Complicated | Draco Malfoy

NINETEEN

The week after the second task flew by in a blur, but this time, something had shifted. And it had nothing to do with the Triwizard Tournament. It had everything to do with Draco and me.

Our relationship—if that's what you could call it—was no longer just whispers in dark corridors or fleeting moments stolen between classes or the astronomy tower. It was real now. We'd talked, argued, and somehow come to an understanding. We weren't hiding anymore. Draco Malfoy and Gemma Weasley were together, and the school knew it.

Every time we walked through the corridors, I could feel the stares. Some curious, some outright hostile. The Slytherins weren't subtle about their disapproval. Pansy Parkinson practically burned holes into the back of my head every time she saw us, and Theodore Nott made a show of fake gagging whenever we were together. Blaise was the only one of Draco's friends who would actually smile at me. The Gryffindors weren't much better. Ron was still coming to terms with it, but Ginny had acted like nothing had changed between us, which was... nice. Comforting, in a way.

Draco—he was different. He wasn't hiding either. He didn't flinch when people looked at us. He walked beside me, close enough that our hands would brush, his usual cold expression replaced by something softer whenever we were alone. It wasn't perfect—far from it—but it was something.

Now, standing on the edge of the pitch as the final task loomed, I couldn't help but feel the weight of it all pressing down on me. The stands were packed, banners of Harry, Cedric, Viktor, and Fleur waving in the wind. The air buzzed with anticipation, but my nerves had nothing to do with the maze ahead.

"Are you ready?" Draco's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. He had slipped beside me, his casual swagger still intact, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. His friends were watching us from a distance, as they always did now, their eyes filled with a mixture of confusion and disdain. I'd long since stopped caring.

I glanced up at him, and he gave me a look that only I knew how to read—his grey eyes softening in a way that was reserved for me, and only me. "Ready for what?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

He let out a low chuckle, glancing out at the field where the maze loomed ominously in the distance. "For this. Watching Potter go play the hero again."

I sighed, crossing my arms. "It's not about Harry being a hero, Draco. It's about him surviving. All of them—Harry, Cedric... they've been through hell in this tournament. This isn't a game."

His smirk faded, replaced by something more serious. He took a step closer, our arms brushing as he leaned in slightly. "You think I don't get that? This whole bloody tournament's a death trap, but everyone's too busy cheering to care." His voice dropped, and for a moment, the usual arrogance melted away. "Just... promise me you won't get too caught up worrying about Potter. I don't fancy watching you worry over him while I'm standing right here."

I smiled despite myself, shaking my head. "It's not just Harry I'm worried about, you know. Cedric, too. They're both good people."

Draco made a face, but didn't argue. "Cedric's tolerable," he muttered, though I could tell he wasn't happy about it.