The Pact

I lounge around in the library after classes, and naturally, I’m in Draco’s spot. He isn’t here, but I always sit here secretly hoping he’ll pop up.

As I’m reading, I feel my bracelet buzz. Tap tap. Tap tap. “Meet me.”

I look up at the door half expecting him to be there, but he isn’t. I scan the library and realize he’s not here.

We hadn’t really discussed what we’d be meaning when we said to meet somewhere, but my only guess is that he must be in the room of requirement. I tap back a, “Yes,” then head out of the library and up to the seventh floor of the castle.

The door to the room of requirement slides open when I get there and I slip inside, greeted by the still surprising sight of Draco and the Golden Trio getting along.

“Hi,” I say tentatively, walking in slowly as if approaching some wild animals.

Draco looks up when he hears my voice, and I see the smile behind his eyes. “There you are. Took you long enough.”

I roll my eyes and sit down with them at the table in the middle of the room. “Shut up, this castle is huge. What did you call me for?”

Draco shrugs casually, leaning back in his chair as if this is the most normal gathering in the world. “Not me. Granger insisted on it.”

I glance at Hermione, who’s holding a small stack of books and what looks like a bundle of letters. She pushes them toward me. “Here. These are yours. I thought you’d want them back.”

I take them, furrowing my brow. “You called a meeting for this? You couldn’t just hand them to me in the hallway?”

“Apparently not,” Ron mutters, earning a glare from Hermione.

“It seemed important,” she says primly. “They’ve been in my bag for weeks.”

“Thanks,” I say, flipping through the books. I spot one of my letters sticking out and quickly shove it back in before anyone notices. “But why the grand spectacle?”

Harry leans forward, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Because we all know what tomorrow is.”

I blink. “Tomorrow?”

“The match,” Draco cuts in, his voice carrying that distinct mix of amusement and arrogance. “Slytherin versus Gryffindor. Or as I like to call it, victory day.”

Ron snorts. “In your dreams, Malfoy. Gryffindor’s going to wipe the floor with you lot.”

“You said that last year, Weasley,” Draco replies smoothly, his smirk practically dripping with smugness. “Remind me, how did that go again?”

“Shut it,” Ron snaps, but his ears are already turning red.

I glance between them, baffled. “Wait. You dragged me all the way up here to remind me there’s a Quidditch match tomorrow?”

“Not just any match,” Harry says, grinning now. “This is the big one. Bragging rights for the rest of the year.”

“Not to mention the bets,” Draco adds, his gaze flicking to me. “You are coming, right?”

“Of course I’m coming,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “Not like I have anything better to do.”

“Good,” Draco says, a little too quickly. He clears his throat, trying to play it off. “Wouldn’t want you to miss my spectacular performance.”

“Or your spectacular fall,” I tease, earning a mock glare from him.

The conversation drifts into playful bickering, the tension between Slytherin and Gryffindor surfacing but never fully exploding. As the evening wears on, I find myself smiling, the camaraderie in the room oddly comforting despite the oddity of the group.

Draco smirks as the bickering between Ron and Harry escalates, but instead of joining in, he leans back in his chair and reaches into his bag. “Alright, enough of that,” he says, pulling out something dark green and tossing it toward me.

It lands in my lap, soft and smelling faintly of cologne and the fresh air of the pitch. I blink down at it, confused, until I realize what it is.

“A Quidditch jersey?” I ask, holding it up. The emerald green fabric glints slightly in the light, and Malfoy is stitched across the back in bold silver letters.

“My Quidditch jersey,” Draco corrects, leaning forward with a casual grin. “You’ll wear it tomorrow.”

I stare at him, half-expecting this to be some kind of joke. “Why?”

“Because it’s mine,” he replies simply, as if that explains everything.

“Dray, you’re out of your mind if you think I’m walking into the stands wearing this,” I say, shaking the jersey for emphasis.

“It’ll look good on you,” he says with a shrug, and the casualness of his tone only makes it worse.

Ron chokes on a laugh. “Wow, Malfoy. Subtle.”

Draco glares at him. “Shut it, Weasley. This has nothing to do with you.”

