look through your memory

The following evening, Draco found himself restless. His thoughts were tangled, a frustrating mess of half-formed ideas and unshakable images. Potter’s grin—lopsided and too bright—lingered annoyingly in his mind, along with the way his magic had felt, raw and thrumming, like an electric charge waiting to ground itself.  

And then there was Leonid.  

Draco had caught sight of him earlier that day, striding across the courtyard with an easy confidence that made him impossible to ignore. His sharp profile, the way his long coat swayed in the cold breeze, and the casual way he ruffled Sofiya’s hair as they passed each other... It was maddening how effortlessly the Durmstrang boy seemed to command attention without trying.  

It wasn’t fair.  

Now, as Draco sat in the Slytherin common room with his textbook open but thoroughly ignored, he wondered how he’d managed to find himself in such a ridiculous situation.  He was infatuated. With two people. Two entirely unsuitable people, no less.  

“Staring at the same page for an hour won’t help you learn anything, you know.”  

Blaise’s voice broke through Draco’s spiraling thoughts, and he glanced up to find his friend watching him with an amused expression.  

“I’m not staring,” Draco said, closing the book with a sharp snap. “I’m thinking.”  

“About Potter or your new Durmstrang fascination?” Blaise asked, his smirk widening.  

Draco stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  

“Oh, please.” Blaise leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You’ve been distracted for days. It’s obvious to anyone paying attention.”  

Draco scowled, but he didn’t bother denying it further. Blaise wasn’t wrong, and lying wouldn’t change anything.  

“Fine,” Draco said, standing abruptly. “I’m going for a walk.”  

“Try not to trip over your feelings on the way out,” Blaise called after him.  

Draco ignored him, his mood sour as he left the common room.  

***

The corridors were quiet, the usual din of Hogwarts students replaced by the distant hum of enchanted suits of armor and the occasional creak of the castle itself. Draco walked aimlessly at first, letting the rhythm of his footsteps distract him from his thoughts.  Eventually, he found himself heading toward the library, drawn by the possibility of solitude—or perhaps by the faint hope that Potter might show up again.  

He entered the vast space and was immediately struck by how calm it felt, the rows of books standing like silent sentinels in the dim light. He wasn’t alone, though.  Near the far end of the library, Leonid sat at a table with a few Durmstrang students, his head bent over a thick tome. Sofiya and Antonin were with him, but Petar was notably absent, likely off completing an assignment Draco had helped him with earlier.  Draco hesitated, his first instinct to turn and leave before anyone noticed him. But Leonid glanced up, and their eyes met.  

“Malfoy!” Leonid called, his voice warm and inviting. “Come join us.”  

Draco’s pulse quickened, and he cursed himself for the way his feet seemed to move of their own accord.  

He reached the table, trying to appear nonchalant. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”  

“You’re not interrupting,” Leonid said, gesturing to an empty chair. “We could use a break, anyway. These Arithmancy equations are enough to drive anyone mad.”  

Sofiya laughed, nodding in agreement. “It’s true. I’m ready to hex something.”  

Draco sat, his eyes flicking to Leonid’s hands as he closed his book. They were strong and calloused, the hands of someone accustomed to practical magic and physical work.  

“Are you a fan of Arithmancy?” Leonid asked, his tone teasing.  

“It’s tolerable,” Draco said, forcing himself to focus on the conversation. “Better than Divination, at least.”  

Leonid chuckled, the sound low and rich. Draco felt his face heat and quickly looked down at the notes scattered across the table.  As the conversation shifted, Draco found himself relaxing, though he was acutely aware of every movement Leonid made. When the Durmstrang boy leaned closer to point something out in a book, Draco caught the faint scent of pine and smoke—distinctive and oddly comforting.  He barely noticed the passage of time until Sofiya stretched and announced her intention to call it a night.  

“Are you staying, Leonid?” she asked, gathering her things.  

“For a bit,” Leonid said, his gaze flicking to Draco. “I’ll catch up with you later.”  

Draco’s heart skipped a beat, but he kept his expression neutral as Sofiya and Antonin said their goodnights and left.  

“So,” Leonid said, leaning back in his chair. “What keeps you in the library so late, Malfoy?”  

“Nothing specific,” Draco said, his voice steady despite the quickening of his pulse. “I find it... peaceful.”  

Leonid nodded, his eyes thoughtful. “I can see that. It’s a good place to think.”  

They fell into a companionable silence, and Draco was struck by how easy it felt to sit with Leonid.  

“You’re good with Petar,” Leonid said suddenly, breaking the quiet. “He looks up to you, you know.”  

