Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You have exactly twenty-seven days to lose your virginity. 

You’ve been counting them down ever since your birthday — February 14^th of last year — when you finally decided you wanted to lose it before you turned nineteen. 

Now it’s halfway through January, and you’re starting to panic a little. 

It’s embarrassing, really, having to set a deadline for yourself for something like this. Especially given the fact you’ve never even kissed anyone or even gone on an official date, let alone done anything further. 

But, you have a plan.

 Last weekend, on one of your much-too-infrequent trips to the Weasley home, you confided in your friend Ginny, explaining your plan in detail. She thought your objective was a good idea. But, it’s probably because the two of you are very goal oriented women. You know what you want, and you go after it. It’s as simple as that.

Your seat in Divination is a coveted one. It's in the last riser in the back, beside a wide window that spills afternoon sunlight right onto your desk amidst the dim room.You’d prefer a seat up front, where it is easier to get called on, and to gain favor with Professor Trelawney, but this spot has its perks. Lush curtains drape from the ceiling, falling around the haphazard mix of chairs, stools, and benches your classmates occupy.  Professor Trelawney insists that the natural light from the few tall windows be the only illumination — better for the sight, she claims.

How having less light is better for reading prophecies through various small magical objects, you have no idea. Your classmates complain often, both about that and the spicy incense smoke that seems to crawl up your nose and linger on robes long after class ends. 

The heavy wooden door creaks as students begin to file into class. You’re always the first to your seat. Always. 

It’s been a habit of yours for years, but especially since you came back from Christmas break. 

Nothing motivates you to dive into academics like spending two weeks crammed into that tiny shack you call home, filled with seven siblings and strict parents who constantly remind you that you “don’t work hard enough.”

It was a small miracle when you received the letter from Hogwarts just after turning twelve. The school of magic didn’t mind that you were a year older than your classmates. They still wanted you. 

And you’re determined to forge a life for yourself through this incredible opportunity. No more living in the shack. No more being ordered around, no more raising your siblings. You’ll send money home when you can, of course, and help your brothers and sisters find schools of their own. But none of that happens if you fail now. 

Speaking of, the plan himself strides into the room. 

Theodore Nott. 

Successful. Handsome. And he is one of twelve students to reach the N.E.W.T. academic level last year. He's perfect for what you need. 

His wavy brown hair falls into his face as he slips into his seat in the row in front of you.

See? Perks.

Trelawney sashays into the room, muttering and stumbling as usual, but for once, you’re not listening. 

You’ve been devising this plan for awhile now, and today, you put it into action. 

Hogwarts has decided to out on a ball this year on Valentine's Day, called The Affinity Ball. It's rumored to be like the Yule Ball that only happens at Christmas during the the Triwizard tournament. Not sure why the school decided to host a ball out of the blue — probably something to do with healing from the Battle of Hogwarts and the war last year. It’s why Malfoy and Nott are still here, among others, retaking their final year after missing graduation requirements amid all that chaos. 

And today, you’re going to invite Theodore to be your date. A ball sounds magical, but it's the afterparty in Hogsmeade that you really care about. Apparently, after the Yule Ball, there's a tradition for couples to take the secret passage way to Hogsmeade, and enjoy an afterparty at an inn. Those who want to usually rent a room and…explore their evening further. And it's rumored that the tradition will continue with The Affinity Ball. 

Your housemate, Elizabeth, told you about it.  She explained her older sister did it with her date, the last time the Yule Ball was hosted at Hogwarts, and the way she described it sounded impossibly romantic.  Mulled mead to ease the nerves, floating candles drifting overhead, illusions of starlight cast on the ceiling. 

It sounded perfect. And that’s exactly what you want. 

A perfect first kiss, a perfect first night. You have way too much at stake to risk fumbling through inexperience or mistakes. 

You have plans for your future. Big ones. Plans that can’t afford you to be sloppy or unbridled. 

But this thorn of inexperience is really beginning to plague your side. Because how can you plan out your life if you don’t even know the subtle feminine ways of seduction? How can you plan on catching a good man if you don’t even know what to look for? If you don’t even know how to kiss him? You’re very liable to fuck it all up if that’s the case. 

No. You can’t afford to fuck anything up. You just need to rip the bandaid off, so to speak. Sex isn’t that big of a deal, you just need to get it out of the way. So then the rest of your life can begin, just the way you want it to. 

“Today,” Professor Trelawney’s high-pitched, wobbly voice cuts through your thoughts, “you will all learn who is destined for you. That is, of course, your soulmate.”

A chorus of whispers fill the room. You shift in your seat. You never really put much faith in Divination, but grades are grades. And you need good grades if you’re going to be a successful witch: clever, beautiful, and in control. To marry a kind, well-off man, raise one or two children you can actually care for and love. Maybe you’ll live in a stone house on a hill, with an observatory for charting the stars, and a small shop in Diagon Alley where you can sell your celestial charts and books on unique charms. And then your life will be exactly as it should be…perfect.

“Next to you is a teacup,” Trewlaney continues. “Fill it a little less than a quarter full — now, that’s very important, a little less than a quarter— and your soulmate…will be revealed.”

