𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐆𝐨

𝐗

"Harry!" said Professor Slughord when he arrived for Potions class. "No Mr Malfoy again today?"

I looked to my left at the empty chair. "No, sir."

He chuckled before turning to write our daily instructions on the board. "Scaring him off, are you?"

I laughed too, but it was more of a grimace. "Guess so."

Slughorn was still going easy on us with assignments—despite it being an advanced potions class already halfway through October.

We brewed some quick Cure for Boils before he sent us off early for "solitary reflection on our studies", but really, I just think he wanted a free Friday afternoon. Nevertheless, I bottled my potion and didn't complain.

Having nothing else to do and no where else to go, I fancied a walk in the courtyard.

Quickly, I was entranced by the alluring colours of autumn doused in the pouring rain and ended up going far beyond the courtyard and down by the lake.

The grass was wet from this morning's frost and the lake was slowly rising along with the winter.

I kept walking, looking up, down and out at everything and nothing. I saw the Whomping Willow billowing in the distance, as well as Hagrid's Hut looking as inviting as ever.

Glancing at my watch, I shifted my feet and directed my route to visit Hagrid.

I was about halfway there from where I stood before, and there was still quite a distance between me and the Hut, when I heard what sounded like a whimper or a groan. I tried to brush it off as just me hearing things, but I couldn't resist a survey of my surroundings; just to be sure.

Sure enough, slouched under a nearby tree, was none other than the Malfoy heir whom had been consuming my thoughts as of late. He was hiding his face in his knees and his hands shook with anxiety. I hesitantly made my way towards him, Hagrid long forgotten.

"Malfoy?"

I fully expected Draco to snap his head up and then run away with a scowl, lowly cursing me and the world, but he kept his position, only eliciting the slightest wince.

"Are you okay?" I asked before gingerly placing my hand atop his shoulder, not wanting to frighten him.

"Leave me alone, Potter," he grumbled back. His voice was unwavering, and he didn't sound as if he were crying—which was good.

I wasn't really sure what to say after that, he didn't need consoling and he didn't sound particularly angry either, just tired.

"You missed potions," I said weakly.

"Thank you, for your genius revelation. I hadn't noticed." His voice was muffled by his knees and I was finding hard to understand him.

"Look at me."

He didn't move.

"Malfoy. Look at me when I'm talking to you."

Still, he remained unmoving. In a fit of inexplicable anger at the blond, I grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head up. I made sure not to do it hard enough to hurt, only to get a response.

What I saw horrified me. At first, I wondered if he had pressed his face sideways on a stovetop at full heat. After a moment of surprise, I deduced them as red hot, painful boils under the sopping hair covering his forehead.