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flamboyantly-incompetent · 1 year ago

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OoTP, Chapter 4 - Choosing Sides

Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: vague hints at abusive parents (I mean it's Lucius Malfoy)

Masterlist

Word Count: 4291

After Herbology, you tried to catch Draco on his way out. He seemed preoccupied, and his friends trailed behind him, guffawing over some trinket they tossed back and forth, but he ignored them and you. They turned away from the castle and you gave up; it wasn’t worth it being late to Potions.

Perhaps you could write him a letter and send it in the post, you thought, absentmindedly stirring the contents of your cauldron. That should be discreet enough. It still irked you that you couldn’t just talk to him like a person, but in all truth, you didn’t really want people knowing you were associating with each other either. He had something of a reputation.

Though by the end of Double Potions you had formulated a plan, as you left the classroom you caught a glimpse of that unmistakable silver hair and green robes turning a corner down the corridor. You pretended to have left your quill behind, and peeled off from your friends and the stream of students heading to lunch. The soft pattering of your shoes on the cold stone floor must’ve given you away, for when you turned that same corner, Draco was leaning against the wall, arms folded, waiting for you.

“Why are you following me?” He looked somewhat harried; his hair hung slightly awry, and the shirt under his sweater vest was uncharacteristically wrinkled.

You stopped, confused. “I wanted to talk without having to send you a notarized letter.” His eyes narrowed. “I had just forgotten that this weekend was Hogsmeade, and I wondered if we could push our meeting to Sunday.”

“Oh. Sure that’s fine.” He paused, weighing his words. “I actually, uh, I’ve changed my mind. I’ve decided I’d like to work for the Ministry, so I won’t need Herbology after all, so don’t worry about it.”

“What are you talking about? Is this because I want to reschedule?”

“Don’t be daft,” he snapped. “I can’t really picture myself doing something so undignified, working for goblins. The Ministry will be a much better fit for someone of my family’s standing.”

“I see,” you said quietly, taken aback by the venom in his words.

Draco continued quickly, “It’s just that I’ll have more important, more relevant things to focus on, and-and-and you probably do too.”

You nodded curtly, “We agreed we wouldn’t be friends. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” You paused before turning on your heel, “Good luck.”

Saturday morning came early, Wilbur purring on your chest with his wet nose sniffing at your closed eyes.

“Cat, one day you’re going to startle me so much I throw you off this bed, and it’ll be no one’s fault but yours.” He sat up, tail curled regally around him, waiting. “I can’t give you treats if you’re on top of me. Yes, yes I know.” You threw back the bed curtains and glanced at the enchanted windows. It was still somehow before dawn; everyone else was still asleep. You tsked at Wilbur, setting two treats beside him on your bed, and dressed quietly. You eased your broom out from under your bed and slunk out of your dormitory, then through the round painting door.

Almost a full week into October, the pre-dawn air was bracing as it whipped around you and your broom. The Quidditch pitch was deserted, thankfully, as it was the only area that allowed unsupervised flying on the whole grounds. There was nothing you wanted more than to fly through the trees and over the lake, but if anyone caught you they’d confiscate the broom and dock enough points to earn side-eyes until Christmas. So instead, you circled the pitch as fast as you could go, ignoring the stiff chill in your fingers as they gripped the broom handle. Patches of muddy ground spun by faster and faster until the whole world seemed brown.

“Y/N?” Your concentration broken, you yelped and had to pull up hard to keep yourself from ramming into a tower. On the ground, Yvette stood at the ready, broom in one hand and quaffle tucked neatly under the other arm. She kicked off and met you in the air. “Something you wanna talk about?”

“Not really. You don’t get enough fly time during practice?”

She shrugged. “I got into the habit, you know? After, I’m awake, and I feel better. You wanna run some passes with me?”

“Shoot, what time is it?” You’d forgotten about Hogsmeade, and the Hog’s Head, and Harry Potter. The sun was peeking over the trees, casting shadows with the tops of each tower on the pitch.

“Seven thirty, why?”

“I wanted to go to Hogsmeade today, but I can play for an hour.”

Yvette grinned and tossed you the quaffle. For whatever reason, completing random passes and scoring against imaginary opponents did a much better job of settling your mind than speed-flying in circles, although it was clear from the onset Yvette’s talent far out paced your own.

“You’ve gotten good at this,” you remarked breathily, touching down.

