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Draco Malfoy was a person who didn't love a lot.
Or well, he does love some things. Like those treacle tarts that sometimes appear at breakfast (though he hates the cream on top and would put it aside with a butter knife). He loves talking to Theo, because Theo was just so easy to be with. He loves Quidditch, loves how the wind blows at him while he's in the air, the exhilarating feeling of rushing through the air and soaring above everyone else. He loves green — not just because he's Slytherin but because it's so pleasing to the eye, or so he says.
Charms wasn't one of those things he loved.
Nevertheless, here he was, sitting in the library and ‘studiously poring’ over Quick Magicke Spells when he would much rather be practicing catching the Snitch for the next match or making fun of one of Pansy's ridiculous haircuts.
"This book is ridiculous," he muttered to himself. He hated that his father found out about the failing grade he'd received from Flitwick last week just because he'd forgotten to do his homework — even if it was four times in a row. Four times wasn't that bad, was it?
And now Lucius had assigned him a tutor. A tutor.
Draco felt astronomically offended.
And yet- and yet he sat here in the library, twisting his fingers under the table as he glared at the yellowed pages in front of him. His tutor was late— and worse, she wasn't a Slytherin. The only reason Lucius chose to take a Ravenclaw was because she was a pure-blood, and he valued that far more than ‘mere house placement’, or whatever the hell he said. Draco had already zoned out after the word ‘tutor’ and the rest was just a blur.
People who were late pissed Draco off — even though, admittedly, he himself often was.
And then he saw you heading his way, a small smile on your face as you stepped lightly to the table he was sitting in. Draco froze. His ability to breathe seemed to have evaporated.
You were beautiful.
Beautiful wasn't a word Draco just threw around carelessly. He found his mother beautiful as a child, and even up 'til now; he'd never quite looked at any other girl the same way. But then here you were. Looking dazzling and radiant, yet soft and feminine. A small flame flickered in him as he fixed his hair and subconsciously sat up straighter.
"Hi Malfoy," you greeted him once you reached him, and he wasn't surprised to hear that your voice was just as pretty as you were, light, sweet, and kind. "I'm your tutor, Y/N."
Despite the desire for Draco to leap up and do something stupid, he remained seated on his chair, his knee bouncing as he feigned icy displeasure in his voice. "Hello."
A bit taken aback, your eyebrows raised in the slightest. Nonetheless, you took a seat from across him, offering him a smile despite his aloof aura. "I see you've already started without me."
"Let's just get this over with." He sighed, fighting the blush that threatened to rise on his cheeks as you gave him a smile, nodding.
"Alright then. Let's get started."
—
Surprisingly, the session didn't go as bad as Draco thought it would. You were very patient, taking care to answer all of his hesitant questions, pointing out the wrong things he may be doing and helping him to fix them. Strangely, it felt... natural, easy to be around you, in a way that he felt like he was at home — and he's only ever felt that when he'd talk to his mother, or tell things to Dobby, who was actually a quite good listener.
And then somehow Draco found himself looking forward to the next session.
And the next.
And... the next.
Before he knew it, he had attended four already and was beginning to soften up to you. You'd throw him a smile, he'd give you a small, hesitant smile back, his heart skipping a beat whenever your fingers would brush his.
"Position your wand like this," you whispered in his ear, your chest impossibly close to his back. He drew in a deep breath, biting his lip on concentration, his eyebrows furrowed, before he casts the spell. He felt you hold your breath.
"Accio!"
The textbook flew into his hand, and he staggered back slightly from the force of the impact, a small, surprised breath leaving his lips. For a moment, he and you remained silent.
And then he felt you jump, squealing quietly and clapping, and then he was grinning at you, a genuine, wide grin. Your arms were suddenly around his neck, and you bounced lightly up and down on your feet, and he buried his face in your neck and shouted out a small, "Yes!"
After a moment, you broke away from the hug, a timid finger brushing your hair behind your ears. You cleared your throat, and Draco fixed his hair quickly, a blush adorning his handsome features.
