to be or not to be| sixth year | draco malfoy

quidditch tryouts

"sweet as cherry wine."
-

Draco Lucius Malfoy. A boy I absolutely despised. Snobby. Stuck-up. Narcissistic. And yet, undeniably brilliant. He had a sharp mind, but his heart? It was made of coal—selfish, cold, and full of disdain for almost everyone around him. He could be a pain in my ass, a constant reminder of everything I loathed about this place. But there was one thing I had to give him: he never missed Quidditch practice. He would show up late, sure, but he was always there, without fail.

It was strange. In a single summer, he seemed to change completely. A complete 180. Gone was the Draco I knew—ambitious, focused, determined. He had no interest in anything or anyone. And that only made my suspicions about him grow deeper. What happened to him? What changed?

I walked down the hallway, book in hand, trying to focus on something—anything—to distract myself from the heavy knot of confusion tightening in my chest. My mother's prominent red glasses sat awkwardly on the bridge of my nose. I slipped them off, stuffing them into the pocket of my cloak, hoping for a moment of clarity. Instead, I saw him.

Draco Malfoy, cutting through the crowded hall like a streak of lightning. My gaze flickered to him involuntarily, and for the briefest moment, our eyes met. He looked back at me, his expression unreadable. My heart skipped, then slammed painfully in my chest. But just as quickly, we both looked away, as if it had never happened.

I sighed, irritated at myself. What was this... pull? Why did I keep thinking about him?

Without thinking, my feet slowed, and before I could stop myself, I was walking towards him. He was heading for a classroom, students filing in as desks were occupied. My breath hitched in my throat as I reached the door just as Draco stepped inside. His long stride carried him toward the front of the class, and instinctively, I moved in front of him, blocking his path. He stopped in his tracks, eyes narrowing in irritation.

"What do you want, Goldhorn?" he muttered, already looking more annoyed than anything else.

I stood tall, crossing my arms. "You haven't been to Quidditch practice. What's up?" I couldn't help it; frustration bubbled up in me. First, he beats up Nott for me, then he just... skips practice? What the hell was going on?

Draco didn't respond immediately. He simply walked past me and set his books down on the desk. I followed him, moving quickly to stand in front of him again. He practically pretended I didn't exist, flipping through the pages of his book with the kind of indifference that made my blood boil.

"We need a Seeker, Draco," I said, my voice tinged with exasperation. "You can't just bail on Quidditch like it's nothing."

Draco didn't even look up from his book. "I don't care what you need," he replied, his voice flat—lifeless. He sounds... tired.

The words hit me harder than I expected. I could feel something in his tone, something raw, something that wasn't the Draco I knew. He wasn't just being arrogant; he seemed... drained. It made my irritation flare, but also something else—a sharp pang of unease.

Frustration boiled over. I slammed my hand down onto his desk with a bang that rang through the room, startling him. I could feel the stares of the other students on us, their eyes wide with confusion. The room was dead silent.

But Draco... Draco flinched.

His entire body tensed, and I noticed his fist clench at his side. His eyes flickered to me, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I saw something I hadn't expected: fear.

Fear?

That was new. I always thought Draco was immune to any kind of emotion that wasn't superiority. But now, I wasn't so sure. He was scared of me?