Cheers, Potter.

Magical.

Draco's POV

When we sat at the Slytherin table, definitely out of ear shot of Potter and his entourage, I took the opportunity to scold Connie.

"Why why why why why why why?" I said excessively, probably looking manic and definitely panicking.

"I think he wants to know why," Cyrus helpfully inputted, mouth full of jam sandwich.

"Why what?" Connie smiled sweetly, sitting beside the other first year.

"You know what, you evil little goblin,"

She feigned offense, a hand lifted to her chest and mouth agape, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," She'd dropped her usual Yorkshire chirp for the Queen's English, probably mocking me.

"Why did you ask Potter to be there?" I shout-whispered, "It was mortifying," I shivered at the memory of the awkward silences, the uncomfortable glances and how ridiculous I felt when he looked at me like I was a softie.

"To be honest, after the whole Hogsmeade debacle I thought you'd make a move on your own but, clearly, I was wrong."

"A move?!" I asked horrified that these were words she was saying out loud, in front of other people.

"Yeah, you know," And it got worse, she was making smooch noises and puckering her lips, fluttering her eyelashes.

I contemplated how it would affect my probation in the eyes of the Ministry if I were to curse a 12-year-old.

"Oh please, I can barely think straight around him –"

"That's the point," Cyrus pitched in.

I hardened my tone, warding the two of them off of making any further clever remarks, "let alone anything else."

"You think too much, Draco," was offered by a voice I hadn't heard sounding so calm and polite in months.

Pansy sat beside me, graceful as ever. Her nails were a freshly painted jade, her makeup was pristine as always: all sharp angles and hard edges, and not a hair was out of place in her neatly combed bob. And yet, there was something off about her. I could have been wrong, though; I'd not spent any meaningful time with her since returning to the school.

She continued, almost carefully, "the fact that you simply cannot get out of your own head has stopped you from progressing your relationship with Potter for years," she seemed to relax when she could tell I was listening, "Blaise and I used to despair of you for it,"

It took me a moment to process what she was saying – I wondered whether I should address her sudden presence and the lack of disdain in her eye or if that would just spook her and I should just continue as though the last months hadn't happened at all. As I took my time deciding, I could see her defences building back up and without thinking I opted for the latter.

"It's not that easy, Pans," I admitted, "I'm a complete arse,"

She smiled, "You were a complete arse. Now you..." she gestured to Cyrus and Connie, perhaps slightly uncomfortably, but baby-steps, "aren't,"

"She's great," Connie interjected, "can we keep her? She's even more socially inept than you, Malfoy,"

I nudged Pansy reassuringly with my shoulder and she relaxed a little, offering me an apologetic smile that spoke volumes coming from her and just like that, the past was forgotten.

~Ж~

I spent that evening in the Library, I had some books to return and in all honesty, I missed the quiet. It hadn't been quiet since I'd met Connie, since Blaise and I had reconnected. I missed being alone, but I no longer felt lonely.

I took advantage of Connie's return to the Slytherin dormitory; she was being doted on and admired by her classmates, completely in her element, so I escaped to mine.

I meandered along the aisles of old volumes. There was something so very humbling about being surrounded by mountains of knowledge, something whimsical about the idea of being close to something created by someone who saw places that no longer exist, met people now long dead, and heard music that's since been forgotten. I breathed in the wonder; the sheer magic of it all was my life force, the only thing that could possibly ever feed my soul to satisfaction.

I browsed the shelves, not looking for anything in particular, but a book caught my eye without even trying. There was nothing amazing or fantastical or dazzling about it, it looked entirely mundane, entirely muggle. Perhaps that's what drew me in.

A Brief History of Time, it was small, much smaller than the other books it shared a shelf with and yet when I held it, it felt far heavier with the weight of understanding than I had ever felt in any book of witchcraft and wizardry. I was immediately intrigued.

I was enthralled into reading the words of a man I'd never heard of before that afternoon. Words that I somehow knew would stay with me forever, and shape my very consciousness. Some of those words had hurled me into existential crisis, I'd had to stop, put the book down and think. When I finished it, I realised it had left me with more questions than answers, which was a phenomenon I had not encountered within the walls of this endless archive of academia.

"Are you quite alright, Draco?" Luna's musical voice flitted over to me.

"Do you know this book?" I asked her, "I've never seen it here before,"

"It's a muggle book," she informed me, voice light and airy as ever, "Dean showed it to me once and I thought we'd ought to have it here."

"A muggle wrote this?" I was almost in disbelief, "But it's so... profound."

"Stephen Hawking was an incredible man from what I've learned about him," she stated, no room for negotiation, "he was a wizard in his own right."

I smiled at the thought. That magic isn't just in the potions we brew and the spells cast, it's everywhere. In the person who can make the perfect cup of tea, the one who can memorise something after only hearing it once, in the notes of an instrument, in the smell of a freshly baked pastry, in the pages of a well-loved book.

Perhaps the differences between the muggle and magical worlds are not as polar as they seem.