The Silver Three

The stone making up the astronomy tower is cold to the touch. The stairs are made of the same stone and they slope slightly, worn down by the years of feet walking over them. Despite the narrow space and the crumbling walls, there is no dust. As I walk up the steps quickly, I wonder if there is a spell in the tower to repell dust.

My quidditch robe billows behind me. The wind is howling down the stairwell just as hard as it was blowing during the game against Gryffindor. The wind has a bite to it as winter creeps closer and closer, an ever-inching beast. I like winter far better than the summer, even though by the time I reach the top of the astronomy tower, I’m shivering and I’ve licked my wind-burned lips a hundred times.

Draco is sitting at the top of the tower, back pressed against the banister. His hair is messy from the wind, the normally tame blond streaks sticking out in different directions. His quidditch robe is tangled underneath his bottom, and he’s staring at the black gloves on his hands. His robe is ripped at the edge and there is dirt on his face.

Without saying anything I cross the top of the tower and I sit down next to him. My limbs still hurt from the match. Trying to fight the wind and stay on my broom was hard, and Blaise was tossing the quaffle extremely hard to fight the effects of the wind resistance. My thigh is also bruised from catching the edge of a bludger.

A tear shines in the corner of Draco’s eye. His father was at the school to watch the match, the father who bought the entire team new brooms. His father was not happy with our loss to Gryffindor or Draco’s performance.

Lucius Malfoy is a man of few words. His hair is the color of Draco’s and his eyes remind me of a colorless sky. Before the game, Draco introduced me to his father. Thankfully, Lucius seems to like me, even after the match against Gryffindor. He tells me that my father is a good man and that I am a welcome friend to his son.

Sitting in the tower, I slip my hand in Draco’s and squeeze it. He sniffles and lays his head on my shoulder and begins to cry freely. I don’t mind that he does this, knowing that he will do it no other way. He squeezes my hand back and I lay my head on top of his.

“Why does he have to be so good?” I don’t have to ask Draco who he is talking about. I know he’s talking about Harry. “He’s an amazing seeker, the professors adore his stupid scar head, and everyone thinks he’s absolutely fantastic.”

“I know.”

Draco sniffs. “He’s just an ordinary person who has had extraordinary things happen to them. Who catches a bloody snitch with a broken arm?”

“I think you’re extraordinary.”

Draco picks his head up and wipes his face. He takes a deep breath, stilling the storm that is inside of him. In a moment, his face is back to normal, his eyes narrowed and mouth quirked. There is the Draco that everyone sees, but I know there is another face that no one knows.

“You do?”

I nod. “I think that you’re a very good seeker. You lost against Potter, but there are more chances to beat the other houses. I think you’re good at potions, and you’re smart. You see weakness in others when no one else can find them, and you have great potential to be a leader.”

Draco nodded and leaned his head against the wall. “Thanks.”

“You’ve just got to know what your faults are, and accept them.”

Draco has a lot of faults. Like me, he is arrogant. He exerts this arrogance. He vocalizes it, polishes it up like a shiny, silver talisman to put on show. I keep mine quiet and in my eyes. I let my expressions do all of my speaking.

Draco also has doubts about who he is. I see it all the time, the obsession with fulfilling something. But he doesn’t know what he’s trying to accomplish, like pouring water into a cup with a hole in the bottom.

“You’re smart, Eleanor. Smarter than anyone else knows. I’m glad.”

I smile at him, a real smile that lit me up from the inside out. I feel content to sit in silence with him as the wind rips around us. Winter is coming, but I have never felt so warm.