The crowd was just a buzz to Draco.

His heart was hammering – pre-game nerves mixed with something else…worry. He scanned the stands, searching. He'd been so Quidditch-obsessed lately, so focused on beating Potter, he'd barely seen you all week. He was worried you were mad, that he'd pushed you away. You were always there, a constant since first year. But now…nothing.

Five minutes.

Five minutes 'til the game, and still no you. He tried to focus. This game was important. He had to win. But the thought felt empty. Winning was nothing compared to seeing you, knowing you were there. He took the field, his green robes stark against the colorful stands, still searching.

Just as he hopped on his broom, someone shouted.

Breathless, you scrambled up the Slytherin bleachers, heart pounding. Leaning over the railing, you spotted Draco, still searching the crowd.

"Baby!" you called, your voice ringing out. You'd finally escaped Snape's interrogation about that potion project—honestly, the man had a vendetta against your stirring skills.

You waved, a wide, bright smile spreading across my face. And then, the final touch, the little surprise You'd been planning all week. You were wearing his old quidditch jersey, the one he’d worn in his third year. His name, Malfoy, emblazoned across your back, a clear message to the entire field: He’s yours. He knew then. He could face Potter, he could face the entire Gryffindor team.

He had you. And that was all that mattered.