In the open
It had happened gradually, the decision forming between them like an unspoken agreement, a quiet understanding that neither of them needed to say out loud. At first, it had been cautious—a stolen glance here, a quiet touch there—but over time, they both realized something. They were tired of pretending, tired of sneaking around like it was something to be ashamed of. They had fought for so long—through everything, really—that they had earned the right to be themselves, to be together. The weight of the secrecy had started to feel heavier than the gossip, heavier than the whispers that would inevitably follow them. They were done hiding, done living in the shadows of what they felt. It was in the way Draco had looked at Harry one evening, a spark of defiance in his eyes as he casually leaned against him during dinner, as if to say, This is us now. And Harry had felt it, too—the urge to stand taller, to stop pretending they were anything other than what they were. No grand gestures were needed. They didn’t need to announce anything to the world. They simply walked side by side, with heads held high, and let the rumors come. Because this—what they had—was real, and for once, that was enough.
The halls of Hogwarts were bustling as always, filled with the familiar sounds of chatter, laughter, and the occasional burst of argument. But this year, something had shifted—there was a new, undeniable energy in the air. The students were more relaxed, less afraid to speak their minds, and perhaps that was why Harry and Draco found themselves walking side by side down the corridor, their closeness less hidden than it had ever been.
The truth was simple: they didn’t need to hide anymore. It wasn’t about a grand confession or a public proclamation. It was just the way they were now, the way they fit together in a way that no one had expected. The rumors spread quickly, of course—whispers in the hallways, stares at their every interaction—but Harry didn’t care. Neither did Draco. They didn’t confirm anything, but they also didn’t deny it. They simply were, and that was enough.
Draco had grown a little since last year. His hair was slightly longer now, curling just enough at the nape of his neck to make it look intentionally messy, but still strikingly sharp and platinum blonde. His features were delicate, his posture elegant, and his presence—effortlessly commanding—was enough to draw attention wherever he went. Even in his school robes, he stood out with the small gold hoops in his ears and the way he carried himself—feminine in a way, but also undeniably powerful. The slight curve of his hips, the delicate set of his shoulders, all combined to make him a force, despite his smaller stature.
Harry had changed, too. His body had broadened over the years—muscles honed from years of Quidditch and the general wear and tear of his life—and his tan skin looked even darker in the sunlight. His messy, dark hair still fell across his forehead, unruly and untamed, and his eyes—those sharp, green eyes—seemed to draw people in, even when he wasn’t trying. His scar, though still there, had faded over the years into something more like a memory than a constant reminder. It was lighter than his skin now, but still, it marked him in a way that made him different from the rest. Not better. Not worse. Just… different.
And the way he looked at Draco was different now too. There was no longer any pretense, no more sneaking around. They didn’t hide, didn’t pretend they weren’t something more than just two boys who shared a few awkward moments. They were a pair, and though the gossip was constant, Harry found that he didn’t care. Not anymore.
The first day they’d walked into the Great Hall together had been a test—one Harry hadn’t been sure they were ready for. But Draco had walked in with that steady, cool confidence of his, his chin tilted up and his eyes scanning the room as if daring anyone to say something. Harry had followed, their hands brushing briefly before Draco slipped into the seat beside him with that nonchalant smirk, as if nothing had changed.
But everything had changed, and yet it hadn’t. The tension in the room, the whispering, it was all there—but they didn’t flinch. The truth was written in their body language: Draco’s leg brushing Harry’s under the table, the subtle flick of his wrist when their fingers would lightly touch. They weren’t making a statement. They weren’t holding hands or exchanging anything overtly romantic, but there was no mistaking the connection.
It wasn’t the kind of thing anyone could prove, but they didn’t need anyone’s approval. The rumors were enough. It was clear to anyone watching that they were more than friends, but they hadn’t been the ones to confirm it aloud. They didn’t have to. The way Draco’s eyes softened when he looked at Harry, the way Harry would tease him with a smirk—those were the signs, the small moments that said everything.
In the hidden room one evening, Harry found Draco lounging in one of the oversized chairs by the fire, his legs tucked under him in that graceful way he had. He had a book in his hand, but his attention was elsewhere, his gaze flicking over to Harry as he entered.
"Potter," Draco said, his voice casual but the slight curve of his lips giving away the familiarity. "You look like you’re in a mood."
Harry smirked, walking over to plop down on the couch next to him. "I’m fine. Just thinking about how lucky you are that I haven’t stolen your book from you yet."
Draco rolled his eyes, tossing the book onto the table with a deliberate motion, before leaning back in the chair with that lazy elegance of his. "Steal it all you like. The knowledge won’t make you any more intelligent." He raised an eyebrow, looking up at Harry. "Though, I might reconsider if you managed to actually impress me for once."
"Impress you?" Harry snorted, folding his arms across his chest. "I am impressing you. Haven’t you noticed?"
Draco made a show of narrowing his eyes, his lips twitching at the corners. "Please. If you think that’s impressive, I really must reconsider my standards."
Harry laughed, shaking his head, but there was something soft in his gaze as he watched Draco. A year ago, these playful barbs might have been a way to keep distance, but now, they felt like the most natural thing. Every tease, every quiet moment, was just another piece of their unspoken connection.
"Alright, alright," Harry said, stretching out on the couch, his arm brushing Draco’s. "Maybe I’ll just go back to being the most impressive person in the room, just like always." He flashed Draco a grin, one that was almost lazy in its confidence.
"God, you’re insufferable," Draco muttered, but there was no malice in his words. Instead, his hand brushed lightly against Harry’s arm, a soft touch that sent a spark through Harry’s chest.
"That’s why you like me," Harry teased, nudging him with his foot. Draco gave him an exaggerated look of annoyance, but the way his lips quirked at the corners was enough of a response.
And that was the thing, wasn’t it? They didn’t need to make grand gestures. They didn’t need to shout their love from the rooftops or spend every moment together, making it obvious to everyone. They had their quiet moments. They had their teasing, their laughter, their soft touches. Their relationship was something that was built in the small, everyday exchanges, in the way they cared for each other without needing to announce it to the world.
And when Harry would catch Draco’s eye across the room, when Draco would look at him with that private, knowing smile—well, that was enough.
Because sometimes, being seen was more than enough.
They were, after all, just themselves. And that was the only thing that mattered.