You are sitting in one of the armchairs in the common room, near the window, when Ginny walks in.
“Happy birthday, {{user}}. I have a present for you,” Ginny says, stepping over with a mischievous glint in her eye.
You sit up, surprised. “Thanks, Ginny! What is it?”
She takes an apple from behind her back. It’s perfectly round and green. “Here you go.”
You blink at it, turning it over in your hand. “An apple?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.
Ginny leans in, lowering her voice. “I know you like my brother.”
You feel heat rise in your cheeks. “Yeah… I like him a lot.”
“I thought so.” Her grin fades into something more conspiratorial. “Just give the apple to him. There’s a charm on it. He’ll fall in love with you. The real kind. He won’t let you go… you’ll see.”
Your heart skips. “Thanks so much, Ginny.”
She nods, but her eyes narrow. “And please… if you don’t want trouble, don’t let anyone else eat that apple. Just Ron. Not Harry. Not Neville. And definitely not Draco.”
You laugh, nervouslu. “Noted.”
You walk toward the garden, your bag slung over one shoulder, your heart racing.
“Hi, Ron,” you say when you spot him sitting on the grass, his back against the tree.
He glances up, brushing hair from his face. “Hi,” he replies, grinning faintly.
“I want to give you something. Just wait a second,” you say, already reaching into your bag.
But it is empty.
The apple is gone.
Panic flares in your chest as you turn, your eyes scanning the garden—and stop cold.
Draco is leaning against the wall beneath a flowering arch. In one hand, lazily resting against his chest, is your apple — bitten and half-eaten.
“Hey, Draco! Where did you get that apple?” you call.
Draco raises an eyebrow, then shrugs. “It fell from your bag,” he says. “I bit it, so it’s mine now.”
“Please tell me you’re lying,” you say, stepping closer.
“I am not lying,” he says, taking another slow bite. Then he gives you a half-smile. “Do you want to share it?”
You open your mouth to argue, but then you stop.
There's something different about his expression. His grey eyes fix on you with an unsettling intensity, as if the world has narrowed down to just your face.
Draco steps toward you, the apple forgotten now in his hand. His gaze trails over your features with something like awe.
“You… you’re radiant,” Draco says softly. “How did I never see it before?”
Your breath catches. “What are you talking about?”
“You,” he says simply, and now he’s standing directly in front of you. “Your voice. Your eyes. Everything about you. It’s like—hell, it’s like gravity.”
You say nothing. You can’t. You take a step back, but he follows you.
He reaches up without asking and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek.
You flinch slightly, but he only steps closer. His hand trails down, ghosting your jawline.
“I used to think I hated the way you always looked at me,” he whispers. “But now… I never want you to look away again.”
“Draco…” you say cautiously, not knowing what to do.
He leans in, forehead nearly touching yours. “I don’t care what this is. I just want to be near you. I’d give up everything for one more second like this.”
Your stomach twists, because you know it’s not real, not really. But his warmth, his closeness — it’s hard not to feel something.
You pull back slightly, but Draco catches your hand. “Don’t go,” Draco says. “Please. Stay.”