Chapter 3
The next morning, Harry was convinced that a full night’s sleep should’ve cleared his head. It didn’t.
Draco Malfoy had called him pretty.
Harry dragged himself out of bed, trying to shake off the memory. It wasn’t a big deal. Malfoy said stuff like that just to mess with him. He probably thought it was hilarious—watching Harry’s brain short-circuit in real-time. That had to be it.
And yet, during breakfast, Harry found himself glancing across the Great Hall. Malfoy sat with the Slytherins, looking effortlessly smug as he laughed at something Pansy said. Harry quickly looked away when Malfoy’s gaze flicked toward him.
Damn it.
“Alright, what’s up with you?” Ron asked through a mouthful of toast.
“Nothing.”
Hermione set down her teacup, eyes sharp. “You’ve been weird since yesterday. And don’t say you haven’t, because even McGonagall noticed.”
“I haven’t been weird,” Harry lied. “Just tired.”
Ron snorted. “Right. And I’m the Minister of Magic.”
Before Harry could come up with a half-decent excuse, Hedwig swooped in with the morning post. Several other owls flooded the Great Hall, dropping letters and packages to students. One particular owl, dark and sleek, glided toward the Slytherin table and—without hesitation—dropped a letter right into Malfoy’s lap.
Harry didn’t mean to stare, but something about the way Malfoy’s face shifted as he read the letter caught his attention. His usual cocky smirk faltered. His expression hardened, just for a second, before he shoved the letter into his pocket and resumed eating like nothing happened.
Weird.
Before Harry could dwell on it, the bell rang for their first class—Potions. Because, of course, he had to start the day with Malfoy.
“Today, you’ll be working in pairs.”
Harry already knew where this was going.
As Snape gave out instructions, everyone began pairing up. Ron and Hermione immediately stuck together. Harry was about to turn to Seamus, but—
“Potter.”
Draco was already beside him, plopping his textbook on their shared desk like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Harry let out a long sigh. “Why is it always you?”
“Because fate is cruel,” Draco replied smoothly, smirking. “And also because nobody else wants to deal with you.”
Harry rolled his eyes, already regretting existing. “Let’s just get this over with.”
They worked—well, Harry worked while Draco made unnecessary commentary.
“Are you trying to mess this up?”
“You stir like an absolute barbarian, Potter.”
“Honestly, it’s painful to watch.”
Harry clenched his jaw, focusing on the potion. He was not going to give Malfoy the satisfaction of reacting. Not today.
And then—
“Your hair is a mess.”
Harry froze mid-stir.
Draco’s voice had changed—less mocking, more… thoughtful. And before Harry could process why, Draco’s fingers suddenly brushed against his forehead.
A shiver ran down Harry’s spine as Draco absentmindedly pushed a stray strand of hair out of his face. It was such a casual movement, so quick, like it didn’t even mean anything.
Except Harry’s brain went completely blank.
Malfoy touching him? What the hell?
The wooden spoon slipped from Harry’s grip and plopped straight into the cauldron, splashing potion everywhere.
Snape was not happy.
“That was the worst Potions class of my life,” Harry muttered as he, Ron, and Hermione walked out.
“You were the worst part of that class,” Hermione scolded. “Honestly, what happened? You’ve been so distracted lately.”
Harry groaned. “It’s nothing.”
But as he turned a corner, he accidentally caught a glimpse of platinum blond hair in the distance—Draco, walking alone, hands stuffed in his pockets.
Harry didn’t know what was going on between them.
But he knew one thing for sure.
It wasn’t nothing.
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-author
I just realized i've been forgetting author notes..