Chapter Text
Monday 6:03 am
There is a knock on the door.
Seamus, stubbornly closing his eyes, wills the knocker (as in the person who knocked at such an ungodly hour) to lose an arm or just disintegrate (just as long as the insistent knocking would stop).
The knock continues, a tad louder.
He turns his head away from the pillow in displeasure, "Stop knocking! We're all asleeeep, zzzzzzz," he yells drowsily.
To his satisfaction, the knocking eases off.
Everything is tranquil for a while, and Seamus' thoughts precariously teeter from the precipice, ready to plunge into the sweet oblivion of sleep.
The knocker, apparently tired of waiting and not gone as Seamus hoped, kicks the door so hard it startles Seamus awake.
His heart pounding, Seamus reluctantly stands, and prepares to open the door and harangue the motherfucker to the moon when a freshly showered Dean steps down from the stairs.
"I'll handle it," he assures, chuckling at the painful way Seamus' face was contorted. "What the fuck are you doing sleeping here anyway?"
Seamus plops down the couch, burying his face in the pillow and waving his hand in dismissal, foregoing a response.
Dean rolls his eyes and unlocks the latches on the door before turning the knob.
He expects a plastered Gryffindor coming back from a night of fun or from sleeping in the garden. It isn't rare for his housemates to fly to God-knows-where and return before anyone else was awake and willing to let them in. It's usually him or Neville who wakes early enough or has pity enough for the poor suckers.
Today though, Neville is MIA and judging from the tidiness of his bed, he didn't sleep in the house which means the person outside is—
Draco Malfoy stands before him, holding a large paper bag that says 'G U C C I'.
She's basking in the pale rays of the morning sun, her straight and what looked to be utterly lustrous hair (which is blond, almost white, and pretty—really pretty) billows, framing her dainty face.
She's been sporting an old-school straight fringe, like some Hollywood actress. But unlike one, it doesn't make her look soft or delicate.
It makes her look formidable.
Garbed in an expensive trench coat and coupled with her trademark piercing stare (she's majestic and exquisite), she looked ready to rock the world.
You can rock my world.
"Uh. . ."
His heart, err . . . might have stopped.
Anyone who has seen Draco Malfoy would have, at least for once in their whole life, considered a tentative and absurd notion that she was partly divine. There's just something about her that is. . .disarming—ethereal even.
The student population of Hogwarts has even given her the moniker Helen, for the face that has launched a thousand fantasies.
He must have been staring for a while because she corners him with a look of mild derision, "Your gawking is putting me off." She declares, before pushing past him nonchalantly and walking upstairs towards what (Dean's willing to bet his right kidney on) is Harry Potter's room.
And clearly, she's also a bitch.
Silence resumes until there's a noise of sniggering which gradually turns into full-blown laughter.
"Rock your world, huh?"
Dean drops his fist in his forehead in overflowing embarrassment, "Shut up! As if you don't have the hots for her."
Seamus, who is evidently not sleeping raises his hands in surrender, "Hey, I've resigned myself to just admiring her pictures 'cuz her personality sucks. Besides, no one really knows if the rumors are true or not, and on the possibility that it's really true, and that she really is engaged to Harry because I believe her family's bonkers enough to arrange something like that, then I'd rather not step on our captain's toes."
Dean frowns, "Would Harry agree to that though? He doesn't seem like the type and he doesn't seem to really like her either. More like putting up with her, because you've seen her, right? That girl can talk you through anything."
Seamus shrugs, "Who knows? Maybe, he's just a tsundere." Then in response to his housemate's last sentence, he grins, "And I've seen her alright."
Fyorbes Magazine
. . .Hogwarts Institute of Technology is a prestigious institution, established more than a hundred years ago by four highly-esteemed individuals: the eminent scientist and philosopher, Rowena Ravenclaw; the outstanding philanthropist, Queen Helga Hufflepuff also called, Helga the Beneficent; the leading military figure and Olympic athlete Godric Gryffindor; and the businessman who was touted as the 'Father of Modern Economics', and a succesful inventor whose family once held the largest private fortune, Salazar Slytherin.
In terms of historical significance and in contrast with other distinguished institutions, the establishment is fairly in its youth. However, as of the present, it has already produced 190 billionaires, 98 Nobel Laureates, and 301 Olympic Medalists. . .
