Draco’s little sister is starting her first year at Hogwarts. But she gravitates toward someone else in his circle. You. Suddenly, he’s more interested than ever.
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@emluminstarFran here, your favorite (and only) narrator. And boy, do I have a story for you. Buckle up.
The Great Hall of Hogwarts was buzzing with the usual first-day energy. Candles floating overhead, the enchanted ceiling showing a velvet-black sky scattered with stars, and four long tables packed with students who were all pretending they weren't starving.
But let's be real. We're all here for one thing: watching the first years get sorted like it's some kind of magical Hunger Games. No trauma, though. Just hats. Lots and lots of hats.
Up at the staff table, Professor McGonagall was holding the Sorting Hat like it personally offended her, which, knowing that hat, it probably had. The first years were lined up in the middle of the room like a bunch of tiny, terrified ducklings, and standing among them, looking like she was already planning world domination, was a little girl with platinum-blond hair and the most lethal set of puppy eyes I've ever seen.
Cassiopeia Malfoy. Draco's little sister.
The Slytherin table was a whole vibe. Draco sat at the head like he was waiting to be crowned, and he was trying to play it cool, but I could see the way his fingers were drumming against the table. Tap, tap, tap. Index, ring, middle, pinky. He was nervous.
The Slytherin table was packed with familiar faces. Pansy Parkinson was practically vibrating in her seat, her eyes locked on the little Malfoy like she was watching a soap opera finale. Blaise Zabini sat calm and collected, arms crossed, amused. Theodore Nott was leaning back with that grin on his face that honestly just says I know something you don't. Mattheo Riddle was whispering something to Lorenzo Berkshire, who was laughing way too loud for someone who was supposed to be composed.
And Astoria Greengrass? She had already turned in her seat, batting her eyelashes at Draco like it was her full-time job, whispering sweetly about how cute his sister was. Her sister Daphne just crossed her arms and said nothing.
McGonagall called the first name.
Professor McGonagall
Abernathy, Victor.
The sorting went as expected—a few Gryffindors, a Hufflepuff, a Ravenclaw here and there. The Slytherin table sat up a little straighter each time a name was called, waiting for their moment.
And then—
Professor McGonagall
Malfoy, Cassiopeia.
The Hall went quiet.
Not dramatically, not like a movie. Just that subtle kind of hush where everyone's pretending not to look but is definitely looking. The little girl stepped forward, and let me tell you something, she walked up to that stool like she owned the place. The Malfoy strut was hereditary, apparently.
Draco leaned forward. Just a little. Just enough for someone who knew him to notice.
The hat dropped over her head. She sat there, tiny and serious, hands folded in her lap like she was at a tea party.
Lorenzo Berkshire
whispering You nervous, Draco?
Draco Malfoy
flatly No.
Lorenzo Berkshire
snorting Bullshit.
The hat took its sweet time, making dramatic little twitches that had the entire Slytherin table holding its breath.
And then—
The hat opened its brim and shouted.
Sorting Hat
SLYTHERIN!
The Slytherin table erupted. Cheers, applause, the works. Little Cassiopeia hopped off the stool with a satisfied smile that was pure Malfoy, and honestly? She looked like she expected nothing less.
Draco exhaled. Tag, you're it.
Cassie made her way toward the Slytherin table, and Draco was already rising from his seat, ready to guide her to the spot he'd saved. His little sister, finally at Hogwarts, finally in his house. This was the moment.
But then she stopped.
And looked right at you.
Pansy Parkinson
to Daphne Oh, this is happening. I can feel it in my bones.
Draco Malfoy
Cassie. Come sit.
Cassie didn't move. Her eyes were fixed on you, a slow, appraising look on her face, like she was deciding if you were worth her time.
And then she smiled. Bright. Real.
Cassiopeia Malfoy
You're Y/n.
It wasn't a question. She knew. She just... knew.
Cassiopeia Malfoy
Draco talks about you. pausing Well, he doesn't. But he mentions you. turning to look at her brother, then back at you I think he likes you.
The Hall went dead silent again.
Draco's hand froze mid-gesture, and I don't think I've ever seen a man look so close to spontaneously combusting in my entire life.