Chapter 4
Harry hadn’t meant to be this distracted.
But he was.
After everything that had happened, he’d expected Malfoy to go back to his usual ways—being insufferable, making his life difficult, and generally existing just to irritate him. Instead, Malfoy had done something much worse.
He’d complimented him.
And now Harry was thinking about it. Too much.
The next day, he tried to go about his routine as normal, but he felt off, like his brain wasn’t fully attached to his body. He sat through breakfast, nodded along as Ron complained about their upcoming Herbology exam, and attempted to act completely fine.
Then Malfoy walked in.
Harry didn’t even have to look to know when he entered the Great Hall—he could just feel it. Sure enough, when he finally let his gaze wander, he found Malfoy already looking at him.
And that smirk.
Harry quickly looked away.
Unfortunately, Malfoy seemed to take that as encouragement, because the day only got worse.
Professor Flitwick was going on about advanced Summoning Charms, but Harry was having a very difficult time paying attention.
Because Malfoy was sitting diagonally behind him.
And every time Harry moved, Malfoy mirrored him.
It was subtle. Just enough to be annoying.
Harry shifted in his seat.
Malfoy shifted.
Harry reached for his quill.
Malfoy reached for his own, copying the movement exactly.
Harry shot him a glare over his shoulder, and Malfoy just gave him a lazy, amused look, tilting his head as if to say what, Potter?
The git was playing with him.
Fine.
If Malfoy wanted to be annoying, Harry could be worse.
Without breaking eye contact, Harry leaned forward onto his desk, resting his chin on his hand in the most casual way possible. Then, just to mess with him, he dragged his tongue slowly along the tip of his quill, mimicking deep thought.
It wasn’t exactly a normal thing to do, but Malfoy’s reaction was instant.
The smirk wavered.
Malfoy blinked.
For one glorious second, he looked completely caught off guard.
Then his eyes narrowed, his lips twitching like he was trying not to smirk.
Harry turned back to his notes, pretending to be deeply invested in whatever Flitwick was saying. That’ll shut him up.
Except—
Malfoy didn’t shut up.
Instead, he leaned forward, his breath just barely ghosting against Harry’s ear.
“If you wanted me to watch your mouth that badly, Potter, you could’ve just asked.”
Harry’s brain short-circuited.
His quill snapped in half.
And Malfoy, looking entirely too pleased with himself, just sat back and continued copying notes like nothing had happened.
Harry was going to lose his mind.
“I knew something was going on,” Hermione said, crossing her arms.
Harry groaned, sinking lower into the couch. “There’s nothing going on.”
Ron, who had been flipping through a Quidditch magazine, looked up. “Mate, you haven’t been normal since yesterday. Either you’re sick, or you’ve got something to tell us.”
Harry stared at the fireplace, unwilling to admit anything. But his silence must have given him away, because Hermione’s eyes lit up.
“Oh, Merlin. It is about Malfoy.”
Ron gagged. “Malfoy?! What did he do?”
Harry groaned, rubbing his temples. “He’s just—he’s being weird.”
Hermione raised a brow. “Weird how?”
Harry hesitated. Weird how?
By flirting with him? By making Harry think about things he absolutely shouldn’t be thinking about? By acting like this was all just a game?
“It’s nothing,” Harry muttered. “Just forget it.”
Unfortunately, Hermione Granger did not forget things.
Ron, however, just made a face and went back to his magazine. “Right. Well, if Malfoy starts acting like a lunatic, let me know so I can hit him with a Bludger.”
Harry almost wished he would.
Because if Malfoy kept this up, Harry didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to ignore it.
And, worse—
He didn’t know if he wanted to.
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-authors
just me or the work quill feels so like elegant or some shit?