Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Blaise, I really ain’t fucking around anymore, if you stole from me just because you thought it was fun. I would tell Zaira you’ve having a tryst with the daughter of Amelia Bones , a Hufflepuff to the boot. Do you get it? I’ll bloody show you fun!” Draco threatened with her fist fisted on her skirt. She was absolutely fuming and someone was moaning about how she was causing a scene again but Draco couldn’t care less, she just lost a tie. 

Another damned tie. 

At this point, Draco would have to haul Madam Malkin’s Slytherin ties or lock her ties in a coffer because she just realized that it was that valuable to these fucking boor who steals things . 

“Why the hell would I steal your tie?” Blaise exasperatedly asked, plopping his whole body on one of the beanbags. A nearby third-year sensed the tension and ran away immediately. 

“Yes, why would you steal my tie, Blaise? Well, I don’t know! Maybe because you stole my bracelet to give it to Susan?” 

“And what will she do with a Slytherin tie?”

“Give it to her fashionably challenged friend so that maybe they’ll have a tiny bit of chance of finding a date for the ball.” Draco then reasoned, flipping her hair to the side before leaning forward, mouth curled. “A green tie instead of mustard, with a dash of mud from their grandmother’s dead soil as if brown would alleviate that girl’s complexion. She looks like she’s been dressing up as a lemon custard and my tie would have tremendously helped.”

“That doesn’t make any bloody sense, and I didn’t steal anything–” Blaise exclaimed but Draco cut him off when she levitated a pillow and threw it at him. 

Draco then shrieked, “Didn’t steal anything! Am I wearing my pearl bracelet right now? No, Right? Because you stole it and gave it to bloody Amelia!”

“I can’t help that she’s taken a liking to it.” Blaise explained, hands up to avoid another onslaught of pillows. “Plus, I already ordered you another one!”

That actually caught Draco’s attention. If there’s something that could make a Slytherin halt in their macerations of killing someone then it was bribery. She cocked her head to the side and simultaneously dropped the pillows. “Really? What bracelet?”

Blaise sighed dutifully. Draco already knew what it was,“Obsidian. Now that got you to shut up.”

“Thank you. Pomfrey would have liked for me to have an obsidian bracelet.” She says, before dropping beside him on the sofa. She also shot Abegail Zajac a glare when she found her looking at her again. Or at Blaise. Draco doesn’t have the energy to pay her jealous dormmate any attention. “When is the bracelet coming?”

Blaise shrugged, grunting as he pressed a hand on his lower stomach. “A week from now. I’ve never bothered to ask.”

“Should have availed fast delivery. I need it to shield me from the looming negativity, who knows what the negativity will do to my beauty sleep."

“Who’s negative?” 

“You exactly!” Draco sneered at his bored face. Boys are absolutely boring. She will never get the appeal. Then, she remembers to gossip about Pomfrey because honestly, the woman’s life is the only interesting thing Draco filed away inside her brain. The last gossip she heard was about a Hufflepuff pregnancy – and that was a year ago. 

“Did you know that Pomfrey has a crystal anklet? Weirdly when she showed me the crystals, one of them was the innards of a Fire Dwelling Salamander encased in a Jasper.” Draco chattered, smirking a bit before lightly kicking Blaise for his move. She continued her mindless chatter until she realized that she had forgotten something. 

Gasping, “My tie, Blaise!”

Blaise ended up ordering her a new tie, and it was definitely more satisfying when Pansy ganged up on him to buy them shoes too. Friends with royal blood truly have benefits. 

“I got the parasite out.” Draco said, lips biting in concentration before ordering the floating magnifying spectacles to shine a light into one of the pig intestines. She carefully levitated the last one out while carefully massaging the charmed intestines of a pig. Regardless of the fact that the pig was dead, the intestines acted like it was alive, uncharacteristically pink with blood staining Draco’s gloves. 

