Work Text:
When they escaped the dungeons, most of them didn’t realise what it meant. They wouldn’t accept to be sent away, they’re Slytherins, for heaven’s sake! So they broke free from the dungeons and ran towards the fight. Only there did they realise that Professor McGonagall might have sent them away for their own good. Behind the Dark Lord were their families. Their parents. Watching them, begging them to join. Most Slytherins disappeared to who knows where. Draco didn’t know what to do. He wouldn’t join his parents, that much was obvious. No matter how his mother pleaded. He couldn’t do it. His father would be furious, of course, but frankly, he couldn’t look him in the eye and see the honourable man he once was. So he stood still and looked anywhere but at his parents. His eyes slid to the body in Hagrid’s arms. It seemed that Potter was dead.
Potter was dead.
Even though Draco hated him, a shock went through his spine. Seeing Potter dead was not something he had expected to see. The Dark Lord had defeated him. Of course he would have, not even Potter can keep surviving the wrath of such a powerful wizard. What a shame.
But now that the Dark Lord had won, how profitable was it still to hold his ground and not join his parents? The Dark Lord would turn his back on him and his family. His mother, what would happen to her? Would she be tortured, because he wouldn’t join her? He can’t let that happen.
Draco meets his mother’s eyes. There was no use trying to be brave. The only one who had a chance of saving his family, was dead. Never mind morality now. With slow steps, but his head held high, he crosses the small space between him and the Dark Lord. Numb as he is, he doesn’t feel anything until his mother lightly touches his arm. ‘Please’, he silently prays, ‘please hold your ground, Pansy. Please try again. Don’t be a coward like I am.’
Longbottom steps forward. Draco feels his blood drain from his face. ‘No. Not the Gryffindors. Please, Longbottom, no!’ Draco flinches. ‘Longbottom, please…’
“I’d like to say something” he starts, like the secret Hufflepuff he is. Draco tries to tune out, but he can’t. “It doesn’t matter that Harry’s gone.” ‘It doesn’t? I believe it changes everything.’ Trying to keep an indifferent look on his face, and trying not to let his mother feel his trembling, he pays close attention to Longbottom’s speech.
“It isn’t over!” Longbottom yells. With a sharp zing, the Sword of Gryffindor is pulled out of the hat. At the same time, a loud boff echoes between the walls. Stupid, clumsy Hagrid dropped Potter’s body. What does he think he’s doing? Trying to help Longbottom out of the mess he made for himself?
“Confringo!”
The Dark Lord looks stunned, Nagini is hit by a spell. The students seem relieved, disbelieving. People around him are surprised. Why? It’s not as if some Hogwarts students can fight the Dark Lord without Potter’s help.
Hold on.
Draco replays the sound of the spell in his head. ‘Confringo... Confringo,’ it echoes. ‘Potter,’ his brain answers, as if on instinct.
Hagrid didn’t drop Potter’s body. He jumped. He hit Nagini. He lives!
Before the Dark Lord can respond accurately, Potter jumps behind the stone walls. Understandably, the Dark Lord fires spell after spell, misses Potter again and again. Around Draco, some Death Eaters decide it’s becoming too dangerous. Others disappear to reappear somewhere else in the fight. His mother grabs his hand and starts dragging him away. Over the bridge, away from danger. Away from Potter. Who lives. ‘Potter is alive.’ His head drums. ‘Potter is alive?’ Behind him he hears yelling, the sound of a shield charm cast.
“Mother,” he hears himself say. “Let’s wait here. To see the fight.” His mother looks at him, with her dark and usually all-knowing eyes. Now, they were just dark and confused. After a silent second in which she seemed to mull his proposition, she nods. They are not far away, just over the centre of the bridge. Just where Draco can see everything.
He sees Potter and Voldemort staring at each other, he sees them measuring each other’s strength, he sees them circling each other. Without noticing it, he walks forward. Step by step. His mother trails behind him. She tries to stop him from closing the distance with another placement of his foot. Draco doesn’t hear. He sees the tension building between the Chosen One and the One who Chose. Any second now. Any second, and the Dark Lord will send another Avada Kedavra to Potter. He sees Neville – Longbottom – killing Nagini with the Sword, right before it would kill Part Two and Three of the Golden Trio.
