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Ginny took a deep breath before knocking on the door. As excited as she was to see her friends, she was considerably less enthusiastic about the evening’s planned activities.
Divination sessions had become something of a trend over the past few months among their circle. As someone who prided herself on being a logical thinker — the type who trusted what she could see,touch, and hex, if necessary — Ginny had never quite warmed to the idea. She hadn’t enjoyed the subject at school, even with the brief blessing of being taught by Firenze. The Trelawney trauma ran
too deep.
Still, she had promised Luna she would come, and she genuinely wanted to support Parvati in her newest hobby. It was Parvati, after all, who had invited them to a special Find Your True Soulmate séance, a week before Valentine’s Day.
So Ginny pasted on a bright smile and stepped into the hallway, pulling her friend into a quick hug as Parvati opened the door.
Within seconds, Parvati had taken her coat and pressed a mug of mulled apple cider into her hands. Ginny had barely taken a sip when her gaze slid past Parvati’s shoulder into the living room — and she choked. She almost spat it straight back out, only narrowly sparing everyone nearby from being showered in cider by clapping a hand over her mouth. She apologized immediately, rushing to reassure them that it wasn’t the drink — which was, in fact, the most delicious mulled cider she’d ever had.
It genuinely wasn’t the cider.
It was the person sitting cross-legged in the middle of the living room.
Among the usual collection of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws were two Slytherins. One of them was in a deeply heated discussion with Luna about Nargles. Theodore Nott was grinning from ear to ear, leaning forward as he asked her to explain the taxonomy of the creatures, entirely at ease with both the topic and everyone in the room. Beside him sat the other one, arms folded, mouth set in a familiar, unimpressed line, eyes already narrowed in her direction.
Draco fucking Malfoy.
Ginny turned back to Parvati, glarring. Her friend raised her hands defensively.
“I’m honestly just as surprised as you,” Parvati said. “Theo ran into Luna at the Leaky Cauldron, and when she mentioned the séance, he got… very interested. You know how it is — a bit of a trend at the moment. And he seems to be into everything trendy,” she added with a shrug.
“I can see why Nott would be here. What I don’t understand is why Malfoy is.”
“Well, apparently Theo thought Draco had been a little too much of a hermit lately. You know, afterAzkaban. He had a hard time adjusting back to normal life, so he became… reclusive.”
“As he should be,” Ginny muttered under her breath, ignoring the sharp look Parvati shot her.
Of course, she could try to be like everyone else — look into the future with love and forgiveness, let go of old grudges, try to heal. But she wasn’t like that. She had lost her brother, been twisted into a puppet for Tom Riddle, forced to fight a war she hadn’t chosen. The Malfoys had left their mark on her life in ways that couldn’t simply be smoothed over with a smile. She didn’t owe them forgiveness.
“Anyway,” Parvati continued, “Theo dragged him along. I mean, look at him — he clearly doesn’t want to be here any more than you do.”
“I do want to be here,” Ginny protested immediately, but fell silent under Parvati’s sharp glance.
“Just promise me you won’t start laughing,” Parvati said, her tone half-warning, half-pleading.
“Of course not. Who do you think I am?” Ginny asked, genuinely exasperated.
Ginny had never found it so hard to stop herself from laughing. She clenched her jaw, pressed her lips together, but the ceremony was… well, there was no other word for it: cringe. And cringe, as everyone knows, was irresistibly funny.
The living room had been transformed into a boho-chic divination lair. Thick fog drifted lazily across the floor, mingling with the heavy scent of incense and perfumed candles that flickered despite it being just after lunch. Cushions and low rugs were scattered everywhere, soft fabrics in muted colors and intricate patterns that would have looked serene if the effect hadn’t been undermined by the sheer earnestness of the setup. Parvati, clearly relishing the role, had adopted her best Trelawney impression, voice thick with theatrical gravitas. “Your soulmate… your true love… is written in the stars,” she intoned, hands fluttering dramatically as she guided everyone through the séance. The others followed along with wide-eyed seriousness, sitting on their cushions in a small circle.
Luna elbowed Ginny in the ribs just as she snorted, when Parvati conjured bloomed dandelions for each of them— pale, feathery globes floating gently through the air like trapped bits of cloud. “You each get one,” Parvati instructed solemnly. “Focus on your wish, then blow. The seeds will reveal what the universe has planned for your heart.”
