lonely. [ slytherin reader x draco malfoy x ron weasley x harry potter various ]

are you lonely?

"Ron won't speak to me." Potter sighed, coming up to us in the corridor.
"I fail to see the downside." I scoffed, Draco glaring at him.
"Listen here, Potter." Draco spat, grabbing him by his robes,

"Y/N is not your friend, and we-" He emphasised, gesturing to himself and the rest of the Slytherin's, "Don't want to be seen out in public with you. Got it?" He hissed.
"Draco!" I exclaimed, lightly hitting his arms so he would let go of Potter.

"You do not make choices for me." I narrowed my eyes at him as he still glared at Potter. "But it is weird, Potter. It's not a wise idea to approach us, you still have your Golden Boy reputation to uphold, I suppose." I smirked, the Slytherin's snickering.
"Please don't call me that- What I really came up to you about was that we're needed." Potter muttered.

"Should've led with that." I rolled my eyes, readjusting my bag and going to walk beside him, but Draco grabbed my hand,
"Yes?" I asked impatiently.
"Needed for what?" He asked suspiciously.

"Oh I don't know Draco, maybe the whole tournament I am being forced into. Ring a bell?" I said sweetly, yanking my hand out of his grasp and walking with Potter away from them.
"Be careful love!" Draco called, a worried expression evident in his wavering voice.
"Always am darling!" I called back, not turning around but waving one hand to signify goodbye.

"Are you guys... dating?" Potter said timidly.
"So what are we needed for?" I asked, ignoring his question.
"Oh er, I'm not sure really." Potter admitted, stopping outside a small door on the third corridor.

"Here?" I spat.
"Yeah." Potter nodded.
"You sure you have the right place?" I asked, looking at the small door.
"I don't know!" He exclaimed, opening the door. We were met by the other tri-wizard champions, and a woman dressed very colourfully, and may I add, very poorly.

"Hello!" She squealed, practically dragging us in. She then lined us up and shook each of our hands.
"I'm Rita Skeeter, I write for the daily prophet. But of course you know that don't you-" She started babbling on, halfway through her speech I was extremely bored.

"This woman is such a bore." I spoke in parseltongue to Potter.
"I agree, Y/N."
"She's staring at us. They're all staring at us. I don't like this, Harry." I admitted.
"Nor do I. She's probably going to write some insane article about us, and the others are going to think we're insane-"

"How interesting! Let's start with the youngest." She grinned evilly, taking mine and Harry's hand and dragging us to a literal broom cupboard.

"This is cosy, isn't it?" She giggled.
"It's a broom cupboard." Potter and I said simultaneously, glancing at each other.
"How cute, you even say the same things - Mind if I use the quill?" She asked, not bothering to wait for an answer.

"So here you two sit, mere children of twelve..." She said, her quill rapidly writing away.
"Fourteen." We both corrected her at the same time again, looking awkwardly at one another.

"About to compete against three students. Not only vastly more emotionally mature than yourself but have mastered spells that you wouldn't attempt in your dizziest daydreams. Concerned?" She asked.
"I dunno, I haven't really thought about it." Potter said bluntly.

"Because you're obviously no ordinary children of twelve-"
"Fourteen." We corrected her again.

"The story's legend. Do you think it was the trauma of your past that made you so keen to enter such a dangerous tournament." She asked Potter.
"I didn't enter-" Potter began to say.
"I'm not doing this shit." I drawled, ignoring Skeeter's protest as I walked out and slammed the door.

"Have fun Potter!" I called, cackling at his misery, "By the way, check the notepad!" I shouted from the other side of the door.
"My eyes are not glistening from the ghosts of my past!" He accused Skeeter.

I laughed and was about to exit the room, but Diggory stopped me, grabbing my upper arm.
"Why'd you put your name in?" He whispered, a stern look on his face, the kind of expression a worried Father would adorn.

"I didn't." I scoffed, pulling my arm out of his grip.
"You don't have to lie to me." He argued.
"Mind your own business." I spat, opening the door and slamming it as hard as I could. What a drag.