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“Leontopodium nivale grows up there,” McGonagall said, pointing to the very top of the cliff. Ginny wrapped her arms around Harry’s waist and pressed her cheek against his shoulder.
“Will you bring some back for me?”
Harry shrugged silently and sighed softly. Yet another tournament organized at Hogwarts. And, of course, they can’t do without a hero here either. Like it or not, he’d have to crawl up there to get that flower. I mean, what’s stopping him from hopping on a broom, flying up there calmly, and plucking that damn flower? If it even exists. Of course, in Ginny’s eyes, it all looks so romantic—plucking the flower of true love, presenting it to her, and…
They could be used to decorate a veil. Harry flinched. What the hell, a veil? Oh, right, that wedding again…
Ginny rubbed her cheek against his shoulder and squeezed his hand tighter, digging her nails in slightly. Harry felt as if he were trapped. He hadn’t believed in such things before. Could love really be a trap for anyone? It turned out it could, and how. You have to marry her, you promised her…Under Ginny’s reproachful gaze, Harry felt as if even the walls of Hogwarts were whispering that hateful phrase to him. Although, strictly speaking, he hadn’t promised her anything. He’d simply told her one day during their sixth year, «I like you.»Why was that enough to land him in this predicament?
“If Ron’s your best man, he could pin the same flower to his lapel, too. Can you imagine, Harry?” Ginny suddenly got excited. “Our whole wedding would be themed around Leontopodium nivale”
Harry sighed quietly. It seemed he already hated those flowers. Ron turned around, shot him a sympathetic, guilty look, and quickly turned away again, looking down. The specter of his own future wedding to Lavender Elizabeth was looming large over him, and now Ron understood him better than anyone.
After the war, all they wanted was to simply taste freedom—to chase the Snitch, chat with ghosts in the dark hallways, study, and laugh. But their girlfriends were in a hurry. For some reason, it was right after the war that they wanted to rush into marriage, start a new adult life, and settle down in their own home instead of enjoying life and simply loving. Loving. Love.
Whenever he heard that word, some vague shadows would stir within Harry’s heart. It was as if he’d made a mistake with Ginny, chosen the wrong path and the wrong person, while his true feelings lay dormant somewhere, unrecognized, dusted with snow and swept by a white blizzard. But the bright, strong Ginny, who was constantly by his side, wouldn’t let that feeling awaken, drowning it out, suppressing it, and enveloping Harry with her presence. It seemed as though she was literally everywhere now, and Harry was overwhelmed by the abundance of her red hair.
“The scientific name for Leontopodium nivale translates to «lion’s paw»” Hermione turned around as well and looked at Harry. “It could very well be the symbol of our Hogwarts house faculty. Or just yours,” she smiled at him absently and turned back to McGonagall, while Harry stared thoughtfully at the back of her head. Sometimes it seemed to him that he should have chosen Hermione. Of all the girls, he had always loved her the most. And certainly much more than Ginny. But Hermione was his friend, a wonderful friend and he never wanted to ruin anything. Besides, Hermione had Ron. For a while. And now… Harry, recalling the unpleasant scene in the Gryffindor common room, struggled to resist the urge to put his hand on her shoulder—and give Ron a good smack at the same time—and now she was single again. That’s just how it turned out. And she has the courage to smile and keep believing in love. Even if she…
“Contestants, please come forward.” Carefully prying Ginny’s clinging hands away from him, Harry quickly made his way to the starting line, where Malfoy and Zabini stood with their hands in the pockets of their sports uniforms, alongside the contestants from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Harry shot a quick, angry glance at their indifferent faces—it was all correct, two participants from each house—but why did it have to be them, of all people?
“The winner is whoever reaches the top of the mountain without using magic and retrieves this flower,” Snape said, clearly dragged into all this against his will. At the word «flower» Snape grimaced in disgust.
“The title of champion and two hundred points for his house, a perfectly reasonable reward for facing such grave danger,” Snape added emphatically.
Neville, who was the second contestant from their house, glanced briefly at the top, shuddered involuntarily, and nudged Harry with his elbow:
“You’re going to win anyway, right?”
