Archive of Our Own

The sky was covered with thick clouds, and despite the candles, Hogwarts was still dark. I was wandering the corridors navigating between enchanted passages and corridors like labyrinths. Curiosity was piqued as the echo of a few raised voices and one familiar voice echoed through the corridors. From around the corner, I spotted scattered books, a few beans of all flavors, and an all-too-familiar shoe. I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw my brother lying on the ground, his nose bleeding. Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy, Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe, and Theodore Nott were standing over him, laughing. 

“What—“ I said, too confused to move. “Blaise what the fuck?”

Blaise smirks, wiping his knuckles with a handkerchief as he looks up at me.

"Oh, look who finally decided to show up! Were we supposed to wait for you before we started?" He chuckles, tossing the bloodied cloth aside "Your brother put up a fight—well, tried to, anyway."

Draco leans against the wall, arms crossed, lips curled in amusement.

"Should've seen him squirm. Pathetic, really."

Theodore kicks my brother's leg lightly, frowning deeply.

"Guess he didn't inherit the family spine."

They all laugh, clearly enjoying horror, written on my face. 

“The hell? Are you fucking insane!” I almost screamed, my legs finally starting to run towards the boy with whom I had recently argued over a piece of sandwich. My little boy...

Draco steps forward, blocking my path with that lazy smirk that makes my gut twist.

"Whoa, whoa—what’s the rush?" He tuts, shaking his head mockingly. "He’s fine. Just a little… rearranged."  

Blaise leans down, yanking my brother’s hair to tilt his bloody face toward me. His eyes are already full of tears, jaw purple, and I feel sick, just by looking at him.

"See? Still breathing. Though I can’t promise he’ll stay that way if you keep making a scene."  

Vincent picks up my fallen scarf with two fingers, wrinkling his nose.

"Ugh, yellow? Really? No wonder your brother’s got no taste in self-preservation." He drops it deliberately onto the bloody floor.

"So, let me give you a little advice, sweetheart."  

Draco leans in closer, lips pulled back in a wolfish grin.

"This isn't some heroic little fairy tale. Your brother picked a fight he couldn't win, and he lost. That's all there is to it. He should be thankful we're feeling merciful."

“Merciful? The fuck?” I said, holding my brother tight, anger boiling in me. “Why would you do this?”

The others watch, a mix of amusement and callousness on their faces. Draco shrugs just nonchalantly.

"Because we can. Because it's fun. Because he's weak, and we're not. It's a simple power dynamic, pup. The world isn't some fair fairytale where everyone holds hands and sings. It's a brutal, cutthroat place. The strong survive, the weak fall by the wayside. Your brother just happened to be the latter."

Suddenly something inside me snapped, I stood on my feet, and in a second I was at Draco’s side, punching him right in the nose, anything to wipe that awful smile off his face.

Draco reels back a step, caught off guard. He touches his now-bleeding nose, surprise quickly morphing into something darker.

"You've got some nerve, huh? I'll give you that much."  

He glances at the others, who are watching with a mix of shock and admiration. Even Gregory looked impressed. Theodore, standing near the wall, observing everything like always.

"Didn't expect you to have that in you. Maybe you're not as soft as I thought."

“Touch him fucking again, and I won’t dare you all.” I said, ready to punch his face again.

Draco grins, wiping blood from his lip with his thumb before chuckling darkly.  

"Oh-ho-ho, look at you—suddenly fiery." He steps closer, eyes gleaming with challenge. "Go on, then. Swing again. See what happens."  

Vincent smirks, crossing his arms. "Yeah, I’d love to see you try taking on all six of us. That’d be entertaining."  

Gregory tilts his head, intrigued. "Honestly, props for the spine. Shame it won’t last."  

Theodore leans in, almost whispering. "Or do you actually think you can win?"  

Blaise cracks his knuckles, grinning. "We dare you."

I knew they were outnumbered, I could only hope for a miracle, but I wouldn't leave my brother here, no matter how much he irritated me, he was my brother after all. 

I punched Draco again. “As you please.” He started to get on my nerves.

Draco stumbles backwards, catching himself against the wall. He rubs his nose, his expression darkening further.

"You... little brat."  

"Damn, she's got some punch." Blaise muses, a hint of grudging appreciation in his voice.  

Gregory crosses his arms, amused and intrigued. "This just got more interesting."

 "You like pushing your luck, don't you?" Draco sneers, wiping more blood from his lip. 

"Just because you can land a few punches doesn't mean you're invincible. We still outnumber you, sweetheart." Blaise steps forward, a menacing glint in his eyes. "Maybe it's time we show you that actions have consequences."

"You're all fucked up, you and your whole house." I said in anger, hearing growls of pain behind me, I ran to my brother's side, helping him get up slowly, maybe we can escape, but how the fuck do we do that?

The boys exchange smug grins, relishing in her shocked reaction. Draco straightens up, cracking his neck. 

"We're not ‘fucked up’." He steps closer. "We just see the world for what it really is. A jungle where only the strongest survive. Your brother's weak, and we took advantage of that. Simple as that."

Theodore crosses his arms. "It's not insanity; it's natural selection, sweetheart."

“You all should be removed from society.” I mumbled, my knuckles red. 

Draco’s grin falters for a fraction of a second before returning sharper than ever.

"Oh-ho, listen to her! removed?" He barks out a laugh. "Like we’re some common beasts to be put down?"  

Gregory rolls his eyes. "Spare us the theatrics. You’re outmatched, outnumbered, and outplayed."  

Blaise tilts his head, intrigued. "But I will admit… you’re more entertaining than your brother ever was."  

Vincent smirks. "Pity it won’t save either of you."  

Theodore cracks his knuckles. "You don’t want to keep testing that theory, right?"

“Don’t come any closer or I’ll break your bones. This is wrong…”

The boys laugh, amused, Nott was slightly taken aback by my defiance. Blaise steps closer. One more step and I'd really hit him. My legs were shaking. What options did I have left? Why did my brother have to be such a fool to end up on their blacklist?

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" He mockingly pouts. "Aww, the little pup is all bravado. How adorable."  

