Draco Malfoy didn't hide the smile on his face, though he once would have. Smiling to oneself in public, past-Draco would have feared the judgment; of course, he never would have admitted that, even to himself. Past-Draco would have believed that he was superior for not expressing his feelings like commoners. The truth, however, was that he had feared being seen as weak, like someone who could be exploited. He had feared appearing like someone that's not to be feared.
All these were fuelled by the biggest and most shameful fear of all… For a second, Draco's smile faltered, but he pushed those dark thoughts back into the past. Time and the right environment can heal, and Draco was in the process of healing. He held his head high and fixed his gaze forward, and through the streets of London, he carried himself with dignity. There were some things, he'd realised, that he did not have to, nor want to, let go of in order to move on, and he planned on walking into the future like a Malfoy.
Draco slipped into a hidden alleyway, a shortcut that he had discovered a few months ago which cut almost ten minutes off his Friday-evening journeys to the local pub. There had been a paperwork fiasco, typical of his department, so he was late leaving the office. He longed to disapparate, then realised with a start that there were only six months left. Six months until freedom. His smile only grew.
As though his longing called out to the world, Draco heard a crack, though louder than apparating should ever sound. He could almost feel it in the air, a current fizzling out. It was coming from behind him. But he was in the Muggle part of London where magic didn't belong. A second to think passed, but curiosity proved stronger than caution, and he rushed towards the source of the noise.
At the beginning of the alleyway was a man sat on the pavement, curled into himself. Draco slowed down but continued to walk towards him. He couldn't see the man's face as it was tucked into his chest; he could only see his hair, which somehow looked familiar. Dark and messy. He felt his stomach drop just before the man lifted his head and green eyes locked onto his own.
"Draco?"
Draco simply stared. Harry Potter was in front of him. And called him by his first name. And was looking at him like that.
"Oh, God, Draco," Potter breathed, his eyes wide. "Are you okay? What happened?"
"Um, what?"
"Are you okay?" he repeated, his face filled with concern. He stood up and Draco wanted to run away.
"I am fine," Draco slowly said. Potter started walking towards him, but Draco cringed backwards and Potter hesitated. "What are you doing here?"
"Your hair…" Potter said, his brows furrowed.
"What about my hair," Draco snapped, his hand unconsciously reaching for the braid that had fallen forwards, sweeping it back behind him.
"How did you- wait, we don't have time for this."
"For what? A discussion on my fucking hair? What is happening?!"
Just as Draco's words left his mouth, he heard another crack. Both their heads turned towards the sound.
Almost floating above the ground was a person, or at least the shape of a person. They were completely covered by a robe, blue and shimmering and strange, like the figure wasn't completely there, like they were out of phase with reality. Draco felt the strongest urge to look away. Before he could, Potter leapt between Draco and the robed person. He pulled out his wand and whispered, "Protego." Suddenly, Draco's world was muted and blurred, with Potter on the other side of the wall.
"Potter!" Draco shouted. Nothing. He shouted again. He stepped forwards and stretched out his arms, trying to get through the wall, but there was no physical form to overwhelm. All he could do was push against a nothing that was keeping him back. So he pushed, and he pushed, and he shouted.
There was a flash of light from the other side of the wall, a distant scream, then the world returned. Draco almost fell forwards. Potter was gone, along with his spell. Draco cautiously reached towards where Potter had been. His hand met air, charged.