DAOT Anon

--- Before you kneel --- There was a blazing heat. The fire of betrayal rose before Malfoid, an uncontrolled blaze that threatened to swallow the entire Room of Requirement whole, along with the six people present. A flame that revealed the betrayal of a supposed childhood friend. She had tried to prevent it, moments before, by ordering him, as she had always done. - Stop! Th-The Dark Lord wants him alive! - Shut up, I’m not going to kill him. Or am I? Whether it had been a last-hour corruption or the revelation of something that had been brewing for a long time, Crabbe had betrayed her... perhaps not so very differently from how he had betrayed Malfoid the previous year. From how he had pushed her, in that moment of blood and tears, of external-turned-internal pain, into joining the Dark Lord. The cursed fire, after devouring its own creator, now threatened to do the same to her. And no matter how frantically she waved her wand, none of her spells would make a dent in that inferno. She was... finished. Ghosts recount that in the final moments of a person's life, your entire life flashes before your eyes, and that was precisely what was about to happen to Draconia. No. It would not be all her life that she would remember. No: in that last breath, she would mostly recall a certain individual… …................................................ That boy who had challenged her from the very beginning. - You'll soon find out that some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. - She had insinuated, tossing her long hair. - If you kneel before me I can teach you, and even be your friend. - I think I can choose for myself, thanks. That boy who from the beginning had been braver than her, whether mounting a broomstick or venturing into the darkness of the Forbidden Forest. - A-Are you scared, Potter? - She had tried to provoke him, but the truth was that that night the one trembling like a leaf was she. - Hmph! S-Sure you're so scared you'd want to hold onto me. - The strongest projection spell she had ever cast. Because whether in the Forbidden Forest or in a duel, the answer was always the same: - You wish. ... Incapable of processing that Harry Potter could surpass her, she would continue trying to catch his attention. Sometimes, with the best of intentions; like in second year, after getting that broomstick Malfoid had begged her father to buy. - Have you seen the new Nimbus 2001s my father bought me, Potter? Hmph! If you kneel before me, I might let you take a spin on my broom. -Gryffindors make the team on their own merit, they don't buy their way in. - Nobody asked you, Mudblood. Needless to say, it didn't end well. … Other times, it would turn out even worse. If it weren’t other girls sabotaging her, she would take care of it herself. Like in third year, when she thought she had found, at last, something that genuinely frightened Potter. Something with which she could finally defeat him. - Boo! - Days before the quidditch final match, the Slytherin trio had dressed up as Dementors. - Ha, ha, did we scare you, Potter? - the girl would ask, lifting her hood to reveal a mocking smile so wide it could barely be contained by her hand. - The boy's reaction had indeed been to recoil. But the expression she expected to find—that of a frightened boy who would hide behind the first skirt he found—was, in reality, one accompanied by cold eyes. Eyes that simply revealed that that had been the straw that broke the camel’s back, after three years of cheating, insulting his friends, and now mocking one of his biggest fears. Malfoid would always remember those eyes... the cause of the worst stomach and chest ache she had ever felt. No matter how much she had tried to apologize, arm outstretched and lips trembling, the words wouldn't come out. That year she had been practicing to improve her flight, in secret. She would often try to mimic Potter's movement, as best she could. But all that hard work was meaningless, as during the match, all she could think of was his face of rejection. Harry would celebrate with his friends, as he always did. Malfoid, on the other hand, would do nothing but cry; that night, and the months to come. ... At the start of the following year, her intention had been to keep to the background and watch him in silence, even when her heart skipped a beat upon seeing Potter's name emerge from the Goblet of Fire. But, fearing for him, she had decided to ambush him once more, a week before the First Task. - Potter, you imbecile. Why are you walking around like a headless chicken? - she would ask him, impatient, arms crossed, back against the wall, and gaze fixed on the ground. A coward who hadn't found the courage to look him in the eye again. - I don't have time for you, Malf... - What does it matter if you face a dragon, or three? Luckily, she had been following him the night before. Or perhaps luck had had nothing to do with it, considering how occasionally stalking him had become her most dangerous hobby. - Trust what you're good at. You're a reckless idiot, but you beat me on the field; you just have to do it again. As she spoke, she had managed to find the courage to lift her gaze. And there, she found eyes shiny enough to cast any previous doubts away, as well as the first truly warm smile he ever directed at her. A face the girl thought only reserved for the ones walking by his side. A face more than enough to set her cheeks on fire and to force her to look away, else she'd become blinded. - D-Don't get the wrong idea. Draconia would try to replicate that air of superiority from previous years, hoping to recover her pride by buying it with the gold of her mane. - Simply put, it would be annoying if you died before I could make you kneel before me. She would maybe regret how those lines could be turned into cheesy to be misinterpreted, but only for a short time. After all, when Harry managed to clear the First Task, in a small part thanks to the girl's idea, she would realize how much it bothered her that the other girls in his life had the courage to congratulate him face to face. That was nothing, however, compared to the next