“What do I do next?” She asked, the bubble shield surrounding her head moving along her head. And that was Draco’s biggest mistake because the moment she looked up at Pomfrey, she accidentally stabbed the colon.  

“This is such an amateur mistake.” Draco hissed to herself , dropping the levitated surgical instruments into a nearby metal bowl. The clanking made Draco frown as she saw that Madam Pomfrey finally ended the spell, the intestines of the Pig finally turning grey. 

“You did well with the usage of Sponge Forceps. I thought you wouldn’t be able to do it.” Pomfrey commented, a smile in the edge of her mouth before turning into a frown. “Still, you really should overcome your affinity for looking up before the job is done. Just because you’ve plucked out the problem, doesn’t mean that it’s already done.”

“I’ll do better.” Draco said, vanishing the remains of equipment and scorgifying her skin, a little too hard, that it came out sore looking like it was slapped. She couldn’t bring herself to care, “Same time?” 

“Of course.” Pomfrey peered under her eyelashes before concentrating on draining the pigs blood to be preserved for a repeat performance tomorrow. “Also, please tell Mr. Holmes to ask his younger brother and no—not just ask, demand that spoiled child to stop stealing dittany. I knew that he was quite fond of adventure but he should allow me to heal it instead of stealing.” 

“Mycroft?” She asked, remembering the Sixth Year Prefect who’s a perfect crossover of a Slytherin and a Ravenclaw. “What’s with his brother?”

“You never knew about Sheryl?” Pomfrey looks surprised. Draco could only scowl that not only she was actually missing newsworthy gossip, but if even Pomfrey knew about it, it just meant that Draco was truly out of season.

“I was too preoccupied to care.” She rolled her eyes, finally removing the “I’ll tell him, See you tomorrow Madam Pomfrey.”

“Take off the spectacles, Miss Malfoy.” She tapped her eyeglasses, Draco smiled at her and as soon another hospital curtain closed, she found herself once again in the hall, face to face with Harry.

Draco couldn’t help but clench her fist in her wand. Fuckity fuck these feelings . 

“Potter.” She tried her effective bored drawl, wishing from the pits of hell to make Harry go away. Out of her three introductory greetings: saying Potter with a squeak, saying Potter with a haughty voice that would like to see her go down, and saying Potter as if she wanted her to be gone. The last one, that one, that one works the best to making Potter leave her be.

Not today though. 

“Malfoy,” she said, pushing herself from the castle wall as if she were casually waiting for her to get out of the Infirmary. Like what couples do , Draco’s cursed mind supplied. She felt herself flush, causing her to frown more. She must look like she’s going to eat Potter alive. 

But maybe that’s exactly what she needed. What does this woman want from her?

“Get on with it, Potter. I don’t have all day.” Draco said, her skirt swishing to the right as she dramatically turned away from the source of her dilemma. 

Potter followed her closely behind, her leather shoes rubbing across the floor along Draco’s heel ones. Every sound increases Draco’s chance of contracting stress-induced ulcers. “Do you have any items that you want to give away?” 

“What?” Draco halted, turning her face around only to find that Potter was too close to her liking. “Back off, Potter. What? Are you sniffing me?”

“You smell like lavenders,” Harry said, backing off, and casually pulling on her tie to loosen it, This, Draco thought, was going to be the end of her. She knew that she’d pass out at this very moment. 

“You aren’t going to deny that?” Draco managed to blurt, pulling down the reins of prickling needles that took place in his lower stomach. Potter was smelling me? She thought I smelled like lavenders? Does she like lavenders? Does she like it? Bloody Fuck. 

“Last time, you smelled like parchment paper.” She said, but she wasn’t exactly talking to her. Draco wasn’t too thrilled with that observation especially when the first thought her mind supplied was the fact Potter admitted to smelling her, twice . “I think it will do.”

“Wha-What will do , Potter? If you don’t have the mental capabilities to spiel what you want from me then duly stop wasting my time.” She hissed before trudging forward. She never ran before, and she won’t start now - but if the sound of Potter calling after her persists, then she might be tempted to. 

