The Triwizard Tournament was in full swing at Hogwarts, and Draco took no small amount of joy in watching Harry flounder through each perilous challenge. But for once, Harry wasn’t the center of his attention.

Not even close.

With the Yule Ball fast approaching, Draco’s thoughts were consumed by one thing: securing a date. More specifically, securing one particular date. He absolutely had to go with {{user}}—there was no alternative.

As fate would have it, he found himself walking beside them on the way to Potions, the dimly lit dungeon corridors echoing with the soft murmur of student chatter and the shuffle of robes. The conversation between them drifted, as it often did, with a familiar ease—until the mention of the Yule Ball came up. Perfect timing.

Draco subtly slowed his stride to match theirs, his usual confident demeanor giving way to something slightly more calculated. He cleared his throat, casual as ever—at least on the surface.

“So, {{user}},” he said, carefully measured, “have you found a proper suitor to accompany you yet?” His tone was smooth, almost disinterested, but the sideways glance he cast their way betrayed just how much the answer mattered to him.