You flip your teacup upright onto the velvet cloth on your desk. Its creamy white interior gleams empty. On Trelawney’s mark, you lift the kettle next to you and begin to pour. Steam curls up fast, and the liquid pours faster than you anticipate. It splashes up the side, scalding the tips of your fingers. 

You hiss, yanking your hand back, just as a familiar chuckle comes from the row ahead, and your blood runs cold. 

Flustered, you cover your half-full tea cup with your good hand, as if that would hide the fact that you’re floundering this morning. How could you forget to keep your guard up? 

You raise your head, schooling a mask of indifference, as your eyes meet a pair of flashing green ones. 

Draco Malfoy. 

Malfoy’s smirk should be classified as a Dark Art. It was insufferable, and somehow, it always found you.

He’s seated next to Theodore, just as he always is, sprawled effortlessly over his chair as he looks over his shoulder at you.

“No soulmate for you, Snitch?” he sneers. “Not surprising.”

Some people collect chocolate frog cards, you collect ways to outdo Draco Malfoy. And for whatever reason, he does the same to you. It’s been going on for years. 

The only small condolence to him getting a front row seat to your mistake, is that today, you get your test scores back from last week. You studied for this test for days. Nights, too, actually. And if there’s one thing you’ve learned from this rivalry is that your advantage is your control. 

He’s not very controlled. 

The thing is, with Malfoy, it all seems to come so easily. Too easily. While you slave away in your room for days, writing notes until your fingers bleed, he breezes in late, turning in a near identical score. You don’t know what to make of it. He doesn’t study, not that you’ve seen anyway. He’s always lurking around with his ‘friends’ from Slytherin, doing God knows what. Probably wreaking havoc on some unsuspecting student or another. 

You’ve only ever seen him in the library, once. He was with some girl, and the moment you locked eyes from behind your study materials, he hexed your textbook closed.

 It took three days to unlock it. 

Despite your irritation, you resist the urge to flick your steaming tea at his face. But since you can’t do that, you do the next best thing. The moment Draco looks away, you slip your wand from your robes pocket. 

“Illusio.” You whisper, flicking it in his direction from under your seat, sending a mental image to him. 

This time, instead of it happening in real life, it’s his mind. Scalding tea splashes into his face, forcing him to close those deep green eyes. It sizzles over his high cheekbones, gets caught in his blonde lashes, and falls over that mouth that’s always twisted into a demeaning smirk. 

He jolts, accidentally kicks his desk, and his teapot slips off his desk and shatters on the stone floor. Theo leaps up to avoid being burned. 

You feel a trickle of guilt at that. Not for Draco, of course. Bastard deserves it. But you don’t want to hurt Theo. 

The clatter draws the attention of the room, and you carefully school your features to portray nothing but innocent curiosity, with a hint of concern. 

“Malfoy!” Trelawney shrieks, “Have you no concern for this divine art? The teapots were specifically chosen for each of you. They cannot be replicated, or replaced! You may never know your soulmate, I’m afraid.” 

“Quite alright, professor.” Draco says smoothly, settling back into his chair. “Since I have no inclination of ever needing one. But you may want to check on her.” He gestures toward you. “She can’t procure one, either.”

Trelaney swoops toward your desk, her large eyes peering into your very soul from behind thick glasses. “Is that so? Truly?” 

You glance into your cup and blink. Twice. The tea was not strained, and the leaves that were floating around have now arranged themselves together in the middle, floating in a peculiar pattern that almost looks like…

“Let me see.” Trelawney reaches for the teacup, but before she can snatch it, you slide it forward just enough to ‘accidentally’ catch the rim on the desk’s ragged edge. The cup tilts, spilling its contents to the floor. 

Trelawney shrieks, staring down at the spill as if it will reveal something mysterious. “What did it say, dear?” 

The room looks on, as this is the second crash of porcelain from this corner in under a minute. You stumble for words. “It was, well, I must — uhh— consult the stars, for my soulmate has not yet revealed themselves to me…”

It’s ludicrous because there’s not much to prove your theory in the textbook, but it works. Probably only because Trelawney knows you frequently visit the astronomy tower to chart the night sky. Also, because the more dramatic the reading is, the higher grade you tend to have in this class. Trelawney loves a good tragedy. 

“Fascinating.” She mutters, traveling back to the center of the room, “A Consto sign. Very good. Interesting. Very.” 

You risk a glance at Malfoy. The glare he gives you could cut glass. His platinum hair glints in the sunlight, making him look like an angel the devil himself planted here. You work so fucking hard to bring that anger to his cold grey eyes. 

When he’s angry, he makes mistakes. You don’t. Anger makes you work harder. The only thing that can slip you up is…well…distraction.

The clatter of teacups and the sounds of scribbling fill the room once more, until Trelawney speaks again a few minutes later. 

“I will now be handing out the scores from last week’s test.” She heaves a stack of papers onto her podium. “Please remain in your seat.”

With a flick of her wand, the papers flutter towards their owners. Students pluck them from the air with their hand, or draw them closer with their own wand. But you’re too on edge to use magic. You just snatch your paper out of the air when it’s within reach and practically shove your nose into it, desperate for the final grade to read higher than Malfoy’s.

The blank page shifts, ink slowly blooming to reveal your score to you.

An O. O for outstanding. The highest grade possible. 

