Draco Malfoy Viewed Your Story · Y/n story by @wistfulspells

It was a Tuesday. A deeply, profoundly, soul-crushingly boring Tuesday. The kind of Tuesday where even the dust motes floating in the library air seemed to sigh with existential dread. Y/n was slumped in their usual corner, the one with the slightly wobbly table and the perfect view of the courtyard, where absolutely nothing was happening. Their phone, a sleek, dark rectangle of pure distraction, was propped against a copy of Advanced Potion-Making, which was, for the record, not being read. The screen glowed with the familiar, comforting hellscape of Instagram. Scrolling. Scrolling. Watching Pansy post a grainy flash photo of her smudged eyeliner with the caption “vibe: deceased.” Watching Blaise post a shot of what was undoubtedly a very expensive, very tiny dessert in Paris. Watching Daphne post a perfectly framed film photo of her latte art. It was all so… curated. So performed. So utterly, mind-numbingly… Tuesday.

@yours_truly

so bored…

They hit post. The note vanished into the ether, a tiny, insignificant pebble dropped into the vast, noisy ocean of the Slytherin network. Y/n went back to scrolling, a hollow victory. They refreshed their notes. The little circle spun. And then.

@dmalfoy_

me too.

The world did not stop. The sun did not break through the grey Scottish clouds. But something in the library’s stale air shifted. A tiny, precise, electrical crackle. Two words. Posted within 60 seconds of theirs. A mirror. A reflection. A quiet, undeniable echo in the digital silence. A slow, uncontrollable smile started to pull at the corner of Y/n’s mouth. The game was on. Their thumb hovered over the screen, brain whirring, trying to craft the perfect, subtle, yet undeniable follow-up. A quote? A lyric? A—

@astoriagg

i love flying 🙈

Of course. OF COURSE. Because the universe, in its infinite, petty wisdom, decided that a single, pure, uncomplicated moment of mutual understanding was simply too much to ask for. Astoria Greengrass, posting about flying. On a Tuesday. When no one was flying. Immediately after Draco posted. The timing wasn’t just suspicious; it was a full-blown, neon-sign-flashing, confetti-cannon-firing coincidence. And her note… it was soft. It was sweet. It was appealing. It was everything Y/n’s grumpy, two-word sigh was not. The private echo suddenly felt very, very public. And very, very crowded.