Chapter 8
The Beauxbatons dining hall was a masterpiece of elegance, its high vaulted ceilings and walls shimmering with enchanted light. Harry sat among the Hogwarts delegation, flanked by Ron and Hermione, trying to absorb the magnificence of the French school. Beauxbatons students glided gracefully between tables, their pale blue uniforms blending harmoniously with the room’s soft golden hues.
“It’s different, isn’t it?” Hermione whispered, leaning closer to Harry. “Much quieter than the Great Hall.”
“Quieter, fancier, and the portions are tiny,” Ron grumbled, spearing a small roasted quail with his fork.
Harry managed a distracted laugh, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Sitting in this hall, surrounded by the Beauxbatons students, felt surreal. It reminded him too much of his summer here five years ago—a summer he hadn’t spoken about to Ron or Hermione. A summer that had left a mark on him in ways he still didn’t fully understand.
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The meal progressed in a slow rhythm, with students chatting politely and professors making occasional toasts. Harry found himself scanning the room, looking for… well, he wasn’t sure what. Or who.
His gaze drifted over the Beauxbatons students, lingering for a moment on a small group entering from the far side of the room. One of them stood out immediately.
Harry’s breath hitched.
It was Draco.
But not the Draco he remembered.
This Draco was no longer the boy who had roamed the French countryside with him, daring him to climb trees or explore hidden caves. At eighteen, Draco Malfoy was… stunning. His platinum-blond hair, once neatly trimmed, now fell in soft, silky waves down his back, framing a face that was achingly delicate. His silver-blue robes, embroidered with intricate designs, clung to his slender figure, highlighting his graceful, feminine build. Even the way he walked—light, almost ethereal—seemed to command attention.
Harry felt an odd tightening in his chest.
“Who’s that?” Hermione asked curiously, following Harry’s gaze.
“Yeah,” Ron added, his mouth full of pudding. “They look like they stepped out of one of Mum’s old romance novels.”
Harry didn’t answer. His heart was pounding too loudly.
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Draco’s presence at Beauxbatons wasn’t surprising—this had always been his school—but Harry hadn’t prepared himself for how he’d feel seeing him again. Five years had passed since that summer, and Harry had long convinced himself that Draco was just a fleeting part of his past.
But now…
Draco took a seat at one of the Beauxbatons tables, his posture poised and elegant. He didn’t seem to notice Harry, instead leaning slightly toward the student beside him and speaking in soft tones.
“He must be important,” Hermione observed. “Look at how the others are listening to him.”
Ron frowned. “How do you know it’s a ‘him’? Could just as easily be a girl.”
“It’s a him,” Harry said, his voice quieter than he intended.
Both Ron and Hermione turned to him in surprise, but before they could ask questions, Professor McGonagall tapped her glass, signaling for the Hogwarts students to prepare to leave.
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As the group filed out of the dining hall, Harry’s thoughts were a jumbled mess. Should he approach Draco? Would Draco even remember him? Five years was a long time, and their correspondence had fizzled out before it had ever really begun.
“Harry, you’re quiet,” Hermione said as they walked back toward their quarters.
“Just tired,” he muttered.
But he wasn’t tired. He was restless.
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That restlessness led him to the Beauxbatons gardens later that evening. The moonlight bathed the lush greenery in a soft glow, and the air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers. Harry wandered aimlessly, his thoughts circling back to Draco over and over again.
He rounded a corner and stopped abruptly.
There, sitting on a stone bench near a small fountain, was Draco.
Harry froze, his heart hammering in his chest. For a moment, he considered turning back. But then Draco shifted, his face tilting up toward the moonlight, and Harry was struck by how vulnerable he looked.
Before he could overthink it, Harry stepped forward.
“Draco?”
Draco’s head snapped toward him, his eyes wide with surprise. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Draco rose slowly to his feet, his movements as graceful as ever.
“Harry,” Draco said softly, his voice like a whisper on the wind.
Hearing his name on Draco’s lips sent a strange warmth through Harry. He took another step closer, unsure of what to say.
“It’s been a long time,” Harry managed finally.
“It has,” Draco replied, his tone carefully neutral. His hands fidgeted with the edge of his robes, betraying a hint of nervousness.
“You look…” Harry trailed off, searching for the right words.
“Different?” Draco offered with a small, self-deprecating smile.
Harry shook his head. “Beautiful.”
Draco’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and he looked away, his long hair falling like a curtain around his face.
There was a silence, heavy with unspoken words, before Draco spoke again.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Neither did I,” Harry said. “But I’m glad I did.”
Draco looked up at him then, his silver-grey eyes shimmering with something Harry couldn’t quite place. “Are you?”
Harry nodded, stepping closer until they were only a few feet apart. “I am.”
For the first time that evening, Draco’s lips curved into a genuine smile. It was small and fleeting, but it lit up his face in a way that made Harry’s chest ache.
Harry’s relief at seeing Draco again was quickly tempered by an unexpected chill in Draco’s demeanor. The delicate smile that had briefly graced Draco’s lips faded, replaced by a guarded expression. He stepped back, putting a few feet of distance between them, and his hands dropped to his sides, clasping the hem of his robes.