Relief floods through you and and you slump back in your chair, not trying to hide the smile tugging at your lips. You beat him. You’ve been neck and neck for awhile now, always trading out scores slightly above or below each other. 

Except for that dreadful day last April, when you scored a ninety-two and he made a ninety-nine in the Potions final. Stupid one-hundred points system that Snape installed into his class to make grades more,’precise’. Ludicrous. 

It’s the biggest gap you can remember, and the memory still sends a shiver down your spine to this day. 

You toss your head, hair swinging, and flash Malfoy a knowing smile. But the look on his face sends your heart racing. 

He’s relaxed, posture easy, wearing that fucking infuriating smug smirk that says he knows something you don’t.

Your stomach drops. He can’t have a higher score than you, it’s impossible. Trelawney doesn’t give out extra credit on tests. He’s just trying to knock the wind out of your sails.

You choose to ignore him and listen to the Professor go over the next assignment, then dismiss the class. 

Gathering your books, along with your courage, you intercept Theodore Nott before he leaves the classroom. He stares down at you, a bit bewildered but curious. His brown eyes seem kind, if not a little distant. 

That’s perfect. 

“Hi,” you start, “I was wondering…well — ” 

A platinum head of hair rises over Theo’s shoulder and you wince. How could you be so naive? Of course Malfoy would hang behind to taunt you, about your newfound interest in Theo, or the test…probably both. 

See? Distractions….they make you stupid. You can’t afford distractions. 

“Nice going today, Snitch.” Draco drawls, sauntering into your personal space. “Love how you tried playing mind tricks on me, but you’re the one who ended up burned. Don’t worry. I’ll show you how to actually hurt an opponent in Defense Against The Dark Arts this week.”

Anger flashes through your chest, down your limbs and you fight the urge to keep your wand in your pocket. “I don’t need you to teach me anything. Now, fuck off, Malfoy. I’m trying to speak with Theo.”

“Trying is the right word.” Drago muses, nodding conspiratorially, as if your attempt to speak to a member of the opposite sex is cute at best and cringe at worst. 

You open your mouth to retort, but Theo cuts you off with a gentle wave. “Yeah?”

As you turn back towards him, suddenly your nerves seem to misfire. Why can you trade barbs with Malfoy without breaking a sweat, but when you’re face-to-face with anyone else of the opposite sex, you suddenly lose the ability to speak?

Because you’ve never actually asked anyone out before, and certainly didn’t anticipate to do it with Draco as an audience.

“Um,” you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, “I-I have something for you.” You rummage in your satchel, fumbling with your robes, and hand Theo a folded piece of paper. You wrote and rewrote the note until it was quite literally perfect, so there will hopefully be no misunderstandings between the two of you.

Theo glances warily at Draco, who is obviously curious about your note, hungry for any scrap of information he can use against you.  As if this weren’t mortifying enough. 

“Thank you. See you later.” Theo nods, tucks the note into his robes, offers a small smile, and slips past — leaving Draco to glare at his back, then at you. 

“What the fuck was that?” he sneers. 

“What? I can’t talk to a guy?”

“You never talk to guys,” he replies instantly, “Besides, he’s a Slytherin. Thought you didn’t date Slytherin.”

He’s fishing for more information but it won’t work. Even though he’s right. You made that rule years ago, born mostly from hating him. Over the last year or so, you realized it wasn’t fair to condemn an entire House for one infuriating boy. 

Even if that one is fucking impossible. 

Besides, you and Theo aren’t…dating. And since you’re not about to ease Malfoy’s mind or lead him at all towards the truth, you just shrug. “Changed my mind.” 

“Is that so?” There’s something in his voice that causes your brows to draw together. It’s…taunting, yes, but there’s something else there you can’t quite name. 

Then his scowl tilts into a smirk you know too well. The one that means he’s won. 

Quick as a flash, you tap your wand to your test paper so he can see your score, waving it in his face. “I got a perfect score. You didn’t win today, and you know it, so let’s just — ”

You trail off when he lifts his paper to match yours and an O stares back at you. 

A tie. Not uncommon, with the grading system and all. But it has to happen now? 

With only a couple months until graduation, the neck-and-neck continues. You’d hoped to pull ahead by now, to chip away at his confidence in these final weeks. Drag him through the mud a bit before ultimately winning by more than a hair. 

“I suggest a tiebreaker,” he says, eyes catching yours. “We’ve barely a semester left.” He gestures around the classroom. “Let’s settle this once and for all. Prove who’s really the best.”

Every single time you’ve ever won, reduced to one singular test of skill?  “I — I don’t…”

“What’s the matter, Snitch?” He interrupts. “Scared?”

You steel yourself and glare up at him. God, he’s tall. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Then it’s settled. Our tie breaker will be tomorrow, in Potions.”

Of fucking course he would choose that. See? He hasn’t remembered that seven point difference, either. 

The winter sun slips from behind a cloud, shining through the window behind him, casting a glow around his broad shoulders. He’s wearing a tie beneath his robes, like he always does. In Slytherin house colors of course. But it’s crooked, and wrinkled, like he was in a hurry this morning and didn’t tighten it all the way. 

It’s…not like him. He’s chaotic, yes, but reckless in the way that no one ever sees coming. He’s impulsive, but not sloppy. 

