself standing in the crowded, smoke-filled corridors of the Hogwarts Express, searching for a compartment. After squeezing past clusters of younger students and piles of luggage, you finally spotted a familiar group.

Gathered inside a compartment were Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. Sitting beside them was a rather odd-looking girl with waist-length blonde hair. She was clutching a copy of The Quibbler in her hands... completely upside down.

“I see all my favorite people in one place,” you said, leaning against the compartment door with a wide smile.

Ginny waved immediately. “Hi!”

Hermione was on her feet in an instant, pulling you into a tight hug. “We missed you! You just missed Fred and George—they'll be back in a minute.”

“Yeah, it's bloody brilliant to see you again,” Ron added, looking strangely relieved.

“You see my face once a week through the Floo hearth,” you laughed, hugging Hermione back before pulling away.

“It's definitely not the same,” Hermione said. Then, lowering her voice to a cautious whisper, she added, “Not at Grimmauld Place.”

Harry grinned from his seat. “I'm glad you're finally here. It definitely wasn't the same without you around this summer. Come sit down.”

You glanced around the cramped compartment, gesturing at the occupied seats. “Looks a bit full in here.”

“Uh, we're actually just about to leave, so there'll be room,” Hermione said, shifting awkwardly in place.

“Oh? Why's that?”

For a split second, Hermione shot Harry a nervous look before turning back to you.

“Ron and I have to report to the prefects' carriage,” she explained.

“I see.”

Your gaze drifted back to the blonde girl holding The Quibbler. Hermione seemed to catch on immediately.

“You haven't been introduced, have you?” she asked. After introducing you, Hermione turned to the girl. “This is Loony Love—”

You immediately locked eyes with Hermione, your eyebrows shooting up. Hermione's eyes widened in horror as she realized what she'd said. A blush crept up her neck as she hastily corrected herself.

“Luna. Luna Lovegood. She's in Ginny's year.”

Luna looked up from her upside-down magazine, her large, misty eyes settling directly on you.

“I've heard so much about you.”

“Good things, I hope,” you said with a smile, hoping she hadn't noticed Hermione's slip-up.

“Mostly about how beautiful you are,” Luna replied in her dreamy, detached voice, completely unfazed by the silence that followed. “And that you're very popular. The Wrackspurts seem to avoid you entirely because your mind is always so sharp, though I think they're really just intimidated by your hair.”

“Wrackspurts...? Intimidated by my hair?” you repeated, thoroughly confused.

Luna didn't elaborate. She simply nodded once before returning to her copy of The Quibbler, hiding her face behind the upside-down pages.

You looked over at Ginny, who immediately pressed her lips together and stared intently at the floor to stop herself from laughing.

Then you caught Hermione's eye. She gave you a deadpan look that silently said, See? I told you.

“Anyway, we'll see you later,” Ron said, looking slightly eager to escape the awkwardness.

He and Hermione headed off down the corridor. Just as they disappeared around the corner, Neville appeared from the opposite direction, struggling with his heavy trunk and looking slightly out of breath.

“Oh, hey, guys! Is there any room left in here? Everywhere else is packed.”

You smiled at him and reached out to help with his trunk. “Hi, Neville. We—”

“Hey!” A voice called your name from the noisy corridor. You turned to see a blue-eyed blonde with long hair and a dark blue headband making her way toward you.

“Daphne,” you said, beaming.

“I've been looking everywhere for you!” She pushed past Neville and grabbed your hand with an eager grip. “Please come sit with us. We have so much to catch up on before we get to Hogwarts.”

You glanced over at Harry. His expression immediately darkened, his jaw tightening. Daphne seemed to notice. She looked back at him, narrowing her eyes slightly.

“Thank you, Daphne, but I—”

“It’s full here anyway,” Harry interrupted flatly. He wouldn't meet your eyes.

“But, Harry—”

“Neville's here. Fred and George will be back soon, so there won't be any room,” he said curtly. When his gaze finally flicked to yours, it felt strangely heavy.

Your brows knitted together. “Harry—”

He turned away before you could continue.

“Hey, Neville, just come inside,” Harry called. “She's leaving anyway.”

Your heart sank a little. Harry... The cold dismissal stung more than you cared to admit.

Beside you, Daphne's grip on your hand tightened. She adjusted her grip, anchoring you to her side. “Great. Problem solved, then,” she said, her tone dripping with satisfaction.

Neville awkwardly squeezed past you to get into the compartment, his bulky trunk bumping against the doorframe. His eyes darted uncertainly between you and Harry.

As the compartment door began to slide shut, Harry slowly looked back at you. He looked almost guilty, his lips tugging together as if he wanted to say something but forced himself to stay quiet.

Daphne tugged firmly on your hand. “Come on,” she said.

With one last, lingering glance over your shoulder, you let her pull you away from the compartment. She led you down the narrow corridor of the Hogwarts Express, maneuvering past younger students who quickly scrambled out of her way. Finally, she stopped near the very end of the train and slid open a door. Blaise and Theo were already inside, lounged across the cushions.

“Well, well, well. Would you look at that,” Blaise drawled, leaning his head back against the cushion. “Daphne actually managed to hunt you down.”

“Blaise,” you greeted with a smile as you moved to sit down. “Looking sharp as always. The summer's been kind to—”

Theo abruptly sprang to his feet and wrapped you in a tight hug.

“Oof!” you laughed in surprise. He grinned and pulled back just enough to ruffle your hair.

“How was your summer?” he asked, his mischievous smile making his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Theo. It's truly lovely to see you,” you said, smoothing your hair back into place before sliding into the seat opposite him. “And all of you have to tell me about Lake Maggiore. I feel like I completely missed out!”

“Oh, you absolutely did,” Daphne said with a sigh, dropping into the seat beside you and crossing her legs. “We had a great time by the lake. We waited for you, you know.”

“She’s right,” Theo said. “The water was perfect, the food was brilliant, and honestly, the scenery was fucking spectacular. You really should have come with us.”

“You missed out on Stresa, for one thing,” Blaise chimed in, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Though Theo spent half the trip getting wasted.”

“And the other half flirting and sleeping around,” Daphne added dryly.

“Which is exactly why he thought the scenery was spectacular,” Blaise finished.

“Mate, shut up. Like you weren't doing the same?” Theo shot back, punching him on the shoulder.

“Gross.” Daphne wrinkled her nose. “You boys were animals.”

“I seem to recall you had your own little boy toy, Daphne,” Blaise said flatly.

Daphne turned to you, a smug expression plastered across her face.

“And that I did.” She leaned in close and whispered, “He had me stuffed so good.”

Your eyes widened, and you quickly covered your mouth to muffle a loud laugh.

“Adventurous, I see? And such dirty words from a lady of the House of Greengrass,” you teased between laughs. “What would the papers say?”

“Oh, hush,” Daphne whispered back, sticking her tongue out playfully before leaning away. “It was a simple, fun summer fling.”

You grinned and nudged her shoulder with your own.

“Great. Now I really feel like I missed out,” you groaned.

“Ah, on the sleeping-around part?” Theo grinned, pointing between himself and Blaise. “Come on. You don't need to go to Italy when you've got us right here.”

You scrunched your nose at that.

“Pigs,” Daphne muttered, kicking Theo's shin with the tip of her shoe.

“Well, next time give me more than a week's notice, and I might actually make it,” you said, looking between the two boys with a smile.

“Fucking deal,” Theo said, holding out his hand. You laughed and shook it.

“We're holding you to that next summer,” he added, pointing a finger at you before finally dropping back into his seat.

Daphne bumped her shoulder against yours. “Well, at least I have you all to myself for the train ride now. And since we're finally back, we're definitely spending this entire term together. I've already decided you're helping me with Charms.”

You smiled. “Sure, Daphne. And I'm excited too. Just promise me you'll actually do the readings and make your own notes this year.”

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Alright, alright. Whatever. Though I won’t stop anyone who would happily write them for me.”

But then her smile faltered. For a moment, she looked uncharacteristically uneasy.

“Speaking of... spending time,” she began, fiddling with the sleeve of her robe. “You're not going to be sitting with Potter again, are you?”

You turned to her, surprised by the sudden question. “Why do you ask?”

“He's constantly going on about those mad stories of You-Know-Who being back. It's everywhere,” she said, her lips twisting in disapproval. “We talked about it all summer. You really shouldn't be around him anymore.”

You blinked. Then you looked around the compartment; Theo had gone quiet, Blaise was watching you carefully, even Daphne seemed to be waiting for your answer.

Are they actually serious?

“All we're saying is that if you're tired of all the craziness, you can just spend time with us,” Blaise said with a shrug. “You don't always have to get dragged into Potter's mess.”

Theo's eyes locked onto yours as he waited for your response.

“So?” He tilted his head. “We don't extend this offer to just anyone, you know.”

They were all staring at you expectantly. Oh, they're serious, serious.

You leaned back in your seat, carefully considering your words.

“Thank you, Daphne, Blaise, and Theo. I know it's coming from a... good place,” you said with a small smile. Blaise rolled his eyes at that, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

“But Harry is my friend, first and foremost,” you continued gently, though your tone remained firm. “And I've decided that if I'm going to protect the people I care about, I can't pick and choose when to stand by them.”

“What an outrageously Gryffindor answer,” Theo scoffed, shooting you a sidelong glance.

You tilted your head and offered him a warm smile.

“Gryffindor or not, I stand by it. I won't hesitate. I'm not afraid to take the difficult path if it means keeping my word.” Your gaze moved between all three of them. “I'd stand by the people I care about, and that includes the three of you.”

All three of them blinked. Daphne quickly dropped her gaze, her fingers tightening around your hand.

“You think that way... about us?” she murmured.

“Of course,” you replied. “So thank you for looking out for me.”

“I mean it,” you added softly. “You've all become very dear to me. Maybe you don't always show it in the most sensible ways,” you said, earning a faint scoff from Blaise, “but I know when someone's trying to look out for me. And despite what you three might think, I don't take that kindness for granted.”

“It’s just that...” Daphne started again, her voice dropping to a whisper as she leaned closer. “Potter was found with Cedric's body. Whatever happened out there that night, Potter was directly involved somehow. And I'm trying to say this as nicely as possible, but Potter is... bizarre.”

Her brow furrowed as she glanced down at your joined hands. “Things happen around him. I know he's your friend, but it bothers me. I'm not saying he's a bad person. I just don't like the idea of you getting caught in the middle of it all.”

Oh. You couldn't exactly argue with that.

From an outsider's perspective, Harry did seem unusual. Probably even unsettling. There was always some strange incident surrounding him every year. Without all the pieces of the puzzle—without knowing him the way you did—most people would only see someone who attracted danger wherever he went.

“What actually happened to Cedric?” she asked.

You winced, swallowing hard. The memory of that night flashed through your mind. Amos Diggory's broken wail. The grief etched across Harry's tear-streaked face. Cedric's cold grey—stop it, don’t go there.

“Enough, Daphne,” Theo's suddenly said. His tone dropping coldly and expression had hardened as he fixed her with a warning look. “Drop it.”

“But, Theo, she was close to Cedric. And—” Daphne began, frowning.

“I said drop it, Daphne,” Theo repeated, leaning forward. “It's pointless gossip. Leave it alone. She's answered us enough.”

Daphne snapped her mouth shut. Looking slightly offended, she folded her arms and sank back into her seat.

A heavy silence settled over the compartment. You glanced between Daphne and Theo. Daphne stared stubbornly out the window while Theo's jaw remained tight, his gaze fixed firmly on the passing countryside.

Before the silence could linger long enough to become uncomfortable, Blaise crossed one leg over the other.

“Anyway,” he drawled, smoothly cutting through the tension, “on the subject of pointless gossip, I might have something that actually interests you.”

“Pray tell, Zabini,” you said, grateful for the change of topic.

“Guess who made Slytherin prefect,” Blaise said, watching your reaction.

Slytherin prefect? You looked between them, your eyes suddenly widening. There was only one person missing from this compartment.

“No... Is it really who I think it is?”

Blaise nodded, while Theo's expression split into a matching amused grin.

“Draco?!” A sudden, involuntary laugh escaped you. “Oh, Merlin. That's bloody hilarious.”

Daphne chuckled, rolling her eyes. “I know, right? The Slytherin prince—imagine him handing out punishments. I already feel sorry for his first victim.”

“It'll be his own little reign of terror, I'd say,” you replied with a grin. Daphne nodded, laughing along.

“And who's the other one?” you asked. “Who did he get paired with?”

“Pansy,” Theo answered.

The laughter died in your throat. You felt a heavy irk twist in your stomach at the mention of her name.

“Ah,” you answered, trying to cover your sudden change in mood. “Absolutely perfect.”

Then the clicking of the train tracks finally stopped as the Hogwarts Express screeched to a halt at Hogsmeade Station.

The four of you stepped out of the compartment and into the chaotic, crowded corridor. As you climbed off the train, you spotted Hermione and Ron standing by the carriage doors, shouting over the noise and ushering terrified-looking first years onto the platform.

“I’ll see you all around,” you said, turning back to Daphne, Theo, and Blaise.

“See you,” Theo replied with a quick wave.

You headed over to Hermione and Ron, dodging a stray trunk and a handful of jittery students. “Prefect duties have already started for you both, I see,” you said, offering them a sympathetic smile.

Just a few feet away, you noticed Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott loudly directing other students.

“Are they prefects too?” you asked, gesturing toward them.

Hannah’s eyes met yours, and she immediately waved both arms high above her head, mouthing a cheerful, “Hi!”

You laughed and waved back at a beaming Hannah and a wide-eyed Ernie, who stumbled slightly when a passing student bumped into him.

“Yeah,” Ron grunted, adjusting his badge. “Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil for Ravenclaw.”

He paused, his voice laced with annoyance. “And guess who the Slytherins got?”

“Draco,” you sighed, your lips twisting slightly.

“And that cow, Pansy Parkinson,” Hermione added, rolling her eyes so hard it looked painful.

Ron's brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you. “Hang on. Since when are you on a first-name basis with Malfoy?”

“Oh, er—I guess—” you stammered, your throat suddenly feeling incredibly dry.

“Was it after the Yule Ball? What actually happened after that stupid dare he made you do?” Ron asked, waving a hand dismissively to hurry the lingering students along the platform.

“I remember his face was bloody hilarious when you ignored him for weeks after that—served him right, the git. You never told us what happened between you two that night, though.” He looked back at you with blunt curiosity. “Well? What did happen?”

“That night—well...” you started, your eyes darting across the crowded platform in search of any distraction.

Any would do!

As if the universe had taken pity on you, Harry stepped off the train. His face still looked incredibly sour, but the moment his eyes found yours, his expression noticeably softened.

He called your name as he made his way over. A crumpled copy of The Quibbler was tucked under one arm, while Luna drifted serenely along behind him.

Relief washed over you—part of it was because Harry seemed to be warming up after what had happened earlier. The other part was because his arrival had provided the perfect escape from Ron's question.

“About earlier, I—” Harry started.

“Harry!” you cut in, sidestepping away from Ron and linking your arm through Harry’s. “You're reading The Quibbler?”

Harry glanced down at the magazine and pulled it from under his arm. You immediately leaned closer, peering over his shoulder at the odd, brightly colored pages.

Harry looked at you for a moment before a relieved smile tugged at his lips.

“Well, apparently Sirius Black is actually a retired rock singer named Stubby Boardman,” he said, pointing to a page, a small twitch appearing at the corner of his mouth.

You snorted. “Well, that certainly explains his dramatic flair, doesn't it?” you whispered.

Harry laughed softly at your comment. He turned and handed the magazine back to Luna with a polite nod. The two of you drifted away from her as the crowd pushed you forward, leaving Ron and Hermione to their prefect duties.

As you walked farther down the dark, chilly platform, you looked around for Hagrid, but he wasn't there. Instead, Professor Grubbly-Plank stood holding a lantern aloft, her booming voice directing the first years toward the lake.

“Where’s Hagrid?” Harry asked, his eyes narrowing as his gaze swept over the crowd.

“I don’t know,” you replied, a small frown tugging at your lips as you glanced around the bustling platform.

With your arm still linked through Harry’s, the two of you slowly made your way through the throng of students.

Just ahead, you spotted Draco. His shiny new prefect badge caught the lantern light as he half-heartedly told a group of shivering first years to—if you were hearing correctly—hurry the bloody hell up. A sneer was plastered across his face.

Right beside him, Pansy's shrill voice cut through the evening air as she barked orders at a cluster of overwhelmed first years. “Merlin's sake, are you all incapable of following simple instructions? Keep moving before I leave you lot out here in the cold all night!”

What a fucking duo, you thought grimly.

Draco's eyes landed on you, then slowly dropped to where your arm was linked. His gaze lingered for a moment before he began striding toward you.

As Draco drew closer, Harry instinctively tightened his grip on your arm.

“What?” Harry gritted out, his eyes narrowing.

“You're blocking the flow from the train doors, Potter. Move,” Draco drawled.

“And you're blocking ours, Draco. Let us through,” you shot back.

Draco's eyes immediately snapped to you. Your heart gave a sudden leap. You hadn't seen him since that night at the manor.

From your peripheral vision, you noticed Hermione and Ron abruptly ending their conversation with the other prefects. They immediately started pushing their way through the crowd, drawn by the brewing confrontation.

Draco turned his head slightly, noticing their approach, but his smirk only widened.

“How does it feel being second-best to Weasley, Potter?” he asked mockingly, gesturing toward Ron's shiny new badge.

You opened your mouth, ready to fire back, but Hermione beat you to it.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Hermione hissed, stepping up beside Harry, her hands clenched into fists.

Draco barely spared her a glance. Harry's jaw tightened.

“Funny coming from you,” he said coolly. “They must've been desperate if they made you a prefect.”

Harry tugged gently on your arm. “Come on. Let's go.”

But before you could walk away with Harry, Draco's fingers gripped around your other arm.

You froze. Your gaze dropped to Draco's hand before flicking back to Harry, whose arm was still linked firmly through yours, keeping you tucked against his side.

Oh, no. I feel a sudden déjà vu.

“You seem to forget I can give out detention now, Potter,” Draco drawled, though his eyes remained fixed entirely on you. “I'd watch your step if I were you.”

Harry's features darkened. He slipped his arm out of yours and stepped right up to Draco.

"Take your hand off her, Malfoy," he said coldly. "She's made it pretty clear last term she wants nothing to do with you. Leave her alone."

Ugh! This is so awkward. Honestly, you couldn't entirely blame Harry.

The last time Harry, Ron, and Hermione had seen you with Draco was at the Yule Ball. After that, you'd frozen him out completely—ignoring him in the corridors, refusing to acknowledge him whenever he approached. As far as they knew, nothing had changed.

Draco towered over Harry, his grip on your arm unwavering. His lips curled into a scornful smile.

"Step back, Potter. Unless you want your first night back to end with a prefect's disciplinary report," he drawled. His eyes flicked briefly toward you before returning to Harry. "Besides, since when did you start speaking for her?"

"I'm her friend, Draco," Harry shot back. "Who do you think you are?"

"Friend, huh?" Draco repeated, the corner of his mouth twitching. "That's rich, Potter. You've always had a habit of sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

"Draco!" You yanked against his grip, trying to pull your arm free. "Leave my friends out of this."