She scoffed, “I was always good, I just got better. So, no tutoring today?”

“Huh?”

“Your Slytherin, you aren’t sneaking off to tutor them?”

You bit your lip, the secret, evidently, out. “Donna told you?”

“You didn’t think she would? She tells everyone everything. Besides, three mornings in a row you don’t come to breakfast? We were bound to know something was up. So, you aren’t meeting them today? Or are you meeting them in Hogsmeade?”

You snorted at the thought of being seen with Draco Malfoy anywhere but a classroom. “No, no I’m just meeting up with Ginny and Luna. Besides,” you stretched your arms up, thinking how to phrase it, “I’m not tutoring the Slytherin anymore, they didn’t need much help.” She shot you a sidelong glance but didn’t press the issue.

“What about you? No Hogsmeade today?”

“Can’t, I’m behind on Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts and I do not want Umbridge or McGonagall cross with me.”

“Fair enough. I’ll get you something from Honey Dukes?”

“Yes, please.”

Filch was in an uncharacteristically chipper mood as he snatched permission forms from nervous third years, grinning maniacally all the while. You couldn’t decide if it was better or worse than the alternative, and an uncomfortable thought crossed your mind. What did willingly keeping on such a dour sadist, one seemingly convinced torture was a reasonable punishment for misbehaving children, say about Dumbledore? An uncomfortable thought, no doubt.

Across the courtyard, Ginny was holding hands with her newest boyfriend, who laughed abruptly at something she said. A twinge of jealousy spun in your gut. Ginny was, in a word, cool. Funny, talented, witty, and quite genuine, it was difficult not to like her. There was certainly a reason she was popular.

You looked around for Luna. She, on the other hand, often gave the impression that she could be perfectly content to never speak to another person ever again. You’d asked her once, unsure, if your presence was wanted at all. She’d assured you that she quite enjoyed the company in her typical lilting, ethereal tone. Finally, you spotted her at the edge of the courtyard on a stone bench, sitting with impeccable posture and clearly thinking deeply about one thing or another. She rose smoothly when you approached, smiling faintly as that faraway look refocused on you.

“Hey Luna,” you began, “Do you mind if I join you for the morning?” The crowd began to filter out and down the road to Hogsmeade.

She nodded gently, “I’m headed to Gladrags - all of my socks are infested with wrackspurt eggs.” She lifted her pant leg to show a sockless foot sitting loosely in a shoe. “They are an endangered species, after all.”

“Sure, sure. My mum loves those, I can get her an early Christmas gift.” Luna’s penchant for rare and less-than-discovered creatures, while unusual, never phased you too much. After all, if you ever met an umgubular slashkilter you’d know how to keep it from tearing your throat out, thanks to her.

The morning sun was bright and warm and, thankfully, at your backs as you marched down the road with your classmates. Chimney smoke peeked over the hills in a haze, and before long the village was in sight. You happily followed Luna into Gladrags Wizardwear, where she found a number of socks you knew she’d never wear as pairs, and you picked out a pair that changed patterns with the weather for your mother. Afterwards, you still had an hour to kill so you opted for Honeydukes. Acid pops for Yvette, a cauldron cake for Herbert, and a box of liquorice wands for Donna, and Luna sat with you outside as you split a pumpkin pastie.

It was finally warm, and a little uncomfortably so, most of the students that passed you had their coats off and tied around their waists. A group of third years were gushing loudly about the shrieking shack, each walking with a varied spring in their step. Across the cobbled street, the door to the hairdresser’s, Clifford’s Scissors, opened and the bell chimed brightly. Out came Draco Malfoy.

Oh, come on. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice you, but Luna did.

She followed your sour gaze and said, “I hear his father is visiting Hogwarts tomorrow. It is curious why he should appear now of all times.”

You swallowed a mouthful of pumpkin pastie. “What do you mean?”

“He works very closely with the Ministry. No one ever invites him, he just announces his arrival.”

“Ah,” you said. That certainly made some things clearer.

Luna glanced up at the sun. “It’s almost noon. Let’s go.” You picked up the box of candy for your friends and followed her down the road. Very far down the road. Almost to the end of the road. You would’ve thought it was a mistake if there weren’t so many other students you recognized.

