ESSENTIALLY: 10 Things I Hate About You, but Draco Malfoy.
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@emluminstarFran. That’s me. Your narrator, your guide, your unfortunately-all-knowing eye in the sky. And if you think I chose to be stuck watching a bunch of hormonal seventh-years fumble their way through love like blindfolded Flobberworms, think again.
Anyway. The Transfiguration courtyard. A beautiful late-September morning, the kind that makes you want to believe in fresh starts and second chances. Shame it’s absolutely crawling with Slytherins.
scheming like it’s a full-time occupation.
. Theo, Blaise, and Lorenzo had wedged themselves into an alcove like the world’s most suspicious gargoyles, peering out at the proceedings as if they were watching a particularly riveting Quidditch final instead of two boys having what looked like a terribly awkward conversation.
.
Theodore Nott
stage-whispering, barely containing his grin He’s going in. He’s actually going in. This is the best show I’ve seen all year, and it’s only September.
.
Blaise Zabini
voice dry as the dust floating in the sunlight You do realize we’re technically the puppet masters here, right? Or is that too much responsibility for your tiny, lovesick brain to handle?
Lorenzo Berkshire
bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, hair falling into his eyes He’s talking to him! Look— look— Mattheo’s doing the thing—
Blaise Zabini
deadpan The thing. Enzo, you’re going to need to be about a thousand times more specific than that. He does a lot of things. Most of them questionable.
Lorenzo Berkshire
waving a hand vaguely You know— the thing. The—the lean-in, the smolder, the ‘I’m-very-important-and-you-should-listen’ thing—
Theodore Nott
snorting He’s not smoldering, Berk. He looks like he’s trying to sell Malfoy a used broom.
Lorenzo Berkshire
Same thing. Same energy.
Across the courtyard, Theodore’s and Lorenzo’s and Blaise’s collective object of fascination—one Mattheo Riddle, he of the rumpled collar and the easy smirk—was indeed doing something. Whether it qualified as a smolder was a matter of considerable academic debate nobody was bothering to have..
Mattheo Riddle
strolling up to the bench like he owned it, hands tucked into his pockets, voice carrying that particular brand of confidence that made people want to punch him Malfoy. Brooding, or actually reading that drivel?
Draco Malfoy did not look up. He did not blink. He did not acknowledge that another human being had spoken to him at all. His eyes remained fixed on the page of his Potions text, the morning light catching the platinum of his hair ithat way that made even his indifference look expensive. It was, frankly, a masterclass in ignoring someone. If ignoring someone was a N.E.W.T. subject, he’d have an Outstanding..
Mattheo Riddle
after a beat, undeterred, shrugging I heard the Ministry’s been backed up..
Still nothing. The silence stretched, taut as a Snitch’s wings, until finally—
Draco Malfoy
slowly, deliberately, he lifted his gaze. Flat. Unimpressed. The grey of his eyes about as warm as a December morning Can I help you, Riddle?
Mattheo Riddle
cutting straight to the chase, jerking his chin across the courtyard See that girl?
Draco followed the gesture, almost lazily, the way one might look at a particularly ugly painting in a gallery they were being forced to tour. His gaze landed on the scene: you, standing near the fountain, locked in what appeared to be a deeply one-sided conversation with a Hufflepuff whose face was rapidly going the color of a ripe tomato. Your expression was flat, unimpressed, the kind of look that could curdle milk from across the room. The Hufflepuff was gesturing wildly, clearly in the middle of some sort of plea, and you looked about as moved as a statue.
Draco Malfoy
one nod. That was all.
Mattheo Riddle
tucking his hands deeper into his pockets, voice dropping, all business That’s Y/n L/n. I want you to ask her out.
Ah, yes. The name that made half the castle wince and the other half snicker. The girl who’d apparently made it her personal mission in life to be the human equivalent of a closed door. The girl who made Pansy Parkinson look like a people-pleaser. The girl who, rumor had it, had once made a first-year cry just by looking at him. Whether that was true remained unverified, but it was a fun story nonetheless..
Draco Malfoy
a scoff, brittle as glass, his gaze already dropping back to his book Sure.
Mattheo Riddle
shifting his weight, exhaling through his nose Look, I can’t take out Rosier until she starts dating. Something about their parents and this rule—
Draco Malfoy
not looking up Touching story. Truly. I don’t care.
Mattheo Riddle
a long beat. Then, a slow, dangerous smile Would you be willing to care if I provided compensation?
And there it was. The hook. The bait. The little worm wriggling on the end of the line. Draco’s hand stilled on the page. Just for a second. Just long enough for the silence to do its work..
Draco Malfoy
finally, slowly, meeting his gaze again. Studying him like a particularly complex potion ingredient You’re going to pay me to charm a girl?
Mattheo Riddle
simply nods
Draco Malfoy
tilting his head, voice flat, but with something new flickering at the edges How much?
Mattheo Riddle
instantly Twenty galleons.
And then— because the universe has a sense of humor that borders on cruel—it happened..
Across the courtyard, in what Theo would later describe as “fucking divine timing, mate,” you chose that exact moment to end your conversation. Dramatically. The full middle finger, extended with the precision of a practiced duelist, directed squarely at the Hufflepuff, who looked like they’d just been informed they’d failed their apparition test. Again. A few words, sharp as broken glass, and the Hufflepuff was scurrying away like a scalded cat..
Mattheo Riddle
his eyes tracking the scene, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly Alright. Thirty.
Draco Malfoy
his gaze lingering on you, an unreadable expression flickering across his face Let’s dissect this. If I take her to Hogsmeade, that’s fifteen galleons already. Butterbeer, that would be… fifty three.
Mattheo Riddle
his expression tightening like he’d just bitten into a lemon
Draco Malfoy
inclining his chin, his voice perfectly conversational, perfectly merciless And she’ll want some sort of sweet afterward, won’t she? From Honeyduke’s. It would definitely be closer to… seventy-five.
Mattheo Riddle
through gritted teeth This isn’t a negotiation. Thirty or nothing, Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy
his eyes glinting, the faintest ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth Fifty and we have a deal, Riddle.
The silence that followed was thick enough to bottle and sell. Mattheo’s jaw worked, his eyes promising a thousand petty revenges, but in the end, he pulled a small leather pouch from his robes. It landed in Draco’s palm with a satisfying, weighty thunk. Fifty galleons. Gone. Like that..
Mattheo Riddle
turning on his heel, voice clipped as a curse She’s all yours, Malfoy.
Draco watched him go, the pouch disappearing into his own robes with practiced ease. The bell rang, shrill and insistent, and the courtyard began to stir, students filtering toward their next classes like honey dripping from a spoon..
And wouldn’t you know it. The universe, ever the comedian, decided to send you on a direct collision course with the bench. Your path took you right past him, your robes snapping in the breeze, your expression still carrying the remnants of that earlier irritation, the one that made people cross to the other side of the corridor to avoid you..
Draco Malfoy did not move. He simply watched you approach, the morning sun catching the sharp lines of his face, his expression carefully, deliberately blank. Phase one, indeed. He almost felt sorry for you.
.