Growing up, Gabrielle Delacour felt like nothing more than a pale reflection of her older sister, Fleur. Where Fleur exuded grace and elegance, Gabrielle existed in the space just behind her, always a step too slow, a laugh too loud, a dress hemmed just a little too high.
Gabrielle’s wandering eyes, the way she let her gaze linger too long on boys, was met with Fleur’s disapproval.
“Stop acting like that, Gabrielle. You’ll never be taken seriously.”
Her sister’s remarks were always wrapped in a pristine bow of concern, but Gabrielle knew better. Fleur didn’t have to try for admiration; she commanded it without effort, while Gabrielle chased it, basking in the way it burned beneath her skin.
So she tried to follow Fleur’s lead, wore dresses that didn’t suit her, styled her hair in perfect curls, and crossed her legs neatly when all she wanted was to run wild. At gatherings, she smiled sweetly, forcing herself to appear delicate, innocent, yet every time a boy crossed her path, she couldn’t help but imagine his hands on her hips.
But no matter how much Gabrielle tried to embody the poised Delacour image, she knew the truth, the talks at parties, the comparisons behind her back. Fleur was revered. Gabrielle was just the younger, reckless sister who didn’t know when to keep her head down or her legs closed.
It wasn’t until she visited Fleur during the Triwizard Tournament, at thirteen, that Gabrielle saw just how fragile the line between them really was.
Through the narrow gap in the door to Fleur’s room, Gabrielle saw her sister on her knees, her flawless sister, parting her rosy lips around Harry Potter’s cock. The younger Hogwarts champion gripped Fleur’s silken hair, guiding her forward with steady, unapologetic control. Fleur’s hair, usually pristine and falling like pale gold, hung loose and messy, strands sticking to the corners of her mouth as she took him deeper. Her lips moved with desperate eagerness as she look up at him, pleading for his approval.
The younger Hogwarts champion’s hand gripped Fleur’s silken hair, guiding her forward with steady, unapologetic control.
Gabrielle’s breath caught, but she didn’t walk away.
Harry Potter,The Boy Who Lived, the same name Fleur spat so easily, dismissing him with every ounce of her superiority. Yet now, there he stood, a smirk tugging at his lips as Fleur, ever-radiant, untouchable Fleur, worked her mouth along his cock like a shameless slut.
Where was the goddess of a sister who carried herself with such pride? The dignified Veela who could command men with the flick of her hair? The one who scolded Gabrielle for letting boys look too long, for letting herself invite their attention?
How had Harry Potter, a mere half-blood, reduced Fleur to this?
A flicker of amusement tugged at Gabrielle, but it twisted with something else.
She brushed the hem of her skirt, bunching the fabric between her hands. She hadn’t planned to move, but the ache coiling low in her stomach burned hotter, and her thighs pressed together instinctively. Her focus stayed on Harry’s cock, slick and glistening with Fleur’s saliva, until her hand slipped beneath her skirt, driven by a need she couldn’t ignore.
The first touch sent a tremor through her, her movements hasty and unrestrained as she pressed against the undeniable wetness beneath the thin barrier of her underwear. She mirrored the rhythm of Fleur’s movements, each press drawing her further into the haze. Her lips parted, and she bit down, swallowing the whimper threatening to betray her.
It felt too intimate. Too raw.
Gabrielle didn’t know why, but watching her proud sister on her knees like that twisted something inside her, something sharp and simmering. Fleur, who always held herself above everyone else, was no better than her.
“Enjoying the show, baby girl?”
Draco’s voice slid over her shoulder like velvet, low and laced with amusement. Gabrielle jolted, barely stifling a soft squeak but Draco’s hand covered her mouth, silencing her on time. His other arm wrapped around her waist, tugging her back against him with a firm, possessive grip.
