Draco

Edited: 5/17/2026

Blaise and Theo were already waiting outside the back garden gate when I slipped in through the back gate like a criminal.

Theo clocked me first, leaning back against the brick wall with a cigarette perched between his lips. "Well, well, well," he drawled, exhaling smoke like a curse. "Look who's doing the walk of shame."

Blaise just smirked, arms crossed, rings gleaming. "Took you long enough. We figured you'd died or defected to France."

I ignored them both and shoved past into the stairwell.

They followed.

"Not even a good morning?" Theo said, bounding up the steps behind me. "And after we waited—"

"You didn't wait," I muttered. "You broke into the flat and helped yourselves to my Firewhisky."

"Semantics," Blaise replied smoothly, tipping a bottle of Firewhiskey to his lips with a smirk. "Also, you weren't here."

He pushed open my bedroom door like it was his name on the lease.

"See? Bed untouched. Sheets still crisp. Not a hair out of place." His eyes slid lazily toward me. "You didn't sleep here last night."

Theo whistled, impressed. "Someone's been a very bad boy."

I threw my jacket onto the nearest chair and yanked open the closet. "Don't make it weird."

Blaise lifted an eyebrow. "You disappearing after a Ministry gala isn't weird. What's weird is the fact that you haven't told us whose bed you did sleep in."

"Or who got the honor of leaving those scratch marks on your neck," Theo added, already sprawled across my unmade bed like he paid rent. "Seriously, mate. She nearly flayed you."

I caught a glimpse in the mirror—faint bruises blooming low on my throat. A few red lines trailing just below my collarbone.

Shit.

I buttoned my shirt higher.

"Was it someone we know?" Blaise asked, all faux innocence and thinly veiled curiosity as he sat the bottle of Firewhiskey on the dresser he was leaning agaisnt. "Pureblood? Half-blood? Bored heiress with a thing for redemption arcs?"

"Don't you have an ex to annoy?" I muttered.

He grinned. "Not until after lunch."

Theo sniffed the air suddenly, nose wrinkling. "What the hell is that smell?"

I stilled.

Blaise turned. "Yeah—what is that? It's familiar, but I can't place it."

"New cologne," I lied. "Limited release. Foreign."

Theo sat upright on the bed and leaned closer to my direction, too curious for his own good. "It smells like... cloves and something else."

Blaise's eyes narrowed. "That's not yours, mate."

I straightened my cuffs. "Doesn't matter."

"Didn't have time to shower, did you?" Theo smirked. "You dirty bastard."

I snatched Theo off the bed and Blaise by the collar and shoved them both out of the room. "Come on. We're going to Diagon."

They didn't argue.

The three of us walked like we owned the bloody street—Blaise in black on black, all smirk and slow strut; Theo with sunglasses on indoors, carrying that casually unhinged energy that made girls clutch their pearls or try to ride him like a broomstick.

And me?

I should've been smug, should've been untouchable.

But I couldn't stop thinking about her.

Lilah King.

In that fucking dress. The way she'd pulled me in by the tie, bit my jaw. She smiled like a curse when she dragged me into her room and ruined me like it was personal.

She'd been a problem since First Year. All teeth and trouble and clever little jabs. Gryffindor in every way that mattered—and worse, sharp. Sharp enough to cut through every defense I had.

And now?

Now she was under my skin, literally.

I could still feel her nails, still hear her voice, smug and wrecked, whispering "You wish."

"Fuckin'— Malfoy," Blaise said, waving a hand in front of my face. "You just walked past the fit Ravenclaw."

Theo blinked. "That's twice now. Are you... off your game?"

I clenched my jaw. "I'm fine."

Blaise narrowed his eyes. "You sure? Because I've seen you seduce a Veela and a married barmaid in the same night with less brooding."

Theo tilted his head. "Wait. Was the gala last night hosted by the—The Kings?"

My heart stopped for half a second.