Longbottom. Neville. Whatever; Draco will either die or have to live with them constantly in the news. He might as well start acknowledging Neville as a wizard. Merlin. Perhaps Neville isn’t a Hufflepuff at all.
He even sees his mother’s eyes flit towards him time and again. Her expression differs between concern, fear, and bravery. The last look she gives him, is clear as day. She catches his eyes and, without words, shows him that she knows. She knows why he is stalking back to the Castle, even if Draco himself doesn’t completely understand.
He is close. The Dark Lord is standing only a few metres away. If Potter would fire a spell, and his aim would be wrong, Draco could be killed.
Who is he kidding, of course Potter wouldn’t miss his aim. And he would never cast an Avada Kedavra. Righteous git.
A soft thud has him looking around him. He is not the only Hogwarts student intently watching the tension build between the Dark Lord and Potter. They seem to be talking, but no words reach his muddled brain. He knows there can’t have passed more than a couple of minutes between when he though Potter was dead and now.
Oh right. A sound at his feet had his eyes roam. What is that?
When his eyes search the ground, he would have expected some dead bird next to him. Someone’s owl perhaps. But he never expected to see the Sorting Hat at his feet. It seems to be lifeless, like any hat in the Muggle world would be lifeless. He picks it up and feels the rough, leathery material. He looks at the sky and sees a small beast flying away. Their eyes lock and the beast cries. As if it tries to tell Draco a secret.
Then, a movement catches his eye. The Dark Lord seems to be reaching his wand. Everything looks like it is a photograph, moving in slow-motion. He feels the undeniable urge to grab something in the Hat. The Dark Lord now wraps his fingers around the twisted wood of the Elder Wand. Draco wraps his hand around something solid. His feet take him even closer to the noseless bastard. He feels a sharp gaze prickling in his back. He knows it’s Luna Lovegood’s. No one else’s gaze is that sharp and perceptive.
The pale, bony hand is pulling the wand towards himself, ready to fire. Ready to kill. Draco’s hand pulls as well. A sharp zing, a sound he already heard today, fills the eerie silence, just as the Dark Lord is pointing at Potter and starts his incantation. With the speed of a trained Seeker, Draco’s arm, which now holds something heavy and magical, swings.
Someone garbles. Draco’s arm is by his side. A red liquid drips of the object in his hand. His view is blurred. The body in front of him collapses. Pieces of skin of the dead person start floating upwards, faster and faster, until the body is nothing but bones and dust, barely recognisable for anyone without deep knowledge of his face.
What happened?
A heavy silence covers the Great Hall, like a cloud covers the tips of the French Alps. His brain starts to function properly again, his vision clears.
First, he sees Potter’s eyes. Green, Slytherin green to meet his Slytherin silver ones. Bright. Round.
Second, he sees Potter’s face. Open-mouthed, completely confounded. Sharp features, soft look.
Third, he sees Potter’s stance. Ready to fight, to defend. To die for people he loves. Determined.
Fourth, he sees Potter’s hand. Trembling. Holding a wand; brother of the one who killed his parents.
Fifth, he sees Potter’s friends. Strong, powerful, loving and loved. Looking at Draco like he was trash.
Sixth, he sees Professor McGonagall. Elegant, defiant. Wanting to protect her students, her home.
Seventh, he sees Voldemort. The Dark Lord and his army. Crumpled, thinned. Most of them dead.
His arm is starting to feel heavy from exhaustion, his hand firmly gripping a decorated, silver handle with red gems. Finally realising what had happened, he drops it.
The Sword of Gryffindor. He pulled the Sword out of the Hat. “It takes a true Gryffindor to pull the Sword out of the Hat”, was once said. The Sword had revealed itself to him, Draco, Slytherin, son of a Death Eater.
And the murderer of Voldemort. ‘The Dark Lord’, Draco says to himself, as if to chastise his brain for saying the true name. ‘Voldemort’, his brain says right back. His disrespectful brain, who had commanded his arms to kill the man he was supposed to serve.
Sounds start to resonate within the walls. People started to chatter, yell, cry, scream. Potter looks at him, and he looks at Potter. A voice cuts through all.
