Malfoy - Blog Posts

Straight up Drarry ❤️💚❤️‍🔥

Draco: Do you ever get that little voice in the back of your head telling you your ideas are stupid?

Harry: No.

Draco: Well that explains a lot.

You can stand there and deny me all you want, but i am still your son. I am still a malfoy and the only malfoy heir

Draco Malfoy

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Snape: Miss Granger, pay attention or serve detention.

Hermione: Make me.

.

.

Draco: (in a distance) like one of my french girls.

Hermione: What

Draco: What

Snape: What

Hogwarts: What

Love this soo muchhh

slytherin

draco x reader

words: 2.7k

warnings: fighting, slightly angsty, swearing, 

summary: you are harry’s younger sister, and got sorted into slytherin. (draco is a year older, based on canon timeline)

a/n: this is the longest one ive written so far! hope you like it :)

——————————————–

You anxiously walk up to the sorting hat, gingerly sitting down on the stool. Scanning the room for your brother, you finally notice him sitting on the Gryffindor table, sending him a small smile. You heard all side conversations pause, everyone waiting in anticipation to see where Harry Potter’s little sister would get sorted. 

As you feel the hat settle on your head, you remember what your brother had told you, and immediately started repeating the word Gryffindor over and over. 

“Not gonna work this time” you heard the hat whisper. Before you could comprehend what it meant, you heard a loud voice bellow “SLYTHERIN!”

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Forbidden Fire- Draco x You

warnings: spicy, hickey, getting locked in a closet with a hot guy... (if that even counts 😈)

prior knowledge: you are Y/N Potter, sister to Harry Potter, and placed in the same house as your brother.

a/n: Hope you love this as much as I do <3!!

The Gryffindor common room buzzed with low chatter, candlelight flickering across flushed cheeks and whispered dares. It was late—well past curfew—and the usual suspects were gathered: the Golden Trio, the Silver Trio, Fred and George, and, inexplicably, Draco Malfoy.

“How did he even get invited?” you muttered to Hermione, side-eyeing the Slytherin draped over the arm of a chair like he owned the place.

“Detention overlap,” Hermione whispered back. “Fred and George thought it’d be hilarious.”

“Of course they did,” you grumbled.

“All right!” George called, holding up a worn velvet bag. “Time for a bit of after-hours mischief: Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

Fred grinned. “Forbidden Forest edition. But don’t worry—no Acromantulas involved. Just this bag, a closet, and questionable life choices.”

A wave of awkward laughter rippled around the circle.

“Ladies first,” George said, offering the bag to you with a wicked glint.

With an exasperated sigh, you reached in and brushed against something smooth and round. You pulled out an apple.

Fred’s eyes lit up. “Ah. That would be Malfoy’s.”

“What?” you blurted.

Draco was already standing, brushing nonexistent lint off his sleeve, lips curled into a smirk. “Looks like fate has a sense of humor.”

“Come on, Y/N,” Fred teased. “Be brave. It’s only seven minutes.”

Muffled chants of “Closet! Closet!” broke out, and before you could protest, you found yourself being pushed toward the small broom cupboard. Draco followed, looking insufferably pleased.

The door clicked shut.

And just like that, everything changed.

Inside, it was dark. Quiet. Close.

“You arranged this,” you said, narrowing your eyes.

He leaned in, voice low. “You think I’d go through all that trouble? Tempting as it sounds.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re gorgeous.”

You opened your mouth to retort—but he was already there, kissing you, his hand sliding up to cradle your jaw. The kiss was bold, searching, unapologetic. You gasped, fists clenching in his robes, unsure if you wanted to shove him away or drag him closer.

You chose the latter.

You crashed against the wooden paneling, lips devouring, breath mingling, and heat rolling off your bodies. His hand found your waist, pulling you flush to him, and your fingers tangled in the strands of platinum at the nape of his neck.

Then he dipped his mouth to your jaw, trailing down.

“Draco—” you warned.

He paused for just a second before his lips found the curve of your neck—soft at first, then firmer, sucking gently until your breath caught in your throat and a moan escaped you.

“You’re playing with fire,” you gasped.

“Good,” he murmured. “I like the burn.”

You just about began unbuttoning his shirt when you heard the knock-knock-knock.

“Time’s up, lovebirds!” Fred’s voice sing-songed from the other side.

Draco pulled back slowly, lips wet, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “You’ll want to cover that.”

You blinked. “What?”

He smirked. “Check your neck.”

Your fingers brushed the spot. Warm. Tender. A hickey.

“You—”

“Too late now.”

The door creaked open. Fred and George stood there, grinning ear to ear.

Fred whistled. “Someone looks properly snogged.”

George nudged him. “Reckon that’s more than a kiss.”

Your face flamed as you stepped out, trying to adjust your hair to cover the mark.

But it was too late—Harry had seen it.

“What the hell is that?” he barked, pointing at your neck.

“Harry—”

“That!” he shouted again. “On your neck, Y/N!”

You instinctively tried to cover it with your hand.

And Draco? That smug, arrogant git just strolled out after you, looking like he’d won the bloody Quidditch Cup.

Fred leaned over to George. “Called it.”

George nodded solemnly. “House war incoming.”

Harry turned furiously to Draco. “Did you snog her?”

“I didn’t hear her complaining,” Draco said coolly, crossing his arms.

Harry’s wand was halfway raised. “I’ll hex you into next week—”

“Harry!” Hermione grabbed his arm. “Not in the common room!”

“She’s my sister!”

You stepped between them. “I can make my own decisions. I don’t need you losing your mind over a kiss.”

“That wasn’t just a kiss!” Harry pointed again at your neck. “He gave you a bloody hickey!”

Draco leaned in just enough for only you to hear. “Funny. That’s exactly what I was going for.”

You elbowed him hard in the ribs.

But your heart was still racing—and not from the fight.

As Hermione and Ron dragged Harry toward the boys’ staircase, muttering apologies to McGonagall’s portrait, Fred clapped Draco on the back.

“Mate, hope your will’s in order.”

“Why?” Draco asked lazily.

“Because Harry’s going to kill you,” George said cheerfully. “But until then—bloody brilliant work.”

Draco smirked. His eyes found yours across the room. You looked flushed, furious—and completely alive.

He winked.

You rolled your eyes.

But you didn’t look away.