“Then I won’t rush.” Harry gave him a reproachful look and smirked: “Well, if even you think I’m super cool, then I’ve got absolutely no chance of being objective.” Do you really think…
But McGonagall cut off Harry’s indignant speech:
“And even though there can only be one champion, all the participants will be winners,” she said inspiringly. “Because everyone who makes it to the top of the mountain will have the chance to give a flower to the one they love.”
There was no sadness. Harry could literally feel a fiery gaze piercing his back, but he never turned to look at Ginny. Instead, for some reason, he looked at Malfoy. For some reason, it seemed logical to him to look at the person he’d hated his whole life, just to spite Ginny. After all, wasn’t that right? Malfoy, as if sensing his gaze on his back, suddenly turned around and glared back at him just as viciously. Harry frowned, not about to back down. Squinting, without breaking eye contact, they locked eyes, as if in a boxing ring. Who would be the first to lower their eyelashes or look away?
“So, remember a few rules…” Neville nudged Harry in the side again, and Blaise yanked Malfoy sharply, forcing him to turn away.
“What’s up?” Harry shot Neville a disgruntled look, annoyed that he’d interrupted their strange scuffle.
“You’re going to give it to Ginny, right?” Harry frowned and shoved his hands into his pockets. The last thing he needed was Neville and his questions.
“I don’t know yet,” he replied curtly. “What did you want?”
Neville looked flustered.
“Just…” He stumbled over his words and began to stutter, just like he used to in school. “J-just that I don’t know w-who to give it to at all. If I m-manage to get it, of course… Actually, I like two girls at the same time…”
Wow! Harry turned toward him and, for the first time, gave Neville an interested look. While he was racking his brain trying to figure out how to find even one, it turned out Neville already had two.
“You’re something else,” Harry laughed involuntarily, and Neville’s lips also broke into an embarrassed, kind smile:
“It just kind of happened that way.”
Harry nodded at him and fell back into thought. Even Neville, with all his agonizing over choices, was doing just fine. But as for himself… To be honest, he didn’t have a single one. He wasn’t at all sure about Ginny. After the war, she’d somehow immediately become his girlfriend again, without Harry even having to do anything, and if he gave her that damn flower now, he’d automatically be considered a suitor, and then a husband. And Harry wasn’t at all sure that was what he wanted.
So who should he give it to? He turned around after all and cast a quick glance at the crowd, where his eyes involuntarily fell on Hermione’s sad face. What if he gave it to her? Hermione’s smart—she’ll understand everything perfectly. She knows that Harry loves her—truly loves her—but not as a girlfriend, but as his best friend. And Ginny knows, too, that Harry adores his friend. So she’ll be upset, of course, but she’ll be too shy to make a scene. And there won’t be any wedding. Cheering up, Harry involuntarily glanced at the Slytherins again. Zabini was whispering something quietly and passionately to Malfoy, as if trying to convince him of something, while Malfoy stubbornly shook his head. His bright white hair glowed like a halo in the morning sun, and the long, untrimmed ends were ruffled by a light breeze. It was… beautiful. I wonder what they’re talking about? Neville asked him something again, and Harry, realizing that it was inappropriate to stare at the enemy, frowned and shook his head. But what did it matter to him? Let them chat about whatever they want.
“Participants, are you ready?” Harry suddenly realized that, lost in his own thoughts, he had completely missed all the instructions. Glancing back at Neville in confusion, hoping to ask him at least something, he saw Neville, along with everyone else, striding resolutely toward the base of the nearly sheer cliff, and Harry, completely at a loss, rushed after them.
The dark cliff rose high into the sky. Harry looked skeptically at the small ledges, faint indentations, and tiny pegs he would have to cling to with whatever he could. He really didn’t want to climb up there.
“I hope they’ll catch us if we fall off up there?” he blurted out, flustered. No one answered him. The climbers had already spread out along the cliff and were concentrating on scrambling upward; the fair-haired climber was already about three meters above the ground.
“Damn it!” Harry—who hated heights, had no idea who he was going to give this hideous flower to, and was baffled as to who had dragged him into yet another adventure and how—nevertheless set his foot on the first rounded rock and, hooking his fingers onto an almost invisible ledge, pulled himself up resolutely.