"Why?" I said too quickly.

He shrugged. "Just sounds fitting. Think they own that estate out past Wiltshire. Big in politics. Bit of a dynasty."

"Sounds boring," I muttered.

"She's the lioness in the snake pit, isn't she?" Blaise added, glancing at me sideways. "The first Gryffindor in decades, right? The one that can't stop putting you in your place?"

I didn't answer.

We turned down Knockturn to cut through the alley. Blaise flirted with a witch twice his age just for fun. Theo stole a kiss from someone's girlfriend while her boyfriend was distracted by a pickpocket. 

Standard Tuesday chaos.

And me?

I couldn't focus. Couldn't flirt. Could barely think without seeing that smirk. That curve of thigh through silk. That fucking challenge in her voice when she said "Are you gonna stand there staring or—""

Which is probably why I didn't notice where we were going until Blaise pushed open a shop door and muttered, "I need more of that explosive sugar gum."

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

Fucking perfect.

The shop was its usual mess—floating signage, fizzing sweets, some kind of cursed frisbee stuck in the rafters. Goyle and Crabb were already here, of course, chewing on something he probably shouldn't be.

I moved to the counter, trying to remember how to breathe.

"Put it down, you absolute troll," I snapped at Goyle, "before it—"

And then I saw her.

She stepped out of the back room like a slow-motion spell—inventory box in her hands, ponytail loose, jeans clinging to her hips like sin and vengeance. And her shirt?

Tight.

Unfairly tight.

Lilah. Fucking. King.

I froze.

So did time.

Her eyes met mine across the shop, and the heat hit me like a punch to the gut. My pulse tripped, my stomach dropped and every nerve went on high alert.

She didn't look surprised.

She looked amused.

"Gentlemen," she said, all breezy poison and silk. Like I hadn't had her legs wrapped around my waist less than twelve hours ago. Like she didn't still have the faintest trace of my scent on her skin.

Blaise's grin was sharp. "Well, fuck me sideways."

Theo gave a low whistle. "Didn't know the Weasleys were hiring firecrackers."

Crabbe blinked. Goyle dropped the box.

And I? I couldn't breathe. Because I knew—knew—what that smirk meant. I'd seen it in the dark, felt it on my tongue and I could still taste it.

She moved like she owned the floor. Fred fucking Weasley hovered near the back door, then slowly made his way to the counter—too close, too familiar.

And the way he looked at her? I wanted to rip his fucking throat out.

Blaise leaned in. "Mate," he murmured. "Is that..."

"Shut up," I hissed.

Because Fred was watching me now too—expression unreadable, eyes flicking over my clothes like he knew. Like he could smell it.

And Lilah? She just smiled.

A knife in lipstick.

I swallowed hard. Because this wasn't just a joke shop anymore.

This was war.

And I was already losing.

I should've walked out. I should've left the second I saw her.

But no.

I stayed rooted to the bloody floor while Lilah King strutted into view like a living hex and pretended she hadn't turned my world inside out last night.

She still looked like sin, satisfaction and trouble in that fitted top and low-rise jeans, hair twisted up like she'd done it one-handed, still glowing like—

Fuck.

Don't think about that.

"Didn't know the Weasleys were hiring strays," I said, voice smooth, biting, effortless.

Blaise chuckled under his breath. Theo smirked.

Lilah didn't blink, she turned away from me, slightly. Just kept unpacking a stack of what looked like glitter-filled grenades and muttered, "Didn't know the Malfoys were breeding chihuahuas now, but here you are."

Theo snorted.

I felt the hit in my spine.

Blaise laughed, loud and sharp, as if he'd just witnessed someone slap me with a glove.

"Merlin," Theo said under his breath. "She's vicious."

Lilah still wasn't looking at me.

Infuriating.

I stepped forward, letting my voice drop low. "Careful, King. Talk like that and someone might think you're overcompensating."

"For what?" she said idly. "Nothing to hide here. Just lowered expectations."