“Wait! Malfoy! I just have a proposition!” At last, Potter managed to grasp Draco’s arm, her big hands wrapping instinctively into her small wrist. With the force that made Draco bounce on her place - it is no surprise that it made her wince. Potter at least has the sensibilities to let go. 

“I just need a thing from you. Anything, like...like Candy Wrappers? Anything you’ve touched, or eaten or- or your Magnifying Spectacles.” Harry said, eyes glinting as if she found her target on Draco’s left hand. Then she proceeded to point out why Draco was using Magnifying Spectacles as if that was the most weirdest thing happening at the moment. 

Draco ignored her question and asked, “You want anything I touched or eaten? Are you out of your she-bollocks, Potter? Is this another fetish you developed along with you? Sniffing things like a werewolf? How alarming.” 

“Your cousin is a half-wolf too Draco.”

“Well, thank Morgana for miracles, because I will be there to teach him not to sniff girls!”

Harry made a spectacle of rolling her eyes backward. Draco hoped it would never come back. “God, just–this is a fucking bad idea.”

“Your fault, not mine,” Draco said, briskly.  

“Clearly.” Harry said, “I’ll try again tomorrow.”

“Whatever.” Draco managed to blurt out before fleeing like she was on fire or as if a wasp was after her. 

In fact, she was chanting in her head to not look back, not even once, but just before she turns to the corner, she couldn’t help but just glance for a moment only to see Potter looking at her still. 

Draco has to gasp out a little eep before angrily taking a sharp turn.

Fucking potter! Fucking feelings! 

Chapter Text

Draco found out about the existence of the Holmes child in the most horrifying way possible. She generally thought that Ravenclaws were alright. Draco usually characterized them as someone who is intelligent, creative, or morally questionable, run-of-the-mill, barking mad, but he never came across someone who is the latter. This one, though, is a cretin who just read Draco’s aura at a glance and is definitely a model child of a Ravenclaw who is morally questionable, run-of-the-mill, barking mad.

“Let me guess.” a student wearing a crooked Ravenclaw tie and scrutinizing grey-blue eyes stopped Draco in her tracks to the Slytherin Dungeons. Draco was not a Prefect, losing the position to Daphne Greengrass, however, if she was - she would have docked points for what this girl would do next. The embarrassment! The nerve! 

“Let me guess! Came from the Infirmary, flawlessly failed in closing up the stitch, and oh, that was shocking, you’re shaken, and your aura is lit up like a Gryffindor red drapes. Ah, the eyes, you’re smitten and you’ve met them in the hallway. That’s adorable! Who are they?”

“And may I ask how did you guess that?” Draco drawled, giving the child an eyebrow raise before walking into the hallway once again. She was basically manipulating the panic in her head by trying to gaslight herself that everything was under control. It wasn’t, and if this child continues to stare at her more, she will stupefy him. 

“Easy, I’ve deduced.” The child said, his curls bouncing right in front of her while casually marching alongside Draco. 

Draco could only say two words, “Bloody Brat.”

“Thank you.” 

“You should be locked up for your crimes against witches, darling. I don’t know you as I rarely pay a lot of attention to infantile first-years, but I'd rather if you keep your excitement to yourself.” Draco spat out, disturbed that the child was now jumping up and down beside her. From what she has experienced around Potter, hyperactivity usually means trouble, and that is something she would rather not have on her plate right now. She could only process one absurd activity a day; Potter already supplied her one, and that is enough. 

“Can I read more about your aura?” the child asks.

“No but I would like to know how come I was suddenly saddled with your existence.” Draco muttered to himself, and jauntily pointed to her back. “You must have lost your way, the Ravenclaw towers are on the fourth floor.”

“I know. I wasn’t aware that we’re meant to state the obvious now.”