Encouraging shouts and whistles rang out from below, at least Harry could clearly make out Seamus’s joyful cries, but he preferred not to look back. Pressed against the rock, almost sprawled out on it, Harry found himself moving so methodically and briskly that he even began to outpace the others. Perhaps he was unconsciously using natural magic, or maybe Neville was right about something, the desire to be first and the extreme situation were unleashing reserves of inner strength in Harry that he hadn’t even known he possessed in his everyday life. The only one climbing faster than him was Malfoy, — for some reason, Harry kept tracking the fair-haired head looming slightly above him out of the corner of his eye — that vile snake, as if fused with the rock itself, glided upward like a nimble serpent, and his smooth, fluid movements were mesmerizing, compelling Harry to keep glancing back at him.
Not too quickly, but steadily, all the participants gradually made their way upward. About halfway up, Harry stopped to catch his breath.
“Ha-arry, co-o-me on!” a distant voice called from below, and Harry, hearing those familiar sounds, made an unforgivable mistake. He couldn’t resist and glanced down.
Far, far below, people stood, now looking like tiny ants. Some were waving their tiny hands at him, others were darting from place to place—but from this distance, it was impossible to make out exactly who they were. Harry gasped sharply, yet for some reason kept watching.
“Ha-ar-ry-y-y!!!” The ground below warped, swayed, and began to drift. A soft wind whistled in his ears. Harry licked his parched lips with difficulty and tried to grip the nearest ledge more firmly. But his fingers, slipping off a tuft of withered grass, grasped at thin air, and his foot suddenly slid across the slippery rock. Everything was spinning faster and faster in his head, and Harry, trying once more to grab hold of at least something, suddenly felt that he could no longer hold on and began to slowly fall backward.
“Protego!” A cold green beam shot from Malfoy’s wand, pinning him forcefully against the rock, slamming his chest against a sharp ledge and securing him firmly to the cliff. Clinging to the rock and trying to catch his breath, Harry looked up. Malfoy, hovering precariously in midair, looked down at him with bitter irritation, as if he already regretted having saved him. That familiar look of hatred helped Harry come to his senses, and he felt himself getting easier with every passing second. Now, just as they had down there at the foot of the cliff, they were once again staring each other down—Malfoy looked at him with hatred and suspicion, as if gauging whether Potter was about to fall again, while Harry looked back in bewilderment—he didn’t understand why on earth Malfoy had used forbidden magic for his sake and taken such a risk in the first place.
“Draco, don’t be an idiot. Only victory,” said Zabini, who was just a couple of meters below them, managed to gasp out, and Malfoy, as if snapping out of it, turned away from Harry and started climbing back up. Finally coming to his senses, Harry crawled after him. Malfoy’s strange behavior seemed to double Harry’s strength, steering his thoughts in an unfamiliar direction, and as if gluing him to Malfoy, because, deep in thought, Harry climbed, his gaze fixed on the slender figure and white hair, mechanically repeating Malfoy’s movements.
At the very top, Harry’s competitive spirit flared up again, and he decided to pick up the pace. But no matter how hard he tried to overtake his rival, Malfoy still came in first. Harry was only a meter behind him when Malfoy, deftly pulling himself up with his arms, disappeared behind the very top ledge. There must have been mountain snakes in his family. Or whatever else that slithering vermin is called? In short, the kind that can squeeze through any crack.
Feeling frustrated and angry at himself—and at Malfoy, too—Harry struggled to climb over the last barrier and, panting heavily, finally made it to the top. Malfoy, bent over the withered grass, was already examining something close to the ground. Harry, staggering from the strain, stood up on his trembling legs and looked around. As far as the eye could see, the blue sky stretched out all around him, and somewhere far below, the earth glowed yellow. The wind ruffled his hair and sleeves, and Harry felt as if he were flying on a broomstick again.
“Look, you idiot.” Malfoy said it quietly, but Harry was sure he was talking to him. Stepping closer, he too bent over the unremarkable grass, inadvertently brushing against Malfoy’s shoulder.
“What’s that?” he asked, for some reason almost in a whisper. Tiny white flowers with fuzzy, pointed petals clung almost to the very rock face, hiding among the stones. Delicate, almost imperceptible, touching in their vulnerability.