“Draco!”
Gulping, he turns around. His father now stands in front of him. His eyes storm. He doesn’t say anything else. His mother looks at him, again all-knowing. She smiles, a small smile, but one that reaches her eyes. With a slow nod, she gives him all the love he needs at that moment. He sees his father swallowing. His mask breaks for a second. Then he turns around and marches away, commanding his mother to follow.
The Hat in his hand starts moving. “A Slytherin turned Gryffindor in times of need. This is an important part of Wizard’s History.” Draco tries to scowl, but of course his facial muscles don’t listen.
The world starts to spin in normal speed again and Draco again turns around to see the Great Hall. All students of Hogwarts flock together, mostly towards Ha- Potter. Even through the people crowding him, he keeps his eyes locked on Draco. It unnerves him.
Yes, unnerving. That is what Potter has always been. He wasn’t arrogant or attention-seeking or rude. He was unnerving.
“Ladies, gentlemen, settle down!” A voice booms through the chatter. All Death Eaters have gone, if they were still alive. The body of Voldemort –‘The Dark Lord!’– lies alone, in the middle of the Hall. Professor McGonagall successfully makes everyone turn towards her, to make them stop staring at his bones. “I believe it would be better to assemble outside, so I can make some announcements.” She herds the students towards the place outside, which was so lovely when covered in snow. The Sorting Hat wriggles in his hand. “Bring me to McGonagall” it hisses. Draco, who has never wanted anything to be gone from his vicinity so badly, quickly sends it to the Professor with a wand he finds lying next to him. The Sword disappears as well.
Feeling all eyes on him was never Draco’s favourite pastime. With a few steps, he finds himself backed against a wall, not visible for the many excited and bewildered students. Potter is gone, probably being carried by his admirers. The only one left behind in the Hall, except for him, is Luna. “Hello Draco” she says pleasantly. “Well done, just now. Very impressing. Will you be coming outside with the rest of us?”
‘The rest of us. As if she wants me there. As if she would include me. As if they would include me.’
“Back off, Loony” he snaps. ‘What is wrong with me?’ his inner voice screams. Luna just shrugs. “I’ll be at the right side of the doors, if you need me.” After that, she skips away. She leaves the doors open, and Professor McGonagall’s voice is heard in the Great Hall.
Her speech flows past Draco, who is not willing to leave his thoughts alone to listen to some Professor, yet again giving all the credit to a Gryffindor. To bloody Potter.
Potter, who is alive.
This thought makes him tune into the high-pitched and tired voice of the Professor.
“Today, Voldemort was beaten.” Draco gets nauseous. His eyes roam the floor until they land on the heap of bones that once held up Voldemort’s body.
“Today, we will begin to live as a unity. We have seen the way hate can ruin the world. We have seen what segregation can do to the world. We have lost friends and family. But, as Mr. Longbottom said, when bravely facing Voldemort: they didn’t die in vain. They still live with us. In our hearts, and in our minds. Not a single one of them should ever be forgotten, but not a single one of you should ever be stuck in the past. The future begins today. Let’s make it a good one.”
Draco feels a chill run up his spine. ‘The future begins today. Does she mean this for everyone, or just for her beloved Gryffindors? How can Slytherins ever be forgiven for what they did? How can Pansy… Pansy!’
His feet start running before he has any idea what he’s doing. He has slowed his pace to a (very fake) self-assured and strong walk when stepping out. His eyes search the Slytherins, who are all standing clutched together in a corner. When he prepares to take the next step towards them, he freezes.
He can’t go to them. He is not a true Slytherin anymore. He can’t talk to them anymore. They wouldn’t want to be friends with him anymore. They hate him.
Why did he do it? How did he get the Sword? He isn’t a Gryffindor. He hates Gryffindors. He will never be selfless. Or, well, he had been just now, when he killed Voldemort. When he saved Potter.
Potter. He’s alive. He isn’t dead. Potter is alive and well, without a scratch. Voldemort didn’t kill him. And Draco had saved Potter. With the Sword of Gryffindor.
Since when did he have so much bravery? Since when did he do such things?
