it had to be you. | d.m. · Y/n story by @emluminstar

Oh, hello there. Fran, at your service. Your humble, chronically online narrator for this absolute circus of a story. No pressure, but I've been waiting eighteen years for this particular shit show to really get going, and let me tell you—it's finally time.

Pansy Parkinson

practically bouncing where she sits on the sofa by the fire So? Eighteenth birthdays. I know some of you had yours.

Theodore Nott

snickers, sprawled in an armchair like he owns it I knew you'd bring this up.

Blaise Zabini

turns a page of his book without looking up Not me. Pass.

Draco Malfoy, sitting just close enough to the fire to be dramatic but not close enough to actually be warm, crossed his arms. Deliberately. The kind of crossed arms that said don't even think about it in every language known to wizardkind.

Pansy Parkinson

immediately pointing a finger at him You. Present it.

Draco Malfoy

flat, withering You're incredibly daft if you honestly expect me to do that.

Astoria Greengrass

tentative, hopeful smile that's trying way too hard Oh, it can't be bad, Draco. Sometimes things are… obvious.

The pause that followed was so thick you could've spread it on toast. Because everyone in that room knew exactly what Astoria meant. Draco just stared at her like she'd suggested he hold hands with a Grindylow.

Daphne Greengrass

without looking up from her own book Tori. Prodding is unbecoming.

Astoria's smile flickered, but she smoothed it over like a practiced professional. Daphne turned a page. The fire crackled. And Pansy—glorious, relentless, unstoppable Pansy—whirled around like a shark who'd caught the scent of blood.

Pansy Parkinson

finger now aimed at you Then you. I know you have yours. I'm obligated to know yours.

And there it was. The spotlight. The moment. The dramatic zoom-in that had been building since the conversation started. All eyes—Draco's slightly too sharp, Pansy's practically sparking with glee, and Blaise's finally looking up from his book—landed squarely on you, sitting there with your sleeves pulled just a little too low.