Draco joins him, smirking. "Careful, she might actually hurt us, guys. I'm shaking in my Prada." He mock-shivers theatrically.

Vincent chuckles, crossing his arms. "Yeah, we're quaking. Really terrified."

“Try me.” I said standing before my brother, defiant.

Draco raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by my defiance.

"Oh, you’re a little hellcat, aren't you?" He takes another step closer, the others closing in behind him.  

Crabbe rolls his eyes. "She’s all bark."  

Gregory tilts his head. "Or just plain stupid."  

Theodore laughs. "Why not both?"  

Blaise chuckles, cracking his knuckles again. "This oughta be good."

Draco suddenly lunges—not at me, but at my brother, my eyes widened and before I could react he was next to him, shoving him back against the wall with a vicious grin.

"Still wanna play hero?" He taunts, gripping my brother's collar tighter, that one our mother insisted him to wear, as the others form a loose circle around both of us, cutting off escape.

Gregory tuts. "Should've walked away when you had the chance."  

Blaise rolls his sleeves up. "Now it's our turn."  

I didn't know what to do, he was still holding my brother against the wall, he wouldn't forgive them for all this. Before the others could get close enough to me, I grabbed Draco’s wrist, who was standing closest, and twisted his arm, nearly breaking the bone. He was in shock and didn't know what was happening. “Let him go.”

Draco recoils, gripping his painful arm with a hiss of outrage. The others watch in a mix of surprise and irritation. For Merlin’s beard what have I done?

"You little witch—"  

Goyle steps forward, eyes narrowing. "That's it. You've had your fun, now you're gonna pay."  

Vincent cracks his knuckles, glaring. "No one attacks us without consequences."  

Blaise advances, jaw clenched. "This ends now."  

I shoved Draco aside, shielding my brother, who was laying against the wall. If they want him, they have to defeat me first. Is that foolish? Yes. But will I let them touch my brother again? No. That's enough for me, even if I made it worse.

Malfoy stumbles back with a snarl, clutching his injured arm as the other boys close ranks behind him—faces twisted in fury.

"That's enough—"  Draco barked.

"You don't get to walk away from this." Blaise warned.

"Oh, you're done."  Theodore mumbled with that stupid smile.

They lunge forward, then–

BOOM.

The corridor shakes violently as a torrent of water erupts from a nearby suit of armor's helmet, courtesy of my last-minute Aguamenti charm. The boys stagger back, coughing and blinded as the flood knocks them off-balance. 

I grab my brother's arm and bolt—

Draco’s roar echoes behind me “THIS ISN'T OVER!"

But for now? Run.

The boys recover quickly, coughing and wiping water from their eyes. Draco’s angry, Theodore indignant, and Blaise absolutely livid.

They break into a run, sprinting in pursuit. I hear them splashing behind us, gaining ground on my frantic steps.

I practically ran into Miss Pomfery, helping my brother limp away. She must have seen the horror and panic behind our eyes because she spoke almost immediately.

"Merlin's beard! What in the blazes happened?" She demanded, helping me carry my brother to one of the infirmary beds.

"It was the Slytherin boys." My foolish brother managed to gasp out, holding his bruised side. Pomfrey's eyes darkened as she began to assess his injuries.  

"The Slytherin boys did this?" She echoed, voice tight with anger. Pomfrey was fiercely protective of her patients, and the idea that students would be attacked within these walls infuriated her.

"Which Slytherin boys?" She snapped, starting to heal my brother's worse wounds.

My trembling, blood-red fingers stroked his hair as I sat in the chair next to his bed. “Blaise, Draco, Theodore— Merlin, who was there with them?” I mumbled in frustration, catching my breath, trying to remember the faces, my memory messing up again.

Miss Pomfrey's hands stilled for a split second, her lips pressing into a thin line.  

"Zabini, Malfoy, and Nott?" Her voice was sharp, but there was a flicker of something deeper—unease.  

She muttered a quick healing charm over my brother's split lip before speaking again, low and urgent.  

"You two stay here. I'm fetching Dumbledore immediately." She turned, robes whipping behind her—then paused, glancing back at both of us.  

"...And lock the door behind me."  

The click of the latch echoed like a warning. Some lines had just been crossed.

As the minutes ticked by, the infirmary fell into a tense silence. My brother, heavily bandaged, was now resting on the bed. I was just sitting at his side, holding his hand, hoping for this nightmare to end, when there was a loud knock on the door.

Who could it be?

The knocking grows more insistent—not the sharp rap of Pomfrey's return, but something heavier. More impatient. Please no… 

"Open up." Draco’s voice, muffled but unmistakable, drips through the door. My brother immediately tenses.  

Blaise laugh follows, cold and taunting. "Or do we have to make you?"

“Do they have a death wish?” I asked, now standing near bed, just in case, ready, I was just counting seconds till Dumbledore comes.

My question was answered by another bang on the door—hard enough to make it shudder in its frame. Draco scoffs.

"Why don't you ask us yourself, pup?"

Theodore sounds almost bored. "Or maybe we'll come in and have a lovely chat." 

My brother grips my arm, my heart tightens. "They're not getting in here, right?"  

Draco’s smirk is audible through the door. "You think a measly lock is going to stop us?"

Another bang. The door creaks on the second, as if they're trying to batter it down. 

My brother's heart is pounding in his chest, so much I can almost feel it, I think he feels my heart rushing too. "They can't break in, right?" He whispers hoarsely.  

Draco laughs hoarsely. "Locked doors are a minor inconvenience when you know Alohomora."

My heart sinks as the sound of a lock unlocking echoes through the room. The door bursts open, revealing Draco, Blaise, Theodore, Gregory, and Vincent. They saunter into the infirmary, grinning like the predators they are.  

My brother grips my arm tighter, adrenaline surging.

Theodore surveys the room, hands in pockets. "Quite cozy, isn't it?"  

Draco rolls his eyes. "I prefer spacious. This place is claustrophobic."  

Blaise laughs, eyeing your brother with disdain. "What's the matter, scared?"  

Vincent leans against a bed frame, smirking. "You should be."