 As fucked up as it is…that loose tie gives you hope. Besides, you’ve been brushing up on your potion skills lately. 

“Fine, Malfoy. Tomorrow.”

He brushes past you, then turns, eyes flicking over his shoulder toward the ground. You think he says something that sounds a lot like,  ‘— and stay away from Theo,’ but you’re not listening. 

Because the angle of his nose, the shape of his mouth and jaw, that single lock of blond hair falling over his brow — his features perfectly mirror the shadowed outline in the tea leaves.

Your soulmate’s silhouette. 

Chapter Text

DRACO

“Just tell me what it says, Nott.”

“I said no.” 

“Why? You don’t even like her.” 

“I never said that.” He replies

Our steps echo off the stone as we round the corner to the Slytherin common rooms. “What? You think she’s cute or something? You’re— like— sweet on her?” I spit out the word like it offends me. It does, come to think of it. 

The Snitch is anything but sweet. There is no one more infuriating to me than her. 

And that’s saying something. 

She’s obviously obsessed with me — always glaring, constantly trying to one-up me. 

Theo just shrugs and now I’m officially annoyed. He’s one of my closest friends, and not much gets under his skin. But this behavior right here? Keeping secrets when it comes to my nemesis?

He's going to have to cut that shit out. 

I speak the password and the portrait slides aside. “She’s not your type, Theo.”

“Look, Malfoy.” He stops in the middle of the common room and gestures toward the door behind me, “I know you two hate each other, or maybe, want to fuck each other. I don’t really know which, but —”

“What the fuck?” I sputter, “I don’t want to — that’s ridiculous. I hate her, she —”

 “Okay!” Theo interrupts, “So you’re fine with us going out, then?”

“Uh, yeah, why the fuck wouldn’t I be?” I snarl.

He shakes his head and crosses to the arched doorway leading to the dorms. “Okay, glad we got that out of the way then.”

And he disappears without another word, leaving me alone with a million insults left to say. Fucker. 

So, she did ask him out in the note. That’s what he meant, right? But why not just ask him out after class today? Why did she have to write a fucking book about it and hand it to him like some secret contraband? 

I’m not going to lose to her in Potions tomorrow, I’ve already got that sorted. But, I need something else. Something that will finish her once and for all. Winning at potions is anticlimactic. Everyone knows I’m particularly gifted in it, even Snape has said so.  

But I don’t just want her to lose…I want her to bow.

She doesn’t have many friends here — all that nose in a book behavior doesn’t lead to a social life— otherwise I’d have already drug one down to the dungeon and drew a few secrets out of them. 

The only person I’ve ever seen her receive letters from is Ginny Weasley, but I’m not particularly fond of the Weasley’s. Slippery bunch. Plus, Ginny’s not even here this year — something about her taking a year off school after the war to spend with her family, and with Potter. 

If I only I could read that note. Maybe I could hex Theo in his sleep and steal it from his robes, but then again he’s probably already hidden it. He knows me too well. 

Hidden. Now, there’s a thought…

I turn on my heel and stride from the common room, bushing past students on my way to the seventh floor. The last time I paced three times, focusing on what I needed most, in front of this blank wall, I re-emerged with one less friend.

The door appears. I hesitate for a moment before turning the knob and walking inside. 

My heartbeat quickens and I lean against the door, willing myself to remember I’m back here by choice, not force. I’m not under those pressures anymore. Every time I entered this room before, the panic closed around me. I could feel it squeezing my chest like a cobra, restricting my life — and my choices. The anxiety of constantly looking over my shoulder, wondering if Dumbledore was choking on the poisoned mead I’d prepared, or wearing the necklace and taking his last breaths. All the frantic hours fixing the vanishing cabinet, praying for a way out. I couldn’t see one then. I felt hopeless. I was so stupid. And I hated myself for it. 

The grip on my chest starts to ease as I take in my surroundings. It’s bare, for one. Smaller, too. The consuming fire spell Goyle cast, the one that ultimately lead to his death, cleared everything out. 

Now, there’s just a couple of new crates in the corners, a few shabby furniture pieces, and a bookshelf on the back wall. Curious, I walk over to the pile of books, stacked haphazardly, as it someone was in too big a rush to shelve them properly. With a flick of my wand, the books unstack and rise, filing themselves neatly onto the shelves. 

There. That’s better. Now, I can see what’s going on. I trail a fingers along the spines. Cooking With Magical Fruits, Magic In The Modern Age, A Guide To Stonework— boring. 

A scarlet binding suddenly catches my eye. Smaller than the rest, the red book sits against the back of the shelf, resisting my reorganization charm. Curious. Once I open it, my eyes immediately land on a name scribbled in the bottom-right corner of the first page. 

Holy shit. This is Snitch’s diary. A smile tugs at my lips and I cast a look around the room. This is exactly what I need, thank you Room of Requirement. I have no idea how it got here, but I'm not about to question it. 

I flip to a random page. 

I never thought it was a big deal. Sex, that is.

I snap the book closed. Did she just say — 

My curiosity gets the better of me, and I crack the journal open just an inch and peer into it again. 

