Chapter 4
Draco Malfoy had always considered himself a realist.
Realists understood the natural order of things. They knew that some people were born to be great, others were born to be background noise, and some—some were Harry Bloody Potter, who defied all logic, reason, and self-preservation by existing the way he did.
Draco would also like to say, for the record, that none of this was his fault.
He hadn’t intended to fall for Potter. He had been very clear on that. Hadn’t even liked the git, really. In fact, he had spent an impressive number of years trying to actively ruin his life, and then - somehow—he had ended up here, hiding in deserted corridors, sneaking into the Room of Requirement, and making very questionable decisions with his mouth.
Which, apparently, everyone had decided to notice.
Because Hogwarts was now buzzing with rumors.
Draco could hear them everywhere. At breakfast, in the hallways, between classes. The hushed whispers, the not-so-hushed gasping, the absolutely unnecessary level of dramatics.
“Did you hear?” “No way—Malfoy and Potter?” “You’re joking.” “But, like—how?”
Draco nearly choked on his pumpkin juice when he heard a first-year tell another first-year that “Professor Snape caught them in a broom closet.”
For the love of Merlin.
“Fix your face,” Pansy whispered sharply beside him, nudging his ribs.
Draco scowled. “My face is fine.”
Pansy raised an eyebrow. “You look deeply suspicious.”
Draco took a deep breath and relaxed. Or at least, tried to.
His shoulders unknotted. His expression shifted into the default Malfoy sneer: unimpressed, vaguely superior, completely untouchable.
See? Normal. Nothing to see here. Just an innocent Slytherin heir who was absolutely not engaging in illegal Gryffindor-related activities.
But Pansy wasn’t buying it.
She stared at him, then at Potter across the Great Hall—who, to Draco’s horror, was already looking at him.
Worse, Potter had the nerve to smile.
It was barely there, just the corner of his mouth curling upward before he turned back to Weasley, but it was disastrous.
Pansy inhaled sharply.
Draco’s stomach dropped.
He turned back to his plate immediately, but he could feel her gaze drilling into the side of his head.
“Draco,” she said, slow and deliberate.
He sighed. “Yes, darling?”
She folded her arms. “You have two options.”
“Oh, joy,” Draco muttered.
“One, you tell me the truth.”
“Mm.” Draco picked at his toast. “Tempting. And option two?”
She smiled sweetly. “I murder you with my bare hands.”
Draco hummed. “You know, I was just thinking breakfast needed some lighthearted death threats.”
Pansy narrowed her eyes. “Don’t test me.”
Draco groaned, rubbing his temple. “Fine. You want the truth?”
Pansy nodded, expectant.
Draco leaned in, voice dropping. “I,” he whispered, “hate Harry Potter.”
Pansy stared at him.
Draco stared back.
The silence stretched.
Then—
She slapped him, hard, on the back of the head.
“*Ow!*” Draco hissed, recoiling. “What was that for?”
“For lying to my face, you absolute troll.”
Draco glared. “I was not lying.”
Pansy crossed her arms. “Oh, really?”
“Yes.”
“Then why,” she said, tilting her head, “do you stare at him like you’re writing poetry about his stupid green eyes?”
Draco spluttered. “I do not—”
“And why,” she continued, “do you look like you’ve been hexed whenever he smiles at you?”
Draco was not blushing. “I—”
“And why,” she finished smugly, “are you so bad at hiding it?”
Draco wanted to perish.
He inhaled sharply, straightening his shoulders. “Pansy,” he said, voice level, “I need you to do me a favor.”
She smirked. “Admit you’re in love with Potter?”
“No,” Draco deadpanned. “I need you to throw me into the Black Lake.”
Pansy cackled.
Draco scowled, stabbing at his eggs with far more force than necessary.
But in the back of his mind, a treacherous little voice whispered—
She’s right.
Because the truth was, Draco did stare too much. He did notice too many things. Like the way Potter’s hair curled a little at the nape of his neck, the way he bit his lip when he was thinking, the way his whole face lit up when he laughed—
Gods, I’m pathetic.
Draco sighed, resigning himself to his fate.
Pansy patted his shoulder. “There, there. It’s okay. You’re just experiencing an unfortunate case of being in love.”
Draco groaned, dropping his head onto the table.
This was going to be a nightmare.