Day 2 - "Drakey-Poo and the Public Humiliation Protocol"

Ches Wyenn woke up with a singular purpose:

Destroy Draco Malfoy.

Not with fire. Not with hexes. Not with scathing sarcasm (though she had plenty of that loaded and ready).

No.

Today... she would destroy him with cuteness.

Not actual cuteness, obviously. That would be a crime against her personal dignity. No, this was a very specific type of performance — a war tactic. A strategic, emotionally-weaponized, soul-cringing, over-the-top brand of cuteness so unbearable it would make even the most seasoned flirt shrivel into a regretful puddle.

By the time she arrived at breakfast, Ches had three things:

A cinnamon bun in each hand,A glitter-filled plan of attack,And a glint in her eye that made Talia, seated at the Gryffindor table, immediately drop her toast.

"Dear Merlin," Talia whispered. "Someone hold me. She's doing it."

Ches didn't respond. She had entered the zone.

Across the Great Hall, Draco Malfoy was holding court like usual — casually reclined among his fanboys and fangirls, looking unfairly photogenic with sunlight spilling through the windows behind him like it had been paid to light his cheekbones.

His hair was tousled just so. His tie loose in that I-broke-a-rule-but-make-it-sexy way. He was laughing at something Blaise said, sipping pumpkin juice like he hadn't declared open war two days ago.

You smug, coiffed, emotionally confusing menace.Fine. He wanted a game? She'd give him a theatrical production.

With zero hesitation, Ches marched across the Great Hall like it was her personal runway, ignoring the stares, ignoring Talia's whispered "don't do it, don't—OH MY GOD, SHE'S DOING IT" behind her.

She reached the Slytherin table, dropped her tray with a purposeful clang that made the nearest first-year flinch, and slid onto the bench beside Draco like they'd been dating for three years and shared matching toothbrushes.

His fork froze halfway to his mouth.

Target locked.

"Good morning, my little Drakey-poo," Ches sang, voice syrupy sweet and twice as dangerous.

A stunned silence fell over the table.

Blaise choked on his sausage.

The girl across from them blinked like she was having a magical stroke.

Ches leaned her head delicately on Draco's shoulder, nestling in like she belonged there. "I missed you," she cooed, loud enough for the surrounding tables to hear. "Did you dream of me? Be honest."

Draco blinked.

Once. Twice. Slowly.

His entire face momentarily glitched, like his brain had disconnected and was trying to reboot.

And then—he did the unthinkable.

He smiled.

The bastard smiled.

"Of course," he said smoothly, not missing a beat as he reached up and patted her head. Like she was some needy kitten that had claimed him. "It was a dream full of sunshine, glitter, and your very large, very chaotic energy."

She gasped theatrically. "Awww. You do get me."

Blaise made a noise like a dying plant.

Two tables over, someone dropped their goblet.

And then—the final blow.

Ches reached into her robe, pulled out her secret weapon, and slammed it over her heart like a knight bearing a house crest.

A handmade pink badge — loud, lopsided, and glittery enough to blind an owl — that read:

Draco's #1 Fan

...complete with glued-on feathers and a single, very dramatic plastic gemstone that sparkled like it had opinions.

Draco stared at it. Then at her. Then back at the badge.

"Do I even want to know where you got that?" he asked, blinking like he might be hallucinating.

"I made it in Craft Club," Ches chirped. "Took me thirty minutes and one unfortunate incident involving a glue spell. I haven't had full sensation in my pinky since."

Draco was clearly trying not to laugh. His lips twitched. His eyes glinted.

"You're serious."

"Oh, Drakey," she said, placing a hand delicately on his knee, "I've never been more serious in my life."

For a moment, he just stared at her — that unreadable Malfoy expression threatening to turn into something real.

Then he leaned in, voice low enough to make her heartbeat skip like a scratched record.

"You know," he murmured, "this is only going to make me try harder."

Ches smiled, slow and villainous, like the witch in Act II of a magical musical.

"That's the point."

▕⃝⃤ 9¾

Ches leaned against the stone wall just outside the Charms corridor, arms crossed, expression neutral — but eyes very much locked on one particular platinum-blond menace striding past.

Draco Malfoy looked completely unbothered.

Which was annoying.

Unacceptable, even.

His tie hung just slightly off-center — not sloppy, but artfully disheveled like he'd staged a wardrobe malfunction just to look effortlessly hot. That damn smirk was still glued to his face like he'd won something, like she hadn't just assaulted him with the most unhinged barrage of red-flag behavior since Celestina Warbeck's third wedding.

He passed by her without breaking stride, his gaze flicking toward her for exactly half a second.

Then — the worst part — he winked.

Ches internally screamed.

You're not supposed to be enjoying this. You're supposed to be suffering.

Talia jogged up beside her, out of breath and looking like she'd just fled a crime scene.

"I can't believe you did it," she gasped. "You hugged him. In public. In broad daylight. You made physical contact."

Ches shrugged, deceptively calm. "It was strategic. Psychological warfare."

"You made a badge."

"I know."

"You called him Drakey-poo. To his face."

"I know."

Talia stared at her for a beat, then grabbed both her arms and shook her like a malfunctioning soda can.

"WHY?!"

Ches only smiled — a slow, dangerous kind of smile that suggested she'd either completely lost her mind or was seconds away from setting the world on fire.

"Because," she said evenly, "he's trying to get me to fall for him."

Talia blinked.

"And if I know anything about Draco Malfoy," Ches continued, "it's that nothing terrifies him more than emotional vulnerability... and excessive glitter."

She reached into her bag like a magician about to unveil her greatest trick, and pulled out the pièce de résistance.

A second badge.

Bigger. Sparklier. Bedazzled within an inch of its magical life.

Future Mrs. Malfoy was written in loopy, cursive script — the "y" at the end of Malfoy dotted with a heart.

Talia took one look at it and let out a strangled scream, slapping a hand over her own mouth as if the noise had escaped without permission.

"Ches—no."

Ches held the badge up like a battle flag. "Ches—yes."

Talia stumbled backward like she'd just witnessed a cursed ritual.

"You are unhinged."

Ches grinned, already planning the dramatic reveal for lunch. "Only when I need to be."