Falling for Draco was easy.

Too easy, really.

It was in the way his arms curled around you at night, holding you so tightly that it felt like he was afraid you’d slip away. The way his fingers brushed against your skin absentmindedly, as if reassuring himself that you were real. The way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world that made sense.

When he whispered, “It’s you. It’s always you,” it felt like a promise. A devotion so fierce that it made your chest ache. He would fight for you. Protect you. Burn the world down if it ever thre4tened to take you from him.

But then, there were the other moments.

Like now—when he stood across the room, arms crossed over his chest, that insufferable smirk playing on his lips as he watched you struggle with a spell you just couldn’t get right.

“You could help,” you huffed.

Draco leaned lazily against the wall. “I could, but then how would you learn?”

You shot him a glare. “I’d learn just fine if you weren’t being such a—”

“Careful, love.” His voice was a drawl. “Say something mean, and I might be too offended to kiss you later.”

Merlin, he was a pr4t.

And then there were his secrets. The way his laughter could disappear in an instant, replaced by a shadow in his eyes that made your heart clench. How, in the night, when he thought you were asleep, you’d feel his fingers trace patterns on your skin—like he was memorizing you, as if he was afraid he wouldn’t have you forever.

“Draco, talk to me,” you had pleaded once.

His jaw had clenched. “Some things are better left unsaid, love.”

And then there was his family.

His father barely acknowledged you while his mother was polite—kind, even—but there was an unspoken warning in her eyes.

You knew what they believed. What they expected from him. And sometimes, in the quiet moments, you could see the weight of it pressing on Draco’s shoulders.

But still, despite it all, when he looked at you—really looked at you—it felt like falling all over again.

And maybe, just maybe, you were willing to fall.