hotties get asked out
Harry had barely made it five steps into the Great Hall for breakfast when a small, nervous-looking second-year darted in front of him, blocking his path.
“Um—H-Harry Potter?” the kid stammered, clutching the strap of their school bag like it was a lifeline.
Harry blinked down at them. “Uh, yeah?”
The second-year gulped. “W-would you go to the Yule Ball with me?”
Silence.
Harry stared, completely blindsided. Did that happen?
A little further down the table, Ron dropped his toast. Blaise and Pansy, sitting at the Slytherin table, immediately perked up, their grins borderline evil. Hermione had already buried her face in her book, wisely choosing not to get involved.
And Draco—
Draco, who had just been sitting peacefully with his breakfast, froze.
The second-year shifted awkwardly under the weight of Harry’s complete confusion and Draco’s rising murderous aura.
Harry finally managed to get his brain working. “Uh, that’s really nice of you to ask, but—”
“I don’t think so.”
The temperature around them seemed to drop. Draco had slowly stood up from his seat, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He turned, arching a single, deadly eyebrow at the second-year.
The poor kid flinched.
Harry sighed, already seeing where this was going.
Draco stepped forward, casually sliding next to Harry, and very obviously looped an arm through his. “You see, Harry here is already spoken for,” he said, his voice smooth but carrying just enough menace to make the second-year sweat. “And, really, did you honestly think you had a chance?”
Harry elbowed Draco lightly. “Oi, be nice.”
Draco hummed, clearly not planning on being nice. “I admire the bravery, but let’s be realistic,” he continued, shooting the kid a smirk. “Now, off you go, before I decide to deduct house points for poor decision-making.”
The second-year bolted.
The moment they were gone, the Great Hall exploded into laughter.
Blaise was howling into his sleeve. Pansy wiped a fake tear. “Oh, that was beautiful,” she said. “Draco, your dramatics never disappoint.”
Draco flipped his hair. “I do my best.”
Ron, still looking very amused, clapped Harry on the shoulder. “Your boyfriend’s terrifying, mate.”
Harry, who was now forcibly being dragged to the Slytherin table so Draco could assert dominance, just sighed. “Tell me about it.”
---
It happened at lunch.
Draco was sitting beside Harry at the Slytherin table, idly picking at his food while debating whether or not he could get away with putting his feet in Harry’s lap under the table. Harry, for his part, was too busy chatting with Hermione to notice.
Then—
"Draco Malfoy?"
The entire group turned.
Standing beside their table was a very confident Ravenclaw seventh-year, looking at Draco like they had every right to be there.
Draco blinked, unimpressed. "Yes?"
The Ravenclaw smiled. "I was wondering if you'd be my date to the Yule Ball."
Silence.
Pure. Deadly. Silence.
Blaise and Pansy immediately stopped breathing. Nico and Will, sitting nearby, exchanged oh, this is gonna be good glances. Ron was stuffing food into his mouth to keep from laughing.
But the real problem—the real, actual issue—was Harry.
Harry had been mid-bite, listening to Hermione talk about something academic, when the words Draco and date had entered his ears. He froze. Slowly, very slowly, he turned to face the Ravenclaw.
Draco, who had been in the middle of rolling his eyes, paused when he felt the shift in the air.
Oh.
Oh, Harry was pissed.
Draco smirked.
He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms and tilting his head. "That’s adorable, truly, but—" He reached for Harry’s hand and very deliberately interlocked their fingers on the table, turning back to the Ravenclaw with a slow, amused smile. "Did you somehow miss the part where I have a boyfriend?"
The Ravenclaw—who was, apparently, suicidal—shrugged. "I figured it was worth a shot."
Harry made a noise. A very dangerous, very territorial noise.
Draco glanced at him, utterly delighted, and gave the Ravenclaw a sickly sweet smile. "That’s cute. It’s not happening, but cute."
The Ravenclaw looked between them, clearly realizing they had made a mistake, then muttered something about "worth trying" before quickly walking away.
The moment they were out of earshot, Pansy cackled. "Oh, Harry, I’ve never seen you look so murderous!"
Harry, still glaring after the Ravenclaw, muttered, "What part of mine do people not understand?"
Draco—pleased beyond belief—squeezed his hand. "Oh, darling," he teased. "Are you jealous?"
Harry turned to him, expression dark. "Obviously."
Draco hummed, looking unbearably smug, and leaned in until his lips brushed against Harry’s ear. "Good," he whispered, enjoying the way Harry tensed.
Blaise sighed dramatically. "Ugh. They’re doing the thing again."
"Let them," Pansy smirked, watching as Harry all but dragged Draco out of the Great Hall. "I think someone has something to prove."
---
The study group was a disaster.
At least, for most of them.
Draco and Hermione were perched at the front of the room, flipping through advanced Transfiguration books like it was bedtime reading, excitedly debating theories and scribbling down notes.
Everyone else? Absolutely suffering.
“I don’t get it,” Ron grumbled, staring at the open textbook in front of him like it had personally insulted him. “How does willing yourself into an animal even work?”
"It’s not just willing yourself," Hermione said, exasperated. "It’s a complicated combination of intent, self-magic, and transfigurative precision!"
Ron blinked. "Yeah. That helps so much, thanks."
