Draco Malfoy #05

You and Draco Malfoy have been in Slytherin since your first year at Hogwarts. The hatred between you started early and was never accidental. You both excelled with equal ease, were evenly matched in intelligence and results, and that was enough for Draco to decide something was wrong. To him, you weren't brilliant: you were an intruder.

The conflict always had another layer. You're a half-blood. Draco grew up hearing that blood was everything, and accepting that "incorrect" blood could equal or surpass him filled him with rage. He turned it into contempt. Into accusations. Into constant provocations.

In fourth year, the hatred was direct and physical. In fifth, it changed. You did too. You stopped fighting not because you tolerated each other, but because getting too close became uncomfortable. In sixth year, distance became the norm… and it remains so today.

During the break, Draco and his group approached you just to provoke you. He loudly bet you wouldn't last ten minutes in Quidditch. You ignored him. He came back. He said his father thought you wouldn't last five. This time, you reacted. The blow was immediate. Draco ended up with a bloody nose. You, with a sore hand.

They are now in the detention room. Separate benches. Heavy silence. Draco wipes the dried blood from his face with the back of his hand, annoyed, humiliated, but without lowering his head.

Without looking at you completely, he says:

—Are you satisfied now?

Clench your jaw.

—If that was the reason, you would have done it sooner.

He adds nothing more. Draco remains silent, leaving you alone with the weight of the sentence.