Chapter Text
The Slytherin common room was quieter than usual for a Friday evening, the crackling fire casting dancing shadows across the dark leather furniture. You sat curled in your usual spot on the sofa nearest the hearth, Potions textbook balanced on your knees, though you hadn't turned a page in the last ten minutes.
"You're doing it again."
Draco's voice cut through your distraction. He didn't even look up from his own work, quill scratching steadily across his parchment.
"Doing what?" you asked, though you knew exactly what he meant.
"That thing where you stare at the same page and pretend to read while your mind is clearly elsewhere." Now he did look up, grey eyes sharp and assessing. "What's wrong?"
This was the problem with having Draco Malfoy as your closest friend for the past five years - he noticed everything. Every shift in your mood, every hesitation, every carefully constructed lie before you even opened your mouth to tell it.
"Adrian Pucey asked me to Hogsmeade tomorrow," you said finally, closing your textbook with a soft thump.
Draco's quill stopped moving. The silence stretched just a beat too long before he said, with studied casualness, "And?"
"And I said yes."
You watched his jaw tighten almost imperceptibly. He set down his quill with deliberate care, leaning back in his chair with that particular brand of aristocratic indifference he'd perfected over the years.
"Pucey." The name left his mouth like something distasteful. "Interesting choice."
"He's nice enough," you said defensively, though you weren't entirely sure why you felt the need to defend Adrian to Draco. "He's been friendly all term."
"Oh, I'm sure he has." Draco's tone was carefully neutral, but you caught the edge beneath it. "Seventh year Slytherin, decent at Quidditch, comes from old money. Ticks all the boxes, doesn't he?"
"Don't be like that."
"Like what? I'm simply observing." He picked up his quill again, but made no move to actually use it. "Though I should mention that Pucey has rather a reputation."
Your stomach tightened. "What kind of reputation?"
Draco met your eyes, and something flickered in his expression - something that looked almost like concern, though he'd never admit it. "The kind where girls tend to regret accepting his invitations. But I'm sure you'll be fine. You're a smart witch."
The words should have been reassuring. Instead, they settled in your chest like a cold stone.
"If you don't want me to go, just say so," you said quietly.
For a moment, Draco looked as though he might do exactly that. His fingers tightened around his quill, and you saw the muscles in his throat work as he swallowed. But then that familiar mask slid back into place - cool, composed, untouchable.
"Don't be absurd. Your social calendar is hardly my concern." He returned his attention to his parchment. "Enjoy your date."
The dismissal stung more than it should have.
The Three Broomsticks was warm and crowded, condensation fogging the windows as students sought refuge from the late October chill. Adrian had secured a corner booth, and he smiled as you approached - a charming smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"You look beautiful," he said, standing to help you with your cloak.
"Thank you." You slid into the booth, trying to ignore the uncomfortable twist in your stomach. This was fine. This was normal. Just a date in Hogsmeade like hundreds of students had been on before.
So why did you keep thinking about the look on Draco's face last night?
Adrian ordered butterbeers for you both, keeping up a steady stream of conversation. He was attentive, complimentary, asking questions about your classes and your plans after Hogwarts. On paper, it was going well.
But something felt off.
"I took the liberty of adding a little something extra," Adrian said when the butterbeers arrived, pulling a small flask from his pocket with a conspiratorial grin. "My father's private collection. Makes everything taste better."
He poured a measure of amber liquid into both glasses before you could respond. The sweet smell of butterscotch mixed with something sharper, more medicinal.
"I'm not sure—" you started.
"Come on, just a bit of fun. We're of age, aren't we?" His smile widened, but there was an edge to it now. "Unless you're scared?"
Pride - your fatal flaw, Draco always said - made you reach for your glass. "Of course not."
The first sip burned pleasantly down your throat, warmth spreading through your chest. The second sip went down easier. By the third, you'd finished half the glass, and the edges of the world had gone soft and hazy.
"There we go," Adrian said, and his voice seemed to come from very far away. "Much better, isn't it?"
You tried to respond, but your tongue felt thick, your thoughts scattered like leaves in wind. The pub was too warm suddenly, too bright, the noise pressing in from all sides.
