𝗗𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗼 𝗠𝗮𝗹𝗳𝗼𝘆 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗉𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗒, 𝖺 𝗋𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗁𝖾'𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝗈𝗋 𝗇𝗈𝗍. 𝖧𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗒 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝖿𝗎𝗅𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾-- 𝖾𝗑𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗅𝗅.. 𝖠𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗐𝗇𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗐𝗇ed 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗍𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗌𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗉𝗂𝖾𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗠𝗮𝗹𝗳𝗼𝘆. 𝖠𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗅𝗅, 𝗌𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝖿 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗎𝗌

𝘼 𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙤 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙛𝙤𝙮 𝙁𝙖𝙣𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 "𝘋𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘰? 𝘈𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺?" 𝘐 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥. 𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. "𝘋𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘰!" 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘥. 𝘕𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘬𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳. "𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦!" 𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘥. 𝘞𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴, "𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬?" 𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘥. "𝘠𝘦𝘴 𝘋𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘰, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴." 𝘐 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥. 𝙃𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙙 𝙪𝙥 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜, "𝙃𝙚 𝙩𝙤𝙪𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪... 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙄 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙮𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙩𝙤𝙪𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙤𝙪." *𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗘 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗡𝗧* (𝟭𝟴+)

Faye Scamander was never dangerous. She was the girl who handed out biscuits like blessings, chatted with portraits, rescued injured creatures, and left wildflowers on desks simply because it felt kind. And somehow, Draco Malfoy noticed her anyway. Draco had been raised in a castle of cold rules and colder expectations. Faye had grown up in a cottage overflowing with warmth and wonder. He had been taught that softness was weakness. She had been raised to believe that softness saved people. They should have stayed worlds apart. Instead, they kept colliding-his armour against her gentleness, his silence against her small-magic courage. And somewhere between a flower she gave him, a biscuit he pretended not to want, and the moments they lingered without meaning to- everything shifted. Because some spells were loud and destructive. But the ones that changed a life? They were always the small things no one saw coming

― "You'd look exquisite in my undoing." ― Flora Moreau spoke in soft syllables and sharp truths. A Ravenclaw with ink-stained hands, she sketched the world as she saw it - not as it wished to be seen. Daughter of an ancient French bloodline, she had walked Hogwarts' halls for years, quiet as moonlight, untouchable as frost. Draco Malfoy loathed her. Her composure, her defiance, her refusal to give him the satisfaction of a single flinch. He provoked; she dismissed. He sneered; she smiled. And yet, she was in his mind - carved there like an etching he could not erase. She was everything he had been raised to hate, and everything he did not understand about himself. Their battles were fought in glances and words, in wit that cut deeper than curses, in the space between cruelty and longing - where the line between wanting her and destroying her blurred into damnation. ☽｡⋆