You glared at him. What the hell is his problem?

Just a few weeks ago, he'd been different—softer, easier to be around. He'd spent hours with you, fallen asleep beside you, and made you think things between you had finally changed. Heck, he'd even given you a rare box all the way from France. Or did that not mean anything to him?

Seriously, Draco. Now this?

"And let my arm go," you hissed, growing impatient with his ridiculous nonsense.

"I don't think I will," Draco murmured. His grey eyes flashed as they met yours, his grip tightening just enough to make his point. "In case you've forgotten, you're not the one calling the shots here."

You stared at him in disbelief. You'd thought the two of you were finally moving past whatever strange relationship had existed between you for years. So why was he acting like you were his enemy? Again!

"Has being made a prefect gone straight to your head?" you snapped, wrenching your arm again. "You don't have to be a complete twat about it."

"Malfoy!" Harry looked furious. Hermione and Ron were already moving forward, ready to pull the two of you apart, but Draco pulled you a step closer.

“Manners,” he drawled, ignoring them completely. “You seem to have forgotten how to behave over the summer. Or have you forgotten your lesson?”

Your breath hitched—memories of begging on his bedsheets flooded your mind, and you couldn't stop the sudden heat that rushed up your neck and spread across your cheeks. You silently prayed the dim platform lighting would hide your blush.

Holding his gaze, you could feel the others staring at you, clearly confused by his strange choice of words. Your stomach tightened traitorously as Draco's lips curved into a wicked grin.

“You still want to finish, don't you?”

Your eyes widened.

“What is he—” Before Harry could finish, Pansy strutted over, shoving her way next to Draco.

She took one look at you, then at Hermione, and sneered, her nose wrinkling in disgust. “What's with the serious face, Granger? Did you think that shiny little badge would make people actually respect a Mudblood?”

Your head snapped toward her. You were about to lunge, but Draco's grip held you firmly in place.

“Watch your dirty fucking mouth, Parkinson,” you warned, pointing a finger at her as your voice dropped dangerously low.

Pansy let out a sharp laugh, her gaze flicking between you and Draco's fingers wrapped around your upper arm.

“Oh, good. You've got her, Draco,” she said, crossing her arms. “Keep barking, and I'll make sure your first week back is spent in detention, scrubbing cauldrons until your fingers bleed.”

“I can't believe one of Slytherin's prefect badges was wasted on someone who shares a brain cell with a flobberworm,” you snarled over her derisive laughter.

Pansy's smile vanished. A vein pulsed at her temple as the tension around the group thickened.

“Shut up. You're only making this worse for yourself,” Draco snapped, his expression hardening as his grip tightened on your arm to keep you in place.

You turned your head to glare up at him, your patience finally snapping.

“Yeah? Piss off, Malfoy,” you spat. Something dark flashed across Draco's face before his expression settled into a cold scowl.

“That's it. Punishment for the big-mouthed Gryffindor,” he said, his jaw tightening. With a sharp tug, he pulled you flush against his side, separating you from the trio.

Harry’s jaw dropped in disbelief, his hands balling into fists as he looked over at Ron and Hermione. “Can he actually do this? Can he just take her?”

Hermione looked absolutely infuriated, her face turning red as she clenched her teeth. She could only grit out, “Yes. Punishments and containment are up to the prefects' discretion.”

You twisted around to look back at them over your shoulder, your mouth falling open in shock. Before you could argue, Draco dragged you away, his grip firm as he steered you down the platform.

Pansy trailed closely behind him, her eyes boring into the back of your head.

“What should we do with her, Draco?” she asked, a malicious smirk spreading across her face. “We could make her scrub the Slytherin common room floor with her bare hands. Or maybe tie her to—”

“No. She's mine to deal with, Parkinson. I'll decide the punishment,” Draco interjected. “Don't try to involve yourself in this one.”

He finally released your arm when he stopped in front of a horseless stagecoach. Daphne had just been about to climb inside, but she paused, her eyes widening in surprise when she spotted you.

“Oh?”

“Get in,” Draco ordered, jerking his head toward the carriage.

You climbed up the steps, with Draco and Pansy filing in right behind you.

Inside, the carriage was already occupied by Blaise, Theo, and Daphne. You found yourself forced to sit directly opposite Pansy—whose eyes seemed to be hurling invisible daggers your way—while Theo settled into the seat beside you.

Theo leaned closer, his eyes twinkling as he took in your furious expression. “A lion surrounded by snakes. How cute,” he teased with a grin, tilting his head as he studied your reaction.

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest and sank deeper into the cushions.

“Whatever,” you muttered. “I've survived worse.”

“Watch your mouth,” Draco drawled from his corner. “Keep talking like that, and I'll give you worse. You're still awaiting my punishment.”

Daphne glanced at you, wincing slightly in sympathy.

Apparently, you were Draco Malfoy's first victim. I cannot believe this. 

While Draco was looking out the opposite window, you subtly raised a hand to cover your mouth, turning just enough toward Daphne to hide your lips from his view.

“Reign of terror,” you silently mouthed, jerking your thumb in his direction. Daphne's eyes immediately lit with amusement. She dropped her gaze to her lap, biting the inside of her cheek to suppress a laugh.

Draco's eyes narrowed at once. “Something funny?”

“Nothing,” you and Daphne replied in perfect unison.

Turning away from his suspicious glare, you watched rain streak down the glass as the carriage jolted forward into the darkness.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

A deafening clap echoed throughout the Great Hall the moment the Sorting Hat finished its song. You clapped along half-heartedly, the words still ringing in your ears. You didn’t like the eerie, ominous tone of it, especially the line: “For our Hogwarts is in danger from external, deadly foes.”

Because you actually knew what was coming, the warning felt less like a hypothetical and more like a countdown. You saw that Harry, Ron, and Hermione all shared the exact same grim expression.

Your arm still felt faintly warm from where Draco had been gripping it. Before entering the Hall, he had finally let you leave his side. He leaned in close to your ear just enough to mutter, “I’ll deal with you later.”

Does he think I’m some sort of his personal prisoner? you thought, scowling at the back of his head from across the table.

Then your attention was pulled toward the High Table when Dumbledore stood up, but your eyes immediately locked onto the woman sitting near him.

She had short, curly mouse-brown hair and stubby fingers covered in gaudy rings. She wore a violently bright pink cardigan that completely clashed with the warm yellow candles and the dark robes of the other professors.

When Dumbledore welcomed her, she cleared her throat with a high-pitched “Hem, hem.” The sound alone sent an irksome shiver down your spine.

Harry leaned over, his voice a low, tense murmur. “She was at my hearing. Working for Fudge.”

Your head snapped to him. “What? Why on earth is she the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?”

“I don’t know,” Harry muttered, staring at the woman, Dolores Umbridge, as she began to deliver a painfully dry speech.

Once dinner finally ended, the Great Hall dissolved into its usual chaotic scraping of benches. You walked with Harry, Ron, and Hermione up the moving staircases, following the sea of red and gold robes toward the Gryffindor tower.

When you reached the corridor, the Fat Lady looked thoroughly exhausted by the influx of students.

“Password?” the Fat Lady asked listlessly.

“Mimbulus mimbletonia,” Neville was first to announce proudly. The portrait swung forward, revealing the circular hole in the wall.

You clambered through the portrait hole and watched as the older students immediately scattered toward the dormitories, while the terrified first-years clustered in a small, wide-eyed group by the hearth. Once the room finally emptied, you and the trio sank into the red plush armchairs by the dying embers of the fire.

Without a word, Hermione reached into her bag and dropped a crumpled copy of The Daily Prophet onto the low table between you.

“Found this left behind by a first-year,” she said, her voice tight with anger.

You leaned forward, your eyes landing on the bold, aggressive headline staring back at you: THE BOY WHO LIES? FUDGE INSISTS: “ALL IS WELL.”

You clicked your tongue in disgust. “I can’t believe the headlines they’re putting out. It’s revolting.”

“Yes, and the worst part is that it’s working,” Hermione sighed, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. “Cedric’s death happened less than two months ago, and because the Ministry refused to give anyone a proper explanation, the public is just swallowing this rubbish to feel safe.”

“They’re trying to make me look like a dangerous attention-seeker,” Harry said through gritted teeth, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the arms of his chair. “They believed Dumbledore during the end-of-term feast—so why not now?”

“I’m not sure they believed him then either, Harry,” you said softly, remembering the exchange you’d had with the Slytherins on the train. “It all happened so fast. No one had time to properly take it in. Then summer came, and the Daily Prophet calling you and Dumbledore… well, maniacs became the only version of events they trusted.”

Just then, the portrait hole swung open. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas walked into the common room, laughing about something, but they stopped when their eyes landed on Harry—and the newspaper on the table.

“All right, Harry?” Dean asked, though his voice lacked its usual warmth.

Seamus glanced at the headline, then back up at Harry, his expression hardening.

“My mum didn’t want me coming back this year, you know,” he said. “Because of what the Prophet’s saying about you. And about Dumbledore.”

Harry’s head snapped up, his eyes flashing behind his glasses. “And what exactly is your mum saying, Seamus? That I’m mad? That I made it all up?”

“Well… yeah,” Seamus said defensively, his hands curling into tight fists. “Nobody knows what happened in that maze. You turn up with a body and start saying You-Know-Who’s back. She thinks you’re a liar. Honestly? So do I.”

Ron shot up so fast his armchair skidded back an inch. “Shut your mouth, Seamus! Harry’s telling the truth and you know it! If your mum’s stupid enough to believe Fudge, that’s her problem!”

“Don’t you call my mum stupid, Weasley!” Seamus yelled, stepping forward.

Dean moved in, pushing his shoulder against Ron’s chest to shove him back. “Back off, Ron. He’s just asking a question. We have a right to know!”

“You deserve nothing,” Harry gritted out, stepping closer.

Seamus suddenly threw a wild punch that caught Harry across the jaw, sending him stumbling back into the table. Ron let out a roar and lunged at Dean, tackling him hard onto the rug. The common room erupted as the boys broke into a chaotic fistfight, limbs flailing and tempers exploding.

Hermione hissed beside you, already reaching for her wand, but you clapped your hands sharply.

“Immobilus!” your voice cut through the shouting. The boys went rigid, frozen mid-swing and mid-shove like statues, unable to move an inch.

“Enough!” you snapped, looking between them. “We are not doing this on the very first night back.”

You nodded toward Hermione. She flicked her wand and whispered, “Finite Incantatem.”

The spell broke. The boys stumbled back from each other as movement returned. Ron rubbed his shoulder where he’d hit the floor, glaring at Dean, while Seamus straightened his collar, still flushed with anger.

Harry wiped a streak of blood from his split lip with the back of his hand, his green eyes burning.

“I don’t expect you to believe me, Seamus,” he said, his voice deadly quiet. “But don’t you dare come at my friends for standing by me.”

“He’s right,” Ron snapped, stepping up right next to Harry again, his fists still half-clenched. “If you’ve got a problem with Harry, you’ve got a problem with me. So just keep your mouth shut and go to bed.”

“Then you’re mad too,” Seamus said in disgust towards Ron, turning his back and marching straight up the stairs to the boys' dormitory with Dean.

You and Hermione shared a grim look. It’ll be a rough year for sure.

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[verklcmpt]

⋆˙⟡Can't You See I'm Here? (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

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Book 5 pt. 5 — Soft Rattles

a/n NOT MY PREVIOUS SMUTTY CHAPTER BEING CONTENT FLAGGED JAJAJAH

You woke up to soft sunlight and an empty bed. Draco was already gone, and to your surprise, you found your skin prickling at the cold, empty spot where his body had been last night. On the bedside table sat a freshly prepared breakfast platter, your white-pearled box, and a short note written in his sharp cursive.

You glanced down at your right arm. The bandages were freshly changed and the pain was mostly gone. Your heart did a sudden flip as memories of last night rushed back into your head. I cannot believe he’s seen me fully nude! Shaking the thoughts away, you picked up the letter.

“I need to oversee a few things, I’ll be away from the manor. Eat. I’ll see you back at Hogwarts.”

You finished the breakfast and set the empty platter aside. As you looked around the room, your gaze landed on the edge of the bed. Your bag was sitting there, and right next to it was your sundress—perfectly mended without a single tear—with your undergarments neatly folded on top of it.

“Ugh!” you groaned, your face burning as you snatched up the clothes.

You dressed hastily, grabbed your things, and headed straight for the hearth to Floo back to your own house. Once home, you tossed your bag onto the table, setting down the box of macarons you had kept inside it, before heading upstairs to your bedroom.

Your owl cooed softly from the windowsill, sitting right next to a few new letters that had arrived while you were away. You placed your pearled box safely on your desk and picked up the mail.

The first letter was from Theodore Nott.

“Hey, I was really hoping you could drop by today. Are you busy? It’d be nice to have an extra person down by the lake. Blaise is asking for you.”

The second letter was also from Theo, but the handwriting was a unreadable, chaotic scribble.

You blinked at the parchment. Huh?

You opened the third letter, which was written in much cleaner, though slightly shaky, print:

“I was awfully drunk last night. I might have sent you a letter. Please ignore it and definitely do not come down here.”

You let out a loud laugh, shaking your head at the parchment. What on earth was he on about? You pulled out a clean piece of parchment and a quill, quickly writing back:

“Theo, how do you still manage to be funny through writing? It’s honestly an impressive skill. I’d love to come by, but time might not allow me. I’ll see you back at Hogwarts.”

You picked up the next letter, flipping it over to see the heavy purple wax seal. Your heart instantly skipped a beat.

Albus Dumbledore.

You quickly broke the seal and unfolded the thick parchment.

“I trust this letter finds you well. As you are one of Harry Potter’s closest and most trusted companions, I must implore you to maintain absolute silence.

Do not discuss any news, or share any information regarding Lord Voldemort with him.”

Seeing that name written out in Dumbledore's looping script made you swallow hard, a cold knot forming in your stomach.

“Harry currently faces a Ministry hearing regarding his potential expulsion from Hogwarts. For his own safety, he must remain entirely unaware of the advance guard that will soon be dispatched to retrieve him.

You are to proceed directly to Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Speak to your father; he will arrange your secure travel. No letters are to be sent to Harry from hereon. Be careful, and trust no one outside the Order.”

Expulsion?! Order?

You dropped the letter onto your desk, your breath catching. Beneath it, you found two more notes—one from Ron and one from Hermione, both filled with the same anxious, hurried handwriting.

"Did you receive the letter?”

Hermione’s note read:

“We're so worried. Please tell us you're coming.”

I have a bad feeling of what is ahead this year.

You quickly scribbled a short, identical response to both of them:

“Yes. Stay safe, I’ll see you there.”

Then, at the very bottom of the pile, you spotted a crumpled piece of muggle notebook paper. It was Harry’s handwriting, looking completely frantic, the ink smudged in several places.

“I’ve just been attacked by Dementors in Little Whinging and the Ministry is trying to expel me. Nobody is telling me anything.

I want to know what the hell is going on. Please write back.”

What the hell? Dementors in Surrey?

Panic spiking in your chest, you scrambled through your desk until you found your muggle flip phone. You flipped it open, and the screen instantly lit up, flashing a notification: 10 Missed Calls — Harry Potter.

Your thumb immediately hitting redial and pressing the phone hard against your ear. It rang once, twice, three times, before going straight to a dead tone.

No response.

“Come on, Harry, pick up,” you muttered.

You shut the phone, flipped it open again, and desperately dialed his number a second time.

The line clicked. “Hello?” a sharp, shrill woman's voice snapped from the other side.

“Mrs. Dursley,” you said, quickly introducing yourself and trying to keep your voice polite. “May I please speak to Harry—?”

“There is no Harry here!” she hissed, cutting you off completely. “You freaks! I’ve had enough of you all. Don't ever call this house again!”

The line went completely dead before you could even open your mouth. You winced, pulling the phone away from your ear.

Bitch.

You tossed the phone onto the bed and began pacing around the room, your anxiety building with every step. You couldn't help but feel a bit useless. You tied your written notes to your owl's leg and watched it fly off.

On the evening of August 6th, your father and mother stood in the foyer of your London home clad in their traveling cloaks, ready to leave. Your father had spent the last hour explaining the Order of the Phoenix and giving you a breakdown of the current situation.

You were still deeply unsettled by how fast everything was moving.

When you reached the designated street in London, a battered, dark door emerged out of nowhere, forcing its way between numbers eleven and thirteen.

Your father led the way inside, the heavy door clicking shut behind you. The air inside smelled of dampness and old rotting wood.

As you walked further down the dark, narrow hallway, you immediately spotted the Weasleys, Professor Lupin, and Moody alongside a few unfamiliar faces who were quietly talking in corners of a gas-lit room. Your parents stepped forward to shake hands with them, but your attention was drawn to Sirius Black who was leaning against the wall.

Sirius’s eyes lit up as he spotted your father. He shook your father's hand warmly, both of them grinning like old friends.

"You two really know each other?" Your eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"We had the misfortune of being dragged to multiple exclusive, elite pure-blood parties back in the day," Sirius said, rolling his eyes dramatically at the words elite and pure-blood. "We seemed to catch on quite well to survive them, though we went to different schools. So, we don't hang much outside of that."

"How is your mother?" Sirius asked, leaning back against the wall.

"Still a living nightmare," your father grinned. "Yours?"

"A dead nightmare," Sirius replied without a hint of remorse, his head nodding to something behind you.

A piercing, screeching scream echoed from the hallway, making you jump. It was slightly muffled behind a set of heavy curtains, but a woman's voice was shrieking awful words. "Filths! Scum! Blood-traitors and filthy Mudbloods defiling the house of my fathers!"

Your mother laid a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "Go find the others, dear."

Molly Weasley came bustling over to you then, wiping her hands on her apron. "Oh, gorgeous girl, you're finally here! The others are upstairs in Ron's bedroom, on the highest floor. You won't miss it."

You looked around the room, sensing the tension in the air. "Run along, sweetheart," your father nodded, giving you a small, encouraging smile.

You turned and headed up the dark, creaking staircase until you reached the very top. You knocked softly on the door before pushing it open.

Inside, Harry was standing in the center of the room, his shoulders completely stiff and his hands clenched into fists. Ron was sitting on the edge of a bed looking incredibly grim, and Hermione was hovering nearby, her eyes red and teary.

"Hey..." you managed to say, stepping into the room.

"Harry," You started to walk over to him but he stepped back, looking at you with a furious glare.

"Where have you been?" he demanded.

"Huh? I just got here—"

"No! Throughout the entire summer, where the hell have you been?" Harry snapped, his green eyes burning behind his glasses. “I called you multiple times! And you didn’t even try to call me back.”

“Harry, I did—“

"Harry, mate, calm down," Ron muttered from the bed, looking terrified to even speak. "We told you, Dumbledore made everyone swear—"

"I don't care what Dumbledore said!" Harry shouted, turning his furious sneer back to you. "Have either of you been stuck in a house of nightmare for weeks? Have either of you been attacked by Dementors this summer?"

You stepped back, completely taken aback by the raw, dripping venom in his voice.

“Harry, I know it’s hard. I would want to know too, but You-Know-Who—” Hermione croaked, her voice trembling before Harry completely snapped.

