Puffapod
The next morning, Draco was already in a foul mood when she sat in front of her mirror, trying not to look at the very obvious evidence of last night blooming on her neck.
"Well, well," Pansy drawled from her bed, watching with far too much amusement. "I was wondering why you came back so late, but this is much more interesting."
Draco met her eyes in the mirror and scowled. "Shut up, Pansy."
Pansy grinned wickedly and hopped off her bed, sauntering over. "Oh, come on, don’t be shy. Let me heal it properly."
Draco jerked away, wand already in hand. "I’ll handle it."
Pansy folded her arms, smirking. "You sure? But I must say it’d be a shame to let such a fine bit of love mark go to waste—"
"Urhh–Just leave me alone."
“Who did this?” Pansy practically purred, perching on the edge of Draco’s bed like she was settling in for a scandalous novel. “And more importantly, did he fit?”
Draco whipped around. “What the—? Pansy!”
“Oh, I beg to differ.” Pansy leaned in, smirking. “Who was he? Tall? Broad? Handsome? Did his —”
Draco's face reddened. She flicked her wand, a glamour spell settling over her skin. The mark vanished.
"See?" she said coolly. "Handled." Pansy huffed. "You’re no fun."
Draco turned away, shoving her wand into her bag. No evidence. No proof. No reason to think about it ever again.
But her fingers brushed her neck before she could stop herself.
Breakfast at the Great Hall was as loud as ever, thanks to Gryffindor’s victory. The entire table was buzzing, still high on their Quidditch Cup win, throwing smug grins and mocking cheers toward the Snake table.
Harry was sore as hell, but it was a good kind of sore—the kind that came from winning. He stretched, wincing as he reached for his pumpkin juice, just as an owl dropped a letter onto his plate.
He recognized his mother’s handwriting immediately.
"Congratulations on the Quidditch Cup Harry!
Your dad won’t shut up about it.
Well done, love. But don’t let it distract you—your N.E.W.T.s are coming up, and I hope you’re keeping up with your studies.
Stay focus.
Love, Mum."
Harry groaned.
“Bad news?” Ron asked, shoving an entire sausage into his mouth.
“Mum wants me to ‘focus on my N.E.W.T.s,’” Harry muttered.
Hermione perked up instantly. “Well, she’s absolutely right! We don’t have much time left, so I’ve already put together a schedule—”
Ron nearly choked on his food trying to escape. “Nope. No way. Not today.”
Hermione ignored them both and pulled out a very thick stack of parchment.
Harry leaned back in his seat, lazily letting his eyes drift over to the Slytherin table, fully expecting Malfoy to be glaring daggers at him, maybe even muttering hexes under her breath. But… nothing.
She wasn’t looking at him. At all.
In fact, she was actively avoiding his gaze, poking at her food like it had personally offended her. That wasn’t the reaction he expected but still understandable.
Harry smirked. “Oh, look,” he said, nudging Ron. “She’s so devastated over losing that she can’t even look at me. What a shame.”
Ron snorted into his pumpkin juice, but Neville—who had been eyeing Harry a little too carefully—tilted his head. "Eh– You… you really don’t remember anything from last night?"
Harry blinked. "Remember what?"
Neville and Ron exchanged one of those looks. The kind that meant something very bad had happened, and Harry was the last to know.
"You tell him Nev," Ron hissed. "You started it."
"No, you do it," Neville muttered. "It was your mysterious vial."
Harry frowned, looking between them. "Tell me what?"
Silence.
Ron shoveled more food into his mouth like his life depended on it. Neville suddenly found his goblet very interesting.
Harry groaned, dropping his fork. "Oh, for Merlin’s sake, just spit it out."
"You snogged Malfoy!" Neville blurted.
Ron groaned, dropping his head onto the table. "Brilliant, Neville. Real delicate delivery."
"What."
Neville winced. "Uh—"
"No. No, no, you’re kidding." Harry let out a half-laugh, half-scoff, waving his hand. "That’s a terrible joke, Neville. Honestly, I expected better from you."
Neville gave Ron a helpless look. Ron just groaned and dragged a hand down his face. "Yeah, mate. About that…"
Harry stared at them, waiting for the punchline. Any second now, Ron was going to crack and start laughing, and Neville—terrible liar that he was—would fold immediately.