Blaise choked.

Theo howled.

Fred looked like he was about to leap over the counter and murder me.

My jaw clenched.

Blaise leaned against a display like his knees had gone weak. "Oh, she's good."

"She's brilliant," Theo said, eyes wide, grin manic. "Tell me she's single."

"Don't," I warned.

Theo's gaze snapped to mine. "What? You hate her."

"I do."

"So I'll just fix her," he said, straightening his collar. "King," he called smoothly, "how do you feel about emotionally unavailable Slytherins with god complexes?"

She finally looked up. And the smirk she gave him?

Lethal.

Like she'd already peeled him open and was just deciding which organ to eat first.

"I usually like them with a little more brain and a little less... desperation," she said sweetly.

Theo clutched his chest, laughing like it was foreplay. "Deadly and disinterested. Perfect."

"Absolutely not," I muttered.

He wiggled his eyebrows. "Jealous?"

"She's not worth it."

Lilah cocked her head, that lazy, condescending smile still in place. "You're right, Malfoy. I'm not worth it." She stepped closer, gaze sweeping over me like I was something she'd already unwrapped and returned. "But I'm definitely worth more than you."

Blaise lost it.

Theo grinned like he'd found his new religion.

Fred was still watching. Still too still.

And me? I was seconds from combusting.

Because she was doing it again—playing with me. Undermining me, pulling me apart with nothing but a few offhand remarks and a smirk like she didn't care if I burned.

I stepped closer, just enough that only she could hear, "I hope this little attitude gets you fired."

She smiled—slow and wicked, "I hope you keep talking," she whispered back. "Every word makes me less tempted to do last night again."

The air shifted.

Theo turned, brow raised. "What was that?"

"Nothing," I said sharply.

"Sounded like—"

"I said nothing."

Lilah, still smiling, turned on her heel and took a few steps back to the back counter, where more paperwork was than the register or stock boxes were.

Unbothered and untouchable.

And the worst part? She didn't even look back.

Not once.

We lingered in the shop a few minutes longer—Blaise flirting with a customer, Theo pocketing something enchanted and illegal-looking—but I barely heard a word.

Every second felt like another unravel. That perfume—the one I couldn't stop smelling on myself—lingered in the air. Like she still had her nails in my skin.

When we finally stepped outside, Theo let out a breath like he'd been holding it for sport, "Holy shit."

"King," Blaise said, like the name itself was a revelation. "That's Lilah King?"

Theo turned to me. "Was she always like that?"

"Like what?" I muttered.

"Like a fucking problem I want to make worse."

Blaise's grin was all teeth. "I think I'm in love."

"You're in heat," I snapped.

But they weren't listening. They were too busy raving—about her wit, her walk, the way she'd reduced all three of us to spectators without even breaking a sweat.

"You know," Blaise said, glancing back at the shop, "that scent in there—what was that? It's been driving me mad."

Theo frowned. "Yeah. Why does it seem familiar? I mean, other than the fact that we've been in the shop before..."

My stomach tightened before I shrugged. "Must be the Weasleys have a new air freshener."

Blaise hummed. "Expensive for a joke shop."

"Too much clove," Theo added. "Too much bite."

They didn't put it together.

Not yet.

But it was only a matter of time. And if they did—

Fuck.

I rubbed my jaw, still aching from the tension. Because I wasn't just unraveling anymore.

I was fucking  falling.

Hard.

Already.

And worst of all? I was starting to think she knew it.

The bell over the door gave a tired chime as I stepped back into the shop later that night.

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes looked softer in the dim lighting, less chaotic. Most of the enchanted candy displays were dormant now—floating signage flickering, fireworks sleeping in their boxes, shelves half-stocked like the room itself was winding down.

She didn't look up, but she knew it was me.

I saw the way her shoulders straightened behind the front counter, like her body had registered me before her brain did. Like she hated that I was here—but maybe not as much as she should've.

