You were a Malfoy. Draco’s sister, to be precise. Your arrival at Hogwarts had been chaotic. After watching your brother be sent to Slytherin the moment the Hat barely brushed his head, it was your turn. And for your entire first year, you must have cursed that Sorting Hat a hundred times in your mind, because from the moment it placed you in Gryffindor, everything changed. Your father hardly bothered to hide the shame he felt; your mother still wrote, but her letters grew shorter, as though she no longer knew how to deal with such a scandal. And Draco? He tried to pretend you didn’t exist, that you weren’t his sister at all. Though he never missed the chance to detail his disgust whenever the two of you were alone.

It was a lonely time. The Gryffindors didn’t trust you because you were a Malfoy. The Slytherins didn’t trust you because you were a Gryffindor. Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws weren't very interested in meeting you either. Your family were obviously disappointed. The closest you came to having a friend was lending a bit of your fertiliser to Seamus Finnigan in Herbology class. But when Christmas arrived, things changed. Your parents chose to leave you and Draco at Hogwarts for the holidays. And among the very few students who had also stayed behind were Ron and Harry.

That had been two years ago. Now you were in your third year at Hogwarts — and you had friends. Not just any friends: you’d joined the Golden Trio, (now a quartet). Naturally, this only worsened things with your family. Draco wasted no time telling your parents, and they’d seemed horrified by the idea. After all… no one expected a Malfoy to end up as Harry Potter’s best friend. But it had happened, and you didn’t regret. Harry, Ron and Hermione were certainly far more pleasant than the hard library chairs.

One afternoon, after Quidditch practice, Harry ran straight into Draco. The blond, as always, had a favourite sport: playing dirty with words and watching Harry twist in rage. It always worked. Professor Lupin caught them squabbling on the pitch and separated them, deducting twenty points from each. — Lucky it wasn’t Snape; he’d have given them detention and at least fifty points from Gryffindor. Harry stalked back through the castle to his common room, hatred still coursing through his veins, jaw clenched so hard it seemed like he could shatter every tooth at any moment. Malfoy knew exactly how to rile him.

You were alone in the common room, doing your Potions homework, when Harry stumbled through the portrait hole. Red robes caked in mud, broom in hand, hair messier than usual and…hang on. Nose bleeding?