I guess I just sort of assumed it was something that happened naturally in relationships. And that I didn’t need to be concerned about it until I got there with someone. But, last night I overheard some girls talking in the common room. They were discussing what their boyfriends liked, what they didn’t like, and how to give the best blowjobs. When it comes to…pleasing someone, I would have no idea where to start…

The way her handwriting loops and swirls over the words pleasing someone, sends a jolt straight to my cock.

I slam the book shut again.

God, I’m a fucking idiot. Maybe Mother is right, and I need to take a semester off. I could come back and finish school later. Because even being in this room is a mind-fuck all on its own. I’ve been working up the courage for months to face my actions here, and all it took was focusing on my arch-nemesis for one second, and I’m standing in this room without much pause at all, pouring over my academic rival's horny journal. 

It apparently doesn't bother me too much though, because a minute later, I’m reading again. 

I’ve never even been on a real date. Never had anyone kiss me. I don't know how…I didn’t know you had to practice giving a man a blowjob, or learning what kinds of things to do for him in sex. Like, what if I find my dream guy, kind and loyal, and one day we're talking about going down on each other, and I don’t know how to make it good for him? What if he finds me lacking in some way, sexually? That’s so embarrassing I can barely write it down. 

Fuck. She’s never even been on a date? 

She’s also dreadfully insecure about her sexual inexperience. I guess I can kind of understand that, but what bothers me more is the fact that she’s only referring to pleasing her partner. Those words pop up over and over but nowhere on this page is she talking about her curiosity on what it would feel like to…get pleased. 

Holy shit. I’m getting hard from handwriting. Clearly, it’s been too long since I’ve got laid. 

Yeah, that’s what I need. Then, I’ll be able to read this with a clear head. Newly resolved, I tuck the journal under my armpit and head towards the door. 

Thirty minutes later, I’m sitting up against the wall next to the door, still reading. 

I can’t help myself. It’s like I’m cursed to stay in this room until I’ve read this entire damn thing. And yeah, I feel a little bad…but secrets like this…about the Snitch…God, it’s going to my head like mulled mead.

She writes about a lot of things. The pressure from her parents to always stay positive and grateful no matter what, the loneliness she feels now that Ginny isn’t here at school, but most of all…she talks about me. 

One of these days, I might just hex Malfoy into never being able to speak again. He just says whatever he wants with no care for how it comes across. 

 That mouth…his words have such…cut to them. He knows where insecurities are and chooses his words specifically to dig in like knives, twisting and tearing into flesh until you’re screaming on the inside. But I would never let him see that. 

He doesn’t matter enough to me to let him see that. 

He’s a monster.

She wrote that months ago. Something sharp as glass pricks my chest from the inside, and I rub my sternum. Suddenly, I slam the book shut before I can read anymore. She can think that all she wants, but I don’t care what others think of me. 

Never have. 

I stride from the room, journal tucked safely under my arm, heading for the dormitories. 

Regardless of my little reading detour, I got what I came for. And now, I have a plan.

She wants a monster? I’ll show her one.

Chapter Text

Just walk inside. 

You’ve been standing outside the Potions classroom for ten minutes now, shifting your books from one arm to the other and stepping aside as students brush past to find their seats. So much for your streak of always being early. 

Something about this feels…too easy. There’s no way Malfoy would let the past years of competition boil down to one single potion. It’s a lot of pressure for him, and he doesn’t like pressure. He prefers to snake around the rules, make up his own, and then ridicule you for going by the book. 

He’s not clever like he thinks he is; he’s a cheat. And you know it. Still, you agreed to it yesterday after Divination, so you’re going to follow through. You just have to win. 

Steeling yourself, you take a deep breath and reach for the doorknob — but a large palm shoots out from over your shoulder, slamming the door shut again. You jump back, startled, then whip around to glare at the culprit. 

“I was thinking, Snitch,” Draco muses, “this feels a little anticlimactic, don’t you agree?”

You arch a brow. “If you’d rather lose in a more spectacular way, I’m all ears.”

Another student nudges by and he moves his hand from the door to the doorframe behind you, his lean, muscled body effectively pinning you in. You can’t help but notice the way his lips tug into a smirk on one corner as he tilts his head — and you jolt, realizing you were quite literally staring at his mouth. 

“What do you say we…raise the stakes a little?” He murmurs, keeping his voice even, but his eyes spark with mischief. He has a plan. 

Shit. You knew this was too easy. “What exactly are you suggesting?” 

“Oh, nothing much.” A lock of blond hair falls over his forehead and you have the most ridiculous urge to brush it back. Or, pull it. But that would bring his face closer, and it’s too close as it is. Oh, but he smells so good. Does he wear a cologne? Why does he always smell so fucking good?

“I propose,” he continues, “whoever loses, has to perform one action of the winner’s choosing.” Your heart thumps against your breastbone. His voice has this…edge to it. A sort of grit you haven’t heard before. 

“What kinds of actions?” Your voice comes out breathy and you clear your throat.

He nods to a Slytherin student brushing past you into the classroom but doesn’t move away, clearly comfortable with being seen pinning you to the wall. 

You squirm, trying to duck out from under his arm, but he bends his elbow, keeping you locked in. 

“Nothing that would get you in trouble, Snitch. We all know how much you love the rules.”