I leaned on the counter.

"Forgot to buy something," I said coolly.

"Yeah?" she muttered without turning. "Was it dignity?"

My lips twitched.

There she was.

She slid a handful of galleons into a cash tray and started counting, muttering numbers under her breath, hair falling around her face.

I took my time watching her, "You always close alone?"

"No."

"Then where's your keeper?"

"Don't need one." She growled, rolling her eyes as her eyes glazed over in thought, "Fred had to go home early, so I'm closing up."

I smirked. "You're alone? Mmm...because after last night—"

Her head snapped up. "Don't finish that sentence unless you want to leave with a wand up your ass."

"Tempting," I muttered, eyes dragging over her. "Might be worth it."

She rolled her eyes and kept counting. "Why are you here, Malfoy? Lost another bet? Need a personality refund?"

I came around the counter, leaning too close, watching her fingers as they moved across the coin stacks. "You've been running that mouth all day," I said. "Thought I'd come see if it was as smart after dark."

She shot me a look. "Still talking. Still boring."

I smirked. "Still pretending you don't care."

She didn't answer. Just shoved the last of the bills into the till, locked it, and turned on her heel toward the back room.

I followed.

Obviously.

"Don't you have a manor to loiter in?" she snapped.

"Don't you have a mop to ride?"

"A mop? Charming."

I leaned against the doorway while she stacked the leftover stock boxes. "You know, for someone who hates me, you've got a funny way of not telling me to fuck off."

"Because I know you'd like that too much."

"You like thinking about what I like?"

She turned, grabbed a box, and shoved it into my chest. "Fine. If you're going to stalk me, make yourself useful."

I blinked. "You're letting me touch things?"

"You touched a lot of things last night. Don't get picky now."

My smirk slipped, so did my heart. I carried the box anyway—because I'm weak and stupid and maybe just wanted to watch her bend to shelve something.

"I still think you're unhinged," I said as we passed an aisle.

"I still think you're compensating."

"For what?"

She shot me a look so loaded I almost dropped the box.

I placed it down a little harder on the shelf than I needed to.

She didn't flinch.

Infuriating.

Unbothered.

Perfect.

Back at the counter, she reached for the trash, tying up the bags with practiced annoyance. I leaned on the broom closet door.

"You know," I said, casual, "most people would've at least pretended to be flustered when I showed up."

She lifted a brow. "Most people don't know you're a walking cautionary tale."

I stepped closer. "You're not still mad about the closet thing, are you?"

"Oh, no. Running my mouth like a fucking idiot to my older—very judgmental—brother is a normal Tuesday to day me, Malfoy."

I reached past her to grab the door handle—our hands brushed.

She didn't move.

"Trash goes out back?" I asked, voice low.

She looked up—eyes sharp, mouth tight, pulse flickering just beneath the skin at her throat.
"...Yeah."

We stepped into the alley together. Cooler air hit us, thick with old spells and city smoke. She dragged the trash bag to the bin, dropped it with a satisfying thud, and leaned back against the brick wall like she owned it. Glowing, flushed, still wrecked in all the places I remembered.

I leaned beside her, arms crossed.

Quiet.

Heavy.

She exhaled. "You've been a nightmare all day."

"Likewise."

"You could've left. Could've ignored me. But no—you had to come back."

I tilted my head. "You're angry I showed up? Or angry you liked it?"

She didn't answer.

Didn't have to.

The silence said enough.

I stepped in, close. Way too close.

"You're still wearing it," I murmured, eyes dragging down her neck. "My scent."

A hitch hit, but it was subtle and quick, but there.

"Is that why you've been snapping at me all day? Because you can't stop thinking about it either?"

"Don't flatter yourself," she said—but her voice dipped, rough and shaky.

"I'm not," I said. "Just curious what part did you in."

She huffed a laugh, short and bitter. "Please."

"Was it when I bit your thigh?"

