Day 10 - "Books, Banter, and Betrayal (of one's own dignity)"

The pile of books in Ches's arms wobbled ominously as she half-jogged down the hallway, trying to make it to her next class without sacrificing her spine. Of course today was the day she decided to borrow six different reference tomes from the library, plus that ridiculous one on wand theory she swore she'd return two weeks ago.

She bumped into a desk. Then a wall. Then a Hufflepuff.

The books nearly toppled.

And then a hand caught the top one, sliding it back into place with infuriating ease.

"Careful there," came the voice she absolutely did not want to hear—mostly because of the way her stomach always did stupid cartwheels when she did hear it.

Ches narrowed her eyes without turning. "I've got it."

"You almost didn't."

Draco Malfoy slid one book from her pile and tucked it under his arm like it weighed nothing. Then another. Then two more, until Ches was left with just one and the vague ache of betrayal.

"I didn't ask for help," she muttered, not meeting his eyes.

Draco looked dramatically around the hall. "Oh? My apologies. I must've hallucinated the part where you tripped over your own foot and whispered, 'Help me, sweet library gods.'"

"That was a sneeze."

He smirked. "Sure it was."

They walked in tense, suspicious silence for a few steps. Ches adjusted her grip on the remaining book. Totally calm. Definitely not blushing.

Draco peeked down at her.

"You're unusually quiet. Regretting your decision to not carry them all in your teeth?"

"I'm mentally hexing you."

"Efficient."

He bumped her shoulder lightly, and for once, Ches didn't retaliate with a verbal dagger. Mostly because she was busy trying not to overanalyze the way his sleeves were rolled up to his forearms. Or the way his hair looked like he'd just emerged from a dream sequence.

Focus. You're plotting his emotional downfall, not a future together.

They reached the classroom door just as the bell rang. Draco held it open for her like a smug little knight.

Ches hesitated. "Thanks," she mumbled.

He gave a slight bow. "Anytime, Mrs. Malfoy."

Her face went up in flames.

"You—!"

But he was already inside, sliding into his seat like he hadn't just emotionally tackled her into a wall.

Across the room, Blaise made a faint choking sound and held up an imaginary scoreboard.

Ches glared. Then followed Draco in, gripping her wand like a threat and her pride like it was hanging on by a thread.

Professor Flitwick chirped something about wand movement and partner charm alignment, but Ches barely registered it over the sound of her pulse conducting a full string quartet behind her ears.

Draco was next to her.

Still holding one of her books.

Still smug.

Still dangerously attractive in that I-bet-he-uses-conditioner-that-costs-more-than-my-life kind of way.

"Eyes up, Wyenn," he murmured, flicking his wand as their quills lifted in unison for the assignment.

"I'm watching you," she muttered.

"Not complaining."

Ches shot him a death glare.

He smiled innocently, then used his wand to tap her parchment. The letters on her heading rearranged themselves from "CHARMS: PARTNER SPELLWORK" into:"DRACO'S #1 FAN STRIKES AGAIN 💖"

She slapped her hand over it so fast she nearly knocked the ink bottle over.

"Fix it," she hissed.

"Say please."

"You're a menace."

"Technically still your partner. For another thirty minutes."

She narrowed her eyes and leaned in just slightly. "Enjoy your victory lap. You're not winning the war."

Draco's smile curved lazily. "You keep saying that. But you haven't denied you're a fan."

She shoved the parchment at him.

He fixed it—mercifully—though the last "s" in "SPELLWORK" now had suspicious sparkles.

Professor Flitwick passed by and gave them a cheerful nod. "Looking quite coordinated today, you two!"

Ches wanted to die. Or combust. Or both, but only if Draco went first.

As they began their wand work, their hands brushed again. For a second too long. Neither of them said anything.

But Draco's smirk dimmed. Just slightly.

And Ches's stomach did another cartwheel she pretended not to notice.

▕⃝⃤ 9¾

The Great Hall was its usual midday mess of clattering plates, loud conversation, and students bickering over who got the last treacle tart. Ches marched in with the energy of someone trying to outrun her own embarrassment. Talia spotted her from their usual seat and slid a plate her way without a word.

"I'm fine," Ches said.

"You're blushing," Talia replied.

"It's warm in here."

"It's a stone castle."

Ches growled and stabbed a piece of roast potato.

Across the room, Draco strolled in like he owned gravity itself. Robes perfect. Hair somehow glowier. He didn't glance toward her.

At first.

Then, just before he reached the Slytherin table, he turned. Slowly. Casually. Like the dramatic gremlin he was.

And winked.

Talia dropped her fork. "I—what did I just witness? Did he wink?"

"No."

"Ches. I have eyes. He winked."

"Absolutely not. He... had dust in his eye."

"Right. The dust of flirtation."

Ches shoved mashed potatoes into her mouth to avoid responding. But it didn't stop the heat rising in her cheeks.

