You didn’t think Draco Malfoy noticed much outside of his own world.

Until Cedric Diggory smiled at you.

It started innocently enough—group project in the library, Cedric offering to help, asking questions that made you laugh. You didn’t see the way Draco’s eyes narrowed from across the table, wand resting loosely in his hand, posture suddenly rigid.

“You’re enjoying this a little too much,” Draco muttered when you returned from shelving some books.

You blinked. “What do you mean?” He smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t pretend you don’t know.”

You laughed nervously. “It’s just Cedric being… Cedric. He’s friendly.”

“Friendly,” Draco repeated slowly, his tone dripping with a mix of disbelief and irritation. “Right.”

The next day in the courtyard, Cedric passed by, complimented your hair, asked if you wanted to practice for the next Quidditch match. You smiled and agreed politely.

Draco’s jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might crack.

“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear.

You turned. “Excuse me?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, turning away. But the tension was unmistakable. The way he watched Cedric—careful, sharp, calculating—made it clear he wasn’t indifferent.

Later, as you walked back to the common room, Draco fell into step beside you, silent at first.

“You… don’t have to spend all your time with him,” he said finally, voice low, almost uncharacteristically vulnerable.