Draco blinked, caught off guard. “I’m just helping him find his footing. He has potential—he just needs confidence.”  

Leonid smiled, and Draco’s chest tightened. “You’re more generous than you let on, aren’t you?”  

Draco looked away, his throat tightening. “I don’t know what you mean.”  

Leonid didn’t press, and Draco was grateful. They talked for a while longer, their conversation drifting from academics to lighter topics. By the time they parted ways, Draco felt lighter, though his thoughts were no less tangled.  

***

When Draco returned to the Slytherin dorms, Blaise was waiting for him, his expression smug.  

“Good walk?” Blaise asked, his tone loaded with implication.  

Draco ignored him, heading straight for his bed. But as he lay in the darkness, his mind refused to settle.  Potter’s magic, Leonid’s smile, Petar’s quiet admiration—it all swirled together in a confusing storm of emotions. Draco didn’t know what he wanted or how to untangle the threads, but one thing was certain: his life had grown far more complicated than he’d ever intended.  And, perhaps, more interesting.  

The next evening, Draco paced in front of the library doors, debating whether he was truly prepared for another late-night interaction. He hadn’t seen Potter all day, which should have been a relief. Instead, it left him with an inexplicable sense of unease. Potter had a knack for drawing attention without even trying, and Draco didn’t like admitting—especially to himself—that he missed the chaotic energy the Gryffindor brought into his carefully ordered world.  

Eventually, Draco pushed the doors open and stepped inside. The library was its usual haven of quiet, the air heavy with the scent of parchment and ink. A few students lingered at the far tables, but it wasn’t hard to spot Potter. He was sitting alone, hunched over a piece of parchment, his hair messier than usual.  

Draco hesitated for only a moment before walking over. “Potter, you’re slouching like a troll. Straighten up before you permanently damage your spine.”  

Potter startled, looking up with wide eyes before recognition set in. “Oh. Malfoy.” He leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Here to insult my posture and storm off again?”  

Draco ignored the jibe and pulled out the chair across from him. “No, I’m here to ensure you don’t destroy the castle with your erratic magic. Speaking of which, how’s that going?”  

Potter shrugged, running a hand through his hair. “Better, I think. No accidental explosions today, so that’s a win.”  

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” Draco said dryly. He pulled a book from his bag, flipping it open to a marked page. “I’ve done some research. There’s a theory that might explain why your magic reacts so strongly to your emotions.”  

Potter leaned forward, his interest piqued. “What theory?”  

Draco tapped the page. “It’s a rare phenomenon called magic saturation. In times of extreme stress or trauma, a wizard’s magic can become oversensitive, almost like it’s trying to protect them from further harm. Think of it as your magic building a shield around you, but without the finesse to control it properly.”  

Potter frowned. “So... my magic’s overreacting because I’m still stressed from the war?”  

“Essentially,” Draco said. “And the more you suppress your emotions, the worse the saturation becomes. The key is to release that tension in a controlled way, which is where proper focus and practice come in.”  

Potter sighed, slumping back in his chair. “Great. So I need to have a heart-to-heart with my own magic.”  

Draco smirked. “Something like that. Or you could continue bottling everything up until you explode—literally, in this case.”  

Potter huffed a laugh. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Malfoy.”  

Draco rolled his eyes but felt a flicker of satisfaction at Potter’s smile. He had to admit, the Gryffindor wasn’t nearly as insufferable as he’d been in their school years.  

“All right,” Potter said, straightening. “How do we start?”  

Draco pulled out his wand and gestured for Potter to do the same. “We’re going to practice focusing your magic into a single point. A simple lumos spell should suffice for now. The goal is to maintain the light without letting it flicker or grow too bright.”  

Potter nodded, his expression determined. He raised his wand and muttered, “Lumos.”  

A bright light flared at the tip of his wand, and for a moment, it seemed stable. But then it pulsed, growing steadily brighter until it was almost blinding.  

“Stop!” Draco said sharply, shielding his eyes.  

Potter quickly extinguished the light, his face flushed with embarrassment. “Sorry. Guess I overdid it.”  

“Understatement of the century,” Draco muttered, rubbing his temples. “Try again, but this time, focus on keeping your emotions steady. No distractions.”  

Potter took a deep breath and tried again, his brow furrowed in concentration. The light appeared, softer this time, and held steady for several seconds before wavering.  

“Better,” Draco said, nodding. “But you need to hold it longer. Imagine your magic as a thread—you’re weaving it into the spell, not yanking it all at once.”  

They repeated the exercise several times, each attempt showing slight improvement. By the end of the hour, Potter was able to hold the light steady for nearly a minute before it flickered out.  