You look up at him, surprised. He already has something in mind. Merlin’s beard, what is it? Whatever it is, it certainly doesn’t bode well for you. 

But if you win…you could make him do anything. 

Theodore Nott still hasn’t answered your note. Not that you really expected him to within twenty-four hours or anything, but you’ve been replaying everything you wrote nonstop, analyzing your word choices and hoping you didn’t accidentally offend him. Draco and Theo are close friends so, if you win — when you win— you could make Draco put in a good word for you. 

That’s how it works, right? When you ask someone out, their friend’s opinion can nudge them in a certain direction. Surely, Draco’s said more than a few negative things about you to Theo over the years. Having to convince his best friend to go out with his rival would sting Malfoy’s ego and might be exactly what Theo needs to hear. 

He must notice the moment you decide, because his mouth twitches into a smirk and his eyes crinkle at the corners. 

“It’s a bet.”

One second, he’s a breath away, the next, you’re standing alone outside the classroom, officially making you the last student to enter. You close the door quietly and slip into your seat in the front left, swearing under your breath. Since the potions classroom is underground, there are no windows, only torchlight that flickers off the low stone ceiling. It’s dimmer than usual today. 

“Ah, there you are, I was beginning to worry!” Professor Slughorn greets you, continuing down the line with cheerful pleasantries. He’s always been fond of his first-row students. 

Once he’s finished with those select few — and even goes so far as to hand out chocolate pineapple bits — he finally steps back and announces to the class, “Today, we’ll be brewing the tricky, but useful potion, Dreamless Sleep.” He moves behind his desk, cluttered with haphazardly scribbled scrolls and delicate collections of unique concoctions. “I took the liberty of collecting your ingredients today, yes, some of them can be quite volatile in nature, so I thought it best.”

With the snap of his fingers, a collection of vials, bowls, and flasks in various colors and sizes appear on your desk beside your cauldron. Usually, you all fetch your own ingredients from the next room over, and measure them for the exact proportions, but apparently not today. 

“Professor?” Luna’a lilting voice carries through the chamber from a few rows back. “Is that…moonlight, I smell? Such a unique scent.”

“Ah! Lovegood,” Slughorn’s wrinkled face lights up, “Moonstone —  to be exact! A powerful ingredient. Very powerful, indeed. The Dreamless Sleep potion has been used for centuries to invoke a calm and restless slumber. Particularly useful in the infirmary. However,” he raises a crooked finger in warning, “If brewed incorrectly, it can render you unconscious for weeks! Or, produce a sleep with nightmares so intense, they’re rumored to leave you raving mad upon awakening. Disastrous, should you get it wrong, you see.”

The room fills with the soft clinking of bottles and rustle of paper as students sort through their new supplies. 

“Now,” Slughorn continues, “You have one hour to brew an acceptable Dreamless Sleep. Page seventy-eight in your books. Ah, and do be careful with the Mist, harvested just this morning, it’s a bit prone to escaping today. What with the weather and all, you see.”

You pick up the teardrop shaped vial labeled Moonstone. The powder shifts inside like thick sand. You’ve only worked with it once before, and you remember it being more of a blueish silver. It must just be a trick of the dim lights making it look milky pink today. Or, like Slughorn said, sometimes potion ingredients can shift color, texture, or even behavior with the weather changes. There’s a cold snap coming, rumored to blanket the school in at least a foot of snow. 

You dare a glance back at Malfoy in the second row to the right. He’s already looking at you. His mouth tilts into a that infuriating smirk before he raises his eyes towards the front of the class. 

“Professor?” he calls, and your blood runs cold. What is he about to do?

“Ah, Malfoy. What is it?” Slughorn asks, polite but wary. He’s never been particularly fond of Draco, but even he can’t deny the power of the Malfoy name, so he’s always respectful. That, and his excellent grades in his class certainly don’t hurt. Every year, Draco receives an invitation to Slughorn’s Christmas Party. He hasn’t been to one, yet. 

“We got a bit of a—” Malfoy gestures towards you, “— friendly wager on today’s lesson. Would you mind declaring the winner at the end? Unless, of course, it’s obvious.”

Your blood boils and you return Draco’s look of false modesty with a piercing glare. 

Slughorn looks between the two of you, then shrugs. “I have been known to reward my students with a little magical incentive — Harry Potter won a small vial of Felix Felicis once, in my class, you might recall — yes, a little healthy competition never hurts. Now, good luck to you all. And let the brewing commence!”

For the first half of the hour, your potion is just right. The ingredients are tricky, especially the Mist. Poor Ernie, who sits a few seats behind you, didn’t read the recipe properly and uncorked his vial fully instead of halfway, attempting to pour it instead of using the dropper. Slowly, the room begins to carry a thin, wet haze that clings to your robes and lashes. 

The silverweed is the hardest bit, but once you manage to strip the seeds from inside the wriggling husk, it’s manageable. You toss eight lavender petals into your cauldron, stirring diligently between each one, until it deepens into a stunning lilac hue.

Now, for the moonstone. The final ingredient. 

You read and reread your recipe several times until you are sure you understand it perfectly. You don’t risk a glance back at Draco to see how he’s fairing because he might try to get in your head. Especially because you’re beginning to think you might win. Your potion is silky and smooth, soft waves lapping up the edges of your cauldron like a peaceful lake.

