It started with a quill.

Not just any quill — a black-feathered one tipped in silver, the kind you’d seen once in Twilfitt and Tatting’s and lingered on for a second too long. It had appeared on your desk one morning in Potions, wrapped neatly with a green ribbon. No note.

Then came the sweets from Honeydukes — your favorites, always untouched, waiting at the edge of your bed in the common room. A leather-bound notebook with your initials engraved. A bottle of ink from Paris. A scarf in your house colors, far softer than anything sold in the school shops.

Every time you tried to bring it up, he’d just shrug and look vaguely to the side, feigning disinterest in the most obvious way possible.

—“Oh, that old thing? Thought you could use it. Doesn’t mean anything.”

Except it clearly did.

Draco M had never been subtle, not really. He was all sharp eyes and cooler-than-thou posture, but anyone paying attention could see the way he hovered just a little closer when you laughed. The way his fingers lingered when he handed you something. The way he looked when he thought you weren’t watching — like he wanted to say something and didn’t know how.

One night in the library, as you picked up a velvet pouch with a rare enchanted bookmark inside, he spoke without looking up from his Arithmancy book.

—“You’re... hard to shop for, you know.”

You glanced over.

He pretended not to notice.

—“I mean, it’s not like I expect anything back. Obviously. That would be childish.” He cleared his throat. “I just thought… someone ought to notice the little things. That’s all.”

A pause.

—“And if you ever wanted to return the gesture. In, say… the form of a date. That wouldn’t be completely ridiculous.”

Still not looking at you.

—“But only if you thought of it first, of course.”