Proof
The next few weeks passed in a blur of moments—small, seemingly insignificant acts that spoke louder than words ever could. Draco Malfoy, for all his carefully crafted arrogance and self-assurance, had a way of showing Harry that he meant it—that he wasn’t going anywhere.
It started subtly. The way Draco would walk with him in the hallways, his hand brushing against Harry’s arm, his fingers grazing the back of his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It wasn’t anything overt. It was simply a steady, quiet presence that Harry couldn’t ignore. Draco, shorter than Harry by a few inches, would tilt his head back just enough to look up at him with that steady gaze of his, his eyes warm but knowing, as though silently reminding Harry that he was there, always there.
One afternoon, Harry was sitting alone in the library, lost in a book, when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He turned, expecting a fellow student, only to find Draco standing there, his lips curling into a soft, almost shy smile. Harry’s heart skipped in his chest. The smile was so unlike the usual smirk Draco wore. It was just for him, Harry realized, a small, private thing.
"I saved you a seat," Draco said, his voice almost sheepish. "I thought you could use a break from all the textbooks." Without waiting for Harry to respond, Draco slid into the chair next to him, leaning in so their arms brushed. It was a simple thing, but it left Harry reeling.
"How are you not exhausted from pretending to be so charming all the time?" Harry murmured, still stunned by the uncharacteristic softness of Draco’s attention.
Draco chuckled, a genuine sound that made Harry’s stomach flutter. "It’s a talent, Potter. You’d be amazed how easily it comes to me." He leaned back in his chair, his legs tucked underneath him in that graceful way that always caught Harry’s attention. Draco might not be tall, but he made up for it with a presence that filled every room. And when he smiled like that, Harry couldn’t help but feel like he was the only person Draco saw.
A week later, Harry was waiting by the entrance to the Astronomy Tower, staring out over the grounds as he had so many times before. He had been anxious—unsure if Draco would show up this time—but as the minutes ticked by, he felt the familiar flutter of anticipation in his chest.
Then, just as the moonlight began to touch the edges of the darkened landscape, Draco appeared, stepping out from the shadows with his usual grace. His platinum hair caught the light, and despite the cold, he wore only a light jacket over his robes, the collar turned up to frame his sharp features. Draco might have seemed delicate to some, but Harry had long since learned that Draco’s quiet strength was what made him captivating.
"You actually showed up," Harry said with a half-laugh, though the relief in his voice was obvious.
Draco smirked, stepping closer, his eyes studying Harry with an intensity that made his heart race. "Of course I did. Did you think I’d leave you standing out here alone?" He paused, his tone softening. "I told you, I’m here. For you."
Harry swallowed, his gaze catching on Draco’s lips. He had heard the words, but now that they were alone, in the quiet of the night, the weight of them made everything feel more real. Draco wasn’t playing a game. He was here, with him, just as he promised.
Without another word, Draco moved closer, his hand reaching up to gently tuck a strand of Harry’s hair behind his ear. The touch was light, but it held meaning in every brush of his fingers. Harry’s breath hitched at the intimacy, and before he could think about it, Draco’s lips were on his, soft and sweet.
It wasn’t like the first time—reckless, hurried, filled with uncertainty. This kiss was slow, deliberate, a quiet promise. Draco pulled back just enough to look at him, his eyes soft but full of something deeper.
"I’m not going anywhere," Draco murmured again, this time a little more fiercely, like he was reminding both of them of the truth. He took Harry’s hand in his, threading their fingers together. "And if you think I won’t keep proving that every single day, then you really don’t know me at all."
The next proof came in a way Harry hadn’t expected.
It was a rare evening where the Gryffindor and Slytherin common rooms were both quiet—no arguments, no interruptions. Harry had been up for hours, pacing restlessly, when he received an owl from Draco. It was simple, just a line of text on parchment:
Meet me in the room with the big chairs at midnight. I have a plan.
Harry couldn’t help the curiosity that gnawed at him. It was almost midnight now, and he made his way through the hallways, trying to ignore the feeling that something more was coming.
When he arrived, Draco was already there, waiting. His hair was slightly messy, his clothes relaxed, yet he looked every bit as composed as always. It was in the way he stood, poised but welcoming. A stark contrast to the usual image of Draco as untouchable, icy, distant.
"You’ve been avoiding this," Draco said, his voice low, teasing. "Let’s fix that, shall we?"
Harry raised an eyebrow but said nothing as Draco took a step closer, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. Draco’s hand slid around his waist, tugging him closer until their bodies were flush against each other.
"I’m not perfect, Harry," Draco whispered against his skin, hands sliding under his robes, teasing the fabric of his shirt. "But I’ll always show up. I’ll always fight for this. For us."
And it wasn’t a big, grand gesture. No public proclamations, no dramatic declarations of love in front of the entire school. Instead, it was the quiet moments like this—when Draco, in all his subtlety, touched him with care, with intention—that made Harry believe. He could see it now. Draco wasn’t just playing at something; he was creating a foundation, piece by piece. Draco might have been smaller, softer, even delicate at times, but his commitment to them—Harry felt it in every touch, every word, every promise kept.
That night, Draco didn’t rush him, didn’t make him choose anything too soon. Instead, he pulled Harry into his arms, offering the comfort and warmth that Harry had long since been craving, and in the stillness of the room, they just were.
And that was enough.
Draco had kept his promise, and for the first time, Harry felt like he was no longer holding his breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Because maybe, just maybe, Draco Malfoy had finally given him something that wasn’t temporary.
Something real.