"Ahem," you cleared your throat, stepping back. "Sorry, just... guess I got excited."
Draco felt a soft smile on his face — which was rare. "It's alright," he said quietly. "Let's just... let's get on with it."
"Right," you breathed, flustered. "Anyway, the strength of the spell is..."
But Draco wasn't listening anymore. All he could think of was how you felt in his arms, giddy and pretty, and everything he never knew he could want before he met you.
—
Not long after, Draco realized that — scarily — he liked you. Not in the way that he'd liked Pansy before because she gave him attention. In the way that he'd stare at you during sessions, unable to focus. In the way that he'd feel butterflies shivering up his spine whenever you'd laugh at something he says. In the way that he'd purposefully try his best to excel in the spells you'd teach him — to learn them quickly — just so that he could coax that rare proud smile out of you.
And it scares him how much he suddenly cares. How, when you'd gotten sick one day, he asked your friend for you and visited you in the hospital wing. He'd even asked his mother how to cook chicken soup, practiced for the whole night, and came up the hospital wing the next day with dark bags under his eyes and a tired grin, holding a bowl of his own homemade chicken soup in his hands.
"It's probably not that good," he shrugged timidly, which was extremely off character, as he held out the bowl.
It wasn't spectacular, that was for sure, but it tasted of home. And the fact that it came from Draco himself, out of his own goodwill, was enough to make your insides warm, and a gentle smile to spread on your face.
—
Draco dreaded the end of your sessions.
The summer of his fifth year, he arrived back at the Manor with flying colours in Charms and a giddily beating heart.
Narcissa was very proud of him, going so far as to telling his father that he'd aced Charms under your tutelage. Lucius gave him a rare smile, and Draco thanked his lucky stars for you.
"Very good, Draco." Lucius had said as he sliced a piece of meat and slid it in his mouth, chewing slowly. "Since you've already caught up with the setbacks, I'll contact your tutor to cancel the rest of the classes. You'll do on your own from now on."
The blood left Draco's face. His mouth felt dry.
"What?"
"Yes," Lucius gave him a small smile. "Aren't you pleased, Draco?"
The blonde swallowed, hard. He had to make sure the next few words wouldn't reveal what he truly felt about the ordeal.
"Yes father. Very much. Thank you."
As he left the dinner table that night, Narcissa cast him a concerned look he failed to see.
—
Draco stared at his green four poster silk curtains, feeling his slow heart beat against his chest. He blinked, swallowing, and tried not to think of your smile.
It wasn't working. He was looking forward to your next class, excited to see you again after summer, but now that his father was going to cancel the rest of the classes, how was he supposed to see you again?
There would be no more library meetings. No more staring at you while you teach him a spell. No more exchanging smiles when he gets something right. No more brushing of hands, or straying away from the subject and talking about the most mundane things.
It had just begun to feel natural, and then it was snatched away.
Now what was he supposed to do? Approach the Ravenclaw table in his green robes? He'd just embarrass himself, absolutely not. Send you a message? Salazar, what a great idea, seeing as he didn't even know where to find the Ravenclaw dorms much less your particular one.
He just wanted more time with you.
Draco sighed, feeling his mouth curve down into a frown. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head as he ruffled through his trunk to unpack. Clothes and garments blurred beneath him, his eyes glazing over as he remembered how beautiful your face was whenever you'd grace him with a smile.
A sudden knock on the door jolted him aware. Draco startled, carefully rushing over to open the door. "Mother?"
"Draco, dear," Narcissa Malfoy smiled at her son kindly, entering the room. "Would you like some help to unpack?"
Draco's head dropped. He knew it then — that his mother knew how he felt about Lucius's cancellation. Narcissa was always keen on things like that.
He nodded, and stepped aside to let his mother walk over to the bed and set aside the curtains, smiling gently at him and gracefully patting the spot beside her. Draco took it, averting her gaze.
"Draco," she said, folding a sweater. "Come now, you can still see her around Hogwarts."
