I Promise That I'm Fine
Summer has passed. We’re now entering the third year of Hogwarts. Draco is now age 13.
The chill entering the train reminds him of home. Something pattering in his heart goes still. Disgruntled, Crabbe and Goyle look around at the train compartment for the source of the cold air, just as the lights shut off.
“What’s happened?” Crabbe mutters, bringing out his wand and attempting to cast a Lumos spell. He fails and puts the wand away after a second try. Goyle grunts.
Draco leans towards the two, lowering his voice to a whisper. He hisses, “Just stay quiet.” The urgency in his voice sounds almost like fear.
The sound of ice crackling creeps through the window, and the trio backs away, silent terror spreading across their faces. Draco’s eyes are wide open, but he can hardly see a thing, besides a dark figure lurking past the glass that he may as well be imagining. His chest clenches as what can only be described as pure, white fear pounds through him.
A crash coming from a compartment nearby startles the two brute-like lumps out of their frozen, crouched positions, and Goyle comes to a stand. “M’ gonna go… check out the–” He gestures awkwardly to the door, and after looking at Draco for a nod, Crabbe ambles after him.
Just as the door shuts behind them, Draco gasps for air. His breaths are going so quick that he can no longer feel his legs beneath him, yet he’s suffocating. It makes no sense; there is no sense to this, as the animalistic instinct in him screams without words that he’s about to die.
He doesn’t know when, or how, it stops. Even when it does, there is a dull ache left behind. But quietly, slowly, his breaths still, and his feet find solid ground beneath them. Dropping his head into his hands, the boy closes his eyes. In his memory, there is no recollection of being fully, truly rested, but never has he felt such bone-chilling exhaustion as this.
Crabbe and Goyle return moments later, to find the brooding teen staring blankly away. He listens wordlessly as they tell him of the monsters that had stopped the train, grateful, for once, of the boys’ mindless chatter. Only an hour later does he join the conversation.
“Potter collapsed, can you believe it?” Crabbe says, leaning in as if sharing some huge secret.
Yes. Yes, he can believe it, and he doesn’t blame him.
“What?” Draco responds. His feigned shock feels strained, but the two don’t seem to notice. He clears his throat, “He fainted?” Laughing, Draco rolls his eyes back and mimes a collapsing motion.
The two chuckle loudly at that. Satisfied, the blonde stands to his feet. As he sees the looming structure of Hogwarts near, he pulls his robes out from a piece of luggage and heads to the back to dress.
Walking through the narrow corridor, Draco catches his eyes drifting towards each compartment, glimpsing over each student. He knows what (who) he’s looking for, but he doesn’t admit it to himself. When he spots the dark-haired, messy hair though, he freezes. Potter is sitting next to a rumpled, poorly dressed man. The man’s scruffy smile makes Draco burn with anger. Not the smile itself.. the way Potter smiles back. What is he? A magnet for the kind and the needy? A growl sounds in his chest, and he walks briskly away, shaking his head at himself. Every moment he sees Potter never fails to anger him, yet Draco always seeks him out. He laughs. Maybe it’s the magnet pulling him. It’s clear which category he falls into.
___
Under the starry, lit-up sky, it almost feels like the Start-of-Term Feast will be a good start to his year. That is until Pansy opens her mouth.
“I heard Potter really, truly fainted. Isn’t that hilarious?” she asks. “Draco, you should talk to him.” On the word 'talk', her voice rises obnoxiously high. Winking, Pansy shoves at him. It’s meant to be playful, but a rise of bubbling frustration stirs in him. He smiles back, trying to stay calm. Half of him argues to get up and leave, but the other half knows that reputations require time and energy to maintain. Still sitting, the boy turns around to face the Gryffindor table. As the redhead shovels chicken into his mouth, it takes a moment for the trio to notice, but only seconds later for the bushy-haired girl's eyes to narrow.
“Potter. Potter! Is it true you fainted?” he says, his eyebrows furrowed in mock concern. Heads turn to look as Potter stares at him with no response. As their eyes flick towards Draco, then back to Potter, he continues. “You mean you actually fainted?”
“Shove off, Malfoy,” Ron snaps.
Draco, gratefully, does exactly that. He shoves off.
The sip of water he takes, half an hour later, tastes dry and bitter in his mouth.