“How is your arm Malfoy?” I asked, my voice hid something dangerous, I was fed up with them.

Draco’s smirk falters for just a second—his arm still throbbing from where I nearly snapped it. He recovers fast, flexing his fingers with deliberate slowness.

"Oh, this?" He scoffs. "Hardly a scratch. Though I do appreciate the concern." His grin sharpens. "Really, it’s almost sweet."  

Gregory snorts. "Almost."  

Theodore tilts his head, studying me like a fascinating specimen. "You’ve got fire, I’ll give you that. Shame it’s wasted on him." He nods at my brother.  

Blaise cracks his knuckles. "We could always finish what we started."  

Vincent smirks. "Or make you watch."  

“Why don’t you fight with someone your size? It’s pathetic really.”

The boys exchange surprised looks, caught off guard by challenge. Draco narrows his eyes.  

"Oh, you think you’re brave, huh? Think you could fight us?"  

Blaise arches an eyebrow, skeptical. "You? A little Hufflepuff, taking on the Slytherin crew?"  

"We've dealt with far worse."  Draco chuckles darkly. 

Blaise takes a step closer, eyeing you with contempt. "You're out of your league, pup."

“Are you for real? All you do is bark, I see no real bite.”

The boys are taken aback. Draco's lip curls.

"You think we're just talk? We could have you begging for mercy in seconds."  

"We're Slytherin, sweetheart. Barking is nothing compared to what we're capable of."  

Draco smirks, still flexing his injured arm. "You're biting off more than you can chew."

“Then go on, I’m waiting.” 

The air in infirmary crackles, heavy, as time seems to slow down for a moment, only the smell of medicinal herbs and antiseptics hangs in the air, someone will definitely find themselves here today, because of their stupidity. In their eyes I saw something terrifying, their amuses smirking dissolving into something darker.

Draco lunges first.

His injured arm swings wildly—I duck, but his free hand snags my wrist, yanking me forward. "Still waiting?" He hisses, breath hot against my ear.  

Blaise moves next.

A hex flies from his wand, sending a bed crashing between me and my brother. "Let’s see how brave you are now."  

Theodore watches, arms crossed.

Vincent and Gregory flank me. How did they–

One grips my shoulder, the other raises his wand. I almost heard my bones snapping.

CRACK.

The infirmary doors blast open. Dumbledore stands in the doorway, eyes glacial behind his half-moon spectacles.

"Enough."  

The Slytherins freeze. 

Dumbledore strides into the room, robes billowing behind him. The boys shrink back, intimidated by his cold fury.

"What is the meaning of this?" He demands.  

Malfoy drops my wrist, stepping back. His face was paler than the wall. "We were—" 

"Silence." 

Draco shifts guiltily, and even Blaise looks uncomfortable. Only Theodore meets Dumbledore's gaze, unflinching.

"I suggest we discuss this in my office." Dumbledore says, his calm tone carrying a sharp edge. "Now."

The Slytherin boys exchange uneasy looks. Dumbledore is not a man to be trifled with, especially in this mood.

Draco breaks the tension, clearing his throat. "After you, sir."

The group reluctantly follows Dumbledore out, leaving us alone in the infirmary. We’re left with the quiet hum of the hospital wing, the echo of Dumbledore's words ringing in my ears.

What just happened?

I was still with my brother in infirmary, washing my hands, fortunately it wasn't my blood that ran down the sink. My knuckles were red, I don't want to look at them. I wipe the last traces of blood from my hands, watching the water swirl pink down the infirmary sink. My brother lies back on the cot, bandaged but alert, watching me with exhausted admiration.

"You... actually stood up to them." He murmurs. “I didn’t think you had that in you." 

"Someone had to." I scoff, tossing the stained towel aside.

A heavy silence settles—then the infirmary door creaks open. I tense, expecting the worst. But it’s just Pomfrey, her lips pressed thin.

"Dumbledore’s handling it." She says, though her tone suggests handling might involve something more creative than detention. "Rest. Both of you."

She hesitates, then adds quietly. “And lock the door this time." 

This was certainly not the end of the war that my brother, consciously or not, had started.

I slump onto the edge of the bed, exhausted, frustrated but victorious.

"They'll be back." My brother mumbles, echoing my thoughts. "This isn't the end of it." 

I sigh, running a shaky hand through my hair. "We'll deal with that later." 

He nods grimly, glancing at me. "I hope Pomfrey's got plenty more bandages."

"Me too," I agree softly, touching a fresh bruise that's already purpling.

We both sit in pensive silence for a while, only clock ticking.

"Do you regret it?" My brother asks suddenly, and it catches me off guard.   

"What do you mean by that?" I ask, looking at him, a bit confused.

"Standing up to them." He clarifies. "They're gonna make our lives hell now."

“No, never going to regret standing up to my little brother…”

He manages a small smile. It's weary, but sincere. 

"Even if it means getting a hundred hexes a week?"

I smirk slightly. "I can take it." I pause, then add, more seriously. "They'll have to go through me first."  

He chuckles, ruffling my hair, like I just haven't saved his stupid ass. "You're crazy, you know that?"

“Shouldn’t throw yourself in danger in the first place.” I mumbled. “What have you done to provoke them?”

He winces, glancing away. "Nothing much. Just… a few harmless pranks."

I raise an eyebrow, skeptical. "Like what?"

"You know… small stuff." He avoids my gaze. "Just… taunting, mostly."

"Taunting." I repeat, voice hardening. "About what?"

He shifts uncomfortably, fingers picking at the infirmary blanket.

"...About their families." He mutters. "Their bloodlines. You know how sensitive those snakes are about 'purity…'"

My stomach drops. Of all the things—

"Are you mad?" I hiss, leaning in. "You know what those boys are like when someone hits that nerve!"

He flinches but doesn't deny it. "I thought I could get under their skin. Didn’t think they’d go this far."

I exhale sharply. This changes things. Their retaliation wasn’t just cruelty—it was personal.

"We’re in for hell." I muttered in frustration, sighing heavily.

He just nods grimly. "Yeah… but at least we’re in it together."

