Slytherin Sweetheart

The morning light filtered through the high windows of the Room of Requirement, casting a soft glow over the tangled sheets. Draco stirred, the warmth at her back making her sigh before she even opened her eyes.

Then she remembered.

Harry. His arms around her. His skin against hers.

Her breath hitched, and she turned her head slightly, only to find him still deep asleep, his face relaxed. His hair was an absolute disaster—more so than usual—but somehow, it only made him look even more annoyingly handsome.

Draco bit her lip. She should move. She should get up, get dressed, and get as far away as possible before her brain fully caught up to what had happened.

But instead, she hesitated. Just for a moment. Slowly, gently, she leaned in and brushed the lightest kiss against his cheek. Harry made a soft noise in his sleep, shifting closer.

Draco left the Room of Requirement feeling light. Something inside her had been unknotted, like a flower finally watered after wilting for too long.

She could still feel the warmth of his touch lingering on her skin, the ghos t of his breath at her ear. It was ridiculous, really, how a single night could make her feel so—so whole.

The Great Hall was loud, filled with the usual morning chatter, but that one conversation cut through the noise like a knife.

“Is it true?” a Ravenclaw girl asked, leaning toward Ginny with wide eyes. “You and Harry are planning to get engaged after graduation?”

Draco’s fingers tightened around the edge of her robe.

Ginny laughed, casual, easy. “That’s what his mum always says.”

Everything stopped.

Draco’s breath caught in her throat, her steps faltering, the warmth in her chest ripped away in an instant.

Draco didn’t wait to hear the rest. She turned sharply, heart pounding, hands clammy despite the morning chill. Draco dropped onto the bench, hands curled into fists in her lap. Her throat felt tight, her stomach twisting.

Pansy didn’t say anything at first. She just watched. Draco sat too stiffly, her fingers trembled slightly when she reached for her cup, her eyes refused to look anywhere near the Gryffindor table.

She sighed, watching her carefully. “What happened?”

Draco exhaled through her nose. “Nothing.”

Harry shuffled into the Great Hall, still rubbing sleep from his eyes, his hair even messier than usual. He barely had time to sit before Ginny threw an arm around his neck, grinning.

“Look who finally decided to wake up,” she teased, ruffling his hair. “Rough night, Captain?” Harry groaned, half-heartedly swatting her hand away. “Too early for this, Gin.”

Ginny nudged him, feigning innocence. "You know, Mum keeps saying how nice it’d be if we got engaged before we graduate."

Harry choked on his drink. Coughing, he wiped his mouth, looking at her like she’d grown another head. "What?" Ginny just laughed, patting his back like she hadn’t just dropped a bomb. "Relax, Harry. I said Mum keeps saying it. Not me."

Across the hall, Pansy watched as Draco’s grip on her fork tightened, knuckles pale. She sighed, leaning in just enough for only Draco to hear.

“Ignore them,” she murmured. “People like Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley? They’re destined to be together.” Draco swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus on her breakfast, but the food tasted like ash in her mouth.

The note fluttered down onto Draco’s plate, landing right between her fork and knife. A flicker of magic still clung to the edges, like it had been summoned there rather than delivered by hand.

She stared at it.

Meet me in the library.

Her fingers twitched. she straightened her robes, lifted her chin, and walked out of the Great Hall. She didn’t rush.

She didn’t let her thoughts spiral. But by the time she reached the library doors, she still hadn’t figured out what she was supposed to say to him.

Draco hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. Really, she hadn’t.

She had arrived early, thinking she could collect herself before Harry got there, but just as she reached their usual spot, she heard voices. His voice. Peering through the gap between books, she saw him slouched at a table, running a hand through his already-messy hair. Weasley sat across from him, looking somewhere between amused and exasperated.

“So let me get this straight,” Ron said, voice low but incredulous. “You kissed Malfoy, started hearing her thoughts, and then—what? Kissed her again and it just stopped?”

Harry exhaled, rubbing his face. “Yeah.”

Ron leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “So your weird little experiment actually worked?”

Draco’s breath hitched. Experiment?

Harry shot him a glare. “It wasn’t an experiment.”

Ron snorted. “Mate. You drank a dodgy potion on purpose, snogged Malfoy to see if it worked, That’s literally a test.”