“Potter, are you a complete idiot?” Malfoy raised his head and stared him straight in the face. Only now, for some reason, there was no malice in his eyes, but something strange, unfamiliar.
“That’s it. Leontopodium nivale.”
And at those words, spoken by Malfoy with pensive tenderness, Harry froze, staring silently into his eyes. He could have said so many things to him: “You’re the idiot,” “Just shut up,” and “I know that without you telling me”… But he said nothing. Frozen in place, as if paralyzed by some unknown spell, he simply gazed into the gray eyes that were now very close to him. Malfoy’s lips were slightly parted; he was breathing heavily and laboriously—apparently tired himself from the difficult journey—and Harry, as if spellbound, gazed at him as though seeing him for the first time in his life. A stranger, weary, handsome, having taken a risk for his sake—Malfoy looked as if he were waiting for something, as if they were now bound by an invisible thread, and Harry, too, felt that thread and knew he could not break it.
“Leontopodium…” Harry echoed after him, just to say something, and Malfoy nodded at him and gave a faint smile. It was barely noticeable, so light, but that was enough for Harry. That half-smile from a stranger shone like bright sunlight in his chest, beginning to melt everything around him. It felt as though the snow had suddenly begun to melt, and what had long slumbered beneath the white blizzards suddenly came to life and surged upward, beginning to burn from within. Hovering over the pale, delicate petals, they couldn’t take their incredulous eyes off each other. Here, at the very summit, high above the whole world, it was just the two of them now. Not enemies, not rivals. Just Harry and Draco. Two guys, bound together by something greater than enmity or friendship.
Harry was afraid to move, as if something crystalline had suddenly appeared on that rocky outcrop between them. Even more fragile than the tiny white flowers. He felt an urge to touch it. A strong urge. To clasp that slender, strong hand in his own, to run his hand over her shoulder, to touch her silky hair with his fingers… The air on this cliff felt strange.
Suddenly, Malfoy’s gaze shifted to Harry’s lips, and Harry’s vision went dark with the urge to lean in.
“To who…?” He cleared his throat, trying to hold on to what little common sense he had left.
“Who do you want to give it to?” The «old» Malfoy would never have asked that question. But even the «old» Malfoy would have just smirked in response. He simply would have had to. This new version of Malfoy, however, looked into Harry’s face with anxious hope.
“Who do you want me to give it to?” Draco replied, almost in a whisper, and Harry suddenly felt a lump in his throat. It tightened to keep the only right answer from slipping out. To me. You have to give it to me.
“I… don’t know,” startled by his own words, Harry pulled away sharply and crouched over the flower, touching its tiny petals with his finger, bowing his head down to hide his face. But, unable to resist, he added, “You know better than anyone who you really love.”
It seemed as though he were speaking only to the flower. His own words made his heart skip a beat again. After all, Malfoy really did love someone. But now Harry didn’t want to know that. He’d never thought about it before. But right here, on top of the cliff, that was all that mattered. Who was she, anyway? Some girl from Slytherin. An attractive face with a languid, girlish gaze flashed before his eyes, and Harry realized that, whoever she was, he already hated her. Why the hell did it hurt so much? He touched the flower, as if trying to find peace in it.
“And you…? Do you want to give it to little girl Weasley?” Malfoy crouched down beside him and also touched the delicate petals, as if casually brushing Harry’s fingers with his own. Once. And then again. They say the air is very thin in the mountains. That must be why Harry couldn’t breathe. His vision darkened, and his heart leapt again.
“No. Not to her,” Harry didn’t recognize his own desperate voice.
“Then to who?” Long fingers traced his arm again, this time further, more firmly, and gently slipped into his palm...
“Harry… who…?” Harry felt as if the rock had tilted and swayed beneath him, and fluffy clouds floated through his head.
I don’t understand anything anymore… I must have just lost my mind… But now I want to give him only to you.
“Draco, come on! Why haven’t you pulled him down yet? You’re supposed to be first!” Shaggy Zabini towered over them imperiously, breathing heavily and gasping for air.
“I…”
“We…”
They yanked their hands away quickly, and Harry felt a rush of heat flood his cheeks and neck.