"Fuck off."

"When you clawed my back like you were trying to brand me?"

"I said fuck—"

"Or maybe it was when you begged. Real sweet, right at the end. Lilah King, golden girl of Gryffindor, whispering my name like it meant something."

"I did not—" Her eyes snapped to mine, and I saw nothing but fire, fury and something else. "You think you've won something," she whispered.

I didn't answer.

Didn't need to.

But I couldn't stop.

"Tell me," I said, stepping even closer. "You kiss Fred like that too?"

Her expression didn't flicker.

Didn't change.

Just sharpened.

"Ah," I said, something dark and ugly twisting low in my chest. "So it was him in the back room earlier. Thought so. All that tension. All those looks."

Still, she didn't rise to it.

Didn't deny it.

And that? That drove me mad.

"I'm sure he loved smelling me on you," I added, voice cruel now. "Bet he noticed that little lovebite I left on your throat."

Her smirk was slow, lethal, "You sound jealous, Malfoy."

I barked a laugh. "Hardly. Just making sure Weasley knows he's got my seconds."

Her mouth curled.

Dangerous.

Mocking.

"You're cute when you're spiraling."

I moved to pin her with a glare—only for her to step around me, casual as anything, brushing against my shoulder.

"And now," she added breezily, "you've got Theo sniffing around."

That stopped me.

Cold.

I turned. "You think I give a shit about Nott?"

She smiled, all teeth. "You gave enough of a shit to warn him off."

"Because he's an idiot."

"No," she said, slow and smug. "Because you're an idiot. And now you're jealous."

"I'm not."

"Sure you aren't." She stepped in again. "Not jealous of Fred. Not jealous of Theo. Not unraveling every time someone else looks at me. Not staring at me like I'm still under you."

My jaw clenched.

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Keep pretending, Malfoy."

And then she kissed me.

Hard.

Hot.

Wrecking.

Mouth all fire and fury, like she was punishing me for the way I looked at her—and I let her. I wanted it.

I shoved her against the wall, hands on her hips, pulling her in like gravity. Her legs hitched around my waist like instinct, lips dragging down my jaw with a hiss.

"Still hate me?" I growled.

"More than ever," she breathed, biting my throat.

Good.

Because I was going to make her scream it.

Right here, in this alley. Under a half-dead lantern and the ghost of every bad decision we'd already made.

This was dangerous, it was stupid, it was fucking war.

But I didn't care. Because I was already losing. And she knew it.

Her back hit the wall with a dull thud.

I didn't flinch. Neither did she.

Her fingers curled in my collar, dragging me back in with a force that felt like fury—teeth clashing, lips bruising, mouths moving like we were trying to devour each other.

This wasn't kissing. This was combat.

Her hand shoved my jacket off my shoulders. Mine fisted the hem of her shirt and yanked. Skin met air—warm, flushed, electric—and her breath caught as I pressed her harder against the bricks, thigh slotted between hers.

I shoved my hand up beneath her bra and twisted. She gasped—bit her lip to muffle it. I dropped my mouth to her throat, biting hard enough to mark, she arched into it. One hand clawed through my hair. The other slid down my chest, finding my belt, tugging.

Desperate, efficient and exactly how I remembered.

"I hate you," she whispered.

"Say it again," I breathed against her ear, one hand already popping the button on her jeans, the other sliding beneath the denim and dragging her panties down with slow, deliberate pressure.

She didn't argue.

Didn't stop me.

She just yanked my belt open with a growl and hissed, "I hate you."

Good.

Because I was already gone.

I spun her—quick, sharp—so her palms slapped the brick wall.

She gasped.

I shoved her jeans the rest of the way down.

"You want this?" I asked, voice like gravel, dragging against the shell of her ear. "Out here? Like this?"

"Fuck. You."

"Say please."

She turned her head just enough to bare her teeth. "You're disgusting."

