At Briar, everyone knows Dean Di Laurentis for exactly what he is—cocky, reckless, annoyingly charming, and somehow impossible to ignore. Everyone also knows her for entirely different reasons.
Fred Weasley has known her since childhood, since scraped knees in the Burrow’s yard and summers that smelled like hay, smoke, and Molly Weasley’s cooking. She was never just around—she was woven into the noise, the mischief, the easy kind of belonging that made the house feel fuller. Fred learned early that she could keep up with him and George, but also that she noticed things they didn’t: when a joke went too far, when laughter was covering something heavier.
Everyone in Hawkins knows Steve Harrington is good with kids now—mostly because Dustin won’t stop bragging about it. What no one mentions is how often Steve ends up crossing paths with Dustin’s older sister, the one who somehow manages to keep her family together while the world keeps falling apart.
At Briar University, it feels like everyone is trying to become something. Future pros. Future doctors. Future heartbreak stories people gossip about in dorm hallways for years.
Draco Malfoy has known her since before Hogwarts, before the sneers felt rehearsed and the name Malfoy meant armor he couldn’t take off. Their childhood was polished halls and careful manners, but with her, things were quieter—shared silences, knowing looks, moments where he didn’t have to perform. At school, she’s the one constant in a world that keeps narrowing his choices, someone who remembers the boy he was before expectations hardened him. She sees the cracks in his confidence, the doubt he never lets anyone else touch, and stays anyway. It’s a story about growing up under pressure, about loyalty tested by ambition, and about a bond that survives not because it’s easy—but because it’s real.