SB

Y/n isn’t what Slytherin is supposed to be. She’s kind in quiet, dangerous ways. Soft-spoken, warm, almost disarming—until someone pushes too far and remembers exactly why she was sorted there in the first place. She’s clever, ambitious, and far more powerful than anyone realizes. Because Y/n doesn’t need a wand. Her magic lives under her skin—volatile, reactive, a live wire that lashes out when her control slips. It drains her, fractures her composure, leaves her pretending she’s fine when she’s anything but. It sparks without warning, pulses beneath her skin, reacts to her emotions in ways that make it impossible to ignore. So she keeps people at arm’s length, hides behind kindness, and pretends she’s not constantly on the verge of losing control. Draco Malfoy notices. At first, it’s curiosity. Then it’s fixation. He watches the way her magic flickers when she’s overwhelmed. The way she distances herself from everyone, like she’s afraid of what might happen if she lets go. The way she refuses help. Draco doesn’t accept that. He wants closer. Wants to understand, to steady her, to be the one thing that keeps her grounded when her magic threatens to spiral out of control. And the closer he gets, the more her magic reacts—not violently, but differently. Softer. Quieter. He wants closeness. Trust. The kind of connection she’s spent years avoiding. He wants to steady her, to ground her, to be the one thing she reaches for when everything else feels like it’s slipping. And Y/n? She hates how much it works. Because Draco isn’t gentle about it. He’s insistent. Possessive in the way he looks at her, like he’s already decided she’s his problem to solve. His to keep. Letting him in might be the only way to survive her magic. But it also means risking something far more dangerous: Wanting him just as much as he wants her. Like it recognizes him. Draco wants all of it. The closeness she denies. The trust she withholds. The intimacy she avoids. He wants her—c