Strung Between
Draco had always prided himself on his composure, on his ability to maintain a mask of cool detachment no matter what he was feeling. But lately, that mask was slipping. He’d spent another sleepless night turning over every detail of his interactions with Potter—his tentative trust, his infuriating stubbornness, the occasional, disarming smile that made Draco’s stomach twist in unfamiliar ways. And then there was Leonid. The confident, enigmatic Durmstrang boy who seemed to sense exactly when Draco’s defenses were weakest.
By the time he arrived at the abandoned classroom for another session with Potter, Draco was thoroughly on edge. The room was their makeshift practice space, the air humming faintly with residual magic. Potter was already there, pacing in circles and muttering to himself.
“Punctual, as always,” Draco drawled, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.
Potter turned, his face lighting up in a way that made Draco’s breath catch. “You’re here. Good. I’ve been trying to do what you said—about letting the magic flow—but it’s still... weird.”
Draco raised an eyebrow, walking over to join him. “Weird how?”
“It’s like—” Potter gestured vaguely with his hands. “It’s building up inside me, but instead of coming out, it just... sits there. Heavy. Like a storm cloud.”
Draco frowned, considering this. “Have you tried releasing it in smaller bursts? Channeling it into simpler spells?”
“I’ve tried everything,” Potter said, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
Draco sighed. “Alright. Show me what happens.”
Potter nodded, raising his wand. “Lumos,” he said, and the tip of his wand lit up with a bright, steady glow.
At first, everything seemed fine. But then Draco noticed the way Potter’s grip tightened on the wand, the muscles in his arm tensing as though he were holding something back. The light began to flicker, and Draco could feel the buildup of raw magic in the air, a static charge that made the hairs on his arms stand on end.
“Stop,” Draco said sharply, stepping forward. “You’re forcing it again. Put the wand down.”
Potter hesitated, then lowered his wand with a frustrated sigh. “I don’t get it. Why can’t I just... do it like everyone else?”
“Because you’re not like everyone else,” Draco said before he could stop himself.
Potter blinked, his green eyes locking onto Draco’s.
Draco cleared his throat, looking away. “Your magic is stronger than most people’s. It’s tied to your emotions—more volatile, more powerful. You can’t treat it like it’s ordinary because it’s not.”
For a moment, Potter said nothing. Then he murmured, “I’ve never thought about it that way.”
“Of course you haven’t,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “You Gryffindors never think. You just charge ahead and hope for the best.”
To his surprise, Potter laughed—a warm, genuine sound that sent an odd pang through Draco’s chest.
“You’re not wrong,” Potter admitted, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Draco felt his own lips twitch in response, but he quickly schooled his expression into something more neutral. “Let’s try again,” he said, stepping back.
***
By the time their session ended, Potter’s control had improved marginally, though he was still far from mastering the technique. Draco watched as he left the room, a mixture of pride and frustration swirling in his chest. It was only after Potter was gone that Draco allowed himself to sit down, his head in his hands. He couldn’t keep denying it—he was starting to care about Potter in a way that went far beyond grudging respect. And he hated himself for it. As if that weren’t complicated enough, there was Leonid. The tall, dark-eyed Durmstrang boy who seemed to appear whenever Draco’s thoughts strayed too far into dangerous territory.
Sure enough, as Draco made his way back to the Slytherin common room, he found Leonid waiting for him in the corridor, leaning casually against the wall.
“Malfoy,” Leonid said, his deep voice sending a shiver down Draco’s spine.
“Leonid,” Draco replied, keeping his tone cool.
Leonid pushed off the wall, closing the distance between them in a few long strides. “You’ve been busy,” he said, his gaze sharp and assessing.
“Helping Potter with his magic issues,” Draco said dismissively. “It’s nothing.”
“Is that so?” Leonid’s lips curved into a sly smile. “You spend an awful lot of time with him for it to be nothing.”
Draco stiffened, his cheeks flushing. “It’s none of your business.”
Leonid chuckled, his tone turning teasing. “Perhaps not. But I can’t help being curious. You’re a hard one to read, Draco Malfoy.”
Draco opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, Leonid stepped closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Tell me, are you always this guarded? Or is it just with me?”
Draco’s breath hitched, his mind racing. Leonid was too close—close enough that Draco could feel the heat of his body, the faint scent of pine and smoke clinging to his robes.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Draco said, his voice faltering.
Leonid’s smile widened, and for a moment, Draco thought he might lean in closer. But instead, he stepped back, his expression turning serious.
“You intrigue me, Malfoy,” he said. “But I’ll leave you to your secrets—for now.”
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Draco standing alone in the corridor, his heart pounding.
By the time Draco reached the common room, he was more confused than ever. He sank into one of the chairs near the fire, his mind replaying the events of the day. Helping Potter, the way his heart had skipped when Leonid stepped close—it was all too much. He felt like he was being pulled in two directions, each one equally dangerous.
“Get a grip, Malfoy,” he muttered to himself, staring into the flames. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his carefully constructed world was beginning to unravel.
***
Draco left the classroom with Harry later than usual. Their session had been surprisingly productive; Harry’s magic seemed more controlled, less like a roiling storm threatening to spill over. Draco felt a flicker of pride at the progress, though he’d never admit it to Harry directly.
