PRECEDENT : Draco Malfoy II

31

I wait in the boathouse. He won't come. It's surely been close to an hour, and it is definitely too late for me to be outside. The sun has set long ago, and I stare up at the ceiling. Many of the walls in this place are glass, but with the boats filling this place you cannot see out of it. The ceiling is stone. Everything about this castle would blow the minds of my mates from primary school, but I've been in this world so long I've started to ignore how marvellous it is. He might not have even gotten my message. It's stupid to even think about it anyway. It's easier to think about Hogwarts than Draco.

Something moves. I sit up, looking at the entrance and then at the ground. My bag has moved. It moves again. The Sagum inside it.

He's in range.

I don't know what to do other than sit. Surely, something. I should be more prepared than this. No words are in my brain.

Draco rounds the edge. In his cloak, a spell radiating off him to keep him warm, he stands in the doorway. There is a door to this place, technically two, but they are always open and I've never bothered to shut them. It's freezing in this place, even with stockings over muggle tights, and even with my cloak over my Hogwarts jumper and my collared shirt.

"I went to the bell tower," he explains. "Brighton Belle, right?"

He did know. The day at the pier then, where I made him buy that stupid bell, meant something to him too.

I wonder how long he went searching. I figured the sound of a bell would be attributed to the Hogwarts bell even if it wasn't the right tone, or perhaps an illicit extra curricular activity. The train would be something people would think about, and I'm glad Draco thought.

"Yes," I swallow.

He flicks his arms and mutters a charm. The doors, which have never moved, swing shut. Already, the air feels hotter. Unlike the greenhouses, this place is neither warm from magical charms nor muggle engineering. My breath still clouds the air. Draco wouldn't know this, but when you wait in muggle cars with the engine off, the windows fog rather quickly. This place is going to be like that soon.

"You changed your mind about avoiding me?"

I nod, "you're distracting me."

"How?" he rolls his eyes, stepping closer.

Draco always looks like some sort of descendant of Jack Frost. From his extremely blonde hair to his pale skin, he is monochromatic. The black clothes don't help the stark contrast. Despite all of this, he's always felt warm. Sometimes like a fire, but not a campfire. Like a gas fire on a stove. Blazing, scorching, licking the ceiling. Touching him will burn me. Water cannot put him out. This time, it's not his heat; it's a charm on him that wafts over when he steps. They aren't unknown on winter cloaks, but the magic that keeps a fine-looking cloak warm enough for the wearer without damaging the material is a complicated spell. I'm sure I could replicate something similar, actually.

"I can't distract you when I'm not even around," he finishes, or adds. I'm distracted so it's hard to tell.

I cross my arms beneath my cloak. My hands are cold.

I shake my head, "it would be easy if you aren't around. You are everywhere."

"Where do you expect me to be?" he says. "You haven't answered my notes asking to meet. You're never anywhere besides the Great Hall and the library. Maybe I'm everywhere, but you aren't anywhere. I can hardly see how that's distracting."

Draco looks at me. I can't look back, not properly anyway. I focus on his nose since I've heard people cannot tell if you are looking them in the eyes or in the nose.