Pansy groaned, leaning back in her chair dramatically. "I swear, if I have to hear one more thing about magical self-identification, I’m going to start hexing people."
“You’re just mad because you don’t get it,” Blaise smirked.
"Exactly!" Pansy snapped.
Across the room, Harry had his chin propped up in his hand, watching Draco with a lazy sort of fondness.
“Can’t you at least pretend to struggle?” he asked, smirking as Draco flipped another page, completely absorbed.
Draco didn’t even look up. “Why would I struggle when it’s right there?”
Harry exchanged looks with Nico, who just shook his head.
"This is just like third year all over again," Will sighed.
"What do you mean?" Harry asked.
Will gestured vaguely at Draco and Hermione, who were aggressively discussing something about molecular magical reconstruction. "Whenever we learn something over-the-top, they’re the only ones who get it, and we just have to accept that we’ll never be on their level."
"You could try harder," Hermione pointed out, not unkindly.
Will gave her a look. "Yeah. Or I could not."
Harry chuckled. "So what I’m hearing is, Draco’s doing all the brain work, and I just have to wait until he dumbs it down for me later?"
Draco finally looked up and smirked. "Exactly, love. I knew you had a brain somewhere in there."
Harry rolled his eyes but couldn't hide his grin.
---
It started off simple.
Snape, Lucius, Remus, Narcissa, and Sirius had gathered around, watching the students work through their Animagus theory. Seeing the varying levels of struggle, they had exchanged glances—then, in true adult fashion, decided to intervene.
"If you’re going to attempt something as complex as the Animagus transformation," Snape said smoothly, "you should at least prove you understand the theory first."
Which was how they ended up being quizzed like it was some kind of twisted game show.
"First question," Lucius began, his sharp gaze sweeping over them. "What is the most common reason for a failed Animagus transformation?"
Draco and Hermione both answered at the same time. "Inability to balance magical self-awareness with physical transformation."
Lucius nodded approvingly. "Correct."
Ron groaned. "Obviously it would be them."
"Alright," Remus said, amused. "Then let’s give someone else a chance—" He looked at Harry. "What happens if you lose focus in the middle of a transformation?"
Harry blinked. "Uh… you end up half-transfigured?"
Snape smirked. "Correct. And what is that called?"
Harry looked to Draco for help. Draco smirked back, completely unhelpful.
"Er… stuck?"
"Partially Transfigured State," Hermione corrected with a sigh.
"Half a point," Narcissa said graciously.
"Fine," Harry grumbled. "Draco’s going to explain it to me later anyway."
Draco beamed. "Obviously."
Sirius leaned forward with a grin. "Alright, last question—whoever gets this wins bragging rights."
Blaise perked up. "Finally, something worth competing for."
Sirius smirked. "What is the rarest known Animagus form?"
For once, even Draco and Hermione looked uncertain. Everyone scrambled to think—until, finally, Nico tilted his head and said, "A Thestral?"
There was a pause.
Snape and Remus shared a glance.
"...Correct," Snape said, sounding mildly impressed.
Nico just shrugged. "I did pay attention to at least one Transfiguration class."
Sirius clapped his hands together. "Alright, so Nico wins!"
"Unbelievable," Draco muttered. "I can speak fifteen languages and understand magical physics, but he gets the hardest question right and gets all the glory?"
Harry smirked, wrapping an arm around Draco’s waist. "Jealous, love?"
Draco sniffed. "Hardly."
But he still crossed his arms and pouted.
---
After another frustrating Animagus lesson (in which Hermione and Draco were obviously the best), Harry found himself pacing around his room at Malfoy Manor, staring at the golden egg.
He had tried opening it before—but the horrible screeching sound it made had nearly given him a heart attack.
Draco, lying dramatically on Harry’s bed with his head propped on one hand, sighed. "If you’re going to keep pacing, can you at least do it somewhere else?"
Harry rolled his eyes and ignored him. Instead, he muttered, "There has to be a trick to this."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Or, you could stop being stubborn and ask someone who already knows."
Harry narrowed his eyes at him. "That’s cheating."
Draco smirked. "No, it’s being efficient."
Harry huffed and flopped onto the bed beside him, the egg resting between them. "You like riddles. Any ideas?"
Draco leaned over and tapped a finger against the gold surface. "It obviously isn’t meant to be listened to normally. Try muffling the sound. A barrier spell, maybe?"
Harry sat up. "That’s… actually a decent idea."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Obviously."
Harry pulled out his wand and cast a quick Muffliato before cracking the egg open again. The sound was still awful, but at least it wasn’t painful.
Draco winced. "Alright, not a barrier. Maybe an environment change? Sound changes depending on location."
Harry frowned. "Like where?"
Draco gave him a look, as if the answer was obvious. "Where do people usually hear things differently?"
Harry thought about it—and then blinked. "Water."
Draco smirked. "There you go, Potter. You do have a brain."
Harry ignored the teasing and stood up. "I need a bath."
Draco’s smirk widened. "Do you, now?"
Harry threw a pillow at him. "Shut up, Malfoy."
But as he left to find the nearest large tub, he couldn't help but feel a little lighter. Even when dealing with mystery death-trap tournaments, Draco somehow made everything feel manageable.