Obsessed

The news spread like Fiendfyre.

By breakfast, it was all anyone could talk about—how *Charlie Weasley* had gotten *Draco Malfoy* pregnant. How Lucius had *disowned* him. How Charlie had all but *declared war* on the Malfoy name just by standing at Draco’s side.

And I *hated* it.

I hated how everyone whispered about it like it was some kind of thrilling scandal. I hated how Draco walked into the Great Hall, chin lifted in defiance, like he wasn’t affected at all. I hated how Charlie wasn’t even here to *see* the chaos he’d caused.

But most of all, I hated how *right* it felt to be angry.

Because I had no right. None at all.

And yet—

---

“*He’s fifteen!*” Hermione hissed, slamming her book shut. “Fifteen, Ron! That’s *too young!*”

She had been fuming since she heard. Pacing. Ranting. Shooting *me* looks like I was somehow involved.

Ron groaned. “Hermione, Draco’s not a kid. Slytherins grow up faster or—something.”

“That’s not how *biology* works, Ronald!”

Ginny, sitting cross-legged on the Gryffindor common room floor, shrugged. “Charlie wouldn’t do anything if he didn’t mean it. He’s stubborn like that.”

Hermione whirled on her. “Oh, so that makes it okay?”

Ginny sighed. “Look, I’m not saying it’s *ideal*, but Charlie is stepping up. Most guys would’ve run off.”

Hermione huffed. “Most guys wouldn’t have slept with a *fifteen-year-old in the first place!*”

Ron made a face. “Okay, yeah, that part is a bit… weird.”

A *bit?*

I dug my nails into my palms, silent.

Hermione crossed her arms. “Thank you!”

“But,” Ron continued, shifting uncomfortably, “Draco doesn’t seem—y’know—*upset* about it.”

Hermione scoffed. “That’s because he’s an *idiot!*”

My jaw clenched.

I agreed with her. I *did.* Charlie *shouldn’t* have touched him. Shouldn’t have *ruined* him. Shouldn’t have claimed something that—

Something that was never *mine* to begin with.

I didn’t own Draco.

I had no right to be angry.

And yet—

I had never hated anyone more than Charlie Weasley.