Chapter 3
Winning Draco Malfoy’s heart was not a task Harry Potter had ever imagined for himself. Yet, once he realized the depth of his feelings, it became the only thing he could think about. The problem was… it was Draco Malfoy. Snarky, aloof, and proud to a fault. Getting through his walls was like trying to disarm a dragon without a wand. But Harry had faced dragons before, and he wasn’t about to back down now.
Harry started small. He didn’t want to come on too strong, especially since Draco still viewed him as an enemy. He noticed little things Draco liked and quietly made them appear. Draco always reached for the peppermint tea at breakfast, so Harry started switching out his usual Earl Grey for peppermint when they were in the Great Hall. He overheard Draco muttering about his quill breaking, so the next day, there was a pristine eagle-feather quill left on the corner of Draco’s desk in Potions.
Draco, naturally, was suspicious at first. “What’s this, Potter? Pity from the great Chosen One?” he sneered the first time he found the quill. Harry stammered, cheeks turning pink, and muttered something about “just being nice.” Draco rolled his eyes, but he didn’t throw the quill away. That was something.
Harry also began defending Draco in ways that caught everyone off guard. When Ron made an offhand comment about Draco being a Death Eater in training, Harry bristled.
“He’s not!” Harry snapped, surprising even himself.
Ron blinked. “Since when do you care?”
Harry couldn’t answer, but it didn’t stop him from continuing to step in. Whether it was stopping rumors or redirecting attention when someone noticed Draco slipping out of the castle, Harry found himself standing between Draco and the rest of the world.
Draco, of course, noticed. One evening, he cornered Harry in an empty classroom.
“What are you playing at, Potter?” he demanded, his gray eyes flashing.
Harry’s heart pounded, but he kept his voice steady. “I’m not playing at anything.”
“Then why?” Draco’s voice cracked slightly, and Harry’s chest ached at the vulnerability underneath the anger.
“Because I care about you,” Harry said softly, and for a moment, Draco looked as though Harry had cast a Stunning Spell on him. He didn’t respond, just turned and stormed out of the room, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.
Harry knew that Draco wouldn’t be won over by grand gestures alone. He had to show Draco the truth of his feelings, even if it meant exposing his own vulnerabilities. One night, Harry followed Draco to the Astronomy Tower. Draco was leaning against the railing, staring out at the stars, and Harry hesitated before approaching.
“What do you want, Potter?” Draco sighed without turning around.
“To talk,” Harry said, stepping closer. “And to listen, if you’ll let me.”
Draco turned to face him, his expression guarded. “Why do you keep doing this? I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone.”
“You might not think you do,” Harry said, “but you deserve it. You deserve someone who cares about you.”
Draco’s laugh was bitter. “Cares about me? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not,” Harry said firmly. “I see you, Draco. I see how hard you’re trying, how much weight you’re carrying. And I wish you’d let me help.”
Draco’s eyes softened, just for a moment, before he looked away. “You’re a fool, Potter.”
“Maybe,” Harry said with a small smile. “But I’m your fool, if you’ll let me be.”
Harry didn’t give up, even when Draco pushed him away. He found ways to make Draco smile, even if it was just a fleeting smirk. He stayed up late reading books about potions and spells, just so he’d have something to talk about with Draco in the library. He let himself be vulnerable, sharing pieces of himself he’d never told anyone else—his fears, his hopes, his dreams.
And slowly, Draco began to let his guard down. He started seeking Harry out in the library, sitting next to him in the Great Hall, and even allowing their conversations to linger after curfew. It wasn’t a grand declaration of love, but Harry could feel the shift in the way Draco looked at him—the walls were crumbling, piece by piece.
One evening, as they sat by the lake, Draco turned to Harry and said softly, “You’re insufferable, you know.”
Harry grinned. “I’ve been told.”
Draco rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away when Harry reached for his hand. Instead, he laced their fingers together, his touch hesitant but warm.
“Don’t make me regret this, Potter,” he whispered.
“Never,” Harry promised, and for the first time, Draco believed him.