Gabrielle jerked briefly in surprise before surrendering to the warmth of him. Much like Fleur, Gabrielle had found herself tangled with a boy at Hogwarts. Only her partner wasn’t just any boy, he was Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter’s greatest rival. The irony twisted inside her, and she almost laughed.
Draco tilted her head back, capturing her mouth in a kiss that swallowed every noise she wanted to make. His lips were rough, insistent, and when his hips pressed forward, she could feel how hard he already was against her.
“Draco…” Gabrielle broke the kiss just enough to speak. “You’re late.”
His mouth curved against her jaw. “Seems like you kept yourself entertained.” His eyes flickered briefly toward the scene inside the room, lingering for just a heartbeat too long, too unsurprised, before settling back on the beautiful girl in his arms.
Gabrielle’s stomach twisted. He knew?
His hand traced along her thigh, gliding upward beneath the hem of her skirt. Gabrielle’s breath hitched, heat blooming under his touch as his palm pressed higher, all the way until he reached the pool of wetness between her legs.
“I should’ve known watching them would get you worked up,” Draco teased against her skin, his tone warm and playful. His hand slipped beneath the thin barrier of her underwear, and his finger easily slid inside her warm, welcoming entrance.
Gabrielle gasped, melting under his touch in a way she could never replicate on her own. His commanding movements unraveled her, each stroke igniting a deeper ache, leaving her powerless to the way he made her seen, desired, and entirely his.
“So wet for me already,” Draco hummed, dragging deeper inside her with each purposeful stroke. A satisfied smirk tugged at his lips as he felt her slick walls flutter around him, clinging to the intrusion. “I see you’ve been waiting for this.”
Gabrielle whimpered something incoherent, muffled by her teeth grazing her lower lip. She arched her back, wiggling her hips to beg for more. Draco slipped another finger in, taking his time stretching her out, savoring how she clenched around him.
“Want me to take you here?” His lips traced along her neck, drifting lower as he pressed hot kisses to her shoulders. “Or should we go somewhere else?”
Gabrielle shivered under his touch, her nails grazing the wooden frame of the door as she felt herself literally dripping onto his hand. She should move, pull him back to her own room and let him have her properly. Merlin knew how much she wanted to scream his name, to let Draco take his time and do anything he wanted to her. But sudden sound of Fleur's unrestrained cries, paired with the rhythmic creaking of the chair as she began to ride Harry’s cock kept her frozen.
She knew Draco could hear it just as clearly. The way he had glanced earlier lingered in her mind, a unwanted distraction that left her uneasy.
Her hesitation must have been clear, because before she could decide, Draco made the choice for her. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
He gently pressed her face forward against the wall so she could keep watching, pulling her hips toward him and nudging her legs apart. His hands gathered the fabric of her dress, lifting it around her waist, exposing the curve of her ass. With a tug, he slid her underwear down, letting it hang loosely between her legs, not bothering to take it off completely.
Gabrielle could hear the rustle of Draco undoing his trousers, the familiar sound of him stroking himself, unhurried. She felt his gaze settle in her direction, but she couldn’t tell if his attention were fixed on her, or the scene unfolding in front of them.
Impatient, Gabrielle arched her back, wiggling her hips in unspoken invitation. She had been a virgin when she first arrived at Hogwarts, but now, just months later, she was half-naked in an empty corridor, slick and ready, waiting for her secret lover to take her.
Draco pressed the tip of his cock against her entrance, and she exhaled sharply, tilting her hips back with eagerness. His grip tightened on her hips, holding her steady as he dragged his length along her folds, thoroughly coating himself in the wetness pooling between her thighs. “Does watching your sister get fucked turn you on?”
The erotic sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the room, rising as if demanding attention, pulling Gabrielle’s gaze helplessly to the scene before her.
Gabrielle’s pulse quickened, attuning to the heat of Draco pressed against her back. At this angle, she knew he could see everything inside as clearly as she could.
