Intense

Summer Sun

The wheels of the Hogwarts Express rumbled steadily against the tracks, chugging along its monotonous route. The cars had long since fallen to relative quiet, chatter having died down in place of fatigue from a year well-attended. Most students present were either lazily gazing out a window at the familiar scenery or asleep altogether, well ready to snooze through the journey home.

Draco leaned against his hand, shifting his weight every so often to stave off the aches that came with sitting still. Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy had gone silent, leaving Draco alone with his thoughts. He huffed, pushing himself out of his seat and mumbling some excuse about going to get air and trailing away through the cars of the train in hopes to ease his boredom.

He was clammy, the warmth and humidity of an approaching July seeping into the air. He tugged at the collar of his shirt in discomfort, damp skin tacky against the fabric. He mosied on, hoping to run into the snack cart or maybe even Potter and his posse to pick on. Instead, he stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of familiar hair through the heat-fogged window of one of the cabins.

The air caught in his throat. You looked as breathtaking as ever, book in hand as he found you usually were. He ducked into the doorway, hoping you wouldn't comment on him sliding the door shut behind him. He slumped down onto the bench beside you, trying to ignore the racing of his pulse when you looked over at him in favor of acting as nonchalant as he could manage.

You were wearing casual clothes he'd never seen you in before, only having ever run into you during the school day. Something about the informality of it made Draco's head spin, and he felt heat rising to his face as he imagined you looking as at-home and cozy in his family Manor. Suddenly the weather didn't seem all that warm.

"Celebrating the end of the year alone?" The smile you gave him made his heart flutter. He was entirely too proud of himself for landing the joke, and he wanted nothing more than to make you laugh until your sides hurt.

"Hello to you, too, Draco." Your eyes left him and returned to your book, still smiling. Draco was a professional at competing for attention, but right now he found the only competition that mattered was for yours, and he was not going to lose to a book.

"What are you reading?" He leaned into your space, and his lungs lurched up his throat when you leaned into his, tilting the pages towards him. So close together, Draco swore he could smell your clothes, boyish and earthy and so distinctly you he'd shell out hundreds of galleons on Amortentia to get more of it, to be engulfed in it.

"It's for Herbology, I'm reading ahead so I can sleep through class next year." How admirable, Draco thought to himself, a little flustered at the fantastical image of you as a class-cutting bad boy. You flipped to a page you'd already read, one with a picture. "This is the chapter about Whomping Willows."

"Like the nutty tree behind the school?" Draco asked, even though he knew already. He just wanted you to keep talking.

You nodded, "Exactly." You straightened in your seat, shimmying to get comfortable again. Draco's throat ached at the loss of closeness.

"Violent thing, it is. Or so I've heard." He made a point to sound open-ended, hoping you'd take it as a question rather than the statement it was.

"Yeah," You took the bait, and Draco didn't fail to notice how you didn't turn back to the page you were reading. "Some idiot in the year above me flew right past it on his broom once, almost got knocked all the way to Hogsmeade."

"What kind of oaf would go flying past the Whomping Willow?"

"Beats me," You huff out a laugh. "Sounds like something that thickheaded Potter would get himself into."

Draco's stomach churned in jealousy at the mention of his scar-headed enemy. He rolled his eyes, deciding that Potter's name was the only thing that didn't sound good in your mouth. You closed your book, tossing it haphazardly to the bench on the opposite side of the cabin. Pulling your legs up, you tugged your knees to your chest, now facing Draco. His eyes met yours and he felt like his tongue had melted, response dying in his mouth.

"You would totally survive." You blinked at him, smiling. Too focused on your eyelashes, he found that the object of conversation had slipped his mind entirely.

"Uh," He choked out, lost in your unfaltering grin. "Survive what?"

"The Whomping Willow."

He cleared his throat, embarrassment creeping up his face. "Oh, right."

"You're a great seeker," You continued. "So I think you'd be fine if you flew past it."

His veins thrummed at the praise. An unfamiliar feeling of bashfulness filled him. He felt the overwhelming urge to go to quidditch practice, his mind feeding him images of you cheering him on at a game.

He wanted to win every quidditch game for the rest of his time at Hogwarts just so you'd congratulate him, wanted to win the quidditch world cup and present the trophy to you as a courting gift.

"I'm only second best, you know." He fought a smile, unable to feel sour at his words with you around. He hoped you'd say something nice about him to better it if he did, hoped you'd say something nice about him anyways. "After that thickheaded Potter."

"Second best is still on the podium. You'd probably be first if Dumbledork didn't have the whole school giving Gryffindor special treatment, anyways." In your eyes was a spark he couldn't read, your expression even. Draco wanted to make you a Malfoy.

From the nickname you'd given Dumbledore to the backhanded Potter slander, Draco Malfoy had made up his mind that he wanted you to leave this train at his stop and come live in the Manor with him and his parents. He wanted to watch you play with his father's peacocks, wanted to teach you to play the organ, wanted to show you off to his mother and show her how well he'd done for himself bringing you home to them.

He felt his lungs contract around the next shaky breath he took in, and he was thankful for the summer sun beating down over the sky so he had an excuse to be as red and clammy as he was sure he was.