"I think—" You blinked slowly, trying to focus. "I don't feel quite right."
"You just need some fresh air." Adrian's hand was on your arm, pulling you up from the booth. Your legs didn't quite want to work properly. "Come on, there's a quiet spot just outside."
The cold air hit your face like a slap, but it didn't clear your head the way it should have. If anything, everything felt more disconnected, your body moving through thick syrup. Adrian's arm was around your waist now, leading you down a side street, away from the crowds.
"Where are we going?" The words came out slurred.
"Somewhere we can talk properly." His voice had changed, lost its veneer of charm. "You've been driving me mad all term, you know. Walking around in that skirt, laughing with Malfoy like you're something special."
Warning bells were ringing somewhere in the back of your mind, but you couldn't quite grasp why. Your back hit cold stone - a wall - and then Adrian was there, too close, his breath hot on your face.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured, and then his mouth was on yours.
You tried to push him away, but your arms wouldn't cooperate. His hands were in your hair, on your waist, and you felt utterly disconnected from your own body, a passenger with no control.
"Stop," you managed to whisper against his lips, but he either didn't hear or didn't care.
"Pucey."
The voice cut through the fog like a knife - cold, sharp, absolutely furious.
Adrian jerked back, and you would have fallen if the wall wasn't holding you up. Through your blurred vision, you could make out a familiar pale figure striding toward you, wand already drawn.
"Malfoy." Adrian's voice had lost all its smoothness. "This doesn't concern you."
"Remove your hands from her. Now." Draco's wand was pointed directly at Adrian's chest, and there was something deadly in his expression that you'd never seen before. "Or I'll remove them for you."
"We're just having a bit of fun—"
"Does she look like she's having fun?" Draco took another step forward, and Adrian actually backed up. "What did you give her?"
"Nothing she didn't drink willingly—"
The hex was nonverbal, so fast you barely saw Draco move. Adrian crashed backward into the opposite wall with a yelp of pain, clutching his ribs.
"Wrong answer." Draco's voice was soft now, which somehow made it more terrifying. "What. Did. You. Give. Her."
"Just some Firewhisky," Adrian gasped. "And maybe a drop of Amortentia, but—"
He didn't get to finish. Draco's next spell sent him sprawling in the snow, and then Draco was there, grabbing you as your legs finally gave out completely.
"I've got you," he said, and his voice had transformed entirely - gentle now, worried. "You're alright. I've got you."
You wanted to tell him you knew he did, that you'd always known, but the darkness was pulling you under.
The last thing you felt was Draco's arms around you, holding you like you were something precious.
You woke in the Hospital Wing with a pounding headache and a mouth that tasted like dragon dung. Weak afternoon sunlight filtered through the high windows, and you blinked slowly, trying to piece together what had happened.
"You're awake."
Draco was sitting in a chair beside your bed, still in his Hogsmeade clothes from yesterday. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his usually immaculate hair disheveled.
"How long—?"
"Eighteen hours." His voice was hoarse. "Madam Pomfrey said the combination of the love potion and whatever else he slipped you was dangerous. You could have—" He stopped, jaw clenching. "You've been unconscious since I brought you back."
Memory came flooding back in sickening waves. Adrian's smile. The drink. The alley. His hands on you.
"I'm sorry," you whispered.
"Sorry?" Draco's eyes flashed. "What in Merlin's name do you have to be sorry for?"
"You warned me. You told me Pucey had a reputation, and I went anyway, and—"
"And he drugged you." Draco stood abruptly, starting to pace. "That bastard drugged you, and if I hadn't—" His hands clenched into fists. "I should have done more than hex him. I should have—"
"How did you know?" you interrupted. "How did you know to come find me?"
Draco stopped pacing, his back to you. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. "I followed you."
"What?"
"I couldn't—" He turned to face you, and there was something raw and unguarded in his expression. "I tried to stay away. Told myself it was your choice, your life, none of my concern. I lasted approximately twenty minutes before I was walking to Hogsmeade like a pathetic fool."