Draco Malfoy is a proud student of Hogwarts. She is a member of the illustrious Malfoy family, a cadet branch of the Slytherin dynasty. From her birth, she has been groomed to be an impeccable heiress, and so far, she has played the part exceptionally. With such an influential family, it's unmistakable that whatever she wants, she gets, except when it comes to Harry Potter . . .
Harry Potter is a direct descendant of Godric Gryffindor and heir to Potter Corp, which started from a small business venture marketing hair products and has now grown into a multinational company. He is one of Hogwarts' best athletes, captain of their victorious volleyball team, and is already being scouted for the National team.
Hal Potter is also and has always been the love of Coco Malfoy's life.
They were childhood friends (at least, in the sense that Hal's name is in the shortlist of people that Coco's allowed to play with).
From their youth, their families have toyed around the idea of arranging a marriage between them, a notion that both of their grandparents, especially Hal's step-grandmother heartily advocates.
That idea, however, despite being considered to a great extent, had never yielded any fruit. Although during the formal functions and soirées thrown, Hal's step-grandmother had never failed to refer to Coco as Hal's fiancée which is the same treatment that Maria Karolina Zofia Felicja Malfoy née Leszczyńska employed, which was apparently said in jest.
Draco Malfoy does not object to this. If she can, she would simply adore being Mrs. Potter.
Now if only she can convince Hal . . .
"Hal! Hal!" Draco knocks, again. This has been the second door she's been forced to knock on today and her right hand is already hurting. She contemplates kicking the door too but she doesn't want to inflict any more damage on her forty grand cream boots.
The door is wrenched open by a decisively annoyed and disheveled Hal Potter. "What?"
Instead of answering, Draco glides inside, bypassing the irate boy. She wrinkles her nose at the mess before she places her paper bag gingerly on his study desk.
Honestly, why Hal insists on living with his housemates is beyond her. Draco had practically flown away from school housing and she refuses to trade her impeccable apartment (three bedrooms, two bathrooms with a spacious living room and kitchen, complete with floor-to-ceiling glass walls that grants the best view) which daddy got her and mommy renovated with—ugh, this.
Harry rubs his face, "What. . .err are you doing here?"
Draco smiles sunnily, "I bought a jacket for you, yesterday. So I came to bring it here."
Harry looks at his clock blearily, "At six in the morning?"
Draco tuts, retrieving the jacket from the bag and spreading it out, eyeing Harry's build and the jacket's span, "Of course. I have to see if it fits, Hal."
The jacket was. . .floral. It was denim and had a furry collar with butterflies.
He's appalled.
"It's furry," he says for lack of a better description.
"The collar is lined with shearling and the flowers and butterflies are hand-embroidered," she flips it and a roaring tiger's face glares at Harry. A French phrase 'L’Aveugle Par Amour' is stitched too (Harry has no idea what it means), along with more flowers.
To say that it's not Harry's style would be putting it mildly.
"Put it on."
Harry sighs in exasperation, he would love nothing more than to kick her out. But he's too tired to argue and he knows Draco Malfoy like the back of his hand so he relents, putting on the jacket without any fuss.
The jacket is neither too small nor too big, in fact, it fits perfectly.
"It's the right size!" Draco crows in triumph while taking photos of him.
"Oh and I want you to wear it today."
Harry's eyes almost bug out of their sockets, "What?"
"You have a class today, right? Then lunch with your grandmother after."
"But—"
"You need to wear it so that I could show it to Nana Dorea."
Harry falters, horrified. "You want to show it to my grandmother?"
"Yes. I told her about the fashion prevailing in Korea. That's the type of clothing idols wear nowadays. And I told her you'd look good in it. I was right, of course."
"But—"
"Oh, it's almost seven and I have to finish something. Bye, Hal. Seeya! Mwah!"
Just as swift and forceful as her entrance, Draco leaves like a maelstrom of single-mindedness, leaving Harry gaping and disoriented.
Neville Longbottom, who looks like the glowing picture of health and happiness casually strolls in the hall and witnesses Draco's abrupt departure. Sensing blood in the water, he pokes his head inside Harry's room and doubles over in laughter.
"Oh Hal, you look wonderful!" He remarks, exaggerating a look of hopeless and cloying admiration, shaking with laughter.
"Get out," Harry yells, launching a pillow which Neville easily sidesteps.
"Okay Hal, seeya! Mwah!"
"Die!"