Hogwarts One Shots

Enemies To Lovers

Amelie Chalice stormed down the dungeon corridor, her heavy robes swishing against the cold stone floor. She had enough of him-his sneers, his arrogant comments, the way he seemed to think the world revolved around his name, Malfoy. She could still hear his last cutting remark echoing in her head, something about her lineage and how "Mudbloods shouldn't even be allowed to handle potions ingredients." The memory burned hot in her chest as she gripped her wand tighter.

Suddenly, she felt something. A presence behind her, looming, predatory. She spun around, her eyes narrowing.

There he was. Draco Malfoy, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, his signature smirk plastered across his pale face. His icy grey eyes glinted in the dim light, gleaming with satisfaction at her obvious anger.

"Running off to cry, Chalice?" he drawled lazily, pushing off the wall with a careless grace. "I suppose you should get used to it. Not everyone can live up to the high standards of Slytherin."

Amelie's fingers twitched towards her wand, but she forced herself to stand tall, her chin lifting in defiance. "You've got a lot of nerve, Malfoy, considering you've barely scraped by in Potions this year. Or did you pay Slughorn off with your father's gold again?"

His smirk faded instantly, his expression darkening. "Careful, Chalice," he hissed, his voice low and dangerous now, stepping closer until she could feel the heat of his body radiating toward her. "You wouldn't want to make an enemy of me."

Her heart pounded in her chest, but she didn't back down. Not this time. "What's the worst you could do, Draco? Bore me to death with more pureblood propaganda?"

He took another step forward, their faces inches apart now. "You think you're better than me?" he sneered, his voice sharp like a blade. "You think that just because you're some top Ravenclaw, you can speak to me however you want? You're nothing, Chalice. A speck in the mud that I could crush without a second thought."

Amelie swallowed, her throat tight, but her anger surged. She jabbed her finger into his chest, her voice trembling but fierce. "You're the one who's nothing, Malfoy. You hide behind your father's name and your stupid house, but deep down, you're terrified. You're afraid that without all that, you're worthless. And guess what? You are."

Draco's face twisted with fury, his hand snapping out to grab her wrist. For a second, his grip was iron-hard, like he might actually hurt her, but then-something shifted. His eyes, those stormy grey eyes, flickered with something other than anger. Confusion, maybe? Or was it hesitation?

He released her wrist abruptly, as though her skin had burned him, and stepped back, his breath coming faster now. His voice, when it came, was quieter, rougher. "You don't know anything about me."

Amelie's pulse thrummed in her ears, her anger now tempered by something she couldn't quite name. The way his hand had tightened around her wrist, then let go. The way his eyes had softened, just for a second. She took a shaky breath, her voice softer too. "And you don't know anything about me."

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the air thick between them. His chest rose and fell with each uneven breath, and she could feel the heat of it, so close now, so close that she wondered if he could hear her own heart racing.

Draco shifted, his hand moving slowly toward her face, fingers brushing a strand of hair that had come loose from her braid. His eyes locked onto hers, the hard, hateful edge gone, replaced with something more fragile. His voice was a low murmur now, barely above a whisper. "Why do you always push me?"

Amelie felt a shiver run down her spine, her breath catching as his fingers lingered against her skin. Her instinct screamed at her to pull away, to slap his hand, to spit out another retort, but she didn't. She couldn't. Instead, she found herself speaking just as quietly, her words softer than she intended. "Because you deserve it."

He let out a humorless chuckle, but his hand didn't move away. If anything, he drew closer. "Maybe I do."

There was a silence, thick and heavy, the kind that seemed to swallow the world whole. His thumb brushed her cheek now, and the touch sent an electric jolt through her. She wanted to hate him. She had hated him for so long. But now, standing here, with his breath ghosting over her skin and his touch gentler than she thought possible, she wasn't sure what she felt.

"Chalice," he breathed, and the sound of her name from his lips felt like a strange intimacy, a kind of vulnerability she didn't expect from him. It was as if all the barriers between them-the taunts, the sneers, the venom-had suddenly crumbled, leaving something raw and exposed.

She swallowed, her throat tight, and for the first time, she let herself really look at him. Not the Draco Malfoy who paraded around the school like he owned it. Not the sneering boy who had made her life hell for years. Just...him. A boy standing in front of her, eyes uncertain, jaw tense, as if he was waiting for something-anything-from her.

Her voice, when it came, was almost inaudible. "Draco..."

It was all he needed. He closed the distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was sudden, rough at first-born of all the tension, the anger, the resentment that had brewed between them for so long. But then it softened. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer, and she responded, her arms wrapping around his neck, fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair.

The kiss deepened, and for that moment, all the hatred, all the anger, everything that had ever existed between them melted away. There was only heat, only the desperate, messy need to feel something more than the rage that had consumed them both.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads pressed together. Draco's hands remained on her waist, as if he was afraid to let go, as if he feared that if he did, she might disappear, and all of this would turn out to be some cruel dream.

"Amelie," he whispered, his voice raw now, stripped of all the malice, all the venom. "I-"

"Don't," she cut him off, her voice still shaky, but firm. Her eyes met his, and she could see it-the war in his gaze. The confusion, the guilt, the desire. She felt all of it too, but she couldn't let it control her. Not yet.

"We're still enemies," she said quietly, though her tone lacked the sharpness it once had.

His lips quirked, just slightly, in the ghost of a smile. "Yeah. We are."

But the way he was looking at her, the way his thumb brushed over her side...it didn't feel like they were enemies anymore.

Not really.