“Who saved both of you from the Dementors?” Harry whispered lowly, his voice shaking before he fully shouted, “Who fucking saved the Sorcerer's Stone?!”

You all jumped in unison, the sheer volume of his voice echoing off the peeling wallpaper.

“I watched Cedric get murdered!” Harry’s eyes locked onto yours, and a violent shiver went straight down your spine. You could feel your heart breaking at the mention of his name, the grief hitting you fresh all over again. “I did! I told you I had nightmares—I called you! I was left completely in the dark, pretending like everything was fine while I could still hear his body hitting the grass!”

You couldn't say anything at first, your mouth opening and closing as you stared at Harry.

“Harry, I feel heartbroken too. I am so sorry—I miss Cedric dearly, you know that,” you said softly, your voice cracking slightly. “We cannot imagine the nightmares you’re having. And we’re so sorry for leaving you to deal with it alone…”

You walked closer to him, taking slow, deliberate steps so he wouldn't pull away. “But we’re here now. We’ll stand by your side, we aren't going anywhere.”

He was physically shaking when you reached him, you pulled him into a tight hug. He went rigid for a second before his shoulders finally dropped, burying his face slightly into your shoulder.

“We’ll get through this together,” you murmured softly, squeezing his hand as you looked around the room at the others. “Right?”

Ron and Hermione nodded instantly, their faces filled with immense relief. Above you, Hedwig let out a soft cry and flew down from the top of the wardrobe.

“Hi, beautiful,” you called out quietly. The snowy owl landed gently on Harry’s shoulder, nipping his ear affectionately, which visibly calmed him down.

Then, with a loud crack, Fred and George apparated out of thin air right between you, making everyone gasp.

“Why, hello there,” they chorused, looking at you with twin smirks.

“Hi, boys,” you grinned. “Showing off your newly obtained skill, I see?”

“Guilty as charged,” Fred said.

“Passed our Apparition tests with flying colors,” George added, winking. “Though Mum nearly had a fit when we popped up right behind her in the kitchen this morning.”

A soft knock sounded at the door, and Ginny slipped into the room, giving you a warm smile. You nodded, “Ginny,” before she turned to her brothers.

“Hey, aren’t you lot curious about what they’re saying downstairs?” Fred taunted, a mischievous glint in his eye.

He held up a long, flesh-colored string—an Extendable Ear. You all huddled close together near the banister, rushing to listen in as the string snaked down the stairwell.

You listened to the hush words thrown between the members in the room. Hm? These are things Mum and Dad have been telling me about. I wonder how they’ve come to predict these movements. You thought but before any new information for you could be dropped, the sound abruptly cut out into dead silence.

Harry grumbled under his breath, his jaw tightening again. “I want to explore the place a bit,” he muttered.

You all watched him walk out, disappearing down the stairwell.

“He seems a bit different, don’t you think?” Ron said suddenly, turning to you with a worried frown.

You paused. You thought about his explosive anger and the shadows under his eyes.

“A bit,” you murmured quietly.

"Are you sure you wouldn't want to stay for dinner?" Arthur Weasley asked, looking at your parents hopefully.

"No, we'll have to move. This one still has a strict schedule to keep," your father said, gently patting your shoulder.

"Oh, she could have a day’s rest, surely," Mrs. Weasley frowned, crossing her arms over her apron.

"Thank you for the invitation, Mrs. Weasley, but my father’s right," you said with a polite smile, wanting to ease her worry.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Harry standing a little away from the crowd. Sirius had an arm slung casually over Harry's shoulder, and they were both looking down at something small in Harry's hands. While your parents bid their final goodbyes to the rest of the Weasleys, you quietly stepped back from the group and walked over to them.

“Hey,” you said softly.

“Hey,” Harry replied, looking up.

“What is that?” you asked, nodding toward the small piece of glossy paper.

“The original Order of the Phoenix members,” Harry said, staring down at the moving photograph. “Sirius just gave it to me.”

You leaned in closer, your eyes scanning the crowded, waving faces in the old picture. You pointed to a couple near the center who were laughing and waving back at the camera. “Is this your parents?”

“Yeah. How did you know?” Harry asked, a genuine grin breaking across his face.

You laughed lightly, bumping your shoulder against his. “Harry, you look exactly like your father. You’re practically his carbon copy.”

The grin stayed on his face for a moment before he looked at you more seriously. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay here? We’ll have weeks together to spend before the summer ends. You're also much safer here.”

You glanced back over at your parents, who were now chatting with Sirius and Mr. Weasley in hushed, serious tones, before turning back to Harry. “No, I really have to go, Harry. My parents are aware of the situation, they know how to keep a low-profile and our summer home is tucked in far. But I'll be sure to reach out to you. We'll find a way.”

Harry stayed silent for a beat, his eyes dropping back to the photograph before he looked up at you again. “Sirius said there might be a war coming. Looking at this picture, and seeing how many people were lost... I don’t want any of us to end up with that same fate.”

You locked eyes with him, holding his gaze firmly as you gave him a reassuring smile. “If there is a war, Harry, you'll find me standing right by your side. I promise.”

Relief washed over Harry's face, and he pulled you into a quick, tight hug that you returned.

A sudden ahem! cut through the air, making you both pull apart.

“Let’s go, sweetheart,” your father said, smiling tightly at Harry.

Harry turned toward your father, looking a bit sheepish as he straightened his posture. “Sir,” he said, nodding respectfully.

Your mother walked over and gently patted Harry’s cheek with a warm smile. “You take care of yourself now, Harry.”

As your parents began heading toward the door, Sirius gave Harry a playful pat on the back, leaning in to mutter, “Smooth.”

You caught Harry’s eye one last time, waving goodbye with a bright smile before stepping out of the gloomy house and back into the London evening.

Once you reached home, the heavy atmosphere of Grimmauld Place seemed to follow you right into the dining room during dinner. The clinking of silverware against porcelain was the only sound for a while.

You took a bite of your dinner, chewing thoughtfully before finally voicing the question that had been burning in your mind all evening. “Why aren’t the others in on this information? Why keep Ron and Hermione in the dark?”

“Because, for lack of a better word, they don't have the sufficient training should anything happen to them,” your mother chimed in, setting down her fork to pick up her cup of tea.

She looked at you over the rim, her expression turning serious. “Why do you think we have been teaching you Occlumency all these years? If Harry's friends obtained critical information and it fell into the hands of one of his followers, we’ll all be in danger. Harry is being followed everywhere.”

“And they don’t have that sort of training. This isn’t something taught in schools,” your father agreed, cutting into his food. “All the things we’ve taught you up to this day have been passed down through our own experiences in the first war. We’ve lost many people, and we want you to be absolutely ready. It’s difficult, we know. If we could raise you in a world where we could shield you from this reality, we would.”

You stared down at your plate, the food suddenly losing its flavor. “Will there really be another war?” you asked hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I won’t sugarcoat it for you. Yes, there will be,” your father said bluntly, setting his knife down. “And it might be the final stretch. I can feel the tides changing, the Ministry's denial is only making it worse. Everyone in that room at Grimmauld Place knows what they’re signing up for. Everyone in that room will protect Harry, but we will protect you—make sure you're ready for what's to come.”

“It won’t be easy, sweetheart,” your mother added softly, reaching across the table to gently squeeze your hand. “It truly won’t. We love you first and foremost, but we can't fight the entire battle for you. You have to find your own will to fight, your own will to survive. Find those you need to protect.”

Your father looked at you. “Heartbreaks and death are part of life. But whether you truly live through it is the real question. Do not let the fear of losing people stop you from truly loving them, sweetheart.”

He paused for a split second before continuing, “This is a game of chess. Be smart—use the magic we've taught you, and protect yourself. But don't forget to laugh. Don't forget to feel. Survive the war, yes, but make sure you keep your soul intact while you do it.”

You fell silent. You were scared—of course you were, who wouldn't be? But you were grateful your parents were being completely honest, and they had already armed you with the exact skills you needed to survive.

If a war was coming, you needed to stop acting like a bystander. You needed to be ready.

You nodded. “Understood.”

The table returned to their dinner before a sudden thought struck you. You set your fork down, looking between the two of them.

“Hang on, why weren't either of you in that first Order of the Phoenix photograph?" you asked. "Were you not members back then?"

"Not exactly. We've always worked... underground," your father said smoothly, taking a slow sip of his red wine.

"What does that mean?" You asked curiously.

"It means we don't exactly fight on the frontlines, dear," your mother added, setting her teacup down with a soft click. "While Dumbledore’s Order was out in the open, trading spells with Death Eaters, we worked in the shadows of the Ministry and high societies all over. Working underground is how we gathered intelligence, discovered who was operating under the Imperius Curse, and quietly swayed voices and political opinions when he was at the height of his reign. It's much harder for the dark side to win when you're secretly dismantling their influence from the inside."

"I see," you murmured, realizing just how deep your family's involvement really went.

“Like I said, game of chess. Secrecy is a dangerous currency, but a necessary one," your father noted. "Not every battle is won with a wand in hand. Sometimes, a whispered word in the right ear does twice the damage."

You hummed, absorbing the weight of it all.

Suddenly, your father cleared his throat, his tone suddenly becoming a notch lighter as he leaned forward on his elbows. “On a much more serious note, so... Harry, huh? Are you two... together?” He dragged out the word "together" a bit dramatically, squinting while doing so.

You scrunched your nose, nearly choking on your water, and made a face. “Ew! Dad! Harry is my best friend, gross.” You grumbled, your cheeks flushing with mild annoyance.

“Well, I was just making sure,” he said, raising his hands defensively, though a grin was forming on his face. “The boy looked like he was about to trip over his own feet when you hugged him.”

“He is definitely cute,” your mother mused, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Mum!” you groaned, burying your face in your hands.

“But I do wish he would brush his hair more…” she added, thoughtfully tapping her chin. “It always looks like he just flew through a hurricane.”

You couldn't help it—a loud laugh escaped you, the lingering dread melting away under the warm comfort of your family's dining room.

“Oh, I keep forgetting to ask,” your mother said. “Did you go to Paris recently?”

You instantly choked on your drink, coughing into your fist as your face flushed. “What?”

“Paris,” your mother repeated, looking at you with mild amusement. “Did you go there?”

“Why... why on earth would you ask that?” you asked, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

“There’s a box of macarons on the hallway table from Pâtisserie Matagot,” she explained, raising an eyebrow. “I assumed you went there. Place Cachée.”

“Oh! I, er—yeah. Yeah, I did,” you stammered. One thing about you was that you were an absolutely terrible liar when it came to these sorts of things. Your voice always hitched, and you couldn't keep eye contact.

“With whom?” your father asked.

“No one! Just... by myself!” You quickly faked a massive, dramatic yawn, stretching your arms over your head. “Wow, look at the time! I’m so sleepy. Big day tomorrow, need my mind and body completely ready for our training.”

Your parents exchanged a highly confused look, but you didn't give them a chance to question you further.

“Good night!” you blurted, scraping your chair back.

You practically sprinted up the stairs to your bedroom. You had totally forgotten about leaving that stupid box of macarons out on the table downstairs!

Closing your bedroom door behind you, you let out a long breath and walked over to your desk. Just as you sat down, the white-pearled box gave a sudden, soft rattle. Your heart rate spiked again.

You lifted the lid. A neat scrap of parchment was resting on the velvet lining inside.

“What are you doing?”

You grabbed a quill, hastily dipping it in ink before scrawling your reply:

“About to sleep.”

You placed the note back into the box and shut the lid. When you opened it a second later to check, the velvet lining was completely empty.

“Wow,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Another rattle shook the box as a new piece of paper materialized inside. You opened it quickly to see his handwriting on a crisp scrap of parchment.

“Isn’t it only 10 PM? Are you a child?”

You took the parchment out and stared at it, rolling your eyes. Annoying.

Before you could even grab your quill, the box rattled again. A second piece of paper had just teleported in.

“I wanted to see how much the box can take, but it seems like it’s working just fine.”

Then another immediate rattle…

“This is better, don’t you think? It’s pretty instant. No stupid owls. I'm starting to like it.”

Merlin’s beard… a fourth rattle.

“Are you seriously asleep? Or are you just pretending you're asleep.”

“UGH!” You groaned aloud. You quickly grabbed a fresh sheet of parchment and began ripping it into small, jagged pieces just big enough to fit inside the box's compartment.

You dipped your quill in ink, but every time you tried to write, the box clacked and rattled, spitting out another tiny stupid note from the other side of Wiltshire.

You flinched. “Draco… if you don’t—”

Rattle. You twitched, your quill smudging the ink. “—hold on your correspondence, and wait for my reply—”

Rattle. Your jaw clenched. “—I don’t care how much it cost you or your family's vault in damned Gringgotts—”

Rattle! You were practically vibrating with annoyance now, trying to write around the constant sounds. “—I will personally burn this cursed box to dust—”

Rattle! Rattle!

“—and stop sending these ridiculous tidbits of letters every five fucking seconds!!!”

You practically shoved your response into the box, slammed the lid shut and took a deep breath. Scattered across your desk were the five separate scraps of parchment he had just fired through the magical link in the span of three minutes.

You lined them up, reading through his chaotic train of thought:

One.

“I do feel for my Eagle Owl. It's feeling a bit skittish.”

Two.

“How were the macarons? I didn't get to ask.”

Three…

“Do you really write this slow? Just take a parchment and write.”

Merlin, help me. Four.

“Are you actually asleep?"

Fucking five!

“Answer me.”

You stared at the final scrap, shaking your head. He was completely insufferable!

A full minute passed in total, blissful silence. Just as you thought he might have actually given up, the box gave one final, slow rattle.

You opened it.

“Fine. Have it your way, you absolute menace. Good night.”

A small, helpless smile tugged at the corner of your lips. You pulled his final note out, closed the lid, and finally let the quiet of the night settle into your bedroom.

Masterlist or visit AO3 for faster updates

[satinbabeeey]

˚.⋆꒰১ ໒꒱⋆.˚ Harry Potter Yume

Pureblood Slytherin who has a fascination on her best friend's rival vs Pureblood(?) Gryffindor who has a situationship with her best friend's rival.

Gryffindor Rosie I made to use for @verklcmpt's fic 'Can't You See I'm Here?'

[verklcmpt]

⋆˙⟡Can't You See I'm Here? (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

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Book 5 pt. 4 — [E] A Pearled-Wooden Box

a/n no summary just Draco Malfoy being a jealous git so you're spanked on the as/s and pvs/sy, finger fvc/ked till you're denied release while he selfishly made you crawl to take him deep in your throat. (SUMN LIKE THAT BABES)

Draco ran a frustrated hand through his hair, pacing like he’s about to pounce. You gripped the edge of his mahogany desk, your eyes following his frantic movements. You could feel your blood running cold. This... is not good.

You quickly looked around the room, mapping out your options. You couldn’t Apparate within the manor due to its wards. Could you run past him to his bedroom and use his hearth? Your mind raced, but you didn’t exactly remember the layout of the manor. Outside his study, there were at least three identical corridors.

“Here I was… looking for you, thinking you got lost,” Draco sneered, he halted just four strides away from you. “And what did I find? You dancing with two pathetic, vermins. To my surprise, they told me they were looking forward to spending the night with you. And the shit they were telling me was truly, truly something else.”

I barely understood a word they were saying!

He started pacing in front of you again, a bitter, bubbling laugh escaping his throat. “But of course, you looked like you had fun,” he said mockingly, tilting his head as his eyes narrowed. “Did you have fun?”

You stayed silent, glaring at him while your mind raced trying to think of an escape route.

“Answer me!” he barked.

You jumped at his tone, but the sudden shock quickly turned into a flaring anger of your own. Didn’t he outright flirt with that waitress? Didn’t he casually pocket her address right in front of your face?

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Oh? You seemed to have tons of fun too at the restaurant today,” you jeered, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Why don’t you go visit sweet Lara’s address in your pocket?”

Draco’s furious expression twisted into a slow, chilling grin. “Is this what this is about?” he taunted.

He took the folded parchment from his pocket and threw it carelessly to the ground. “If you stopped being a know-it-all, imp-brained idiot for one second, you’d know that she gave me the address to an exclusively private antique shop I was trying to take you to,” he hissed.

Oh.

“And if you hadn’t run off to dilly-dally in a crowded street with those pathetic knobheads, you’d know I bloody fucking bought you something,” he said, sharply shaking a small velvet bag in his hand that you hadn’t even realized was there.

Fuck.

You bit your lip, the anger draining out of you instantly as guilt took its place. “Draco, I—”

“Didn’t you say...” he whispered darkly, tossing the bag onto the chaise lounge next to him before slowly walking toward you. "...that you’d go out with me today to make it up to me? You froze me out nearly all summer. I visited you because I’m sick of wasting my time writing you letters."

Draco's lips pursed into a mocking smile. "And yet, the moment I actually take you out, you run away to fool around with strangers. Tell me, do you consider this to be a proper date?”

Your breathing grew heavier as he closed in, step by step. In the dimly lit study, shadows danced eerily across his face, darkening his features. You glanced toward the door, your heart drumming an erratic beat.

“It’s over, Draco,” you muttered, your eyes avoiding his cold gaze. “I said I’ll go out with you today. We did, so let’s end it. It’s been fun.”

“Oh, but the day hasn’t ended,” he corrected, his voice dropping into a sinister rumble. “And I’m not satisfied enough to say you’ve made it up to me.”

As he got close, you tried to bolt, darting to his left to run for the door, but he caught you instantly. His arm locked around your torso, halting you completely.

“I think the fuck not,” he growled.

“Let me go, Draco!”

With a sharp lift, he hoisted you up and set you down hard on the edge of his desk. He was standing firmly between your knees, trapping you right where he wanted you.

“Draco, I want to go back home,” you whispered, pushing against his chest.

“I’ll take you if you can be an honest girl for me. Can you do that?” he asked. One of his hands held your wrist against his chest, while the other slowly pulled the string of your robe, exposing the mini sundress underneath.

He let the robe fall to the ground before muttering, “Can you?”

You nodded. The way his lips curled gave you the shivers.

“Have you been a moody little brat throughout the day because you got jealous of some waitress?” he said, an amused, smug grin plastered on his face. “Because to think I can elicit that kind of reaction from you… it’s truly fascinating.”

Was the feeling you felt today… jealousy? You weren't entirely sure, but you certainly hated his cocksucker grin right now.

“Don’t get fucking ahead of yourself, Draco,” you spat, mocking his name with a harsh glare.

“I told you to be honest,” he gritted, a dark glint in his eyes as his hands gripped the edge of the desk on either side of your hips. “Let me ask you again: were you jealous? Or were you just being a little tease, begging for my attention? You don’t have to dance with pathetic losers to get that—try grinding your ass on me instead.”

Fucking diguisting, arrogant, vulgar asshole!

Your hand flew up, and a sharp crack echoed through the quiet study as you slapped Draco hard across the face. His head snapped to the side.

He froze, eyes widening.

The room fell into a dead silence filled only by your heavy breathing. You watched a blooming red mark spread across his cheek, stark under the pale moonlight filtering through the window behind you.

Slowly, his head turned back to face you. His grey eyes flashed ominously in the dark. He poked his tongue against the inside of his cheek, right where your palm had struck him, testing the sting. His lips twitched. He bit down on his lower lip before pulling it up into a slow, wicked smile.

