Adeleine Potter: The Shifting Shadows, Draco fanfic

Part 17

After tending to Mattheo's eye, the day dragged on agonizingly, and the entire week seemed to stretch into an endless blur. Draco's behavior during Quidditch practice was unnerving—he didn't even seem angry anymore. Instead, he treated me with a cold, detached indifference that cut deeper than any outburst could have. His face was an unreadable mask, and his eyes, once so intense and full of emotion, now held nothing but emptiness.

Mattheo, on the other hand, avoided me at all costs. I suspected it was because neither of us knew what to make of the strange connection that had sparked between us at the party. There was an unspoken tension, a thread that neither of us dared to tug at, for fear of unraveling something we couldn't control.

Monday morning, as I was making my way through the corridor, Harry suddenly stormed toward me. His eyes were blazing, his grip on my arm firm as he pulled me aside.

"Is it true?" he demanded, his voice a furious whisper. "Is it true what they're saying? That you're with Riddle?"

I blinked, taken aback by the intensity of his anger. "We're not together," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "But, yes, we were... together at the party."

Harry's face twisted in disbelief, his grip tightening as he shook his head. "Are you kidding me, Adeleine? His father killed our parents!"

His words struck me like a physical blow, and I flinched at the raw emotion in his voice. "I—" I stammered, searching for words, but nothing came. I had no defense, no justification that could ease the pain in his eyes.

"I should've listened to Hermione," he continued, his tone bitter. "She warned me not to trust you. But of course, I didn't listen. Because you're a Slytherin. And I thought—" He broke off, his voice catching as he turned away from me, his shoulders tense with barely suppressed rage.

"Harry, please," I whispered, but he was already walking away, leaving me standing there, reeling from his harsh words. I watched him go, searching for any sign of regret, any hint that he might take back what he'd said. But all I saw was anger—raw, unfiltered anger, barely contained beneath the surface.

As I stood there, the weight of his words settled over me like a suffocating blanket. Why did I always end up hurting the people I cared about most? My mother, my brother—now even in this world, I was causing pain. I had hurt Draco, Harry, and Mattheo, dragging them all into this twisted mess that I didn't know how to escape.

The rest of the week was a blur of avoidance and isolation. I couldn't face anyone—not Harry, not Draco, not even Pansy. I skipped meals in the Great Hall, surviving on little more than snacks and water. Each day felt like a trial, each hour dragging on as I tried to make myself invisible. I only attended Quidditch practice once, but even then, I kept my head down, avoiding Draco's cold gaze.

Friday arrived before I knew it, and I was jolted back to reality when Pansy mentioned that the first task of the Triwizard Tournament was that afternoon.

A wave of panic washed over me. Had Harry been prepared? Did he even know what he was about to face? My mind raced as I bolted from the common room, the urgency propelling me forward as I made my way to the stadium. It was the first time I had been outside all week, and the crisp air bit at my skin, waking me from the fog of my self-imposed isolation.

The walk to the champions' tent seemed to stretch on forever, but I finally arrived, out of breath and filled with anxiety. I spotted Cedric near the entrance, his face lighting up as he saw me.

"Hey, Adeleine. Looking for Harry?" he asked with a knowing smile.

I nodded, too anxious to speak, and he gestured toward the back of the tent, where Harry was preparing for the task. I found him standing with his back to me, his shoulders tense as he adjusted his gear.