“You idiots!” Red spots, bangs stuck to his forehead, and an angry glare from piercing blue eyes. “If you don’t want anything, then I’m not such an idiot! Draco, go ahead and pick one! We agreed on this!” Bend down, Blaise snapped the stem sharply, and one of the flowers ended up in his palm.
“Or did you change your mind, huh, babe?” Blaze shot Malfoy a meaningful look, gave him a slightly lewd smile, and Harry’s vision went dark. For the umpteenth time today. No. It can’t be. So it’s not him, not her… It’s… Zabini?
His pulse pounded fiercely in his ears, drowning out the sound of the wind. Harry didn’t want to know anything else, didn’t want to see anything else. Right now, he was going to pick his flower, and he’d worry about everything else later. Turning away from the slytherins, he bent low over the pale grass, reaching for the white flowers.
“Let’s do it together.” Harry would never have believed that those words had been whispered right into his ear by Malfoy’s lips. Malfoy crouched down beside him again, brushing his shoulder against Harry’s. Feeling himself blush again, Harry nodded silently. For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to refuse him now. Lowering his hand, he touched the slender stem with his fingers, and when that familiar hand covered his from above, he felt as if he were going mad. The stem cracked and snapped.
“Here… take this…” Harry, without looking up, awkwardly held out his palm to Malfoy, on which lay two plucked Leontopodium nivale flowers. Malfoy, casting a quick, expressionless glance at him, carefully took one of the flowers, running his fingers over his palm again:
“I’ll take this one,” Draco said, clenching the flower tightly in his fist.
“Or maybe not… I’d better choose this one…”
“Yeah, definitely this one,” he said, taking the second flower from Harry’s hand. Draco scrutinized it closely, twirling it in front of his nose, then snorted dismissively and shoved it back into Harry’s palm.
“No, you can have this one,” he decided, turning away as he stood up abruptly, reverting to his usual self.
Harry, who didn’t understand nothing, held the flower out in front of him and watched in confusion as he approached Zabini, and as the two of them leaned toward each other again and began whispering, showing each other their flowers. Malfoy smiled at his friend, and Harry clenched his flower fiercely in his fist. It was nothing. He’d imagined it all. No gray eyes, no timid, desperate touches. What was he thinking, hoping for something like that? Let those idiots do whatever they want. And he’ll give his flower… he’ll give it… His eyes involuntarily fixed on Malfoy again, whose sharp shoulder was confidently gripped by Zabini’s brazen hand, pulling him closer. Harry silently clenched his teeth and turned away, absentmindedly gazing at the vast sky and the distant land. How he hated all Slytherins. Especially those two.
“Maybe I should pick two at once? Then I’ll decide later?” Neville leaned thoughtfully over the flower. Harry hadn’t even noticed when he’d shown up. The rest of the group also began climbing up one by one, distracting Harry from his gloomy thoughts. “Have you decided who you’re going to give them to yet?” Neville twisted the second stem thoughtfully. Harry shrugged silently. Now he didn’t care at all. Ginny was Ginny. But did it even make any difference? Just a moment ago, here at the top of the world, he’d touched something beautiful, something precious, but it had all been snatched away from him instantly and rudely. Just like always. He shouldn’t have believed it.
꧁ ꧂
They decided to hold the flower, presentation ceremony that evening in the Grand Hall. All day long, Harry didn’t know where to hide from those watchful hazel eyes. It seemed to him that Ginny was keeping him under constant surveillance with her piercing gaze, not daring to ask a direct question but also not letting him slip away, and while this used to drive Harry crazy, now it only made him feel a dull weariness. For the rest of the day, Malfoy seemed to have lost all interest in him, chatting alternately with Zabini and Nott, and Harry was now ready to give Ginny that flower just to spite him. Just to spite him.
“To be honest, I’m surprised you managed it,” said Professor Snape, who this time had apparently been forced to award the winner; he was pacing angrily past the participants, who were lined up in front of the tables in the center of the hall.
“But strange as it may seem, almost all of you made it to the end.” A half-hearted round of applause rang out in the hall, and Snape rewarded those clapping with an angry glare.
“I’m not finished yet,” he remarked bitterly, and, approaching the Slytherins, he said quietly, “In this contest of agility and courage, Mr. Malfoy came in first. Mr. Malfoy, may I ask you to come up here?”