Your heart was beating too fast. "Draco—"
"I've been following you around like a lost puppy for five years," he continued, the words spilling out now like he couldn't stop them. "Sitting with you in the common room every night. Walking you to class even when it makes me late to my own. Hexing anyone who so much as looks at you wrong. And I told myself it was just friendship, that I simply valued your company, but the truth is—"
He stopped, dragging a hand through his hair.
"The truth is I was jealous," he finished quietly. "When you said you were going out with Pucey, I wanted to destroy something. Because the thought of anyone else touching you, kissing you, making you smile the way you smile at me—" He laughed bitterly. "I couldn't stand it."
You pushed yourself up in the bed, ignoring the way the room spun slightly. "Then why didn't you say something?"
"Because you deserve better than me." The words came out sharp, almost angry. "You deserve someone who isn't carrying around their family's reputation like a curse. Someone who doesn't have the Dark Mark waiting for them the moment they turn seventeen. Someone—"
"Draco, stop."
He fell silent, watching you with those storm-grey eyes.
"I didn't want to go out with Adrian," you said softly. "I said yes because I was tired of waiting for you to notice that I—" You took a shaky breath. "That I've been in love with you since fourth year."
The silence that followed was deafening. Draco stared at you like you'd just spoken Mermish.
"You—what?"
"I'm in love with you, you impossible git." The words came easier now, rushing out. "I have been for years. Why do you think I spend every evening in the common room with you? Why I laugh at your terrible jokes and let you copy my Potions notes and—"
You didn't get to finish because Draco was there, kneeling beside your bed, his hands cradling your face with a gentleness that made your chest ache.
"Say it again," he whispered.
"I love you."
He kissed you then, soft and careful like you might break, and it was nothing like Adrian's assault in the alley. This was reverent, worshipful, Draco's hands trembling slightly as they cupped your jaw. You kissed him back, fingers tangling in his hair, and he made a sound low in his throat that sent warmth flooding through you.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes were bright.
"I'm going to spend the rest of our lives making sure you never regret this," he said fiercely. "You understand? I'll be whatever you need me to be. I'll—"
"Draco." You smiled, thumb brushing across his cheekbone. "I just need you to be you. That's all I've ever needed."
He kissed you again, deeper this time, and you felt him smile against your lips.
"Well then," he murmured. "I suppose I can manage that."
"What happened to Adrian?" you asked when you finally came up for air, Draco having climbed carefully onto the bed beside you.
His expression darkened. "Expelled. Snape wanted to give him detention, but when Dumbledore heard what happened—what could have happened—" His arm tightened around you. "He's lucky that's all he got. If I'd had my way—"
"My hero," you said softly, and watched pink color his pale cheeks.
"Hardly. I should have hexed him the moment he asked you out."
"That seems extreme."
"You don't understand." Draco turned to face you fully, his expression serious. "When I saw him touching you, and you couldn't even push him away, I've never felt rage like that. I wanted to kill him. I would have, if getting thrown in Azkaban meant leaving you alone."
The intensity in his voice made your breath catch. You'd always known Draco was protective of the people he cared about - had seen him hex other students for far less than what Adrian had done - but this was different. This was personal.
"I'm okay," you said, threading your fingers through his. "Because of you, I'm okay."
"You're more than okay." He lifted your joined hands, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "You're everything."
"That's quite romantic for a Malfoy."
"Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain." But he was smiling now, that rare, genuine smile he only ever showed you. "Though I suppose that reputation is ruined now. Everyone saw me carry you back to the castle like some kind of knight in a Muggle fairy tale."
"How horrifying for you."
"Absolutely devastating." He pulled you closer, and you rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. "Though I'd do it again in a heartbeat. I'd do anything for you."
"I know," you whispered. "I've always known."
You lay there together as the afternoon light faded to evening, Draco's fingers tracing idle patterns on your arm, and for the first time in years, everything felt right. No more pretending. No more careful distance. Just truth, finally spoken.
"We should probably tell Madam Pomfrey you're awake," Draco said eventually. "She's been checking on you every hour."
"Five more minutes."
"Demanding little thing, aren't you?"
"You love it."
"I do." He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Merlin help me, I really do."