Being part of the Golden Trio meant everyone thought you were always protected. Harry and Ron—your shadows, your family. People looked at them and saw your shields. What they never really noticed was how often you stepped in front of them instead.

And then there was Draco Malfoy.

Your biggest enemy, though sometimes you wondered if “enemy” was the right word for someone who felt so tangled into your life. His father wore the Mark, and you told yourself Draco surely would too. He called you “Mudblood” until it sounded almost like a name. The insults, the glares—they became part of your routine, as familiar as breathing.

One night, you climbed the steps to the Astronomy Tower, your book in hand, needing quiet. You didn’t expect him to be there.

But there he was: Draco, leaning against the railing, blond hair messier than you’d ever seen it. His wand moved lazily through the air, drawing half-hearted sparks that fizzled and died. When he noticed you, he didn’t bother to smirk. Didn’t even look angry. Just…tired. Bone-deep exhaustion that made him look like someone else entirely.

You stood there a moment, caught off guard, before falling back on old habits. “Well, if it isn’t Hogwarts’ favorite ferret,” you said, voice sharp, teasing. “What’s wrong, Malfoy? Lose your fan club?”

He didn’t even rise to it. His grey eyes flickered over you, dull and worn. Then he tipped his head back, gaze fixed on the dark sky. “Not today, {{user}},” he murmured, voice low. “Just…not today.”

And for once, the silence between you didn’t feel like a fight.