The Darkest Witch

Draco: After Hours

Scotland
Hogwarts
Draco

Time slowed every moment Draco Malfoy was a hundred feet above the ground. The sky held an unimaginable temptation against his self-control. The allure of flying had never failed to catch his attention, heighten his senses, and exhilarate his soul. The height of the skies was an odd place for anyone to feel received and yet, here he was, flying with limitless speed, grinning in pleasure as he grabbed hold of the Snitch.

"Four minutes and twenty-eight seconds," Montague shouted as Draco flew swiftly towards the ground. "Bloody hell, Malfoy. You're in an incredible momentum lately."

"What are you on about?" Malfoy shot him a glare. "I've always been in an incredible momentum."

Montague sighed in defeat. "I meant, you're in an even more incredible momentum lately," he said.

"I reckon I could catch it faster," Draco said, earning another sigh from Montague. The rest of the team had already left the pitch. Draco insisted he needed more training and had forced Montague to stay. An hour has passed since then, and Draco has not shown any signs of weariness, much to Montague's dismay. "Release it again."

"Malfoy, it's nearly nightfall."

"And?"

"Students are only allowed to train during the day," Montague explained, nonplussed by Draco's disregard for rules. "Night practices are prohibited."

"Since when have you followed the rules and it's barely nightfall." Draco heaved as he has begun to feel his muscles ache in fatigue.

"I've always followed the rules. Besides, we still have next week." Montague responded, carefully placing the snitch inside the trunk. "Let's postpone your greatness until then. Meanwhile, I have N.E.W.T. classes to pass."

"That I'd like to see," Draco said with a smirk.

Montague kicked the trunk into a close, patting Draco in the shoulder before he trudged back into the castle.

Montague was right — it was nearly nightfall, however, Draco couldn't brush his absolute hunger for perfection. The pain he felt all over his body only renewed his resolution. Surprisingly, Draco valued hard work and discipline more than anybody. In his family, worth was earned and not sought. Defeat was not an option, it was a result of poor upbringing.

As soon as Montague was out of sight, Draco dropped his broomstick and laid himself on the ground, allowing the rich scent of the grass envelope his senses. Four minutes and twenty-eight seconds, he thought. It was a good record but he was certain he could do better. It wasn't enough.

Draco had always struggled on defining what was enough. He could always find faults in everything, and everyone, including himself; most especially himself. This constant search for perfection had once led him to question if it was even real. Can a person truly embody perfection? Was it even possible?

These questions were then answered in the most specific of ways, by means of a person, a beautiful dark-haired girl — Belinda Gaunt.

It was early in the summer when Belinda first visited the Malfoy Manor. She wore a pale, blue dress and had flowers tucked in the socks of her shoes. It took days for him to talk to her, she seemed so quiet and peculiar, always lost in her thoughts. Their first conversation wasn't even initiated by him, Belinda had asked him if he could help her organize pebbles by color, a curious request in which he skeptically agreed.

After that summer, Belinda visited the Malfoy Manor twice a year, and every year Draco watched her answer his questions about perfection without effort.