“Why would you do this? Wesley’s told you to? Because if yes I swear—“ I mumbled under breath.

He winces, looking chagrined. "No, it had nothing to do with him."

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Then what were you thinking?"

He fidgets with the hem of his shirt, not meeting my eyes. "I wanted to prove something, I guess."

"Prove what?" I press. "That you could piss off the most volatile boys in school? Congrats, you proved that quite well. Did you expect them to laugh it off? Compliment you?"  

He grits his teeth, clearly realizing how stupid he sounds. "No… Obviously not."

“Please don’t do this again, you scare the shit out of me.” 

He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. "I won't. I promise. It was dumb, and I'm sorry."

I soften slightly. "I know you didn't mean for it to get this bad. Just... next time use your brain."

He snorts. "Yeah, good advice. I'll try."

The infirmary settles into silence again, calm but unsettling silence, the weight of the day pressing down on both of us. I glance at the clock, curfew approaches.

Pomfrey bustles back in, arms laden with vials of potions. "Drink up." She orders, handing my brother a foul-smelling purple liquid. "And you—" She turns to me, thrusting a small bruise-healing salve into my hands. "Apply that before you leave."  

My brother grimaces as he downs the potion, shuddering. "Tastes like dragon dung."

"Good." Pomfrey says briskly. “Maybe the flavor will remind you to stay out of trouble."

I smirk as he glares at me, but the humor fades when I think of tomorrow—of facing the Slytherins in the halls, in classes, everywhere. Dumbledore's "solution" won't shield us from glares, whispered threats, or hexes around corners.

My brother must have caught my expression as he nudged my shoulder with his. "Hey. We'll handle it."

I just nod, gripping the salve tighter. "Yeah. Together."

—

Even in winter, the greenhouse was warm and bright, providing protection for the precious plants. The noise of students waiting for classes filled the room, but quickly faded away when the Slytherin boys entered.

An instant hush falls.

Draco makes a show of selecting the workstation directly across from mine, draping himself over his stool like a smug cat. "Cozy in here, isn’t it?"

Blaise slides in beside him, wand twirling lazily between his fingers. "Very... fragrant.”

I tried not to react, focusing intently on my dragon-hide gloves.

Professor Sprout claps her hands, getting all of our attention. "Today we’re repotting Fanged Geraniums, without losing fingers!"

Theodore, quieter than the others, meets my gaze briefly, almost apologetic, before looking away. What was that?

As Professor Sprout outlines the exercise, Draco's eyes drift back to me, his gaze calculating and cool.

He nudges Blaise, who smirks. "Looks like a pup is all set to play plant parent." 

Theodore just watches, eyes sharp, I notice the slight tension in his shoulders, the grip on his wand tightening. He seems the calmest of the group. He looks almost... nervous.

Theodore clears his throat quietly, glancing toward the greenhouse door as if considering an escape route.  

Draco notices and raises an eyebrow. “Something bothering you, Theo?"

Theodore exhales through his nose, keeping his voice low. "Just thinking maybe we shouldn’t push this."

Draco scoffs. "Why? Because Dumbledore said so?"  

Theodore doesn’t answer—but his eyes flick briefly to me before he turns his attention back to the fanged geraniums.  

Vincent notices and rolls his eyes. "Don’t tell me you’re scared of her."

Theodore picks up his pruning shears, testing the sharpness. "Not scared." He mutters. "Just smarter than you lot."

Blaise smiles—slow, dangerous. "Oh? Then prove it."  

Theodore hesitates—then carefully turns his back on them and starts repotting his plant.  

Draco sneers, but Blaise just watches, intrigued.

Meanwhile, Sprout bustles over to my station, oblivious to the tension. "Miss, your geranium looks splendid!"  

"Thank you, Professor."

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Blaise smirk widening. Why does Dumbledore have to believe in second chances? He could lock them up in detention and I wouldn't have that problem.

I always stayed after class to help Miss Sprout rearrange the flowerpots, and to help her clean a bit, it's almost relaxing, and most important, it’s quiet most of the time. 

She smiles at my help. "You have quite the green thumb, Miss. Thank you for your assistance, as always."

She notices my slightly bruised knuckles, frowning. "You get into another fight?"*  

I just shrug half-heartedly. "Just a misunderstanding."

Professor Sprout sighs, shaking her head as she hands me a vial of Essence of Dittany from her apron pocket.

"Misunderstandings shouldn’t leave marks like that." Her tone is gentle but firm. "You’re smarter than brawling in corridors. Use that cleverness."

I accept the vial with a small nod, rolling it between my fingers. "I’ll try."

She pats my shoulder. "Good. Now—these need sorting” She gestures to a crate of volatile Snargaluff pods in the corner. "And don’t let them hiss at you." 

As I get to work, the greenhouse door creaks open again. I don’t even need to look up to know who it is.  

"Helping?” Draco’s voice is smooth, mocking. "How… noble."

Behind him, Blaise leans against a table, Theodore lurking in the doorway like he’d rather be anywhere else.

I keep sorting the pods, voice flat. "Unlike some people, I actually enjoy learning."

Blaise smirk doesn’t waver. "Oh, we learn plenty." His wand taps against his palm. "Just not always from books."

Draco snorts. "Yeah. Like how not to break an arm next time."

Theodore exhales sharply. “Can we go?"  

Draco ignores him, stepping closer to my workstation. "Dumbledore’s little arrangement doesn’t change anything."

I finally looked up, meeting his gaze. "Funny. I thought it did." 

The Snargaluff pod in my hand splits open with a violent hiss, spewing stinking sap everywhere, directly onto Draco’s pristine robes.  

Blaise chokes back a laugh. Theodore looks almost delighted.  

Draco’s eye twitches. "…Did you do that on purpose”

I blinked innocently. "The plant must’ve sensed bad intentions."

“Don’t stare at me like you’re blind, help rearrange those.” I said smirking, trying not to laugh.

Draco recoils as I thrust the wriggling, hissing Snargaluff pod directly into his hands, its thorny vines immediately latching onto his sleeves like it’s found its new favorite victim.  

