A girl named Rhea had made it to hogwarts, she was doing her first year in 5th year. She will have struggles with her magic and work, until she meets the one and only Draco Malfoy.
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The days after that late-night encounter with Draco were a whirlwind of emotions for Rhea. She found it impossible to shake the memory of his touch, the intensity of his gaze. Their moment had been fleeting, but it lingered in her mind like a haunting melody. Every time they passed each other in the hallways or exchanged a few terse words in class, it felt like there was an invisible thread connecting them, pulling them closer together despite the walls they both tried to maintain.
She wasn't sure how to feel about Draco, and that uncertainty gnawed at her. It wasn't just the complicated, dark pull she felt toward him; it was also the growing frustration with herself. Her magic was still unpredictable, her non-verbal spells still unreliable. Every failure felt like another crack in her confidence, and every time she caught Draco's eyes on her, she couldn't help but feel judged, even though he hadn't said a word about their last conversation.
It didn't help that Hermione Granger, with all her brilliance, was excelling at every task thrown at them. In Potions, Hermione was the first to perfect the Draught of Living Death, much to Professor Slughorn's delight, while Rhea struggled to get the mixture just right. In Transfiguration, Hermione's silent transformations were seamless, while Rhea's attempts often resulted in half-transformed objects, their forms stuck between two shapes. It was demoralizing, and the more she tried, the more frustrated she became.
One afternoon, after yet another botched Transfiguration spell, Rhea stormed out of the classroom, her emotions churning. She couldn't face the sympathetic looks from her classmates, nor the quiet gloating from those who relished her struggles. The castle's stone walls felt suffocating, so she headed toward the courtyard, hoping the cool October air would clear her head.
As she rounded the corner into the courtyard, she stopped short. Draco was there, leaning casually against one of the stone pillars, his eyes fixed on the horizon. He didn't notice her at first, and for a moment, Rhea debated turning around and leaving before he saw her. But something stopped her. Maybe it was the same force that had pulled them together that night in the common room. Or maybe she just didn't want to be alone.
Before she could change her mind, Draco turned his head and spotted her. His expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes—something that made Rhea's heart skip a beat.
"Running from something?" he asked, his voice low and laced with sarcasm.
Rhea crossed her arms, trying to keep her tone light despite the storm inside her. "Just needed some air."
Draco didn't say anything, but he straightened up and gestured toward the stone bench beside him. "Sit."
It wasn't a request, but Rhea hesitated only for a moment before walking over and sitting down next to him. The silence between them was thick, but not uncomfortable. It was as though both of them were waiting for the other to speak first.
After a long pause, Draco finally broke the quiet. "You're pushing yourself too hard."
Rhea shot him a sideways glance, surprised by the comment. "I'm not pushing hard enough, apparently."
Draco let out a soft scoff. "You're trying to prove something, but you're going about it all wrong."
Rhea's frustration bubbled up again. "What would you know about it? You've never had to struggle the way I do."
Draco turned to face her, his grey eyes sharp and piercing. "You think it's easy being me? Everyone expects me to be perfect. I can't afford to fail."
Rhea blinked, taken aback by the sudden honesty in his voice. For a moment, she saw the cracks in his icy exterior—the pressure he must be under, the weight of the Malfoy name that hung over him like a shadow. It was a rare glimpse of vulnerability from someone who so often appeared untouchable.
"Why do you even care how I'm doing?" Rhea asked quietly, her voice softer now.
Draco's gaze softened just a fraction, and for a moment, it looked like he was struggling to find the right words. Then he shook his head, his mask of indifference slipping back into place. "I don't."
Rhea felt a twinge of disappointment, though she wasn't sure why she had expected anything different. She turned her gaze back to the courtyard, the silence between them once again settling like a heavy blanket.
But then, without warning, Draco shifted closer to her, his arm brushing against hers. The contact was brief, but it sent a shiver down her spine, her skin tingling where they had touched.
"Rhea," Draco said softly, his voice suddenly serious. "You're better than you think. You just don't believe it yet."
Rhea's breath hitched. She hadn't expected him to say that, and for a moment, she wasn't sure how to respond. No one had ever spoken to her like that—so bluntly, but with a strange sense of care hidden beneath the words. She wanted to believe him, but the doubts inside her were still too loud, drowning out the quiet voice that told her maybe, just maybe, he was right.
"Why are you being nice to me?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Draco didn't answer right away. Instead, he leaned in slightly, his eyes locked on hers. The air between them seemed to crackle with tension, and Rhea could feel her pulse quicken. She wasn't sure what was happening, wasn't sure if she even wanted to stop it.
But then, as if sensing the moment had gone too far, Draco stood up abruptly, breaking the connection between them. His face was unreadable once again, the walls back up as if nothing had ever happened.
"Don't make me regret it," he said, his voice cool and distant once more.
And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving Rhea sitting on the stone bench, her thoughts swirling in confusion. She watched him disappear around the corner, the knot in her chest tightening with each step he took.
As the wind picked up, rustling the leaves around her, Rhea leaned back and stared up at the grey sky. Draco Malfoy was a puzzle, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't figure him out. But she knew one thing for certain—something between them had shifted, and there was no going back now.
That night, as Rhea lay in bed, staring up at the canopy of her four-poster bed, her thoughts refused to settle. Draco's words replayed in her mind, the way he had looked at her, the brief flicker of something raw and unguarded in his eyes. She couldn't make sense of it, couldn't understand why someone like him—someone who always seemed so self-assured, so distant—would care about her struggles.
But there was something else, too. Something she didn't want to admit to herself.
She wasn't just drawn to Draco because of his mysteriousness or his unexpected kindness. There was something deeper—a pull that she couldn't explain, a desire that went beyond the surface.
And as she lay there, her heart pounding in the stillness of the room, Rhea realized that whatever was happening between her and Draco, it was far from over.