“That’s it,” he breathed, and a sudden, icy shudder rippled through your entire body, making the hairs on your arms stand up. “You’re not even sorry, are you? I’ve been entirely too patient with you. I’ll teach you exactly how to behave when a brat like you lose their tempers.”

He flipped you so your chest slammed flat against the cool wood of his desk. He pinned both of your arms behind your back, holding them in a vice grip with one hand. With a sharp tug, he hitched your skirt up over your hips.

"Draco fucking Malfoy, let go—"

SMACK.

You gaped, the sudden, sting cutting off your words as his hand spanked your right cheek.

SMACK.

Another one landed hard on your left. Your bare skin burned instantly, your toes on their tiptoes twitching at the impact as you struggled to keep your footing against the floor.

"You like to talk back with that mouth so much, let’s see how you are when I'm through with you," Draco hissed near your ear, the scent of his cologne mixing with the hot heat of his breath.

SMACK.

“That fucking hurts, Draco!”

“Good. Now better start counting," he demanded, his voice dropping into a low growl that made your pussy twitch. "Count to ten. And if you miss a number, we start all over again."

Your forehead pressed hard against the cold wood of the desk, your breath coming in jagged, desperate gasps. The throb on your backside was making your head spin.

SMACK.

"One," you choked out, your voice trembling.

SMACK.

You hissed, your hands fought against his grip.

“Haa! Two..."

By the time you gasped out “Three,” his palm slid further downward. His fingers hooked into the edge of your underwear, sliding the fabric to the side as he pressed firmly against your wet pussy.

You panted, your hips instinctively twitching and raising up against his touch.

He chuckled darkly. “Huh? Seems like you’re enjoying this. I don’t recall telling you to do that.”

Tears of frustration pricking at the corners of your eyes. It stung! But how was he making you ache so much more for pain and pleasure?

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and lowered it. He brought his open palm down in a hard, stinging spank directly against your bare pussy.

“Ngh!” you yelped, your legs twitching violently as they hung off the edge of the desk.

"That's four. You seem to have forgotten to count, should we start all over?”

You were shaking. You bit your lip, unable to help the irritation bubbling up that he was making you feel this way.

"Fuck you, Draco," you breathed out.

"Still not sorry, are we? Let's get you to really beg then."

Suddenly, you were hoisted up into the air by your waist. Your breath hitched as he slung you easily over his shoulder. On his way out, he snatched the velvet bag from the chaise lounge.

You tried to struggle, kicking your legs and slamming your fists into his lower back, but his grip on you tightened. He strode across the corridor, kicked his bedroom door wide open, and slammed it shut behind him, the lock magically clicking into place.

“Put me down!” You shouted at him. With a careless heave, he threw you onto his bed. The mattress bounced as you landed face down.

"Oof—"

Behind you, the quiet rustle of a zipper being pulled down and the friction of clothes opening told you Draco was nowhere near finished.

"Now, where were we?" he muttered.

You looked over your shoulder. Draco was stripped down to just his dark briefs. Your eyes widened; the dim lights caught the sculpted lines of his arms and chest. He looked broader, sturdier—built, rather than just lean—and the well-defined muscle of his abdomen flexed as he moved over the mattress.

Holy—Since when did he look like—!

You tried to crawl away, your hands scrambling against the sheets, but Draco didn't let you get far.

He grabbed you roughly by the hip, hauling you back toward him. With his free hand, he reached for his wand and flicked it. You heared a sharp riiiip, the fabric of your bra and sundress tore cleanly down the center, completely exposing your bare back and ass to him.

"Draco!" you snarled, your face flushing hot.

He hitched your ass higher into the air, his arms gripping your thighs from underneath to lock you in place. Before you could even kick, you felt the hot, wet slide of his tongue straight across your slit.

Your mouth hung open in shock as you gripped the sheets until your knuckles turned white. His tongue worked its way inside you, lapping away while his fingers found your clit, pinching and twisting the sensitive bud. You buried your face into the mattress as a loud, unbidden moan tore from your throat.

He groaned against your skin. "Fuck, I forgot how good you tasted."

He pushed his middle finger deep inside you, stretching you open to make room for his tongue.

This position was absolutely shameful. What were you doing with him? Seriously, what—

Before you could finish the thought, he drove three fingers into you all at once. Your mind went completely blank as your eyes rolled back. The sudden, thick fullness stretched you so perfectly that all your coherent thoughts melted away.

You needed this. You desperately needed this.

You didn't care anymore that he had a full, shameless view of your dripping pussy. He was devouring you with his mouth, his fingers pumping inside you while his thumb relentlessly pinched your clit.

"Draco... oh! I'm so, so close...," you sobbed out, your hips twitching frantically against his mouth.

Draco stopped. He pulled his fingers out with a wet shlick, leaving you on edge.

You whined loudly, your ass still hitched up as you looked back at him in desperation.

"Haa?" Draco asked derisively, looking down at your ruined, dripping entrance with a cruel smirk. "Did I say you could have a release? Bad girls don't get to cum."

You paled, a cold shock of panic hitting your chest. "... no," you shook your head, your voice cracking. "Draco, please don’t—don’t do this again.”

He used his thumb to roughly separate your puffy, swollen folds, exposing the glistening center of you to the cool air. "Yes. Well, too bad for you. You've gotten a bit spoiled to expect it."

Without warning, his open palm landed another hard spank right across your bare pussy. The sharp sting made you shriek, but before the air could leave your lungs, his fingers pinched your clit hard while slamming his middle and ring finger deep inside of you.

He repeated—a sharp strike, a harsh pinch, and a deep, curling, stretching shove of his fingers. You could feel your own slick dripping down your thighs, probably pooling messily on his sheets.

Every single time you got close to the edge, he would abruptly stop. Then, just to torture you further, he would use his warm tongue to lazily lap at your clit, but the pleasure was always too brief.

It was always so close. So fucking close.

Your head began to throb from the sheer frustration. You were mewling and moaning, hot tears finally began to blur your vision. You didn't care about your pride anymore.

You would beg him. You would beg Draco Malfoy for anything if it meant relief.

"Draco, please... please, please don't stop," you sobbed out while he was in the middle of licking and deep-fingering you.

"Finally begging now, are we?" he murmured, his fingers slowing down to an agonizing tease.

Merlin, it was so fucking humiliating. The squelching, debauched sounds coming from your soaked pussy and his mouth completely filled the room. You can't take it anymore.

"I'm sorry, Draco... please, just let me cum,” you begged. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

He abruptly let you go. You slowly turned your head to see him sliding back, leaning against the headboard while lazily kneading at his bulge through his briefs. “Sorry is a bit boring, no? Think of something else.”

You shakily sat up on the mattress. Draco reached down, pulling his dark briefs off his hips, and his hard cock sprang free. You shivered, your breath coming heavily as you stared at it. His thick, curved, heavy shaft was fully hard, the swollen red tip standing out sharply against his pale skin.

He stroked himself lazily, a bead of pre-cum glisten at the tip. "Still want to make it up to me?" he asked.

You glanced over at the hearth—your one way exit home—then back to his cock. His eyebrows raised in a silent challenge.

“Yes.”

"Crawl," he commanded, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement.

You glared at him through your tears, but dropped onto all fours, crawling across the sheets until you were leaning down right between his thighs. Draco immediately reached down and gripped a thick handful of your hair, tugging your head back so you had to look up at him.

"Are you angry at me?" he asked from above you.

You looked up, and he didn't look sorry at all. In fact, he seemed to enjoy this.

"Yes," you gritted out.

"Good. I want to hear you scream with my cock down your throat later," Draco said, his grip tightening on your hair. "Now, open up. I’ll think about finishing you off."

You parted your lips, and Draco slowly guided his thick head past your teeth.

He entered your mouth, and you let out a soft sigh as you felt the weight of his shaft sliding over your tongue. His hand tightened in your hair, his hips giving an involuntary twitch and buck against your lips. He hissed at the wet warmth of your mouth.

“Wouldn’t you agree this is a better use of… your mouth?” He breathed, pausing for a moment to let you adjust before he pushed forward, thrusting deep against the back of your throat.

Whenever your throat squeezed tight to accommodate his girth, he let out a deep, low-throated grunt.

You looked up through your lashes. Draco’s face was flushed—eyes closed, mouth slightly parted, chest heaving with every ragged breath he took. You let out a muffled moan around his length at the sight of him.

He locked his arms around the back of your head to guide your face down and force his cock even deeper into your mouth. You choked against the sudden depth as he kept fucking into your face, his hips beginning to stutter and shiver in a frantic rhythm as he neared his limit.

"Fuuuck, that's right," he groaned out.

As he desperately fucked your mouth, you garbled a muffled cry around his length, the deep vibrations of your throat shooting straight up his shaft. It was the final push he needed.

Draco let out a low, ragged growl as he came heavily right inside your mouth, his hips giving a final, hard twitch against your lips as he flooded your throat with hot, thick cum.

He slowly pulled his heavy cock out of your mouth, leaving you trembling on the mattress. You gasped for air, instinctively swallowing while the rest of it dripped messily down the sides of your mouth and chin.

Draco gripped your jaw firmly, forcing your head up to look directly at him.

"Open your mouth," he ordered.

You shakily parted your wet lips to obey him. Draco leaned in close, his face inches from yours, and spat directly into your mouth, the thick, warm saliva dripping down and mixing with the pooling cum on your tongue.

It was fucking disgusting—debauched and utterly shameless. But a violent shiver wrecked your body, and an involuntary moan escaped your throat before you closed your mouth and swallowed it all down. You almost couldn't believe what you were doing.

Draco locked his eyes on yours, a menacingly satisfied grin spreading across his face as he watched your throat swallow. "Good girl," he said with a low, ragged breath. "This is exactly how you should behave when you want to make things up to me."

You closed your eyes, your pussy was throbbing—I can’t believe this. Your mind was consumed by only one thing: you wanted more, you needed more.

He slowly let go of your jaw, his fingers trailing a faint line against your skin as he pulled away. He pulled his briefs back up and slid right off the edge of the bed, leaving you flushed and breathless.

"...Draco...?" you panted. You weren't done yet! You were soaking wet and aching desperately for a release. 

He looked back at you lazily over his shoulder. "No."

You whimpered, your hips giving a frustrated twitch. You tried to grind against the sheets, but his glare pinned you in place, forcing you to stop.

"I said I'll think about it. I decided you should learn your fucking lesson," he said, smiling amusingly at your ruined state. “And don’t even think of trying to get off on your own.”

He walked over to the mahogany cabinet on the far side of the room. Sitting on top of it was a small, ornate golden bell. He picked it up and gave it a sharp ring.

With a loud crack, a house-elf popped out of nowhere into the middle of the room.

You flinched and gasped, crossing your arms tightly over your bare breasts and shutting your damp thighs together.

The house-elf took one look at the disheveled bed and its eyes widened to the size of tennis balls. Draco snapped his fingers sharply, “Eyes here."

"Young Master Malfoy," the elf squeaked, instantly bowing its head so low its nose touched the floorboards. "My deepest apologies—"

"Get us dinner and a glass of water," Draco interrupted smoothly. He paused, casting a mocking glance over at you. "Make it good... for the naked lady."

You narrowed your eyes at him, your cheeks burning with a mix of intense arousal and pure fury.

Asshole!

"Be quick, please. Thank you," Draco added, waving his hand dismissively. With another sharp crack, the elf disappeared from the study.

You blinked, momentarily stunned out of your frustration. Huh? In all the time you had known him, you had never heard Draco voluntarily say "please" or "thank you" to anyone.

You grumbled, biting down on a delicate piece of seared foie gras. You were wrapped tightly in Draco’s grey blanket, sitting on the plush sofa of his changing room.

The small, silver-rimmed plate floated in the air in front of you, holding a heaping portion of caviar, foie gras, and toasted brioche. You stab at the food while keeping the fabric securely clutched.

Stupid Draco with his stupid fancy dinner.

Draco had already finished his dinner and was leaning back, watching you. “Stop playing with your food.”

“I am not,” you replied curtly, still feeling the lingering frustration of being denied release.

“If you keep up with this attitude, I’ll make sure you spend the rest of the night on your knees on this floor swallowing every drop of my cum until you learn how to eat properly,” he said casually.

Your eyes widened before you quickly looked away, your face flushing bright red.

Vulgar fucker.

You finished your dinner in silence. With a quick crack, the same house-elf returned and took away the empty plates.

“Um—” You cleared your throat, the silence suddenly feeling a bit awkward. “I’ll take my leave, Draco. Thank you for taking me out today,” you told him.

You spotted your sundress and bra lying on the floor, torn completely in half. You groaned internally—this is so damn embarrassing. You held his blanket closer around your naked body, thinking of the utter walk of shame back to your room.

“No,” he said.

You turned to him and sighed. “Is ‘No’ your only response tonight?”

“Stay the night with me,” he murmured softly, his eyes locking onto yours.

You glanced over at the messy, tangled sheets of his bed. You hesitated, but your heart is giving away a nervous flutter. "What?"

“I said stay with me. I won’t do anything anymore,” he said. You looked at him skeptically.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, I promise. Just stay for the night.”

Before you could answer, Draco stood up and walked across the room, picking up the small velvet bag from earlier—sitting on the floor by his bed.

“I got you something,” he said, sitting back down on the edge of his mattress and beckoning you to come closer.

You sat next to him, looking down at the bag in his hand.

“I wanted to give you this,” he said, his tone surprisingly gentle as he watched your reaction.

You shifted under his blanket, your arm poking out from underneath to take the bag. “What is this?”

“Open it,” he said, leaning against the headboard to watch you.

You loosened the silk drawstrings and tilted the bag. Two tiny, identical small wooden boxes slid out onto the mattress. They were beautifully crafted from dark, polished wood, but what caught your eye were the small, iridescent spheres embedded right on top of the lids—one box had a glossy black pearl, and the other had a pure white one.

When you popped open the lid of the white-pearled box, you found the velvet lining inside completely empty.

You blinked, confused.

“It’s a two-way teleportation box,” Draco explained. “I read somewhere that a matching set was being sold exclusively at a private dealer in Paris. I just wasn't sure where the shop was located until today.”

“Draco…” you breathed, looking from the empty box up to him.

“Since it apparently takes you an entire summer to write a simple letter, or ask for a damn owl, this is what I’m giving you.” He reached back into the velvet bag and pulled out a delicate silver necklace. “Here. This is for you.”

He took the second box—the one with the black pearl—and popped it open. He carefully placed the silver necklace inside the empty velvet slot and clicked the lid shut.

A second later, the white-pearled box in your hands gave a soft rattle. You lifted the lid of your box, and there it was—the silver necklace resting perfectly inside the velvet.

“It’s much faster this way, don’t you think?” he murmured, his hand rubbing the back of his nape. “You can take this anywhere and there’s not much waiting time.”

“Though, it would certainly be great if there were a person-sized one.” He chuckled before putting his black-pearled box on his bedside table.

These kinds of spatial-enchanted antiques were extraordinarily rare, and you knew they cost a fortune. Your eyes met his, completely stunned by the gesture. “Why go through all this trouble just to give me this...?”

“I told you, didn’t I? It’ll be easier for us to send things back and forth,” he said quickly, his cheeks suddenly tinting a faint, stubborn pink as he looked away from you.

“Thank you, Draco,” you said softly.

“Sure,” he muttered, clearing his throat.

“No, really. Thank you for taking me out today,” you said, holding the box close to your chest. “Even though some of the things that happened in between were a bit…”

He immediately narrowed his eyes at you. “Don't finish that sentence.”

You let out a tiny laugh. “Never mind. Thank you,” you said, smiling softly at him. Then, you hesitated for a second. “Just so… you don’t misunderstand, I wasn’t enjoying it… the dance.”

He looked back at you, and you could feel your cheeks heating up under his gaze. You weren't sure why he deserved this explanation, but you didn’t want him getting the wrong idea. It was totally normal to want to clarify things, right?

“I barely understood a word they were saying,” you continued, looking down. “I didn’t even know you spoke French until today. I suppose what I’m trying to say is... I’m sorry. I wasn't trying to make you worry.”

You looked away from him, your heart beating a little faster.

“Alright,” he said softly.

He gently pulled you closer, took the small wooden box from your hand, and set it next to his on the table. With a casual swish of his wand, the lights in the room dimmed further.

He slowly tugged the grey blanket down from your shoulders. His fingers gently caressed your skin before he let the fabric slide away completely, leaving you exposed. He threw the blanket onto the floor. His eyes looked heavy as if he were holding back every nerve within him.

“Spend the night with me,” he whispered, pulling you down until you both slid onto the sheets. "Don't go."

He pulled a larger blanket up over both of your shoulders and spooned you from behind. He wrapped his arm around your waist—hand rested flat against your stomach—anchoring you to him.

He snuggled in closer, his nose nuzzling the back of your neck until he found a comfortable spot. You could still feel his hard member pressing through the fabric of his briefs. But every single time you tried to shift away, his grip on your waist would tighten, pulling you right back to him.

“Good night,” Draco murmured. Lulled by his steady breathing and the warmth of his embrace, the darkness finally took over, and you fell fast asleep in his arms.

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a/n I got content flagged skfjhksdjf

[verklcmpt]

⋆˙⟡Can't You See I'm Here? (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

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Book 5 pt. 3 — A Confusing Feeling

Summary: You're on a “date” with Draco Malfoy in… Paris, France. And he speaks French fluently!? As he takes you around Place Cachée, there's a nagging, confusing feeling in your heart you can't seem to push away. 

You looked down at the menu. Well, it was entirely in French. Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to make sense of the cursive script.

Let’s see... Œufs de Dirico en Gelée d'Étoiles... huh? Maybe a different page...Les Spécialités du Chef. Phénix sur son lit de Lunespoir.

You scanned further down the page. Les Plats Principaux. Filet de Licorne aux Truffes Argentées… er—even the descriptions were completely in French.

Your face was now fully hidden by the menu, as if looking closer would somehow make the words translate themselves.

A dramatic sigh echoed across the table. "Are you done?"

"I'm still looking," you muttered, a bit too proud to ask for his help.

Draco reached across the table and gently lowered the menu from your face. “I’ll order for you,” he said, barely even opening his own. He caught the eye of a young waitress across the room, and she hurried over to the table.

Draco pointed at the menu, slipping into rapid French. The waitress asked a question, and Draco replied with a brief nod. He said something else, and her cheeks flushed a bright pink.

Hm?

He had a completely different tone when speaking French. It was smoother and sounded entirely natural; you rarely heard him sound so effortless. It was making you feel—

Let’s not go there. Stop, stop! you scolded yourself internally.

You forced your eyes away and stared out the window instead. Still, you couldn't help but glance back at the waitress, who was being awfully cheery and attentive, clutching Draco's menu tightly against her chest.

Huh.

She finally took the menus and left, and Draco turned his attention back to you, leaning his chin on his hand.

“So, you frequent here often?” you asked him.

“Not as much anymore, but I do enjoy coming here with my mother. She loves the enchanted lavender soufflé they make,” he said, his expression softening just a bit at the mention of Narcissa.

You hummed, nodding along.