“I have to resort to the basics, especially when I am dealing with a child. Are you visiting your brother? Also, did you ‘guess’ that I’m meant to tell him to make you stop stealing dittany?” Draco uttered, now facing the entrance of the dungeon, the snake emblem waiting for her to say the password. 

“I kno,w and that is why I have to talk to him, I am sure that he can convince one of those bastard guards in Sprout’s garden to give him one. Madam Pomfrey has smartened up and locked it with her signature.” She said, pouting. Draco could only give her an incredulous expression.

“As she should. Now, would you go away, Sheryl? I’ll rather not give a maudlin like you the password.”

As soon as Draco gestured to make her go away, the child, Sheryl Holmes (an ugly name that is) grasped Draco’s hand and said, “I am going to help you. Also, my name might be hideous, but not as hideous as yours. Your parents named you after the creation of an intellectual cheat named Ptolemy. Draco? Morgana, I’ll be lining up at St. Mungo’s to get therapy if I  have a name like yours."

“Stop reading my aura, Sheryl. Now, what exactly are you going to help me with?”

“Oh, your Theft problems, not so much can be done with your love problems – that’s just plain boring.” She then patted Draco’s hands one more time before facing the door, screaming, “Serpens pellis.”

Entering after her, Draco could only stare as the child wreaked havoc among the lounging Slytherins, one of them screaming why the hell is there a Ravenclaw running around. 

Draco could only sigh in despair before saying, “Good to know that my problems are now called boring. Just great.”

—

For a few days, there really wasn’t any problem. Zajac may have attempted to murder Draco by trying on a muggle footwear called wedges. It was bloody cute (the footwear) Draco admits but in her foot, it looks like it’s caging a sausage. So, it was fairly a good week until his bloody pearl headband was nowhere to be found. War breaks loose, and every single one of the Slytherins is slighted by Draco’s dramatics. 

“If you keep acting like this, you’ll end the year with the reputation of a bellicose. Worst, I’ll have the reputation of being friends with a bellicose. We can’t have that Draco.” Pansy remarked, casually following Draco as she marched out of the dungeon.

“Pansy. Duly stop or you’ll ruin my mood for the rest of the morning. It’s just that- Salazar! I have personally searched every single possession of each Slytherin, even braved asking Katherine for help despite being reprimanded by my supposed ineffectuality, to not lose my things. It’s been a week. You know what? It’s been going on for a month!”

“You know what I’m thinking?” Pansy said, stopping just before they entered the room to Herbology.

“What?”

Pansy pouted and gave Draco a sad stare, and then to add a dramatic effect, an action Draco gave a pointed glare at her; Pansy tapped her arms and said, “I think that you’re earning wrinkles.” Draco gasped at the implication, hands reaching to her forehead. “And that my friend, is the reason why you should stop moaning and bitching. Come on.”

Draco followed her, still disbelieving but utterly concerned about the fact that maybe she was actually earning wrinkles. 

—

At Potions, Draco was angrily scribbling the similarities between a Befuddlement potion and a Beautification potion—an essay that she had to redo, seeing as she had completely missed a vital ingredient in the 46th line—when suddenly, a dratted nest of a head popped up beside Draco, making her whip her head in indignation at the disturbance. 

"Hello, Malfoy. Nice set of chairs in this row." Potter started, arms stretching as if it was planning to casually land on Draco’s chair before it pulled back at Draco’s incredulous stare.

“Potter, I am not above begging but please tell me what do you want, and no, I will not give you anything without a reasonable explanation.” Draco hastily whispers because this is a conversation she doesn’t want anyone to ever fucking hear about. “Now, what the fuck are you even doing here, Potter?”

“Things.” The bellend admonishes. “For charity.”

“As if, you bloody pillock –”

“Pillock? What the hell are you even talking about, look–as much as I love your newly improved cursing abilities, I am completely serious about my requests. I am asking everyone for it, you’re not that special, Malfoy.”