“It’s… complicated,” Harry finally admitted.

Something inside Draco shattered. Her chest burned—rage, humiliation, betrayal.

Complicated? Complicated?

Was that all she was to him? Some tangled mess of regret? He messed with her thoughts, oh that explained a lot. He always knew what she needed before she even said, always act as if he knew how she felt.

Tears burned at her eyes before she could stop them. Her body moved before her mind caught up, stepping out from behind the bookshelf, every muscle trembling.

She met his gaze, eyes burning. Then, voice quiet, razor-sharp.

"I should’ve known better."

Then she turned and walked away. She barely saw the corridors, barely felt the floor beneath her feet. All she could hear was her own ragged breath, her own heartbeat crashing against her ribs.

Footsteps pounded behind her. Harry.

“Draco, wait—”

She didn’t slow down until she reached the  Slytherin dormitory— there was nowhere left to run.

Harry caught up just as she stopped in front of the entrance. "Draco," he panted, reaching for her arm, but she jerked away.

"Just listen," he begged. "Let me explain."

"Explain what?" Her voice came out thin, wrecked. She forced out a laugh, bitter and small. "That you lied? That you played me?"

Harry flinched. "I never—"

"Don't," she cut him off, and this time she did turn, her eyes blazing, her face hot and wet with tears she hadn’t realized had fallen. “You knew. From the sstart.” Her breath hitched. “You let me believe it was real.”

"It was real," Harry said, his voice urgent, desperate. He reached for her, but she stumbled back, arms wrapping around herself like she could hold herself together.

Her laugh came out shattered. "Guess what? You won another game, happy now?”

"Draco—"

"I'm tired, Potter." The words wobbled, thick in her throat. "I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to see you anymore."

She just turned. Stepped past the entrance.

Pansy barely looked up from her magazine when Draco stormed into the dormitory, eyes red, jaw tight.

“ Draco? What’s wrong?” she asked, flipping a page.

Draco didn’t answer. She marched straight to the potions shelf, scanning the labels with shaky fingers.

“I need contraceptive potion.” Her voice was flat, emotionless.

Pansy’s hand froze mid-page turn. “Oh.”

There was a beat of silence before she casually pointed to a small wooden box on the second shelf. Her eyes flicked over them, searching, until a dark green potion caught her attention.

“What’s this one?” she asked, voice hoarse.

Pansy, still lounging on her bed, sat up slightly to glance at it. The moment she saw the color, her expression darkened. “Don’t touch that one.”

Draco frowned. “Why?”

“It’s a nasty sleep potion. Knocks you out for weeks, drains your magic, makes you so exhausted you can barely lift your head. My mother gave the wrong kind to me.” She trailed off, then cleared her throat. “Just don’t.”

Draco stared at the swirling green liquid, the temptation curling at the edges of her thoughts like smoke. No thoughts, no pain—just sleep.

Pansy’s voice softened. “The contraceptive is the violet one.”

Draco nodded stiffly, grabbing one of the vials. Her hands trembled as she pulled off the seal, but she swallowed the potion without hesitation, the bitter taste burning down her throat.

Draco placed the empty vial back into the box with careful precision, but her hands were still shaking. She curled them into fists and turned away before Pansy could see the tears slipping down her face.

Draco sat on the edge of her bed, the small vial of green liquid still clutched between her fingers. Her mind was a storm, replayed everything—Harry’s voice in the library, their conversation, the weight of her own foolishness.

It was ridiculous.

Harry was the son of war heroes, practically wizarding royalty. He was a half-blood, but that hardly mattered—everyone adored him. He was untouchable.

She, on the other hand, was a Malfoy. A Death Eater’s daughter. She’d been raised knowing exactly what was expected of her: be perfect, be pure, be useful. Marry well. Secure an alliance. Carry on the bloodline.

Her mother would never approve. Her father would disown her.

Draco let out a sharp breath and shut her eyes.

A sharp crack split the quiet of the Slytherin dormitory, and Draco turned. An elf stood there, his large eyes round. He wrung his hands together, his ears drooping as he lifted a carefully wrapped scroll.

“Miss Draco,” he croaked, voice trembling. “Dobby is bringing a message from Master and Mistress Malfoy.”