“So, how is this for taking you out?” he asked, the familiar, cocky grin returning to his face. “Or is the Hog's Head still your choice of preference? Which is honestly just sad.”

You scoffed. “This is definitely over the top, Draco. Bravo.”

“Over the top?” He raised an eyebrow, looking thoroughly amused. “This is a perfectly normal place to go. I have standards, unlike the people you usually associate with.”

“Oh, come on now. Don’t be rude,” you rolled your eyes, though you couldn't help but smile a little. “Thank you for taking me here, Draco.”

“Huh? It’s just a restaurant. Nothing special,” he said, shifting slightly in his seat.

“Still, you frequent here with your mother, no? It must be a special place for the two of you. It’s nice to know a bit more about you,” you said softly.

He made a sudden face, his eyes darting away for a split second before snapping back to yours. “Sure—I mean, I can take you to other places I like to go here. Not just the ones with my mother.”

You leaned back against the plush velvet seat and smiled at him. “Sure, I’d love that.”

You weren’t really paying close attention to Draco right then, but if you didn't know any better, you could have sworn there was a faint tint of a blush dusting his cheeks.

The waitress came back with your starters, which floated gently through the air before landing perfectly on the table. She poured two glasses of dark red wine, murmuring, “Rouge Supérieur.”

Turning to Draco, she explained the dish in a low, polite voice—three brown-buttered scallops sat in the middle of the bowl as she poured a clear, golden broth over them—before bowing and walking away.

Draco looked across the table at you. “It's Plimpy consommé with seared scallops.”

You took a spoonful, and the flavor bloomed across your tongue like fresh sea air. The caramelized scallop tasted perfectly sweet. You looked up at Draco, your eyes widening at the taste, and he tilted his head in acknowledgment.

“Pair it with the wine,” he said, nodding toward your glass.

You took a small sip. The sharp, dark fruit and earthy cedarwood notes of the wine cut seamlessly through the rich, savory broth. The honeyed undertones of the wine linger on your palate before fading away.

“You like it?” Draco asked, watching your reaction closely.

“It’s so… smooth,” you said, swirling the liquid in the glass. 

“Thanks. My family produce and distribute it to selected stores here,” he grinned, looking completely pleased.

Oh, damn show-off.

Once you were both finished with the starters, the empty dishes lifted from the table and blinked out of existence with a soft pop. Draco leaned his forearms on the table, looking at you. “Do you have a place you often go?”

You paused for a moment, thrumming your fingers on the table softly, thinking. “Well, my summer home is close to the northern mountains, as you know.”

He hummed, looking intently at you, encouraging you to keep going.

“Whenever I have a lot in my mind, I would wake up early and just watch the sunrise,” you said softly, looking past him as you remembered the view. “The sunlight hits the peak of the mountains and shines down on the flowing rivers. It’s truly beautiful—especially the wild flowers.”

“Is that your favorite view?”

“No, my favorite is when night falls during the summer, and I can see the major constellations clearly in the dark sky.”

You paused, a sudden mischievous thought popping into your head. You looked straight into his eyes. “And I do have one I always, always look for wherever I go. You could say… it’s my favorite.”

“Ah,” Draco tracked your eyes. “Which is?”

“Draco.”

His eyes widened completely, his whole posture freezing for a second.

You couldn't help it—you giggled at his shocked face. “Kidding! But truly, it’s beautiful both in the morning and at night. I’ll be happy to take you if we have the chance.”

Draco quickly looked down at his silver fork, his eyebrows knitting together tightly as he muttered something under his breath. He cleared his throat, his face flushing.

Did I… say something wrong?

“Uh—Draco?” you asked carefully.

“Where is the main entree?” He tsked loudly, suddenly looking around the restaurant, pointing at the table. “They’re taking far too long.”

“But we just had—“

Suddenly the waitress came with—if you guessed right—the main course. As she set down the plates, she and Draco shared a quick conversation. Draco said something in that made her giggle sheepishly, twisting the towel in her hands. He offered her a grin in return, and somehow, you felt a strange tug in your stomach.

Weird.

“Bicorn filet with a sweet Angelica root sauce,” Draco said, beckoning you to eat. “Try it.”

You cut through the golden pastry, the crust breaking apart in delicate flakes and releasing a curl of fragrant steam. Beneath the crust lay the Bicorn filet, perfectly pink in the center and coated in a glossy amber sauce.

You took a bite.

The crispy, buttery pastry melted instantly. The meat was unbelievably tender—richer than beef but lighter than venison—while earthy notes of truffle and wild herbs lingered beneath a subtle sweetness.

"Mmm!"

Draco grinned at you as he began eating his own food.

“So,” you started, chewing thoughtfully. “Daphne, Theo, and Blaise asked me to go visit them in Italy later this summer. I was wondering why you’re not going with them?”

“Busy,” he said simply, not looking up from his plate.

“Doing?”

“Business.”

“Uh-huh. Such as?”

He used his cloth napkin to wipe his mouth, letting out a quiet sigh. “Well,” he said, picking up his wine glass and swirling the liquid. “My father wants me to start taking over some of our… family businesses among other things. Obviously, juggling that and our upcoming classes won’t be easy.”

He paused, his fingers tightening around the stem of his wine glass. “And... my mother has been a bit sick lately. It’s nothing fatal. I suppose it's just exhaustion from her own thoughts; she does that sometimes.”

“But, you know, someone needs to be there to ensure the house-elves stay in line. Unfortunately, none of them can play the piano to soothe her headache as well as I do,” he drawled, shrugging carelessly before taking a slow sip of his wine and going back to eating.

“You know, you don't have to make excuses for wanting to look after her,” you said softly, a small smile forming on your lips. “It's actually really nice of you.”

“Anyways, it’s ridiculous,” he muttered, shaking his head as if annoyed at himself for opening up. “What I do is simply what I have to do. But you should definitely go to Italy. Blaise has a really great villa out there.”

“I don’t think it’s ridiculous at all,” you told him gently. “You truly care for the people you love, don’t you? It mustn't be easy balancing all of this pressure on your shoulders.”

You paused for a moment, looking down at your hands before continuing. “I suppose... I'm finding things hard lately, too, having to understand that there are people we have to protect, no matter the consequences. But knowing they're safe is what keeps us going, so I’m sure you feel the same way. You’re not alone, Draco. What you're doing for your mother is very sweet.”

He quieted, forehead creasing before looking down at his plate with an unreadable expression.

“… Don’t do this to me,” he whispered, his face suddenly twisting.

“Sorry?” You blinked, caught off guard.

“Stop messing with me, talking like this.” He said as he rubbed his nape.

“I’m not—“

“Be more annoying or I don’t know. Try to be... just don’t—” He abruptly looked away, staring out at the bustling street as he sighed heavily. The tips of his ears were a faint pink. “... what do you want for dessert?”

“Um, I’m not sure. I’m still eating my main course,” you pointed out, gesturing to your half-eaten plate.

“I’ll choose for you,” he raised his hand to flag down the cheery waitress before you could even protest.

At this point, you were entirely sure the cheery waitress’s name was Lara from the way Draco spoke to her. The way she sweetly said “Monsieur Malfoy” made your skin prickle, and you were pretty sure she hadn't looked at you once since you sat down.

When she handed Draco the dessert menu, she openly twirled a strand of her dark hair around her finger, leaning in close over the table as she pointed at the different items.

Isn’t she being reaaaaaally close? your eyes narrowing slightly.

Draco seemed completely unfazed by it. You bit your lip and looked up at the high ceiling, your stomach tightening. What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I suddenly so irritated?

Draco tilted his head, a smooth grin on his face as he nodded along to whatever she was saying in French at this point.

Sheesh. Get a room, you grumbled internally.

Suddenly, you weren't hungry for Bicorn anymore. You laid down your silver utensils and pushed your plate a few inches away.

Lara finally picked up the main course plates, giving Draco one last bright smile before walking away. He looked down at the empty space where your food used to be. “You didn’t finish your meal?”

“No.”

“I thought you liked it.”

“I do. I’m just a bit full.”

“Full?” Draco scoffed, his eyebrows drawing together. “You’ve barely eaten half of it.”

You just shrugged at him, turning your head to look out the window again. Ugh, you knew you were being annoying, but you couldn't seem to stop yourself.

“What are you even looking at out there?”

“People,” you muttered flatly.

He rolled his eyes, twisting his lips before dryly saying, “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Well, some of us find ordinary people interesting,” you shot back, looking at a wizard trying to corral ten flying packages down the street.

“Right, they just have to be completely lacking any sense of public decorum,” he countered.

“Oh, come on, look at that man over there by the bakery,” you pointed out, nodding toward a very serious-looking wizard wearing an incredibly oversized, fluffy fur hat in the middle of a warm afternoon. “He looks like an overgrown puffskein.”

Draco looked, and a sudden laugh escaped him. “Merlin, he really does,” he murmured.

He then pointed at a wizard who was attempting to impress a group of witches by levitating a bouquet of enchanted roses. The flowers promptly broke formation and smacked him repeatedly in the face. "Ten Galleons says he spent all morning practicing that.”

You laughed softly, the sudden irritation disappearing from your chest. “Who would have thought you actually had humor in your bones?”

“You truly underestimate me,” he said, his eyes dancing with mischief.

You both laughed before looking down. As the laughter died out, you found yourself staring at his face. A crinkle remained around the corners of his eyes. When he smiled like that—truly smiled, without the usual annoying smirk—a faint dimple appeared at the corners of his lips.

You found yourself looking at his face, catching all the little details you normally didn't notice. He suddenly met your eyes, and for a moment, you just stared at each other across the small table.

“What?” he asked.

“Monsieur Malfoy,” a smooth, sweetly voice cut through.

Oh, for heaven’s sake.

Lara—or whatever her name was at this point—had the desert plate flying right next to her before it slowly fell down onto the table. It was completely covered with a polished silver dome. Draco reached out, his hands resting on the silver cover about to open it, but she lightly touched his hand, stopping him.

Huh? Why is she touching him—wait! What do I care?

Draco was nodding along as she explained the dish... it's practically gibberish in your ears. He replied something back and she laughed—actually laughed!—tucking a strand of hair behind her ears. With a theatrical flourish, she swished the silver cover off the plate and finally walked away.

You huffed, crossing your arms and looking around the room.

“Hey, I want you to look,” Draco said in a quiet murmur. He nodded his head toward the food in front of you.

A soft puff of white smoke curled into the air. The plate itself was entirely black, and right in the middle, it showed what looked like a mille-feuille with delicate, flaky white layers. On top of it, there were tiny, bright green speckles that looked like grass.

Then, right before your eyes, the green speckles began to bloom into tiny, bell-like white flowers.

Lily of the valley.

You took a sharp breath, your heart fluttering in your chest. It was such a beautiful plate; the flowers bloomed slowly, their little heads turning downward just like real ones.

As the smoke fully cleared, you noticed the black plate had a faint sparkle of scattered stars painted onto it. One constellation looked exactly like...

“Draco,” you murmured, your eyes snapping up to look at him.

He was staring at you, his eyebrows raised slightly as he watched your reaction. “You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you admitted, leaning in closer. You could smell the sweet, light scent of the sugar flowers drifting up from the pastry.

Without any hesitation, he dipped his fork right into the dessert, breaking off a piece. “Hm. It’s pretty decent.”

“How did you even—?”

“I requested it,” he said simply, wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “That’s what I’ve been asking the waitress. She seemed to enjoy my idea.”

Oh. Maybe you had judged too quickly—but still, why was he doing this much?

He looked at you, his brow furrowing slightly when you didn't move. “What? You don’t like mille-feuille? I can order something else if you want...”

“No,” you cut him off quickly, picking up your own fork. “I’ll try it.”

The mille-feuille was incredible—the cream layers in between was soft, and not too sweet. The tiny flowers had a soft crunch to them, but it quickly melted on your tongue. It was a relatively small dessert, and once you finished, you were left looking at the empty black plate. The scattered stars began to twinkle, a thin line of light connecting them to spell out the Draco constellation over and over again.

“Good?” he asked.

“Heavenly,” you breathed.

He nodded, looking thoroughly satisfied. “Let me ask for the bill so we have time to look around the shops down the street.”

He was midway through raising his hand to call out the waitress before you asked, “Why do this, Draco?”

“Huh?”

“The dessert and everything. Why?”

He blinked, looking blindsided before he masked it with a careless shrug. “You told me what you liked. I just mentioned it to the staff.”

Your heart fluttered a bit at the realization that he had actually listened, thoughtfully adding those details throughout lunch.

Maybe—

“Besides, you asked to be taken out on a proper date, and I’m doing it right now. You seem appropriately impressed, so I guess I’m doing a good job—which isn't a surprise, really,” he said with a self-satisfied face.

Aaaand there it is. That’s right, should've known.

Your face must have shown something, because Draco’s expression immediately faltered. He sat up a little straighter, his eyes widening slightly. “Well—no, what I mean is—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Lara came sprinting back to his table at his first motion.

Draco cleared his throat. He pulled a heaping handful of shiny gold Galleons from his pouch, tossing them onto the tray without even bothering to count them.

Lara giggled, her eyes sparkling at the massive tip, before she subtly slipped a small piece of parchment under his empty glass. It looked like a written address. She gave him a lingering, suggestive look.

Draco simply nodded at her and casually picked up the piece of paper, sliding it straight into his trousers pocket.

What. The. Hell.

Walking along the bustling street, you realized it had already turned into evening. The sky above the narrow buildings was fading into a deep twilight, and the ornate streetlamps along the cobblestone pathways started to glow, casting a warm yellow hue over everything.

You had spent the last few hours following Draco around. Place Cachée was massive, and he had dragged you into a few incredibly high-end shops.

First, it was an enchanted bakery, Pâtisserie Matagot. Inside, it smelled of warm butter, orange blossom, and freshly caramelized sugar. Behind the glass display, dozens of miniature macarons floated weightlessly in neat rows, changing colors with the moods of passersby. Tiny sugar birds perched on towers of pastries, occasionally pecking at crystallized berries before dissolving into glittering dust.

Draco bought a beautifully wrapped box of the macarons, shoving it into your hands. “For you to eat at home,” he said carelessly, looking away. You muttered a quick, “Thanks.”

After that, he took you to a Quidditch boutique that felt more like a luxury jewelry store than a sports shop, where top-of-the-line brooms rested on velvet cushions and the snitches in the cases were made of actual diamonds. He rambled on about the different materials of the brooms and its best uses, and you just hummed in response.

Honestly, you couldn't understand why you had been so moody since leaving the restaurant. When you walked out, you caught Lara, the waitress, looking at you—and she had actually winked.

What was that even supposed to mean? French people are so weird.

“What’s with you?” he suddenly asked, breaking the silence as you both walked down the street.

“Huh? What do you mean?” you replied.

“You’ve been sour-faced since the restaurant. If the food or service wasn't up to your standard, you could have just said so, rather than dragging your feet like a scolded toddler,” he taunted, looking at you from the corner of his eyes.

“My face is perfectly fine, Draco,” you muttered, looking away.

He suddenly reached into his pocket and took out the small piece of folded parchment from earlier—the one Lara had slipped him. He unfolded it, reading whatever was written inside, and a slow grin spread across his face.

UGH! Your chest tightened, a hot flash of anger sparking in your gut.

“Whatever. Let’s go,” he said. “I want to get something.”

The fact that you were this worked up over a stupid piece of paper that Draco got from some French girl was confusing, and the confusion was only making you more irritated.

At first, you were walking right side by side with Draco. But as the evening crowd thickened and more people poured into the square, you got shoved back until you were walking a step behind him, and then another step, until he was suddenly way in front of you.

“Oh—” you gasped as a large wizard in a heavy traveling cloak completely cut you off, separating you from Draco entirely.

You tried to stand on your tiptoes to see over the crowd. Luckily, Draco was taller than everyone else, and that bright hair of his was usually impossible to miss, but the moving wave of people kept pushing you sideways.

And then, just like that, you couldn't find him anymore. You pulled your pocket watch out of your robe. It was 7:30 PM.

You let out a heavy sigh, slipping the watch back into your pocket, and walked over to a large, stone fountain in the center of the lively square nearby. Groups of people were chattering by the edge, laughing and enjoying the evening air. Nearby, you caught sight of a young couple kissing, which made you quickly look away.

Stepping around them, you sat down on the edge of the fountain and stared down into the water. The yellow light from the streetlamps rippled across the surface, reflecting off dozens of shiny silver and gold coins resting at the bottom.

“Bonsoir,” a voice called out.

You snapped your head around to look at two guys who were smiling widely. They looked around your age, wearing stylish, casual wizarding robes, with their hands tucked into their pockets.

One of them started talking to you, shaking his head and rubbing his chin. “… t'es magnifique. Ça te dit de danser avec moi?”

Huh? You were only catching a few words here and there but you couldn't fully understand what they were saying.

“Sorry, I don’t understand you,” you said, shaking your head and shrugging your shoulders to gesture that you were clueless.

The two guys looked at each other, grinning.

“…t’as l’air d’un petit chaton perdu…,” said one.

“…viens avec nous, on va te faire passer une bonne soirée…,” said the other.

They pointed over toward the street music that was playing nearby.

The street musicians were playing a lively, upbeat tune, and bubbles floated out of their instruments and bursting into glowing, colorful sparks that danced in the air. Before you could even protest, one of the guys stepped forward and pulled you into the dance circle. You quickly took a step back, trying to be polite, and just clapped along to the music instead.

But they wouldn't take a hint.

They pulled at your hands to get you to dance with them, and even though you shook your head to deny them, the other boy was behind you, pushing you forward into the circle. You reluctantly swayed and twirled with them, before immediately backing away again.

Then, out of nowhere, one of them caught your fingers, bowing low as he pressed kisses right onto the back of your hand.

Merlin. The French were truly different.

Both of them started to step in way too close, crowding your personal space, front and back. 

“Qu’est-ce qu’on fait d’elle?”

“On l’embarque à l’appart.”

You moved sideways to leave, but they kept insisting, and holding your arm. Their faces were inches away from yours and their voices getting louder and faster.

Should I just hex them in public or a nice simple punch? You were starting to get seriously annoyed at their total lack of boundaries. One of them seemed to try to lean in to kiss, your hand shot out to your robe pocket to take out your wand.

Then, you felt a hand firmly wrapped around the back of your neck, forcing you to turn your head. Your face was buried right against a broad, solid chest. The familiar scent hit you instantly.

Draco?

You could hear a frustrated, defensive scoff from one of the guys as he said something back.

Then Draco started speaking over the top of your head. You could feel the deep rumble of his voice vibrating against his chest, and even though you couldn't understand a single word he was using, his tone was incredibly cold, venomous, and downright sinister.

His hand stayed firmly behind your head, shielding you. You slowly turned your head toward the two guys, and their faces had paled so much they looked like they had just seen a ghost. They stumbled backward over their own feet as they turned and ran into the crowd.

You looked up. Draco’s eyes were chillingly cold as he stared down the street after them, the muscle line in his jaw twitching. Then, he sharply snapped his eyes down to look at you. You jumped a bit at the sheer fury in his expression. He narrowed his eyes before wrapping his fingers tightly around your wrist and pulling you out of the square.

You weren't sure exactly what he had said to those guys, or just how terrifying his face had looked, but as he dragged you through the street, the crowded people were actively parting to make a wide path for him, their faces pale as they whispered to one another.

