𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐨

chapter four

September 3rd, 9:00PM

"Have you seen Granger?" Pansy followed Draco down a side corridor, trying to keep up with his quick stride, "I saw her in the common room just an hour ago. I tried talking her into a party this Saturday but she totally blew me off, it was like, so weird-"

"Just leave her alone, Pans," Draco muttered, crossing his arms with a snicker, "Clearly she doesn't want to be bothered. I don't want to talk about this right now, I'll catch you later."

Pansy huffed.

"But-"

"Artistic calling, Pans. I'll see you later," he yelled into the air behind him, continuing down the hallway without Pansy by his side. He was in no mood for distractions.

Granger this, Granger that, it's all he'd heard for days. He was sick of it. All it reminded him of was the painting hidden beneath his bed.

He remembered how he used to talk about her to his Father. Rant about how the mudblood from gryffindor beat him to best student in his year. It was humiliating being in second place, and all it got him was a slap across the face and a scolding as punishment.

It was shameful, being triumphed over by someone he was taught to hate.

But all of that no longer mattered.

The war was over. Pureblood, halfblood, muggleborn, none of it mattered.

It was witch and wizard.

Draco couldn't decide if he loved or hated it.

That meant him and Granger were on an equal playing field. The same plane of existence. He used to love her dirty blood for separating him from her, solely because they were so incredibly similar. It had all been wrong.

Every damned thing his Father had taught him had been wrong.

It had taken six years of school to realize that they both shared the same determination, stubbornness, confidence, creativity, and surprisingly, extreme empathy for those around them.

They just expressed that empathy in different ways.

Sure, it'd taken a murder on his kitchen table to make Draco's empathetic side bloom to it's full potential, but he felt it whole heartedly nonetheless.

Especially when it came to her.

Even now, just looking in her direction made guilt pool into his chest.

Every time he looked into her eyes he was reminded of how much he owed her.

How much he owed her for holding him the night Harry Potter had cast deep scars into his skin with a curse he'd never heard before in his lifetime.

She'd followed Potter from the great hall, only to find Draco drowning in a pool of red on the white tiles of the Prefect's Bathroom.

He remembered Hermione's face when she first spotted him, sprinting to his place on the floor as she knelt down besides him, soaking her jeans in his blood whilst attempting every healing spell she knew on his gashes.