Across the hall, Blaise leaned toward Draco and whispered something. Draco laughed. A real laugh—warm, bright, obnoxiously attractive.

Ches scowled at her carrots.

"Oh no," Talia whispered, watching her. "You're spiraling again. It's a spiral. A spiral of doom."

"I'm not spiraling," Ches said through gritted teeth. "I'm plotting."

"Plotting what?"

"His downfall."

"By blushing like a Victorian heroine and glaring at root vegetables?"

Ches leaned closer, whispering like a supervillain planning her comeback arc. "We're moving to Phase 3."

Talia gasped. "We skipped Phase 2.75?"

"There was no time. He winked."

"...Fair."

Ches slammed her goblet down like a declaration of war. "It's time to bring back the big guns."

Talia looked alarmed. "Please tell me that's not code for a glitter bomb."

Ches didn't answer.

Because across the hall, Draco Malfoy raised his goblet to her.

And mouthed: Mrs. Malfoy.

Talia screamed into her napkin.

▕⃝⃤ 9¾

Phase 3 began with one very simple mission:

"Out-Malfoy Malfoy."

It was bold. It was reckless. It was probably illegal in three wizarding jurisdictions.

And Ches Wyenn was going to nail it.

She stepped into the courtyard between classes like a woman with nothing to lose and everything to emotionally sabotage. The sun hit just right, wind catching her robes like she was starring in a dramatic stage play no one asked for.

Students milled about between stone benches and enchanted fountains. Draco stood near the edge of the crowd, arms crossed, talking to Theo and Blaise. He was laughing—probably at someone else's misfortune, probably looking too good while doing it.

Ches exhaled. "Okay. Showtime."

She sauntered forward with a level of confidence she absolutely did not possess internally. Her heart was doing backflips. Her knees? Untrustworthy. Her soul? Already apologizing to her dignity.

Draco turned just in time to see her approaching.

And—curse him—his smirk curled like he'd been waiting for her.

"Well, well," he said, arms lowering as his eyes raked over her, "if it isn't my favorite public menace."

Ches flipped her hair. "And if it isn't my favorite narcissistic lawn ornament."

"Lawn ornament?"

"Something about the posture," she said. "You'd look excellent in a fountain."

His brows lifted, amused. "Should I be honored?"

"Oh, absolutely. You'd be decorative and obnoxious. A real campus treasure."

Theo and Blaise were trying not to laugh.

Draco took a step closer, tilting his head. "Are you flirting with me, Wyenn?"

Ches gasped. "Are you dreaming, Malfoy?"

"Constantly."

She hated the way her stomach flipped.

So she pulled out her final weapon.

With dramatic flair, she reached into her robe pocket... and slapped a sticker on his chest.

He blinked down at it.

HELLO, I'M HER FUTURE MISTAKE.

A second of silence passed.

Then Theo lost it.

Blaise wheezed.

Draco just looked at her. Expression unreadable. Eyes like stormclouds on the brink of thunder.

Then—softly, dangerously—he said, "You are playing with fire."

Ches smiled sweetly. "You winked at me in public. You started the blaze."

He leaned closer, voice a whisper against her ear. "Can't wait to see how you try to put it out."

She backed away with a grin, flicking his tie. "Maybe I won't."

And then she spun and walked off—only to trip over an uneven cobblestone and barely catch herself on a hedge.

Draco didn't laugh.

He just called after her: "Careful, Mrs. Malfoy!"

Ches screamed into the wind.

▕⃝⃤ 9¾

It started, as all things in Hogwarts did, with one dramatic gasp.

"I heard she stickered him!"

"On the chest! In public!"

"No, no — it said 'Property of Wyenn.'"

"Liar. It said 'Cuddle Me, I'm Conflicted.'"

"I heard Future Mistake. Blaise saw it himself."

"I heard Blaise cried."

"Didn't she also call him a lawn ornament?"

"Didn't he like it?"

By dinnertime, the Great Hall had turned into a whispering whirlwind of wide eyes and wilder imaginations. Somewhere near the Ravenclaw table, a group of fifth-years were reenacting the moment using enchanted puppets. At the Hufflepuff table, someone had sketched an "I'm Her Future Mistake" parody tee.

Talia, meanwhile, was living.

She slammed her goblet on the Gryffindor table and pointed a dramatic finger at Ches. "You absolute disaster. You've created a fandom."

"I didn't mean to!" Ches hissed, burying her face in her hands.

"You stickered a Malfoy in broad daylight. That's like declaring war on subtlety."

"It was supposed to be embarrassing," Ches moaned. "Why does he thrive in humiliation? He glowed."

"Because he's a Slytherin prince with unholy charisma and cheekbones that could start wars," Talia said flatly. "You underestimated the enemy."

Across the room, Draco raised his goblet in mock salute.

Ches flipped him off with a breadstick.

Late Evening — Boy's Dorm

"Mate," Blaise said from his bed, staring at the ceiling. "You got stickered. How do you feel?"

Draco didn't even look up from his book. "Adored."