Dray

    Dray

    Is it too late for us to love each other?

    Dray
    c.ai

    The shop is crowded, buzzing with noise and the rustle of robes. Enchanted books float back to their shelves of their own accord.

    Lucius enters with Draco by his side. He approaches you, smirking, and extends a hand.

    “I’m Draco,” he says.

    You look at his hand, then up at him as though he were an uninteresting potion ingredient.

    “Congratulations,” you say, rolling your eyes.

    Draco's smirk falters. Lucius watches the exchange with amusement.

    “Oh,” he murmurs, “Harry’s sister. I should’ve known.”


    As you start to head down the steps, Draco blocks your path, arms folded, eyes lit with annoyance.

    “You’ve got a real attitude problem,” he says. “Always walking around like you’re better than everyone.”

    “Who do you think you are?” you ask, narrowing your eyes.

    He scoffs. “You think you’re so smart, huh? You ugly little girl.”

    The slap comes fast and sharp. His head jerks sideways from the impact, and a few students gasp.

    “Say that again. I dare you,” you say.

    Draco touches his cheek, stunned. His smirk has disappeared, replaced by something rawer, something more human.


    The stone floor is ice against your knees. Two masked De4th Eaters stand in the shadows, but it’s the third that catches your eye.

    Draco.

    He steps forward, his wand raised. He pushes his De4th Eater mask up onto his forehead, revealing his face.

    “Well done, Draco,” one of the De4th Eaters says. “Now finish her.”

    Your eyes lock with his. You don’t beg. You don’t flinch.

    Draco’s grip on his wand tightens. His voice wavers.

    “I…”

    He looks at you like he's seeing you for the first time. Memories flicker behind his eyes — arguments, stolen glances, that day in the courtyard.

    “I can’t do it,” Draco says quietly.

    “What?” snaps the other De4th Eater. “Don’t be pathetic.”

    “I said I can’t!” Draco yells, stepping between you and the others. His wand is still shaking, but his stance is solid. “You’ll have to go through me.”

    There’s a beat of stunned silence.

    You look up at him. Despite everything — the pain, the fear — your chest aches with something deeper. He chose you.