Inside the Hog’s Head was… gross. You wrinkled your nose reflexively. You sat next to Luna and glanced around. Harry Potter stood next to one of Ginny’s older brothers (was it Roland?) at the bar with Hermione Granger. His expression seemed more and more morose with ever new student that came through the door. You waved to a few Hufflepuffs as they came in, but the group was mostly Gryffindor. Which, you supposed, made some amount of sense. Two of Ginny’s other older brothers, whose names you knew because of how often Filch said them like a curse, went around handing everyone a butterbeer. You took a mug from one of them, you couldn’t tell which, in exchange for two Sickles. The group sat quietly, gingerly sipping butterbeer from cloudy mugs, waiting.

Finally, the trio sat down, and Hermione began speaking. She covered essentially what Ginny had said in the hallway a few days ago, but you watched Harry’s face. She finished with, “I want to be properly trained in Defense because… because Lord Voldemort’s back.”

A palpable shiver coursed through the room, one girl actually screamed a little, which you found rather dramatic. Zacharias immediately asked for proof. You leaned forward. Although you wouldn’t have put it the way he did, you were still torn over who to believe. Harry scowled, and his answer was unsatisfying, but he still didn’t seem to be lying. In fact, he seemed quite humble even as Zacharias continued to prod him. You understood, though he began to grate on your nerves as well. In the end, you put your name on the list like everyone else, excited and nervous to actually learn something useful. Before passing it on you glanced through the names discreetly. Ron. That’s his name.

The next day was a long slog in the library, oscillating between Transfiguration and Arithmancy homework, and wondering whether Draco Malfoy’s father had arrived at the school yet. And what his purpose was. Could it be solely to dissuade his only son from a career deemed beneath him? It occurred to you that the Malfoys were a step above simply rich - it wasn’t as if they were working for the Galleons. You looked out the great stained glass windows flanking the door periodically, earning you some quizzical looks from Yvette. Evening rolled around, with not a single sign of silver hair, and you found yourself in the common room, enjoying the enchanted breeze and the warm glow of the fire, surrounded by candy wrappers, as you watched Donna crush Yvette in Wizard’s Chess. The round painting door swung open to allow a racket of overlapping voices to spill in, followed by Ernie and Hannah, Zacharias hot on their heels. They made a bee line for the notice board and pinned something on it.

“What’s this about?” you asked, walking over.

Zacharias turned sharply, agitated, “The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has disbanded all organizations, societies, teams, groups and clubs.” You shared a look with the three of them, all having been present in the Hog’s Head, and remembered your friends’ presence. He continued, “That means-”

“Quidditch,” you interrupted.

“Yes,” he said slowly, “Quidditch. Which we will have to beg her to let us play otherwise we’ll be expelled.” Your mouth ran dry.

Yvette piped up, “What?! She can’t be serious.”

“Can’t she?” Hannah said sourly.

“I’ll go to her office first thing in the morning,” Zacharias assured Yvette, “hopefully we haven’t done anything to upset her.”

That night, sleep did not come easy. Learning practical skills was one thing, but being expelled for it was entirely another. Although, if Voldemort really had returned as Harry and his friends believed, Ernie had been right when he said that this was more important than anything else you could do this year.

You jumped a little, startled, when Wilbur’s furry mass appeared next to your head. He settled himself at your feet, stepping heavily on your stomach as he went.

If Voldemort really had returned, expulsion was a minor issue. You thought of Donna and Yvette, both muggle born, and your dad. If Voldemort really had returned someone was going to have to fight. And it couldn’t just be Harry Potter.

As it turned out, Umbridge was only interested in keeping the Gryffindor team in suspense, as you heard from Yvette that the Hufflepuff Quidditch team had been reinstated rather breezily when Zacharias asked. The fate of Harry Potter’s ‘study group’ remained uncertain, however, and the week trudged on with no news.

Herbology passed without incident, though you kept stealing glances at Draco to see how he was doing. By the end of class, his face was red and his eyebrows drawn, but the fanged geranium sat in a pot littered with small, shiny buttons with its toothy maw hanging open, clearly pleased with the trade. Your own geranium was resting comfortably as you made up limericks on the spot, its own jaw growing looser with every word.

By the end of the week though, you noticed a number of students you recognized from the Hog’s Head, whispering amongst themselves at dinner. You hung back when your friends left for the common room, claiming to still be hungry. Almost immediately, Harry Potter and Ginny’s brother appeared next to the Hufflepuff table.