miracle that was about to happen. - I lost a bet, so let's just get this over with. Do you want to go to the ball with me? The girl's heart would skip a beat for the umpteenth time. And for the umpteenth time, she would blush beyond belief. - Is this a joke? How desperate must you be to ask me? - And for the umpteenth time, she would try to recover her superior airs. - Me, go with a half-blood like you? - Fine, forget i... - Yes. I'll go with you. Not even a second had passed since the boy turned away from her before she made her answer clear. She had fantasized about the situation way too much to choke on her words again, so she was not going to lose to Potter again. O worse, lose *Potter* again. That evening would turn out the best in her entire life. But spending time with Potter as a would be friend and dancing with him was not the only reason why, as from that day, their relationship would change entirely. … Two beautiful years when she would once again trying to grab his attention: by mischief, by pouting, by teasing. She would get into fights with him, but also get to see his smile over and over again. And above all, Malfoid would manage to delude herself into thinking that perhaps, if Chang and the Weasley girl didn't get in the way... maybe she'd even stand a chance with him. ... But… it had been a dream as fleeting as it was impossible. - Potter… do you... hate me... this much? It would be at that very moment, in the middle of their sixth year at Hogwarts, when she would realize, while spitting blood during that violent confrontation, that Potter had never had any intentions of having anything good to do with her. - No... no, I... it was an... - The boy was trembling; his eyes filled with remorse. But the girl didn't want to see them: she had seen that look before, and seeing it again would only cause her more pain. Perhaps it had been inevitable ever since her father was hauled off to Azkaban and she had been forced to join the Dark Lord to save her family from disgrace. Or perhaps... it had been inevitable from the beginning. That fateful day she believed she had driven him entirely from her head and her heart. But… …................................................ … but during her final moments, she could think of nothing except him, and what could have been. - I would have liked... In the snippet of a dream where he wore formal robes and she too, wore a dress —this time not displaying the colors of her Hogwarts house. - …to dress in white. Going out with that pretty picture in her head perhaps wouldn’t be too bad. But then, something changed once again: everything stopped. Or, to be more precise, on the contrary: everything accelerated the moment Malfoid felt a sharp yank and an arm of steel dragged her off the ledge, saving her from the abyss of fire. The world plummeted into a dizzying spiral of heat and motion. When the vertigo subsided and she opened her eyes lazily, she found herself straddling the most important person in her life, riding on the back of his steed, his eyes charged with the same spark that had made its way into her heart three years ago. Perhaps even earlier than that. Unlike that time in fourth year, there was no escape: there was nowhere to avert her gaze, nor could she run away. She could only stretch out her arms and hold onto the boy as tightly as she possibly could. … Malfoid refused to let go of Potter, even after they got off the broom. The lack of oxygen from the fire cut short both their breaths. No matter: pressing her cheek against his chest would suffice to steady her own. - Are you okay, Draconia? - Harry asked. - It’s the first time… you’re calling me by my name. Such a silly response, from that silly girl he met at Ollyvander’s after they both turned eleven. Too strongly she had tried to turn away from that childing self - at least in those arms, where she felt safest, she would act like that little girl once again. - Don't let go of me! - she yelled, annoyed by the boy's attempt to break the embrace. - Don't let go, you idiot! And it worked. Potter would shut his mouth and so would the annoying Weasley and Granger, who even went as far as to leave the room to give the pair some space. Perhaps the destruction of Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem was enough for a breather. Or perhaps he too, filled with his own regrets, didn't want to let her go either. And now that she was in his arms, perhaps Malfoid could stop pretending. - I was scared, okay?! - the girl would cry, her voice breaking and any old air of superiority evaporated. - I was so scared. I still am. The boy was too, of course. But whilst Malfoid was all talk, no action, Potter always managed to find the courage to overcome everything, and save the day. And now, no doubt he intended to do the same again. - You're going to face Him, aren't you? - I have to. I'm the only one who can. Potter was right. He must have been. After all, destiny itself seemed to be on his side, just as it had always been against Malfoid. Just as they had been destined to be rivals, to be enemies. Slytherin versus Gryffindor, pure-blood versus half-blood… But just as she was getting ready to finally turn away, she would tighten her grip on Harry’s tunic. She would refuse that. Too tired of letting herself be carried away by destiny, she would once again become her rebellious self: - I'm going with you. We’ll fight Him together. - But you're shaking. - Then don't let go of me! - she would exclaim, pleading in her screech. - Never! Enough lying to herself. Enough beating around the bush, and holding back her feelings. Perhaps it was that very sincerity what made it so that it would now be the boy's turn to blush. His turn to avert his gaze and his heart to race. And, after what felt like an eternity, the girl's mocking smile would return to claim victory, if not for just a moment. It was then that they would stop walking on opposite sides: now they would face destiny together. Intertwined, holding hands as they ran together toward the battle of their lives. There was a blazing heat still in the room. It was that girl's heart, burning with her feelings for him.