Instead of answering, Gabrielle turned it back on him. “How about you, Draco,” the sentence barely loud enough for him to hear. “What do you think about Harry Potter fucking my sister while you’re having me?”
Draco chuckled darkly, his grip firming around her waist as he pinned her more securely to the wall. “I think that, for once,” he said, guiding himself into her with practiced ease, “he has great taste.”
A sharp gasp caught in Gabrielle’s throat as he sank inside her, the stretch forcing her hands flat against the cold stone. Her nails scraped against the surface, and she swallowed the moan rising in her chest.
Through the crack in the door, Fleur, wild and untamed, rode Harry’s cock like a woman possessed, but the sight barely interested Gabrielle anymore. The delicious stretch of Draco’s cock inside her consumed her focus, the heat between them clouding her senses.
His cock pulsed inside her, and she clenched around him without meaning to, frustration curling beneath the pleasure.
She wasn’t sure what he meant by that. Was it a compliment, since she and Fleur looked so much alike, or something else? A darker thought crept in, one she couldn’t shake. Was Draco, like every other man, actually longing for Fleur instead?
The thrill of risking exposure in a corridor where anyone could catch them heightened the tension, but the forbidden notion dulled the pleasure, creeping in at the edges of her mind.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” Draco groaned, but Gabrielle barely registered it. She shifted under his touch, the subtle arch of her back seeming more like hesitation than desire. Draco noticed the shift in her body language. His movements stilled momentarily, then became more purposeful, as if coaxing her back to him. He pulled Gabrielle into a warm hug, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. “Are you okay?”
Gabrielle wanted to respond but struggled to find the right words. How could she bring it up without feeling small, without seeming helpless?
She loved this boy, he was her first everything. The first one to see her instead of Fleur. And now, she couldn’t tell if he wanted her for who she was… or if she was just the easier Delacour sister to have.
Or worse, just a substitute for the one he truly wanted.
A familiar tightness twisted in her stomach, the feeling she’d suppressed since the day Draco first approached her, confessed his interest. Every time he held her lovingly, she wondered if he wished the girl in his arms was just a little more refined, a little more composed, a little more like Fleur.
She though of that night, the night she spread herself for him, trembling as she begged him to take her virginity. Deep down, she knew she did it partly to keep him hers, believing that Fleur would never let him have her the way Gabrielle did.
But now, seeing Fleur on her knees, every bit as shameless as Gabrielle had ever been, would Draco still choose her?
---
Gabrielle never responded, and the way she stiffened beneath his touch is to alarming to ignore. Without hesitation, he pulled out, drawing a faint gasp from her lips as he straightened her up.
His hands steadied her, quickly smoothing down her dress, fixing their clothes into something that resembled order. Then, before she could say anything, Draco scooped her up effortlessly, one arm beneath her knees, the other supporting her back.
Gabrielle’s arms tightened around his neck as she buried her face against him. Her cheek rested against his shoulder, and as he held her close, he caught the faint, uneven rhythm of her breathing, trembling with suppressed sobs.
She was crying.
Draco moved carefully down the corridor to avoid the creaking floorboards. But despite the caution in his pace, a sense of urgency pressed heavily on him, the need to get her away from the dark corridor and whatever thoughts had taken hold of her.
By the time they reached her room, Draco pushed the door open with his foot, stepping inside and shutting it firmly behind him. The suppressed click echoed in the dimly lit space.
Draco lowered Gabrielle onto the edge of the bed, settling her like a delicate doll. Then, instead of stepping back, he sank to his knees before her, his fingers tracing the curve of her face, pausing at the corner of her trembling lips.
The sight of him, Draco Malfoy, ever so prideful, kneeling at her feet, made Gabrielle stunned. For a brief moment, she forgot the tears threatening to spill over, too caught off guard by the rare vulnerability he laid bare before her.
His thumbs swept across her skin, catching the damp trails of tears that had already escaped. “Don’t cry, love,” he desperately searched her face for a clue. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Gabrielle opened her mouth trying to speak, but the answer caught, fragile and half-formed. She dropped her head, unable to look at him.