You go through the steps in your head; uncork the moonstone vial carefully, don’t touch the powder because it stains. Measure it precisely. Sprinkle it in while stirring clockwise to mimic the cycle of the moon. Then, the ripples should settle into a calm, silvery sheen. 

You take a deep breath and uncork the vial, measure, and pour slowly, stirring all the while. The potion grows calmer with each stir and a thrill runs through you. You did it. You actually won, you…

But something’s wrong. 

The calm surface starts gathering in the middle, spinning counterclockwise. What? No. That isn’t supposed to happen! 

You drop your utensil and frantically shove your nose into the recipe. Did you miss something? Your cauldron starts to shiver, then clatter precariously on its stand. 

No! You followed the instructions, wha— 

Poof!

A pink cloud explodes from your cauldron, covering your face, hair, and robes in shimmering dust. What just happened?

You look up, stunned, as Professor Slughorn rushes over. 

“Oh, dear. Now, how did you do that? Let us see.” He plucks the moonstone vial off your desk and holds it to his eye. “Ah, I see the problem. This, in fact, is not moonstone powder. It’s powdered quartz! Completely harmless, you see. No harm, no foul. They do look similar, though,  don’t they?”

You swipe at your face with your sleeve, which comes back glittering with pearlescent pink dust. Great. Just great. Moonstone powder got switched for quartz, huh? Wonder who did that…

 You whip around and stare daggers at Malfoy, who’s laughing quietly to himself as he diligently stirs his potion. The nearby students snicker behind their hands, and you can only imagine what you look like. 

“Your potion is brewed well, and would still induce slumber,” Slughorn continues, “however powdered quartz — while similar to moonstone — creates a entirely different type of dream. It’s an ingredient in Amortentia, the most powerful love potion. So, I’m afraid the poor soul who drank this would be haunted by dreams of a…well,” he glances around the room, lowering his voice “— a most inappropriate nature.”

More snickers ripple through the class, and your face burns. Of all the side effects it could have, why did it have to be that? Thank Merlin Theodore isn’t in this class or you’d practically die of embarrassment. 

“I’m afraid Malfoy wins this round, but, not to worry!” He pats your desk. “You may retake this lesson since I organized the ingredients today. I am sorry about the mixup. It was coming along rather nicely until then, wasn’t it?”

A sudden motion to your left catches your attention as a scroll whizzes through the air, and promptly unfurls right in front of Slughorn’s face. 

Startled, he adjusts his glasses and grabs it, scanning the words quickly. “I’m terribly sorry, class.” he says, “but it seems—” he scans the scroll once again as if to be sure, “— yes, Professor Sprout is in need of my expertise. You see, there seems to be a rare flowering Valerian variant withering rapidly that requires immediate assistance...” 

“Professor,” Draco interrupts smoothly, “Don’t Valerians stabilize under a sprinkle of moonstone, on occasion?”

“Yes, Malfoy!” Slughorn exclaims, “Of course! Let me just run some down to her, or I’ll find a first year to do it. Ten points to Slytherin.” He snatches a vial from his desk and hurries toward the door, robes billowing behind him.

Draco looks downright gleeful and then it hits you. There’s no Valerian variant. He’s playing a trick to get Slughorn out of the classroom. Praying on his infatuation with rare plants as well as his desire to be recognized as important. It’s smart, you have to hand it to him.

“Just…keep following the recipe,” the professor calls over his shoulder, “I won’t be a minute.”

You whip around just in time to see him open the door. “Professor, I don’t th—” you start, but it’s too late. He’s gone. 

The classroom’s quiet, all eyes on the door. 

“Well, that was odd.” Seamus mutters, “why d’ya think he ran off like that?”

Romilda shrugs, stirring her potion. “I think he’s sweet on Sprout. Has been for awhile, I’ll bet.”

Someone starts to respond to Romilda, but as you lock eyes with Draco, you hear nothing else of the conversation. He actually thinks he won. That’s preposterous. He didn’t win, he cheated. You don’t know how, and you don’t have proof, but you simply refuse to accept defeat by a cheater. 

“Nice going, Snitch,” Malfoy laughs, pointing his wand in your direction. “Making a sex potion. Then again, sounds like you might need something like that.”

You freeze. You thought maybe the specific choice of ingredient swap was a coincidence, but here he is, gloating. Does he know? How could he possibly? Did Theo tell him? Surely not. But then, why act like this if he doesn’t?

You raise your wand. “You cheated, Malfoy, and you know it.”

He shakes his head. “There were no rules against cheating.”

“There’s always rules against cheating!” you shriek. The outburst draws every eye in the room, and you grimace at Draco’s satisfied smirk.  Every move you make shakes more glitter dust to the floor, and you’re becoming exasperated. 

He wants you this way. He wants you to scream at him, to fling glitter everywhere. He wants you embarrassed. Don’t give him that. He doesn’t get to think he has that kind of hold over you. You lower your wand and point it toward your own robes.

“Tergeo,” you say softly, flicking it once. 

The pink dust lifts from your hair and robes, tickling your skin as it gathers together and dissipates into a harmless puff.

Calmly, you square your shoulders and meet Malfoy’s green eyes. “The bet is off.”

