Malfoy entered his room and slammed the door shut with a light thud, as if trying to shut out everything that happened outside. His room, as a Slytherin should, was decorated in cold, subdued colors that reflected his own mood. The walls, upholstered in dark green velvet, created a somber, yet refined atmosphere. The windows, covered with thick curtains, let in only the faint glow of the moon, which slid across the surface of the dark stone slab floor.
In the center of the room stood a massive four-poster bed upholstered in dark green silk. The cover was thick and velvety, matching the walls, and the pillows, arranged in a neat stack, seemed too stiff for comfortable sleep. By the side of the bed, on a small dark wood table, lay a half-opened folio bound in leather and a pair of quills neatly folded in a stand. On the other side of the bed was a small bedside table, on which was a small lamp with a shade that cast a soft, subdued light on the walls.
Against one wall stood a massive desk made of polished dark wood. On its surface lay a parchment with an unfinished letter, an inkwell, and several neatly folded books, as if their owner was very organized and pedantic. There was a lamp with a lampshade on the table, as well as several inkwells and quills. In the corner of the room was a large bookcase filled with books in black and green bindings. The books were carefully arranged by size and subject, giving the impression of perfect order. And, as if deliberately breaking this perfect symmetry, his broom, a Nimbus 2000, a gift from his father, stood against the wall next to the bookcase. It stood leaning against the wall, its shiny bars seeming to glisten in the dim light of the room. Malfoy knew full well that it was forbidden to bring brooms into Hogwarts, but thanks to his father's connections and his boundless confidence in his own exceptionalism, he had managed to sneak it in here. The broom looked somewhat foreign in this cold and austere interior, but at the same time, it was like a reminder of his privileged position and a kind of symbol. The room, though tastefully decorated, seemed a little cold and uncomfortable, as if reflecting the inner state of its owner. There was not a hint of warmth or comfort in it, and it seemed to have been created only to emphasize the austerity and restraint of its owner.
Malfoy sighed heavily and flopped down on the bed, which creaked under his weight. He leaned back against the hard pillows and stared at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the jumble of thoughts swarming in his head. It had been a busy day, and worst of all, it hadn't gone exactly as he'd planned.
The first thing that popped into his mind was the moment in the library when he had denounced the Gryffindors for breaking the rules. He grinned, remembering their confused faces when he had brought Professor McGonagall in. He had purposely waited for the moment when they would break the rules, which wasn't that hard. He enjoyed covering his eyes as he recalled that moment, but quickly switched to other events.
The second memory was of him and McGonagall following the Gryffindors when they ran into Itachi. He cringed, remembering how he and Professor McGonagall were already in place and then, suddenly, Itachi appeared, as if he knew they were going to check on the Gryffindors and had purposely come to interrupt them. He didn't realize what he was doing there, it didn't make him feel any better. Especially when he saw him, who was so calm, it just pissed him off. That's when they all got to the workout, and everything went downhill from there. He had to sit there being punished along with them, even though he didn't want that at all. He gritted his teeth, pushing away the memories of the professors lecturing them.
Then the nightmare in the Forbidden Forest came back to his mind. When he and Potter, along with his idiot friends, had been left alone together, he had felt an indescribable horror. He clenched his fists with force, remembering the shadow that drank the unicorn's blood. He still couldn't figure out what the creature was, but he was very scared, and he couldn't understand why Potter just stared at it without taking any action. He couldn't forget the way it looked at him and the coldness that wracked his entire body.
He rolled over onto his side and stared at the wall and tried to sleep, but fear and anger kept him awake. It seemed to him that everyone was conspiring against him that day, and he couldn't understand why.
He remembered rushing out, leaving Potter behind. He called out to Hagrid, hoping he could help him deal with the shadows. But when they returned, there was more than one Potter at the spot where he had left Potter. There stood Itachi, Potter, and the centaur. He stared at them as if he was seeing them for the first time. He looked at Itachi and his cold, calm stare that sent chills down his spine, but he couldn't look away from it. There wasn't a hint of fear on Itachi's face, not a trace of worry. He stood there as if nothing could frighten him. That fact kept Malfoy uneasy. He couldn't understand how one could be so calm in such a situation.
He began to remember how easy everything came to this guy. It was as if he made no effort, but he was always on top of things, which annoyed Malfoy wildly.
He remembered his potions lessons, where Professor Snape, known for his pickiness and strictness, literally picked on every little thing, but he could never find a flaw in Itachi's work. His potions were always perfect, as if he had been born with this gift. Snape, who usually did not hold back his emotions, looked at Itachi's work with the same expression on his face as if he were looking at a blank wall. This cold assessment was worse than any nagging, it showed that Itachi was simply perfect and had nothing to berate him for. This unattainable height for Malfoy was simply unbearable.
