Day 11 - "Flirt Mode: Activated"

Ches Wyenn had survived potion assignments, glitter warfare, and the chaos of a not-date in Hogsmeade. She had smiled through sabotage, dodged compliments like spellfire, and even made it through dessert without combusting from the weird fluttery feeling Draco Malfoy now routinely summoned just by existing.

She thought — foolishly, naively — that she was regaining control of the situation.

Until Draco Malfoy strolled directly into her sunbeam.

The morning courtyard was unusually bright, the sunlight filtering through the enchanted ivy that curled along the archway. Students milled around in clusters, complaining about Transfiguration essays and Charms theory, but Ches hardly registered any of it because there he was — effortlessly radiant, like some dark prince who'd wandered out of a particularly dramatic romance novel.

"New shampoo?" he asked, stepping into her path with that insufferably calm expression. His voice was smooth, the kind that made you suspicious of what he wasn't saying.

She blinked, thrown. "What?"

He gestured lazily toward her head. "Your hair. It's shiny. Bouncy. Distracting, really. Tragic, considering I was just starting to recover from last time."

Last time?

Oh. Right. The wind-swept hair moment from Hogsmeade. The one he absolutely clocked and is now weaponizing like a smug bastard.

She scowled. "Are you—complimenting me?"

He feigned scandal, hand to chest. "Please. Don't act so surprised. I'm very generous."

"Generously full of yourself."

He made a thoughtful noise. "Hmm. Possibly. But self-confidence is attractive, Wyenn. You should try it sometime."

She rolled her eyes so hard she saw last week. "Keep talking like that and people might think we're flirting."

He grinned, slow and purposeful. "Careful. You keep snapping at me like that and I might start thinking we're flirting."

Ches opened her mouth to fire back something clever, but instead—

"We are flirting," she muttered.

And then immediately cursed herself. Out loud.

"I mean—you're flirting. I'm deflecting. I have a deflection strategy. It's very advanced. I'm practically an expert in resisting your face."

Draco leaned in, just enough to tilt her world a few inches off axis. His voice dropped to something low and maddeningly smug.

"You're adorable when you panic."

Her mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again as a panicked noise — halfway between a scoff and a scream — escaped her throat. She spun on her heel like a woman possessed.

She did not flee. She retreated strategically.

Behind her, she heard soft footsteps.

He caught up in three lazy, smug little steps.

"Walk with me," he said, like it wasn't a loaded invitation. Like it didn't feel like stepping directly into the hands of a very charming villain.

"I have class."

"I checked." His tone was all silk and mischief. "You have seven minutes."

She narrowed her eyes at him like she could hex him into a pile of glitter. "Are you stalking me now?"

"I prefer the term 'anticipating your schedule.' Makes it sound romantic, don't you think?" He offered his arm with exaggerated gallantry, as if they were attending a palace ball and not standing outside a classroom surrounded by half-awake teenagers.

Ches stared at the arm. At the sleeve. At the confident way he tilted his head, like he already knew she was going to take it. Which—ugh. He probably did.

"I hope you fall into a fountain," she muttered, but her hand slipped into the crook of his elbow anyway.

His smile widened, just a fraction.

"And yet," he said, beginning to walk, "here you are. Still holding on."

▕⃝⃤ 9¾

Ches flung her diary open with the dramatic flair of someone personally betrayed by the wind. The dorm was quiet except for the crackling fireplace and the distant sound of someone singing off-key in the showers. Her bed looked like it had fought (and lost) a war against scarves and emotional confusion.

She sat cross-legged in the chaos, clicked her quill like it had wronged her in a past life, and began writing with intense, frantic strokes.

REPEL TACTICS: PHASE 3.2 — HE'S TOO PRETTY EDITION

Do not look at his hair (even when the breeze hits it just right — damn you, nature)No more letting him walk you to class (unless you're unconscious. Or hexed.)Definitely no letting him say things like "you're adorable when you panic"Refrain. From. Melting.Wear sunglasses indoors if needed (this is war)STAY VIGILANT, WYENN. You are a menace, not a romantic lead.

