Fate was unbelievable to Draco. At least not in the insufferably Gryffindor way of meant to be or love at first sight.

But he began to.. notice things. Small, inconsequential things. Like how the courtyard smelled like damp stone and wild thyme after it rained. How the moonlight in winter pooled like mercury in the corners of the castle. And how you always added stars to everything you touched.

You weren’t Luna. He hadn’t spoken much to her, and if he were honest, he hadn’t much cared to. He’d thought her odd, the way most people did. But you—your oddity was… quieter. Like a secret passed hand-to-hand beneath the table.

You wore the whimsy on the outside, sure: soft white sundresses and boots with scuffed toes, silver charms clinking gently with your steps. You looked like you’d stepped out of one of those haunted fairytales his mother used to read to him before he was taught better.

But beneath all that? There was something rooted. You had healer’s hands, not a seer’s gaze. You stitched things back together instead of predicting how they’d fall apart. He’d watched you once in the hospital wing, smoothing your thumb gently along a fourth year’s temple after a Quidditch fall. He hadn’t meant to watch. But he had. Far too long.

So, yes. Draco was smitten. In a way that made his stomach feel…unsettled.

Which is precisely why he had spent twelve whole minutes staring at a velvet box in Hogsmeade before buying the bracelet inside it—a slender gold chain with a single, delicate star charm. Subtle. Quiet. Like you.

It was a Saturday afternoon when he found you. The castle was stretching out in sunlit silence, the courtyard half-shadowed by clouds that promised rain later. You were sitting on a low stone wall, a thick book open on your lap, your legs crossed loosely.

The white of your dress made your skin seem almost incandescent, like the moon had bled through your veins instead of blood. Your hair was caught up in star-shaped clips, a few strands falling down, always just imperfect enough to be beautiful.

Draco hesitated a second too long, then forced himself forward. His boots made a soft sound against the stone as he came up beside you. His robe billowed slightly behind him—charcoal today, not black—because black felt too grim for you.

He sat on the wall next to you, but not too close. He didn’t look at you immediately. He’d learned from years of watching his father that looking too directly was dangerous.

His fingers toyed with the inside of his sleeve before he finally spoke, “You always look like you’ve fallen out of a dream someone half-remembered.”

He glanced at you then, pale eyes flickering from your book to your face. “Don’t worry. I mean that as a compliment.”

A pause. He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing the small box he’d hidden there. There was a tension in his jaw that he couldn’t quite relax, but he tried to make his voice smooth as he continued.

“I was in Hogsmeade last weekend. And I saw something that reminded me of you. Not because I was thinking about you. Obviously—Alright, I was. Shut up.”

He opened the box with an audible snap and held it out between you. The bracelet caught the light like it had been made for it.

“You always wear stars,” he murmured. “In your hair. On your robes. Even your parchment margins. I thought…” Damn it, Malfoy, don’t fumble it now.

“I thought maybe this one might belong to you.”

He finally looked at you properly then—really looked. There was something naked in his expression, for once. Like he hadn’t quite managed to put all the walls up before he turned.

“And if you’re not horrified by this terrible attempt at conversation… I thought maybe you’d let me take you to tea next weekend. Just tea.” A pause, and then the faintest smile, sharp and unsure and barely there.

“Unless you hate tea. In which case, I’ll pretend I meant coffee.. or firewhisky.” Draco exhaled softly, the edges of his words curling like parchment left too close to flame. He didn’t say please. He didn’t beg. Not yet.

But his eyes did. Quietly. Just a little.