December 23rd, 1999
Do you believe in fate? That by the will of some universal power, the threads of two lives can be woven together, crossed and knotted with such determination that to remain apart would destroy them? That if in a lifetime such unfortunate circumstances were to befall the two that made their being together impossible, the very fabric of the universe would tear?
I often find such a notion laughable, and scoff at it on a good day. I marvel at the persistent, romantic belief so many cling to as the existence of ‘true love’. For isn’t the basis of love – romantic, platonic, familial, et cetera – knowledge? To be loved is to be known, is it not? One cannot be known at first sight, and one cannot consider themselves loved until they’ve stripped to their essence in front of another, braced themselves to be abandoned, and instead been embraced. It must be very rare to know at, say, a kiss - that you've found love.
I apologise for my philosophising. You know me to be your logical companion, but I may have met my match on this matter.
September 24th, 1999
I suppose I have not yet acquainted you with Draco Malfoy. You’ll recall him from our school years as an arsehole – a smart one, yes, but indubitably an arsehole. After school, we understandably drifted apart: he and Harry, both being quite talented on a broom, pursued Quidditch, whereas I, as you well know, remained firmly entrenched in the world of academia.
It seems that despite being the fiercest of rivals at school, Harry and Draco have developed an easy camaraderie. When I’ve visited Grimmauld, I’ve often found him lounging quite comfortably around the living room. Growing up, it seems, has suited him. He has quite the devilishly charming smirk, and hair the envy of a supermodel – in my opinion, this is why he got away with being an arsehole in school, but I digress – but good looks can only take you so far. Gone now is the childish bully who I’ve blamed in these pages for all manner of grievances, and in his place is a man who, while admittedly still a smartarse, challenges me.
I’ve laughed before at those girls who get dreamy-eyed about athletes, have I not? The proof is in these pages of my prejudice – more muscle than brains, candy to the eyes but can’t carry a conversation. I’ve been put to shame, I’m afraid.
Recently, I visited Harry and Ginny for dinner. He was there, laughing with them at the table and for awhile, I sat quietly, wondering at the easiness of their dynamic. Eventually, Ginny asked me a question – purely out of politeness, I think, neither she nor Harry have any real interest in what I’ve learnt in my Runes mastery thus far – and when I answered in detail, imagine my surprise when Draco followed up with a challenge to my theory.
I can admit that I have a certain stubborn pride, and even when I have been proven wrong, I find satisfaction in being contrarian just for the sake of it. It was rather thrilling to find someone who not only is quite capable and interested in proving me wrong, but is also capable of seeing through my contrarian shite, and is comfortable in calling me out on it to my face.
Practicality has always been my strength, but in that moment, it was quite tempting to throw practicality out the window. Logically, nothing could ever come of us, but there was a fleeting promise of something in the tension of that moment.
September 29th, 1999
He was there again this evening. I brought my research with me, having come direct from work, and – I feel silly admitting it – I felt my heart do a funny sort of flip when he looked over my shoulder in interest. I do think he must have found me to be quite silly when I couldn’t answer his inquiries, but oh, the way the candlelight shadowed the veins on his calloused hand just so, and the dimple on his left cheek when he grinned at me, and the intelligent curiosity in his eyes when he scanned my pages…
Merlin.
September 30th, 1999
Ginny knows what she’s doing, inviting me over when she knows he’ll be there. She had the audacity to act innocently surprised when he knocked at the door, but the way she smirked when she followed his gaze to me told it all.
This doesn’t mean I’m complaining. How could I, when each night brings another moment my breath catches? Today, I found myself quite engrossed in my reading when he sank into the opposite side of the couch, bringing with him a curious field of electricity that made me shiver slightly. I watched his eyes trail over the cover of my book, and was subsequently highly amused when he bit his lip to refrain from commenting. Manners befitting a gentleman.
It became unfortunately difficult to concentrate on reading with him right there, and I fear he caught me memorizing the profile of his face in the firelight on several occasions.
October 1st, 1999
I’ve never felt this before. I’m thrilled, excited, and to be quite honest, scared. How many girls has he kissed like that before? I am terrified that the answer is more than I could count, and even more terrified that he’s ruined any chance I could have at happiness – for who could live up to that?
October 3rd, 1999
Ginny could not let it rest. She’s informed me I am to accompany her to Draco and Harry’s match on Saturday. I’ve had time to mull the situation over, and I still have no words to describe it. Me, who has all too many words for everything – I cannot tell you anything other than if fate exists, that must be what it feels like. Like the world opens up at the touch of your other half, the earth falls away at your feet, and not a thing in the world could keep you from the gravity of their orbit.
I can hardly believe this, but allow me the pleasure of wondering what if. If, perchance, he felt that tug as well, what would it be like to give us a chance? Could I stomach the crushing weight of the public eye, the venomous whispers behind my back, the longing glances toward my partner as I sit in the stands and watch? And receive in exchange the elation as the crowd roars for him, the breathless exhilaration of traveling the world together, the quiet delight of knowing him while the rest of the world can only wonder?
And where do I fit in? What becomes of me, if I give myself to him? I know his passion as he knows mine. I find it hard to imagine we would be incapable of striking a balance between us; I’ve never met anyone else whose energy so closely matches my own. It would be a matter of communication to come to an understanding. A practical conversation.
The issue with fate, as it stands, is that as soon as he’s out of arm’s reach the world comes rushing back in.
Could we keep that roaring ocean of cold reality at bay? How powerful are the powers that be?
I feel as if I’m jumping off a cliff. Am I flying, or am I falling? I fear there is no way to know.
October 7th, 1999
I’ve made a grave mistake. I forgot, in our time together, that the man I know does not only belong to me – the world has claimed him as their own, and the roar of the crowd as he flew out delivered that crushing blow. Everywhere I look I see dreamy eyes, longing sighs and screaming fans losing their minds
There’s a crushing panic, I can’t breathe, and I know I can’t
And just like that I know I’ve fallen
There’s a hole
We could’ve been
Dragonhide boots stop abruptly in front of the unassuming black book lying face down in the dirt. A signet ring glints in the late afternoon sun as calloused fingers carefully flip the pages. Hands trace over each sentence, pausing on the wrinkles on the last page, marks of tears that have not yet dried. A long sigh, and a hissed fuck.
The book slides gently into the pocket of a still-warm, navy blue Quidditch kit, tucking neatly against a toned, lean torso. A long exhale, fingers slide through perfectly mussed hair, and then Draco Malfoy kicks off into the air, away from the bright lights of the pitch and back towards the familiar gentle warmth of one Grimmauld Place.