Apparently, dandelions amplified divinatory sensitivity and carried intentions straight into the ether. Or something like that.
Ginny accepted one carefully, afraid it might disintegrate if she so much as breathed wrong. She stared straight ignoring Luna next to her, who cradled hers with reverent concentration, already whispering something under her breath.
Unfortunately, on the other side of their little circle was Malfoy.
He was frowning at his dandelion like it had personally offended him, turning the fragile puffball between his fingers with entirely too much speed. Several seeds promptly detached and drifted away. He muttered something under his breath and tried again — more cautiously this time — only to send another small cloud of fluff floating off toward the candles. Ginny’s lips twitched. She bit down hard on her hand to stop the laugh threatening to escape.
If it hadn’t been Malfoy, she would have found the sight almost endearing — the idea that a guy like him (tall, broody, and, annoyingly, rather handsome) could be so completely hopeless with anything remotely fragile.
This time she couldn’t stop the laugh that slipped out when Malfoy glanced sideways at Nott’s perfectly intact dandelion and then back at the steadily balding remains of his own. Malfoy froze at the sound. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to her, grey eyes sharpening with dangerous interest.
She barely managed to keep a straight face as yet another cluster of seeds escaped his grip.
When Parvati launched back into her dramatic spiel about how the seeds would reveal their true soulmates, Ginny found it nearly impossible to concentrate. Malfoy was still looking at her. His gaze hadn’t softened, hadn’t drifted — just steady, assessing, infuriatingly calm, as if he were waiting for her to blink first. Ginny felt something in her spine straighten in immediate, stubborn response. Fine. If he wanted a contest, he’d have one.
She held his stare.
Even when Parvati instructed them to close their eyes and blow on their dandelions, neither of them complied. The room seemed to recede around them — the fog, the murmuring voices, the flickering candles
blurring into peripheral noise. All she could properly register were his eyes. His obnoxiously gorgeous eyes.
He tilted his head a fraction, lips twitching like he was amused by her refusal to look away. Ginny narrowed her eyes slightly, daring him to blink. She refused to acknowledge the ridiculous awareness pooling low in her stomach, the way the air between them suddenly felt warmer, heavier.
This was not attraction. This was spite. Competitive spite.
Meanwhile, Parvati was having the time of her life interpreting the chaos.
“Ah, wandering heart,” she cooed as seeds scattered wildly across the room. “Oh! Obstacles in love,” when one clung stubbornly to a chair leg. “And look — a journey before union,” when a particularly ambitious puff escaped out the open
window.
She was absolutely winging it. Ginny wished she could enjoy the performance, but Malfoy’s eyes held her focus completely. She was not losing this ridiculous game. Ginny Weasley had always been competitive, always stubborn, and she would not lose to him. Not even when he added a slow smirk that frankly should have been illegal.
She fought down the warmth creeping into her cheeks. Because if he weren’t the former school bully of one of her closest friends and her brother, an ex–Death Eater, and an all-around pompous arse, he would have been… beautiful. What a tragic waste.
Malfoy’s gaze flicked briefly to her mouth — just a fraction of a second — before returning to her eyes. Her pulse stumbled traitorously. She leaned in a hair’s breadth without meaning to, chin lifting in silent challenge. If he thought he
could distract her, he was wildly mistaken.
His smirk deepened, slow and dangerous, like he knew exactly what he was doing to her concentration.
Idiot.
“Ginny! You didn’t do it. You promised you would participate.” Parvati’s voice snapped her out of the strange trance she’d slipped into. Ginny blinked and looked up to find her friend standing over her, hands on her hips, looking far more like a disapproving McGonagall than a dreamy Trelawney.
Instead of apologizing — something Ginny had never been especially gifted at — she simply lifted her dandelion-free hand and pointed accusingly across the circle. “Neither did he.”
Very mature. Yes, she was aware.
Judging by the unimpressed look Malfoy shot her, he agreed.
“My apologies, Parvati,” he drawled, still watching Ginny. “Shall we proceed?”
“Yes. If you please,” Parvati replied, a little tightly — her gaze flicking between the two of them. “Then we can move on to the next part of the soulmate quest.”
Malfoy’s eyes dropped briefly to the single stubborn seed still clinging to the shredded remains of his dandelion. A slow, unreadable smile touched his mouth. “Want me to count us down, Weasley?”
Ginny scoffed. “I’m impressed you know how to count.”
Theo snorted. Malfoy shot him a flat look, then returned his attention to Ginny.
