Shadows and Echoes

It was late afternoon when the golden light spilled across the castle grounds, warm and nostalgic. The trio found themselves drawn to the edge of the field, just beyond the pitch. There was no particular plan—just the kind of aimless drifting that felt normal again. Like how things used to be.

Harry tugged his robe tighter as the breeze tousled his hair, the late September wind brushing against his skin. Ron, with his usual slouch, dropped onto the grass with a sigh. Hermione followed after, her bag placed neatly beside her, already halfway into a book.

Their attention shifted as a commotion pulled their eyes toward the far side of the lawn.

A group of younger Gryffindors stood facing a few Slytherins. The posturing was subtle—nothing worthy of a professor's intervention. But it was unmistakably tense. The way they squared shoulders. The way the lead Slytherin smirked like he had all the power in the world.

Ron let out a low chuckle.

"Well, if that's not a bloody echo of Malfoy and his lot… Look at the blonde one. He's even got the same pompous lean."

Harry narrowed his eyes. It was uncanny. The small Slytherin group mimicked Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle's old dynamic so perfectly it was almost eerie.

"That's unnerving," Harry muttered.

"It's like history repeating itself," Hermione added without looking up. "Though I wish they'd find better inspiration."

A Gryffindor girl stepped forward, her chin lifted in stubborn defiance. The Slytherin boy laughed at whatever she said. The wind carried his tone—biting, smooth. Too familiar.

Harry's fists curled without meaning to.

Before he could speak, footsteps behind them caught his attention.

"They're dreadful impersonators," came the unmistakably cold voice.

Draco.

Harry turned. He didn't know when Malfoy had gotten there. He looked… casual. Annoyingly so. His hands in his pockets, grey eyes half-lidded as he stared down at the scene unfolding on the lawn.

"That one tries too hard," Draco continued, nodding toward the blonde Slytherin. "Bad posture. Overdoes the sneer. I'd give him two weeks before he's humiliated in front of everyone."

Ron scoffed, but it wasn't aggressive. "Funny. That sounds familiar."

Draco glanced at him. "Weasley, you wound me."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you be helping your house's reputation instead of commenting from the sidelines?"

Draco didn't answer. Instead, he stepped closer to Harry's side, gaze never leaving the juniors.

The girl—Gryffindor—was still holding her ground. She reminded Harry of Ginny. Fire and nerves, burning under pressure.

The Slytherins walked away eventually, bored or satisfied. Harry let out a slow breath.

"It's weird," Ron said, his voice softer now. "Seeing them like that. Like we're just watching versions of us."

Harry nodded. "Only this time, we're not the ones being watched."

Draco tilted his head. "Maybe it's time we decide what kind of example we want to be."

Harry looked at him, really looked.

The others drifted into quiet conversation. But for a moment, it was just the two of them again—standing over the echo of a past they barely survived.

And for once, they weren't on opposite sides.

Before Harry could let his thoughts wander further down the familiar path of nostalgia, the sound of footsteps approaching quickly caught his attention. A small group of younger students—Hufflepuffs, by the looks of their robes—were walking in a tight formation, eyes flicking between the trio and the group of Slytherins now lounging by the edge of the field.

One girl, noticeably taller than the others and with a certain nervous energy, hesitated as she approached Draco. Her cheeks were flushed bright red, and her eyes were focused entirely on him.

Harry frowned, instinctively pulling his focus away. He had enough to deal with, and he certainly didn't need to get caught up in whatever drama was unfolding in front of him. But his curiosity, as always, got the better of him, and he glanced back to see the girl standing stiffly before Draco, her hands clasped around a small bouquet of flowers. She must've been no older than a second-year.

The others didn't seem to notice. Ron was distracted by a passing group of first-years, and Hermione was absorbed in her book, though Harry noticed her eyes flicking toward the scene occasionally.

"Er… excuse me, Draco Malfoy?" The girl's voice trembled just slightly, her hands shaking as she extended the flowers towards him. "I-I got these for you. I… I really like the way you—uh, you carry yourself. And I think you're… well, you're really… really brilliant."

Harry didn't know what to make of it. The girl's voice was sincere, but there was a nervousness in her tone that suggested she'd rehearsed her words countless times before actually speaking them.

Draco, for his part, didn't seem to notice. He took the flowers slowly, with a bored expression, though Harry caught the briefest flicker of something in his eyes. Amusement? Surprise? It was gone too quickly to be sure.

"Thanks," Draco said, the word coming out flat. He didn't seem to know how to handle the situation either, though Harry couldn't decide if that was because he truly didn't care or because he wasn't used to such public displays of admiration.