“Oh, it definitely does,” Harry interjects, smirking. “She’s not going to wear that. Right?”

I glance at Draco, who’s watching me intently now, his silver eyes glinting with a challenge. “I mean…” I start, trailing off as I try to think of a way out of this.

“Just wear it,” he says, his tone softer now, but no less insistent. “For luck.”

I raise an eyebrow. “For luck? Since when do you believe in that?”

His lips twitch into a smirk. “Since it’ll annoy Potter.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“Sure it is,” he counters, leaning back again, his expression smug. “And besides, everyone will know you’re cheering for the winning team.”

Hermione sighs loudly, cutting through the tension. “Honestly, the lot of you are ridiculous. It’s just a match.”

“It’s not just a match,” Draco and Harry say at the same time, glaring at each other.

I roll my eyes and glance down at the jersey again. It’s warm in my hands, and for reasons I can’t quite explain, my heart skips a beat. “Fine,” I say, holding it up in front of me. “But this is going to swallow me.”

Hermione giggles, covering it up with a cough. “You sweet summer child. Try it on.”

I shoot her a look before rolling my eyes and slipping it over my head. After a moment it starts to shrink, until it fits me the way it usually fits the players. I stand up, looking down at it. “Wicked.”

“It does look good on you,” Draco says with a smirk, making my heart jump.

I glance at him, half-tempted to roll my eyes again, but the way he’s looking at me makes my cheeks warm. “Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, brushing nonexistent dust off the front. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Ron snickers. “Too late for that. His ego’s probably as big as the castle by now.”

Draco doesn’t even dignify that with a response, his attention still fixed on me. “You should definitely wear it tomorrow,” he says, his tone lower, more serious now.

I pause, suddenly hyper-aware of how closely he’s watching me. There’s a strange sincerity in his expression that throws me off balance. “I will,” I say softly, surprising even myself.

“Great,” he replies, his smirk returning, but there’s something warmer behind it now.

Hermione clears her throat pointedly. “Well, as much fun as this little fashion show is, we do have exams to study for—and I’m not letting any of you slack off.”

I laugh, grateful for the interruption, and pull the jersey off, folding it carefully before stuffing it into my bag. “If anyone tries to hex me, it’s on you, Malfoy.”

Draco’s smirk widens. “Don’t worry, sunshine. I’ll protect you.”

“Merlin, save us all,” Ron mutters, but Draco doesn’t seem to care. He just looks satisfied, like he’s won something.

And as much as I hate to admit it, maybe he has.

As we wrap up and head out, Draco lingers behind with me for a moment. “You’re really coming, right?” he asks, quieter this time.

I glance at him, surprised by the flicker of uncertainty in his expression. “Of course I am, Moonbeam,” I say with a grin.

He groans but doesn’t argue. Instead, his lips twitch into a smile. “Don’t distract me too much tomorrow.”

“Don’t lose,” I counter, and he simply says, “I never do.”

~

“Aury is going to kill him,” I groan, adjusting the jersey over my fleece-lined clothes as Hannah and I make our way toward the Quidditch stands. The cold air bites at my cheeks, but I’ve already cast a warming charm, determined to make the jersey the focal point of my outfit. After all, how would Draco know I’m wearing it if I covered it with a jacket?

Hannah raises an eyebrow, clearly trying not to laugh. “You didn’t think this one through, did you?”

“You don’t understand,” I say dramatically, tugging at the hem of the jersey to make sure it sits just right. “If he looked at you the way he looked at me, you wouldn’t have been able to say no either.”

She lets out a knowing laugh, shaking her head. “You’re hopeless. He’s got you completely wrapped around his finger, doesn’t he?”

I huff, pretending to be annoyed, but I know she’s right. “Don’t start.”

“I have to admit, though,” she adds, eyeing my outfit with a playful grin, “you look good in green.”

I take one last step and we reach the stands. I feel the weight of dozens of eyes turning in my direction. Conversations taper off, and whispers ripple through the crowd as people notice the unmistakable Malfoy stitched across my back.

“Merlin’s beard,” I mutter, suddenly feeling exposed. “I didn’t think everyone would care this much.”