He remembered other lessons where Itachi seemed to master even the most complicated spells and magical techniques with ease. Everything that was difficult for the rest of the class, he was able to do the first time. And it all pissed Malfoy off. He, a pure-blooded wizard, a representative of an ancient and respected family, had to admit that he was inferior in his studies to the two mudbloods - Hermione Granger and Itachi Uchiha. This fact was simply insulting to him. He couldn't stand the thought that he was only third in his class. Third! After Granger and Itachi. That failure, like a stigma, haunted him and caused a burning resentment.
His mind latched onto a fragment of a memory - the last conversation he'd had with Itachi. It wasn't just an exchange of lines, but something else, something that hurt him from the inside out. He remembered Itachi's words, spoken with the same calm and nonchalant tone he always had. "You can do it too, if you want to," he'd said, and those words suddenly sounded very different to Malfoy than when he'd heard them from others.
He couldn't remember anyone ever saying that to him before. Everyone around him, teachers, even his own parents - had always said that he was obligated to be the best because he was a Malfoy. It was his destiny, his fate, as if carved in stone. Never had anyone ever told him what he wanted. Everyone just assumed that he, as a pureblood wizard, must want the same things they did - to be powerful, rich, and influential.
His parents, they said he should naturally know that, he's a Malfoy. They never asked what exactly he himself wanted, what he liked. They simply set the bar for him to reach, without a single chance for error. Itachi, on the other hand, unlike the rest of them, gave him a choice. His words didn't sound like an order or a demand, but more like a suggestion, like a possibility. If you want to. Those two words seemed to open a new horizon for Malfoy.
Exactly. Itachi's words, those simple, yet so unexpected words, sounded like thunder to Malfoy. They had touched a part of his soul that he had always kept carefully hidden from himself - the part that doubted his own beliefs.
Malfoy had always believed that in this world, only power decides. He believed that the strong were always right, and that the weak deserved contempt. That was why he was so annoyed by Itachi's calm confidence, his equanimity, and his unwillingness to flaunt his strength. He didn't understand why Itachi hid his superiority. He saw how Itachi could handle the most difficult tasks with ease, how he always came out on top. And at the same time, he didn't see any arrogance or lust for power. He didn't understand why he kept silent, why he didn't bully others, why he didn't humiliate those who were weaker, why Itachi was so calm.
And that pissed Malfoy off even more. He didn't understand why the strong one didn't act like the strong one, like the strong one should. He had even seen Itachi willingly share his knowledge, the way he would prompt other students when they asked him for help. He usually did so briefly and precisely, as if giving a hint rather than a full answer. His help was helpful, but not demeaning. It went against everything Malfoy believed in. He wasn't satisfied with just winning.
He recognized that Itachi was strong, stronger than himself. But to respect him? That was beyond him. He believed that respect had to be earned, not received simply for strength. He would never respect someone who didn't put themselves above others.
But that was all changing now. Itachi's words, like a tiny pebble, had triggered an avalanche of internal changes. Malfoy suddenly realized that strength could be different. Itachi was strong, but he didn't use his power to humiliate or oppress others. And in that, strangely enough, there was something deserving of respect. Inside Malfoy, like a faint sprout, a tiny respect for Itachi that he had previously rejected with resentment began to break through. His established views, his unwavering principles that had held his entire life together, were beginning to crack at the seams. He realized that something in him had changed, and it both frightened and fascinated him at the same time. Malfoy's foundations were beginning to crumble, and he didn't know what would happen next.
It was so strange and unexpected . He was confused and bewildered. He had spent his whole life striving for perfection, to prove his superiority, to not disappoint his family . But never before had he thought about what he really wanted . Itachi's words seemed to shatter his view of the world, or at least give a crack in his armor.
In the back of his mind, like a faint flickering light, a thought flashed through his mind - what if he asked Itachi to help him with his training? The idea flashed so suddenly that he was startled for a second, as if he couldn't believe it had even occurred to him.
But immediately he recoiled from the thought as if it were fire. "No, no way," he whispered, clenching his fists. The thought was so unacceptable that he nearly jumped up on the bed. What would his parents say? What would the other pureblood wizards think? If they found out that he, Draco Malfoy, had turned to a mudblood for help, he would become the laughing stock of everyone. His reputation would be destroyed, his pride trampled, his name dishonored. That was something he simply could not allow to happen.
And then another question arose in his mind - why should Itachi help him at all? They were enemies. He was always competing with him and trying to show that he was better. Why would Itachi help someone who had always disliked him? And even more horrible, what would happen if Itachi agreed? He would probably mock him, constantly reminding him of his weakness, and telling everyone about how Malfoy had come to him for help. He would just make himself look like a laughing stock in front of the whole of Hogwarts. The thought was so unbearable that Malfoy recoiled from it again, like a snake ready to bite at any moment.
He rolled over onto his other side again, shoving the idea away from him in disgust. He needed to forget about her like a bad dream. He, Malfoy, would never, ever ask a mudblood for help. It was beneath his dignity. And with that thought, he began to fall into sleep again, but now into a more peaceful one, throwing off this obsession before it brought him more trouble.
And with this new, strange feeling in his chest, Malfoy finally fell into a deep sleep, not realizing what would happen to him next, because something had changed, and that thought scared him more than anything.