Of course, in Malfoy Manor, he had recognised him as soon as he came into the room. He hadn’t said anything then. He hadn’t told his parents that it was Harry Potter. He saved Potter then, did he not? But that was because Potter could save his parents. If Potter had died then, Draco would never be safe from Voldemort.
And just now, he had wanted to stay on the right side, and fight his parents, if necessary. He had wanted to fight side by side with Potter. Would he really be able to fight his family, if that would mean being on the good side for once in his life? ‘Yes. Yes, you would. Because it’s Potter’s side.’
Draco sighs softly. Professor McGonagall ended her speech, and was rewarded with a round of respectful applause. She places the Sorting Hat on a stone, so everyone can see it. The Sorting Hat says something, only to be heard for the Professor. Professor McGonagall nods and prepares herself to speak again.
“The Sword of Gryffindor is not a regular sword,” she tells the crowd. Draco flinches, moves to get away again, when the next words are spoken. “Today something extraordinary has happened, and the Sorting Hat would like to explain how it could happen. I will tell you what the Hat is telling me.”
An explanation would be nice. Because how on earth can he, Draco, ever reveal the Sword of Gryffindor?
“The Sword of Gryffindor is known to reveal itself to a true Gryffindor in need. However, this is not the entire truth about it. Everyone can be a Gryffindor for a moment: a moment where adrenaline and fear cause bravery instead of cowardice.”
‘Fear? For what? Potter dying?’ Draco thinks while moving so that he is less visible for the curious eye.
“In this moment, the Sword can appear when one’s deepest desire is to save someone. When nothing else matters, and selfishness is abandoned.”
‘Selfishness is abandoned’ his traitorous brain sing-songes. ‘Why would I every abandon myself with the risk of dying, for Potter of all people? I guess that he saved me as well, in the fire, but by then I had lied to my own parents already, in favour of him. Am I that desperate to be liked? Or is there some Slytherin-part of me which knows that I will profit, if Potter lives?
No, that is selfish. And there was no selfishness involved. According to that bloody Hat.’
“In the history of the Sword, the revealing of the Sword by a non-Gryffindor happened only once before. A crow had dropped the Hat in front of the person in need. The crow stands for change, a dawning of realisation, a clearing of the mind.
The last time a non-Gryffindor pulled the Sword from the hat, it was a Ravenclaw who did it. In that moment, the Ravenclaw realised he needed to protect the attacked Gryffindor in front of him, in order to be happy.”
A snicker goes through the crowd, and Draco feels himself grow cold. ‘Happy? I can only be happy when Potter is around? This is nonsense. I can be perfectly happy without that brainless prat.’
Involuntarily, he sees Potter body, dangling in Hagrid’s arms. He shudders at the memory. Alright, maybe he doesn’t want Potter dead, but he can live happily ever after without Potter around him. ‘You sure?’ he hears that stupid little voice say.
The rest of the story is lost on Draco. All he can think about is how he felt when Hagrid carried Potter. The heavy weight in his chest settles again, when he thinks about how easily it could have been true. It is a miracle Potter didn’t die. How would Draco be standing now, if Potter had died? Would he be safe with his parents, or would Voldemort send them off to kill some people at the Ministry? Draco can’t think about it. He feels a warm liquid trail over his cheek.
‘Tears? For Potter? No. I will not cry, and certainly not for the death of Potter. And he isn’t even dead. He is alive. Standing right there. And Voldemort is dead.’
Yes, Potter was alive. Draco breathes a sigh of relief.
Why would he be crying over Potter’s death, anyway? It’s not like he cares about Pothead. ‘Don’t you?’ No. No. Of course not. Well, okay, he doesn’t hate him as much as he used to, but…
Merlin’s beard.
He cares for Potter. Alright. He can live with that. And if Potter would want to try again and perhaps give him a chance of friendship, he wouldn’t refuse. Being friends with Potter, how would that be? Being able to laugh with him. But then he would also have to be friends with Mudblood and Weasel.
Perhaps he should stop calling them that. It wasn’t fair. And remarkably unnecessary, now Voldemort was dead –dead!– and his father wouldn’t accept him into his house anymore. Strangely, relief washed over him, instead of sadness. He wouldn’t have to see his father again. He can be himself.
