Cheers, Potter.

Is that so hard to believe?

Draco's POV

I was glad I'd helped those first years. Really, I was. But when they started following me to every meal, walking with me to the common room, and sitting around me when I was in my armchair, I was nonplussed. They'd talk to me about their classes, their friends, their first year dramas. I was unaware that a simple favour such as helping one with their homework would bring down a horde of the creatures upon me.

One morning, before breakfast they were waiting for me by the door. The girl who'd approached me first – Constance, she'd said her name was – beamed when she saw me. That was a shock to the system. For the past month I'd been scowled at, run from, tripped up and hexed, but no-one had smiled at me so ingenuously since my mother had left for France.

It was refreshing; I found myself smiling back and then scolding myself, knowing there were likely students about just waiting for new ammunition to hit me with. Constance noticed the change in my expression and her expression changed, like she was issuing herself a challenge. I recognised that face, I'd used it plenty.

"Malfoy," Constance called cheerily, "Do you want to walk with us to breakfast?"

That in itself was jarring; they never usually asked me, they just did. Before I knew what was happening she'd grabbed me by the forearm and was hauling me towards the Great Hall.

Being sat amongst a herd of excitable first years was not how I expected my eighth year at Hogwarts to go, but I wasn't complaining. Their conversations were light and arbitrary; they weren't weighed down by the turmoil and tribulations of the last few years. They were safe and they accepted that. I was hoping if I spent enough time with them that some of that confidence might rub off on me.

As I tuned back into the conversation happening around me I realised they were talking about the Bent-Winged Snitches. I didn't interrupt their debate but I listened intently.

"You have no idea what you're talking about Connie," one of the first years all but yelled, I think they'd called him Cyrus, "They're are amazing! You're crazy if you think differently."

"Are you joking? It's just noise!" Constance replied quickly, waving him off with an eyeroll, "Spellbound are way better."

I couldn't help but laugh; it was brilliant to hear such light-hearted conversation, even if it was completely meaningless. Hearing my outburst of quiet laughter Constance smiled, slightly mischievously; "You think I'm wrong?"

"No," I hurry to say for fear of scorn and then remembered who I was speaking to and changed my tune, "Actually... yes, but that's not why I laughed."

"You like the Bent-Winged Snitches?" Cyrus asks incredulously, looking at his friends to make sure he'd heard me correctly.

I laughed again, "Is that so hard to believe?"

Simultaneously Constance, Cyrus and their friends nodded, chorusing different variations of the word 'Yes' at me.

I couldn't keep back my laughter any longer; I wheezed at their disbelief, almost choking on my toast and had to gulp down my pumpkin juice to keep from making an embarrassing scene.

"I knew I could get you to smile!" Constance shouted as though she'd accomplished something. I couldn't help but grin some more.

Instinctively I looked across the Hall towards the Gryffindor table and immediately stopped smiling when I saw Potter staring, mouth agape, directly at me. I felt selfish and wrong for having the nerve to smile in a roomful of people I'd hurt, he'd just reminded me of it.

Stupid bloody Potter, with his stupid bloody scar and his stupid messy hair. He ruins everything.