[No one in the Malfoy family begs, loses composure, or ever lets anyone see what they care about.]
Draco Malfoy has known these three rules ever since she could walk.
She memorized the names she was expected to know, practiced the expressions she was expected to wear, and learned to keep quiet before her father raised an eyebrow.
When she was eleven, she met a boy in Diagon Alley with round glasses and ridiculously messy hair.
She rolled her eyes, said something cutting, and then he smiled at her.
She ought to have hated him.
She did hate him.
For the next six years, she argued with him and competed against him. Every time she was supposed to stand on the other side, she did.
But she also remembered things she shouldn’t have: the burst of speed just before he caught the Snitch on the field, the infuriatingly unguarded concern in his “Are you all right?”, and the way his ears turned red.
When she was sixteen, the Dark Lord branded her arm with a mark and gave her three chances, along with a warning: fail, and he would kill her parents.
So she began doing what she was best at, and hated most: destroying herself while pretending she had everything under control.
She hurt the people she shouldn’t have hurt, put on the face that her family name demanded, and finally stood atop the Astronomy Tower, wand raised, facing the one person who still told her, “You still have a choice.”
This is a story about someone raised to be a certain person, and how she finds herself again.
It is also a story about how much courage it takes to love someone you shouldn’t.
