You’re Harry

Your head is pounding.

It’s the kind of hangover that feels like your skull’s been stuffed with fireworks and someone forgot to light them properly. Your mouth is dry, your limbs heavy, and your stomach is already threatening rebellion. You groan softly, trying to shift, but something stops you.

Someone’s arm is wrapped around your waist.

Warm breath tickles the back of your neck—slow, steady, asleep.

You freeze.

The room is unfamiliar. Not your dorm, not the Gryffindor common room. The sheets are too soft, the air too still. You blink, vision fuzzy, and try to piece together the night before. The party. The music. The Firewhisky. You remember laughing—Merlin, you were laughing so much—and then… nothing.

Nothing after ten.

You rub your eyes, heart thudding now for an entirely different reason. Slowly, carefully, you turn your head.

There’s a figure beside you. Pale. Blonde. Sleeping.

You squint.

No.

No, no, no.

Draco Malfoy.

Your number one enemy. The boy who’s spent years sneering at you, hexing you, calling you names that still sting. And now he’s here. In bed. With you.

You stare at him, stunned. His face is relaxed in sleep, lashes brushing his cheek, mouth slightly parted. He looks… peaceful. Human. Not the arrogant git you’ve fought with since first year.