“Don’t forget to close your eyes,” Luna added helpfully.
Only then did Ginny realise the room had gone eerily quiet. Every pair of eyes had turned toward them. Heat crept up her spine. Fine. If they wanted a show. Ginny lifted her dandelion and deliberately ignored Malfoy as she closed her eyes. “Go on, then. Count.”
His voice came smooth and maddeningly calm.
“Three.”
“Two.”
“One.”
Ginny blew on her dandelion as Malfoy said the last number, letting herself wish — just a little — that her soulmate would actually appear soon. Yes this was silly, but who didn’t want a bit of magic in their love life?
She opened her eyes to a ripple of startled sounds.
“Oh—”
“Merlin.”
Theo’s voice broke through them all. “By Salazar—”
Her stomach dipped. Ginny looked around — and then her gaze locked onto Malfoy.
He looked shell-shocked.
His hair, his shoulders, the front of his shirt — all of it was absolutely coated in white dandelion fluff, as if the seeds had multiplied midair and chosen him as a landing strip. He looked less like a wizard and more like an aggressively offended dandelion himself.
Ginny barked out a laugh.
No one laughed with her. Frowning, she turned to Luna. “Oh come on, that’s hilarious. You have to admit he looks ridiculous—”
Luna touched the tip of her nose and nodded once, encouraging Ginny to follow suit. Ginny crossed her eyes. A single white seed sat neatly on the tip of her freckled nose. She yelped and swiped at it, nearly smacking herself in the face.
“NO! No, absolutely not,” she said rapidly. “This means nothing. Parvati, this is a joke, right? I mean,seeds land on things. That’s what seeds do. How do we even know it came from his flower? It could’ve been Luna’s. Yes. Luna is my soulmate. That makes far more sense.”
“Ginny—” Luna began gently. Ginny barrelled right over her. “There is literally no proof any of this is real. This is a glorified arts-and-crafts séance with mood lighting and incense. You cannot tell me Malfoy is my soulmate. That’s statistically, emotionally, morally impossible—”
Fuck, whispered the traitorous part of her brain. What if Draco Malfoy is my soulmate?
She looked back at him.
He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t even blinked. Hadn’t said a word.
No snide remark. No smug drawl. He just stared at her — pale, stunned, eyes wide, as if the universe had cracked open beneath his feet
and left him standing in the wreckage.
Theo, meanwhile, clapped him on the shoulder far too cheerfully. “So — should I start planning the wedding or what?”
That did it.
Ginny turned on her heel and bolted for the door.
She didn’t stop until she hit the street — and the second her feet touched the cobble stone, she apparated straight home, heart pounding like she’d just outrun fate itself.
Ginny groaned, breath puffing white in the cold night as the sound carried across the empty Quidditch training grounds, when she spotted who was blocking the entrance to the locker room corridor. He had been there every day for a full week now. Waiting for her to finish practise, so they could talk.
And every day, her response had been exactly the same: a raised middle finger and a curt suggestion that he get lost. There was nothing to discuss. They were nothing to each other. A stray flower seed and a ridiculous séance were not going to override logic, common sense, and several years’ worth of perfectly justified resentment. She was not about to start dating — let alone marrying — Draco Malfoy because fate had decided it would be funny.
Of course she had thought about what that life would look like. On a relentless loop for the past several days. And absolutely not. She was not about to become some Sacred Twenty-Eight socialite. She was not becoming a Malfoy. There was too much history between them. Too much baggage, too many ghosts, too many things that could never be unsaid or undone. And according to the books Hermione had researched for her — after laughing herself breathless for a solid hour and solemnly swearing not to tell Ron or Harry — true soulmate bonds were rare. Vanishingly rare. Practically extinct. Old magic that had thinned and faded with time, leaving behind more myth than reality. Soulmates were supposed to feel a pull toward each other. A constant gravity. A need for closeness, connection, comfort — something that outweighed everything else.
Which she and Malfoy most definitely did not have.
Did they, freakishly, always seem to find each other in crowded rooms? Lock eyes before anyone else even noticed the other’s presence? Yes, fine. But that was because they hated each other. Obviously. And soulmates were meant to feel all soft and fuzzy when they looked at each other’s faces. Whereas all Ginny wanted to do when she looked at Malfoy was claw at his smug, infuriatingly handsome face. Possibly with both hands.
No. They were absolutely not soulmates.