Ron began, speaking softly, “We’ve found a spot.”

“Oh, good, I was beginning to wonder,” you trailed off.

Harry glanced around, “Tonight, eight o’clock, seventh floor. Opposite the tapestry of Barn-”

“Barnabas the Barmy. Got it.”

They nodded conspiratorially and were on their way. Great. Now you’d just have to hope no one asked you where you had been all night, and that no one would ever ask you that again. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust your friends, but none of you had exactly made it clear to the others what was believed about the whole thing. And then you’d gone to the meeting, and then you’d put your name down, like joining a secret society. Should you have included them? It was risky, to them and to the rest, the more people that knew of the whole thing. You’d just have to come up with something decent later.

By the time the meeting was over, it was past curfew. You’d dueled for over an hour with Ernie Macmillan, who seemed more concerned with performing intimidating wand patterns than actually disarming you, so when the DA split up into small groups to go back to their common rooms you ended up with him. Both prefects for each house represented were in attendance, so they sent out a small group, then a prefect, then a small group, then the other prefect - so that if any were caught, it would look like they’d simply been sent back to their dormitories by the correct authority.

You walked along the dark corridors, enthusing quietly about the whole thing. Ernie had sustained a small bruise next to his left eye from one of the Creevey’s antics, but he matched your enthusiasm.

Ernie knocked on the great round wooden door, and it swung open quietly, the warm breezes of the common room greeting you.

Donna looked up from the roll of parchment she stared at hopelessly by the fireplace to watch Ernie bid you a pontifical goodnight. She waved you over. “Where have you been?” she asked once you’d sat down.

“Just some studying.”

She gave you a suspicious once-over. “You’d tell me if you were dating Ernie Macmillan, right?”

You chortled abruptly, the notion absurd and hilarious. “I would tell you, but I wouldn’t date Ernie Macmillan. I, uh, ran into him and we got to talking about Transfiguration and we lost track of time.”

“Uh huh,” she said, slowly. It was unclear whether she fully believed your explanation, but she dropped the subject regardless. “Well I’ve been sat here since supper working on the Pepperup Potion essay. So now that you’re back from studying you could help me study.”

“OK, but you have to proofread my essay for Umbridge.”

“Hand it over.”

There was an unspoken agreement between Draco and yourself to avoid each other indefinitely, broken only after a Herbology lesson on puffapods, during which Draco had forced a spore cloud from the poor thing so large that he and his two friends fainted immediately. Professor Sprout conscripted you to revive them; a ground mixture of ginger soaked in spirits and petals from the offending puffapod did the trick. The large boy on the left, you learned his name was Crabbe, startled awake red faced and ready for action. He looked around sheepishly and shoved your mortar bowl away from his face. The other one, Goyle, opened his eyes but continued to snore.

You had to shoo away some Slytherin girl who had begun shaking his shoulders, then you held the bowl under Draco’s nose, arm stretched to leave as much room between you as possible. He looked uncharacteristically peaceful, aside from the green-brown dust that discolored his pale forehead. His eyes fluttered open, and for a second you thought you could back away before he was truly lucid, but then his cold grey eyes focused on you and narrowed.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, getting to his feet in a hurry. Crabbe and Goyle immediately began dusting off his robes.

You opened your mouth to speak, but Crabbe beat you to it. “You fainted. The bloody plant-”

“Get off me.” He shooed away his lackeys, the rest of the class still staring, the Slytherin girl looking like she’d launch herself at him at her first opportunity. “I’m fine.” He did not ask about his friends.

Professor Sprout tried to continue the lesson, but between the constant thrum of quiet gossip and careless handling of the puffapods, it became clear that three people fainting had caused too much excitement. She sighed and said, “Class dismissed. I want a foot of parchment on the proper handling of puffapods due next lesson. Miss Y/L/N, Mr. Malfoy. If I could have your attention for a moment. Misters Crabbe and Goyle, you can go.” She put her hands on her hips and waited for you to approach her. “Now, am I to understand that you are no longer being tutored, Mr. Malfoy?” He shook his head, and she turned to you. “Would you care to tell me why that is?”

Draco interrupted, “I’ve decided I’d rather work with the Ministry. So I won’t need a Herbology OWL.”