Draco leaned back in his chair, satisfied. “You’re getting there. It’ll take time, but you’re making progress.”  

Potter grinned, his face lighting up in a way that made Draco’s breath catch. “Thanks, Malfoy. I mean it.”  

Draco waved a hand dismissively, though his cheeks felt warm. “Don’t get sentimental. I’m only doing this because I don’t want to deal with the fallout if you lose control.”  

“Sure, Malfoy,” Potter said, still smiling.  

As they packed up for the night, Draco felt a strange sense of camaraderie with Potter. It was unsettling but not entirely unwelcome.  

***

The following day, Draco found himself seeking out Leonid in the courtyard. The Durmstrang students were sparring with practice wands, their movements sharp and precise. Leonid stood at the edge of the group, his arms crossed as he watched the younger students.  

“Malfoy,” Leonid said when he spotted him. “Here to join the fun?”  

Draco snorted. “Hardly. I’m not in the mood to embarrass anyone today.”  

Leonid laughed, a rich sound that made Draco’s chest tighten. “Confident as ever, I see.”  

“Always,” Draco said, though his usual bravado felt slightly hollow under Leonid’s gaze.  

Leonid studied him for a moment before nodding toward a nearby bench. “Come, sit. You look like you could use a break.”  

Draco hesitated but eventually sat beside him, the crisp air tinged with the scent of snow.  

“You’ve been busy,” Leonid said. “Sofiya mentioned you’ve been helping Potter with something.”  

Draco stiffened, surprised by how easily Leonid had brought it up. “It’s nothing. Just a... magical issue he’s dealing with.”  

Leonid raised an eyebrow. “You must be a better person than you let on, then. I can’t imagine many Slytherins going out of their way to help a Gryffindor, let alone someone like Potter.”  

Draco looked away, his fingers curling around the edge of the bench. “It’s not about being a good person. It’s about preventing a disaster.”  

“Of course,” Leonid said, his tone amused.  

They sat in silence for a moment, the sounds of the sparring match filling the air. Draco sneaked a glance at Leonid, taking in the sharp line of his jaw and the way his eyes glinted in the winter light.  Draco’s chest ached with a confusing mix of longing and frustration. He was drawn to Leonid’s steady confidence, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Potter’s messy charm and crackling magic.  He was caught between two forces, both equally maddening, and he had no idea how to navigate the storm they’d created in his mind.  For now, all he could do was take one step at a time—and hope he didn’t lose himself in the process.  

Draco sat at the Slytherin table the next morning, his teacup clenched tightly between his fingers. He was going through the motions of breakfast—nibbling at a slice of toast, nodding at whatever Blaise was prattling on about—but his thoughts were elsewhere. The previous evening with Potter had been unexpectedly... productive. Potter had shown surprising focus and even a modicum of talent in controlling his magic. Draco should have been pleased that his efforts weren’t entirely wasted, but instead, he felt unbalanced. Potter’s determination, his awkward gratitude—it all left Draco with a nagging feeling he couldn’t shake.  

To make matters worse, the encounter with Leonid in the courtyard had been equally distracting. The Durmstrang boy’s easy confidence, the way he seemed to see through Draco’s defenses without effort—it was infuriating. And alluring.  

“Draco,” Blaise said, waving a hand in front of his face. “Are you even listening?”  

“No,” Draco replied flatly, taking a sip of his tea.  

Blaise huffed. “Well, at least you’re honest. What’s got you so distracted, then? Let me guess—Potter?”  

Draco glared at him. “I’m not distracted.”  

“You’re scowling into your tea like it personally offended you,” Blaise said with a smirk. “So either Potter said something to ruin your mood, or you’re still mooning over your Durmstrang crush.”  

Draco’s grip tightened on his teacup. “I am not ‘mooning’ over anyone.”  

“Right,” Blaise said, clearly unconvinced. “Well, if you ever need to talk about your feelings, I’ll be here. Or, you know, laughing at you from a safe distance.”  

Draco rolled his eyes and stood, ignoring Blaise’s knowing grin as he left the Great Hall.  

***

By the time evening rolled around, Draco had managed to bury most of his frustration beneath a carefully constructed facade of indifference. He arrived at the library early, intending to review his notes on magical saturation before Potter showed up.  To his annoyance, Potter was already there, sitting at their usual table with a stack of books and a determined look on his face.  

“Early for once,” Draco said as he approached, setting his bag down with a practiced flourish.  

Potter looked up, his expression softening when he saw Draco. “Yeah, well, I figured I’d try to get a head start. You’re always harping on about preparation.”  

Draco raised an eyebrow, mildly impressed. “Miracles do happen, I suppose.”  