“It’s so strange seeing you like this,” Draco continued, brushing a stray strand of hair from Gabrielle’s cheek. “You’ve always been so fiery.”
His mind drifted back to the Yule Ball, the first time she’d truly caught his attention. At a glance, she was almost identical to Fleur, striking, graceful, the picture of elegance. But there was something different about Gabrielle, something livelier beneath the surface.
He spent the evening watching her from a distance, noting how she moved stiffly through the crowd, dazzling but distant, clearly bored out of her mind. It wasn’t until a clumsy student spilled their drink on her that he saw the flicker of something real. She handled it perfectly, smiling as she assured them it was fine. But the moment she turned away, he caught it, the subtle frown tugging at her lips, the flash of irritation she couldn’t quite hide.
After that, he couldn’t stop noticing her. The sight of her laughing too loud in the courtyard, chasing the wind with wild hair, slipping out from under Fleur’s shadow when she assumed no one cared, stirred something in him he couldn’t explain.
It was after the Second Task that he finally acted on it.
He remembered how she emerged from the Black Lake, shivering but clearly annoyed with Fleur for not winning. She accepted Potter’s help with the smallest pout, muttered a begrudging thank you, and stormed off before anyone could stop her. There was something about her defiance that he found undeniably adorable.
He followed her immediately, and when she found out, she whirled on him, all fire and accusation. She assumed he was there to mock her, but the anger inside her quickly dimmed when he admitted the truth, that he had been watching her, that he liked her.
Their relationship grew from there, temporarily hidden away for far too many reasons, but burning brightly nonetheless. It was fast, intoxicating, and Draco found himself drawn to her more and more each day.
And now, she was here in front of him, crying, vulnerable and distant in a way he hadn’t seen before. She wouldn’t tell him why, and for once, Draco didn’t know how to fix it.
“Gabrielle,” he started drawing circles against her knee, trying to soothe an invisible ache. “Please, tell me what’s bothering you.”
She hesitated before gripping the bedsheet, twisting the fabric. Her voice barely rose above a whisper. “Am I her substitution?”
Draco froze, his brows knitting in confusion. “Whose substitution?”
The name hardly escaping her lips, fragile and choked. “…Fleur.”
Draco stared at Gabrielle, frozen. He blinked, still trying to process the information that felt so absurd it nearly knocked the air from his lungs.
“Why would you think you’re her susbtitition?” The idea was so foreign, it had never once crossed his mind.
Gabrielle’s lip trembled as she dug into the sheets, clutching them absentmindedly. “Isn’t that what everyone wants?” she choked out. “Fleur’s the one they wish for, she’s the beautiful one, the perfect one. You’re just choosing me because I’m easier. Isn’t that it? When you… when you sleep with me, are you imagining it’s her? Do you wish it was you in that room with her right now?”
Draco’s heart slammed painfully against his ribs, his hands curling into his lap as the frustration knotted within him. Her accusations came like rapid fire, leaving him no chance to defend himself.
“I—Gabrielle, no,” he stammered, his words tripping over themselves. “I’ve never been interested in Fleur. It’s always been you.”
But after he said it, Draco noticed the disbelief in the way she turned away, the doubt evident despite the sincerity in his confession.
It hit him all at once, how long she must have carried this? The entire time he had been happy, wrapped in the certainty of his love for her, while she had been silently convincing herself that he wished she were Fleur instead.
The realization stung more than he expected.
“Do you regret it?” Her body started shaking, barely holding itself together as she stared at the floor. “Do you regret being with me, knowing she could give you just as much as I have?”
Draco stared at her, a surge of frustration washing over him. Mostly at himself.
