Hidden Feelings - A Draco Malfoy Love Story

Chapter Thirty-Two

Dear Elizabeth,

I smile at the words, running my fingers over the soft parchment of my mother's letter. The letter my dad wrote sits beside it. It's such an odd feeling when I see them writing like they used to, two pieces of parchment in one envelope; like I've been plunged into some wonderful dream, almost too good to be true.

Except it's true. My parents' love is real, realer than anything.

I sit in the owlery to write them back, having waited for this for days following the second task. I have my responses practically planned out, not able to contain the excitement as I write about the lake's unlikely beauty. Even the merpeople, before attacking, were fascinating creatures.

I wish Harry had someone to write to like I did. It makes this situation a little less terrifying and a little more thrilling, when I have a place to put down my thoughts on it and realize I'm actually kind of glad I'm getting to do this. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity, at least for someone like me.

Not that things have been completely normal; the mystery of who put Harry and I's name in screamed at me to pay attention to my friends' warnings from last year; there's always something that happens.

••••••••••

Hermione's eyes are narrowed as she reads the article, her head shaking more and more furiously as she goes on. I try reading over her shoulder, but her hair keeps getting in the way. She finally slams the paper in front of me, stabbing her fork into her eggs.

"She's got to be crazy," she says angrily, and Ron nods, having been the first to see what Rita Skeeter had written. I scan over the words, quickly understanding her frustration.

"She is crazy," I agree, rolling the paper up and tossing it to Harry. "How can she assume we're magically in love just because we're a girl and a guy of the same age in this thing? You don't see people suggesting Fleur and Cedric, or Viktor have something going on."

"Hugging doesn't mean something's going on, either," she says, gesturing helplessly to an image of Hermione hugging Harry before the first task. "Viktor and I barely talk as is, even though we went to the ball together."

I glance at Ron, waiting for some comment about that; they never truly got over their fight. However, he simply looks down at his plate as Hermione continues stabbing her food.

"Since when is shared trauma the making for a relationship?" Harry asks, scrunching his face up.

"There's another picture of you guys asleep in the library," Ron sighs. I remember it happening a few nights before the second task, our last attempt to find something for Harry to do.

"How is she getting all of these?" I ask, leaning over to see more scattering the page. Ron is the only one who isn't in any of these, Hermione even seen more than the other champions.

"You haven't seen Malfoy with a camera, have you?" Hermione wonders, glancing across the room. I turn my head and see him grinning at one of his friends. It's odd to see him smile, especially when he's not making fun of someone.

"No," I respond, "but I wouldn't be surprised if he had one. I'll talk to him later."

"You seem to be good at psyching him out." Ron grins a little. "Ever since you punched him, it seems."

"Really?"

"Totally. He never gives you the dirty looks he gives me," Harry snorts.

"If anything I think he hates me more," I say, although as I do I realize how untrue that is. Multiple rare occurrences point toward him not completely hating me.

"Because you're the only one who gets to him," Hermione points out. "Can you do Rita next? I'd love to see her suffer."

"Mione!" I laugh, pulling the paper from Harry. I hold it at the top and rip it down its center. "If we're really so special, she must be in lots of pain knowing we despise her."

••••••••••

"You like that spot, don't you?"

I snap my notebook shut, looking up at Malfoy. "Yes." I'm sure he's thinking about the same day I am, when I first came here to the courtyard and sat under this tree. When I really started questioning how right I was for Gryffindor.

"How's your leg?"

"It's been over a month. If it weren't healed yet, I'd be concerned," I say. "It's no hippogriff assault."

His face turns sour, and he drops his bag in front of me, sitting down. "I liked it when you were quieter."

"Thanks," I mutter, tucking my book into my own bag. "If you'll excuse me, I-"

"Hang on," he interrupts. I stop moving.

"What?"

"Do you know what the third task is?"

I narrow my eyes, smiling cautiously. "Is this information you need to make my life miserable, or just small talk?"

He grins, a hint of humor in his eyes. "Whatever you want to think."

"I probably shouldn't, but I want to think that you're truly being nice." I settle back down, leaning against the tree with my hands in my lap. "They showed us the maze being grown about a week ago. The cup will be in the center, and we have to fight our way through...through who knows what to get there."

"Monsters?" he asks, tilting his head to the side.

I sigh. "Yes."

"Are you scared?"

I look at him with a raised eyebrow, thinking like I'd let you believe that. But I can't stop myself from uttering a quiet "Yes."

"I mean, at least they have to be smaller creatures." He shrugs. "Better than a dragon."

"Have you seen what we've been taking care of in Hagrid's class?" I scoff, rolling my eyes. "At least with a dragon it's near impossible to miss."

He rolls his eyes dramatically, clearly to mock me. "Right, fighting a dragon is easy. First year textbook, right?"

I laugh, surprising myself slightly. I like this side of Malfoy; it's rare, and only when he isn't around his friends. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did."

"Thank you for saying one of the most cliche lines in history," I say, ignoring his stupid smile. I bite my lip, looking down. "Did you mean it when you said you think I can win this? I mean, the first task went well, but the second didn't, and-"

"I meant it, Medlor." When I look up, he tugs at the sleeve of his robe a little, avoiding my eyes. "You give yourself a lot less credit than you deserve."

"I don't know."

"It's true," he says. A whisper of a smile appears on his face. "Any chance you're actually hoping to win?"

I bite my lip, tilting my head toward the sun shining through the leaves. "I don't know," I repeat.