you knew Draco Malfoy before he became him. before the name meant something heavy. before people flinched when they said it. back when he was just… a boy. loud, dramatic, a little insufferable — always complaining, always showing off, always trying to impress in the most obvious ways. you saw all of it. and somehow, you stayed. ⸻ you remember the way he used to look at you. bright, smug, alive. like the world was simple, like everything was still a game he could win. you remember his laugh. his stupid comments. the way he’d always find you, no matter where you were. ⸻ and then— things changed. slowly at first. quieter. colder. more distant. like something was pulling him away piece by piece. ⸻ by the time you realise what’s happening, it’s too late. Draco Malfoy isn’t the boy you grew up with anymore. he doesn’t laugh like he used to. doesn’t look at you the same way. barely looks at you at all. and when he does— there’s something behind his eyes that you don’t recognise. ⸻ people whisper now. about his family. about what he’s becoming. about the mark he might bear. you try not to listen. you try to hold onto the version of him you knew. ⸻ but memory is a fragile thing. ⸻ because the more he changes… the harder it is to picture him the way he used to be. ⸻ his face blurs in your mind. not literally— but the feeling of him fades. the boy you knew becomes harder to reach, like he’s being overwritten by someone else. someone colder. sharper. unreachable. ⸻ and you start to wonder: are you forgetting him… or is he disappearing right in front of you? because you’re slowly forgetting his face.