"What the—?!" He jerks back, but the plant clings tighter, its spiked tendrils curling around his wrists.

Blaise outright cackles, doubling over. “Merlin’s beard—it likes you!"

Theodore, for the first time all day, cracks a genuine grin. "Think it’s imprinted on him."  

Draco’s expression darkens as he tries to pry the thing off—only for it to let out a deafening screech right in his face.  

Professor Sprout whirls around from the other end of the greenhouse. "Mr. Malfoy! Kindly stop antagonizing the Snargaluff!"

Draco’s jaw clenches. "I’m not—it started this!”

The pod chooses that moment to spit a glob of sticky sap directly onto Draco's nose.  

Blaise howls with laughter.

Theodore hides his face to avoid joining in. 

And I’m failing to hold back my laughter.

I just toss him a rag with a sweet smile. "Teamwork’s so important, don’t you think?"  

His glare could melt steel. 

Professor Sprout looks bewildered—but not nearly as annoyed as Draco, who finally manages to wrench the wriggling plant off his robes.  

"That’s quite enough, Mr. Malfoy. 10 points from Slytherin for provoking magical flora." She shakes her head. "And please try to refrain from further incidents."  

He grits his teeth, jaw set. "I’ll keep that in...mind. Thank you, Professor."

As he stalks out of the greenhouse, Blaise and Theodore trail after him, still smirking from ear to ear.

Professor Sprout sighs, watching the boys go, then turns back to you. "I swear, these classes are one incident from driving me mad. But at least you brighten things." 

I laugh wryly. “Just doing my part."

"Well, you’re very good at it.” Sprout says, gathering the last of her tools. "Thank you for your help, dear."

"Course. Have a good night, Professor." 

"You as well. And try to stay out of trouble?"  She chuckles, leaving me alone in the silent greenhouse without students bustling around. I exhale slowly, running a hand through my hair. That was a good day.

Slowly I begin gathering my things, pausing as something rustles near the door. The rustling stops abruptly, too deliberate to be the wind. I straighten, wand sliding silently into my palm. "Who’s there?"  

A shadow shifts near the door, too tall to be a first-year.  

Then—  

"You’re getting reckless."

Draco’s voice, low and measured. He steps into the fading greenhouse light, robes still streaked with sap, his expression unreadable.  

I don’t lower my wand, heart hammering again. "Funny. I thought I was being clever.”

His lips twitch, not quite a smile. "Clever would’ve been leaving well enough alone."

"And let you stalk off like you won?” I tilt my head. "Not my style. Don't you have enough of this already?"

"Dumbledore’s plan won’t work." He says quietly. "You know that."

I shrug. "Maybe not. But it’s entertaining watching you try to pretend it doesn’t bother you."

His gaze sharpens, dangerous, electric. "Careful, with your words."

He moves closer, but then a pot shatters somewhere in the greenhouse depths, sending both of us whirling toward the noise.

When I turn back, he’s gone.

I tried to pick up the shattered pot, leaving the greenhouses clean, the sobbing mandrakes somewhere at the back of the greenhouse were now giving no peace.

The broken clay pieces clink together as I gather them, the damp soil staining my fingers. The mandrakes muffled wails seep through their earmuffs—mournful, almost fitting for the eerie quiet settling over the greenhouse.  

I crouch to sweep up the last shard—  

"Let me."  

A polished dragonhide boot nudges a stray fragment toward me. Theodore. He’s holding a dustpan, his expression unreadable.  

I blink twice, just to be sure. "Since when do you play janitor?"

He doesn’t smile. "Since I realized you’re the only one here who doesn’t deserve to step on pottery shards."

I take the dustpan gracefully, careful not to touch his fingers. "And Draco?"

Theodore’s jaw tightens. "He’s waiting outside."  

Of course he is.  

I dump the last of the debris into the compost bin, wiping hands on my robes. "You know, for a Slytherin, you’re terrible at sabotage."

His smirk is faint. "Maybe I’m sabotaging them."  

The mandrakes sobbing crescendos, then cuts off abruptly as Sprout’s charm silences them. In the sudden quiet, Theodore’s next words are barely audible.  

"Be smarter than this. Please.”

“Thank you.” I mumbled under my breath, with a tired smile.

Theodore pauses mid-step, just for a second, as if he heard me, but he doesn’t turn back, just lifts a hand in silent acknowledgment before the greenhouse door clicks shut behind him.  

The walk back to the Hufflepuff common room is quiet. The castle halls are shadowed, the torches flickering low as evening settles in.  The cold air grounds me in these last days.

When I push open the common room door, the warmth of the hearth and the chatter of my housemates wrap around me like a shield.  

The Hufflepuff common room is its usual cozy mess—a fire in the grate, a pile of blankets on the couch, and a cluster of Hufflepuffs gathered around a game of Exploding Snap. The moment I walk in, though, the chatter dies.  A beat of silence.  I was standing here for a longer moment, feeling like a complete idiot.

"You’re here!" Ernie Macmillan bounds from the corner, grinning. "We thought you’d been taken by the Bloody Baron."  

A ripple of laughter follows. I smile weakly, dreaming about wrapping myself in a blanket. "Nah. Got held up in class."

"Held up?" Hanna Abbott, a first-year, leans closer, eyes wide. "Doing what?"  

I shrug nonchalantly. "Helping Sprout with some... pruning."

A chorus of "oohs" and "ahhs" follows, as if I'm some kind of gardening god.  

I wave off the admiration, scanning the common room. "What's with all the whispering anyway?"  

Ernie lowers his voice, eyes sparkling. "Oh, you haven't heard?"

He leans in conspiratorially, clutching his Butterbeer like it’s a sacred artifact. 

“The Slytherins are fuming.”

Susan Bones elbows her way forward, eyes alight. “Wait—did you really make Draco Malfoy get spat on by a plant?”

The common room holds its breath.  

“…Maybe.” 

Chaos.

Hufflepuffs cheer, someone starts singing “Weasley Is Our King” (wrong house, but the spirit’s there), and a fourth-year tries to lift me onto their shoulders before I could kick them off, laughing.  For tonight, at least, the badgers are winning.  

