Slytherin secrets.

Fire and Ice

INCLUDES FOUL LANGUAGE.

NOT REALATED TO THE BOOKS OR MOVIES.

The first weeks at Hogwarts felt like being submerged in cold water—shocking, uncomfortable, and impossible to catch my breath. It wasn't just the new routines or the massive, castle-like school that threw me off. It was the atmosphere, the unspoken rules that governed the social structure of Slytherin. Everyone had their place, and it became painfully clear that mine was on the outside, no matter what house colors I wore.

The Slytherin common room was a masterpiece of dark grandeur, deep green and silver hues with flickering shadows from the underground lake above. Despite the beauty of it, there was an undercurrent of tension in the air, an invisible barrier separating those who mattered from those who didn't. Every conversation was laced with hidden motives, every glance a calculated judgment.

And at the heart of it all was Draco Malfoy. All the girls wanted him, and all the boys wanted to be him. He was very handsome I had to hand that to him, but he had a new girlfriend every week.

Malfoy wasn't just a student at Hogwarts—he was the student in Slytherin. The one everyone deferred to, the one everyone seemed to orbit around, even if they wouldn't admit it aloud. His cold, calculating demeanor made him untouchable, a force of nature I hadn't been prepared to deal with.

I didn't know what was worse—the way he openly despised me, or the way everyone else seemed to agree with him. His words carried weight, and as soon as he marked me as an outsider, everyone followed suit. I was alone. Completely and utterly alone.

My first encounter with Malfoy in Potions set the tone for the days that followed. Professor Snape's classroom, with its dim lighting and bubbling cauldrons, felt like a dungeon in more ways than one. Snape barely looked at me, which I supposed was a blessing—his favoritism toward the Slytherins, especially Malfoy, was notorious. The last thing I needed was his scrutiny.

But it wasn't Snape's eyes I felt burning into my back every lesson—it was Malfoy's.

He sat directly behind me, and every time I made the slightest mistake, I could hear him snicker or mutter something under his breath. It was infuriating.

"Careful, transfer, or you might blow up the whole classroom," he drawled one day, loud enough for the rest of the class to hear. A few students around him snickered, while I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to turn around and slap him.

"I've got it under control, Malfoy," I said sharply, not even bothering to look at him.

"Do you?" His voice was a low, mocking whisper, sending chills down my spine. "I doubt that. Maybe Beauxbatons was more your speed—less complicated magic."

My hands trembled as I measured out the next ingredient, trying to keep my focus on the potion in front of me. But his voice, that smug, arrogant tone, made it impossible.

"Why don't you just leave me alone?" I snapped, finally turning to face him. His grey eyes met mine, cold and challenging.

Malfoy's lips curled into a smirk. "Why would I? It's far too entertaining watching you squirm."

Before I could retort, Professor Snape's deep, silken voice cut through the air. "Is there a problem here?" His dark eyes flicked between me and Malfoy, his expression unreadable.

"No, Professor," Malfoy said smoothly, the smirk never leaving his face. "Just offering some advice."

Snape raised an eyebrow but said nothing further, moving on to the next group. As soon as his back was turned, Malfoy leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You don't belong here, you know. In Slytherin. You'll never fit in." His words were sharp, biting, but there was something else behind them—something almost like... frustration? It was fleeting, so quick I wasn't sure if I imagined it.

"Maybe it's not about fitting in," I muttered, turning back to my cauldron. "Maybe it's about showing people they're wrong."

He laughed softly, but it wasn't a kind laugh. "You really think you can prove anything here? Hogwarts isn't like your prissy little Beauxbatons. It's survival of the fittest in Slytherin, and you're already at the bottom."

I bit my lip, refusing to let him see how much his words stung. But he wasn't wrong. Every day felt like a battle, not just against him, but against the entire house. The Slytherins closed ranks around Malfoy, following his lead, and I was the outsider who had the audacity to challenge him.

The more time passed, the more our rivalry seemed to escalate. It wasn't just in Potions anymore—everywhere I went, Draco found some way to dig at me, to make sure I knew my place. The corridors, the common room, even during meals. If I wasn't careful, he'd trip me with a flick of his wand or shove past me in the hallways, his friends snickering at my expense.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" I asked him one morning in the Great Hall after he had deliberately bumped into me, spilling pumpkin juice all over my robes.

He didn't even bother to look at me as he sat down at the Slytherin table, lounging like he owned the entire castle. "Immensely," he said coolly, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "It's not my fault you're so clumsy."

I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to hex him right there in front of everyone. "You're insufferable, Malfoy."

"And yet," he said, his voice lowering as he turned to look at me, his eyes glittering with amusement, "you're still here. Maybe you're a glutton for punishment."

There was something in his gaze that unnerved me—something sharp, dangerous, like he was waiting for me to crack. But I wouldn't give him that satisfaction. Not yet, anyway.

"I'm here because I deserve to be," I said through gritted teeth.

He laughed, a soft, mocking sound. "Keep telling yourself that."

But as I turned to leave, something in me snapped. I spun around, glaring at him. "You know what, Malfoy? You're so caught up in this idea that you're superior, that everyone should worship at your feet just because your father has money, and you have a fancy last name. But I'm not afraid of you. And I'm not going anywhere."

For a moment, Malfoy's smirk faltered, just for a second. He leaned back in his chair, studying me with a new kind of interest. "Brave words," he said quietly, his voice losing some of its earlier mockery. "But bravery doesn't mean much in Slytherin. Here, it's about strategy. Power. Not who can shout the loudest."

"And what's your strategy?" I asked, crossing my arms. "Bullying anyone who threatens your fragile ego?"

His eyes flashed with something—anger, maybe. Or was it hurt? But just as quickly, his mask was back in place. "Keep pushing, and you'll find out," he said softly, his voice a dangerous whisper. "I don't lose."

"Neither do I."

We stood there, locked in a silent battle of wills, the tension between us thick enough to cut with a knife. My heart was pounding in my chest, but I refused to back down. I wouldn't let him intimidate me, no matter how powerful or dangerous he thought he was.

"Let's see how long that lasts," he murmured, turning away from me with a flick of his robes.