Had he not always been himself, then? No, he acted much more like how his father wanted him to be, than how he really was. The marriage his father had had in mind for him, was never what Draco wanted. So yes, he can be himself now.
If he were himself, would Potter give him a chance? Draco doesn’t care about anyone else. If only Potter would, he would be happy. If only he would get that bloody handshake.
He would never forget the unknown kind of pain that seared through him when Potter refused his hand. And flat-out told him no. Almost like he was rejected or something.
Rewind.
Rejected? Does he feel rejected by Potter? What does that even mean? Had he hoped for friendship, then? Yes, of course, that was it. He had wanted to be friends with the Boy Who Lived. ‘Is that all?’ Confusing, two-faced brain. Yes, it was all. He never wanted anything else than friendship.
He wanted that handshake.
And yet… if he just wanted to be friends, why was he so ultimately obsessed with him? Draco knows the meaning behind every movement of his brows, every twitch of his fingers. He almost knows more about bloody Potter than about his own father.
“Wherever you are, Mr. Malfoy, know that you have done an incredibly brave thing. It means a lot to me, to the school and to the Wizarding World. You have saved us all.”
The words barely reach his mind and it takes a while before he realises what Professor McGonagall had said. She thanked him.
Glad that he is standing in a corner, he lets his eyes roam the crowd. One pair of eyes catches his, and they hold each other’s gaze. Luna smiles at him. Perhaps she does want him there. Perhaps she does want to include him. He reluctantly smiles back at her.
“Does anyone know where Malfoy is?” a voice asks. A voice he knows all too well. Some people make surprised noises. Potter would never make himself the centre of attention voluntarily. Luna raises her eyebrows at him. Go on, she seems to say. He shakes his head and presses himself closer to his dark corner.
“Please, Malfoy, you must be here somewhere?”
“I believe he is hiding” Luna says. Potter turns around to watch her. “Where?”
“I can’t say. Secrets and all that.”
Stalking towards her, Potter is almost terrifying in his determination. “Do you know where he is hiding?”
“Oh yes, but I can’t tell you, Harry. He doesn’t want me to tell you.”
Although Potter’s back is turned to him, Draco knows he is rolling his eyes. The Slytherins are starting to move and murmur. Pansy, darling Pansy, detaches herself from the group and gets closer to Potter and Luna.
“Loo – Lovegood, would you care to tell us? We would really like to know” she says softly. Pansy is being polite, apart from her little slip of the tongue. She nods curtly at Potter, before laying her eyes on Luna once more. Professor McGonagall and the Sorting Hat are heading towards the doors, seemingly to give the students some time to reacquaint. Draco quickly moves, still in the shadows of the Castle, to stay unseen.
He shouldn’t have done that. He should not have done that.
Luna spots his movement and her eyes find his. Potter and Pansy turn around to see what she is looking at. The entire student body of Hogwarts are roaming this side of the courtyard, in hopes of spotting him before anyone else does.
Draco makes himself as small as possible, trying to melt into the wall of the Castle. Why doesn’t he have a wand when he needs one?
Their eyes meet. Slytherin green and Slytherin silver. ‘You never wanted to just be friends’ the nagging voice tells him. ‘Just look at him. You never wanted just the handshake. You wanted –‘ No. He isn’t going to listen to this nonsense. He must be traumatised by shock. Or by the look Potter gives him.
Yes, Draco knows he may have paid some unusual attention to other boys’ looks. Yes, he knows he noticed too many little things of said boys. But only now does he realise what is means.
Of course he never liked the marriage his father wanted for him. He didn’t want to marry a woman.
He wanted to be with other guys.
That is why he could never be himself around his father.
That is why he was easier with Pansy than with Blaise.
That is why he wanted that bloody handshake.
He wants Potter.
No.
No, he doesn’t. Potter is an arrogant –…
Never mind.
Potter is heading towards him, and every eye of the Hogwarts students is fixed either on him, or on Draco. ‘Is there really no wand that I can use for some dark disappearing spell?’
It is too late anyway. Potter is already standing in front of him.
“Thank you” he says quietly. Pansy stayed behind with Luna. Why? Oh, right. She doesn’t want to talk to him at all. He’s not a Slytherin anymore. Now, he’s just the guy who killed Voldemort.