When the noise and chatter finally died down and most people had gone to bed, I sat alone by the fireplace, wrapped in my blanket. I stared at my knuckles, rubbing them, finally able to breathe freely. At midnight, the Hufflepuff common room is dark and silent, but still cozy. The fire has died down to a few smoldering embers, and the Hufflepuffs are fast asleep in their dormitories. My eyes sting with exhaustion, but my body refuses to relax. So I just sit in front of the fireplace, watching the embers wink and flicker. The silence seems oppressive now. There’s no laughter, no conversation—just the distant creaking of the castle, and the muffled sound of an owl outside the window. Suddenly, a soft sound breaks the stillness.

Footsteps. Someone else is awake. 

I look up sharply as the common room door eases open, the light from the corridor falling across the carpet in an arc. A figure slips through, silhouetted by the moonlight.

I tense, hand instinctively flying toward my wand, but then the firelight catches on familiar hair.  

Theodore.  

He freezes when he sees me, clearly not expecting anyone to still be awake. For a moment, we just stare at each other—him lingering in the doorway, me curled by the hearth.  

"You’re up late." His voice is low and quiet, almost hesitant.  

I grip my wand tighter. "So are you." I was full of suspicions.  

He exhales through his nose, glancing around the empty common room before stepping fully inside, letting the door click shut behind him.  

"Couldn’t sleep.” He admits, running a hand through his already-messy hair. "Thought I’d... check on you."

I raise an eyebrow. "By sneaking into the Hufflepuff common room?" 

His lips twitch, almost a smirk. "You make it sound so dramatic."

I huff a quiet laugh despite myself. "Because it is."

Silence settles again, but it’s... not uncomfortable. Theodore studies me for a moment before his gaze drops to my bruised knuckles.  

"Those look better.” He murmurs.  

I flex my fingers slightly. "Yeah. Pomfrey’s dittany helped."

He nods, then after a brief hesitation, moves to sit beside me on the hearth sofa, keeping a careful distance.  For a while, neither of us spoke. The embers crackle softly. 

"Why are you really here, Theo?" 

He doesn’t answer right away. When he does, his voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it.  

"Because someone had to make sure you were okay."  

My chest tightens. He is the last person I expected to care.

The fire dies down, leaving me and Theodore in the half-shadows. It feels strange, sitting together after the night's chaos, surprisingly its not really uncomfortable  

Theodore's gaze flicks toward me.

"You fought well." His tone is carefully measured—almost indifferent. But there's something in his eyes that betrays him. Respect.

“You think?” I tried to smile. “Between you and me I don’t like fighting, I hate this feeling…” I whispered, honestly.

Theodore studies me for a long moment, the firelight flickering across his face.  

"I know." He adds quietly.  

A beat. He looks away, jaw tightening slightly.  

"Neither do I."

His admission hangs in the air.

Theodore's gaze flickers back to my knuckles, expression softening just a fraction.  

"...I could take a look at those, you know."  

I snort, raising an eyebrow. "Since when are you so concerned about my well-being?"

He almost smiles at that. "Since you decided to pick fights with Slytherins twice your size."

I rolled my eyes but didn’t argue. He has a point.  

"Anyway." He continued, rising from the hearth sofa. "You should put some dittany on those knuckles."  He holds out a vial for me to take, the same dittany Pomfrey had used in the infirmary.  

I take it hesitantly. "Where'd you get this?"

He shrugs. "I have my ways."  

Of course he does. Theodore's always been resourceful. 

I uncap the vial almost instantly, I just hope Pomfrey’s doesn’t notice yet. I winced applying the dittany to bruised knuckles. It stings like hell, but the cooling effect kicks in almost immediately.  

Theodore watches without a word, just a hint of concern in his expression.  After a moment, the pain starts to fade.  

I flex my fingers experimentally. "Feels better." I murmur.

"Good."

He leans back against the armchair, watching the firelight play across my face. His eyes meet mine, and for the  first time no sarcasm, no mask. Just honesty. And maybe, just maybe, the beginnings of something like trust. The moment stretches on, a strange sort of truce settling over the room. The fire crackles, almost comfortingly, if that were possible.

His gaze lingers for a moment, almost thoughtful. "I've seen you in the library lately." He says suddenly.  

I blink, caught off guard. "You... have?"

He nods. "You spend more time staring at books than most professors do."

A laugh escapes before I can stop it. "And how would you know how much time the professors spend reading?"

He smirks. "I have my sources."  He's always been observant.

I shake my head, trying to hide a grin. "So you've been watching me in the library?" 

"Just making an observation."

"Uh-huh." I raise an eyebrow.  “You sure you're not just stalking me?" 

He snorts. "You overestimate how interesting you are."

“Are you all stalking your prey before attacking?” I tried to joke, but it died in my mouth immediately.

Theodore stiffens, just for a second, before his expression shutters completely.  

*"If I were stalking prey." He says, voice cool. "You'd already be bleeding."  

Then he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head. "Merlin, that sounded worse out loud."

I swallowed hard. "Yeah. It did.”

The fire pops between us too loud, for my liking. 

Finally, Theodore stands, brushing nonexistent dirt from his pajama trousers. "I should go."

I didn’t stop him.  

But as he reaches the portrait hole, he pauses, back still turned, and murmurs. "For the record? I was just reading." Then he’s gone, slipping into the dark like smoke.  I was left alone with the ember, and the unsettling realization that maybe, just maybe, we both gained something tonight. 

—

The next few days are... uneasy.  

It's almost like the night never happened, except for the strained glances across the Great Hall, the silent nods in the classroom, the sudden pauses whenever one of us rounds a corner... 

It's not like I have time to think about it. Between homework, avoiding Draco and pretending not to notice Theodore, I barely have time to breathe. It's almost a relief when Saturday finally arrives. Hogsmeade weekend. A chance for a break from the castle's walls, classes, and the relentless tension that seems to follow me everywhere.

My brother is already with Wesley buying some stupid pranking stuff again from. I was wandering between shops, trying to calm my mind, when snow started snowing, covering rooftops with a thick white blanket.