Hannah smirks, nudging me. “What did you expect? It’s Draco Malfoy’s jersey. Half the school’s probably trying to figure out if you hexed him for it.”

I glance toward the Beauxbatons section, my stomach tightening when I spot Aurélien. He’s leaning casually against the railing, but his sharp, narrowed gaze finds me instantly. Even from this distance, I can see the flicker of irritation in his expression, though he doesn’t move to join us.

“He’s mad,” I whisper, biting my lip. “Aury is definitely going to kill him.”

Hannah stifles a laugh. “Probably. But that’s between them. Right now, you’ve got bigger problems.” She tilts her head toward the Slytherin section, where a group of Draco’s friends are openly gawking.

“Brilliant,” I sigh, tugging at the jersey again. “This is going to be a long game.”

As we climb the stands, a familiar voice calls out from the Slytherin section. “Nice jersey!” Blaise Zabini shouts, smirking as he leans over the railing. “Didn’t know Malfoy was handing out gifts now.”

“Shove off, Zabini,” I yell back, though I can’t help the blush creeping up my neck.

Hannah grins beside me. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

“Not even a little,” I lie, glancing toward the field. My heart skips when I spot Draco in his Quidditch robes, already on his broom. Even from here, I can tell he’s seen me. He gives a slight nod in my direction, and though his face remains impassive, I catch the faintest hint of a smirk.

“Sure you’re not,” Hannah teases, pulling me toward our seats.

As I settle in, trying to ignore the buzz of curiosity around us, I can’t help but smile to myself. It’s chaotic and ridiculous, but somehow, it feels right.

And if Draco’s playing just a little harder today knowing I’m wearing his jersey? Well, no one has to know.

The energy in the air is electric as the game begins. The Gryffindor and Slytherin stands erupt into cheers, chants, and jeers as Madam Hooch blows her whistle. The players shoot into the air like arrows, brooms slicing through the chilly air.

From the first pass, it’s clear this is going to be an intense match. The Gryffindor Chasers are relentless, weaving through the air with practiced ease, but the Slytherin Beaters are just as fierce, sending Bludgers hurtling their way with bone-rattling precision.

Draco and Harry, both perched high above the chaos, are circling like hawks. Their eyes flicker constantly, scanning the pitch for any glimmer of gold. Every so often, they catch sight of each other and exchange heated glares before darting off in opposite directions.

“Come on, Draco!” I shout, cupping my hands around my mouth as my heart pounds in my chest.

“Are you sure you’re not biased?” Hannah teases, though her gaze is locked on the game.

“Absolutely not,” I reply with mock indignation, but my eyes betray me as they trail Draco’s every movement.

On the field, the score climbs steadily. Gryffindor pulls ahead with a stunning goal by Ginny Weasley, but Slytherin fires back moments later when Blaise Zabini scores after a daring maneuver that leaves the Gryffindor Keeper spinning. The cheers and groans from the crowd blend into a deafening roar.

The tension peaks when the Snitch finally makes its first appearance, a fleeting glint of gold hovering near the Gryffindor goalposts.

“There!” someone shouts, and both Seekers dive simultaneously.

Draco and Harry race neck-and-neck, the wind whipping through their hair as they push their brooms to their limits. Draco’s face is set in fierce determination, his hand gripping his broom so tightly his knuckles turn white. Harry, equally focused, edges slightly ahead, his fingers stretching toward the Snitch.

But just as Harry is about to close the gap, a Bludger—sent hurtling by a Slytherin Beater—forces him to swerve. It’s a split-second opening, but Draco seizes it.

He accelerates, leaning so far forward on his broom it looks like he might topple off. His hand shoots out, and for a heart-stopping moment, it seems like the Snitch might slip through his fingers.

Everyone in the stands leans forward, and I hold my breath. Come on, Dray. You’re so close.

Then, with a triumphant snap, his hand closes around it.

The Slytherin stands erupt into cheers, the green and silver banners waving wildly in the air. Draco slows his broom, holding the Snitch aloft, his expression a mixture of pride and defiance as he soaks in the victory.

I leap to my feet, screaming at the top of my lungs. “Yes! That’s my Seeker!”

Hannah laughs beside me, clapping along with the crowd. “You’re impossible.”