Killed Voldemort to save Potter.
Potter is looking at him, like he expects an answer. To what? Yes, he thanked him. All the thanks he gets today are getting to his head.
“For what?” Draco tries, he really tries, to snap. But with this newfound information about himself, and with all that has happened today, he can’t do it. He must have lost his first language, called sarcasm, when he killed Voldemort.
Potter snorts. “For saving me, perhaps? Or for saving the Wizarding World. Maybe for saving my friends, your friends, professors, everyone in this school?”
Well, that’s ironic. The bully of the school is now the hero? Malfoy saves Potter? The Daily Prophet will have a very interesting story to tell. Draco hopes Rita Skeeter will write the article.
“Listen, Potter” Draco starts. The name now rolls over his tongue like it belongs there. There is no venom behind it. “Don’t pretend you like me, just because I decided to kill that bastard. I merely had enough of him.” Draco surprises himself. He almost sounds indifferent.
“You turned on your family for it.”
“Yes, thanks for reminding me.” Perhaps he hasn’t lost his ability to sarcasm after all.
“Malfoy. You didn’t listen to the Sorting Hat explain?”
Draco feels the urge to clench his fists. Okay, perhaps he likes Potter, or something like that (‘Not something, exactly like that!’), but that does not mean that Potter can go all snooty and wise on him. Absolutely not.
“No sorry, I was rather busy with wrapping my mind around the fact that I pulled the Sword of Gryffindor out of the Hat, for Merlin’s sake.”
“If you had listened, you would know how it happened.”
“I don’t care how it happened, I –“
Pansy is running towards him. In a fluent movement, she pushes Potter aside and flings herself at Draco. Arms wrap tightly around his neck.
“Draco, are you alright? I am so… so… so proud of you. You killed the Dark Lord, Draco. It was so brave. Draco, thank you” she softly whispers in his ear. “I can’t believe you did that. You seemed quite out of it, for a while. Like you had no idea what just happened. But then you looked at –. Never mind. We’ll take about this later.”
Pansy lets go, shoots a look at Potter and steps backwards. After one more smile, she returns to the Slytherins. Perhaps she doesn’t hate him.
Some Gryffindors, who have been staring at Potter and him for what feels like an hour now, come in action. The female Weasel, no, Ginny, starts telling other Gryffindors something. It results in a group of students trying to shoo the others inside.
They are getting privacy to talk.
“Let’s go to the lake, for a second” Potter proposes. Without another word, he starts walking, expecting Draco to follow. Which, of course, he will. He hasn’t got a better plan, even though he doesn’t want to talk about this mess.
Especially now he knows he likes Potter. Maybe more than likes him.
‘Is that what Mother knew?’
The thought flits through his mind, and without hesitating, he knows the answer. Yes. Yes, she knew. And now, Draco knows too. And his father perhaps. His father doesn’t matter anymore. And his mother seemed to accept the idea.
Potter and Draco stand still at the lake, far too soon for Draco’s liking. Now’s probably the only chance he will get to try for Potter’s friendship.
“Malfoy. Draco. I am serious. Thank you. You saved my life. You were… you cared enough to pull the Sword.” Before Draco can sputter anything against this statement, Potter hastened to add: “Cared for the Wizarding World, I mean. For the school. Not for me.” A wry smile formed around his mouth.
“The Sword doesn’t appear for just anyone, you know. You must be a powerful wizard as well. As we already knew, of course.” Potter seems as nervous as Draco feels. Why, though? It is not Potter who turns out to have feeling for his nemesis. ‘I have feelings for my nemesis. I have feelings for Potter, while I served the man who wanted to kill Potter. How twisted is this world?’
“Draco, can we try again?”
He knows what Potter is going to say, before he actually does.
His mind is still trying to formulate an answer, when his mouth starts moving.
“No.”
Potter’s face falls. What did he just say? Potter offered him the handshake he always wanted. Why is he being such an idiot?
Again, his mouth seems to have his own brain.
“I don’t want to try again, Potter. I want us both to know exactly where we come from. I want to start from here. Forgive, but never forget. Because if you forget, you will be disappointed in me, when I mess up again.”
Potter seems to light up.
“So we can be friends?”
