Draco Malfoy had always wanted to fall in love—until it happened.
He was usually quite sensible. But when he watched Evangeline Blackwood step through the doors of the Great Hall, his sense of propriety—along with his sense of all that was good and right in the world—shifted on account of her hand resting on the crook of his best friend's arm.
No one, not even Draco himself, could see the great precipice at which he currently stood. He only saw her form, the way her shoulders swayed when she walked, the way her bare back was held taut and straight, the long strides that she took as she glided into the room. The atmosphere shifted around Draco, a heavy burden placed upon the very air he breathed. Now that he had noticed, he could not simply un-notice.
Denial greeted him as an old friend, and he directed his attention back to Pansy Parkinson, his date, as she went on about the future of the wizarding world.
"The second they let Potter become the best of us, we're doomed," Pansy hissed, watching as Potter and one of the Patil sisters—Draco could never remember which was which—danced in the middle of the Great Hall, opening the Yule Ball with the other "chosen ones." Draco surveyed Potter as he danced awkwardly with his date. As a Triwizard champion, one would expect him to be a bit more light on his feet. However, Potter stepped on his date's toes and performed the wrong steps and seemed to have forgotten to comb his hair.
"Just wait until my father hears about this," Draco snickered with renewed enthusiasm, imagining his father's reaction when he told him the story. Draco would tell his father about Potter's horrible dancing animatedly. His father would laugh, his one true joy always being in his superiority over others. Draco wouldn't have messed up the dance. Draco was of proper breeding. Draco would have won the tournament already.
In the midst of his imaginative musings, there she was again—Blackwood, trailing around the edge of the dance floor with Blaise at her side. Draco blinked. She was wearing her hair up, a few loose pieces of hair falling down onto her exposed mid back, just above the top of her dress. As she moved with Blaise through the crowd, her tulle skirt swished against the leg of her date, close enough to envelope Blaise in the black fabric entirely.
"I mean, honestly," Pansy whispered, leaning in. "It's a wonder he's survived this long."
Draco blinked. Potter was waltzing towards Cedric Diggory and Cho Chang, nearly backing into the latter before the Patil sister jerked him away. Cedric Diggory, two years older than fourth-year cheat Harry Potter, had slightly more dignity, although being a Hufflepuff still made him an embarrassment of a Champion.
Draco flicked his eyes unwillingly to the two figures that stood in black contrast against the silver decorations of the Great Hall. He frowned, watching Blaise place his hand on the corset of that black tulle gown. Others were joining the dance now, trickling onto the floor in the center of the hall and dancing around the four Champions with equal verve. Blackwood was now resting two arms around Blaise's shoulders and waltzing with him, the loose tendrils of her hair brushing her back as she swayed to the music.
"If we're lucky," Draco whispered to Pansy, tearing his eyes away, "The Tournament will finish Potter off for good. After all, the tasks are known to kill."
"We'll just keep our fingers crossed," Pansy whispered back. He watched her red lips as she took a sip of punch from a crystal glass. He looked at her, from her lips to her eyes and then back again.
Blaise twirled Blackwood under his arm, then pulled her back into a close embrace. Draco watched, unknowing that he was watching at all. One moment, he was thinking of Pansy's lips and whether she'd try to kiss him tonight. The next moment, he was watching Blackwood tilt her head back and laugh. He saw the muscles of her neck flex as Blaise dipped her backwards. Her arm reached up to wrap more firmly around his neck. Draco noticed how she trusted Blaise to hold her up—to not let her fall.
"Draco?"
He snapped his attention back to Pansy as if he had been shot. "Hm?"
"I said," she whispered, setting her drink down. "Would you like to dance?"
He wouldn't, as it happened. But he took Pansy's hand anyway, walking her backwards towards the dance floor. Once there, he placed Pansy's hand elegantly on his shoulder and placed his own hands on her waist. His eyes darted to the left, then the right. Pansy followed his footwork as he kept them on beat to the music.
There, he saw it. A shadow of black—two shadows, poking through the colorful dresses and silver displays.
"I'm surprised you brought me tonight," Pansy said, right in front of him. He faltered, flicking his gaze back down into his date's expectant eyes.
"Oh?" he asked, remaining decidedly interested.
"You always seem so very cold," Pansy whispered. Draco sensed that she was coming onto him. This wasn't a difficult conclusion. Parkinson's eyes told him everything he needed to know of her intention.
"You're here, aren't you?" he asked, sighing silently.
"Yes."
"With me."
"Yes."
"Just as it should be," he said, matching the look in her eye. She nodded, a shy smile looking out of place on her usually very confident expression.
The slow music, the dancing, the pretty decorations—these things had adverse effects on girls like Pansy Parkinson. They had them dreaming of romance and soulmates and meant-to-be. She closed her eyes and leaned in, pressing her lips to his.
This was the moment that Draco Malfoy had his very first kiss. It would have been perfectly acceptable to him, nice even, as Pansy Parkinson was not a bad kisser. His mistake—the mistake that would haunt him for many years to come—was that he had kept his eyes open as he kissed her.
Blackwood's eyes enveloped Draco's field of vision and ran his blood entirely cold. He gripped Pansy by the waist, too hard. Having danced around the floor for the past five minutes and now landing a mere yard away, Evangeline Blackwood was staring directly into Draco's soul as he had his first kiss. It was predestination, a flaw in the universe for her to be there at that moment. For years afterward, Draco wondered whether—if she had not looked at him then—if maybe he could have kept his sanity for just a little bit longer.