I pressed in—bare skin to bare skin now, no space left between us. She gasped again, breath stuttering as I pushed inside her, slow and deliberate.

And fuck—the way she clenched around me, the way her nails dug into the wall, the way she dropped her head with a strangled sound she couldn't contain—

I nearly lost it.

"This what you needed?" I hissed into her hair. "Is this why you've been mouthing off all day?"

She didn't speak.

Just rolled her hips back once.

Sharp, precise and fucking wicked.

I cursed and grabbed her waist tighter, bruising grip anchoring her as I started to move—hard, fast, filthy, every thrust slamming into her like a grudge.

There was nothing soft here.

No slow build. No gentle edge. Just two people trying to fuck each other out of their systems.

Her moans were muffled against her arm, raw and ragged, slipping between broken insults and breathless curses.

"Still think Theo can handle you?" I ground out.

She arched back. "Still obsessed with him, Malfoy?"

I shoved deeper.

She gasped—high and breathy and desperate.

"Say it," I growled. "Say you still feel me."

She didn't say anything.

But her hand reached back, clutching my thigh, dragging me in like she didn't want space. Like she couldn't have space.

I buried my mouth in her shoulder, biting down hard as I felt her start to break—hips jerking, thighs shaking, that low, gasping moan that meant she was close.

I curled my hand between her legs.

"Don't—" she panted. "Don't—fuck—"

"Come on," I breathed, lips on her skin. "Give it to me."

And when she did—when she broke against the wall with a sound I'd replay in my head for weeks—I followed.

Hard.

Fast.

Gone.

The only sounds were our breathing. Harsh, staggered and matching.

She didn't speak. Didn't move.

Not right away.

Then—with infuriating calm—she bent down, sliding her knickers back up her thighs like sin had never touched them. Still breathless, still wrecked, but smug in that way only she could be.

She exhaled sharply, jeans rasping up her legs like they owed her an apology, buttoned, zipped and smoothed her top back into place while her breath still came out in little bursts in the cool alley air.

Like none of it had touched her. Like she hadn't just come undone with my name on her tongue.

Eventually, I stepped back.

Fixed my trousers.

Still reeling.

Still trying to lock whatever the hell this was back into a box and chain it shut.

She didn't look at me.

Didn't say thank you. Didn't ask if I was okay. Didn't say anything. Just tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear, calm as ever, and murmured—almost sweetly, almost like it wasn't designed to kill me:

"I'll definitely have to shower before my plans with Theo tonight."

I froze.

She said it casually, almost bored. Like she hadn't just come undone in my hands five seconds ago. She straightened her top even more back into place, adjusted at her jeans, then—

Smiled slow and venomous.

"Can't be smelling like you on a date with him, right?"

She walked past me like smoke—like sin made flesh—without so much as a glance back. Just that smug, soft click of the door falling shut behind her.

And I stood there.

In the alley.

Still hard, still wrecked, still gripping the edge of the bin like it might stop me from chasing her back down.

I could still taste her.

Still feel the heat of her on my hands, the drag of her nails on my thigh, the rasp of her breath when she whispered my name like a sin she couldn't stop confessing.

And now she was going to Theo?

Rage simmered low in my gut. Ugly, unreasoning and almost animalistic.

I wanted to hex something.

Hurt something.

Maybe him. 

Maybe her. 

Maybe just go back in there and remind her exactly whose mouth she'd had for last night—and two minutes ago.

But I didn't.

I just stood there, breathing like I'd been punched. Trying to lock it all back down.

Pretend none of it had meant anything.

Pretend I didn't care.

Pretend this wasn't going to drive me out of my fucking mind.

Because Lilah King wasn't just under my skin now—she was inside me. Lodged in the soft, bitter, burning parts I never let anyone touch.

And the worst part? I didn't know if I wanted to burn her out of me—

—or brand her name in deeper.

Either way—I was already scorched.

And the war?

Hadn't even started yet.