Chapter Text
Book 1: 21 Days
Day 1
Chang and Malfoy—two fourth-year students at Hogwarts—found themselves paired for a task neither particularly wanted. Extra credit in Potions. That alone was enough to sour anyone’s mood, but under Severus Snape, extra credit was never simple.
Their assignment: procure fresh ingredients from Pomona Sprout’s greenhouse. Carefully selected. Precisely handled. No mistakes.
Abigail Chang—Abby, if anyone bothered to ask—was Cho Chang’s younger sister.
Less visible. Less celebrated.
A Ravenclaw in the most unassuming sense.
She wasn’t the kind of person people noticed when she entered a room. But she noticed everything. The way voices dipped when secrets were being concealed. The flicker of uncertainty behind confidence. The pauses between words that meant more than the words themselves.
It made her perceptive.
It also made things… lonely.
Because once you saw through people, it became harder to simply be with them.
Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, was impossible to ignore.
Even in silence, he drew attention. There was something deliberate in the way he moved—every step measured, every glance calculated. He carried himself like someone who had never been told to shrink.
He assessed people instinctively. Rank. Value. Threat.
It was second nature.
Abby met his gaze with the most neutral expression she could manage.
She had heard enough. The fights. The temper. The way he seemed to take offense at things no one else even noticed.
So she stayed careful.
Perhaps too careful.
Draco noticed it immediately.
That look.
Composed. Guarded. Untouchable.
Normally, he would’ve made a cutting remark—something about her being too stiff, too proper. But the words never came.
Because he was… distracted.
He couldn’t remember ever seeing her before this year, and that bothered him more than it should. There was something quietly striking about her—nothing loud or obvious, but the kind of beauty that lingered the longer you looked.
And her eyes—
It felt like stepping into deep water without realizing how far it went.
His chest tightened. His pulse quickened.
Annoying.
“You want to take on scurvy grass first?” Abby asked.
Her tone was steady. Practical.
Draco nodded.
Safer not to speak.
The greenhouse air was thick—warm, damp, alive with quiet movement.
Too alive.
The timing was wrong.
Plants didn’t release pollen like that. Not without reason.
Abby noticed it a second too late.
The burst came sharp and sudden—a fine spray catching her skin.
The reaction was immediate.
Her breath hitched. Her body stilled.
Draco moved without thinking.
He grabbed her arm, pulling her back just as the plant slipped from her grasp and fell.
“Professor Sprout!” he shouted.
Pomona Sprout was there in seconds.
One look at Abby’s hand was enough.
“Hospital wing. Now.”
The walk there was a blur.
Abby barely registered it.
At the hospital wing, Poppy Pomfrey worked quickly, applying a salve that cooled the angry rash almost instantly.
“You’ll be fine,” she said. “Just keep it bandaged. No water.”
Then, glancing at Draco—“Did you come into contact with it as well, Mr. Malfoy?”
“Yeah. Maybe,” he said lightly. “Treat her first.”
Abby knew immediately.
He was lying.
Not convincingly enough to fool someone who paid attention.
He just didn’t want to leave.
Or… he didn’t want her to go through it alone.
The realization unsettled her more than the injury.
“You’ll come back for a follow-up,” Draco added, almost too quickly.
Abby looked at him like he’d said something absurd.
“What?” he asked, a faint smirk forming.
She shook her head.
He was joking. He had to be.
“You should return tomorrow,” Madam Pomfrey said.
“I’ll come with you,” Draco said.
“You don’t have to,” Abby replied immediately.
“I just want to make sure my lab partner doesn’t freeload.”
The moment the words left his mouth, Draco regretted them.
“Don’t worry,” Abby said calmly. “I won’t.”
No anger. No bite.
Just quiet certainty.
Somehow, that felt worse.
She turned, already heading back toward the greenhouse.
“Wait,” Draco called after her. “You’re going back?”
“It’s fine. We still need the ingredients. Professor Snape won’t—”
He shook his head, studying her.
“You don’t scare easily.”
“It’s a plant, Draco—” she paused, correcting herself, “Malfoy.”
“You can call me Draco,” he said, softer this time.
That caught her off guard.
The way he said it… it wasn’t casual.
It felt like something he needed.
“Abby,” she said quickly. “Not Abigail.”
“Alright,” Draco replied.
And for a moment, something unspoken settled between them.
Back in the greenhouse, Draco didn’t let her touch a single plant.
Every time she moved, he stopped her.
“I don’t want you hurting yourself again.”
This was not the same boy from the hospital wing.
The one who accused her of freeloading.
Now he was doing everything himself.
Abby hovered nearby, unsure what to do with that.
At one point, a plant released a foul-smelling gas directly at Draco.