You winced. His grip on your wrist was incredibly tight, bordering on painful. “Draco,” you complained, pulling back against him.

He just pulled harder, keeping his grip firm. He marched you back into Apothicairerie Malfoy & Fils, dragging you up to the counter. Without a word to the shopkeeper, he forced your hand down onto the bronze Apollo statue alongside his.

The world instantly dissolved into a dizzying swirl, the violent tug behind your navel pulling you through the dark until the spinning stopped. Suddenly, you were standing right back on the wooden floor of his private study at Malfoy Manor.

You gasped for air, your head spinning. “Draco!” you yelled, trying to force your wrist out of his grip.

He suddenly let go, releasing you so abruptly that you stumbled back a step, catching your balance against the edge of his mahogany desk.

“You damned brat,” he spat, his lips twitching with rage even as they pulled back into a slow, menacing smile. His eyes were completely unhinged, predatory, and dangerously piercing in a way that made your breath catch in your throat.

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering wildly. This could not be good for you.

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a/n I am deeply aware that first pic is universal studios JSKKAJS

[verklcmpt]

DRACO SAID THE THING HE SAID THE TITLE HOLY SHIT HE SAID THE THING

ALSO THIS NEW CHAPTER WAS SO FREAKING GOOD OH MY GODDDD

HAHAHA I FEEL SO GIDDY TOOO

THANK U FOr reading the latest chapter of "Can't You See I'm Here?"

[verklcmpt]

I hope you’ve been doing alright!! Be sure to take it easy when you can 🩵

But out of curiosity, what inspires you to write? Especially for ‘CYSIH’? Is there any sort of songs you’d say fit the vibes of the fic?

Hi !! Thank you - I hope you have a wonderful week ahead 🤍

HM! Good question. I have been reading fanfictions since foreverrr , and in middle school somehow a classmates caught on I like to read and requested I write for them LOLOL — it snowballed from there. The amount of fics I did of a classmate x classmate was insane. But you're 12 with an imagination KEKEJE

"Can't You See I'm Here?" was pure food (mushroom) poisoning delirium luv 🥹 I can't explain it but I ended writing and it's 200k words of no going back.

UUUU GOOD QUESTION I'm not sure for overall vibe hmm but every time I needed to mull what I should do with Draco's up and down personality, I listen to rave / phonk / rock then sappy romance songs to feel the whiplash to just get inspired 😭😂

[verklcmpt]

⋆˙⟡Can't You See I'm Here? (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

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Book 5 pt. 13 — [E] “Kiss me.”

a/n this is a chapter skip from the Can't You See I'm Here series. tag; pussy spanking, face-fucking YUM, and juuuuust the tip.

“What were you doing with Potter?” Draco sat sprawled on the floor, his head resting against the edge of the low sofa, eyes tracking you. He was idly tossing a gold Snitch into the air, catching it lazily. 

You were across the room, slotting Deflection and Deception: A Modern Duelist's Guide back onto its mahogany shelf. You had been using this empty classroom to house the dense tomes your parents insisted you finish reading. 

“Studying,” you lied, keeping your voice level. You stared at the spines, debating which book to tackle next, your shoes making soft, cadence thumps against the wooden floorboards.

“Liar,” Draco scoffed from behind you.

“Why would you say that?” You turned to face him, your lips downturned. 

“Why the fuck,” Draco stood, closing the distance between you, “do you need Potter to study for?” He pocketed the Snitch, then leaned sideways against the bookshelf.

You settled on Shadows of the Mind: A Study in Darker Enchantments, pulling it from the shelf. You cracked the cover open, scanning the dense text until Draco’s ringed hand slammed over the page. 

“Answer me.”

You roughly slammed the book shut, inches away from trapping his fingers between the heavy covers. He was too fast, sadly. “Maybe I need someone to study with,” you answered crossly, walking back toward the sofa. “And Harry is always there, so why not.”

“To study with, and you chose Potter?” He laughed harshly. “You really do have a penchant for charity cases.”

You ignored his question, giving him a flat, disapproving stare. “I thought we were doing late-night patrols?” You plopped down onto the cushions, opening the book across your lap. “Is this really what you’re going to do now? Use my classroom to lounge around as you like?”

Draco reached down, grabbed the top of your book, and snapped it shut.

“Hey!” you glared at him, standing to grab it back. He lifted the book high over his head—out of your reach—and leaned his face down, close to yours.

“You’re not answering my second question.”

“And you didn’t answer any of mine.” You tiptoed to reach again, but he was too tall. He elongated his arm higher. “What’s it to you, Draco?” you huffed in exasperation, crossing your arms tightly. 

"I think you're lying, and you're not really answering me about what you and Potter are doing." His grey eyes scanned your face, looking for any twitch or tell. 

Fuck, he's sharp, as always.

"UGH! What's so hard to believe? I want to study with Harry," you groaned, plopping back down in frustration. "He's actually good in certain subjects, too." 

Harry is terrible when it comes to his studies.

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” You stared at him, unanswering. He worked his jaw, irritation flashing across his face. “Do you take me for an idiot?”

“You’re third ranked in our year—through some bizarre luck—and you’re choosing Potter as your study partner?” he scoffed, tossing the book carelessly onto the cushion next to you.

He pointed a finger right at your face. "Tell me exactly what subjects you're supposedly studying with him earlier."

"History," you mumbled, gulping the moment the word exited your mouth. 

You regretted it. 

Draco laughed louder this time, the sound dripping with mockery. "Now I know you're lying out of your fucking mouth."

You stood, looking up at him defiantly. "Really now? And how do you know that?"

"I know for a fact, you're horrible at History of Magic. You spend the first hour sleeping like Binns’ lullabying you—choosing Potter is like the blind leading the blind." He took a slow step backward, looking you up and down with a sneer. "You'd be a hell of a lot more convincing if you said you were studying with Know-It-All Granger."

And Draco was damn right, but there’s no backing down now. You pushed his chest back, and he staggered back a step. He looked at you as though he'd just witnessed the greatest act of insolence imaginable.

“Shut up, Draco.” You pointed a finger right at his face. Your voices rose, growing louder with each word. “What’s with you?!”

“Fucking brat,” Draco said, his voice chilling your spine. He caught your hand where it hovered inches from his face. “You pushed me?”

You yanked your hand free. “What’s it to you, anyway?” you shot back. Draco let out a dry laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “I should be able to study or spend time with Harry without you constantly interrupting us.”

“Spending time with Potter. Are you truly blindingly mental?” His grey eyes turned frore. “There are forces actively moving outside of the castle walls—and you choose Potter?”

“What… forces, Draco?” you questioned. His eyes widened, lip twitching before he straightened. His expression shuttered, cold and unreadable.

“I don’t want you to study or spend too much time with Potter. That’s final,” he dictated coldly, sinking his hands to his pockets. “Find someone else.”

You scoffed. “What? You mental?”

“Find. Someone. Else,” he repeated with restrained anger. A muscle flexed in his neck.

“You’re! Maddeningly! Insane!” you snapped, throwing your hands up in front of you, your fingers curling into frustrated fists. It’s taken everything in your nerve to not run magic through it and attack him. “Who do you think you are?!”

“I FUCKING SAID FIND SOMEONE ELSE” 

“WHO?” 

"CAN’T YOU SEE I’M HERE?!" His face flushing with fury as he blustered, slamming his thumb hard against his own heaving chest. "You gudgeon! I ranked higher than Potter—or anyone in your stupid study group. I’m better than any of them combined!"

He took a looming step forward, harangued with a snarl. “I have you through an Agreement signed by your Head of House, whether you like it or not. So listen to me very carefully—“ he then shouted the closing lines, “—when I say you stay with me, you stay with me!”

The words were stuck in your throat. Then, silence settled between you, save for your heavy breathing.

“So what you’re saying…” you began slowly, gritting your teeth as you rubbed your throbbing temple, “…is what…what exactly? I—I don’t get you.”

“What’s so difficult to understand?” he hissed. “I'd rather know where you are—right next to me.”

Your eyebrows lifted in disbelief, your fingers twitching with the urge to throttle him. “You tell me you’re sick of me, but you've bound me to you for the whole year. You tell me you’re sick of me, but you have dragged me to your morning and late-night patrols for weeks. Do you hate me—”

“You said you hate me,” Draco interrupted. “And you know what? Good. Hate me like you mean it. You make me half fucking insane too.” He repeatedly jabbed the side of his temple with his index finger. “I think you did something to hex my head. I can’t fucking think straight around you!” 

“I wouldn’t waste my bloody magic on you!” you screeched, close to tearing your hair out. “Why do you care so much about what I do?!”

Draco glared at you, his jaw clenched. “I don’t fucking care about you! Not now or ever!”

“Well, guess what?” Anger bubbling up your throat.  “So do I, you git!” You threw your arms wide. “And you know what? Fuck you, Draco. I feel nothing for you and, yes, I do hate you, you confusing git!”

“Really?” Draco shot back. “Fucking prove it to me, then.”

“I’ll fight you right here,” you fumed, pointing to the middle of the room. “Pull your wand Draco Malfoy and—”

“Kiss me.”

Your breath hitched as you recoiled a step. 

“You said you feel nothing for me—you hate me? Then kiss me.” He closed the distance between you. 

A breathy laugh escaped you, your stomach tickling at the absurdity of the moment. Though your heart thudded stupidly at the challenge. “Excuse me—”

You realized you haven’t touched lips with him since… When was it?!

“Show me.” His eyes never left yours. “Or are you a fucking a liar? You hate me, or you’re scared you’ll feel something for me?” He taunted mockingly.

You scoffed, sneering. “Don’t be bloody absurd. I would never have any feelings for you. Maybe you’re just talking about yourself.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll show you how far I can go,” he murmured. “What are you worried about then? If it means nothing to you—”

You grabbed Draco by the collar and yanked him down, crashing your lips hard against his. 

Your teeth clashed from the force of it. You felt his lips curved into a wide, triumphant grin against yours, which only irritated you more—spurring you to pull him closer and kiss him deeper, anything to erase that smug look off his face.

He hoisted you up by the waist, dropping you onto the soft cushions of the sofa without breaking the kiss. 

His hand traveled downward, zipping and unclasping your skirt and throwing it carelessly. Your tongues fought for dominance, growing feverish until you pulled away to gasp for air. 

You hated the cheeky, boyish grin stretching across his face. “How much do you hate me?” he whispered huskily.

“With all my heart,” you answered breathily. 

“That’s it—so do I.”

He kissed you again; softer, slower. Draco’s hand rested gently behind your head. He nipped at your lower lip, your pulse racing sweetly knowing he’s taking his time. He tugged on the hem of your shirt and lifted it over your head.

Draco hastily pulled his own top off, tossing it onto the floor. You suppressed a sigh from how much you wanted to run your fingers through the firm ridges of his muscles.

He resumed kissing you, his hands slithering over your soft skin. You let out a soft moan directly into his mouth as he unclasped your bra, his palm moving to firmly squeeze your bare breast—rubbing over your nipple, tugging and twisting the sensitive peak. 

You shakily tugged the zipper of his trousers down. He grunted impatiently, sucking at your tongue. Draco kicked the discarded trousers away, leaving him in his boxers.

He pulled away, both of your gazes heavy with heat. You don’t know what the hell just happened, but your lips felt swollen and your mind was turning hazy with desire.

He bit his lower lip, grazing it teasingly against yours before lowering his voice to a commanding, raspy whisper, “Sit on my face.”

“I-I’m sorry?” You blinked. 

Draco kissed your neck, sucking along the skin. You made soft, little whimpers. He bit down the sensitive skin of your shoulders. 

You yelped, flinching as his canines left marks. 

He chuckled before sliding under you, and leaving trails of kisses along your thighs. Draco’s fingers hooked into the edge of your damp painties, tugging it to the side. 

“Fuck,” he groaned roughly, “you’re glistening down here.” He slid one long finger deep inside you, while his other hand came up to aggressively flick and play with your tight nipple.

“A-ah Draco…” Your back arched. 

“I said sit on my face.” He braced you down hard against his open mouth. You inhaled sharply as he took all of you in, his nose brushing against your sensitive clit. 

Draco took his time to savor and stroke his tongue over your folds. Your mouth parted ‘O’ from the stimulation. You could feel your orgasm building as all the pent-up denial burned through you.

“C-close—Draco,” you panted, grabbing a fistful of his hair and grinding yourself impatiently against his face. “Don’t s-st-top.” 

He growled, the deep vibration rattling through you. His hand spanked your thigh before he pulled you off his face. You were right on the edge of release. 

“So greedy,” he grinned up at you, his pupils swollen with lust. “Is this how you behave? Beg nicely.”

He looked deliciously disheveled, his hair messed up from your fingers and his lips wet with your fluids. You needed him on you again, but he held your thighs wide open, pinning you in place.

“Draco, don’t—don’t do this—” you whimpered, squirming to push yourself down. “I’ll behave, please, p-please just—not again, Draco,” you sobbed, shaking from the agonizing denial.

“If you want it so bad,” he whispered, ruthlessly sandwiching your swollen clit between his fingers. You bucked your hips against his hand, a cry tearing from your throat. “Be a good girl for me and fucking ride yourself on my face.”

It was so humiliating, but you nodded your head. You lowered back down and began to fuck his face. Losing yourself as you moved your hips against Draco’s eager mouth. 

A wet, repeating squelch, squelch, squelch caught your attention. You peered past your shoulders and saw Draco furiously jerking himself off. Your body shuddered at the sight of his hand moving rapidly up and down the length of his hard, curved cock. 

You couldn’t believe how erotic it looked—the thick, white precum spluttering and smearing over its swollen, dark red tip.

The sight sent you over the edge. You held on tightly to his hair, your other hand rested on his chest, nails digging his skin as the pleasure became too much.

Draco’s free hand reached up, rubbing your clit rapidly before giving it one final, sharp pinch and twist.

You shattered. Your thighs clenched around his head as the waves of the orgasm washed over you. You fell back, trembling uncontrollably. 

Draco sat up, looking perfectly blissed out. “How do you like my pretty nose on your cunt, brat?” he murmured, his half-lidded eyes burning into yours. You blushed, unable to look away from his stare.

He pinned your knees to the sides of your face. Then brought his palm down hard in a stinging smack right against your swollen, sensitive pussy. Your jaw dropped in silent gasp. A second heavy smack followed, leaving you screaming out his name and trembling harder as the arousal spiked. 

“Oh, you really enjoy this do you?” Draco said, plunging two fingers inside you. “You’re damn lewd, you know that? Maybe I should train your body to take more.”

He spat, saliva dripping down to coat your folds. Your clammy walls clenching against his fingers, pumping and curling inside. He added another finger and stretched you open, twisting three inside. 

You bowed your head, suddenly feeling mind-numbingly full. Your legs were shaking, Draco had added four fingers and you started babbling incoherently as he pushed deeper. 

“D-Draco—Ah, ah, ngh!” Another blinding orgasm tore through you, sending shockwaves that made your toes curl. 

Draco hunched and squeezed your throat, kissing you ravenously—fingers pumping through your orgasm. Your eyes rolled back into your head, moaning into him.

He shifted, stroking his leaking, rigid cock in front of your lying face. You were gasping for breath when he said, “I’m going to sink my cock into your throat, and you’re going to take it all in for me.” His other hand knotted your hair, waiting for your reply. “You understand?”

Your brain was too mushed to think of anything. He gripped your hair harder, you gasped from the sting. “I asked you a question.”

You glared at him, and his cock fucking jumped in anticipation. “Yes, Draco,” you gritted, breathing his musk in. He grinned ominously before slowly pressing into your mouth all the way down to your throat.

He watched as your eyes water from gagging on his thick cock that’s filling your throat. “Holy shit, ah… fuck, look at you,” Draco whispered, he looked feral, like he was about to snap. Somehow that turned you on even more. You’re doing this to him. 

You struggled to keep him deep inside you, but you didn’t pull away. Every time you closed your eyes, Draco patted your cheeks. Forcing you to look at him while he’s face fucking you.

“Choke on it.” He pushed himself deeper, and you let out a strangled cry that made his body shudder against you. 

Draco released you before slowly positioning himself directly against your dripping entrance. He hissed, fiercely tapping his heavy cock against your clit. 

“Mmf! Draco, wait,” you gasped. “Wait, I’ve… ah! Never done this before.” 

He torturously dragged the underside of his shaft up and down against your slick, parted pussy lips, coating himself in your fluids. “Don’t worry. Just,” he grunted, pulling the wet, thin fabric of your panties back over you, “the fucking tip.” 

He pressed the tip of his cock hard against the cloth, nearly plunging inside before pulling back. Wrapping his fingers tightly around the base of his glans, he guided his swollen, fat tip to repeatedly poke and stretch against your clothed entrance.

The view left you completely mesmerized—watching his warm, visibly twitching cock rub stubbornly against your drenched pussy lips.

He flipped you over, spanking you hard on the base of your ass. You hissed at the pain. He landed more stinging smacks and you squirmed as he pulled your hips higher. 

“Ass up,” he smacked the blooming red skin, his nails digging as he squeezed it. “Stretch it open,” he ordered. 

You bit your lip in shameful anticipation as you did as you’re told. He slipped his cock under your panties, squeezing your cheeks together and thrusting hard between them. You could feel his wet precum and your schlick mixing as it ran down your thighs.

“Oh, how good you’d look,” he whispered, “when I stuff both of your holes.”

Your lower stomach fluttered at the thought, and you unabashedly moan in response. “You like that idea, do you?” he murmured, chuckling darkly. 

His head would brush against your entrance or prod “accidentally.” It would stretch and leave you more needy. There’s a sudden, wet spuuurt—he came inside your panties, his hot cum dripping down your entrance. You could hear his rough grunts behind you.

“Fuck.” He turned you, leaning down to say, “Tongue out.” Your tongues lapped against each other heatedly as he rode his orgasm through. Draco shivered, thrusting his spent weight against your ruined, thinly covered entrance.

You stared at each other, chests heaving and neither looking away. “Merlin,” he whispered, his brows knitting with restraint. “The things I want to do to you.”

His gaze dropped briefly to your lips. “What I’d do for you,” he mumbled, almost to himself. 

He made your mind melt, even more so when he left a string of kisses all over your neck and arm before stopping gently at your knuckles, pressing his lips against the skin. 

Moments later, he picked up the scattered clothings on the floor. Draco dressed you before standing to dress himself. You found yourself staring wantonly at his rounded ass. You bit your lip, tilting your head to see the lines of his flexed back muscles and—

“Like what you see?” He drawled, an eyebrow raised at you. Draco was fully dressed now, he swept his hair back with both hands. “We can continue on, I don’t mind.”

Your mouth hung, stammering as you say, “N-no.”

He snorted softly.

Draco’s fingers laced tightly through yours as he walked you back to the Gryffindor Tower. You’re starting to enjoy the shape of his hands on yours. And once you reached the Fat Lady portrait, you oddly didn’t want to let his go.

“Well,” you muttered, releasing your grip on his hand. Draco’s fingers tightened around yours before, seemingly reluctantly, letting go too.

“Good night,” you said.

“Alright,” Draco murmured, leaning toward your lips.

