Unknown || Drarry

Chapter 1

Draco pulled his robes tighter around himself as he made his way down Diagon Alley. It was meant to be spring soon, at least that was what the calendar said, but the bitter cold of winter still lingered in the air.  He wished he had brought a hat, not just for the warmth, but to hide his hair which always stood out far too much no matter the weather. Draco had to settle for ducking his head down into the collar of his robes, eager to get home.

Before he knew what was happening, the world was pulled out from under Draco's feet. He tried to catch himself, his hands skidding out across the slush, his knees hitting the cobblestones. 

Draco gasped, desperately trying to catch his breath as half-melted snow soaked into his robes. He slowly pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, his palms stinging. One wrist suddenly gave out under his weight with a throb of pain, and he barely managed to keep himself up with the other. No one stopped. The crowd flowed around him, like a stone in a stream.

Someone had tripped him. Draco was almost certain of it, with the tip of an umbrella or a jinx he hadn't seen. He looked behind him at the sound of faint laughter, but couldn't see where it was coming from.

Belatedly, his knees began to burn with pain. Draco hissed, slowly sitting back on his heels and looking down at his pale grey slacks. The fabric was torn on one knee his pale skin showing through, blood spotting the fabric around it.

"You're impeding traffic."

Draco looked up.

Potter was standing over him, his auror uniform haloing him in crimson, his hair falling around his face in messy black waves. It would have been attractive if it wasn't for the scowl in the centre of it all.

"You need to move, Malfoy; you're impeding traffic," Potter said brusquely.

"I was tripped," Draco snapped.

"It's slippery with this slush on the ground," Potter said, ignoring Draco's accusation entirely.

"Sod off," Draco muttered under his breath.

 "Watch your step next time," Potter said as he walked away without a backward glance.

And that hurt more than the stab of pain from his wrist as he pushed himself to his feet. After all they had been through, Draco thought he was at least worth an insult or a parting glare. Draco knew he could never wish for more, but a part of him at least wished to be remembered as a rival, some sort of villain, a classmate, anything. But the way Potter treated him, Draco wasn't even a nuisance.

Draco shook the melting snow from his hands and pulled up the collar on his robes, ducking his head down between his shoulders. He pushed his hands deep into his pockets relishing what was left of the weak heating charms drawing the numbness from his fingers.

He slipped into the crowd, doing his best not to get too close to anyone, cutting through the narrow alley leading to Carkitt Market. Before stepping out into the market, he pressed himself into the shadow of Gladrag's awning. He drew his wand, pulling his sleeve down to obscure it as much as possible before casting a basic healing episkey on his knees and hands. It closed the scrapes but left the dull ache of the tender, bruised flesh. The important thing was that it looked good as new.

He followed the episkey with a quick cleaning charm and a reparo on his torn slacks. He ran his hand over the fabric to make sure it took, finding the linen fully patched though it had gotten thinner. Soon there wouldn't be enough fabric left to stretch and they would begin to fray, or unravel entirely.