Harry let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. "Oh, piss off. You expect me to believe that? That I—me—snogged Malfoy?" He scoffed. "Right. And next, you’ll tell me I challenged the Whomping Willow to a duel and lost."
Neville sighed. "Honestly, that might’ve been less painful."
"Mate," Ron said carefully, like he was approaching a wounded animal. "You were very drunk."
"I kissed her?" Harry said, still stuck in utter disbelief.
Ron smirked. "You cornered her."
Harry’s stomach dropped.
Neville nodded solemnly. "Full-on backed her into a wall."
Harry gaped at them, brain fully short-circuiting. "You’re lying."
"I wish," Ron grumbled. "And before you ask, yeah, we tried to stop you, but you—"
"You bit him."
"I what?"
"Right on the bloody hand!" Ron held up the evidence—an angry red mark on his knuckle. "Like a rabid Kneazle!"
Harry’s jaw dropped. "I do not bite people!"
Neville snorted. "Well, tell that to Malfoy’s neck."
"WH–?"
"Alright, time to go!" Ron shoved him off the bench so fast Harry nearly face-planted. "Class! Let’s move, buddies!"
Harry barely had time to grab his bag before he was being force-marched out of the Great Hall, still spluttering.
"Wait," Harry groaned. "First period is Herbology."
"With the Slytherins." Ron said cheerfully.
"Sure is." Harry muttered. "Maybe I’ll accidentally fall into a Venomous Tentacula."
Ron patted his shoulder. "Relax, mate. This is much more fun."
Harry slumped into his seat in Herbology, arms crossed as he eyed Ron and Neville suspiciously. There was no way they were serious. They had to be winding him up—trying to make him think he’d done something stupid so he’d spend all day paranoid about it. Classic.
Harry huffed, dragging a hand through his hair. No. He wasn’t falling for it. They were messing with him. Had to be.
Professor Sprout clapped her hands, drawing the class’s attention. "Today, you'll be working in pairs for a project—caring for a plant and writing an essay on its properties. Be focus and hand in your paper before leaving."
Harry barely registered Professor Sprout’s words, still too busy replaying every blurry moment from last night. The party. The drinking. The—
"Mr. Potter and Miss Malfoy," Sprout called.
Harry’s head snapped up. "Yes?"
Across the greenhouse, Malfoy looked equally horrified. "You’ve got to be kidding me."
Professor Sprout, completely unfazed, continued down the list. Harry groaned, slumping back in his seat. Brilliant. As if his day wasn’t already confusing enough.
"Come on, Potter, move it," Malfoy snapped as she stalked over to their assigned station.
Of course I get stuck with Potter, she thinked. What have I gotten myself into?
Harry trudged over to their assigned station and immediately scowled at the plant between them.
A Puffapod.
Great. The world’s most dramatic plant. One wrong move and it’d burst like a confetti cannon. Harry eyed the Puffapod, then Malfoy. “For something that explodes on contact, it’s still less dramatic than you.”
Malfoy smirked. “No, but it does make a mess. Just like you.”
They worked in tense silence, the only sounds coming from the rustling leaves and the occasional clink of tools.
Harry focused on the Puffapod, but Malfoy’s voice cut through his thoughts—sharp, irritated. Stupid Potter. I knew it. I knew he forgot all about it.
He frowned. “What?”
Malfoy’s head snapped up, eyes flashing. “What what?”
Harry blinked. “You just said—”
“I didn’t say anything, you absolute turnip.” She scowled and went back to her work, muttering under her breath.
Harry narrowed his eyes. Weird.
Harry didn’t push it, but something felt… off. Malfoy had definitely said something, but her lips hadn’t moved. Maybe she was just muttering too quietly for him to notice.
Whatever. Not his problem.
They kept working, tension thick between them. Every now and then, Harry caught himself glancing at her, eyes flickering to the faint shadow on her neck.
Nope. Not thinking about that.
Then, clear as day, her voice cut through the silence again. Of course he wouldn’t remember. Just my luck to be stuck with a complete dunderhead.
Harry looked up sharply. “I heard that.”
Malfoy froze, fingers tightening around the trowel. “Heard what?” Harry squinted. “You just called me a dunderhead.”
