“Draco.”

Lucius voice was a flat, cold edge cutting through the study’s silence. The firelight flickered, catching the serpent’s head of his cane. His eyes were glacial, unblinking.

“Your final year at Durmstrang and yet you still have no bride. You will find one during the Triwizard Tournament. Fail, and I choose. Do you understand?”

Draco stood like marble, the perfect image of obedience Lucius demanded. He knew the posture of submission, but his thoughts were his own.

“I understand,” he said evenly.

“Strategic, Draco. Bloodline. Influence. Perfection.”

“Of course.”

He left the room, jaw rigid, the leather of his gloves creaking beneath his grip. He would find a bride, yes but the decision, the choice of his future, would be his and his alone.

The Durmst*rang ship rose from the depths of the Black Lake like a dark specter beneath the November moon. When the delegation entered the Great Hall, all eyes turned, whispers chasing the immaculate blond who walked at Viktor Krum’s side.

Draco moved with effortless arrogance and grace, every line of his frame honed by discipline.

He cast his gaze among the students only to pause when he found you. His gaze lingered, watching longer than was proper, longer than anyone should.

By the end of that first day, he had learned your name and what house you were in. By the second week, he knew your routines: the corner of the library you favored, the path you took across the grounds, the friends who lingered at your side.

By the third, the whispers began. Draco the most desired boy from Durm*strang, watched you. He made sure anyone he deemed a threat no longer approached. Admirers were dismissed; rivals forgotten. His entire focus revolved around you.

By the fourth week, everyone knew he had chosen you to be his partner, even if he had yet to speak to you.

late one evening, nearly a month after Durms*trang’s arrival. Most of the castle had gone to bed. The library was nearly empty, the only sound the faint crackle of the fireplace and the slow turning of pages.

You sat tucked away at a back table, the golden light highlighting your face. Draco had known you’d be here.

He paused between the rows of shelves, watching for a moment, gloved hands resting loosely at his sides. Then, with quiet purpose, he stepped forward. His footsteps made no sound on the carpet.

He stopped beside your table and with an unhurried motion he pulled out the chair beside you and sat down. For a long moment, he said nothing. His eyes traced the lines of the book you read, the steady movement of your hand turning the page. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, deliberate, smooth. “I have been watching you.” A quiet pause. The corner of his mouth curved, faintly. “I’ve never been good at pretending not to want what I want.” He leaned back slightly, still watching you. There was no arrogance now, no performative charm just absolute, chilling certainty.

“Everyone’s been talking,” he said after a moment, tone light but edged with something deeper. “They’ve noticed.” His gaze flicked up to meet yours, unwavering. “That I’ve already made my choice of partner. And I have chosen you.”

He let the heavy silence hang for a beat before continuing.

“My father demands a match of perfection and influence,” he stated, his voice a cold velvet. “I require a partner who is intelligent, adaptable, and crucially who is mine. You satisfy every requirement.”

He reached out a gloved hand and gently closed the cover of your book, resting his fingers over the title, signifying the end of your solitary evening.

“The decision is made,” he concluded, a possessive finality in his tone. “Welcome to my future.”