Down on the field, Harry circles back toward the Gryffindor team, his expression a mixture of frustration and begrudging respect. Draco, meanwhile, chooses not to join his team. Instead, he looks up at me, a huge smile plastered across his face.

After a moment, my heart stops. He starts to fly up to the stands with practiced ease, his gaze never leaving mine.

Oh. My. Merlin.

Hannah’s jaw drops beside me, and she nudges my arm. “Is he—?”

I don’t even hear her. It’s like the world around me muffles when he looks at me, his joy so infectious and obvious and unhidden.

I walk up to the railing, holding onto it as I lean forward slightly. He flies right up to me, barely inches away, before flipping upside down and holding the snitch out in front of my face.

“Look! I won the game!” he says, and I can’t help but compare him to an over excited puppy.

“I saw,” I reply, laughing breathlessly. “You did amazing! Did you hear me cheering?”

His eyes widen a bit and he flips back upright, his hair wild and messy. “That was you? I mean, I always knew you were loud and obnoxious, but—”

“Don’t make me knock you off your broom,” I cut him off playfully, the smile never leaving my face.

He roll his eyes affectionately. “Step back.”

I let go of the railing, taking a few tentative steps backwards almost instinctively. I don’t even question him, and I don’t know what that says about me, but oh well.

He gently leans forward, pushing his broom over the empty space I’ve created before lowering his feet to the ground. He stands there pridefully, posture perfect, holding his top of the line broom at his side. It’s picturesque, really.

“Now you can’t knock me over,” he says playfully, smirking. Then he pauses, taking in my outfit. “Aren’t you cold?”

I shake my head, though the flush in my cheeks gives me away. “I’m fine, I’ve got some warming charms under my clothes. It’s just my face that’s cold.”

He drops his broom on the ground at his side, taking off his leather quidditch gloves. After tucking them beneath his arm, he takes my face in his hands, which are absolutely radiating heat.

“Honestly, Draco, I—”

“Just hold still for a second,” he interrupts me, now placing the backs of his hands on my cheeks. “You feel like ice.”

I swat at his hands, my face red, but not from the cold anymore. “I’m fine, seriously.”

Draco quirks an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Sure you are,” he teases, but he pulls his hands back, shaking them out dramatically as if the chill had seeped into his skin.

I relish in the moment, his pure unguarded happiness flooding my brain like a tidal wave. I step forward, only inches away from him. “I’m so proud of you.”

He looks taken aback for a moment, like I caught him off guard. The confusion quickly settles into a softer, more affectionate expression. “You are?”

Before I can respond, Hannah clears her throat behind me, drawing our attention back to the stands. “Uh, not to ruin the moment, but you do realize everyone’s staring, right?” she whispers furiously, eyes wide.

Only then do I register the collective gazes fixed on us—students from all houses and the other schools, scattered murmurs spreading through the crowd like wildfire.

Draco follows my line of sight, and his smirk only grows. “Well, if they’re going to stare…” He pauses, his silver eyes gleaming mischievously as he steps closer to me.

“What are you—” I start, but I don’t get the chance to finish.

“Want to give them a real show?” he asks, and before I can process what he means, his arms wrap around me, and he lifts me clean off the ground.

“Dray!” I gasp, laughing as he spins me around, his Quidditch gear still warm and smelling faintly of grass and leather.

Hannah’s jaw drops beside me, and she stares uselessly in her shock. “Is he—? Are you—?”

I can’t even respond. The world blurs for a moment, a whirl of green and gold and the hum of lingering cheers, but all I can focus on is him—his laughter, his joy, unrestrained and infectious.

When he finally sets me down, I’m slightly dizzy but still grinning like an idiot. “What was that for?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, though the pleased sparkle in his eyes gives him away. “They wanted a show. I delivered.”

“You’re impossible,” I mutter, though my voice holds no real bite.

“And you’re welcome,” he replies smoothly, brushing imaginary dust off his jersey before leaning down to grab his broom.

I wrap my arms around myself, already missing the feeling of him pressed against me. “I mean it, though. I’m really proud of you.”

He looks at me as if he’s finally registered what I said, studying my eyes like he’s waiting for me to take it back. “I… thank you.”