Grinning, Draco took a step forward, and green Slytherin flags fluttered joyfully across the hall. The Slytherin table burst into enthusiastic applause, but Snape was in no hurry to encourage their merriment. “However…” The professor paused dramatically, and the boisterous hall immediately fell silent.
“Mr. Malfoy used magic that is forbidden to participants,” Malfoy involuntarily shuddered under his condemning gaze.
“Therefore, his victory is simply nullified. And since Mr. Potter was in second place behind him”, the professor grimaced at the name, as if he’d swallowed a spoonful of bitter potion, “the victory passes to him. Mr. Potter, please come up here.”
Without the slightest sign of disappointment, Malfoy walked back, casting a quick, appraising glance at Harry, while Gryffindor flags fluttered above the hall. The Gryffindor section erupted in cheers. Reluctantly, Harry stepped forward and found himself standing next to the professor.
“Mr. Potter, national hero, our school’s celebrity,” Snape seemed to be introducing him to the hall all over again, as if anyone here could possibly not know Harry. For some reason, the professor looked unusually pleased at that moment, and his next sentence put everything into perspective:
“Of course, Mr. Potter would have been champion again… If only…” Snape paused dramatically, and Harry couldn’t help thinking that the professor was missing out on a career as a great actor.
“…if only he hadn’t tried to throw himself off a cliff halfway through.” Fortunately, he was saved by a brave Slytherin student,” Snape made a dismissive gesture toward Draco, who gave a cold smirk to the spectators of this spectacle and bowed slightly. “Therefore, Mr. Potter’s victory is passed on to another participant. And for Mr. Potter, the mere fact that he has survived once again should serve as sufficient reward” with a casual motion, Snape pushed Harry back into the ranks, then waved his hand majestically and announced:
“And so, in this tournament, the well-deserved victory goes to the third contestant to Mr. Zabini! And it is he who is awarded this victory! Two hundred points to Slytherin! Let’s give a warm welcome to Hogwarts’ new hero.”
This time, Snape was the first to applaud, encouraging the Slytherins to jump to their feet and cheer joyfully. The hall was once again bathed in the emerald colors of the Serpent House. And Zabini stepped forward amid the joyful clapping and shouts. Relishing the attention, he turned around, shot Draco a quick, questioning glance, and a crooked smirk touched his lips - a carbon copy of Malfoy’s cold sneer.
Watching those two understand each other without words, seeing how well they suited each other—cold, calculating, cynical—Harry finally realized that he had nothing left to hope for. That Malfoy was still the same Malfoy: aloof, distant, building his life somewhere far away. And as for Harry himself, as always, there was the same old Ginny Weasley. Because in real life, there’s no room for dreams and fantasies.
As if trying to avoid the second part of her welcoming remarks, Snape attempted to slip quietly out of the hall, but McGonagall stood behind him, blocking his retreat.
“And now our participants will present flowers,” she said firmly.
“Severus, I’m asking you. The program for the celebration has been approved by the Ministry.” Snape grimaced visibly but made no objection.
“In that case, who shall we start with? Our winner? Or our celebrity?” he asked with biting politeness. Blaze grinned again and exchanged a glance with Malfoy, and Harry’s vision darkened with jealousy. He was going to walk over now, choose Ginny, and leave the hall so he wouldn’t have to watch those two exchange flowers. Before McGonagall could answer, he took a step forward.
“The celebrity has no objection,” harry said decisively, meeting the intense gaze of those dark eyes without flinching.
Harry abruptly pulled a flower - held in place by the Refreshing Charm - out of his pocket and glanced toward their house. Ginny froze in anticipation. Sympathy shone in Ron’s eyes, Lavender pressed her hands to her chest, and Seamus gave him a cheerful thumbs-up. Only Hermione seemed upset. «Harry, remember, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,» she had said earlier that day, and Harry had agreed with her. But now everything had changed.
“I want to give it to…” Ginny leaned forward, eagerly soaking up every word, and Harry suddenly hesitated. A sullen Snape stopped in front of him and asked with feigned concern:
“You do remember that you’re making a magical choice, Mr. Potter?” Snape said insinuatingly. “I hope you’ve taken the rules to heart? If the chosen one accepts your gift now, the edelweiss will bind the two of you with magical ties that won’t be easy to break.”
