Diagnosis
Draco was a pitiful mess. Its what the Daily Prophet liked to describe him as, but nowadays he found himself agreeing with them.
A lot of rather unconventional names followed him. Ranging from ‘the youngest death eater’ and ‘the Malfoy heir’ to the simple ‘ferret boy’.
But no words could possibly describe the pathetic excuse he became in her presence.
The moment his eyes laid on her, everything in the room seemed to vanish. The priceless chandeliers, the one of a kind decorations, the countless young women he was introduced to, their gorgeous dresses, his mother's constant nagging, those raging thoughts in his head, all drowned out by just one being.
Astoria Greengrass.
First came the symptoms.
Draco felt lightheaded, jittery, and nervous. All words and comprehensible thoughts seemed to disappear right before they reached his tongue, leaving him only capable of the most basic replies. His temperature seemed to rise to an alarming rate while his stomach performed acrobatics, swooping down and back up again to the rhythm of her laughter.
It was like that every single time.
Sweaty palms and an unattractive flush along his face were the only symptoms his personal healer took seriously, as if the thumping in his ears didn't hint at an impeding cardiac arrest or a new, slow-working poison that was only reacting to her smiles.
In all seriousness, Draco had described his ever so concerning symptoms, only to be handed an empty prescription when he had expected to be taken to St Mungos immediately. Ernest, the balding old man who had the misfortune of having Draco Malfoy as a patient, only shook his head.
His symptoms began so suddenly, before he was even aware that they were happening.
It wasn't even the first time he had met little Greengrass. Ever since they had met at the Fawleys Christmas ball two years ago, they had formed a quiet sort of acquaintance. Not quite the best of friends, but someone to keep company during those dull events. A Gossip buddy, fun acquaintances, maybe even tentative friends? Definitely someone whose presence shouldn't unnerve him to this extent.
Why was he suddenly hyperaware of the distance between them? The way her elbow brushed softly against his as she tiptoed to whisper the backstory behind Violet Eld’s early marriage. Or the way she leaned in to him whenever she discreetly tried to maneuver them out to the gardens. His eyes found her in every room, and Draco found himself hanging desperately onto her words as if they were God's law. With the way he looked at her, she might just have been.
It all slowly led to the point of an earth shattering realization.
Something he had never had the liberty to experience when he was a teenager. Being a spoiled only child and living with the dark lord in your prime did that to you, he would know.
Draco Malfoy had a crush. On his classmates' younger sister.
He liked Astoria Greengrass.
It was a shock to his self-esteem and a blow to his pride. Never in his life had he ever had the bother of asking for something. Everything he could ask for was handed to him on a silver platter. Toys? The newest broomsticks? Books? His father's galleons on the counter solved all of it. Girls? Pansy Parkinson would have bent backwards just to catch his eye.
He had never known rejection, and now he was at her mercy.
Not knowing how she felt about him was scary, being at the mercy of her micro-expressions. His foolish heart had decided, without his conscious consent, that the young, giggly girl at the corner of the common room was exactly what he needed.
Soon, he came to know the uncomfortable side effects.
Instead of the dreading nightmares, he found himself another, more pleasant issue that kept him awake at night. Dreams that left him sweaty and panting for a totally different reason.
His wild imaginations kept him up at night and racing to his window still in the morning, where a small pot of hydrangea, a gift from Astoria, bloomed happily under his intensive care.
His normally stable moods flew up and down like he was on the quidditch pitch. All enjoyment plummeted into a 90-degree nosedive whenever Astoria turned away from him to talk to another. It twisted and soared up again as if hunting the snitch whenever she smiled at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
And lastly came the guilt.
Draco Malfoy was no fool, no matter how desperate and cowardly he could be. He knew very well of his contribution to the Wizarding war and all the things he had done. Or didn’t do. For a while, his wishful thinking and wild imaginations had temporarily fogged his mind.
All it took was a short glance at a tall, brunette man leading Astoria down the main stairs that pulled him back to reality.
He was nothing compared to the other, more pleasant suitors around her with a clean history.
Who was he to sully her reputation? How could he ever walk the streets laughing with her when he knew how badly the Wizarding population had suffered from his choices?
The dark voice constantly reminded him of his sins.
All he wanted to do was to forget.
The Malfoy name may have once been something great, but it was now only reduced to a single pathetic heir who spent all his time day-drinking and regretting.
But he couldn’t help it. All his dark thoughts were erased with just a glimpse of her smile.
So, against every emotion and selfish need, he resorted to cold shoulders.
At dinner parties, Draco passed her without a word. He inclined his head in the smallest of nods only when extremely necessary. Hardly any conversations. No smiles. When he saw her on the streets, he discreetly took another. It wasn’t that he hated her for making him feel, but it was a guilt and shame that nagged at him. Feelings that he never thought he would experience when looking at a girl. However, Draco was sure that was what he felt.
Another part of him argued that he was running away. Again. It was true that the fear of rejection was another stabbing needle in his heart, something that he never had to worry about before. To be very honest, his worries weren’t just the effect he would have on her reputation but what she would see in him.
What could she possibly see in him?
Her company was always secure, light, and comfortable. He felt like a dark fog, a looming shadow of darkness that would pull her right into his chasm of self-loathing.
She didn't deserve that.