Chapter 7
Harry had spent the entire night trying to forget what had happened in detention.
He shouldn’t have let Malfoy get that close. He shouldn’t have frozen up like an idiot. And he definitely shouldn’t have noticed the way Malfoy smelled—like expensive soap and something sharp, something distinctly him.
But it didn’t matter. It was over.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
Then morning came, and he realized just how wrong he was.
The Great Hall was already buzzing when Harry arrived. Students huddled in groups, exchanging weekend gossip, but something felt... different.
As he slid into his usual seat, Hermione was already frowning at him.
“What?” he asked, pouring himself some pumpkin juice.
She hesitated, then sighed. “People are talking, Harry.”
Harry blinked. “Talking about what?”
Hermione exchanged a glance with Ron, who looked equally uncomfortable.
“About you and Malfoy,” she said finally.
Harry nearly choked on his drink. “What?”
“Oh, come on, mate,” Ron muttered. “You have to have noticed. The weird staring? The detention thing? You two were this close to hexing each other yesterday, and now suddenly you’re stuck in a storage room together? It’s suspicious.”
Harry groaned, rubbing his temples. “There’s nothing going on.”
“Right,” Hermione said, not looking convinced. “Well, tell that to the rest of the school.”
Harry frowned, glancing toward the Slytherin table.
Malfoy was already looking at him.
And worse? He was smirking.
Harry thought he’d be able to ignore it.
Thought he could go about his day as if nothing had changed.
But Malfoy had other plans.
It started in Defense Against the Dark Arts, when Snape had them practicing nonverbal spells.
“Pair up,” Snape ordered. “You’ll be attempting to disarm your opponent without speaking the incantation. A competent wizard should have no need for words.”
Harry turned to Ron. “You want to—”
“Already paired with Hermione,” Ron said quickly.
Harry turned to Seamus. “—”
Seamus was already paired with Dean.
Harry looked around.
Everyone was paired up.
Except for—
“Oh, brilliant,” Harry muttered under his breath as Malfoy strolled toward him.
“Miss me, Potter?” Malfoy drawled, wand already twirling between his fingers.
Harry clenched his jaw. “Shove off.”
Snape’s voice cut through the room. “Potter. Malfoy. Since you two seem so enthusiastic, why don’t you go first?”
The entire class turned to watch.
Malfoy grinned. “Ladies first, Potter.”
Harry scowled and gripped his wand. He focused, trying to summon the nonverbal spell. But before he could even finish forming the thought—
Expelliarmus!
His wand flew out of his hand before he even saw Malfoy cast the spell.
The Slytherins burst into laughter.
Snape’s lips curled in amusement. “Pathetic.”
Harry gritted his teeth and snatched his wand from the floor.
“Again.”
This time, he was ready.
When Malfoy cast the spell, Harry deflected it with a silent Shield Charm, sending a pulse of energy straight back.
Malfoy’s smirk faltered as he had to dodge the blow.
The class went silent.
Malfoy’s grip on his wand tightened.
Harry barely had time to react before Malfoy struck again.
A blur of movement. The clash of silent magic—
Malfoy’s disarming spell slammed into him at full force.
Harry’s wand shot out of his hand—again—but this time, instead of just falling to the floor—
Malfoy caught it.
Harry’s heart pounded as Malfoy twirled it between his fingers, inspecting it like it was his.
“You should take better care of your wand, Potter,” Malfoy murmured, voice dangerously soft.
Then, slowly, he stepped forward.
The room was silent.
Malfoy lifted the wand, holding it just under Harry’s chin.
Not a threat. Not an attack.
Just a reminder.
That he’d won.
Harry hated how smug he looked.
Malfoy leaned in slightly, voice barely above a whisper. “What’s wrong, Potter? Not used to losing?”
Harry’s breath hitched.
Malfoy smirked like he noticed.
And that’s when Harry snapped.
Without thinking, he reached out, grabbed Malfoy’s wrist, and yanked.
Malfoy stumbled, caught off guard.
Harry twisted his arm, forcing his wand free—
But the movement pulled Malfoy closer.
Too close.
Their faces were barely an inch apart, breaths mingling.
Harry could see the flicker of surprise in Malfoy’s eyes. The way his lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something.
But he didn’t.
Neither of them moved.
The tension between them crackled.
Then—
“Enough.”
Snape’s cold voice cut through the air.
They jerked apart, wands still clutched in their hands.
Snape’s gaze burned into them.
“Theatrics are for dueling clubs, not my classroom.” His lip curled in distaste. “Five points from Gryffindor.”
Harry scowled. Of course. Not a single point from Slytherin.
The moment was over. But the tension?
That was very much still there.
That Night – Unfinished Business
Harry lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
He could still feel it. The heat of Malfoy’s wrist under his fingers. The weight of his gaze.
That smirk.
The way he had looked at him.
He didn’t know what was worse. The fact that Malfoy was messing with him…
Or the fact that it was working.