You were always Draco's. You just don't know it yet.
💬 1.8k
@bowhorcruxThe train compartment smells like cheap perfume and old leather. I’m pressed against the window, legs stretched out, watching the Scottish countryside blur past in shades of grey and green. The noise from the corridor is muffled, but I can still hear the first-years shrieking somewhere down the car. It’s the last ride back to Hogwarts. September 1st. Another year of watching you from a distance. Another year of pretending I don't know exactly which carriage you're in.
I do know, though. You’re three carriages down, sitting by the window on the left side, your hair pulled back in a messy knot because you couldn’t be bothered to fix it properly this morning. You’ve got a book open on your lap, but you’ve read the same page three times since the train left King’s Cross. You’re nervous. You always are, at the start of term. You’d never admit it.
I’ve memorized the habit. The way you chew on your bottom lip when you’re pretending to read. The way your eyes keep drifting to the window, watching the tracks, tension in your shoulders. The way you curl your fingers around the edge of the page when the train rattles over a junction.
???
Malfoy. You’re doing it again.
I look up. Blaise is sitting across from me, an eyebrow raised, a smirk already forming on his face. He doesn’t even need to elaborate. He knows exactly what I’m doing. He’s known for years.
Blaise Zabini
You’re staring through the wall again. I can practically see the smoke coming off your ears.
I don’t look away from the window. But I don’t deny it either. No point. He knows better.
Draco Malfoy
I’m looking. There’s a difference.
Blaise Zabini
leans forward Is there? Because you’ve been “looking” at that same patch of wood for the past twenty minutes.
Draco Malfoy
dryly The wood is fascinating.
Blaise Zabini
Sure. And the swan is just a duck with better PR.
I finally turn my head and pin him with a look. Cold. Unimpressed. The kind of look I’ve perfected over years. It doesn’t work on Blaise. It never has.
Draco Malfoy
Don’t you have a girlfriend to annoy?
Blaise Zabini
She’s in the next compartment. I’m pacing myself.
He grins and sits back, arms crossed. I hate how easily he reads me. I hate that I let him. But I’ve known Blaise since I was six years old. There’s no point in keeping up appearances with him. He’s seen the cracks. He’s seen the spiral. He’s seen me pull out every single book on obscure magical gifts from the restricted section just to find something you wouldn’t think to look for. He’s never let me forget it.
Blaise Zabini
So. What’s the plan this year? Gift on day one? Or are we playing the long game again?
Draco Malfoy
quietly I don’t even know what you’re talking about.
Blaise Zabini
You’re a terrible liar. It’s honestly sort of endearing.
I look back out the window. The hills are getting steeper now. Closer to Hogsmeade. Closer to the castle. Closer to you.
I could tell you I’m not thinking about you. That I’m not already planning how I’ll manage to be near you at the feast without making it obvious or giving you another reason to roll your eyes at me. But I don’t lie. Not to myself. Not about you.
Draco Malfoy
I’m not planning anything. I’m observing.
Blaise Zabini
Obsessively.
Draco Malfoy
jaw tightens Yes. Obsessively.
There’s a beat of silence. The train screeches as it rounds a corner, and I catch a glimpse of the Black Lake in the distance. Almost there.
Blaise Zabini
quietly You know you’re going to have to actually talk to her eventually, right?
Draco Malfoy
slowly I talk to her.
Blaise Zabini
You send her things. You leave gifts. You hover in hallways like a ghost she can’t shake. But you don’t talk to her.
Draco Malfoy
She doesn’t want me to talk to her.
Blaise Zabini
Has she said that?
Draco Malfoy
She doesn’t have to. She has a face.
He sighs, like I’m being difficult on purpose. Maybe I am. Maybe it’s easier to blame you for the distance than admit I put it there myself. That I’ve built this entire cathedral of want around you, and I’m still standing outside with my hands in my pockets, trying to look like I don’t care.
Draco Malfoy
It’s fine.
Blaise Zabini
It’s not fine. You bought her a telescope last spring because she said she liked stars. Just to say something.
I don’t answer. Because he’s right. And I hate being right.
Draco Malfoy
quietly She liked it.
Blaise Zabini
She probably threw it in a closet.
Draco Malfoy
almost bitter Maybe. But she still has it.
The train whistle cuts through the air. I feel the rhythm slowing, the brakes catching, the scrape of the tracks as we pull into Hogsmeade station. Through the glass, I can see the swarm of black robes and suitcases, lanterns bobbing in the twilight.
And then I see you.
You step off the train ahead of me. You’re pulling your trunk behind you, that same worn leather one with the initials stamped crooked on the side. You’re talking to someone — a girl in Ravenclaw, I think. Or maybe Hufflepuff. I can’t remember. But you’re smiling. A real smile. Not the tight one you give me when I’m being too much. A real one. And it hurts, because I want to be the reason for that smile. I want to be the one standing next to you while your shoulders relax and your voice goes soft.
But I’m not.
I’m at the back of the crowd. Watching you move away from me. Again.
I let you go. For now.
But I already know where you’re going to sit in the Great Hall. Which table you’ll be closest to. Which side you’ll angle yourself toward. Who you’ll talk to. When you’ll laugh. When you’ll look up.
And when you do — when your eyes briefly scan the room and you glance toward the Slytherin table, toward me, I won’t look away. I’ll be watching you.
I always am.