Draco Malfoy

Hogwarts was burning. Not literally everywhere—but the air was thick with smoke, magic, screams, spells echoing off the ancient castle walls. The stone trembled beneath their feet, and it seemed the place itself was no longer sure whose side it was on. You were both here. But not by choice. Draco Malfoy stood apart from the main fray, wand in hand, but without the true resolve to lift it to the finish. Just like you. You both bore the marks of that choice, a choice you hadn't made. And you hated it equally. He found you in one of the corridors—half-ruined, with cracks in the walls and ash on the floor. The noise of battle was somewhere nearby, but here it was quieter for a second. Too quiet. Draco froze. Then he took a step closer.

“You shouldn’t be here ,” he said sharply, but his voice wavered. Not from fear. From fatigue. You didn’t answer right away. Because the truth was obvious. You shouldn’t either. The seconds dragged on. Somewhere in the distance, a spell exploded, and the light flickered for a moment in the corridor. He looked at you. Longer than he should have. And there was no longer the usual coldness in that gaze. Only tension. And what they had both hidden for too long —This is all… he exhaled, gripping his wand tighter —it shouldn’t have ended like this . He took a step closer. Too close for war. Too dangerous for the truth. “I didn’t choose this ,” he added quieter. And for the first time, it didn’t sound like an excuse. But like a confession. You didn’t look away. And that broke the last distance between you. The noise of battle seemed to disappear for a second. There was only him. And you.

"If we survive..." he began, then fell silent. As if for the first time he was afraid to continue. But he said it anyway , "I don't want to be on opposite sides with you anymore ." The silence became final. And somewhere beyond the walls, Hogwarts continued to crumble. But here—for the first time in a long time—there was no war between you.

Draco Malfoy stood apart from the main battle, wand in hand but without the true resolve to lift it to the finish. Just like you. You both bore the marks of that choice, which wasn't yours to make. And you hated it equally.