Potter chuckled, and the sound sent an odd warmth through Draco’s chest. He ignored it, pulling out his wand and gesturing for Potter to do the same.  

“All right,” Draco said briskly. “Let’s see if last night’s progress wasn’t a fluke. Lumos—steady this time.”  

Potter nodded, his expression serious as he cast the spell. The light at the tip of his wand glowed softly, holding steady for several long seconds before it began to flicker.  

“Focus,” Draco said, his voice low but firm. “Breathe evenly. You’re letting your emotions seep in again.”  

Potter exhaled slowly, his grip on his wand tightening as the light stabilized. Draco watched him closely, noting the way Potter’s magic seemed to hum just beneath the surface, raw and untamed but undeniably powerful.  

“Good,” Draco said when the light finally dimmed. “You’re improving. Slowly, but improving.”  

Potter grinned, the pride in his expression making Draco’s stomach twist in a way he refused to analyze. “Thanks, Malfoy. I couldn’t have done it without you.”  

Draco rolled his eyes, though his lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile. “Don’t get sentimental, Potter. It doesn’t suit you.”  

Potter laughed, and for a moment, the tension between them eased.  

***

As the evening wore on, their practice shifted from simple lumos spells to more complex exercises, each one designed to help Potter channel his magic with greater precision.  

“Try again,” Draco said, watching as Potter attempted to levitate a small stack of books without letting his magic spiral out of control.  

Potter’s brow furrowed in concentration, and the books lifted off the table, wobbling slightly before settling into a smooth hover.  

“Not bad,” Draco said, his tone grudgingly approving.  

Potter smirked, clearly pleased with himself. “High praise coming from you.”  

Draco ignored the comment, focusing instead on the faint shimmer of magic that seemed to hang in the air around Potter. It was subtle, but it felt almost tangible, like a mist clinging to his skin.  

“Your magic,” Draco said, frowning slightly. “It’s... unusual.”  

Potter blinked, lowering the books with a flick of his wand. “What do you mean?”  

Draco hesitated, unsure how to articulate what he was sensing. “It’s not just saturated—it’s... dense. Like it’s trying to expand beyond you, to fill the space around you.”  

Potter frowned, his hand tightening around his wand. “Is that bad?”  

“Not necessarily,” Draco said slowly. “But it’s rare. I’ll need to look into it further.”  

Potter nodded, though his expression was troubled. “Great. Another thing to add to the list of things I don’t understand about myself.”  

Draco’s lips twitched in a faint smile. “At least you have me to make sense of it for you.”  

Potter chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Lucky me.”  

***

When their session finally ended, Potter lingered at the table, his wand tapping idly against the wood.  

“Thanks, Malfoy,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a sincerity that caught Draco off guard. “For helping me, I mean. I know you didn’t have to.”  

Draco glanced away, his throat tightening. “Don’t read too much into it, Potter. I’m doing this because it’s the logical thing to do, not because I care about your well-being.”  

Potter smiled, but there was something knowing in his gaze that made Draco’s cheeks heat.  

“Right,” Potter said, standing and stretching. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”  

Draco nodded, unable to muster a proper reply as Potter walked away.  

He sat there for a long time after Potter left, staring at the empty chair across from him and wondering how, exactly, he’d managed to get himself into this mess.  Because if he was being honest with himself—and he hated being honest with himself—he wasn’t just helping Potter out of obligation anymore.  And that was a problem.  

Draco lingered in the library long after Potter had left, staring blankly at the scattered notes and books in front of him. The faint hum of the magical wards protecting the school was the only sound now, but his thoughts were loud and chaotic. He flipped through the book on magical saturation without really reading it, his mind instead replaying the way Potter had looked when he thanked him—a little disheveled, but with an earnestness that made Draco’s chest ache.

With a sharp sigh, Draco closed the book and stacked his notes neatly. “Pull yourself together,” he muttered under his breath, slipping the materials into his bag. “This is ridiculous.”

The walk back to the Slytherin common room was cold and quiet. The torches lining the stone corridors flickered dimly, casting long shadows that danced against the walls. As Draco turned a corner, a familiar figure stepped into view, leaning casually against the wall.

“Malfoy,” Leonid greeted, his voice low but warm. His sharp features softened in the flickering light, and the confident smirk on his lips made Draco’s heart beat a little faster. “Out late again, I see.”

“Studying,” Draco replied, forcing his tone to remain indifferent as he slowed to a stop. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Leonid chuckled, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. “You’re always so serious. It’s a wonder you don’t wear yourself out.”