Satisfaction shone in his dark eyes.
Harry stared at him in shock. Of course, he’d missed that part again and had no idea what he was getting himself into.
He looked at Snape with anxiety.
“I...” Harry managed to say, then coughed. Only now did he truly begin to feel afraid. “Be brave, Mr. Potter. Braver and louder!”
No, Harry wasn’t imagining it. Professor Snape was genuinely enjoying this. He was even almost smiling. Harry stared at him in terror. All he had to do was say the name «Ginny», but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Seeking help, Harry looked around frantically and glanced at Malfoy, not even knowing why. Malfoy, catching his gaze, raised his eyebrows and curled his lips into his usual smirk, but, as if accepting his silent plea, stepped forward and stood beside Harry.
“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I have to disappoint all,” Draco said, sweeping a casual, distracted glance across the room. “Our hero is too absent-minded, and he simply forgot. He can’t choose anyone. Since he’s already given away his Leontopodium nivale”
Everyone’s eyes were fixed intently on Malfoy, but he didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed. On the contrary, he seemed to be basking in the attention. Harry turned and looked at him in bewilderment.
“What are you talking about?” he whispered to Malfoy. But Malfoy merely glanced at him briefly:
“You idiot, shut up. You’ll ruin everything,” he replied quietly, then addressed the professor loudly:
“I’m certain of it.”
“Is that so?” A grim smile touched the professor’s thin lips, as if he were already aware of what was happening. “Then perhaps you could enlighten us, Mr. Malfoy, as to whom and under what circumstances he gave it to you?”
“Of course,” Malfoy said, his confidence unshakable despite the indignant whispers. “He gave it to me,” Malfoy said, without looking at Harry, as he opened his hand to reveal an identical flower. “Here’s the proof.”
Harry heard a quiet gasp ripple through the auditorium. Not just the auditorium, he himself almost gasped along with everyone else. What on earth was that idiot talking about?
“Then whose flower is Mr. Potter holding?” a low, velvety voice asked him insinuatingly. Malfoy shot a mocking glance at the stunned Harry.
“Mine,” he replied simply, and, hearing an angry murmur ripple through the hall, explained condescendingly, “At the top of the mountain, Potter gave me the flower, and I gave him mine in return.”
“The exchange took place; the deal is done. Potter is mine. Now, I hope everyone understands?” Judging by Ginny’s pale face, Malfoy’s brazen question was directed specifically at her. A wave of astonished whispers swept through the hall again, and complete silence reigned. Harry, bewildered and completely at a loss, looked at Zabini for some reason, as if wanting to see exactly how he would protest. But instead, Blaise unexpectedly grinned and winked at him.
Does that mean Harry... made another mistake? And because of that, he almost made yet another mistake? An irreversible one?
“Mr. Potter! Is Mr. Malfoy telling the truth?”Snape stopped beside him. “Do you confirm this?” Harry shrugged silently and shook his head vaguely, recalling the Malfoy’s scheming up on the mountain:
«This one’s yours—that one’s mine.» And the white flower, clenched tightly in his hand. So it turns out Malfoy had already planned this back then? And Harry had naively assumed that Malfoy was simply picking out the best for himself. But if that’s the case…
Once again, Harry didn’t have time to figure out what that meant. His thoughts were interrupted by the professor’s low voice:
“In that case, we’ll consider this matter settled. And now, let’s give our winner the right to choose.” Snape, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened and the recent pairing was simply business as usual at Hogwarts, gave a welcoming nod to the tense Blaise. As Blaise shot another quick glance at Malfoy, Harry cringed inwardly once more. But Blaise, having received a silent response from Malfoy and seemingly having made up his mind, walked toward the Gryffindors without looking around any further. The hall buzzed again. Completely unfazed by the murmur that arose, Blaise walked about halfway down the table and stopped, pulling a flower from his pocket.
“I picked it for you. And I'd be happy if you decided to accept it.”