Draco gulped, shaking his head. "She's a Ravenclaw, mother." He shot a sad sneer at the artfully carpeted floor. "It would be a disgrace to Slytherin."
The blonde boy tried not to notice the sad look his mother sent his way.
For a long moment, silence reigned in the air, save for the slight ruffling of crumpled robes. And then Draco spoke.
"Mother..." he started in a murmur. "Is it wrong that I like her?"
Narcissa shook her head lightly, sighing through her nose. "Oh, Draco. I know your father places much importance on houses, but really. As long as she's right for you, go for it."
Biting his lip, Draco kept his gaze on his lap. His heart rate elevated slightly.
"Draco, look at me."
And he did, and what he saw in his mother's eyes was enough to hope for the best.
—
The universe seemed to be against Draco starting with the time he arrived at King's Cross.
For one, he was late for the train, barely climbing on before it took off, all because a house elf had spilled all over his father's hair and he just had to clean it before apparating.
And then came the sorting, where he craned his neck to find you amongst the bobbing heads of the hall — well, that is, until Pansy shot him a suspicious frown, coating her words in faux sugar as she asked what he was doing. Draco had to stop for the rest of the night, afraid his friends might find out about his attraction to you.
His searching for you was delayed another week, as Slughorn had assigned him to do some extra Potions work for accidentally blowing up a cauldron. It wasn't his fault he startled when he smelled vanilla and roses in his Amortentia — which was unmistakably you. Because of his sudden movement, the wooden spoon had tilted the cauldron, the fire touching the liquid, and it exploded in his face, singeing his blonde hair — which he had meticulously styled that morning in expectation of finally finding you — and embarrassing him in front of the whole class.
But Draco wasn't much of a quitter. Sure, he was a whiner, oftentimes more bark than bite, but he didn't like leaving his work when he'd already persevered for it. What a waste. So he vowed that today was going to be the day he took action.
—
"Hey, Lovegood, is it?" Draco hissed. When the blonde girl nodded dreamily, looking mildly surprised that he was even acknowledging her. He silently congratulated himself for finding the right girl, remembering that he'd sometimes see you eating lunch with her. "I need to pass on a message to Y/N. She's, uh, my tutor. Do you know where to find her?"
Draco's eyes darted around, nervous that somebody might see him talking to the 'loony' Ravenclaw student. He couldn't be caught dead by his fellow Slytherins, no matter how much he stuttered out an explanation.
"Yes," Luna finally answered, her voice light and melodic. "She told me she was going to head to the library. Something about looking for her History of Magic book. Be careful though. I heard there might be some Nargles lurking there today."
"Uh," Draco's brow puckered, but he decided to move on quickly. "Right. Thank you... Lovewood."
He was too much in a hurry rushing out of the classroom to even bother to hear Luna correcting him. It was a good thing they had a free period for the next hour or two, because admitting how he felt about you — or even just talking to you — might end up as a complete and utter disaster.
Draco crossed his fingers. And then boom, suddenly there you were, in front of him, rushing through the hallway and dodging the small crowd of students. You were holding a stack of books on your hands, your bag half-open; it flopped every time you took a step. Draco followed close behind, trying not to be too obvious.
And then it happened. Peeves the poltergeist flew above you, cackling wildly. He dropped something from his puffy fingers, a wicked smile stretched across his face as he did so. The object — shiny, shaped like a ball — fell, and exploded in front of you.
The results carried out as if they were in slow motion. You recoiled instinctively, but too slow, and the little bomb swept you off of your feet, landing you flat on your face as glitter showered on every student in that area.
And the worst part? Everyone continued to carry on, save for a small group of Hufflepuffs that oohed at the sight of the sparkling air.
Draco's breath hitched at the sight of you feebly sitting up on the floor, groaning quietly. You held your head, looking dazed as you tried, clumsily, to collect the books that had scattered all over. You were unaware of the small gash on your temple and the thin trickle of blood that ran down your cheek.
Without another thought, he rushed over to you, worry creasing his brows. Draco knelt on the floor, helping you to pick your books up. "I got it," he muttered, wondering if other students might judge him, a Malfoy, for helping you. Well, screw that. He wasn't going to be just another bystander who averted their gaze.
