He certainly stood out against the rest - pale, slicked back blonde hair, so blonde it was almost white. A doll-like, almost girlishly pretty face.
That's what Hermione Granger thought as she lifted her eyes and saw the boy walking into the train compartment. She didn't know why, but she felt a certain warmth towards him and the second she asked him if he'd seen a toad, she saw him look at her with a kind of lost expression and then say in a high, sweet voice that fitted his face:
- No. No I haven't.
She felt almost sorry - in her head she had already visualised going off with the blonde boy and searching for the toad together. Maybe he would tell her his name. Maybe they would even become friends.
- Ah. Sorry then. Thanks for your help!
She was expecting more, but the boy didn't offer to help. Instead he brushed past her and in a second was already far gone.
Hermione watched his retreating back, sighed quietly, and went off to search for Neville's toad.
***
Three years later, Draco didn't remember any of that. His feet stepped lightly on to the wooden platform of the Quidditch World Cup stadium as his father led the way to their seats - Luxury seats with the Minister of Magic himself - he rolled his thumb over the black pearl of his ring, stooping ever so slightly to look at his brand new black boots.
He was dressed all in black - and to say it fitted him, was a huge understatement. His blonde hair had turned even whiter during the summer and he had taken the habit of lightly lining his large blue eyes. The whiteness of his hands and face stood out strikingly against his black suit, something which he and his father had agreed on made him look like a prince.
Draco smiled a small smile at the rest of the roaring crowd. He somehow felt as if the tournament was all for him - he knew his father had donated a considerable sum to the World Cup organisation and therefore he and his family were to be seated in the Luxury box.
Suddenly, Draco looked up - and, with a change of face, he saw the red hair of one of the Weasley twins.
His father had not yet noticed, but was sure to, for he, just like Draco was out on the watch for those he could insult.
Another red-hair... Black hair.
- Blimey, dad, how far up are we? - no mistake, this was Weasley speaking.
- If it rains, you'll be the first to know - his father cried out and Draco recognised the silhouette as Harry Potter turned around and looked at them with the same unswerving hatred in his eyes. The Malfoys were one level lower than them - and Draco wondered, although not consciously, how it was that even though Harry was up there and he and his father were below, it was the Malfoy family that had the upper hand.
Harry tried not to react - but Draco could see it in his eyes that he really wanted to. Draco walked over to his father and put his hand lightly on the railing, as if demonstrating how perfectly at ease and how handsome everything he did was, to the smallest details. The feeling that everything in the world belonged to him and was made especially for him only grew. Today was a good day.
- My father and I are sitting in the Minister's box, by personal invitation from Cornelius Fudge himself-! - Draco cried, trying to get Potter's eye. However, he suddenly faltered - as he gasped for air, a sharp pain in his ribs cut him short and he plastered his ringed hand over his stomach, determined not to make a sound despite of the pain echoing in his ears. His father retrieved his walking stick from where it had hit him and said, dangerously, patronisingly:
YOU ARE READING
wrong ||| dramione
Fanfiction"How does it feel, Granger? How does it feel to know you were wrong? That all these years, you were wrong about Malfoy?" Cover made by the lovely @HolyDraco