She had given him something precious, her virginity. He hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t needed it, but when she insisted, there was no part of him capable of refusing her. He wanted her, Merlin, he wanted her more than he could want anything. But he could have waited. Another year, maybe even longer. Just to be sure. Just to know for certain that what they had was more than fleeting, that it wouldn’t burn out as quickly as it began.
And yet, despite all the times he told himself that, he let it happen.
Now, the weight of her heartbreaking belief settled over him, heavier than he could bear. Had she truly believed this was the cost of keeping him? That by offering herself, she was securing his affection, thinking he wouldn’t have stayed otherwise?
Draco’s jaw clenched, regret twisted deep into his bones. Not regret for being with her, but for not stopping her. For not noticing what she believed before it was too late.
He let out a shaky exhale, his forehead resting against her knee. His hands gripped the edges of her thighs, as if anchoring them both in the moment.
“You silly girl,” he sighted.
Her fingers shifted faintly, like she wanted to reach for him but couldn’t bring herself to bridge the gap.
After a moment, Draco lifted his head, meeting Gabrielle’s deep blue, glistening eyes with quiet determination. They were begging him for reassurance, pleading for something she could hold onto.
“Listen to me,” He wasn’t sure if anything he was about to say could convince her, but he had to try. “Fleur and Potter have been sneaking around since the tournament started. It’s not exactly a secret. Everyone knows. They’ve been shagging all over this castle for months. It’s not the scandal you think it is.”
Gabrielle shifted, her lips pressing together while she tried to process the news.
“Not that I care,” Draco added, his tone firmer. His hands slid up again to cradle her face, thumbs tracing along the delicate lines of her jaw. “When I confessed to you, I meant every damn word. I love your temper, your stubbornness, the way you get fiery when things don’t go your way. It’s you I wanted—not Fleur, not anyone else. Just you.”
Gabrielle’s lips parted slightly, her expression shifting from sorrow to something softer, something fragile but hopeful. “You mean it?”
Draco’s heart clenched at the vulnerability in her question. Standing, he leaned in, his forehead resting gently against hers as his lips found hers in a tender kiss.
“I promise,” he murmured.
Their kiss deepened, unhurried, the fragile sense of security hanging between them, delicate and breakable. He held her like she might slip away, because he, too, would crumble along with it.
“Have I ever asked you to act more composed?” His lips moving lazily, savoring the intimacy. “To sit still and perfect like Fleur?”
Gabrielle’s head dipped in the faintest shake, clutching the back of his neck.
“Have I ever not enjoyed your attitude?” Draco’s teeth grazed her lower lip, coaxing a soft, involuntary sound from her.
“No…” Her arms impatiently pulling him closer.
Neither of them rushed. Their kiss was unhurried, melting into something more intimate as Gabrielle’s trembling eased in his arms, releasing the tension she had carried. She tasted like everything good in the world, so alive, so warm, and so his.
Draco’s heart swelled with conflicting emotions, guilt for not seeing her struggle sooner, regret for the pain she had been holding alone, but also relief that she had shared it now. Now he knew, and now he could do something about it. Each press of his lips against hers was a promise, an assurance that she didn’t need to carry this weight anymore.
When they finally parted, her lips hovered near his, a soft, involuntary purr escaping as she leaned into his warmth
Silence stretched between them, light and easy this time, as her forehead rested against his. He smiled, absentmindedly patting her silky moonlit hair, and he couldn’t help thinking how much he loved her smile, and how he would do anything to keep her from crying ever again.
After a long pause, Gabrielle lifted her head, catching him with that familiar glint he adored, mischievous and sharp. His favorite part of her.
“But no more watching them,” she huffed, the pout tugging at her lips.
Draco grinned and flopped onto the bed beside her, relief washing over him like a weight lifting from his shoulders.
“I never watched them,” his response was immediate, “That was all you, silly girl.”
She swatted at his arm with a playful scoff, but Draco wasn’t lying.
His focus had never strayed. His eyes had been on her the entire time.
After all, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and the only thing he wanted to keep looking at.