The Things You See When You’re Just Trying to Study
Emilia Fairweather had exactly two goals in life:
- Graduate Hogwarts with all of her limbs intact.
- Stay as far away from drama as humanly possible.
Neither of these goals were particularly ambitious, but she liked to think they were realistic, considering she attended a school where staircases moved of their own free will, ghosts had very strong opinions, and the most famous student in the wizarding world kept nearly dying on an annual basis.
She had spent six years successfully avoiding every major incident—from the Chamber of Secrets fiasco to the Triwizard Tournament disaster—by employing a very simple strategy:
Mind. Her. Own. Business.
Which was exactly what she had been trying to do tonight.
She had only come to this part of the castle because it was quiet. The usual library spots were overrun with frantic seventh-years, the common rooms were impossible, and Emilia just wanted one uninterrupted hour to review her Charms essay.
But apparently, the universe had other plans.
Because instead of finding a peaceful, abandoned corridor—she found them.
Or rather, she heard them first.
She had just turned the corner near the North Tower when hushed voices drifted toward her—low, urgent whispers, the kind that made her instinctively pause.
Curious, but cautious, she pressed herself against the stone wall and peeked around the corner.
And promptly lost all ability to function.
Because there, half-hidden in the flickering torchlight, stood Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.
And they were very much in each other’s space.
For a moment, Emilia’s brain struggled to process what she was seeing.
It wasn’t aggressive—not like the usual Malfoy-Potter interactions she’d witnessed over the years. No wands drawn, no insults being hurled across the corridor. No audience.
Just them.
Too close.
Harry had one hand braced against the wall beside Draco’s head, body angled toward him like he was blocking him in, and Draco—
Draco wasn’t protesting.
If anything, he looked… amused.
No—fond.
And oh. Oh.
Emilia’s breath caught, realization slamming into her with all the force of a runaway hippogriff.
She had walked straight into something private. Something secret.
Something no one else knew about.
Her pulse spiked with a mix of panic and pure, unfiltered secondhand embarrassment.
She needed to leave.
Now.
Except—
“Oh, is that right, Potter?” Draco’s voice was a quiet drawl, laced with something that sounded dangerously close to laughter. “You think I’m incapable of going five minutes without insulting you?”
Harry hummed, tilting his head. “Prove me wrong, then.”
And then—before Emilia could fully comprehend what was happening—
Draco grabbed him by the tie and kissed him.
Emilia squeaked.
Not loudly—she hoped—but she definitely made a sound, because what in Merlin’s name was she witnessing right now?
This was not a casual kiss.
It was heated, desperate, the kind that looked like it had been building for weeks—like neither of them could quite help themselves anymore.
Harry’s hands fisted in Draco’s robes, dragging him closer, and Draco—smug, unbothered Draco—just melted into it, like this was the most natural thing in the world.
Like they had done this before.
Many, many times.
Emilia slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide, heart racing, because oh.
This wasn’t just a moment.
This was a thing.
A secret relationship.
And she had just stumbled straight into it.
She needed to go. Immediately.
But—and this was the worst part—she couldn’t look away.
It was too much.
Too intimate.
Too soft.
Because now—now—they were pulling back, breathless, foreheads almost touching, and Potter was grinning.
A real, genuine grin—one that crinkled the corners of his eyes, made his whole face light up.
And Malfoy—oh, Merlin.
Draco was looking at him like that.
Like he actually liked him.
Like he was happy.
Which was… not a thing Emilia had ever associated with Draco Malfoy.
He always seemed so composed, so sharp-edged and untouchable.
But this?
This was something else entirely.
Emilia sucked in a sharp breath, heart hammering.
She had two options.
- Leave, pretend she saw nothing, and never speak of this again.
- Stay, inevitably get caught, and probably perish from sheer awkwardness.
Option one was obviously the correct choice.
So, naturally, her stupid foot chose option two—accidentally knocking into the stone wall with a very loud thud.
She froze.
So did they.
Draco tensed, eyes snapping toward the noise, but—thank Merlin—Harry tugged him forward, distracting him completely.
Draco huffed against his lips, murmuring something Emilia did not want to hear, and just like that—
They forgot about the noise entirely.
Emilia did not stick around to tempt fate.
She bolted, practically teleporting down the corridor, heart racing so fast she thought she might pass out.
Once she reached the safety of a stairwell, she collapsed onto the steps, pressing her hands to her burning face.
Okay. Okay. That had just happened.
She had just witnessed—
Oh, Merlin’s beard, she needed to bleach her memory.
Because now, for the rest of her life, every time someone mentioned Harry Potter or Draco Malfoy, she was going to have to sit there, completely normal, while knowing what she knew.
And the worst part?
No one would ever believe her.