Draco’s movements were deliberate, as if trying to reestablish control over the moment. His silvery eyes, so familiar yet somehow foreign, studied Harry with a quiet intensity that made Harry feel exposed.
“It’s surprising to see you here,” Draco said finally, his voice measured and distant. “I didn’t know Hogwarts was competing in the Tournament.”
Harry blinked at the sudden shift in tone. The softness he remembered in Draco’s voice was still there, but it was wrapped in something sharper, more cautious.
“Yeah,” Harry replied, trying to sound casual. “It was announced last minute, I guess. I—uh—I didn’t know you’d be here either, not exactly.”
Draco’s lips curved into a faint, almost mocking smile. “Where else would I be? Beauxbatons has been my home since before we met, Harry.”
The use of his name, cool and clipped, sent a ripple of unease through Harry. This wasn’t the Draco he remembered, the one who had giggled at his jokes and dragged him through the forest on wild adventures.
“I know,” Harry said, his brow furrowing. “It’s just… it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
Draco didn’t answer right away. His gaze flickered to the fountain behind them, the water sparkling in the moonlight, before returning to Harry.
“Yes,” he said at last. “Five years is a very long time.”
The weight of unspoken things hung between them, and Harry felt a pang of guilt. He had been the one to let their correspondence fade, hadn’t he? Yet, Draco’s tone wasn’t just distant—it was almost cold.
“I wanted to write more,” Harry said, his voice faltering slightly. “I really did. I just… things got complicated.”
Draco tilted his head, his long hair cascading over one shoulder. “Complicated,” he repeated, his tone unreadable. “Of course. Life at Hogwarts must have been terribly demanding.”
Harry flinched at the edge in Draco’s words. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly. “I just—well, you know how things can get.”
“Do I?” Draco asked, raising a pale eyebrow.
The question wasn’t meant to be answered. Harry could feel Draco’s frustration bubbling beneath his composed exterior, and it left him scrambling for the right thing to say.
Harry stood frozen, watching Draco’s retreating figure. The urge to follow him, to fix whatever had gone wrong between them, burned in his chest. He couldn’t let Draco leave like this—not after five years of silence, not after the way his heart had leapt at the sight of him.
“Draco, wait!” Harry called, his voice cutting through the quiet of the garden.
Draco stopped but didn’t turn around. For a moment, Harry thought he might just keep walking, but then Draco slowly turned, his face shadowed in the pale moonlight.
“What is it, Harry?” Draco asked, his tone clipped, his arms folded tightly across his chest. “What more could you possibly have to say?”
Harry hesitated, the words tangled in his throat. “I just… I need to know why you’re acting like this.”
Draco laughed—sharp, bitter, and completely unlike the soft, musical laugh Harry remembered. “Like what?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Like I don’t trust you? Like I’m angry? Like I’ve been hurt?”
“Yes!” Harry snapped, his frustration boiling over. “I don’t understand! We were friends, Draco. I thought—”
“You thought what, Harry?” Draco interrupted, his voice rising. “That you could waltz back into my life after five years and everything would be the same? That I would just forget how you stopped writing? How you disappeared without a word?”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Of course you didn’t,” Draco cut him off, his eyes blazing. “You never mean to, do you? You didn’t mean to stop writing, you didn’t mean to forget about me, and now you don’t mean to hurt me again. But you did, Harry. You did.”
Harry’s fists clenched at his sides. “That’s not fair! You don’t know what it was like for me at Hogwarts! You have no idea what I was going through!”
“And you think I don’t have my own struggles?” Draco shot back, his voice trembling with anger. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to feel alone? To be forgotten? To wait for a letter that never comes?”
Harry flinched at the words, guilt twisting in his chest. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice softer now. “I know I hurt you, but I didn’t forget about you. I thought about you all the time.”
“Then why didn’t you write?” Draco demanded, his voice breaking. “Why didn’t you try, Harry? I waited. I waited for months, and then I realized… you weren’t coming back. Not for me.”
“I didn’t know what to say!” Harry shouted, his frustration spilling over. “I didn’t know how to tell you that my life was falling apart! That I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere—not at Hogwarts, not with the Dursleys, not even in my own skin!”
“And you think I belonged anywhere?” Draco countered, his voice shaking. “Do you think I wasn’t falling apart too? But I still tried, Harry! I still waited, hoping that maybe, just maybe, you’d care enough to reach out!”
The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of their words hanging heavily in the air.
Draco took a shaky breath, his arms dropping to his sides. “I cared about you, Harry. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone. And you left me.”
Harry stepped forward, his heart aching at the tears glistening in Draco’s eyes. “Draco, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”
Draco shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It does to me,” Harry said desperately.
“Well, it doesn’t to me!” Draco snapped, his voice cracking. “I can’t do this again, Harry. I can’t let you back in just to lose you all over again.”
Harry stared at him, his chest tightening. “Draco, please—”
But Draco had already turned away, his long hair catching the moonlight as he walked toward the path leading back to Beauxbatons castle.
“Goodnight, Harry,” Draco said, his voice hollow.
And just like that, he was gone, leaving Harry standing alone in the garden, his heart heavy with regret.
For the first time in years, Harry realized just how much he had lost—and how much he had to fight to get it back.