“Some of us have standards,” Draco shot back, though there was no real bite in his words. His pulse quickened as Leonid’s gaze swept over him, and he suddenly felt far too aware of how close they were standing.

Leonid’s smile widened, and he tilted his head slightly. “You’re an enigma, Draco Malfoy. Always so poised, yet I can tell there’s a storm brewing beneath the surface.”

Draco’s breath hitched, but he quickly masked his reaction with a scoff. “What are you on about?”

Leonid leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “You try so hard to keep people at arm’s length, but I think you’re lonelier than you’d like to admit.”

Draco’s chest tightened, and he felt an uncomfortable heat rise to his face. He opened his mouth to retort but found himself at a loss for words. Instead, he turned abruptly, his robes sweeping behind him as he strode down the corridor.

“I don’t have time for your amateur psychoanalysis,” he called over his shoulder, his voice sharper than he intended.

Leonid’s laughter followed him, echoing in the empty halls. “Goodnight, Draco.”

***

Draco stormed into the Slytherin common room, ignoring the curious looks from his housemates as he made his way to the far corner where Blaise and Pansy were lounging. Blaise raised an eyebrow at Draco’s disheveled appearance but wisely said nothing.

“Rough night?” Pansy asked, her tone teasing as she sipped from a goblet of pumpkin juice.

Draco dropped into the armchair opposite her, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “If you only knew.”

“Is this about Potter again?” Blaise asked, smirking slightly. “Or is it your new Durmstrang friend?”

“Neither,” Draco snapped, though he immediately regretted the sharpness in his tone when Pansy gave him a pointed look.

“Spill it, Draco,” she said, setting her goblet down and leaning forward. “You’ve been acting strange for weeks. What’s going on?”

Draco hesitated, his fingers curling tightly around the armrests of his chair. He hated admitting weakness, even to his closest friends, but the weight of everything—Potter’s magic problem, his conflicting feelings, Leonid’s cryptic comments—was becoming too much to bear.

“I’m helping Potter with... something,” he finally said, his voice quieter than usual. “It’s complicated.”

Pansy frowned, exchanging a glance with Blaise before looking back at Draco. “Complicated how?”

Draco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “His magic is unstable. He nearly blew up the Astronomy Tower the other night. I’m trying to teach him control, but—” He broke off, shaking his head. “It’s frustrating. He’s frustrating.”

“And yet you’re spending all this time with him,” Blaise said, his smirk widening. “Don’t tell me you’re starting to like him.”

Draco glared at him. “Don’t be absurd.”

“Absurd?” Pansy said, raising an eyebrow. “Draco, you’re helping Harry Potter with his magic. That’s not exactly normal behavior for you.”

Draco opened his mouth to argue but stopped himself. They weren’t wrong. His involvement with Potter had gone far beyond what he’d initially intended, and he couldn’t deny that something about the Gryffindor drew him in, no matter how much he tried to resist.

“I don’t know what it is,” he admitted reluctantly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s... distracting.”

Blaise and Pansy exchanged another look, but this time, there was no teasing in their expressions.

“Be careful, Draco,” Pansy said softly. “Getting involved with Potter—whatever this is—could get messy.”

Draco nodded, though he wasn’t sure if he was agreeing with her or simply acknowledging the truth of her words. Either way, the weight in his chest didn’t lessen.

***

The following evening, Draco found himself in the library again, waiting for Potter to arrive. He stared at the books spread out before him, but the words blurred together as his mind wandered. Thoughts of Leonid and his piercing gaze clashed with memories of Potter’s lopsided smiles and crackling magic, leaving Draco feeling uncharacteristically unsteady.When Potter finally arrived, he looked more harried than usual, his hair a chaotic mess and dark circles under his eyes. He dropped into the chair across from Draco with a tired sigh, offering a weak smile.

“Rough day?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You could say that,” Potter replied, running a hand through his hair. “McGonagall cornered me about my magic earlier. I had to explain that I’m not on the verge of destroying the castle.”

Draco snorted. “Barely.”

Potter chuckled, the sound easing some of the tension in Draco’s chest. Despite his exhaustion, Potter still had that infuriating ability to make light of even the most dire situations.

“Well, let’s get started,” Draco said, pulling out his wand. “Unless you’d prefer to sit here and sulk.”

Potter grinned, his tired eyes brightening just a little. “Lead the way, Malfoy.”

As they began their exercises, Draco couldn’t help but notice how easily they fell into a rhythm. For all their differences, working with Potter felt oddly natural, like two halves of a whole. It was maddening and fascinating all at once, and Draco wasn’t sure what to make of it.

But for now, he pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand. Whatever storm was brewing between them, he would deal with it later.