The village glistens under a dusting of new-fallen snow, turning it into a winter wonder land. Hogsmeade's quaint streets are bustling with students, their breaths visible in the crisp air as they dart in and out of shops.  

Half-tempted to hide inside The Three Broomsticks and wait out the weather. But the fresh air feels too good, and I figure getting out of the castle for a while might do good to me.  I tug my coat tighter and keep walking. As I pass Zonko's Joke Shop, where my brother's laugh drifts out the door. He's probably already planning another prank—or maybe he's just trying to impress his Gryffindor friend.  Either way, I keep walking, heading deeper into the village.  

The snow's falling harder now, dotting my hair and eyelashes like powdered sugar. It looks almost... magical, but nonetheless it was getting colder, with every passing second.

Finally, I gave in to temptation and entered the Three Broomsticks. Immediately, I was enveloped in warm air, that hit me like a hug. The sound of chatter of students and smell of roasted nuts filled the air. I just hoped none of the Slytherin boys would be there.

I exhale, shoulders relaxing slightly as I scan the room for an empty table.  

Then my stomach drops.  

Because sitting in the far corner, nursing a steaming mug, is none other than Theodore Nott.

He hasn’t noticed me yet.  

I tried to find another seat, buying a butterbear, trying to pretend that I didn't see him, almost hiding. The butterbeer warms my stomach as I sip it, trying to ignore the fact that Theodore is right there.  

He hasn't looked up from his book once, eyes scanning the pages as if they hold the secrets of the universe.  It's almost peaceful.  Almost. 

I’ve jolted out of my thoughts as a horde of chattering first-years rush in, laughing and pushing each other. They take over the corner where Theodore had been sitting, filling the space with noise and chaos. Theodore glances up, irritation flickering across his face at the disruption, then his gaze locks onto mine before I could look away.  So much from pretending. He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by my attempt at stealth.  

Before I could react, he gathered his things, leaving his half-finished butterbeer behind and weaved through the crowd toward me.  

"You’re terrible at hiding." He murmurs, sliding into the seat across from me.  

 My grip tightens around my mug. "Wasn’t trying to."  I lied. 

The corner of his mouth twitches. "Right."

I caught myself holding my breath. "...Why did you come over?"

Theodore considers this for a long moment, then shrugs. "Snow’s getting worse. Didn’t want you walking back alone. Come on."

Something shifts in the atmosphere.

“Too bad I just started my butterbeer, now you have to go alone.” I tried to tease, but everything died from my mouth, because of that stress week. Why was I so terrible at making jokes?

His eyes soften almost imperceptibly, just for a moment.  

Then he smirks, the moment passing like smoke. "And what if I stay anyway?"

“I’ll buy you one.” I lifted my finger and before he could react, he got butterbeer.

Theodore looks down at the fresh butterbeer in surprise, then backs up at me. "Trying to get me drunk?" He sounds more amused than anything else.  

I bite back a smile. "Hardly. I just want you to have a reason to stay."  

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. "And here I thought you hated me."

“Because I still hate you. Don’t mistake my generosity with my weakness.” I said, smiling faintly.

His smirk deepens, golden firelight catching the amusement in his eyes. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

He lifts the butterbeer in a mock toast, clinking it lightly against mine before taking a slow sip.  

"Though," He adds, setting the mug down with deliberate care, "if this is your idea of hating someone, I’d hate to see what you do to people you like." 

I roll my eyes, but don’t argue.  Because for the first time in days, the air between us doesn’t feel like a battlefield. It just feels warm. 

“I apologise…” I said after a moment of silence. “Of my brother's harsh words, and my actions…” I mumbled under breath, avoiding his gaze at all costs. 

Theodore takes a sip of butterbeer, studying me over the rim of his mug. "You don’t have to apologize for your brother." His voice is surprisingly soft. "Or yourself."

I swallowed, surprised by the sudden sincerity in his tone.  

He sets the mug down carefully, the smirk gone. "Let’s make a deal."

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. "What kind of deal?"

Theodore leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Simple. I'll answer three questions—honestly."

I blink, caught off guard. "What's the catch?"

His smile was sharp. "You have to answer three of my questions in return."  

"Any question?" I hesitate. 

"Anything." 

“Then I’m up to it, you start.”

He considers me for a moment—almost studying me, eyes flashing in the firelight.  

"Alright. First question." He leans forward, almost too close.  

"Where were you sneaking off to last week?"

I froze, caught off guard. "How—?"  

"I notice things."

His gaze is almost piercing. “Now answer the question."”

“Gryffindor's common room, needed to check on my brother… Now my question.”

He raises an eyebrow, surprised by honest answers. But he nods, signaling for me to go ahead. "Ask."

“Has my brother offended you in any way?”

Theodore’s expression darkens at the mention of my brother. "You really want an honest answer?" He exhales slowly, jaw tightening. "More than once." 

I nod slowly, not sure what to say. "...I-" 

He cuts me off with a grimace. "Don’t you dare apologize for him.”

I clamp my mouth shut, swallowing back the apology I hadn't yet said. Theodore looks down at the table, fingers tapping a restless rhythm against the wooden tabletop.  The silence stretches between us, almost tangible.  

"Next question."

“Why did you sneak into Hufflepuffs common room that one night? I want to hear that again, honestly this time.”

He goes very still at that, eyes locking with mine. Something flickers in his gaze, something I can't quite place.  But then it's gone, replaced by a veneer of nonchalance.  

"I told you. I was checking on you."

“Just checking? Really?”

He looks away, gaze flickering back to the fire. "Yes. Really." His tone is careful.

I study him, searching for any hint of deceit. But there's nothing but the stubborn set of his jaw and the muscles tensing in his shoulders.  "So it was just...concern. For a classmate."  

He meets my gaze again. "Exactly."

After a moment of long silence he shifts in his chair, clearing his throat. "My turn."

I raise an eyebrow. "Go ahead."

He studies me for a moment, as if deciding what to ask.  

"What were you writing in the library?"  

My heart skips a beat, but I school my features into a neutral expression. "How do you even know about that?"