A look of disappointment passed over her face. “Even so, I can’t imagine you’re happy with such unsatisfactory work.” Draco’s expression soured. “Professor Snape has told me what a skilled brewer you are, but let me tell you something. The best potions can only be brewed, not bought - and that requires the brewer to appraise high quality ingredients. Which, can you guess, requires a good understanding of what we do in this class.” Draco deflated a bit, and focused his gaze on his shoes. “Y/N, that was quick thinking with the ginger - ten points to Hufflepuff. Why did you have it on hand?”

“Oh, I, uh, I have Potions right after this.”

She gestured to you as if to say there, see what I’m saying? Her posture softened; her fists uncurled and came to rest at her sides. “I imagine you are still willing to tutor Mr. Malfoy?” His gaze snapped to you, his expression unreadable.

You only hesitated a moment, after all he wasn’t particularly pleasant, but you had improved significantly in Transfiguration all thanks to his brief instruction. You nodded your head definitively.

Professor Sprout smiled, her cheeks turning rosy again. “I can’t force you, Mr. Malfoy, but you should consider it. Now, off you pop!” She wrote you both notes in case you were late, which you knew you would be, and herded you out of the greenhouse into the cold October sun.

Draco resumed ignoring you, until you stepped into the castle and he said, still not looking at you, “Saturday?”

“Quidditch pitch?”

He nodded. “I’ll bring the hedgehog.”

“I’ll bring some books,” you finished, and you parted ways in front of the massive fireplace.

Professor Snape was not happy when you arrived at Potions. “Miss Y/L/N, late again?”

You held out the note. “I am sorry, Professor. I do have a note this time.” He took it unceremoniously, his hooded eyes inspecting Professor Sprout’s signature. He glanced at you appraisingly, then gestured for you to sit down so he could continue his lesson on Beautification Potion.

Once again, you trudged down the path to the Quidditch pitch far too early on a Saturday. Draco had already set up the Slytherin themed quilt and his portable fireplace, he was hastily drying some patches of melted frost around the edges of the space. His back was to you, and hadn’t seemed to notice your arrival, so you set the stack of books you carried down gently and slid the box presumably containing McGonagall’s hedgehog towards you. He remembered you, apparently, and didn’t protest when you scooped him up and sat him in your lap to wait for Draco to notice you.

“Sicco,” he muttered under his breath. He checked the watch on his wrist and turned around. You grinned, and he yelped when he saw you; his eyes narrowed. “How long have you been sitting there?”

You scratched the hedgehog’s back lightly. “Only a bit. We had to get reacquainted.”

His eyebrows knit together. “I saw you three days ago.”

“I was talking about the hedgehog.”

“Oh, well. That does make more sense.” He sat down across from you, apparently satisfied with his handiwork. “I, uh, just wanted you to know that I-”

“You don’t have to apologize, and we don’t have to talk about it.”

“I was going to tell you not to apologize.”

“Me? Apologize for what?”

“For humiliating me in front of an entire classroom, obviously!”

Your face turned hot. ��You fainted! What was I supposed to do?”

He crossed his arms, his face equally inflamed. “Well you didn’t have to come rushing into save me like I was some helpless child.”

“It’s not my fault you ignore Professor Sprout’s instructions. Would you have preferred to be carried off to the hospital wing? Your friends fainted too, you know, you could try caring about someone other than yourself.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

You gaped at him. “Everything! You and your friends fainted. During class. And you’re so concerned with appearances you can’t even acknowledge that someone might do something nice for you just for the sake of it.” You stopped, surprised. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You think I’m going to want something from you. Right?” He shrugged. “Bloody hell.” You set the hedgehog down and stood up to pace.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m… I’m sorry. Ok? I keep forgetting I can’t treat you like them.”

You stopped to glare at him, refused to be appeased by what very well may have been the first time he’d apologized for anything in his life. “Like who?”

“Crabbe and Goyle.”

“Why would you treat your friends like this anyway?”

“Well, they’re not really friends. Our families go way back, so they’re more like colleagues.”

“That’s ridiculous.” He shrugged. You sat back down and pulled the hedgehog back into your lap. “So, the Ministry, huh? What would you be doing for them?” He looked at you suspiciously. “Fine, don’t tell me. I just hope it was your idea, and not your dad’s. We’ve got a lot of work to do.” You dropped the stack of books you brought into his lap and pointed at the one on top.

#draco malfoy #draco x hufflepuff!reader #harry potter #slow burn #draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #dumbledore's army #order of the phoenix

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