You and Draco had been together for almost a year. It started like something out of a dream—unexpected, intense, magnetic. He wasn’t the boy you thought you’d fall for, not with that sharp tongue and that smug smirk, but somehow, he pulled you in. There were late-night strolls through the castle grounds, secret rendezvous in shadowed corners of the library, stolen kisses behind the Quidditch stands, and nights spent talking about everything and nothing until the sun came up. He made you laugh. He made you feel wanted. He made you believe he saw something in you that no one else did. Against all odds, you let your guard down—and you gave him your heart.

For months, you believed it was real. Every touch, every glance, every whispered “I love you.” You let yourself trust him, even when others warned you to be careful. You told yourself they didn’t know him like you did. That he was different when it was just the two of you. That he meant it when he said you were the only thing that ever felt real in his world of pressure and expectations.

But then everything fell apart.

You weren’t even trying to eavesdrop. You were just walking past the Slytherin common room when you heard your name—followed by laughter. Male voices, cruel and careless, talking about the bet. The one Draco had apparently made nearly a year ago. That he couldn’t get you—the girl who didn’t fall for anyone—to fall for him.

And he had.

The worst part? Draco—your Draco—laughed along with them. Maybe there was guilt in his eyes. Maybe not. You didn’t stick around long enough to see.

He had no idea you were standing there.

And he had no idea that in one single moment, everything between you shattered.