Draco Malfoy had spent the first week of his second year pretending he was over Harry Potter. He told himself he was older now, practically wiser, and he had better things to focus on than Gryffindors with messy hair and accidental fame. Yet every time Potter walked into a room, Draco's attention snapped toward him like a magnet he absolutely denied owning.
He entered the Great Hall that evening convinced, once again, that Potter was not worth the space he occupied in Draco's mind. It was a lie, of course, but Draco told himself many lies, and this was one he had polished until it shone.
Second year was supposed to be different. He was taller now, robes fitting better across his shoulders, hair falling in a neat pale sheet he had decided was a sign of impending maturity. He had spent the summer imagining himself returning to Hogwarts as someone older, wiser, and immune to childish rivalries.
And then Potter had walked into the Great Hall ruining everything merely by breathing.
Draco's eyes had flicked to him on instinct,a habit Draco despised and he'd felt that annoying snap inside his chest. Potter wasn't even doing anything interesting. Just sitting there. Just existing. Always looking confused and heroic even when he wasn't trying.
Draco hated it. He hated that he noticed it. Hated that it made him feel something sharp and competitive twist inside him. But tonight was different. Because tonight, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart had decided to start a Dueling Club.
The moment Lockhart swept to the center of the Great Hall, waving dramatically, Draco knew Potter would be involved. Lockhart worshipped Harry. It was embarrassing how obvious it was, the fluttering gestures, the gleaming smiles, the "Harry, my boy" nonsense.
Lockhart raised his wand with too much sparkle and called out, "Now, who would like to demonstrate proper dueling technique?"
Draco elbowed his way closer to the front so he wouldn't miss the chance to watch Potter thrown on his back. He waited for his name. He straightened his robes and lifted his chin being prepared.
Instead, Lockhart beamed at Harry. "Mr. Potter! Wonderful volunteer!"
Draco's jaw tightened. Of course Lockhart picked Harry. The entire school could be on fire and Lockhart would still drag Potter forward to use him as a prop. Draco folded his arms, seething. It wasn't even that Harry was chosen, it was that he could already hear Pansy giggling behind him and Crabbe muttering that Potter would probably faint. Draco wanted to be the one up there. He wanted to show everyone how it was properly done.
But Lockhart wasn't finished. He turned to the teachers' table with that blinding, fake-perfect smile. "Perhaps our Potions Master would like to assist me for the first demonstration?"
Snape rose like a shadow uncoiling itself. A thrill zipped down Draco's spine. Snape walked with a smooth, dangerous grace. While Lockhart sparkled like a chandelier, Snape moved like a knife slipping between ribs. Draco felt proud just being in the same house as him.
Lockhart spread his arms. "Let's choose partners, shall we?"
And then Snape spoke in a low, velvety, unmistakably pointed voice. "I believe, Professor Lockhart… we can find someone rather more suitable for Potter."
He turned his head slowly. His eyes locked directly onto Draco. "Mr. Malfoy."
The world seemed to snap into place. Draco didn't walk, he glided forward, pulse rising with a delicious rush of triumph. Being chosen by Lockhart would have been annoying. Being chosen by Snape? That was validation. That was honor. That was everything Draco liked to pretend he didn't desperately crave. He kept his face smooth, smirk measured, but inside he was electric. Harry watched him come forward, eyes narrowing. Draco felt his chest swell.
Good. Let Potter look. Let him glare. Let him understand exactly who he was dealing with.
Draco took his place opposite Harry, and for a heartbeat, the Great Hall seemed to shrink around them. He could hear faint whispers, "Malfoy vs Potter?" "This should be good", but all Draco could see was Harry's face.
He wasn't sure whether he wanted to beat him, embarrass him, or provoke him into reacting. Maybe all three.
"Face your partner," Lockhart trilled uselessly.
Draco didn't need instruction. He already knew how to stand, how to angle his wand, how to look confident even when nerves fluttered beneath his ribcage.
Snape stood behind him, cloak trailing like smoke. "Let us begin with a simple demonstration."
Draco's spine straightened. His heartbeat steadied. All he wanted was to make Snape proud and to wipe that calm expression off Potter's face.
He lifted his wand, letting a slow, mocking smirk pull at his mouth. Finally the attention was on him and not on Potter. He had the stage and the permission to put Potter in his place.
Lockhart began his dramatic countdown, raising his arms. And Draco thought, 'This is it. This is my moment. And Potter won't forget it.'
No matter how the duel ended, Draco knew one thing with certainty: He loved being chosen. And he loved that Potter had no choice but to face him.