He barely reacted.
Abby bit back a laugh, turning it into a small, fleeting smile.
Draco saw it.
And decided, instantly, it was worth it.
“Draco, I’ll tell Professor Snape you did all the work,” she said.
“You don’t have to.”
“What?”
“You were here. You got injured. That counts.”
“But you said—”
“I know what I said.”
She studied him like he was something she hadn’t quite figured out yet.
“You should still get the credit.”
Draco blinked.
Who was this girl?
“…Suit yourself,” he muttered.
They walked back together, Draco carrying everything despite her protests.
When Severus Snape saw them, something unreadable flickered across his face.
Draco Malfoy. Silent. Efficient. No complaints.
Unusual.
Abby helped restock the ingredients shelves, carefully sorting and labeling despite her bandaged hand.
Dust rose as she worked.
She coughed softly.
Before she could wave it off, Draco had already moved—clearing the air with a quick flick of his wand.
That did it.
That was the moment it truly unsettled her.
Why was he being… kind?
“Abby.”
She didn’t respond.
“Abby.”
Still nothing.
“Abby.”
“Oh—sorry,” she blinked. “I spaced out.”
Draco frowned slightly.
“Do you always—”
He stopped.
“You’re red.”
The room tilted.
Suddenly.
Violently.
Abby reached out on instinct, her hand catching onto Draco’s sleeve as the world spun beneath her.
“Abigail—what’s wrong?!” Draco’s voice sharpened, panic slipping through.
Severus Snape was beside them in an instant.
“What happened to her hand?”
“Scurvy grass pollen,” Draco answered quickly.
Snape’s eyes narrowed, sharp with something far closer to concern than either of them expected.
“…Was it really scurvy grass?”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In the hospital wing—
The sharp scent of potions lingered in the air, clean and clinical.
Cho Chang slowed to a stop the moment she stepped through the doors.
Her eyes landed on an impossible sight.
Draco Malfoy, seated quietly beside her sister’s bed.
Not pacing. Not complaining.
Just… there.
Watching.
Waiting.
On the bed, Abby stirred.
“You’re awake,” Draco said softly, leaning forward just slightly.
The edge in his voice—the sharpness people expected—was gone.
“Are you feeling any better?”
Abby blinked, disoriented. The white curtains. The steady light. The quiet.
“How are we here?” she asked faintly.
“You passed out,” Draco answered.
The memory rushed back all at once.
The greenhouse. The rash. The dizziness.
Her eyes widened. “I—”
Embarrassment colored her face almost instantly.
“It’s okay,” Draco said quickly, almost too quickly. “Pomfrey says you just need rest.”
Across the room, Cho felt something twist—half amusement, half disbelief.
This wasn’t the boy people whispered about in corridors.
This was… something else entirely.
And it was directed at her sister.
A small smile tugged at her lips before she finally stepped forward, clearing her throat just enough to announce herself.
“I can take care of her.”
Draco looked up, momentarily caught off guard.
For a split second, something unreadable crossed his face—reluctance, maybe.
Then it was gone.
“Of course,” he said smoothly, rising to his feet.
“Draco—”
Abby’s voice stopped him.
He turned back.
“I’m sorry for the trouble.”
And there it was again.
The way she said his name.
Not cautiously. Not with distance.
Just… Draco.
His chest tightened unexpectedly.
He wasn’t used to that.
Not from her.
Not from anyone like her.
“It’s nothing,” he said, though it didn’t come out as easily as he wanted.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He didn’t wait for a reply.
If he did, he wasn’t sure he’d leave.
As he walked toward the door, Cho’s gaze followed him—sharp, curious, far too perceptive for his liking.
He could feel it.
And for the first time in a long while, Draco Malfoy felt… exposed.
Behind him—
Cho turned back to Abby with a look that could only be described as dangerous.
A smile, slow and knowing.
“Cho,” Abby warned immediately, her voice weak but firm. “Don’t.”
“Oh, I won’t say anything,” Cho said lightly.
That smile widened.
“Not yet.”
“Cho.”
“You fainted,” she continued, ignoring the protest. “And somehow Malfoy is the one sitting at your bedside like a devoted—”
“Cho!”
Cho laughed softly, sitting at the edge of the bed.
“What did you do to him?”
Abby stared at her, genuinely confused.
“What do you mean?”
Cho only shook her head, still smiling.
“Nothing,” she said. “Just… get better.”
Outside the door, Draco lingered for half a second longer than he should have.
Just long enough to hear the laughter.
Just long enough to know he’d been seen through.
And still—
He found himself smiling.
Four years at Hogwarts.
Dozens of whispered admirers. Countless shallow conversations.
And yet—
This was the first time his heart had ever raced like this.