“No.”
‘What are you doing, you stupid git, brainless prat, annoying jerk, whining dick…’ His inner voice keeps ranting at the words that tumble from his mouth.
“I can’t be friends with you. I do care. A lot. But frankly, not for the Wizarding World or whatever. I wouldn’t have done this for Pansy, or my mother. I am not selfless. I am not brave. I am not reckless as you Gryffindors seem to be.
I did it for you. I can’t bear the idea of you dead. I wouldn’t go to your funeral, but let’s face it: my life is too much intertwined with yours now. I can’t do it without you around me to irritate me senseless.”
The small voice in his head stops insulting him. It finally seems to be happy with the decisions Draco makes. It isn’t judging and confusing him anymore.
Potter is astonished. His eyes are bright and round, like two green plates.
“You need me in your life?”
“Don’t take it like a compliment. It isn’t.”
“I’m taking it like I want to.”
“Whatever.”
It is silent for a moment. Until Potter goes ahead and ruins that. Naturally.
“Draco?”
“What now, Potter?”
“You care about me?”
Draco feels his cheeks heat and looks at his feet. ‘Well, not so much caring about you, as being stupidly in love with you.’
“What?”
Draco looks up.
“What? Why are you looking at me like I just spoke in Parseltongue, or something? Is there something in my hair?”
“You are in love with me?”
Hold on.
He said that aloud? ‘You unwelcome brain, what are you doing with me?’ He screams internally.
“Draco, I need you to be honest. Are you in love with me, and since when, and how and why and where and what and please tell me, please talk to me, is it true what you just said, please be honest with me here.”
“Potter, you’re rambling” Draco says calmly.
“Of course I’m bloody rambling, I just found out you are in love with me!” Potter shouts, not so calmly.
“Never heard someone say that to your face? I thought the female Weas… - Ginny might have done so” he casually drops.
“I never heard you say it. I never thought I’d hear you say it. But are you not denying it then?”
“What’s the use of denying it? I won’t be accepted for any job, no matter if I am honest about this or not. Yes, Potter, I might have a tiny bit of a crush on you. And that’s enough grovelling for today. I will be going inside to pack my trunk and chat with Pansy for a bit. Have a nice life. Good day, Potter.”
Draco makes to walk away, when a soft voice stops him.
“Well, that’s convenient.”
Silence again. Draco is patiently waiting for an explanation of this statement, but his hand is trembling and he feels his eyes burn. The stress of the day is finally catching up to him.
“What is?” He can’t help himself. He just needs to know.
“That you are in love with me.”
“Are you trying to be sarcastic? Because let me tell you something, sarcasm only works if you show it in your tone of voice as well.”
“Sarcasm isn’t my strong suit.”
“What is?” Ah, insults, Draco’s lovely way out of every awkward situation.
“My strong suit?”
“Do you have one?”
“Are you always going to be this way?”
“Smarter than you? Yes, probably.”
“I meant annoying and sarcastic and trying to push me away.”
“Does it matter? After today we’ll never see each other in person again.”
“And then they call me oblivious” Potter mutters.
“Excuse me?”
A slow smile breaks onto Potter’s face.
“You really have no idea, do you? Draco, do you want to know my biggest secret?”
He can’t really say no, can he? But he can’t look eager as well. Let’s go with not saying anything.
“Yes.” Treacherous mouth.
“Three years. That’s what it took for you to make me fall in love with you.”
‘Fall in love with you…’ echoes through his head. Potter’s in love? With him? This world really needs to sort it out. What kind of joke is this?
“Well, that’s convenient” is the only thing Draco can say.
“I believe it is” is the only thing Potter can say.
Or maybe it’s Harry now.
Nope. Still Potter.
“I still hate you, Potter.”
“You’re just an arrogant prat, Malfoy.”
“Oh sod off, you know you love it.”
“How can I not?”
“Sap.”
“I’m a sap? You’re a Slytherin who pulled out the Sword of Gryffindor, because you cared so much for me! I think you’re the definition of a sap.”
“You’re the definition of ‘desperately-needing-some-styling-advice, my friend.”
“Perhaps you could help me. For at least until I get the hang of it?”
“That’ll take a while. I’ll do it.”