She paused.

Twirled her quill.

Then, with a reluctant sigh of defeat, scribbled:

Also maybe stop liking his laugh??? That's not fair.It does things. Unacceptable things.

From the other side of the room, Talia peeked over the top of her Charms textbook, her hair in a messy bun and her expression full of smug delight.

"You're losing this bet," she said cheerfully, "and I am having the time of my life."

"I'm not losing," Ches hissed, snapping her diary closed like she could trap the feelings inside it. "I'm just—adjusting tactics."

Talia raised a single, judgmental eyebrow. "You let him escort you through the courtyard like you were royalty. You even took his arm. Voluntarily."

"It was a distraction tactic," Ches insisted, voice rising half an octave. "He wasn't expecting me to lean into it. Reverse psychology."

"You blushed when he said your hair was bouncy."

"I—!" Ches flailed, grabbing a pillow. "Shut up."

"I'm just saying," Talia added, completely unbothered and smirking like the menace she was, "when you inevitably marry him, I'll give a fantastic toast. Full of glitter references. Maybe a dramatic reading of your diary."

Ches shrieked, launched the pillow like a missile, and tackled her friend with a groan of betrayal.

Talia screamed through laughter, barely defending herself. "I'll title it The Ballad of Drakey-Poo and His Reluctant Wife!"

"YOU TAKE THAT BACK!"

"Too late! I'm printing invitations!"

Ches buried her face in the pillow and screamed. The universe was against her. And her best friend was clearly in league with the enemy.

But deep down — in the part of her she refused to acknowledge — she knew Talia might not be entirely wrong.

Unfortunately.

▕⃝⃤ 9¾

Ches had one goal: find the book, avoid Malfoy, and escape before her brain started composing poetry about his smirk again.

She tiptoed through the back stacks of the library like she was on a stealth mission, muttering to herself and clutching her "Repel Tactics" diary like a holy relic. The plan was simple: retrieve Advanced Defensive Charms for the Mildly Unhinged, pretend her feelings didn't exist, and flee.

Unfortunately, fate — and Draco Malfoy — had other plans.

"I didn't realize stalking was part of the Gryffindor curriculum," a voice drawled from behind her.

Ches shrieked, nearly body-slamming the bookshelf.

Draco stood a few feet away, arms crossed, expression smug. "You alright there, Wyenn? Or are you just trying to steal my thunder with a dramatic entrance?"

She narrowed her eyes, already recovering. "I was here first. You're the lurker."

"I'm many things," he said, stepping closer, "but I don't lurk. I haunt attractively."

"I hate you," she muttered, not moving as he closed the distance.

"Do you?" he asked lightly. "Because the other day, you called me—what was it again? Your shining cuddle-fish?"

"Slipped out."

"Oh?" He tilted his head. "Like your real feelings?"

Ches opened her mouth—then promptly walked into a chair trying to escape.

He caught her arm before she toppled. "Careful," he said, a little too gently.

And that was it. That was the moment. The final straw. The universe had given her a window and she leapt through it.

"You think you're so clever," she said, pulling a shiny, glittery sticker from her pocket like it was a sword.

Draco blinked. "What—"

Before he could react, she slapped it onto his chest.

It read:

"Official Property of Ches Wyenn: Beware of Emotional Turbulence."

A beat of stunned silence passed.

Then Draco laughed. Actually laughed. Full, unfiltered, head-tilted-back laughter.

"Stars above," he said, looking down at it. "Do I get a matching one for you?"

Ches turned on her heel. "Absolutely not. Goodnight, Malfoy."

"Sweet dreams, Mrs. Turbulence," he called after her.

She did not scream into a stack of Charms scrolls.

She thought about it, though.