Chapter 8
The rest of the day was a blur for Harry. Classes passed by in a haze, his mind unable to shake that moment in Defense Against the Dark Arts. The memory of Malfoy standing too close—his wand hovering just beneath Harry’s chin, that smug, sharp smirk lingering in his mind—was a constant distraction.
He couldn’t shake it. Not at all.
At lunch, Harry found himself at the Gryffindor table, absentmindedly pushing his food around, not really tasting it. Ron and Hermione were deep in conversation, but Harry couldn’t focus enough to follow their words.
"Harry," Hermione snapped, waving a hand in front of his face. "You’re zoning out again."
"Huh?" Harry blinked, snapping back to reality.
"Are you going to tell us what’s going on?" Hermione asked, her eyes narrowing with concern. "You’ve been completely out of it all day. First the weird tension with Malfoy in class, and now this. What happened?"
Harry sighed, leaning back in his chair, not wanting to admit the truth. "Nothing happened."
"Oh, come on," Ron interjected, his tone skeptical. "It’s obvious something’s going on. What’s up with you and Malfoy?"
Harry’s cheeks flushed, but he quickly masked it with a laugh. "You guys are blowing it way out of proportion."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You’re not fooling anyone, Harry."
Harry groaned, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. "It’s just… I don’t know. He’s… different. He was all smug and annoying in class, and I don’t get why it bothered me so much."
"You sure that’s all it is?" Hermione pressed, her voice softening. "Because, well… you seem pretty wound up over him, Harry."
"Wound up? I’m not wound up!" Harry blurted out before quickly lowering his voice. "It’s just Malfoy being Malfoy."
Hermione and Ron exchanged a knowing look, but thankfully, the loud clang of the bell rang through the hall, signaling the start of their next class. Harry was more than happy to escape the conversation.
When Harry walked into the Potions classroom, the familiar warmth of Slughorn’s welcoming presence calmed his nerves. The professor was humming a tune as he strolled around the room, checking on students’ progress, clearly in a good mood.
Harry slid into his seat next to Ron, feeling a little more at ease compared to the tension of Defense Against the Dark Arts.
"Alright, class," Slughorn boomed. "Today we’ll be brewing a Sleeping Draught. It’s a bit tricky, but if you follow the instructions carefully, you should be just fine. A good Sleeping Draught can be a life-saver in many situations."
Harry focused on his ingredients, grateful for the distraction. Ron was already stirring his potion too vigorously, causing a puff of purple smoke to rise from his cauldron.
“You’re gonna blow us all up, Weasley,” Harry muttered with a grin.
Ron just smirked. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
As Harry worked, his eyes scanned the room and—of course—he spotted Malfoy. He wasn’t at his usual spot at the back of the room but was now sitting at the far side, with Pansy and Blaise.
Malfoy, no doubt, had already figured out how to make the potion perfectly without even thinking about it. It irritated Harry to no end.
But then their eyes met across the room.
Malfoy’s gaze flicked up and locked with Harry’s, and for a moment, everything else disappeared. Harry’s stomach flipped unexpectedly. That damn smirk was back, playing at the corners of Malfoy’s mouth.
And then, as if the world itself had stopped, Malfoy raised an eyebrow. His smirk widened, just enough to be both infuriating and, somehow, inviting.
Harry’s grip on his stirring rod tightened, his concentration slipping. He muttered a curse under his breath and took a deep, steadying breath.
"Careful, Potter," Malfoy called across the room, his voice deliberately too loud. "Wouldn’t want to make another disaster out of this, would we?"
Slughorn chuckled from the front of the room. "Let’s keep the noise level down, class! No need for drama, Mr. Malfoy."
Harry ground his teeth together, but he knew better than to make it worse. He focused on his potion, determined to ignore Malfoy for the rest of the lesson.
But the damage was done.
That night, Harry lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He was wide awake, his mind racing, unable to escape the memory of Malfoy’s smirk and the way his eyes had stayed locked on Harry’s. It was infuriating. And worse… it was distracting.
And the worst part? It was working.
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-author
idk what to say-