Draco purses her lips in aggravation, mind reeling at how his heart ached at being addressed as such. She knew that Potter and their petty squabbling since the beginning is just a fucking thorn on Potter’s fucking hide but being called not special – oh merlin, she’s incapable of not being hurt by it. 

Moreover, Potter has been following her around since last week, asking her for her things, making polite talk, treating Draco with absolute sickly sweetness – the oblivious idiot saying shit like how she smells good, and asking what she eats and Draco’s doing such a good job of trying to get rid of her feelings, and now this–! 

“You blockheaded dolt! If you think I’m not special then go ask anyone else AND take me off your charity roster. More so, go ask them for their bloody candy WRAPPERS. What would you even do with fucking candy wrappers if it's for charity, Merlin knows what!”

“You never fucking know! I might use it for recycling!” Potter defended, both hands up in the air. 

“Recycling?!” Draco matches her scream, now slamming down her pen before completely facing this clodpole with its green eyes and pink-cheeked face which only made Draco angrier. 

How she manages to be beautiful and be the bane of Draco’s life, she will never know. 

“Potter, unless my candy wrappers became the reason for global warming, I dont fucking see why it has to be my candy wrapper you pillock!” Draco shrieked at her, only for Potter to take hold of her shoulder, jostling Draco and letting their thighs touch, causing goosebumps to run along her arms as one of Potter's exposed knees was suddenly inside Draco’s pantyhose covered thighs. 

“Take your hands off me!”

“Then, Stop screaming!” Potter screams back. 

Draco was about to physically take Harry’s hands off when suddenly a loud bang made the two of them jolt away from each other. Draco wide-eyed glanced down at the wand and slowly, inch by inch, brought her gaze to Professor Snape who's looking at them with absolute disdain that Draco’s surprised they’re both not on fire. 

“Ladies.” Professor Snape bitterly drawled, not once taking his eyes off them. Draco hears Harry's audible gulping and the inevitable defense the dolt head was about to make.

“Professor–” Harry starts, only for Draco to reach for her arm and squeeze it tight to shut her up. Draco subtly glares at her before sitting straight in her seat. 

“I should have known better than to expect that both of you respect me enough not to waste my precious time and ruin the sanctity of my classroom,” Snape uttered, disappointment dripping in his tone like soiled oil, before slowly withdrawing his wand to turn his back. His walk heavy, and Draco swears that her ancestors are breathing down her back in dissapointment. 

“20 points from Slytherin.” Snape snapped at the class, making Draco freeze in her seat as Professor Snape threw down the book at his desk, emphasizing the gravity of how aggrieved he was over their screaming match.

“And 20 points from Gryffindor. Detention at 10 for a week. Be glad that it’s almost the end of the semester, because if it wasn’t I would have taken more, "Class Dismissed.” 

At this, Professor Snape turned around, making his robes swish before stacking the papers of the early passers. Draco looked down at her paper and saw that one of the edges had been tinted with ink and despaired more. 

Seething with loathing at her lack of self-control, at her inability to just ignore Potter, and her bloody infatuation that wouldn’t just go away. Draco began shoving her papers inside her bag as fast as she could before Potter got the idea of another confrontation. 

“I’m–”

“No.” Draco cuts her off. 

“I–” Potter starts again, only to be glared at by Draco, which seems to deter her for a second before holding onto Draco’s wrist with such gentleness given to an easily spooked horse. 

Or for Draco’s case – a horse that would gladly flee or kick this thickheaded dunder if she had to face one last idiocy. 

“Look, Malfoy, I truly am sorry,” Potter says, letting go of Draco’s wrist. “I truly just wanted to ask for something of yours.” 

Draco stares at her deadpanned, taking note of her frown, the way her shoulders are tilted downwards – obvious in a way that makes Draco hate herself for making Potter sad as well. She could only roll her eyes in exasperation before giving into the willes of her weak feelings for this witch. 

