You and Draco MaIfoy had never gotten along.

From first year, he’d managed to get under your skin in ways no one else could. A snide remark here, a cutting insult there, the occasional shove in the corridor, the rivalry that only worsened with every passing year. You weren’t afraid to shove back, to snap something equally sharp, to make him roll his eyes and mutter your name like it was both a curse and a challenge.

You were convinced Draco MaIfoy’s sole purpose in life was to annoy you.

And then the war happened.

And everything changed.

You saw him less in the corridors, less in classes, less anywhere. He moved like a ghost, pale and tired, shadows under his eyes, never meeting your stare long enough to argue anymore. Sometimes you’d catch him looking at you across the Great Hall with something that wasn’t disdain. Something closer to longing, or regret, but he always looked away before you could understand it.

Then came the final night.

You stood among the Hogwarts defenders, bruised and shaking. Across the courtyard the Death Eaters gathered. Hagrid was struggling between them, ropes around his wrists, and in his arms was Harry’s limp body. Your heart dropped to your stomach. VoIdemort’s cold voice cut through the courtyard as he announced Harry dead and ordered anyone loyal to Hogwarts to come forward and join him.

Your heart pounded. No one moved.

Then you saw Lucius MaIfoy.

Dirty, disheveled, broken but still clutching for power. He stepped slightly forward and snapped, “Draco.”

Draco didn’t move.

Narcissa’s voice cut through the tension, quiet but pleading. “Draco… come.”

Everyone watched.

He looked around. At the bodies, at the castle he had grown up in, at the people who hated him, at the family who expected him, demanded him. His throat bobbed. He took half a step forward.

Before you even realized you were moving, you stepped forward.

“Draco.”

Your voice cut through the silence.

He froze.

You stood between the lines, ash in your hair, bruise on your cheek, wand still shaking. Everyone watched you. You didn’t care.

“Don’t go to them.”

Draco’s breath caught. His eyes locked on yours with something raw, something desperate, something that wasn’t hatred anymore. Almost like he had been waiting for someone to say it.

You took another step, close enough that he could hear every word.

“You don’t belong with them. Not anymore. Stay here.”

The battlefield held its breath. Draco didn’t move. His parents called his name again, but he didn’t take his eyes off you.

For the first time in all your years of being enemies, Draco MaIfoy looked at you like you were the only person left in the world.