Those eyes were an enigma. They forced him to pause, to lean back, to swiftly turn Pansy around in order to put Blackwood behind him. Pansy was smiling and wiping red lipstick off of Draco's mouth. He was staring at the wall behind her head in an inner monologue of panic.
"Let's get out of here," Pansy whispered in his ear. Relieved, and not revived enough from his fright to understand her meaning, he turned and exited swiftly from the display, leading Pansy out by her hand.
Once in the dark and empty corridor, Pansy backed him into the wall and snogged him.
He tried to keep up, knowing that there were no more eyes to crush his soul, not out here in the dark. Shy Pansy had left entirely, replaced by a girl starved. She kissed him with tongue, tangled her fingers into his hair, and pressed herself up against him. He felt a stir in his stomach and decided to let her do whatever she wanted with him. It was an act of rebellion against that blasted girl in the black dress that he had left behind in the Great Hall.
Anger—supreme anger and madness—drove him to enter the carriage with Pansy that evening. The carriages were parked outside of the nearest entrance, having transported the Durmstrangs and Beaubatons to the party. Pansy simply opened one up and climbed inside.
After a lingering look over his shoulder at the Great Hall window, Draco followed, shutting the door behind him.
- - -
"Nice going, mate," Theodore congratulated the next morning. Theo clapped his best friend on the back. "Taking the fun-mobile. I like it."
Draco furrowed his brows at Theo in confusion.
"What the devil are you on about?" he asked. They were sitting at breakfast, waiting for the others. Draco discreetly sipped at a hangover potion, trying to kill the headache stabbing his skull.
"Parkinson," Theo whispered, then popped a strawberry into his mouth. He smiled as he chewed it. "Don't lie. We've all heard by now."
Draco rolled his eyes. Leave it to Parkinson to kiss and tell. "Don't give her any ideas. It didn't mean anything."
"Fucking her in a carriage meant nothing to you?" Theo laughed. "I'd hate to see what you call an important shagging."
Draco froze. He opened his mouth to protest, to lay into Theo for spreading false rumors. He was already forming his opposition to Parkinson in his head. They had snogged in the carriage, nothing more.
Theo interrupted before he could even begin. "Ah—and another one of our fallen comrades!"
Blaise plopped down next to Draco and took the hangover potion from his hand, knocking back the dregs of it. He looked as if he had gotten into a fight with a troll—and the troll had won.
"What happened to you?" Draco grumbled, averting his eyes. He picked at a piece of pastry.
"Blaise had a little date with destiny last night."
Blaise slammed the empty potion down onto the tabletop. "Theo, shut your dirty little mouth about it!"
Theo laughed. "Sorry, mate. But I'm a bit peeved. Why did you two get to have all the fun and I got the prude?"
Draco froze. The insinuation that Theo was making was enough for him to lose what little breakfast he was keeping down.
"Don't you dare tell Evan that you know," Blaise hissed under his breath. His eyes were panicked.
"Know what? You haven't given any details."
"It was between me and her, and that's all the details you need to know," Blaise spat out.
"Fine, mate, Merlin's sake," Theo laughed. "You two are awfully cranky for blokes who got their dicks wet not twelve hours ago."
Blaise looked at Draco. Draco looked at Blaise. Then Draco looked down, grabbed his empty potion bottle, and stood.
"Where are you going?" Theo asked, half laughing. "Malfoy, don't be so bloody sensitive!"
Draco ignored Theo, and ignored Onyx and Pansy when he passed them on the way out. He didn't see Blackwood. If he had, he would have lost his mind entirely.
Draco bursted out of the doors and into the chilly winter air. He had forgotten his cloak, but was furious enough to keep warm on his own. Heat blazed in his chest. At first, he thought he was angry because of Theo's rumor, that he had fucked Pansy in a bloody carriage. He thought he was angry at Pansy, as she had clearly told Theo much more than what had actually happened. He thought he was angry with himself, as he should have fucked Pansy in the carriage, but hadn't been able to.
But in reality, he was angry because all he could think about, from the moment he kissed Pansy, to the moment she snogged him in the corridor, to the moment he rejected her in the carriage and went off to get drunk with Crabbe and Goyle—even from the moment he had woken up that morning—was those eyes.
They had been like the eyes of an all-knowing god, always watching, performing their divine judgement and deeming him wrong. Those eyes in their infinite wisdom, when he had asked for a prize, had told him no. Those eyes had beckoned him. Those eyes had undressed him. Those eyes had lingered as if Evangeline Blackwood had injected herself directly into his bloodstream.
And now, he knew, those eyes had looked at Blaise that very same night—and that girl had fucked him.
Draco still had the empty bottle of hangover potion clenched in his fist as he descended a concrete staircase. He jogged out onto the grounds, breathing heavily and trying not to faint. He had dreamt of those eyes last night. He could not remember the dream, but he knew they had been there. What was seen could not be unseen.
He launched the crystal bottle at the stairs and watched, unsatisfied, as it exploded into a burst of shards. He looked up at the heavens and saw her eyes in the clouds. In all that came afterwards, he wondered if the heavens had already been laughing at him.
After all, the world was filled with people that were in love with Evangeline Blackwood.
Draco had just never expected to be one of them.