REQUIREMENTS | DRACO MALFOY

18 | What Potter Doesn't Know

He nodded his head, letting out a soft hum, "yeah."

"I think you looked better as a ferret."

The gasp that erupted out of the boy's mouth was loud enough to bring the Basilisk back from the dead. He snatched up his pillow, dropping it over my face in complete offense.

"Rule number eight," he hissed, trying to suppress a growing smile on his face, "you're not allowed to call me a ferret!"

"I thought you said rules didn't apply when we were alone!"

"They do now!"

"Well then, you suck, Malfoy," I giggled, "don't make me tell your father you're trying to cheat your way out of this!"

Draco rolled his eyes, sticking out his finger to poke me in the cheek with a smile on his face. It was completely spontaneous, and I snapped my mouth shut in confusion. Uhhh. Woah. I did not realize how weird it was for him to show affection in a non-shoving way.

Do I smell improvement?

"Okay, but in all seriousness," I said, flopping onto my back, "I thought you'd be a different way."

Draco raised a brow, flopping onto his back too, "a different way?"

"Yeah," I nodded, "I've always imagined you—not that I've imagined you—but I never thought you'd be so quick to like someone of my standing. Considering yours, and all."

"As in?"

"Well, besides the stupid house rivalry, you're a pureblood," I explained, beginning to fidget with my fingers, "and there's nothing your family hates more than...a muggle-born. A person like me."

Draco pursed his lips, "so you're asking me why I'm a blood-traitor?"

I hate that word.

"In a way," I nodded.

"And you want to know why I was so quick to like you."

"Yes."

There was a pause, where he just stared at the ceiling of his green-spelled room, his eyes trailing off towards the windows. He was silent. Moments passed, and it seemed like he had drifted deep into his thoughts, unable to respond.

I rolled onto my side, placing my hand on his shoulder in an attempt of comfort. Giving him a soft press, I watched as he moved his own hand on top of mine, tapping his pointer finger gently against my knuckles.

"Draco?" I whispered, "you can talk to me."

"I know."

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

There was another moment of silence, where he just let his breath hang in the air like a tense shadow, but then I felt him shift his body so he was laying on his side. He took a deep breath, and finally let it all out.

"I guess I've always felt like I was being made into a person I didn't want to be," he began, his voice wavering slightly, "my father never gives me any choice. It's always hate everyone who threatens you, and hate everyone who's above you, and my mother doesn't do a thing to tell me to stop."

He exhaled, continuing:

"And I wasn't a bully before all of this, because I just wanted to go to this blasted school like everyone else, but then everyone expected me to be a bully because of my name and line, so I had no choice but to follow through like my father would want me to."

There was another pause. It was clear these words were new to him, because there was a slight edge to his tone; one that made it seem like he'd never dared to speak in this way.