Drarry - It Was All Just A Game (REWRITE - CLEAN VERSION)

CHAPTER 12 - THE THIRD TASK

It took two weeks for Draco's pride to crack and reason to seep through to him—a new record, he might add; his grudge was supposed to last at least a month, but as with all things Harry Potter, Draco's life turned upside down because of him.

The ache replaced the anger. The yearn to share the small things, like hearing how Harry's day was and telling the mundaneness of his own; bringing each other interesting foods to try; seeing his smile; knowing that Draco put it on his face—all of it crumbled the wall Draco put up bit by bit.

Any time he saw Harry joking with Weasley or Granger, a knife twisted in his stomach. Other people had the privilege of making Potter laugh. Not Draco.

The self-loathing was a vicious cycle.

It was his fault. How could he say something like that in front of Potter—Harry? How could he think that way? Why was that type of thinking so hard to get rid of? Why'd he even fall for stupid Potter anyway? See. Draco wasn't meant for a relationship. Especially with Potter.

Why'd it have to be Potter?

Harry. Damn it.

Jealousy was a beast he needed to tame. Harry would never make him feel bad for joking with his own friends (so long it was an innocent joke. Draco understood his lesson loud and clear: No bigotry.) Harry was right. What he said and how he thought about people was wrong.

It was as if his life was now a train platform: the train of his past to his left, dark rusty, and headed towards storm clouds. Then, there was the train of what could be, if Draco chose it, his future, which was welcoming and brave and headed towards light.

It wasn't as easy of a decision as you'd think. Because Draco knew the train to his left. He knew where all the cracks were in the walls, which doors were broken and how it moved. It was familiar. He rode it from where came from.

And he might not be good enough for the train to his right. But Harry was on it. And he wanted him so much.

But more importantly, and this was the key, he wanted a better world. He wanted to smile and laugh unapologetically. He wanted to see what riches came with being a good person.

So, Draco took the initiative—something he'd never really done before.

"Hughs," Draco called in the hallway following a Potions class a few weeks after he and Harry broke it off.

The small boy met his eyes, and they widened. He darted in the other direction, and Draco followed. Draco would have reached him just by walking as Hugh's tiny legs sprinted, but Draco had a light jog to catch up with him. He cornered him to keep him from running.

"Please don't hurt me," he cried. "I like it when you leave me alone."

"I just want to ask you a few questions. I brought food." Draco reached in his pocket and pulled out a mound wrapped in paper.

Hughs furrowed his eyebrows. "A sandwich? With bread?"

"It's gluten-free." Draco looked at him, and Hughs followed him outside to the courtyard. They sat on a bench together, Draco self-conscious. He should even be with a tiny little first year Ravenclaw, let alone a Mudblood one.

Hughs examined the sandwich. "Is it poisoned?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Why would you think such a ridiculous thing? Just eat it."

He hesitated before taking a bite.

"You're Mud—Muggle born, yes? Is your blood really a different color? Is it black?"

Hughs furrowed his eyebrows and looked at Draco like he was crazy, making Draco feel even smaller. "No..."

Draco blinked. "I heard Muggles burn magical creatures on a stake. How do you explain that?"