The corner of his mouth curled upward. "Like I said…I notice things."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Stalker."

“I was writing a letter to my family…” I mumbles, sipping my butterbeer, my cheeks red from embarrassment. The smirk softens into something almost like curiosity.  

He's watching me, unusually perceptive eyes sharp in the firelight. “You miss them." 

"Of course," I murmur, wrapping my fingers around the butterbeer mug. "They're my family."

Theodore nods, eyes flicking to my hands, to the way my fingers tighten around the handle. 

"That's what I figured." 

He sighs, leaning back in his chair. "My last question."

Silence creeped again. “Go on.”

He crosses his arms, the firelight dancing across his face. "One word answer. Yes or no."  

I exhale slowly, bracing myself. "Alright."

He studies ,e for a moment, eyes gleaming. "Are you scared of me?"

The unexpected question jolts me, catching me off guard. I blink, almost surprised by the sincerity in his tone.  

Before I can stop myself, I whisper. "…Sometimes."  He doesn't react, not immediately. Just look at me, the expression unreadable.  "And other times…"

He raises an eyebrow, curious.

“And you?” I ask, my voice almost swallowed by the sound of chatter. His jaw tightens at the question, eyes flickering across my face. I can't tell if my honest answer has offended him... or if he's just thinking.

"Sometimes."  It's barely more than a whisper, but I can tell he's being sincere.  For a moment, we just sit there, the honesty of our words hanging in the air between us like a tangible weight.  

“My last question… Why are you still friends with Malfoy and Zabini when you are much better than them?” My voice is careful, quiet. His expression darkens at the mention of Draco and Blaise, eyes narrowing.  

"I'm not friends with them."

I raise an eyebrow, not quite believing him. "Right. More like partners in crime…” 

He scoffs, rolling his eyes "Hardly." There's a defensive edge to his tone that surprises me. "They're useful."

“How?” I ask curiously, not understanding why.

His gaze turns icy, the firelight casting harsh shadows across his face.  "Because power isn't given." He leans forward, voice dropping so low I have to strain to hear it.  "It's taken."  

Theodore leans back again, expression unreadable. "And if you want to survive in Slytherin, you play the game."

Silence settles between us, heavy and suffocating.  

“Well,” I tried to lift the atmosphere “Since questions are over… Now we can lie anytime.” 

He huffed a laugh, almost genuine, before taking a slow sip of his butterbeer. "You're terrible at this."

"And yet you're still here." I grin.

Theodore’s smirk softens, just a fraction. "Yeah." 

For the first time in weeks, it feels like maybe, just maybe, we’re not entirely on opposite sides anymore. 

“Is there anything I can do to—“ I started, my voice quiet, I needed to try again. “—to make you forgive what my brother did.” They should apologize first, but there has to be someone who will reach out first, I'm not going to give up, I'm going to clean up the mess my brother left.

His gaze flickers to me, for a moment, he looks almost surprised. "You're serious." 

I nod.  

Theodore studies me for a long moment. "You have no idea how refreshing it is to hear you say that." He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair.  "I'll consider that an apology."

Relief washes over me like a wave. "Really?"

He huffs a laugh, the corner of his mouth curling upward. "Yeah."

The tension finally leaving my shoulders. "Thanks."  

He shrugs, leaning back in his chair. "Don't mention it." 

The fire crackles softly as the snow continues to fall outside, cocooning the world in a blanket of white.  I take a slow sip of butterbeer, enjoying the peace. Theodore’s fingers tap against his mug before he finally breaks the silence.  

"You should know... your brother's not the only one who owes apologies."  

I blink, setting down my drink. "Meaning?"  

"Meaning maybe I’ve been an assehole too."  His admission hangs in the air, stark and unexpected. I wasn’t expecting that coming from his mouth. I didn’t know what to say, so I just smiled slowly. He doesn’t look away, and almost smiles back. For a moment, neither of us move, the silence almost overwhelming.  

Then, finally, he breaks it. "Can I ask you something?" 

I nodded, curiosity piqued. "Go ahead."

He hesitates, clearly mulling over his words. "When you're alone... are you afraid?" 

I blink, caught off guard. "Alone?"

"When you're walking in the halls. Or sitting in your bed at night." He clarifies. 

"What makes you ask that? Afraid of what? The dark? I’m not ten…”

His expression tightens, as if he regrets saying anything at all. "Nevermind."  Something in his tone makes me hesitate.  

"Wait."

Theodore glances up, surprised.  

I exhale, fingers curling around my mug. "I'm not afraid of the dark. I'm afraid of..." I trail off, suddenly unsure how much to say.  Theodore doesn’t push. Just wait, patient for once, letting me gather my thoughts. It’s really refreshing, knowing he’ll let me finish my thought.

"I'm afraid of waking up one day and realizing I've become them." I whispers.  

Theodore goes utterly still.  "Me too." He admits quietly.

“What would they say if they saw us here?” I said, sipping my butterbeer.

Theodore lets out a scoff, some of the tension dissipating. "Probably think I've lost my damn mind, talking to you in public."

My lip curls into a small smirk. "And they'd say the same thing about me." 

He raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smile lingering at the corner of his mouth. "That you've lost your damn mind, or that you're talking to me in public?"

I roll my eyes, the tension between us finally broken. "Both."

Theodore lets out a sharp laugh. "Fair."

He leans forward, elbows on the table. "Let them talk."

"You’d risk that?"  

"I already am." His smirk deepens. 

“This can be our little secret, that one butterbeer…” I said, looking at the window, snow was still falling, night approaching.

His smirk softens, just slightly, as he follows my gaze to the window. The snow falls heavier, painting Hogsmeade in hushed white.  

“Our secret." He agrees, voice low.  A pause. Then he adds. "Though if you ever tell anyone I drank butterbeer with a—"

I cut him off with a pointed look. "Finish that sentence and I will hex you."  

He laughs, actually laughs, and it's such an unfamiliar sound coming from him.

"Noted."

Outside, the snowfall swallows the world whole.  Inside, the fire crackles on. 

 And for once—  

Neither of us are alone.