Draco’s breath caught. She had known this was coming, but not like this. Not now. Not when her heart still ached from Harry, when her hands still remembered the feel of his skin, when she was still drowning in the aftershocks of a world she had no place in.

“Miss Draco must take it,” Dobby pleaded, stepping closer. “Master and Mistress say it is very important.”

Her fingers curled into her robes. A deep, terrible exhaustion settled into her bones.

Draco stared at the contract, the fine parchment heavy in her hands. The Malfoy crest was pressed into the wax seal, flawless and unyielding. It looked like a relic from another life—one she had spent years pretending she could outrun.

But she never could, could she?

Her fingers traced the edge of the paper as her mind drifted.

Potter and I were never meant to last.

His world had always been different from hers—too bright, too free. The way he laughed with his friends, the way he was never afraid to speak his mind, the way he touched her like she was something precious. Like he wasn’t bound by duty, by expectation, by generations of whispered rules.

The Potters marry for love. The Malfoys marry for power.

That’s how it had always been. And she had been a fool to think she could escape it.

Her parents had sent this contract because they knew. They had seen the signs—her distraction, her weakness, her betrayal of everything they raised her to be. This was their way of reminding her who she was.

A Malfoy does not chase fairytales.

Breakfast in the Great Hall was loud as usual, filled with the usual chatter of students, the clinking of goblets, the scraping of cutlery. Harry barely heard any of it.

His eyes kept darting to the Slytherin table. Or rather—to the empty space where Draco should have been. She hadn’t been at dinner last night. Or lunch before that.

Harry clenched his jaw, pushing his food around his plate. She was avoiding him, and it hurt more than he wanted to admit.

Then, suddenly, a sharp voice cut through the noise like a whip.

"You absolute bastard!"The entire hall went silent.

Pansy Parkinson stood at the entrance to the Gryffindor table, her arms crossed, her dark eyes burning with fury. Harry barely had a second to react before she stormed up to him, jabbing a finger into his chest.

"You think you can just use her?" she spat, her voice shaking with rage. "You slept with her,” Pansy seethed, her voice rising, “you made her fall for you—while you already had a fiancée?” 

Murmurs swept through the hall like wildfire.Harry felt all the air leave his lungs.

“What the hell are you talking about, Parkinson?” Ron growled, already standing to intervene, but Pansy ignored him.

“Oh, don’t play dumb, Weasley,” she snapped before turning back to Harry, “She trusted you,” Pansy hissed, her voice shaking now.

“I—It’s not like that,” Harry said, his voice rough. “I’m not—”

“Shut up!” she snapped, her voice cracking. “Do you know what you’ve done to her? Do you know that she hasn’t eaten in days? That she can barely fucking sleep?”

Harry felt like he’d been punched. His hands curled into fists on the table. He hadn’t seen Draco at meals, but he’d thought—fuck, he’d thought she was just avoiding him. 

“I never—” His voice cracked. He forced himself to breathe, his pulse hammering in his ears. “I never had a fiancée.”

The moment the words left Harry’s mouth, the entire hall turned to Ginny.

She went rigid, her eyes widening at the sudden shift in attention. The whispers started immediately—low, hissing murmurs spreading like fire, students leaning into each other, exchanging glances.

“Wait, but Ginny said—”

“Didn’t his mum—”

“I thought they were—”

Ginny’s face flushed a deep red, but she quickly straightened, crossing her arms. “I never said we were engaged,” she snapped, her voice sharp, defensive. “I just said that his mum always talked about it.”

“That’s not what it sounded like,” Pansy shot back coldly.

Harry clenched his jaw, his hands shaking. He turned fully toward Ginny, his voice low but furious. “Tell them the truth.”

Ginny’s eyes darted away. “I—”

“Tell. Them.”

Silence.

Then, through gritted teeth, she muttered, “We were never engaged.”

A heavy pause followed.

The Great Hall was dead quiet.

Harry exhaled harshly, running a hand through his hair. His blood was boiling.

“Doesn’t make a fucking difference,” Pansy bit out. “You still broke her.”

Then, without another word, she turned and walked away.

Harry stood there, breathing heavily, the weight of every stare pressing down on him.

He had to find Draco.