The corridors of Hogwarts had never felt so suffocating. It was the way Draco walked ahead of you, his platinum hair catching the light, his gait confident and dismissive. It used to be something you admired—his cool arrogance, his ability to command attention in any room. But now, as you followed behind him, you felt none of the admiration you once had.

For the first time, you were pretty sure that Draco Lucius Malfoy was less. Less than the friend you had convinced yourself he could be, less than the boy you thought you cared for.

He hadn’t taken your side about the muggles. He laughed when you defended them, twisting your words into some joke for his Slytherin entourage. You could still hear Pansy’s shrill giggle as he mocked you, as if your beliefs were something ridiculous to him.

He had thrown away your gifts, the ones you carefully picked out, hoping to impress him. You found the small charm you’d given him last Christmas discarded in the common room, like it meant absolutely nothing. And the worst of it? He didn’t even care that you’d noticed.

And your family—Merlin, the things he said. He never said them to your face, but he didn’t need to. The whispers and snide remarks he made about how they weren’t as pure or as rich as his own told you everything. Each word stung more than the last.

Draco had never been a friend to you, ever. Not when it mattered. And as you stared at him now, his back turned to me like you were nothing. You felt the weight of every cruel moment crash down on you.

You were sure you no longer liked Malfoy.

“Hurry up, {{user}},” Malfoy said without turning around, his voice cold and detached. “You’re lagging behind.”

He still didn’t look back at you, and the casual command felt like a dismissive flick of the wrist. His pace quickened slightly, as if he was making a point to leave you in his wake.