Evasions and Revelations
Draco had spent years perfecting the art of avoidance. It was a necessary skill, one that had kept him sane during his post-war reinvention. So, avoiding Harry Potter should have been simple.
And yet, it wasn’t.
He threw himself into work, spending the entire morning in the infirmary, checking on Clara every hour and giving his assistant, Thomas Bellamy, far too many tasks just to keep himself busy. If Bellamy noticed Draco’s uncharacteristic distraction, he was smart enough not to comment on it.
McGonagall, however, was not.
“You seem particularly focused this morning, Draco,” she noted as she stopped by the infirmary to check on Clara. “Not that I don’t appreciate a dedicated healer, but one might think you were avoiding something… or someone.”
Draco stiffened, but kept his gaze on the chart in his hands. “I’m simply ensuring the patient’s condition remains stable,” he said smoothly.
McGonagall hummed, unconvinced. “Good. Because Potter has been looking for you.”
Draco’s grip on the chart tightened involuntarily. Of course he had.
Harry didn’t know why Draco had bolted that morning, but the entire interaction gnawed at him. He had expected some level of tension between them—after all, it wasn’t as if they had kept in touch over the years—but this was different. Draco was deliberately avoiding him, and Harry had never been good at letting things go.
So when he finally found Draco in the infirmary, Harry didn’t hesitate.
“You’ve been hard to find,” he said casually, leaning against the doorframe.
Draco, who had been bent over a desk reviewing potion ingredients, barely looked up. “I’ve been working, Potter.”
Harry crossed his arms. “Right. And avoiding me is just a bonus?”
Draco’s quill paused mid-air before he set it down with a sigh. “What do you want?”
Harry pushed himself off the doorframe and stepped further into the room. “To talk. About this morning.”
Draco tensed, but quickly masked it with a sharp glare. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Really? Because I distinctly remember you seeing me and bolting like I’d hit you with a hex.”
Draco exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It was early. I had work to do. Not everything revolves around you, Potter.”
Harry tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “Maybe not. But something made you run.”
Before Draco could snap back, a quiet sound interrupted them.
A soft sigh. A shift of fabric.
Both men turned sharply toward Clara’s bed, just in time to see her stirring.
Draco’s professional instincts took over immediately. He stepped past Harry, leaning over Clara as her eyelids fluttered open. “Clara,” he said, voice calm but firm, “can you hear me?”
Clara blinked blearily before her gaze focused on Draco. Then she turned her head slightly, her expression relaxing at the sight of Harry. “Professor…”
Harry let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and moved closer. “You scared us there,” he said softly.
Clara gave a tired, sheepish smile. “Sorry…”
Draco, meanwhile, was focused on her pulse, his eyes scanning for any signs of lingering magical residue. After a moment, he pulled back. “She’s stabilizing,” he announced. “The magic is still dissipating, but she’s responding well.”
Harry smiled, relieved. “That’s good.”
Draco met his gaze, something unreadable flickering in his eyes before he looked away. “Yes.”
Then, without another word, Draco turned and walked away, leaving Harry standing there, watching him go.
—
Clara Westwood was finally released from the infirmary, though with strict orders to return every four hours so Draco could monitor her condition. Despite the lingering traces of magic still embedded in her system, she was in good spirits. The moment she stepped back into the common areas, she was bombarded with questions from her friends. And, in true Hogwarts fashion, what started as a casual observation quickly spiraled into something much bigger.
“I swear, Professor Potter and Healer Malfoy were looking at each other,” she whispered conspiratorially to her classmates. “And not in a normal way.”
This simple comment ignited a wildfire. Within hours, the castle was abuzz with speculation about the nature of the relationship between the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and the renowned St. Mungo’s healer.
Some claimed to have seen them taking a romantic moonlit stroll through the castle, while others swore they had been staying in the same quarters. Gryffindors thought it was “unexpected but kind of cute,” Ravenclaws debated whether their rivalry had always been unresolved romantic tension, and the Slytherins took bets on who would crack first in showing their relationship. But it was the Hufflepuffs who truly mastered the art of gossip, spreading it so efficiently that by lunch, it was nearly impossible to find someone who wasn’t talking about it.
Harry was completely oblivious to the chaos unfolding outside his classroom. That is, until a student from Hufflepuff raised his hand during his afternoon lesson.
“Yes?” Harry asked, expecting a question about shield charms.
The student cleared his throat, shifting nervously before blurting out, “Professor Potter, are you and Healer Malfoy dating?”
The classroom went dead silent.
Harry felt his stomach drop. “Excuse me?”
“Well…” The student hesitated but, encouraged by the wide-eyed anticipation of his classmates, continued, “It’s just that everyone’s saying that he only came to Hogwarts because of you. And, you know… the way you two look at each other.”
Twenty-five pairs of eyes bore into him, some students barely containing their grins, others whispering to each other excitedly. Harry opened his mouth, but for the first time in a long time, he had no idea what to say.
“I— We’re not—” He cleared his throat. “Healer Malfoy is here to treat Clara. That’s all.”
The student raised a skeptical eyebrow. “So… that’s a no?”
“Yes! That’s a no!” Harry snapped, his ears burning as soft giggles broke out across the room.
Desperate to regain control of the lesson, he quickly turned back to the blackboard. “Right, back to defensive spells. No more questions that aren’t about magic.”
As soon as class ended, Harry made a beeline for the infirmary. He had to warn Draco about the absurd rumors before he heard them from someone else.
To absolutely no one’s surprise, Draco was exactly where he always was: hovering over a tray of potions, meticulously measuring ingredients.
“Malfoy,” Harry called, still slightly flustered from earlier. Draco didn’t look up.
“Hm?”
“There’s a… situation.”
Draco finally turned to face him, one elegant eyebrow arching in mild curiosity. “What kind of situation, Potter?”
Harry exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “Apparently, half the school thinks we’re—” He waved his hand awkwardly, “a thing.”
Draco blinked. Then, slowly, a smirk curled at the corners of his lips. “You mean to tell me that Hogwarts’ brightest minds believe I abandoned my prestigious post at St. Mungo’s purely for you?” He tapped his chin mock-thoughtfully. “Flattering.”
“Malfoy.”
Draco’s smirk widened. “What an honor, Potter. The school’s couple of the year. Who would’ve thought?”
Harry scowled. “This isn’t funny.”
“Oh, it is funny,” Draco said smoothly, turning back to his work. Harry opened his mouth to argue but hesitated when Draco added, almost lazily, “Not my fault people assume things when you spend so much time following me around, Potter.”
Harry froze.
Draco didn’t look at him, but his tone was casual—too casual. As if he hadn’t just thrown a very inconvenient truth into the air between them.
Had he really been following Draco around that much? It has only been a day since the former Slytherin had arrived.
The realization unsettled him more than he cared to admit. For the first time, Harry found himself truly speechless. Draco must have noticed, because after a beat of silence, he finally looked up—just in time to see Harry turn on his heel and walk very quickly out of the infirmary.
Draco watched him go, amusement flickering in his expression. And yet, as he stood there in the quiet aftermath, he couldn’t shake the nagging thought in the back of his mind.
Why did the idea of being with Harry Potter not seem as ridiculous as it should?