Slytherin Sweetheart

 Smell of damp stone and crushed ingredients filled the air of Slughorn’s afternoon Potions class. Draco watched as Potter strolled through the dungeon door, flanked by Weasley and Granger. His hair was even more of a disaster than usual, and his tie was crooked. Typical.

“My god, stop staring.”
Draco snapped her head toward Pansy, scowling. “I wasn’t staring. I was just thinking, Pansy."

“Oh, sure,” Pansy hummed, tapping her chin. “Thinking about his thighs?”

Draco elbowed her so hard she almost dropped her pen. “Shut up.”

Pansy just grinned wickedly. “Ow! Calm down, Mrs. Potter.”

But Potter was walking toward them. Straight toward her. Draco’s stomach lurched. Absolutely not. He wants a fight or what.

Pansy made a barely concealed snort of laughter before shoving her books into Theo’s arms and vacating her seat. “All yours, Potter.” Draco spun to glare at her. “Parkinson, you traitor.”

Potter just beamed. Before she could even consider moving, he dropped his things to the empty seat beside her. He sat down, stretched, let out a satisfied sigh and grinned at her.

Draco’s soul left her body.

“What the hell are you playing at?”

Professor Slughorn, completely missing the tension "Ah, wonderful, Mr. Potter! Just like your mother— Lily Evans, one of my very best students. Always so open-minded!"

Harry, looking far too pleased with himself, leaned back in his seat. “Hear that, Malfoy? I’m an inspiration.”

Draco scoffed. “You’re an irritation.” 

Ron and Hermione, still seated at their usual table, watched in horror. Ron leaned toward Hermione, muttering, “Alright, before you say anything, this is technically not my fault. He told me he wanted to test some theories."

Hermione turned to him, tried to keep her voice down. “This is why you should not put any untested Weasley products in your pockets!”

Harry stirred his potion lazily, only half paying attention to Professor Slughorn's instructions on the board. He had more important thing to do.

Malfoy was focused on her own cauldron, brow furrowed in concentration. Harry leaned in slightly. “Careful, Malfoy. Wouldn’t want you to melt another cauldron."

Draco’s head snapped up, eyes flashing. “That was not my fault, you absolute troll, Nott pushed my elbow that time.”

But Harry barely heard her, because at the exact same time, a different voice rang in his head—

Oh, brilliant, now he’s watching me. Just what I need. As if my hands weren’t already shaking, now I’ll probably drop the entire vial like a complete loser.

Harry blinked. His eyes flickered to Draco’s fingers, actually trembling as she measured out her ingredients.

He stared at her. She scowled.

“What?” she snapped.

Harry hesitated, then shrugged. “Nothing. Just—surprised you’re shaking. Scare of me that much?"

Draco scoffed, turning back to her cauldron. “In your dreams, Potter.” Her reply and her thoughts didn’t match at all.

Harry hissed as the knife slipped, a sharp sting cutting across his palm. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, watching as crimson welled up and dripped onto the table.

Draco’s head snapped toward him, her scowl deepening. “Are you serious?” she demanded, already reaching for her wand.

Harry shrugged. “It’s just a scratch.”

Still, she yanked his wrist toward her, inspecting the wound with a scowl. The cut was deep enough to be annoying.

She waved her wand and muttered a healing spell.

She groaned “Are you incapable of existing without making a scene?”.

Why is his hand so big?

The thought hit her like a Bludger, unbidden and horrifyingly detailed. Rough. Warm. Strong. Imagine how they’d feel—

She stopped immediately. No. No, no, bad Draco. Stop thinking. Stop thinking.

Her grip tightened slightly before she shoved his hand away. “There. Try not to interrupt me again."

Draco turned back to her cauldron with a sharp huff, ears burning. Harry flexed his fingers, feeling where Draco’s magic had sealed the cut. It was fine now, no pain, no scar—but that wasn’t the part that had him biting back his smirk.

Her thoughts. The veryunfortunate thoughts about his hands.

Harry really, really shouldn’t be enjoying this. But there was something absurdly entertaining about how wildly different her inner monologue was from the sharp insults she threw at him.

He tilted his head, smirking. “You know, Malfoy, if you wanted to hold my hand, you could’ve just asked.”