“Alright. I’ll rumor you. Let’s say I actually gave you something of mine, but let’s be real Potter, you never explained why you needed it. You just kept on barging into my space, and you and I both know how that goes. You talk, I talk, you get pissed and I get more pissed, and the cycle bloody repeats. You get what I’m trying to say here?”

“That’s the thing, I can't tell you,” Potter answers, body shying away from the confrontation that was coming. 

“And why the bloody not?” Draco demanded.

“I just can't!” 

“Then, no something, then!”

“Fine!” Potter snapped, face aggrieved before she realized what she just agreed to. “Wait–”

“You said, FINE! SO FINE! I’m out of here.” Draco retorts, fuming in her haste to get out of Potter’s bloody presence. 

In fact, Potter tried once again to grab her wrist, but Draco hissed – literally hissed like a cat who was ready to throw hands before getting up close to Potter's face in a blackout full pent-up anger moment that Draco would surely think about later that night.

“No touching, Potter,” Draco growled under her breath, their faces so close she’s practically breathing down on her. 

“And nothing of mine touches your bloody hands, even a single piece of candy wrapper, until I know what the hell's pillock you're doing with it. Understand?” 

Potter’s answer was only her wide-eyed gaze, green so piercing that Draco’s almost afraid she could see how much she likes her. In fact, before Draco could do something that she would truly regret (like accidentally looking down at her mouth or admitting this 7-year repression), she was finally walking out of the room, head held high as if she’s not internally screaming the word ‘fuck’ on repeat.

__

Things started to connect when she realized that her bags were too clean not to be messed with. 

“You.” Draco calls out to the only occupant within a mile radius. 

“What?” The 3rd year gryffindor squeaked. Draco squinted his eyes even more when the gryffindor started to look for exits, how he’ll execute that with a broken ankle, Draco doesn't know but he sure as hell knows that he wouldn’t let the brat leave without admitting shit. 

“Who messed with my things and don't say that you don't bloody know, I’m the one who's going to heal your ankle.” Draco threatens, which in hindsight is such a gangly action, knowing she's literally a healer-in-training. 

“Oh… I don't know.” He says, his eyes shifty and wide.

Draco scowls harder and says something so blasphemous that she’s not even sure where it came from, “I’ll call Sheryl, and you and I both know what that entails, and if you love your life and privacy, you’re gonna fess up or I swear-!” 

“Fine!” The griffindor boy shouts, looking around afraid as if Sheryl’s gonna pop out by summoning her name, “You’re stressing me out!” 

Draco only raises his eyebrows. 

“Damnit, she gave me money, I can’t!” The boy says, “Gryffin code!”

“How much?” Draco challenges, not liking where the conversation is going. Gryffin fucking code?

“The what?” The boy questions. 

“The money.” Draco prompts, almost raging again at the stupidity. “How much did she give to you?”

“Enough to buy me a dozen chocolate frogs.” He sheepishly says. 

This time, Draco allowed herself one eyeroll as a gift for her patience and unending kindness to not outright report this bloody incident to the council. Stealing? Excusable. But stealing her things and someone letting it for what? Dozen chocolate frogs? Ugh, Bloody CHILDREN!

Muttering under her breath, Draco took out a couple of galleons, and maybe it was more than what that bloody gryffindor gave him because his eyes widened a lot more.

Sneering, Draco handed out the galleon. The three gold obviously blinding the child from thinking clearly and said, “Now, who is it?” 

“I’m not…” the gryffindor murmured, eyes conflicted at being a loyal gryffindor or being loyal to his sweets. 

Draco then pulled her hand back, “Speak or I’ll chuck it out of the bloody window. I swear to merlin!”

“WAIT!” The gryffindor started, both hands out. “WAIT!”

Then, a pause and draco was clearly out of patience that the gryffindor had no other choice than to scream, “It’s Miss Harry!” 

At that moment, Draco froze. Hands on the air, before scrabbling down to look at her bag. 

“No wrappers,” Draco whispered, and realization finally dawns in her face, that fucking thief!

“POTTER!”