“What—what are you doing?” You quickly covered his mouth with your palm. One of his eyebrows quirked. “Haven’t I proven enough?” 

Draco pulled your hand away from his face. “No, you haven’t. And I decide when you have,” he stated, the corner of his mouth curling. “Flustered are we? I thought you said you’d feel nothing.”

“I can do this a million times with you and I won’t feel a thing. Can you?” you challenged him.

“Of course. Easily in fact.” He shrugged, towering you before saying, “I’m only here for the fun of it. But I think you’re just too soft, and you’re—”

You yanked him down again, planting a sharp kiss on his lips. He laughed, a deep baritone against your mouth that left you feeling dizzy. His hand pushed against your back, pressing you flush against his body. 

He hunched over you, deepening the kiss and sliding his tongue in to taste you.

His hand slipped right under your skirt to squeeze your ass. You nearly moaned into his mouth but you pushed him away, glaring up at his twinkling grey eyes.

You turned to face the Fat Lady’s portrait.

“Good ni—” Draco started, a smirk in his voice.

“MIMBULUS MIMBLETONIA!” you shouted over him. The Fat Lady was fanning her face, grinning knowingly behind it as the portrait swung open. You could hear Draco’s mean deep, chesty laugh from behind you as you bolted through the hole and ran inside.

You passed the common room area, but skidded to a halt when someone called your name. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting in front of the roaring fireplace.

“Where have you been?” Harry asked, his brow furrowed with concern. “You missed a conversation with Padfoot.”

“Again?!” You groaned, sliding a hand over your face.

“Did Malfoy give you a hard time?” Ron demanded, his face twisting into a scowl as he sat up straight.

Your cheeks burned, and you flushed a deep crimson. “No, he—”

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked softly, standing up and walking toward you, her brown eyes scanning your face.

“I’m—I’m alright,” you stammered. Before they could ask any more questions, you spun around and ran upstairs to your dormitory.

That night, your skin still tingle-warm from his touch. You stared up at your bed canopy as you wondered what it would feel like to have his thick member pushed deep inside you.

You held on a piece of paper Harry had given you. “Seventh floor…” you mumbled, standing opposite of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy being clubbed by trolls. You turned to a blank stretch of a wall with a man-sized vase on the other side. 

You screwed your eyes shut, concentrating on your thoughts. Take me to the place where they are learning to fight, the place where they can’t find us.

A door materialized out of the stone wall. 

As you entered, the trio was standing near the center, watching in exasperation as dozens of students threw shoddy spellwork, stumbled through messy stances, and shot stray sparks that singed the cushions scattered across the floor.

Harry was muttering under his breath, openly frustrated at the chaotic sight as he ran a hand through his messy black hair. Your eyes met across the room, and he marched straight toward you.

“Where have you been? You’re late,” he said, his eyes scanning over your face, “again.” He suddenly reached out, holding your face gently with his palm as he looked at you closely. “Is Malfoy giving you a bad time with these patrols?”

You clamped your mouth shut.

Because ever since that night, Draco Malfoy couldn’t keep his hands off of you. He’d find excuses to take you to any dark, empty corner of the castle to pin you against the stone wall, making out with you until your knees buckled and you were left entirely breathless. 

Even during cold morning patrols, he’d pull you down onto the damp grass right on top of him, letting his tongue languidly explore your mouth while your fingers bunched tightly into his white shirt. 

Then, he’d abruptly stop, planting one last kiss on your eye or nose to resume reading his book with a smug grin across his face.

You didn’t know why the hell he’s doing all this, but Draco couldn’t seem to stop leaving his mark on you whenever he pleased. Or leaving you in general!

Just earlier, he had left bruises and nips all over your neck—forcing you to pull on a turtleneck just to cover up the evidence before coming to the meeting. 

He almost wouldn’t let you go. “Where are you going this late?”

“Back to the Gryffindor Tower,” you said, clearing your throat. Your neck was throbbing, and lips swollen from his rough kisses. “You have a Prefect meeting with Parkinson, right?” You blushed deeply, looking away from his gaze. “I’ll get going then.”

“I’ll take you there,” Draco said, reaching out to grab your hand. You pulled back.

“N-No, Draco,” you answered quickly. “Really, I just… need to go back to the Tower. It’s fine, thank you.”

He sensed your restlessness. “Yeah, I know,” he stepped closer, his voice dropping lower. “And I can take you there.” He reached out again, and you leaped backward, putting a clear distance.

“What’s the matter with you?!” He asked incredulously.

You squeezed your eyes shut, before blurting, “You’re—you’re too clingy, Draco!” 

His eyes widened. Draco’s face turned pink before hardening into a furious scowl. “The fuck—?!” he growled. “Fuck are you saying?”

“You—you keep pinning me! And—I—” you said, feeling damned embarrassed to say it. “Just give—give me space!” 

You groaned internally, wishing no one was hearing this. 

“I am not—I do not—“ he gaped, his pale skin growing a harsher pink. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Your mouth is there for me." 

Draco winced the moment he said it. You stared at him in disbelief, taking a step back. 

“Wait, listen, that’s not what I—“ Draco reached out, but you jerked away. 

“Leave me alone, Malfoy!” You stomped your foot hard against the stone floor. “Just give me some space you—you mouth-sucking jerk!”

You hurried away. 

And that’s truly how you were able to escape him and reach the Room of Requirement, following the instructions written on the scrap of paper Harry had given you.

Back in the present, Harry’s hand trailed down from your cheek. He tilted his head slightly, his fingers hooking curiously into the edge of your turtleneck collar.

Panicking that he might see the dark marks Draco had left, you hastily grabbed his hand to stop him. “I’m here now, Harry,” you said, your heart thumping wildly against your ribs.

“Alright,” Harry said, keeping his hold on your hand to guide you into the center of the room. “Also, we agreed to call ourselves the Dumbledore Army.”

“It’s got a nice ring to it, I suppose, D.A.” you pointed out. 

He cleared his throat loudly, earning everyone’s attention. The murmuring crowd of Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs went quiet, their eyes darting between the two of you. “She will begin our first practice session.”

“Thank you, Harry,” you said, stepping forward as the trio stepped back to form a supportive line behind you. “Evening, everyone. I trust Harry has told you our lesson plan?”

A collective, uncoordinated, “Nooo…,” echoed from the room.

You turned slowly to narrow your eyes at Harry. He gave you a lopsided, incredibly sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. Next to him, Hermione was side-eyeing him in heavy disapproval, her arms crossed tight over her chest.

You sighed sharply, turning back to the waiting crowd.

“Alright, then.” You started pacing slowly around the room, feeling the eyes of the group tracking you. “We’d like to begin our lesson by understanding where you are in terms of your abilities.”

You paused, nodding to yourself before continuing, “Each of you are unique, with differences in your skill levels.”

Your eyes briefly locked onto Neville, who was nervously twisting his wand between his fingers next to Luna Lovegood. You gave him a smile before addressing the whole group again. “Before we truly start with the lessons, I think it’s best we start by testing exactly where your skills are right now.”

You glanced back over your shoulder to see the trio nodding in agreement.

“How are we going to do that?” Zacharias Smith asked from the back, his arms crossed and a skeptical, annoyed frown on his face.

“We’ve been doing Disarming Charms,” Cho Chang offered softly from the front, looking between you and Harry. “But… I guess half of us still can’t get the stance right, and the spells are just flying all over the place blindly.”

“Thanks for filling me in, Cho,” you said, giving her a warm smile.

“But no, I’d like to start from the very beginning,” you continued, your gaze steadying. “I want to try a different approach to understand where you are.”

“Okay, how?” Fred Weasley asked, leaning forward on his knees with a curious grin on his face. George Weasley was wearing a matching gleeful expression. 

“I want everyone to attack me,” you said, clamping your hands behind your back. “All at once.”

Loud murmurs and sharp gasps rippled through the crowd. Lavender Brown stared at you in dismay, clutching Parvati Patil’s arm, while Colin and Dennis Creevy looked around as if they thought they had misheard you.

A loud scoff broke through the noise. 

Zacharias Smith stepped forward, a mocking sneer on his face. “Are you mental? There’s twenty-five and more of us here,” he snorted derisively, tossing his head back. “You want all of us to attack you?”

“Yes.” You shrugged, unbothered by his attitude.

“You’re joking,” Susan Bones muttered, her eyes wide with disbelief as she gripped her wand. 

“Do I look like I’m joking?” You coolly roved from face to face, unwavering. “I don’t joke around for this.”

“Now, I’ll preface this by saying you should not hold back,” you said, your voice carrying clearly. “I’ll also start with an apology in advance.” You offered all of them a small, almost forbidding smile. “What I’m about to do might hurt a little.”

“Bring it on!” Terry Boot shouted, a competitive grin breaking across his face as he raised his wand into a proper dueling stance. Michael Corner patted his shoulder standing next to Ginny Weasley, their wands at the ready. 

Hannah Abbott nodded eagerly beside Justin Finch-Fletchly. The rest of the group seemed to catch the spark; the initial surprise faded, replaced by a surge of fervour. Ernie Macmillan stood taller, looking determined, while Seamus Finnigan muttered something to Dean Thomas with a rogue smirk. 

They were all ready to test you. 

Frankly, so were you. This was your domain, your element entirely, and the thrill of it was humming under your skin.

“That’s the spirit,” you said, your eyes glinting with anticipation of the challenge. “The rules are simple. You fall, unable to stand, you lose.”

You clapped your hands together, the sharp sound echoing like a starting gun. “On the count of three,” you said, turning your head slightly to face Ron, whose face morphed into pure excitement. “Countdown for us, Ronald.”

“ONE.”

Sneakers and boots scuffed against the floor as twenty-five wands rose in unison, surrounding you in a circle, each one pointed squarely at you.

The trio moved back to the safety of the sidelines, watching you eagerly with knowing smirks. Harry leaned against the wall, arms crossed, confident in what you were about to pull off.

“TWO.”

You prepared your stance, taking a deep breath and loosening your shoulders. The low buzz of adrenaline began to rush through your veins. You focused, calling for your magic as it thundered throughout your body.

You closed your eyes, tuning out the world, listening only to the steady beat of your heart against your ribs.

“THREE.”

You moved.

Masterlist or visit AO3 for faster updates

[verklcmpt]

It’s me!! rosiiie_wooosie

I finally got around to trying to draw out scenes, had to do my favorite one by far :) (I promise I spelt worse right on Draco’s side but it’s out the frame 😞)

BAHAHAHHA ROSIIEE OMG TJHIS MADE MY MORNING THIS IS SO CUTE thank you so much aaaaa my heart (sobbing). I love love love love it—Reader looks too cute here.

Can I embed this to 'Can't You See I'm Here?' author's note? ( ⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝) if it's okay, add your watermark bbbb ♡︎

[verklcmpt]

⋆˙⟡Can't You See I'm Here? (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Masterlist  or  visit  AO3  for  faster  updates

Book 5 pt. 2 — "I'll go out with you!"

Summary: Your unexpected and uninvited guest seemed to have taken interest in your proposition.

You stammered, your eyes widening as you looked at him. “What—what are you—?”

“Doing here? To see you! I told you I would, didn’t I?” Draco said, stepping out of the hearth, closer towards you.

“But how—” You slowly stepped backward, your hands reaching out blindly behind you to feel for the edge of the furniture as you moved.

“You seem to forget my father works in the Ministry. They know all the Floo networks. It’s all traceable,” he scoffed, talking down to you like it was a simple matter of fact. “Ours isn’t, obviously, but I can easily find where you connected from last time.”

“Last—?”

Your heartbeat thudded loudly in your ears.

“When you came to my afternoon tea party, I gave you a private access to my room. Keep up, Merlin,” he rolled his eyes, huffing annoyingly.

Truthfully, your brain wasn’t working properly right now. Why on earth is he here?!

Your hip bumped hard against the edge of the side table as he kept getting closer, his long strides easily closing the distance between you.

“What’s with you?” Draco asked, his lips twitching in amusement, and his eyebrows raised. “Fwooper got your tongue?”

“What’s with me?” Your voice heightened, your hand gripping the edge of the table behind you. “What’s with you? You’re suddenly here in my home, Draco!”

“I told you through all my letters, and last time you told me you’d like to see me try. Well, here I am. I’m sick of waiting for you to reply. It takes a billion years,” he gritted out, his eyes narrowing as he pointed an annoyed finger at you.

Has he gotten taller… again? He’s a bit different… or am I seeing him differently?

The low rumble of his voice was sending hot shivers straight down to your lower stomach. The fitted sweater he wore showed noticeable muscle lines across his arms and chest that definitely hadn't been there last.

You kept backing up until your back hit the solid wall behind you. Before you could duck away, his palm slammed against the wallpaper right above your shoulder, caging you in.

For an uninvited guest, he was looking at you shamelessly. You were only wearing a low-neckline, form-fitting tank top and dangerously short boy-shorts that honestly weren’t covering much of anything behind. You suddenly felt completely exposed and looked away, your cheeks flaring.

You slowly glanced back up at him. He was biting the inside of his cheek, his eyes snapping away from your skin for a second before he asked, “Where are your parents?”

“They’re away for work.”

He muttered something incoherent under his breath, his jaw clenching tightly as his face went a bit strained.

“Is that so…” he hummed, his gaze slowly dropping back down to you with heavy, hooded eyes.

He took a sudden deep breath, clearing his throat loudly as he finally moved back. “Are you just going to let me stand here? Your parents never taught you how to host a guest, or did staying up top in the mountains smother your brain of oxygen?”

You finally drew a full breath and rolled your eyes hard at his stupid, arrogant comment. “Come here,” you gestured, pushing past him and leading the way toward the dining area.

You took him through a narrow corridor, the walls plastered with moving pictures of you and your parents. You suddenly felt a bit self-conscious because he was actually stopping to look at each one of them.

He halted right in front of one specific frame, one from when you were very young.

“Is this France?” he asked.

“Yeah, is it that noticeable? I believe it’s close to the Pyrenees Mountains. I think I was six there.”

“You don’t… remember anything from this time, do you?”

“No, my parents said I had an accident and—hang on, how did you know that?”

He looked at you, his expression suddenly looking distant and unreadable, before he silently gestured for you to continue down the corridor, ignoring your question entirely.

Once you were at the dining area, you flicked your fingers through the air, and the chair scraped back from the table. “Sit,” you said.

He sat, looking around the room. You turned your back on him, reaching for a mug inside the cupboard. Your fingers thrummed nervously against the counter. “Right, so what do you want?”

You eyed the assortment of coffee in front of you, bags of tea, and some packaged Gillywater. You grabbed a few small scones from a glass box—which kept them perfectly warm—and arranged them onto a small plate for him.

When you didn't hear a single word from him, you frowned. “Draco?” You craned your head to look back over your shoulder.

He had his mouth slightly open, breathing a bit heavily. His gaze was aimed way, way lower than your torso. Is he looking at my ass?! You turned your whole body around to face him completely. “Draco! Coffee?”

He blinked, his eyes snapping right back up to yours. A faint scowl appeared on his face before he quickly turned his gaze to… somewhere in the room.

“Mm,” he managed to reply, his hand propping up to cover his mouth. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Oookay then,” you said, turning around to prepare his coffee. You bent over the counter, waiting for the coffee to drip over. As you did, you heard an audible grunt from behind you. You straightened up to look at Draco, only to find his body was now sitting completely sideways, his back turned to you.

“Why…are you sitting like that?”

His hand was on the headrest of the chair, propping up his head. He tapped his knuckles impatiently on the tabletop. “I’m waiting for my serve. Hurry up,” he said with his usual haughty drawl.

Sheesh. Looks different, but his shitty attitude hasn’t changed at all.

You poured the coffee into a mug and flicked your finger. The mug and plate lifted, following you through the air as you walked over. When you sat down across from him, it gently dropped down onto the table right in front of Draco.

“Go ahead,” you gestured to him.

He turned his whole body now, back to face you, and looked down at his plate. “Scones?”

“Blueberry and lemon scones. Try it.”

He took a small bite, chewing slowly. “It’s edible,” he drawled.

You irked at that. He then looked down into the inside of his mug. “Is this coffee?”

“Yeah, you said you wanted it.”

“Huh? I did?” His lips twisted upward, like he couldn't believe what you were saying.

”Yes.”

He took a quick waft before sipping the black coffee. “Hm, decent,” he muttered before taking another sip.

Edible and decent?

You narrowed your eyes at him, before gritting out, “Up to your standards, I hope?” getting mildly pissed as you leaned in, bending across the table toward him.

The moment you leaned forward, his gaze trailed right down from your eyes to below your neck, down to your collarbone, and straight to your ample brea—

“This home is quite small, don’t you think?” he said, suddenly snapping his head up to look at the ceiling.

You snorted, sitting right back down in your chair. “I am so sorry, young Master Malfoy. This is my humble abode, far too small for your high royal standards. Truly sorry I do not have albino peacocks roaming the gardens to keep you entertained.”

He gave you a mocking grin, his eyes flashing. “Yes, well, this will have to do.”

You threw your hands up in the air. “What do you actually want to do here, Draco? You’ve seen me, and I suppose we've decently talked. Now what?”

“Show me your room.”

You blinked. “Pardon?”

“Your room. I want to see your room.”

“Why?!”

“You’ve seen mine,” he said, leaning back comfortably in his seat and taking a slow sip of the coffee. “It’s only natural and fair that I see yours.”

“I didn’t know I was going to your room that day!”

“Well, I’m not catching you coming out mid-shower now, am I? Or should I—”

You stood up abruptly, your face burning. “Let’s go,” you grumbled.

He grinned annoyingly, and followed right behind you. You headed up the wooden stairs with him trailing close. You couldn't help but feel his eyes locked onto your body from behind, making you shiver a bit under your short clothes.

“How long will your parents be away?” he asked from behind you on the steps.

“Two days.”

“Merlin,” he groaned silently, a muttered word too low for you to fully catch.

You finally reached the top and opened the door to your room, standing right in the doorway to block him. “Here. Look at it. Happy now?”

He suddenly stepped right past you into the space. You gaped at him. “Do you just waltz into a woman’s bedroom whenever you feel like it?”

He raised his eyebrows, turning his head slightly back to look at you. “You opened the door for me, didn’t you?” he said, continuing to walk around inside. He looked up at the ceiling, watching the moving stars and planets that your mother had charmed there for you.

“I said look, not enter,” you hissed, walking inside after him and shutting the door halfway.

He suddenly stopped right at your desk, which was piled high with letters. “What is this?” he asked.

“Letters, obviously,” you said, sighing as you sat down on the edge of your bed next to the desk.

“From?” He picked one up, then another, flipping them over to read the names. “Ah—let’s see here. Ernie Macmillan and Zacharias Smith. And more here from Lee Jordan.”

“Give me that,” you tsked, reaching out and grabbing the letters away from his hands.

He didn't stop, his fingers quickly snatching a few more from the pile before you could clear them. “Graham Montague. He’s asking you to talk to him more at school. Interesting.”

You snatched those out of his hand again, shoving them into a drawer. He didn't even look up or look guilty. “These are private letters, Draco. Stop snooping.”

“These… people,” he said, turning around to look at you, his expression suddenly icy. “They send you letters all the time?”