Draco stepped onto the dueling platform with Potter opposite him, the hall buzzing in anticipation. He could feel Snape's eyes on him again, sharp and steady like a hand resting between his shoulder blades. A silent reminder to perform well. To outshine. To make Slytherin proud.
Potter looked determined for once, jaw set and wand raised. Draco found himself oddly annoyed by that seriousness. Potter was supposed to flail. Be overwhelmed. Lose. Draco tightened his grip on his wand. This was perfect. A chance to show everyone, especially Potter, exactly who he was.
Lockhart pranced backward and called, "Wands at the ready! When I count to three..."
Draco did not wait for the three. He fired first again, because of course he did. "Rictusempra!"
Potter's eyes widened as the spell hit. He staggered, laughing uncontrollably as the tickling charm sent him bending forward. The younger Gryffindors giggled; Ron looked murderous; Snape looked pleased. Draco felt heat rush through him, triumphant.
Potter recovered quickly though, always too quickly and shot back his own spell, "Tarantallegra!"
Draco's legs jerked into a ridiculous dance. It was humiliating, sharply so, and for a heartbeat he felt hot panic rise. Snape flicked his wand to cancel the jinx, muttering something that sounded dangerously like disappointment. He grabbed Draco by his arm, pushing him towards Harry again to finish what he had started.
Draco straightened, cheeks burning. Potter was grinning. Of course he was. Fine. If Potter wanted a show, he would give him a real one.
Draco raised his wand slowly, letting the moment stretch. He could feel the hall quiet, breath held. Snape inclined his head the tiniest bit, expression unreadable.
Draco's voice rang out clear. "Serpensortia!"
The spell burst from his wand like a whip crack. A long, dark serpent shot onto the platform, coiling tightly as it landed with a heavy thump. Gasps erupted everywhere. Someone screamed softly. Draco felt fierce satisfaction rush through him.
Harry'w face flickered with surprise then alarm. He stepped back as the snake raised its head, tongue tasting the air. It was beautiful, powerful, a perfect manifestation of Slytherin pride. Draco felt delight curl through him. He wanted to see Potter scramble. He wanted to see him panic.
The snake hissed loudly, turning toward a trembling Hufflepuff boy Lockhart had shoved near the front. Lockhart, predictably, made the situation worse. He charged forward with misplaced bravado, flicked his wand, and blasted himself backward in an explosion that sent him skidding across the floor.
The snake, now furious, uncoiled, ready to strike. Students screamed. Chairs scraped. Someone yelled Harry's name.
And Harry's eyes flicked between the snake and the boy. Draco blinked. For a moment, he didn't understand what he was seeing. Potter didn't look scared at all. His expression was focused and calm. As if he somehow knew exactly what he was doing.
Then Potter spoke. The sound froze Draco to the marrow. Not the words but the voice. A long, low, rippling hiss. The snake halted instantly, lowering its head. Every student stared. Even Snape looked genuinely surprised.
Potter hissed again, the snake responding as if soothed by some unseen tether. The hall felt suddenly colder. Draco felt something prick under his skin with shock, unease, and fascination?
Potter was speaking a language Draco had only heard in dark stories. He was commanding the snake. The snake he had created. A twist of something he didn't want to name formed in Draco's gut.
The Hufflepuff backed away sobbing. Potter turned toward him, confused, innocent, asking if he was alright. But the moment had already shattered.
Whispers broke out everywhere. Accusations. Fear. Shrill words like "dark wizard" and "just like You-Know-Who."
Draco watched Potter's face shift as the crowd recoiled from him. And for the first time that year, Draco felt something unfamiliar stir beneath his usual smug delight. He had wanted Potter embarrassed. Defeated. Knocked down a peg.
He had not wanted this. Not the whispers. Not the fear. And especially notthe look of isolation flickering in Potter's eyes. Draco stood frozen, wand slipping lower in his fingers, stunned silent as the hall dissolved into chaos around him.
Snape flicked his wand and the snake dissolved in a flash of light, leaving a hollow silence behind. Harry felt the relief hit first, sharp and cold, but it was swallowed quickly by the sting of everyone's eyes on him. He hadn't done anything wrong, yet he suddenly felt… wrong. Different. Marked.
Draco watched the snake vanish and felt pride drain out of him like water through a crack. He hadn't meant for things to go that far. Snape's intervention only made it clearer: he had lost control. And seeing Potter stand there, alone in that silence, unsettled him in a way he couldn't name.