Draco knows everyone in the school, even in his second year. So why has he never met you before?

SECOND YEAR

The first time he met her, he was unimpressed.

His father had told him that American wizards weren't much, their bloodlines all muddled up and tarnished with muggle-borns, or as Lucius Malfoy loved to say, Mudbloods. Perhaps it was the fact that he was getting older and developing his mind, but his thirteen-year-old self said nothing about how the phrase made him uncomfortable.

Granger had proven herself better than Draco by the end of the year, and begrudgingly, Draco knew who the better magic user was, as much as he hated to admit it.

So when he saw a girl wandering Hogsmeade with no house colors on her, a white scarf wound around her neck, barely covering her chin and lips against the snowy atmosphere. Her hands were covered by thick cotton gloves, not suitable for throwing snowballs, yet perfect for keeping her hands from freezing.

She was normal. Completely unnoticeable, even though her foreign accent was far easier to detect than she would probably like to admit. Draco didn't quite understand what an American was doing in Hogsmeade, no less talking to Potter.

A scowl pushed its way onto the young Malfoy's face as he sneered at the two, watching as she laughed at some joke Potter unknowingly said, the Boy Who Lived awkwardly chuckling along with her, watching her reaction raptly.

No boy watches a girl that closely unless to see her laugh. No one cared that much.

So when his and Potter's eyes met briefly, he was quick to take the foreigner by the arm, mumbling someone under his breath–most likely angled towards Draco given the sideways glare he was given–and pulling her towards Honeydukes.

It was then that she finally looked at Draco for the first time, and it was then Draco noticed the oddly content look on her face. It was as if she didn't hear whatever mean thing Potter said about him as they caught each other's gazes.

Draco felt his breath be swept away when she smiled.

You were captivated.

His white-blonde hair, as if white gold, stuffed under his beanie and his small frame bundled up tightly in good-quality clothes. The boy that Harry described to you was different than what you expected. Perhaps you expected a boy with little to no care of how he looked, or perhaps you made him have terrible features in your mind, but seeing him disarmed you entirely.

Perhaps it was the fact that the two of you were so close when you passed him. His skin was pale, almost as white as his hair, his cheeks flushed from the winter weather and his grey eyes tracked directly on you as he paused in his steps, his friends bumping into him as they stumbled past. Yet he remained steady, still looking at you as you cleared his path.

You weren't sure what to do, but you smiled and his cool demeanor dropped for a moment. Pure, candid embarrassment rose in the form of red creeping up to his face before he turned away and caught up with his friends.

You laughed under your breath, the smile still there as you held the door after Harry, entering the shop yourself before tossing one more look over your shoulder.

You lost him in the crowd.

Draco thought you wouldn't come back at all.

But you appeared during the last week of school, full of activities and something to do for students as they prepared for their journey home.

He was ready to write a letter to owl home and request to return early before he rounded the corner and spotted you, no longer covered by a white scarf and instead in a plain Hogwarts uniform, no house designated to you and instead a plain symbol of the Illvermorny school.

That's why he hadn't seen you again.

An American witch, an Ilvermorny exchange student. A girl that was only here for short periods during the years, and periods far too short for Draco to introduce himself properly.

The week you were there, a bond formed with Harry, always hanging around those insufferably loud Gryffindors, especially the twins that liked to cause trouble.

But it wasn't until he was crossing the courtyard after his last meeting with the Slytherin Quidditch team in preparation for tryouts next year that he saw you alone for one, not surrounded my anyone eager to learn your name or who you were. You sat there, on the lip of the fountain, your feet dangling loosely off the edge with your wand laying in your hands as you examined it carefully.

Draco slowed to a stop, his feet wishing to carry him back to the common room, yet his focus was on you and you only, watching as you carefully picked your wand up as if weighing the responsibility of the item. His heart beat slowly yet loudly in his chest, the only noise in the courtyard being the gentle, warm breeze of Hogwarts welcoming the summer. The grass, now green from time to grow again during spring, was naturally flawed with stray plants and flowers, yet it made all the better as he watched you.

You looked up from your analysis, or that's what Draco thought you were doing and saw him. And you smiled at him once again.

It was the same one you had given him that day at Hogsmeade. Sweet, peaceful, genuine. It was the first time someone smiled at him that looked like it wasn't forced.

You patted the spot beside you, giving him a soft look before letting your gaze drop back down to your wand in your lap.

Draco was hesitant, his eyes looking to the empty spot beside you, to you, to his feet, to the Courtyard, and back to you and the empty spot. Was that nervousness brewing in the pit of his stomach?

Draco cautiously moved to the spot you had offered to, but he sat at least half of a meter away from you, his hands on either side of him, bracing the fountain as he looked forward. His shoulders were tense and his eyes set away from you.

"What's your name?"

Your question was normal, a perfect conversation starter, yet it still perplexed him. He hadn't expected you to talk to him, or maybe he didn't expect you to not know his name. Everyone knew his name, even as a second-year, every single person in school knew his name, at least.

"I thought you knew that, already," he blurted, his brows furrowing together, waiting for some indication of confusion to arise within you. But there wasn't. "Figured Potter would've told you everything." Bitterness laced in his voice was an easy indicator of his jealousy, perhaps not jealousy he recognized yet.

"He did," you responded, finally stopping your fidgeting as you looked straight forward while Draco looked at you. "But Harry's opinion of you is similar to the way your regard him–so I figured it'd be nice to get to know you–with no one but you to tell me who you were."

Draco blinked. He had expected something, but that was not what he had expected. Had you gone to Hogwarts, Draco would have known you'd be put into Hufflepuff.

You took your eyes away from the Courtyard to look at him, the two of you staring at each other for a while once more. It was then that Draco could see a flash of good-willed mischief in your eyes.

"..I'm Draco," he held his hand out to yours, his pale and slender and cold.

You smiled at him, taking his hand into your own, your hand warm and soft. "I'm Y/N."