Draco ripped her hands back like she’d been burned, rubbing them furiously against her robes. "As if, Potter. I’d rather hold hands with a mountain troll."

Harry just grinned, resting his chin in his palm. “Bit late for that, don’t you think?”

Her glare could’ve set things on fire. “Die.”

Harry huffed a quiet laugh, studied her. She was so fierce. So dramatic. Like a cat that had fallen off a windowsill and was pretending it meant to. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her like this before.

Ron leaned toward Hermione, voice low. “Are they—? Is this—?” He gestured vaguely at the two of them.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. She knew exactly what was happening but wished she didn’t. “I told you not to bring anything unsafe around Harry. He loves bad ideas.”

Draco’s stomach dropped the moment she saw the Malfoy crest stamped onto the envelope. A sense of dread curled in her chest before she even opened it.

Her eyes scanned the pristine script, and with every line, her grip tightened on the parchment.

They had chosen a husband for her.

Old. Filthy rich. 

“An excellent match,” her father had written.
Draco’s breath hitched.

The words blurred together.

Her father’s closing remark was almost an afterthought: We expect you to behave accordingly.

A sharp laugh almost clawed its way out of her throat. Accordingly? Like she wasn’t already playing the role they’d written for her? Like she hadn’t spent all her life suffocating under their expectations?

Her stomach twisted. She barely noticed when her hands started shaking, but Pansy did.

“Draco?” Pansy’s voice softened as she looked at Draco.

Draco snapped the letter shut and stuffed it into her robes. “It’s nothing,” she said flatly, reaching for her tea with an iron grip. It clattered against the saucer.

Draco had known this day would come. She’d spent her whole life preparing for it. It was expected—her duty. She was a Malfoy, after all.

But not like this.

Not when her heart was still racing from last night’s dream of rough hands and a stupid, reckless grin. Not when her skin still burned from the memory of calloused fingers and emerald eyes that saw her. Not when her mind, against all reason, had been whispering traitorous things she refused to name.

She ignored the way her pulse pounded in her ears. She ignored the sudden, ridiculous sting behind her eyes. And most of all, she ignored the way, across the Great Hall, Harry Potter was watching her.

Draco didn’t reply to the letter. Not yet. She shoved it deep into her robes, pretending it didn’t exist. But ignoring a problem never made it disappear. She knew that better than anyone.

She needed a distraction. And somehow, without trying, Harry Potter became one.

It was so easy—too easy—to think about him instead. About how he always seemed to know what she needed before she did. A quill in her hand before she could even sigh, a book flipped to the right page just as she went to look for it, a steaming cup of tea just how she wanted nudged her way when she didn’t even realize she wanted one.

She should have questioned it. Should have been suspicious. But she didn’t.
Because it was easier this way—easier to let herself fall. She let herself lean to him. She let Potter take care of her. Not in any grand, obvious way but somehow, he was always there.

Draco knew she was sinking deep.

Letting Potter in, letting herself rely on him—it was dangerous. It was reckless. But when Potter was right there—so warm, steady and safe—it was too easy to pretend.

Like a temporary painkiller potion. It wouldn’t fix anything, wouldn’t stop what was coming, but for now, it dulled the ache. Made it easier to breathe.

So she let it happen. Just for a little while. Just until she had to face reality.

She let herself lean in, rest her head on his shoulder. Let her fingers slip into his messy hair, twirling strands between her fingertips. And when the weight in her chest got too heavy, she scowled at him—wordless, expectant—just to make him sigh and smooth a hand down her back.

And he let her. Every single time.

Even Pansy, who usually encouraged bad decisions for sport, gave her a wary look.

"Draco," she said, low and cautious, "maybe… slow down a little bit?"

Draco scoffed. "Oh, please."

Pansy’s gaze flicked to Draco, "I mean it. You’re getting too comfortable."

Draco rolled her eyes. "It’s just temporary."

"Yeah?" Pansy arched a brow. "Tell that to your face. Careful darling, you may get hurt."

"You should tell her," Hermione said, voice low.

Harry blinked. "Tell her?"

Hermione shot him a look. "That you can hear her, you idiot."

