"Alright Harry. You can do this."
There he was. Sitting across the court yard, his thick winter robes, Slytherin scarf and expensive dragon hide gloves keeping him warm.
"All you have to do is walk over there and ask him."
He was alone for the first time in weeks. There were no Crabbe and Goyle lumbering after him, no Pansy Parkinson hanging off his arm and no Beauxbatons girls tittering over his exquisite French.
"Just ask him if he wants to go to the ball with you."
Snow floated in the air around him, sticking to his hair. He reaches up and brushes it out of his perfect blond hair. Subconsciously, you reach up and run your hand through your own unruly mop and sigh.
"Take a big deep breath. You're going over there in three… two… one."
But he's gone. You kick at yourself for wasting your opportunity. Some Gryffindor courage you have. You turn to leave.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid."
"Talking about me, Potter?"
You stop. You know that voice, that drawl. You look up and meet those stunning eyes and try not to swoon. A pale eyebrow arches in question.
"Malfoy." Your voice is a squeak and you cringe for sounding so stupid in front of him. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," you mutter under your breath.
"Talking to yourself, are we? Has the pressure already gotten to you? I can't imagine one little dragon being the downfall to everyone's favourite hero."
"Shove off, Malfoy."
He raises his hands to his chest, palms out. "I know when I'm not wanted. See you around, Potter."
He's walking away. You can't let him slip through your fingers for the second time. In a daring move you reach out and grab his sleeve.
"Malfoy, wait."
He turns around. You stand there staring. He looks at you; his eyes asking well say something.
"Um…" How eloquent you chide yourself. Deep breath in, deep breath out. "Doyouwantogototheyuleballwithme?"
"Pardon? I didn't quite catch that."
Stupid, stupid, stupid. "I said; 'do you want to go to the Yule Ball with me?'"
"You want to go to the Yule Ball with me?" He sounds genuinely surprised.
"Yes… I-I mean, only if you want to."
A small smile curls the corners of his thin lips. "I would be delighted to accompany you to the Ball, Harry."
Your stomach flutters. He said your name. Your real name. Not 'Potter' or 'Scar-Head' or 'Chosen One'. He called you Harry.
"Alright then." The smile on your face must be a mile wide.
He laughs and smiles too. "I'll meet you outside the Great Hall at seven."
"I'll see you there, Draco." You try out his name for the first time and decide you like the sound of it.
He kisses your cheek and then he's gone. Your heart does a little skip in your chest and you know you're ginning like mad but at the moment you don't care.
Your arrival together causes quite a stir. You can feel every pair of eyes on you as he expertly twirls you around the floor. When he lifts you into the air by the waist, you know your face is bright red.
And at the end of the evening when he kisses you goodnight, you smile and kiss him back.