Malfoy raised a slow, deliberate eyebrow. “Right. I must accidentally said that out loud.”
Harry opened his mouth—then shut it. Wait. Had she? He could’ve sworn—He could’ve sworn her lips hadn’t moved.
As soon as class ended, Draco shoved her chair back and stalked toward the door, fully prepared to erase the last hour from her memory.
Stupid project. Stupid Potter with his broad shoulders and his stupid unruly, gorgeous hair—
Nuh-uh. Wait.
Not gorgeous. Hideous. Absolutely like a bird’s nest caught in a windstorm.
Harry tripped. Did he still too drunk?
Harry turned to Ron and Neville, still frowning. “Okay, seriously. What the hell happened last night?”
Ron and Neville exchanged a look.
“You mean besides you getting smashed and—”
Neville elbowed Ron sharply. “Nothing! Nothing at all!”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “Right. So that vial you two were whispering about at breakfast? Just my imagination?” Ron immediately looked away. “Dunno, can’t remember.”
Harry lunged, grabbing him in a headlock. “SPILL, WEASLEY.”
“Oi—bloody—GET OFF—” Ron wheezed, flailing.
Neville took a cautious step back. “Uh—should I—”
Harry turned his glare on him. “You’re next, Longbottom.” Neville cleared his throat. “It’s… not that bad.”
Harry crossed his arms. “Define ‘not that bad.’”
Ron swallowed hard. “Mate, you were very enthusiastic about testing Fred and George’s new product.”
Harry’s stomach dropped. “What product?”Neville scratched the back of his head. “Um. The one that lets you hear the thoughts of someone you fancy—after you, uh… kiss them.”
Harry stared.
Neville winced. “And you, uh… well. You really went for it.”
Harry let go of Ron just to shove him instead. “And you two let me?”
Neville huffed, shoving him right back. “We tried! You had a death grip on her!”
Ron grinned. “Yeah, real poetic, too. You called her delicious.”
Neville tried not to smile, nodded solemnly. “And moaned.”
Harry’s entire soul left his body. “I’M GOING TO KILL YOU BOTH.”
Ron cackled, dodging when Harry lunged at him. “Mate, don’t blame us! You’re the one who went all Draco Malfoy, my beloved.”
Harry groaned, ruffling his hair in despair. “I HATE YOU BOTH.”
Neville patted his shoulder. “At least she didn’t hex you?.”
Ron smirked. “Yet.”
Draco stormed into her dormitory, shutting the door behind her with more force than necessary. She stood there for a moment, breathing hard, fingers curled into fists at her sides.
Just pretend it never happened. That was the logical thing to do. The smart thing to do. She should be grateful he didn’t remember. It was for the best.
It wasn’t fair.
Because he didn’t remember. He got to go on with his stupid, perfect life, laughing with his perfect friends, while she was stuck here, feeling… this.
Why did she have to remember every detail when he didn’t even spare it a second thought?
She yanked her tie off and threw it onto the bed, running a hand through her hair. She gonna go crazy with all this mess.
Harry flopped back on his bed, staring at the ceiling, mind racing.
So it was true. He’d actually kissed Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. No wonder she’d been acting weird. And then there was the way she was avoiding his gaze, her shoulders tensed every time he got too close.
Harry frowned.
This was bad. This was very bad.
But then another thought hit him, something Ron had said.
"Then you kiss the one you fancy."
Harry sat up so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.
No. No way. That part had to be rubbish. Some dumb gimmick to sell more of Fred and George’s vials. There was no way he fancied Malfoy. The same Malfoy who had spent years making his life hell. The same Malfoy who looked at him like he was something unpleasant stuck to her shoe.
She was a nightmare.
Malfoy was the princess of blood purity, raised on supremacy and snobbery. She’d spent years lording it over everyone like she was some gift to the wizarding world, all while calling him Potter like it was an insult. Her family had probably already lined up some pure-blood husband for her after Hogwarts—someone as arrogant and insufferable as she was.
It was the Firewhisky. That’s all it was. Bad decisions, blurry memories, terrible life choices.
Harry groaned louder and kicked his foot against the bed-frame. Merlin help him, now he could hear Malfoy's thought every time he get too close.