#hell yeaa

If you were the Sorting Hat, this you thought on boring mornings or late evenings when your mind wandered solely for entertainment purposes, you would have put Draco in Ravenclaw. He is clever, so unbelievably clever yet all that intellect is prescribed to his status, not natural talent or passion for knowledge. And he’s a hardworker, and on moments of genius — creative, too. But he can be bitter, and protective, and snobbish, and, above all else, petty, though those traits are not inherently Slytherin. Perhaps if it was not for his family, of whom you know enough to not like, he would be in Ravenclaw, and would be envied for his talent, rather than feared. Perhaps then he’d tease your friends in a jovial, familial way, rather than from a place of malice. You know, watching Harry and judging his sometimes abysmally stupid decisions, that he and Draco, in different circumstances, would be best friends. However, you are not the Sorting Hat, nor do you possess powers to change the past, and so he resides in the dungeons as some feared beast and you at the very top of the Gryffindor Tower.

The two of you are, quite literally, worlds apart. Perhaps that is why it was so silly and so easy to fall in love.

The two of you danced about one another since third year, since Hagrid’s Magical Creatures class where you were quick to defend but never in a hot headed, brash way and he quick to shoot snarky remarks. You aren’t sure why, when you hissed, “Malfoy, seriously, not now.” he had enough sense to listen. But he did, and so the staring, the stolen glances, the passing “Hellos” started and no one knew what to make of it. You are kind, that he knew very well, and at first he had pitied you for it. It was, in his eyes, a weakness. But it takes immense courage to be kind, especially to those who are so rough around the edges they hurt everything and everyone they touch.

It was the night of the Yule Ball he had realised he was in love with you. The ice sculptures, white beams of light, and gentle sprinkle of snow was nothing compared to when he saw you that evening. He was with Pansy, and she was pretty, but she was shallow and cared more of image than of him, of the real him, and the Malfoy name had allured her more than Draco. But you he knew, and you knew him, because all the secret conversations and meet ups at Hogsmeade away from prying eyes that would disapprove of such a scandalous friendship — Harry Potter’s thespian conversing with the Slytherin Prince — and something in those hours of spending time together had bloomed and only then, surrounded by so much glitter and beauty, he found a name for it.

But you emerged as Harry’s date of all things, wearing a lovely dress and clad in jewelry like a lovestruck Ophelia, with a shy gaze and rosy blush. And Harry beside you was rigid and awkward and kept his head down as you flourished in the spotlight, glimmered like a jewel. Draco never in his life had felt the scorch of jealousy that strong. Though he was mostly bitter at himself for not having the courage to ask you “Will you be my date for the Yule Ball?”; for fearing gossip too much, for fearing the tarnish of his name if he was to appear with you by his side. All of that mattered little then, because all he wanted was to hold your hand and dance with you through night instead of staring longingly at you, so close yet so agonisingly far.

And you had seen him too, that night, and he was as handsome as ever. And you knew that he knew what you were thinking when your eyes met before the first dance, that the pang of guilt and hurt your felt — he felt it too. But the dance started and Harry distracted you from all of it, with his boyish charm and adorable uncertainty. You laughed and helped him, only to save him from absolute embarrassment. You saw little of Draco after that. And you tried not to think of him too much, simply enjoy the festivities and smile at whomever said that you looked beautiful. But it kept nagging you, somewhere in the back of your mind, that it was Pansy clinging to his arm and kissing his lips and not you.

It was right before the last task of the Tri Wizard Tournament when you had kissed him. It was a desperate attempt at grasping reality, at calming down, at finally having something you had wanted for so long. And perhaps you had been a bit delirious from stress and lack of sleep but the halls were empty and the castle stood lonely as everyone went to observe and cheer for their champions and you lingered in search of him, and he must’ve been searching for you because he found you by the library and stood frozen at the sight of you so distressed. You had hissed his name and rushed to him, enveloping him into a tight embrace only to feel a smudge of warmth and comfort. And you had kissed him because he would have never dared to kiss you and in that moment he realised why you wore the Gryffindor sweater and the lion crest with pride — you were brave and unapologetic of your feelings, and it takes courage to be so vulnerable.

When you had pulled away your lips were swollen and cheeks aflame, “I-I’m—“ you stuttered, wanting to apologise but nothing came to mind, his taste still fresh on the tip of your tongue.

Draco smiled slowly, breathlessly, but soon caught himself and his face twisted into deliberate neutrality, though his hands trembled lightly by your sides, “Don’t say sorry.” He said, “Don’t…dismiss it.” He glanced away, lost in thought, and you wondered why he refused to allow himself happiness.

“I like you.” You blurred, catching his gaze, “I like you a lot, Draco.”

“I…like you, too.” He admitted quietly, softly. It was as if the roles had reversed — you were sharp and straightforward and he was tender. His hand found yours and grasped it, fingers interlocking with yours. You smiled, but then, a wild thought occurred to you that you might miss the last challenge.

“…Harry!…” You whispered under your breath in alarm, pulling him with you, heart hammering in your chest. The prospect of showing up with Draco for the whole school to see was frightening, but hiding behind closed doors did not appeal to you and making sure your best friend made it out safely was much more important than a bit of gossip. Harry would understand, eventually.