It grew quiet. Even from across the hall, Harry could hear Lavender gasp, Seamus snort with delight, and Ron cough nervously. Harry felt like pinching himself: Blaise was holding out a flower to a flustered, blushing Hermione. Embarrassed, Hermione bit her lip and shot Harry a quick, questioning glance, as if seeking his permission or support. And Harry, completely inexperienced in matters of the heart, suddenly saw the light: so that’s what those glances between him and Malfoy had meant.
“So will you accept it?” Even Harry could tell how nervous the handsome Zabini was right now.
“You two are such a beautiful couple,” Luna sang out melodiously, and whispers rippled through the hall once more. Harry silently shrugged and smiled at his friend. And Hermione, as if heartened by his support, turned her gaze to Zabini and, blushing even more, silently accepted the flower from his hand.
The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur. Harry mechanically answered questions and accepted congratulations, whispered words of encouragement to Hermione, avoided Ginny’s angry glare and Ron’s puzzled look, and laughed at Neville, who was comically darting back and forth between Luna and Parvati, but his mind was nowhere near there. All the while, he kept scanning the room for Malfoy, and whenever he met the boy’s wary, intense gaze, he could feel his heart pounding.
“Let’s go. We need to talk.” Before Harry could even process what was happening, strong hands had already shoved him out of the hall, and he came to his senses in the darkness of the hallway, pressed tightly against the wall.
“Don’t be silent,” Malfoy said, gripping his shoulders firmly as he stared intently at him. “Do you hate me now?”
Harry frowned. He could feel Malfoy’s agitation, the warmth of his body, the strength radiating from him. And he didn’t want to go anywhere. It was anything but hate. Harry shook his head:
“You tricked me.”
Malfoy lowered his head, and his white bangs fell across his forehead:
“I’m ready to end it all. If that’s what you want. But you don’t want that, do you? Am I right?” His eyes, peering out from beneath his white hair, looked at Harry with tense hope.
“Why did you do that, Malfoy?”
Draco gave a cold smile:
“Think about it. Maybe you’ll finally understand.”
Harry closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at him. That was the only way he could think straight. Because he really wanted to look. To catch every emotion, every sigh. “You’d better tell me,” Harry smiled uncertainly.
“You know I’m not very good at this.”
Malfoy gave a short chuckle and gently ran his fingers down the back of Harry’s neck, sending a slight shiver through him.
“«Love and loyalty. Courage and bravery.» I think that’s what it said about edelweiss, wasn’t it?” Malfoy asked quietly. Harry nodded sheepishly, staring into the darkness of the hallway:
“I don’t know which part of that applies to you,” he said softly, and, since Draco remained silent, added quietly, “Thanks for saving me. And I’m sorry you didn’t become champion because of me. I guess «courage and bravery» really are yours after all.”
Malfoy smirked:
“I’m not sure, but maybe now you’ll want to test the first part, too?”
“The first part… of what?”
Because Malfoy had leaned so close to him that their hair was almost touching, Harry’s thoughts turned to jelly, freezing inside his head. Malfoy chuckled softly, pressing even closer to him—almost melding into him—and, completely paralyzing his mind and will, whispered right into his ear:
“Potter, you idiot, when I order clothes for our kids with your initials and an Leontopodium nivale monogram, will it still not click for you?”
“Our… who?” Harry froze in confusion, but when Malfoy pressed himself even closer, he involuntarily rubbed his temple against Malfoy’s sharp cheekbone, trying either to shake off or, on the contrary, to let in the arousing whisper:
“Malfoy, what are you talking about?” he almost moaned, because the desire was swirling inside him more and more intensely, beginning to burn and pull everywhere at once. Draco, pulling back slightly, looked at him in confusion for a couple more seconds, then snorted and laughed:
“To hell with you, Potter. If you want to play dumb, go ahead. No problem. Just be mine. Do you agree?”
And Harry, still not quite understanding what he was agreeing to, nodded for some reason. Maybe because right then he was ready to do anything to get what he wanted so badly. Or maybe because he’d finally heard the only phrase in that whole speech that made sense.
“Be mine.” Malfoy looked into his face with genuine anxiety, so Harry was the first to reach out to him and pressed his lips firmly against Malfoy’s. Because he wanted to so badly. And also because he wasn’t ready to blurt out the shameful truth.
“I’m already yours. Forever.”