blurred lines [draco x reader]

2 ౨ৎ | hogwarts

You had never planned to come back to England. Leaving Devon for Beauxbatons had felt permanent when you were eleven. But now, six years later, here you were, staring up at the towering castle of Hogwarts. The same force that had taken you away from England—the demands of your father's job—had now drawn you back, compelling you to return and confront all that you had left unresolved. Hogwarts was Cedric's world, not yours. You didn't bother writing to him to prepare him for your arrival. It seemed best to start this new year without any distractions from your past.

Hogwarts looked different from Beauxbatons. The castle loomed high, casting long shadows over the lake. It felt older, more rugged, like a place steeped in secrets. You missed your baby blue uniform—the way it fit like a glove, accentuating every curve while still maintaining an air of elegance. It was always impeccably neat, magically flattened with no wrinkles in sight. There was a certain pride in wearing it each day, feeling polished and poised, unlike the loose robes of Hogwarts that seemed to swallow you whole. Your Beauxbatons attire felt like a second skin, a symbol of the grace and refinement you had come to cherish.

You tugged your oversized cloak tighter as you crossed the courtyard, the faint chill in the air doing little to calm your nerves. Instinctively, you scanned your surroundings for any sight of his familiar face. Despite your plan to avoid him at all costs, the thought of seeing him again after six years stirred a curiosity that you couldn't shake. You wondered if his brown hair still fell messily over his forehead or if his cheeks still flushed the same shade of red, just like when he was nine.

Your mind began racing as you entered the castle. Maybe you should've owled him. It wasn't like your breakup was messy—just two people who drifted apart, lost to the space between France and England. Before you could dwell on it further, your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the appearance of a tall, slender woman. Her expression was warm and kind, though she carried herself with unmistakable confidence.

"Ah, y/f/n y/l/n, I presume?" her voice pulled you back to reality, and you quickly smiled.

"Yes, that's me."

"Perfect, you're just in time. I'm Professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor House," she said, her tone crisp but not unkind. You nodded politely as she continued.

"It's quite rare that we welcome a transfer student of your age. Typically, Hogwarts doesn't accept students this late, but given your circumstances, we're happy to make an exception. You'll find we expect you to be on par with the knowledge of a seventh year here. While we're aware of the curriculum at Beauxbatons, there will be areas where you may need to catch up."

"Yes, I understand. I'll make sure to cover anything I've missed," you replied, offering her a warm smile.

"Very good," she said with a nod. "Now, the first years have already been sorted, but rest assured, we haven't forgotten about you." She gestured toward the large doors in front of you, inviting you to step through.

You pushed open the massive, and might I add, incredibly heavy doors. As they creaked open, you glanced up, noticing the Hogwarts crest engraved above the archway—a proud depiction of a lion, eagle, badger, and serpent. The doors opened, revealing the warm glow of floating candles that illuminated the hall, casting a radiance over the long, polished tables. Students gathered around them, their laughter and chatter echoing through the stone walls. Your entrance went unnoticed as all the attention was fixated on the heaping piles of food that lay before them. At Beauxbatons, each of you had your own neatly arranged plate with perfectly placed utensils. Watching students tear into entire turkeys with their bare hands was... a new experience.

Professor McGonagall followed closely behind, finally gesturing toward a large wooden chair at the front of the hall. A nervous look plastered across your face. Any hope of avoiding Diggory had completely vanished. The students, mid-bite and clearly irritated, groaned as an elderly man with a long, wispy beard stood from his seat.

"I apologize for the interruption, but we have one last student to sort. I expect your full attention," he announced firmly.

As you walked toward the chair, you could feel beads of sweat against your neck, trickling toward your spine. Faint whispers echoed around you—no doubt students wondering why you looked so much older than the first-years. The whispers gradually faded as the old man spoke again.

"It's with great pleasure that I introduce our first transfer student! She'll be joining us as a seventh-year, and I trust you'll all do your best to make her feel welcome," he announced with a grin.

You managed a small smile and sat down, keeping your eyes downcast. You didn't dare look up—you knew Cedric was somewhere among the sea of students. Professor McGonagall approached, holding what appeared to be a well-worn, ragged hat. She placed it gently on your head, and to your shock, it immediately started speaking. It suddenly dawned on you that this strange hat was about to determine your house. A hat placed on everyone's head—how sanitary, you thought.

To your embarrassment, the hat yelled, "Really? Not Hufflepuff?" It could read your thoughts effortlessly. You didn't know much about the Hogwarts houses, only having some familiarity with Hufflepuff thanks to Cedric's frequent writings about it.

"Hmm... I see lots of ambition, passion, courage..." The seconds stretched on as you anxiously awaited the hat's verdict. Finally, it bellowed, "It ought to be... GRYFFINDOR!"

Before you could even stand, the table to your left erupted in cheers and applause. A small boy, presumably a first-year, eagerly approached, grabbing your hand to guide you over. You smiled and took a seat as the old man at the front called out, "Let the feast continue!"