Harry's stomach twisted. "Yeah, and then what? She panics? Thinks I've been spying on her thoughts this whole time?"

"Or she realizes why this is happening," Hermione pressed, softer now. "And why she's letting you in like this." 
His throat felt tight. "...She'll hate me."

Harry didn’t dare to imagine what it all meant. Didn’t dare to name it. Because if he did, if he admitted that this thing between them was more than some stupid prank gone too far—there’d be no going back.

But he felt it. Every time she skipped a meal, every time her thoughts went anxious, every time she sat too still, pretending like nothing was wrong. It clawed at his chest, a slow, suffocating panic.
Why did his stomach twist when her thoughts went quiet, when she buried something deep enough that even he couldn’t hear it?

He hated that silence. It wasn’t like her. Draco was always thinking, always overanalyzing, always dramatic. When it went quiet, it meant she was hiding something.

Harry—helplessly, stupidly—couldn’t stop himself from caring. He was slipping, sinking too deep with no way out.
Harry noticed it—the way she was slipping away, piece by piece.

And he let her. Let her do whatever she wanted, let her lean against him, tangle her fingers in his hair, press her face into his shoulder when she thought no one was looking. Every time she did that, his heart bloomed, traitorous and desperate.

But every time, his chest tightened too. Because he knew. Knew that whatever this was, whatever she was letting herself feel was built on a lie.

If she knew the truth, he’d lose her. And he wasn’t sure he could stand that.

The sunset sky burned orange and gold, Harry found her by the Black Lake, arms crossed, staring out at the water.

Harry called, adjusting his grip on his broom.“Fancy a match?”

Draco turned, arching a skeptical brow. “A match?”

“Yeah. Seeker match. First to catch the Snitch wins.” He smirked. “Unless you’re scared I’ll humiliate you twice in one season.”

That got her. Draco scoffed, already reaching for her broom. “You wish, Potter.”

The moment they kicked off, the world below ceased to matter. The cold wind whipped through their hair, sharp and biting, but it only made the thrill better. The sky stretched wide above them, endless.

Draco laughed—an unguarded, wild sound that sent electric through Harry’s chest. He’d never heard her laugh like that before. Not a scoff, not a sneer—just pure joy.

“You’re slow, Potter!” she taunted, diving sharply.

Harry grinned, heart hammering as he sped after her. They twisted and turned through the air, pushing each other faster, higher, neither of them holding back. 

After the match, Draco pulled her knees up to her chest, arms looping around them as she gazed at the empty pitch. Her hair was a windblown mess, strands sticking to her face, but she didn’t seem to care. Harry leaned back on his hands, catching his breath, his broom lying forgotten at his feet. He tilted his head toward her. “So… what’s next for you?”

Draco huffed. “After Hogwarts?”

She was quiet for a moment, watching the horizon. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Marry some rich pure-blood, I suppose. Produce the next generation of perfect little heirs.” Her voice was light, almost mocking, but Harry caught the tension in her shoulders.

He frowned. “That’s it?”

She turned to look at him, an eyebrow arching. “What else would there be? What about you?”

Harry exhaled, stretching his legs out in front of him, eyes on the sky. “Dunno. Might become an Auror. Travel a bit first. Just… do something that’s mine, you know?”

Draco scoffed. “How very Gryffindor of you.”

Draco shrugged, but he heard her thoughts before she even opened her mouth. I want to run away too.

His stomach clenched. “You don’t want to marry like that, do you?”

Draco snorted. “Of course not. I only want to have kids with someone I actually love, not some old man my parents dug up just because he’s rich.”

“Kids, huh?” Harry tried to sound casual, but his heart was hammering. “What would they look like?”

Draco hummed, tilting her head. “They’d have my perfect hair, obviously. And their father’s eyes, maybe.”

Green eyes, she thought. Green.

Harry swallowed hard. “Green.”

Draco froze.

She turned to him, slowly, breath catching when she met his eyes. The sun was setting behind him, casting his face in gold, and she hated how easy it was to imagine—children with his green eyes, his ridiculous hair, his reckless heart.

“Draco,” he murmured, voice low, unsure, but so soft.

She didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly his lips were on hers, warm and sure, stealing the breath right out of her lungs. She clutched at his robes, pulling him closer, needing more, needing everything.

His hands slid into her hair, tilting her head as he kissed her deeper, hungrier. The bench, the field, the sky—all of it blurred into nothing. It was just him.

And then—nothing.

Silence.

The ever-present hum of her thoughts, the sassy retorts, the unspoken confessions—gone. Whatever had happened, whatever it meant—it didn’t matter. Not right now.

He’d think about it later. Right now, he just wanted her.

Somewhere between gasps and desperate touches, they stumbled back inside, up twisting staircases and down silent hallways. Her back hit the door to the Room of Requirement before he even realized where they were, hands shaking as he fumbled for the handle.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, voice rough, breathless against her lips.

Draco didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Draco barely had time to take it all in before Harry’s lips found hers again, pressing her back onto the bed. She could feel everything—the heat of his body, the roughness of his hands skimming over her skin, the way he touched her like she was something fragile, something precious.

She didn’t want to be careful. She wanted to feel all of him.

Her fingers curled in his hair, tugging him closer, he gasped when she bit his lip. His mouth left a slow, burning trail down her throat, over her collarbone, lower. She arched into him, breathless, head spinning.

He was everywhere.

Harry’s fingers slid between her thighs, and Draco gasped, clutching his shoulders. He groaned, voice thick with heat as he pressed his forehead against hers.

“So wet,” he murmured, his fingers teasing, exploring.

Draco shuddered, her breath coming in uneven gasps. She had dreamed of this—his hands, those rough, calloused Seeker’s fingers, now moving over her, inside her, coaxing sounds from her she didn’t even know she could make.

Harry watched her, eyes dark and burning, his lips brushing against her jaw. “You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” he whispered, his voice pure sin.

Draco would never admit it. But when he curled his fingers just right, stealing another soft, helpless moan from her lips—she knew he already had his answer.

Draco pushed him back against the cushions, her gaze dark with something unreadable—something that made Harry’s breath hitch in his throat. The candlelight cast golden streaks across her pale skin as she moved, deliberate and slow, tracing her fingers down his chest, over the taut muscles of his stomach.

He swallowed hard, watching her, heart pounding in his ears. She’s beautiful, the thought hit him suddenly, overwhelmingly, and before he could dwell on it, she leaned in, pressing a kiss to his hip. Then take all of him in her mouth. His taste made her head dizzy with lust, she fastened the rhythm.

His head tipped back against the wall with a sharp exhale, fingers fisting into her silky platinum hair. Sensation flooded through him like wildfire, every nerve in his body suddenly alight. His vision blurred, firework behind his eyelids, and for a dizzying moment, all he could do was feel.

"Draco," he groaned, not sure if it was a plea or a prayer.

She hummed softly, her hands firm on his thighs, holding him down, controlling the moment. He swore he saw stars.

He sank into her, and the world melted away.

Draco gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders, and Harry swore he’d never felt anything more perfect. She pulled him closer, wrapping herself around him, as if she never wanted to let go.

"I want—" Her voice faltered, "I want to keep this moment forever."

His heart pounded. He kissed her deeply, swallowing every unspoken word.

"Draco," he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers, moving with her like they were made for this, "I know."

Harry was losing himself in her. Every sigh, every tremble beneath him made it harder to think, harder to remember anything but this—Draco, warm and wild in his arms, her body tight around him, pulling him deeper.

He groaned against her neck, kissing the flushed skin there, feeling her shudder beneath his lips.

"I want your seed," she whispered, voice raw and pleading.

Something inside him snapped. Harry buried himself deeper, his breath catching as Draco’s legs locked around him, holding him there, pulling him closer. Her body trembled beneath him, around him, drawing him in.

She gasped, back arching, and he felt it—felt her come undone around him, tight and overwhelming, dragging him with her. His control shattered, a groan ripping from his throat as he gave in, he gave her everything.

They trembled together, breathless, skin damp and clinging, hearts pounding in time.

He pulled back slightly, searching her face, dazed. Draco only let out a soft sigh, her arms still wrapped around him, grounding him. In that moment, she was the only thing in the world that mattered to him.