He shrugs, leaning a hip against his desk, arms folded. “Sorry. Can’t get out of it that easy. But, you caught me in a generous mood, so I’ll raise you another bet. Prove who really is the best once and for all.”

A dainty hand rises into the air and Malfoy looks bewildered for a second, then gestures toward Luna with mock courtesy.

“So, you’ll stop hating each other after, then?” She asks. 

He lets out a sharp laugh. “No, Lovegood. I’ll always hate the Snitch. Whether she wins or loses.”

You scoff. “The feeling’s mutual.”

Luna gives you a look — one that seems to see straight through you — then nods like she suddenly understands something and turns back to her cauldron.

You return your attention to the snake across the room. “I have no interest in playing any more games with you, Malfoy.” you snap. “If you want a real fight, I’ll give you one.”

“That’s the spirit. Another bet, then. I’ll even let you pick the class.” Draco smiles and it’s downright devilish. And lovely. Why does it have to be lovely? God, he’s annoying. “But you heard Slughorn, I won today. So, you have to pay up.”

“Fine! What? What do you want me to do? What could you possibly want?” You can feel yourself getting worked up again. Fuck. He knows how to get on your last nerve like no one else. 

“A kiss.”

And there it is. There’s the catch. His eyes gleam in the light of the many moonlit cauldrons, and in that moment, you realize — he knows. How the fuck does he know?

Ginny wouldn’t have told him, and that’s the only other person who knows.

Murmurs sweep through the class. Looks are exchanged across seats, and eyes flick back and forth between you and your arch nemesis who has just propositioned you to kiss him.

Oh, but his intentions are anything but romantic. They have to be. He’s looking at you like a snake right before it strikes — eyes sharp and hypnotic, daring you to move just an inch so he can sink his fangs in and drain the life from you.

You don’t budge.

“You know,” he continues, gesturing lazily around the room, “there’ve been some rumors of your…inexperience in that area. I think I’d like to see for myself.”

What? See, this is exactly how he wins with you. Distractions. He’s so damn good at those. 

But you know your weapon when it comes to him, too. Anger. If you can make him angry, make him lose control…

What would anger Draco the most right now?  

If his plan doesn’t work. If it fails to have the intended effect on you, and he’s the one that looks stupid. That’s his weakness.

“Or,” he adds with a shrug, “you can just give up now, if you’re too embarrassed. You can walk out, no one’s stopping you. But then, of course, according to our bet, I’d win.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” you retort. 

“Oh, yeah? Prove it, then.”

Wait. Backtrack. Your stomach swoops as you look out over all the eyes of your peers on you. What’s the spell for conjuring a hole beneath you to fall through?

Make him angry. How do you make him angry?

You could kiss him. 

He thinks you won’t. Look at him, smirking at his Slytherin buddies in the back row. They don’t think you’ll do it either. He orchestrated this entire thing — the quartz dust, the scroll from Sprout, searching out a secret about you…he planned this because he thinks he knows you. 

He knows that you’ll fail. 

But he doesn’t know the first thing about you. Make him fail. Because you’re not going to. 

You move before you even really realize it, stepping between the rows of desks between you and heading straight for him. His attention shifts back to you and you see the second he realizes you’re going to do it. His gaze flickers to something almost…hungry. 

Then you’re in front of him, and there’s too much momentum to stop and think about what you’re about to do. Your hand shoots up of its own accord, grabs the back of his neck, and pulls his mouth down to meet yours. 

His lips are soft. That’s your first thought. The second is…damn. 

There’s a few whoops and hollers from your classmates but they sound distant, like echoes through water. Because Malfoy’s kissing you back. His mouth slants over yours and when his hot tongue brushes your lips, your knees wobble. His hand finds your waist, steadying you. Your fingers curl into his platinum hair, earning a stifled groan from him. Sparks explode behind your closed lids and the your head spins with the knowledge that this is happening. 

You’re moving together, lips meeting, gliding, and parting again in a rhythm that feels made for the both of you, so intertwined that you don’t know where your breath ends and his begin. It’s hot and hungry, and…wrong. But in a way that feels so, so fucking right. And— 

A door slams, yanking you back to the present. You jolt apart, gasping. 

“Merlin’s beard! I leave you all alone for three minutes!” Slughorn’s voice sounds across the room. “Back to your seats!”

Draco looks…you don’t know the right words for it. Flustered? It’s hard to say since you’ve never seen Draco Malfoy flustered before. His tie is askew, hair mussed, chest heaving…oh, Merlin, he’s hot. He just looks hot. 

“I —” you squeak, “It’s a bet. Defense Against The Dark Arts.” 

Then, you turn and hurry back to your seat, head down, heart pounding. No. No, this can’t be happening. You can’t be thinking this about him. Not him.

 He’s everything you don’t want. 

You sink into your chair, trying to appear calm, but your pulse is racing and the air feels stifling. The lingering Mist curls around you, crawling up your nose and constricting your chest. 

Remember what you want. Calm, steady, kind, capable. That’s what you want. 

It doesn’t matter if that was your first kiss. If you kiss the next fifty guys you meet — you don’t catch feelings from a kiss. 

You just…don’t. 

You can’t. Just stick to the plan.

Because if you don't, you might just lose everything you’ve worked so hard for.