Draco Malfoy - Chapter One and Two

Tyler Heckman

High School Student

October 2025

I first noticed Draco Malfoy staring at me in the library. Or maybe it was the astronomy tower. I can’t remember, the lighting is always the same shade of disappointed candlelight. His gray eyes—flat as puddles after a half-hearted rain—flickered down to my kneecaps. Yes, my kneecaps. No one had ever gazed at them with such intensity before.

I pulled my scarf tighter around my throat. It was green. Or was it maroon? Actually, now that I think about it, I’d lost it last week in Potions, but there it was anyway, knotted twice and draped over my shoulder like it owned me.

Draco smirked. Always the smirk. He leaned closer and whispered—just barely audible—“kneecaps.”

I gasped. The word rattled through me like a rogue Bludger.

The next day, we walked side by side down the corridor, his robes brushing my scarf, which had suddenly become plaid. My kneecaps ached from the cold stones of the floor, though I wasn’t kneeling. Yet somehow, I was kneeling. Kneeling and walking. Continuity, like the scarf, is slippery.

Draco stared flatly at me, his lips curving the smallest degree into that smirk again. “They’ll never understand your kneecaps,” he whispered, so quiet I wondered if I’d imagined it.

I clutched the scarf—blue now, and frayed. “Neither will I,” I said, though I wasn’t sure which I meant: him, the scarf, or my own kneecaps.

We sat by the fire in the Slytherin common room later (though I’m fairly sure I was still in Gryffindor Tower). My scarf had vanished completely, then reappeared on Draco’s shoulders, then mine, then wrapped around both of us like some serpentine chaperone.

His fingers grazed my kneecap. Just once. Then never again.

The silence stretched, broken only by his whisper: “Always.”

I think he meant the kneecaps. Or the scarf. Maybe both.

Chapter Two: The Scarf Remembers

The night was thick with fog, or maybe mashed potatoes—I couldn’t tell. Draco stood at the end of the corridor, bathed in moonlight that seemed to only shine on his hair. His smirk was sharp enough to slice through my kneecaps.

“Come closer,” he whispered, though he didn’t move his lips. Or maybe he shouted. No, it was definitely a whisper. His eyes never left my scarf, which—oh Merlin—it was back again, this time silk, this time crimson, wrapped scandalously low around my waist like some forbidden belt.

I walked toward him, my knees bending dramatically, so every step announced itself with the sensual creak of kneecaps in motion. He noticed. He always noticed.

He pressed me against the wall, his breath cold and soft like parchment. “Kneecaps… are destiny,” he whispered, voice rough enough to make me shiver. His fingers ghosted over my scarf, which now glowed faintly green, but when I looked down, it was woolen and beige and also on fire.

“You’re obsessed,” I said, clutching his robes, my kneecaps knocking together like scandalous drumbeats.

“And you’re… symmetrical,” he replied, still whispering, still smirking. My knees buckled under the weight of his stare—flat, unblinking, relentless.

Somehow we were in the Forbidden Forest now, though I swear we hadn’t moved. My scarf was tied between two trees like a makeshift hammock. Draco pulled me toward it, whispering things about kneecaps that Hogwarts definitely didn’t teach in the curriculum.

The scarf slipped away again, now looped around both of our necks, binding us together with alarming intimacy. His smirk widened. For a moment, I thought he might actually raise his voice.

But no. Only a whisper, scorching in its restraint:

“Your kneecaps… belong to me.”