The Golden Boy's Eyes of Fire (prologue)
The tournament had been as brutal as ever this year- more so, even, after some of the other attendees had apparently complained. Well, the counselors had taken it to heart. Neville didn’t know why anybody would want to risk burning or drowning just for bragging rights, but he may have been the only one.
So many scowling faces, eyes heavy with exhaustion, were surrounding him, outnumbering those that seemed to actually be having fun. And in the front of them, like a self made prophet, was Draco Malfoy, flashing that self-righteous put-you-in-your-place grin he was so known for. He saw his father, easily spotted due to their shared white-blonde hair, politely clapping from behind, even as he turned towards a regal looking man Neville couldn’t at the moment attach to the many teenagers around him.
He blinked suddenly, realizing that he had been staring at Malfoy- he was staring back with fire in his eyes. He guessed he hadn’t looked as jealous and devoted as Malfoy liked the lesser people to look, something he couldn’t regret.
Once their gaze broke, he turned away, a bitter taste in his mouth. Draco Malfoy had hardly ever even spoken to him, and yet he always looked at him like that when he looked at him at all- like he was something so far beneath him he could squash him. Like he owned him, and they both knew it.
What was he going to be like when he was forced to leave this place? One day he was going to be too old for Hogwarts and he’d have to go into the real world, where everyone wasn’t 12 year olds shaking in their boots at the thought of you standing in front of them. His eyes travelled back over to Draco’s father. Nevermind. He’d always be able to buy and sell whoever he wanted. Looking back over at the boy, who thankfully was looking away from him again, he guessed that he’d always want to, too.
Some people just never learned to cope. Some people never had to.