"Draco?" You asked, blinking. He nodded, swallowing heavily at the sight of your pained expression.
"Come on," he urges you, taking your hand and helping you to stand. "Let's take you to the Hospital Wing."
—
Fortunately, Madame Pomfrey made quick work of your cut, stopping the bleeding and handing you a cloth smelling of herbs. "Dab at it," she instructed briefly, and then left to take care of an injured Quidditch player.
So there Draco was, with you, in the room, alone together. He watched as you, seated atop the white marble counter, carefully patted your temple, failing to smother your little winces.
"You're doing it wrong," he murmured, and a small smile appeared on his face when your lips turned down and pursed.
"Why don't you do it then?" you huffed.
"Gladly," answered Draco, surprising you. That was... out of character. And the next thing he did was even more out of character.
Draco walked forwards slowly, took the cloth from your hands, stepped in between your outstretched legs, and gently dabbed. Once. Twice. Three times.
You blushed. "What are you doing?"
"Helping you," Draco responded calmly, his touch careful and deliberate. Your breath hitched at seeing him this close. You could see every speck in his sage green eyes, every blonde strand that seemed to glow golden in the sunlight, every sparkle of the few glitters that had clung to his eyelashes. He was handsome, you knew that, but he had never really been... this handsome. Acknowledging this in your head brought more heat to your cheeks, stole your breath away, made you want to giggle and avert your gaze like a flustered little girl, all of which you held back.
In the same way, Draco was holding his breath. He had never had a girl this close to him before. Of course, he wouldn't admit that, but he certainly couldn't hide the faint flush of his cheeks, the catch in his normally steady breath, the way his leg wanted to bounce up and down in a nervous jig.
He had to tell you. It was the perfect time. But why is it that the words couldn't get past the prominent lump in his throat?
Finally, he managed to choke out," (Name)." He cleared his throat, subconsciously gripping the cloth tighter.
You hummed, peering at him. You were closer than ever now, your face only a few inches above his as he stared up at it. The hand holding the cloth was still now, and Draco somehow managed not to look at your kind eyes.
He cleared his throat again. "Thank you," he quietly said, a small smile on his lips. "For helping me with Charms. And I... Uh- I just wanted to say that..."
What was this? A Malfoy does not stutter. He could practically hear Lucius snapping at him to have some dignity. He squared his shoulders. Took a deep breath. Opened his mouth.
"Look, here's the deal." You tilted your head, curious now. "I... I like you, (Name). I'm not sure why. I mean, I get that I'm a Slytherin and you're a Ravenclaw but... there's something about you that I just can't resist. Somehow."
There! He said it. Draco let out the rest of his breath in a slow whoosh, then gave you a smile. A charming, very much good-looking one. My goodness.
You froze, staring at the blonde man in front of you. Your mouth was a little open, your breath stuck in your throat.
"You're joking," you cautiously said.
"I'm not," Draco laughed lightly.
"Then prove it." You crossed your arms, your pulse escalating.
The edge of Draco's mouth curled upwards. He was confident now, you can see it. For some reason, it made your heart flutter. "You sure?" he said, his voice low.
"I'm sure," you whispered, swallowing. He was so close.
And then his lips were on yours. You didn't even have time to think. The only thought on your mind now was how his hand fell against your sides, pulling you closer as your palms rested warmly on his neck. You leaned down a little, at a better angle, and buried your hands in his messy hair, rendering you both breathless.
"I think I'll take that as a valid proof," you whispered against his lips once you pulled away. Draco smiled- no, beamed, and for a moment, you felt like you were floating.
"Can't be right in everything, darling" Draco said quietly, his voice low teasing. Your heart skipped a beat at the nickname. "Just because you're good at teaching Charms-"
You shut him up, leaning in to steal another kiss, wound forgotten, and Madame Pomfrey's cry of indignation ignored.
Well, it was safe to say that, even if you both had to serve a detention after, it was all worth it.
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