“Well, not all the time. They just share what they’ve been doing, you know, friendly updates,” you said, shrugging it off.

He chuckled dryly, though the sound didn’t reach his eyes, which had noticeably darkened. “Alright. I got it.”

The way he said it made a sudden spike of worry hit your chest.

He walked over and sat down on the small sofa opposite your bed, looking every bit bored as his eyes scanned the rest of your room.

Then, his gaze landed back on you, his eyebrows furrowing deeply. “What happened to your arm?”

You turned back to your desk to clean up the letters he had messed up. Looking at the scattered parchment, you were now completely unsure which pile you had already answered and which you hadn't.

“Training accident. I broke it,” you said quietly. You finished tidying the desk and walked over to sit next to him on the sofa, keeping a safe distance between you.

“You just noticed?” you said, looking down at your bandaged arm.

“I suppose,” he said, his eyes fixed on the cloth. “What happened?”

“Combat training gone wrong,” you shrugged.

He didn't say anything, but he shifted, sliding closer to you on the sofa until your shoulders were almost touching. “Have you changed these?”

“Uh—no, not since last night.”

His hands reached out to slowly unwrap the old bandage, exposing a blooming purple bruise underneath. The bone wasn't jutting out anymore thanks to the healing spell, but it was still tender, and you winced a bit at the sudden exposure.

“Ferula,” he whispered, pointing his wand.

Fresh, clean bandages materialized, wrapping themselves neatly around your forearm to replace the used ones.

You couldn’t help but feel your heart going faster. You hadn’t felt his gentle touches like this since the night of the Yule Ball, and the sudden closeness was making your blood rush.

After securing the bandage, his hand stayed, gently holding your arm. His fingers swept your hair over your shoulders, knuckles lightly grazing your collarbone. You could feel his warm breath against your neck as he leaned in closer.

Somehow, in that exact second, you wanted nothing more than for his lips to actually meet your skin. Wait, why are you having these thoughts?

“Anywhere else?” he asked, his voice dropping to a low murmur, his face only inches from yours.

You managed to pipe out a weak, “No, nowhere else,” feeling a hot blush creep up your neck. You immediately looked down at your freshly bandaged arm to avoid his gaze.

He slowly let go of your hand, his fingers lingering before pulling away entirely.

“How did you know how to do that?” you asked, trying to clear your throat.

He hummed, looking up at the ceiling, watching the twinkle of the Orion constellation. “I guess… combat.”

“You combat train?” Your eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Training would be a nice word for it,” he said dryly, a visible muscle twitch on his forehead as he stared upward. You shifted uncomfortably, a sudden memory of seeing Draco being hit by his father passed your mind. You kept quiet, knowing better than to press him on it.

“So what are you going to do now?” He asked as he lazily pulled a cushion pillow from the sofa and placed it right between his legs. His lips twisting into a tight, strained line.

He muttered a silent tsk as he splayed his legs apart—adjusting his position—before putting his hands back behind his head to lean back against the cushions.

“What do you mean?” 

Your eyes darted down for a second, wondering why on earth he would put a pillow right there. But the way he looked right now was making your stomach twist. Looking at the expanse of his lap, you wanted nothing more than to crawl over and straddle him.

Stop, stop, stop with these thoughts!

“Well, you clearly said you wouldn’t freeze me out this summer, but I see that you’ve had plenty of time to answer everyone else's letters.”

“I’ve been busy, Draco,” you countered. "I've been practicing for hours away from my room."

“Busy,” he repeated, his eyes dropping to your lips for a second before snapping back up. “Too busy for me, but not too busy for Macmillan? Or Montague? What exactly do you write to them about?”

“It’s completely different,” you insisted, pressing your back flat against the armrest of the sofa.

“Is it now?” he murmured.

He suddenly dropped his hands from behind his head and moved closer to you. The pillow he was holding fell to the ground, and now everything clicked into place. Your eyes dropped for a split second, and your breath hitched because you could clearly see Draco had a raging hard-on.

And you knew right then that you wouldn't be able to trust yourself anymore. Because truth be told, if you could have a hard-on, it would have appeared the exact moment he stepped out of that hearth earlier.

You’d give in completely for him, and you can’t! But, for a split second, you asked yourself why… can’t you?

It’s Draco Malfoy! Why else. I can’t, I can’t, I don’t want to! 

"Wait, Draco—," you gasped out, your hands coming up to press against his chest.

His eyes clouding with heat that coiled a tight knot inside your belly. Panicking, you tried to slide downward along the cushions to avoid him—which backfired horribly. He shifted his weight until he was leaning directly over you, pinning you beneath him on the sofa.

“Going somewhere? I asked what are you going to do to make it up,” he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You couldn't think, couldn't breathe, and you knew if you didn't stop this right now, you would lose all control over your own body.

In a desperate, and rather pathetic attempt, you closed your eyes tight and blurted out the first thing that came to your mind. “I’ll go out with you!”

“Huh?” He inched back slightly. He looked thoroughly confused as he stared down at you.

“Today. I’ll go out with you. Let’s go somewhere together,” you rushed out, the words tumbling over each other in a frantic, breathless scramble. 

A slow smug-ish smirk began to twitch at the corner of his lips. “What makes you think that’s what I wanted to do?” he asked.

“Because you’re someone who knows all the great places!” you said, using the pause to push him back as you scrambled up into a sitting position. “I suppose... what I’m trying to say is that I’ve never been on a proper date before.”

Ugh. The moment the words left your mouth, you wanted to swallow them right back down. The excuse was completely ridiculous and pitiful, but it was the only thing your panicked brain could come up with to get him to back off.

You could not—cannot!—stay cooped up in this house with just the two of you like this. You found yourself fiercely wishing you lived in a massive, sprawling manor like the Malfoys', where you could easily run away and hide in one of the expansive gardens just to escape him.

He scoffed, a laugh catching in his throat as he finally sat up straight. “Well, that’s fucking pathetic. All those idiots trailing after you at school, and not a single one of them has the sense or the galleons to take you anywhere decent? Well, not surprising, really.”

“Yes, well! You sort of get it.” You threw your hands up defensively, your cheeks burning. “And—and all those letters from the guys? They all say they want to take me out when term starts. What if I don't have a proper benchmark to compare them to? What if they took me to the Hog’s Head Inn as a first date, and I’m too smitten to see reality? It could be a fun activity for... you and I—of course, we can do things you like, how you want it.”

You groaned internally, wishing the floor would open up and swallow you whole. This was so incredibly stupid; damn your raging hormones.

You were practically begging Draco Malfoy to take you out just to escape the couch.

Draco stayed perfectly still for a moment. His lips twisted slightly at the mention of the other guys asking you out, but the moment the word smitten left your mouth, his features instantly hardened.

“Alright,” he drawled lazily. “I’ll take you out. I happen to know a place that’s certainly far better than anything Hogsmeade could ever offer.”

My nonsense offer actually worked?! You blinked, momentarily stunned that your terrible excuse had completely bypassed him.

You stood up quickly in front of him, reaching down and pulling at his hands to get him up from the sofa. “Okay, great. Now out! I need to change.”

Draco suddenly gripped your wrists, pulling you forward by your waist. Before you could even gasp, you were straddling his lap. He pulled your hips closer against him.

You could smell his sharp, earthy citrus cologne. Your breath hitched as his hand tightly squeezed your left ass cheeks.

“But wouldn’t you say this is a more fun way to make it up to me?” he murmured, a taunting grin spreading across his face.

His face leaned down, his lips tickling the sensitive skin from your collarbone up to your neck. He pushed your hips down firmly, and you could feel his hot, thick hard-on pressing directly against the thin fabric of your boy-shorts.

You bit your lip hard to suppress a moan. Draco was being so touchy, his fingers just wouldn't stop roaming. His thumbs smoothed over your skin before his hand hitched higher, teasing the upper hem of your boy-shorts as if he were about to pull them down.

You instinctively pushed hard against his shoulders, forcing him back before you completely lost your resolve.

His head leaned back against the sofa cushions, his eyes dark with mischief and heavy lid-lines as he looked up at you.

“You promised you won’t do anything I don’t enjoy doing with you,” you said breathily. Your hand quickly clamped over one of his, holding it tightly to stop him from moving any further.

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong,” he said, his hips suddenly rolling just a little beneath yours. You squeezed your eyes shut, the brief friction causing a violent shudder to run straight down your stomach. “I never promised. I don't make promises I don't intend to keep. And besides, we’ll never know whether you enjoy it or not unless you actually try.”

“No—Draco, stop,” you pleaded, your eyebrows knitting together as you met his eyes. “Please.”

He stared at you for a second before his gaze flattening into his usual cold indifference and bored look.

“Fine,” he sighed, easily lifting you up and shifting you completely away from his lap, setting you back on your feet. He sat up properly on the sofa, smoothing down the front of his sweater without a single trace of being flustered. “You’re too easy to titillate nowadays. It almost takes the sport out of it when you look like you're about to pass out from a single touch.”

You stood there glaring at him, your hands still trembling slightly.

Damned fucking asshole!

He leaned his head back against the cushion, looking you up and down with an annoying smirk. “Don't take too long dressing up. If I'm going to waste my precious afternoon for you, I'd rather not do it while starving.”

“Whatever. Out, out, out!” You pushed his shoulders to get him out of the room.

He shuffled toward the door, then stopped and craned his head to look back at you over his shoulder with a mocking grin. “Can I at least watch you—”

“OUT!”

You shoved him through the doorway before slamming the wooden door shut right in his face, clicking the lock into place.

Your face was burning, a deep, scorching blush creeping all the way to the tips of your ears. You threw yourself face-first onto the bed, burying your head into the mattress and screaming straight into your pillow to muffle the sound.

Crazy, arrogant prick! This was not good. Not good at all.

Your core was throbbing so, so badly.

You got up and quickly changed.

You threw on a mini sundress to brave the sticky summer weather, grabbed a charmed brown handbag, and a dark robe to cover. You paired the dress with simple flats. After a quick glamour spell to cover your bandaged arm, you headed straight back downstairs.

Draco was standing in the living room, looking up at the framed pictures resting above the hearth with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Draco?” you called out to him.

He turned around to look at you, his eyes doing a quick sweep over your outfit before he gave a slight nod. “Let’s go.”

He stepped into the fireplace and grabbed a handful of the glittering powder, holding his arm out for you. You stepped in next to him, wrapping your arm around his. He threw the powder down and said clearly, “Antrum Draconis.”

The emerald fire instantly took over, swallowing you both. When the spinning stopped and the smoke cleared, you stumbled out onto a plush  dark rug. You blinked, looking around at the familiar high ceilings, the massive four-poster bed, and the distinctly Slytherin green hangings.

“Your idea of taking someone on a proper date is your room?” you glared at him, immediately putting your hands on your hips.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Besides, as much as I would love to have that much fun right now,” he rolled his eyes, scoffing dryly. “No, where we’re going is through my manor. The Portkey connection is private.”

He opened his bedroom door, and you followed him out into the long, quiet corridor, staying right behind him. The tapping of your shoes echoed loudly through the grand, empty halls of Malfoy Manor.

He took a sudden turn at the end of the hall, unlocking a beautifully, ornate ebony door, and you found yourself walking into a spacious room that overlooked a completely different part of the estate. Through the massive glass windows, you could see a stone fountain and a quaint shaped greenhouse.

“Where are we?” you asked, looking around.

“My personal study,” he replied casually.

The room was smelled faintly of rich leather, ink, and wood polish. One wall was entirely lined with towering bookshelves filled with dark leather-bound volumes, while a large, dark mahogany desk sat near the window, spotlessly clean.

“Where are your parents?”

“I believe my mother is visiting her relatives until tomorrow,” he said.

You paused. “And… your father?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. Somewhere within the Ministry, probably,” he said coldly, his jaw clenching for a brief second before he masked it.

He walked over to the far side of the room. “Come here,” he beckoned, pointing to a small bronze statue of Apollo sitting on a side table by the window.

He held his hand out over it. “We’re taking this Portkey. On the count of three. Exactly three.”

“I get it,” you huffed, stepping up next to him and reaching your hand out.

“I need to be specific with a flobberworm brain like yours,” he mumbled under his breath.

You hissed, glaring sideways at him. “What the hell, Draco!”

Draco let out an exasperated sigh, his eyes snapping to yours before he gritted out, “Three!”

You barely had time to react before you slapped your hand onto the bronze statue alongside his.

The spinning was utterly horrible, the world blurring into a dizzying rush of colors until your feet finally slammed hard against a marble floor. You stumbled forward, holding your head as you tried to stop the room from shaking.

When you looked up, you found yourself standing inside what seemed to be an apothecary—though it was significantly different from the cluttered, dusty shops with crowded shelves you were used to in Diagon Alley.

The air inside was cool, smelling heavily of Asphodel and the faint, sweet scent of dragon-blood preservation charms. Mahogany cabinets lined the marble walls, their glass panels perfectly polished to showcase row after row of heavy crystal jars filled with rare ingredients. Silver unicorn hair, mandrake root, and Acromantula fangs were a few of the ones you immediately recognized.

Behind the counter, an elderly wizard in deep purple robes froze, a silver set of scales still hovering in his hand as his eyes went wide.

“Young Master Malfoy!” the man scrambled, immediately bowing his head. He started speaking rapidly in... French? And to your absolute surprise, Draco replied in smooth fluency.

Huh? You stared at him, completely caught off guard. You didn't even know he spoke French.

Why is he is always so full of weird surprises. 

Draco gave the shopkeeper a short nod of dismissal before reaching past you to push the shop's heavy front door open. A little brass bell chimed overhead, and as you stepped outside, you were instantly hit by a wave of warm sunlight and the loud, bustling sounds of a crowded street where absolutely everyone was speaking in French.

You stopped dead in your tracks, your eyes wide. “Wait… isn’t this…”

Draco looked down at you, his head tilting slightly. His grey eyes glinted with pure arrogance. “Place Cachée.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The architecture here was gorgeous, with elegant and quirky storefronts lining the cobblestone pathways. Place Cachée was a world away from the crowded chaos of Diagon Alley. Towering Haussmann-style buildings of pale limestone stood tall against the sky, their ornate wrought-iron balconies enchanted to never rust.

You turned around to look at the shop you had just exited. The storefront was wrapped in dark, heavily carved wood, with intricate patterns accenting the corners. Above the double doors, the shop name stood out in sleek gold letters on a smooth wooden panel, "Apothicairerie Malfoy & Fils." Right beneath it, neatly engraved, "Sanctimonia Vincet Semper."

Of fucking course.

On the plush, dark velvet-lined window sill, a wine bottle was propped up like a trophy inside a velvet case, its label reading Superior Red.

“Alright. Let’s go,” Draco said, gesturing for you to move down the cobblestone street.

Draco started explaining the shops around Place Cachée, pointing out a high-end dressmaker and a specialized cauldron shop. You actually knew about the area. You were honestly just surprised that he had direct Portkey access to it right within his personal study. 

The air as you walked smelled like fresh pastries, roasted coffee, and expensive floral perfumes. Well-dressed witches and wizards in tailored, flowing silk robes glided past outdoor café tables, sipping enchanted drinks that sent curls of lavender smoke into the air. In one corner of the street, a small street performer made silver bubbles play a jazz tune near a street corner.

“Are you listening to me?”

Draco’s sharp voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You realized you’d been staring at a shop window filled with animated glass butterflies.

“Yeah, yeah,” you lied quickly.

“Oh, really? What did I say?” He stopped midway on the pavement, turning his entire body to look down at you.

“Well… you, didn’t you…” you stammered, scrambling for clues. “You were talking about the cauldrons? Or the... robes?”

“I was explaining the historical significance of the French Ministry's architecture down the avenue,” he said, his voice dripping with annoyance. “Clearly, the view of a few glass bugs is far more fascinating to you.”

“Well, excuse me for actually wanting to look around instead of getting a history lecture,” you shot back, crossing your arms right back at him. “You sound like Professor Binns right now.”

His nose flared, a flash of irritation crossing his face. “I am trying to show you a proper cultural experience, you uncultured troll. Are you that daft?”

“Merlin. Is this really how you take people out? Now I’d truly rather go to Hog’s Head,” you grumbled.

“Bloody hell. Look around!” He snapped, his voice dropping an octave as he practically shouted. “You’re in fucking Paris, not some dingy, wooden place behind school!”

A few witches passing by stopped to look around at the sudden noise, whispering to each other in low tones. You felt a flash of embarrassment and glared hard up at him.

He noticed the stares and clicked his tongue in frustration. “Unbelievable. Let’s go.”

You walked next to him with a deep frown on your face, staring straight ahead at the cobblestones. He rolled his eyes at your stubborn silence, letting out a sharp breath, before he suddenly reached down and firmly held your hand.

The gesture made your heart do a tiny, stupid flutter despite how annoyed you were.

He suddenly halted in front of a tall mirror, tucked between two buildings. Suddenly, a glowing cursive writing appeared across the glass, spelling out L’Éclipse d’Or. Draco pulled you right into the mirror, your body melted straight through the glass.

The bustling noises of the street was replaced by soft, ambient chatter. The ceilings were incredibly high, decorated with thousands of glittering, enchanted lights that floated in the air and seemed to slowly fall down like gentle rain before vanishing.

Up front, a sharply dressed wizard was standing behind a reservation table, looking over a large leather ledger.

Draco let your hand go before stepping up to the desk. The staff member didn’t even look up from his book, only asking in a bored, clipped tone, “Réservation?”

“Non,” Draco replied.

The wizard let out a light chuckle, still refusing to look up. He said something short and fast in French that you couldn’t quite catch, but his tone was undeniably mocking and dismissive.

Draco calmly placed his hand on the smooth surface of the table and tapped his index finger once, twice, thrice, right under the wizard's nose. The polished silver gleam of his Malfoy signet ring caught in the light.

The man finally looked up. The second his eyes hit the ring and then Draco’s face, his entire demeanor went rigid. He went completely pale, his mouth gaping slightly.

“Monsieur Malfoy! Mes plus sincères excuses,” he stammered, his voice dropping into absolute panic as he bowed his head.

He quickly ushered both of you forward, tripping over his own robes to clear the way. Draco caught your hand again, his fingers slipping between yours as he led you inside. The restaurant was stunning, filled with velvet booths, floating candles, and massive glass windows that looked back out onto the street.

The panicked staff member started asking a string of rapid questions. You weren't sure what he was saying, but he kept pointing toward different sections of the dining room, so you guessed he was offering Draco his choice of the seats.

Draco gave a short, commanding answer and pointed toward a secluded table by the far window, tucked away in a corner that felt a bit more quiet and intimate.

Once you were both seated, the wizard handed you each a heavy, gold-embossed menu and bowed his way out of the booth.

Draco leaned back against the plush velvet seat, a smug grin spreading across his face as he looked at you.

“Go on. Choose,” he said.

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[verklcmpt]

hiiii, may i ask if you have written any other fics besides THE goat fic.

hiiii luv - thanks for dropping by. Other than 'Can't You See I'm Here?' I don't have any published ones. I would take requests from my friends and gift it to them—been at it for years. My only regret is I don't save them, I carelessly made it with my phone notes jajahahaja

AND CALLING GOAT IS TEW KIND (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) so this will b my first long fic