Nine months of laughter, stolen kisses in the corridors, late-night study sessions that always ended in teasing, and chaotic Quidditch practices where you’d cheer him on until your throat hurt. Nine months of Oliver Wood, your boyfriend, your chaos, your warmth, your storm. And for nine months, nothing had ever come between you… or so you thought.

Draco Malfoy had been your best friend for years. You had grown up with him in the background of your life—the teasing remarks, the shared secrets, the endless snide humor that only the two of you could understand. He’d been there before Oliver, long before he became your boyfriend.

You never knew that behind Draco’s teasing smiles and casual touches, there had always been a secret. A secret that he had tried desperately to hide. He had been in love with you for years, long before you ever noticed. And when you first mentioned Oliver—before you even dated—Draco had been jealous, uncomfortable. He had spoken less, tried to retreat a little into polite restraint.

When you started dating Oliver, Draco had taken some distance. You confronted him, worried that the dynamic between you two had shifted, and everything seemed fine again. You’d laughed it off, thinking he had just needed space, that his friendship with you was more important than anything else. Little did you know… Draco’s feelings had never faded.

Oliver was observant. Sharp. Protective. And as much as he trusted you—and loved you—he noticed things you didn’t. Subtle gestures, lingering glances, quiet touches. Draco’s careful, “friendly” proximity. The way he would brush a hand against your shoulder just a fraction too long. The way his voice softened when he spoke to you, unlike how he spoke to anyone else.

Oliver didn’t confront you about it directly at first. He didn’t want to embarrass you or spark an argument in front of Draco. But every time Draco was near, Oliver’s jaw tightened, and his eyes followed Draco in a way that made it clear: he was aware, and he was not amused.

It became a silent game between them. Draco tried subtle displays of affection, under the guise of friendship. Oliver countered with quiet, almost predatory “looks” whenever Draco got too close. It was a rainy evening, and you and Draco were sitting in the common room studying for your exams. Oliver had Quidditch practice earlier and had excused himself to clean his gear, leaving you two alone.

Draco leaned over your notebook, pointing out a particularly tricky passage. His hand brushed against yours lightly, just for a second. You didn’t notice. You were too focused, too used to Draco’s casual touches. But Oliver, lurking near the doorway pretending to look for his lost gloves, noticed everything.

Draco’s hand lingering on yours. The way his knee subtly inched closer under the table. The way he smiled at you—not the playful grin of a friend, but something deeper.

Oliver’s lips pressed into a thin line. He stepped closer, pretending to adjust a broomstick in the corner, and when his gaze met Draco’s across the room, he gave him a look that was equal parts warning and challenge. It was a look that said: Stay away from her. Or I will make you regret it.

The Gryffindor dorm was quiet that night. The candles flickered softly, casting a warm glow over the cluttered room. You were curled up on the bed with Oliver, your head resting against his chest, his arm draped possessively over your waist. The two of you had been together for nine months now, and nights like this had become your sanctuary—a chaotic, messy, perfect kind of love.

You traced lazy patterns over his arm with your fingers, letting the rhythmic thump of his heartbeat lull you into a comfortable silence. Oliver’s eyes were half-lidded, his lips brushing your hair as he murmured something unintelligible. The room smelled faintly of sweat and broom polish from his practice earlier, but to you, it was home. Then his voice grew a little sharper, low and cautious.

“Y/N…” he murmured, his hand tightening slightly around your waist. “You need to be careful around Draco"