Malfoy's Weakness

Malfoy's Weakness

King’s Cross always seems to be filled during the end of June. On that particular June day, there was undoubtedly more than one private school being let out. There were also families leaving on holiday. It wouldn’t surprise anyone if there were some business travelers hanging around as well. The point of all this is that King’s Cross station was a very public place. That was why I chose just then for the confrontation.

Everyone remarked how he had changed that year. Oh, he was still sarcastic and haughty, cold and distant–still the perfect Slytherin. But there were also little changes. He had actually smiled at a Quidditch game once–as if he had actually enjoyed himself. A test had occasionally been given back without him teasing Hermione about her perfect grades. But the arguments between Draco Malfoy and his archrival were as intense as ever. That would never change, even after what I was planning to do on that platform. Thank Merlin.

There were sides to him that nobody else ever saw, parts that he guarded assiduously. No one was allowed to know the weakness of the Slytherin Prince. That was my downfall, I guess.

As usual, the Hogwarts Express was unnoticed as it pulled into its berth. How anyone could miss the extra influx of people, I’ll never know, but as I’ve heard many times from other wizards, Muggles just don’t look properly. Everyone was on the platform, but those in the seventh year were hanging around as if they were reluctant to depart. I suppose that’s something that happens most years, but I’d like to think that our class had more reason than most. We wouldn’t stand exactly together, but we would stand near each other. Considering the circumstances and the company, that was an achievement in and of itself.

So, the platform was crowded. Very crowded. Outside the platform, Muggles were running everywhere. Trains were stacked on every line. On the platform, everyone and their parents had congregated. Anyone wanting to enter the barrier had to be extra careful not to let the Muggles notice, and leaving required even more care.

I could tell that he knew I was coming towards him. After all, he was a Malfoy–they were used to constantly guarding their backs. He stored his trunk on a trolley and tested the straps before turning to me.

One summer I went to the drug store for Aunt Petunia. She had called in her order; there was no way she trusted me to pick out what she needed. While I was there, I took the time to look around. After a few minutes I ended up in the hair dye section. I learned that day that his hair color was called platinum blond. I thought it was a bit amusing. I imagined he would expect no less–he had to have the best in everything. For years, I always thought of that hair color box when I looked at his hair.

That same hair was still slicked back, but not nearly as severely. His eyes were still dark grey–and they were still distant. To some, they would always be cold. His attitude was still arrogant, but then, well, he was Malfoy.

There was no surprise in those eyes. Lightening flashes, yes. Recognition, yes. Welcome–surprisingly, wonderfully, yes. Annoyance that I would choose this venue for this confrontation–that was there, too. But no surprise. How could there be?

“What do you want, Potter?” He almost spat out the question. I looked him right in the eye. I knew that he knew what I was up to. There was nothing stupid about Draco Malfoy. Not lately, anyway.

I had practiced what I wanted to say. For all my bravado and Gryffindor courage, I didn’t think I could do it without a run through in private first, with only the mirror to comment. “Draco Malfoy--” Before I could get the rest of my sentence out, he made some smart remark under his breath about Gryffindors having the temerity to use his first name. “Draco Malfoy. Seventh year is over.” I heard him muttering under his breath about stating the obvious, but I ignored him in the interest of keeping my place in a memorized speech. “You said when the year was over. It’s over. Pay up.”

He only raised his eyebrow. “Are you sure, Potter, that you want this particular bet out in the open?” The question was asked quietly, but there was no doubt that nearly everyone heard. Of course he would ask; he had been asking me that question since we struck the bet.

I took another step towards him. “That answer is the same as it always is, Malfoy. Once again, I will remind you that it’s the end of seventh year. Pay up.” My voice cracked there somewhere. Nearly eighteen years old and my voice cracks, great.

He took so long in responding that I began to worry he would back out. Something of my doubts must have shown in my eyes, because all of a sudden, I got my wish. He was standing inches away from me when I felt his fingers tangle in the hair at the collar of my loose robe. But those grey eyes were open when he kissed me. And they were not distant. The silence from the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, as well as nearly all of the parents on the platform, was lost in a roar of approval from the Gryffindors and Slytherins.

“I don’t think we were as discrete as we thought we were, Draco,” I said with a smile pressed against his lips as he pulled a few millimeters away.

“No, I don’t think we were. But right now, I don’t think I care. As I believe I heard someone mention, seventh year is over.” He paused and seemed to savor the moment. “And I’ve been waiting for this day for far too long to care.”

I had always wanted to know what Malfoy’s weakness was. I’m just glad it turned out to be me.

AN: Thanks so much to slytherinlaurel for her beta skills.