The girl, though clearly flustered, beamed. She quickly turned to leave, but not before throwing a final, almost frantic look at Draco. "I'll—um—see you around!"

Draco didn't respond. He just stared at the flowers in his hand.

"Blimey," Ron muttered under his breath. "Is it just me, or is it a little… surreal seeing that happen to Malfoy? I mean, we used to joke about it, but this feels… different."

Harry couldn't help but agree. He felt an odd pang in his chest. The way the girl had looked at Draco was the way Ginny used to look at him. She'd always had that fire in her eyes, like she believed in him in a way no one else did.

But that was a long time ago.

Draco glanced at Harry, his expression unreadable, before his eyes shifted back down to the flowers in his hands. He twirled the stems between his fingers absentmindedly, as if uncertain about what to do with them. Harry watched him, his mind racing.

"You've got a fan club," Ron added with a grin, though there was a certain edge to his voice. "I didn't think it'd be so soon. You're, what? A sixth-year? That's quick work, mate."

Draco shot him a withering look. "Keep your comments to yourself, Weasley."

But even as he said it, Harry could see the faintest hint of embarrassment flicker in Draco's eyes. It was small, subtle, but there.

"Right," Ron muttered, his tone more serious now. "So what are you going to do with those?"

Harry glanced at the flowers, watching as Draco twirled them a little faster. He didn't answer Ron's question, but instead shot Harry another look—this one a little more deliberate, and with a slight edge of defiance.

It was strange. For a moment, it almost felt like nothing had changed between them. Like it was just another day at Hogwarts, with Draco on the Slytherin side of things and Harry on the Gryffindor side. But in truth, things were shifting—slowly, and imperceptibly, but shifting all the same.

"I don't know what you're all looking at," Draco finally muttered, tossing the flowers onto the ground at his feet. "I'm not keeping these."

"Didn't say you were," Ron replied with a half-laugh. But there was something unspoken in the way his eyes lingered on Draco.

The awkwardness was palpable. Harry could feel it pressing in on him, like the air itself had thickened.

"Well, I'm off," Draco said quickly, standing abruptly. "I've got better things to do than sit around with you lot."

And with that, he turned and began to walk away, leaving the discarded flowers behind on the grass.

Harry watched him go, a strange, hollow feeling settling in his chest. His eyes flickered to the flowers, still lying on the ground in the spot where Draco had left them. They were nothing special. Simple daisies and wildflowers, nothing extravagant. And yet, they had been given with such sincerity.

He couldn't understand why he felt this way. Why it felt so different now. Maybe it was because the world had shifted around them in ways they weren't ready for.

As Draco disappeared from view, Harry couldn't help but glance back at Ron and Hermione. Both of them were watching him carefully.

"You alright, mate?" Ron asked quietly.

Harry shrugged, his gaze lingering on the spot where Draco had stood. "Yeah. Just… strange. All of it."

Hermione nodded slowly, closing her book and tucking it into her bag. "Things are different, aren't they?"

"Yeah," Harry murmured. "They really are."

And for the first time in a long while, Harry wasn't sure what to think about the future.

As Harry stood there, staring at the discarded flowers, a wave of guilt washed over him. He couldn't help but feel bad for the girl. Her nervous energy had been so genuine, so full of hope, and it was clear she had thought Draco might actually acknowledge her feelings. Harry had seen that same look in the eyes of countless people, and he'd once been on the receiving end of it himself—though with Ginny, it had never been quite like this. The girl had been brave, almost too brave, and it made Harry uncomfortable.

But what bothered him the most was that Draco had acted with a level of indifference that almost felt cruel. It was one thing to turn down someone's feelings politely, but this… this was different. He'd thrown the flowers to the ground without a second thought, as if they meant nothing. It wasn't that Harry thought Draco should've said something to make the girl feel better; it was more that the lack of any acknowledgment at all left a bad taste in his mouth.

At least, Harry thought, Draco hadn't humiliated her in front of everyone. He hadn't made a scene, hadn't been cruel or degrading in front of the other students who were watching. The girl had walked away without any more harm done, but Harry couldn't shake the feeling that it still wasn't right.

He picked the flowers up from the ground, feeling a strange sense of duty as he held them in his hands. They were nothing special, just wild daisies and some forget-me-nots, but Harry couldn't just leave them there. They didn't deserve to be trampled on like that. As they walked back to the castle, Harry cradled them in his hands, feeling their fragile petals against his skin.

Later, once they'd reached the dorms, Harry placed the flowers on his desk. He didn't know why he did it, but somehow, it felt like the right thing to do. The flowers seemed to belong somewhere, even if it wasn't with Draco Malfoy.