Chapter 5
Harry wasn’t going to think about it.
Nope.
Not at all.
He definitely wasn’t thinking about the way Malfoy had leaned in close, how his voice had dipped just enough to make Harry’s breath hitch, or how that stupid smirk had been permanently burned into his brain.
Except he was thinking about it.
And it was ruining his entire day.
By the time dinner rolled around, Harry was fed up. He needed answers. Needed to know what Malfoy was playing at. Because if he didn’t, he was going to explode.
So when he saw Malfoy leaving the Great Hall alone, Harry didn’t hesitate.
He followed.
The hallway outside was quiet, most students still inside finishing their meals. Malfoy was walking leisurely, his posture relaxed, like he had nowhere to be.
“Oi, Malfoy.”
Malfoy turned, eyebrows raising slightly. “Potter,” he drawled. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Harry didn’t bother with small talk. “What’s your deal?”
Malfoy blinked. “My deal?”
“You’ve been acting weird lately,” Harry accused, stepping closer. “You keep messing with me, saying things that—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Just—what are you doing?”
Malfoy tilted his head, considering him. Then, to Harry’s complete and utter frustration, he grinned.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Harry groaned, raking a hand through his hair. “Malfoy, I swear—”
Malfoy took a step forward. “What if I just like seeing you flustered, Potter?”
Harry opened his mouth. Then closed it. Because what was he supposed to say to that?
Malfoy grinned, leaning against the wall. “Relax. I’m just having a bit of fun.”
Harry’s jaw clenched. “Well, it’s not funny.”
Malfoy raised a brow. “No?”
Harry wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him to shove off, to stop playing games, to leave him alone.
But the words never came.
Because Malfoy wasn’t just smirking anymore.
His gaze flickered, scanning Harry’s face, lingering for a moment too long.
Harry’s heart did something weird.
The air between them shifted—less playful, more charged.
Malfoy seemed to realize it too. His smirk softened, just a little, as if testing something.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he reached out—
And brushed his fingers against Harry’s wrist.
It was barely a touch. A whisper of skin on skin. But Harry felt it everywhere.
Malfoy exhaled through his nose, gaze flicking up to meet his. “You’re really bad at hiding things, you know.”
Harry swallowed hard. “Hiding what?”
Malfoy didn’t answer.
Instead, he let his fingers trail down, ghosting over Harry’s palm, before pulling away entirely.
And just like that, the moment was over.
Malfoy took a step back, that infuriating smirk returning. “See you later, Potter.”
And then he was gone, leaving Harry standing there, pulse racing, thoughts completely wrecked.
Later that day at night Harry was lying in bed as usual, staring at the ceiling, absolutely furious.
Not at Malfoy.
Not even at himself.
But at the fact that he could still feel the ghost of Malfoy’s touch on his skin.
And even worse?
He didn’t hate it..
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-author
gosh i need to start making my chapters longer fr fr