I smile up at him shyly, seeing the hesitation in his eyes. He looks so completely enchanting that it makes my heart jump, and I start to wonder if someone slipped amortentia in my tea this morning.

Draco notices me staring, and I worry that he knows more than he’s letting on. He raises an eyebrow, quietly asking, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

I take a sharp breath in and look away, suddenly stumbling over my words. “Oh, look, your team wants you.”

Draco glances over his shoulder, spotting the Slytherin team waving him over with triumphant grins and exaggerated gestures. “Hmm. So they do,” he mutters, clearly unbothered.

But when he looks back at me, his expression softens. “You sure you don’t want me to stay and bask in your admiration a little longer?”

I roll my eyes, though I can’t stop the small laugh that escapes me. “Go, Malfoy. Your fan club awaits.”

He hesitates, his hand tightening slightly on the broom handle. “Right,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost reluctant. “Don’t go too far, okay?”

I nod, my cheeks still warm. “I won’t.”

With one last look, he jumps up onto the railing and balances there for a moment.

“Dray, you’re gonna—” I start, but he just smirks and holds up a hand.

“Let me know if anyone bothers you, sunshine,” he says with a wink, before leaning back and falling.

I run to the railing, scared to death, but I see him back on his broom like nothing happened. I breathe a sigh of relief as he flies towards his team, his usual arrogant demeanor back in full force. I smile and shake my head as he’s immediately swallowed into the celebration, his teammates clapping him on the back and holding up the snitch like a trophy.

Hannah sidles up next to me, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief. “So…that was a moment.”

I exhale, clutching my arms tightly around myself again as if to keep from unraveling. “It was nothing,” I mumble, though the tremor in my voice betrays me.

“Sure,” she says, drawing out the word with a knowing smirk. “Whatever you say.”

I glance back at Draco one more time before biting my lip and turning away. “Let’s go back to the castle,” I say, hoping the motion will help clear my head—and my heart—from the chaos he’s left behind.

For some reason, I can’t help but feel different now. Everyone just watched Draco completely shift his demeanor with me, and I don’t know what the implications of that will be. One thing is for sure, though: no one is messing with me.

Somehow, because I’ve become publicly claimed by the so called “Prince of Slytherin,” I’ve become untouchable.

As Hannah and I walk toward the castle, I can feel the stares following me, lingering like ghosts. Whispers ripple through the crowd as if everyone is trying to piece together what just happened.

“You realize people are going to talk about this for weeks, right?” Hannah says, her tone light but her eyes sharp with understanding.

I shrug, though the weight of it all sits heavy in my chest. “Let them talk. It doesn’t matter.”

But it does.

Because Draco Malfoy—the infamous, unshakable force of his house—just broke every unspoken rule of his social hierarchy for me. He’d spun me around like a winning trophy, grinned at me like I was his greatest prize, and then winked like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And now, everyone knew it.

“They’re going to think you’re… I don’t know… dating him or something,” Hannah continues, clearly amused by my internal meltdown.

I snort, though my heart pounds at the suggestion. “They’ll get over it.”

“Will you?” she teases, elbowing me lightly.

I don’t answer because I don’t know how to. Will I?

The air between us grows quiet as we reach the castle doors. The grandeur of Hogwarts feels almost stifling tonight, the murmurs of students trailing behind us like the ghost of Draco’s smirk.

I take a deep breath and glance at Hannah, trying to ground myself. “Let’s just pretend nothing happened.”

Hannah snickers, shaking her head. “Good luck with that. You’re officially Slytherin royalty now, sunshine.”

I roll my eyes but can’t stop the small smile that tugs at my lips. Even if it’s temporary, even if it’s complicated, there’s a part of me that doesn’t entirely hate the thought.

Something lingers, though. With the dance this weekend, I’m left to wonder who I’m supposed to go with. If everyone thinks Draco and I are dating, they’ll expect to see us together… but he hasn’t asked me. And I don’t think he will.

But when Aurélien first got here, he told Hannah we were going, like it was an unspoken fact. The thing is, though… he hasn’t asked me, either.

Decisions, decisions.