Unfortunately, Malfoy did not seem inclined to agree with her assessment.
She had opened exactly one of the roughly hundred letters he had sent over the past few days. That had been more than enough.
Dear Ginevra, the letter had begun.
She had gagged at the use of her name, promptly set it on fire, and decided nothing good could possibly come from engaging with either the letter or the man who had written it. Which was why she had continued doing exactly what she did best whenever Malfoy appeared at her training sessions: ignore him completely. For seven straight days. Apparently, that strategy had failed.
So today she switched tactics. Instead of landing near him, Ginny dipped lower, hovering just out of reach, circling lazily above the floor. From up here she had an excellent view of his impeccably tailored black suit — honestly, was it surgically attached? — and the deeply irritated expression carved across his face. The irritation did spark a warm, fuzzy sensation in her chest. She very much enjoyed upsetting him.
“Go away,” she said brightly, opening negotiations with all the diplomacy she could muster.
He shook his head. “Happy Valentine’s,” he said dryly.
Ginny rolled her eyes. “What do you want?” She asked, drifting in slow, taunting circles around him.
“We need to talk,” he replied, not bothering to turn with her movement.
“About what? You cannot seriously believe a bunch of floating dandelion fluff picked our soulmates for us. Come on, Malfoy — even you’re smarter than that.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
Oh yes. That one. She loved that one.
“I do not believe a dandelion chose my soulmate, Ginevra,” he said coolly, ignoring her exaggerated gag at the sound of her full name. “But I do believe in soulmates. And I do believe—”
“Wait. What?” Ginny cut in sharply. “You’re serious? Soulmate magic went extinct centuries ago.”
His jaw tightened — not with irritation this time, but restraint. He drew a slow, measured breath. “It is old and rare magic, yes,” he said evenly. “But it still exists. My parents are soulmates.”
Ginny blinked at him, hovering in place as her brain tried — and failed — to catch up with what he was implying.
Apparently mistaking her stunned silence for permission, Malfoy stepped closer, lifting a hand as if he meant to touch her. “I am aware that our history is… complicated,” he said carefully. “However, once the soulmate
bonding ritual is complete and we are married, we can—
“WHEN WE ARE MARRIED?” Ginny exploded. “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR BLOODY MIND?”
Surely he was joking. Surely this was some elaborate, deeply unfunny Malfoy bit. But the look on his face wasn’t smug. It wasn’t mocking. It was earnest. Almost… pleading.
Oh. Fuck.He was serious.
Panic slammed into her all at once.
Before her brain could catch up, her body had already decided. In one fluid motion, Ginny kicked off and shot upward, putting as much distance between herself and Draco Malfoy — and this entire cursed conversation — as physically possible.
“Wait!” he shouted after her.
She didn’t slow. She flew harder, higher, lungs burning, heart pounding. She needed space. Air. Logic. Because not only was Draco Malfoy apparently planning their future like this was a reasonable development — worse, she had felt it.
The pull.
Every slow circle she’d flown around him earlier. The way her orbit kept tightening without her realizing. Like gravity had quietly rewired itself around his presence. That was not okay.
She was jolted from her spiraling thoughts when a sudden streak of white cut through the dark beside her — the sharp flash of Malfoy’s pale hair against his black coat and the night sky.
“What the—” Ginny yelped, jerking her broom to a sharp halt just as Draco pulled up alongside her, slightly breathless.“We need to talk about this,” he said.
She stared at him. “Did you steal a broom from storage?”
“Yes,” Malfoy said flatly. Then, drifting closer, far too close for comfort, “Come on. Let’s just talk. You can’t avoid this forever.” He reached for her arm.
Ginny reacted on instinct. She dropped like a stone, executing her favourite evasive manoeuver — a sharp dive followed by a violent upward pull — and rocketed back into the air.
“Oi!” Malfoy yelped as she narrowly missed taking his broom’s tail clean off. Behind her, she heard his broom surge as he accelerated after her.
“Leave me alone!” Ginny shouted over her shoulder, cutting hard left over the empty Quidditch pitch. “We are not soulmates!”
“You don’t understand how rare this kind of bond is to families like mine, Ginny!” he called back, matching her speed with irritating ease. “Believe me, you’re not exactly my first choice either—”
She twisted in midair just long enough to flip him off.
