REQUIREMENTS | DRACO MALFOY

21 | Dance With Me

no, I do not regret using this gif.
HAPPY READING!

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Y/N

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"MORNING [L/N]," Harry announced, plopping down next to me, "you look awful today."

A few weeks after the risky 'robe-mix-up' event, Harry finally came round and accepted that the whole thing was just a mistake—which was exactly what I wanted him to think. I was glad to have my best friend by my side again, even if he was a temperamental, jealous, and incredibly sorry jerk sometimes.

But he was right. I did look awful. Why? Because I've been staying up every night and studying facts about Moody, sneaking around with Draco after hours since I can't talk to him in public anymore, so I had a serious lack of sleep and energy.

"Morning Potter," I smiled, laughing back weakly, "you look pretty awful yourself."

He gasped, "on the usual, or just today?"

"Do you want me to answer that?"

"Honestly, no," he grinned, nudging me gently, "but want to make a bet?"

"What?"

"You give me ten quid if Hermione and Ron come in here together, and I'll give you ten quid if they don't."

I rolled my eyes, turning my head towards the door of the great hall. We had been called here for some important announcement, but no one seemed to have any idea what it was.

A few moments later, a familiar set of bushy hair came storming in, books clamped tightly in their hands. Ron was nowhere in sight.

"Pay up, Potter," I smirked, holding out my hand, "looks like Weaselbee isn't here."

As Harry fumbled for quid in his pocket, he gave me a distorted look, "since when have you started calling Ron 'Weaselbee?'"

Uh.

My bad.

Draco's intolerable nicknames were apparently snaking their way into my vocabulary, and that was clearly far from a good idea. Thankfully, Hermione reached us in time, distracting us from the growing confrontation.

"Where's Ron?" I said, switching the conversation, "his class ended an hour ago."

The girl let out a huff, "he's coming."

"When?"

"Now, but apparently Fred and George's new prank pasties were more important than walking me to class."

Harry glanced at me, cocking a brow tauntingly, "classic Weaselbee, am I right, [y/n]?"

He knew something was up.

I could tell, but thankfully Professor Mcgonagall decided to stride into the great hall at the perfect time, snatching the attention towards her. She was wearing her usual pointed hat, but had more formal dress robes on this time.

Ron came slinking in after her, hoping he wasn't too late.

"There's the man," I noted, "try not to kill him, Mione'."

She narrowed her eyes, "no promises."

Mcgonagall's voice erupted through the Great Hall, her hands raised in greetings as she scanned the crowd of unenthusiastic Gryffindors. Once a silence had fallen upon us, she promptly cleared her throat to speak.