Grffindor:We Share Half A Brain Cell Between The Two Of Us.

Grffindor:We share half a brain cell between the two of us.

Slytherin:And most of the time we don't know where it is.

#treatment

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How I pratice drawing things, now in a tutorial form. The shrimp photo I used is here Show me your shrimps if you do this uvu  PS: lots of engrish because foreign 

ALEKSANDER MOROZOVA / THE DARKLING.

two sworn enemies — draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x female!reader

summary: there is only one thing worse than being hated by draco malfoy; it’s being fancied by him.

requests are closed for now! please refrain from plagiarizing my work.

After being on the receiving end of Malfoy’s torment for four whole years at Hogwarts—a place where she’s supposed to be making friends and learning and making the most out of all her youthful years—[Y/N] is beginning to grow tired.

The last thing she’s supposed to be worrying about is a snarky Slytherin boy who always has some sort of rude remark resting on his lips every time he comes across her in the corridors. Or anywhere, for that matter—Draco Malfoy’s incessant jest seems to stay within no boundaries.

Eleven-year-old [Y/N] used to be fazed by it; she used to cry herself to sleep every time the platinum blond would push past her in the hallway, yelling out something offensive on his way, usually to do with her friendship with blood-traitors and the “big-headed” Harry Potter (or so Malfoy referred to him). She used to feel angry—angry enough to want to whip her wand out at him and hex him into oblivion every time he’d even as much as lay eyes on her. But the more Malfoy tried to bother her, the more it didn’t anymore.

Fourth year wasn’t so bad. Malfoy had already called her about a hundred nasty names at that point and was running out of them—his creativity was dwindling and [Y/N]’s concern along with it. She’d even laughed at him, one time during Transfiguration class—genuinely laughed, not out of frustration or anger but because she found something that he said to her funny.

“How does it feel being surrounded by blood-traitors and Mudbloods, [Y/L/N]? Pity you chose the wrong crowd to hang around.”

“How did it feel to get punched by a girl, Malfoy? I hear Hermione packs quite a punch.”

Malfoy’s nose had wrinkled into his signature sneer before he scoffed. “Tell Granger she can improve her right hook.” At which point [Y/N] had snorted out a laugh—and yes, it wasn’t a full-blown burst of chortles, but it was a laugh nonetheless.

Fifth year rolls around and Draco Malfoy is the least of [Y/N]’s worries. She’s gotten over his nagging at this point; all his jabs have lost a bit, if not all of their luster.

But then a week after classes have started, Malfoy starts acting—weird. Very weird. [Y/N] has no idea what’s gotten into him, but Draco’s cruel insults seem to have veered off course and taken a very dramatic turn. He still yells at her in the hallways, but not to make some harmful jibe [Y/N] has heard thousands of times before. Instead Draco—yes, Draco Malfoy, the same boy who has never once failed to torment her in the past years they’ve known each other—has now made it a habit to yell pick-up lines. At her. At [Y/N]. At the same girl he’s been bad-mouthing for the past four years.

The first time it happens, [Y/N] can’t believe her ears. She thinks he’s yelling at someone else other than her, because there is no way bloody Draco Malfoy is shouting “DO YOU PLAY QUIDDITCH? BECAUSE YOU SEEM LIKE A KEEPER” at her from halfway across the Great Hall.

But he’s definitely staring at her, grinning widely in that conceited sort of way that [Y/N] has always despised.

“Is he talking to me?” [Y/N] asks Hermione, bewildered.

“Looks like it.” Hermione looks just as surprised as her. “Knowing Malfoy, he’s not up to anything good. Ignore him, [Y/N].”

But ignoring Draco Malfoy is not something [Y/N] is capable of; the feistiness in her makes sure of that. So instead of moving on and turning a blind eye, she cups her hands over her mouth and yells, just as loud, “ARE YOU A BLUDGER? BECAUSE I’D LOVE TO BASH A BEATER’S BAT INTO YOUR—”

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