“—and no, I don’t believe floating weeds pick romantic destiny,” he continued stubbornly, dodging a set of goalposts she skimmed deliberately close. “But if there’s even the smallest chance this is real, then we need to consult proper experts and verify it like sane adults!”
“Sane adults do not stalk their alleged soulmates!” she shouted, banking sharply around the far hoops.
He ignored her and demonstrated that his Seeker instincts were still very much intact after all these years, cutting off her flight path so abruptly. Ginny yelped and jerked sideways to avoid both him and the bleachers, her broom wobbling violently beneath her. For half a terrifying second, the handle slipped out from between her knees.
“Bloody—!” Her balance went. The world tilted. Wind ripped the breath from her lungs. A strong arm hooked around her waist and hauled her sideways before gravity could finish the job.
She collided hard into Malfoy’s chest as he dragged her onto his broom, his other hand steadying the handle with infuriating ease. She twisted immediately, elbowing uselessly at his ribs. “Let go of me!”
“Stop wriggling before you actually kill us both,” he shot back.
She ended up half-sideways on the broom, one knee braced awkwardly between his legs, gripping his arms for balance despite herself. Their faces were suddenly far too close — close enough that she could count the pale freckles across his nose, close enough to feel his breath warm against her cheek. “There’s a divination specialist in France my mother trusts,” Malfoy said, clearly trying very hard to sound composed while she was practically sitting in his lap. “She is a real seer. If you’d just agree to
go to Paris with me tomorrow, we could get this properly checked—”
Ginny stared at him, incredulous. He lifted a brow.
She huffed. Then, eyes narrowing, an idea sparked — reckless, stupid, and deeply satisfying.
“You want proof we’re not soulmates?” she challenged.
“Preferably,” he said dryly.
“Soulmate bonds solidify through physical contact, correct?” she asked, not waiting for the answer.
“Fine,” she said, tightening her grip on his sleeve to steady herself. “I’ll prove that we are not soulmates.” Before he could ask what she meant, she leaned in and kissed him.
It was awkward — unbalanced on a single broom as they were. The kiss landed messy and off-angle,more impact than intention, her lips slamming into his like a dare instead of a seduction. He froze. For a split second, Draco Malfoy was utterly still beneath her — startled breath, rigid shoulders, surprise written into every line of him.
Then his breath hitched and his mouth moved against hers again, slower now, more deliberate. Ginny’s hands went to his chest, clutching at the smooth black fabric of his suit, feeling the muscle underneath tense and shift beneath her fingers. He groaned softly, deep and low, and she felt the sound shoot straight to her core. Her own lips moved harder against his, matching the rhythm that had taken hold, teasing and claiming at once. His hands went to her waist, pulling her flush against him, the broom teetering beneath the sudden shift in balance.
The world narrowed to the hum of the broom beneath them and the strange, electric pull curling through her chest. She bit his bottom lip lightly, and he shivered. Their tongues met in a heated, urgent tangle, exploringand claiming, each movement igniting her senses. It was like a switch had flipped inside her chest. Something deep and impossible unfurled, coiling tight, then snapping into place. She could feel it — the pull, the tether, the undeniable, impossible connection that the stupid, cursed, magical dandelion had hinted at but could never have prepared her for. It wasn’t just attraction. It wasn’t just desire. It was them, inevitable and raw, locking into something older and bigger than either of them. Like two puzzle pieces sliding into place inside her ribs. Warmth flooded her sternum, spreading outward in a rush that made her gasp into his mouth. Her heart felt suddenly… larger. Open. As if something inside her had stretched and anchored itself to him, threading invisible light between their breaths, their pulses, their very awareness.
When she finally broke the kiss, gasping, breathless and trembling, her lips tingling from his and her own excitement, she could only manage a single, choked-out declaration.
“Fuck… we are soulmates,” she breathed.
Draco blinked at her, as if cataloguing her face, memorizing each freckle, each flare of emotion. “It seems… we are, Ginerva,” he said, voice low, almost reverent.
She smacked him, hard enough to sting. “Don’t ever call me that!”
He didn’t recoil. Didn’t even scowl. His mouth curved instead, slow and dangerous. “Noted,” he purred. “But I kind of like it when you’re trying to kill me.”
Ginny groaned, swatting his chest with one hand, her voice a little shaky, when he trailed kisses down her throat. “I will spend every day of your existence making your life a living nightmare”, she added for good measure.
He chuckled, dark and low, lips brushing her ear. “I’m looking forward to it.”
And then he kissed her again.