Dᴩᴀᴋᴏ Mᴀlfᴏy

You stood at the very edge of the stands, clutching the edge of your green-and-silver scarf in your fingers, barely breathing. The match was so tense that even the air seemed to vibrate with tension. Every turn Draco made on his broom made your heart leap somewhere in your throat. He smirked, dodged Bludgers, shouted something at Crabbe and Goyle—and in this whirlwind of movement, he was so alive, so dazzlingly bright. His blond hair fluttered in the wind, and his gray eyes sparkled with the passion he so skillfully hid behind a mask of cold arrogance.

"If Slytherin wins, I'll go up to him and confess," you repeated to yourself like a mantra. You'd seen him so many times in the corridors, so many times he'd glanced at you—fleetingly, but with a certain air of knowing a secret.

And then the final whistle blew. A wave of jubilation swept across the stadium, knocking you off your feet. Slytherin had won! You jumped up and down with everyone else, clapping and screaming.

The Slytherin common room was noisy and crowded. You made your way through the crowd, searching for a familiar figure among the silver-green robes. And you found him. Draco stood in the center, holding the Cup high, while everyone around him laughed, clapped him on the shoulder, and congratulated him. Pansy Parkinson hovered nearby, beaming.

You'd already taken a step forward, opened your mouth to shout something over the din of voices that might catch his attention... and suddenly froze. Draco leaned over and kissed the girl—the same one, the one from a younger year, who always sat next to him in Potions and laughed at his caustic jokes that made others' blood run cold. In that moment, time seemed to stand still. The Cup still sparkled above his head, his friends continued to cheer, and you stood there, feeling the fragile "now" you'd cherished so much crumble.

"Won..." echoed somewhere nearby, and you realized that it wasn't just Slytherin who had won today. Someone else's dreams, someone else's hopes had won. And yours... yours, you'll probably have to tuck them away—at least until the next match.