“Thanks, Malfoy,” Harry said, his voice breaking the comfortable silence as they walked through the dimly lit corridor.
Draco arched an eyebrow, though the corners of his lips twitched upward. “For what? Pointing out your abysmal form? You’re welcome.”
Harry rolled his eyes but didn’t take the bait. “You’re actually helping. I appreciate it.”
Draco shrugged, trying to appear indifferent, though his chest warmed at the sincerity in Harry’s tone. “Someone has to keep you from accidentally setting the castle on fire.”
They parted ways at the stairwell, Harry heading toward Gryffindor Tower and Draco back to the dungeons. But as he descended the winding staircase, his thoughts wandered—not to Harry for once, but to Leonid. The Durmstrang boy had been in his mind all day, his easy confidence and piercing gaze impossible to ignore. Draco hated how Leonid made him feel: exposed, vulnerable, and curious all at once. It was unnerving, but it was also... thrilling.
When Draco reached the Slytherin common room, he found Leonid lounging in one of the leather armchairs by the fire, a book balanced casually in his hands. He looked up as Draco entered, a slow smile spreading across his face.
“Malfoy,” Leonid greeted, his accent curling around the syllables of Draco’s name in a way that made his stomach flutter.
“Leonid,” Draco replied, keeping his tone neutral as he crossed the room to sit in the chair opposite him. “What are you still doing up?”
Leonid closed his book, setting it aside. “Waiting for you.”
Draco’s heart skipped a beat, but he schooled his features into a mask of indifference. “What for?”
Leonid chuckled, the sound low and warm. “To talk. Or to sit in silence. Either works for me.”
Draco rolled his eyes, but he didn’t get up to leave. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, letting the firelight play across his face.
“You’re persistent,” he said, his tone tinged with both annoyance and admiration.
“I know what I want,” Leonid replied, his gaze steady and unwavering. “And I think you do, too.”
Draco’s breath hitched, but he quickly masked it with a scoff. “You think you know me so well?”
Leonid leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I think you spend so much time building walls around yourself that you’ve forgotten what it feels like to let someone in.”
Draco’s instinct was to bristle, to push back with a sharp retort, but the words caught in his throat. Because Leonid wasn’t wrong.
For a moment, they sat in silence, the crackle of the fire the only sound between them. Then, Leonid reached out, his hand brushing lightly against Draco’s.
It was a small gesture, barely a touch, but it sent a jolt of electricity through Draco’s entire body. He froze, his instincts warring with his desires.
“You can tell me to stop,” Leonid said softly, his voice laced with patience and understanding.
Draco looked down at their hands, his pale fingers stark against Leonid’s tanned skin. For once, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he turned his hand over, letting their palms press together.
It was a small acceptance, but it felt monumental.
Leonid’s smile widened, and he squeezed Draco’s hand gently before letting go, giving him space to breathe.
“You’re infuriating,” Draco muttered, though there was no heat behind his words.
“I’ve been told that before,” Leonid replied, his tone light and teasing.
Draco shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his lips. For the first time in a long while, he felt... lighter.
***
The next morning, Draco woke earlier than usual, his thoughts still tangled with the events of the previous night. He replayed the moment in his mind, analyzing every detail, every word, every touch. He knew it was dangerous to let someone in, to allow himself to feel something so vulnerable, but he couldn’t deny that it had felt good. Right, even. His musings were interrupted by a knock on the door. Blaise Zabini poked his head in, his expression one of mild curiosity.
“Breakfast?” Blaise asked.
Draco nodded, quickly pulling himself together. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
As he joined Blaise and the others in the Great Hall, he couldn’t help but notice Leonid sitting with the other Durmstrang students at the far end of the room. Their eyes met briefly, and Leonid’s smile was like a secret shared between them.
Draco’s cheeks flushed, but he quickly looked away, focusing on his plate.
“You’re distracted,” Pansy observed, nudging him with her elbow. “Anything to do with our Durmstrang friend?”
Draco glared at her, though it lacked his usual venom. “Mind your own business.”
Pansy smirked, clearly pleased with herself. “Oh, but it’s so much more fun to mind yours.”
Draco ignored her, though he couldn’t shake the warmth spreading through his chest.
***
That evening, Draco found himself back in the Room of Requirement with Harry. The tension between them was less fraught than usual, their interactions falling into an easy rhythm.
“Your control is getting better,” Draco remarked as Harry successfully summoned a plume of magic without it spiraling out of control.
“Thanks to you,” Harry said, his grin sheepish.
Draco rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t hide his satisfaction. “Don’t let it go to your head, Potter.”
As they continued practicing, Draco couldn’t help but compare the two people who had occupied so much of his thoughts lately. Harry’s magic was raw and unpredictable, much like the man himself, while Leonid was steady and confident, a grounding presence. Draco didn’t know how he felt about being caught between the two of them, but for now, he decided to let himself enjoy the uncertainty. For once, he wasn’t going to overthink it.
By the time Draco left the classroom, he was feeling a strange sense of accomplishment. Helping Harry channel his wild magic had become a surprisingly engaging challenge, one that Draco hadn’t expected to enjoy. Yet, his satisfaction was tinged with confusion—about his feelings for Harry, for Leonid, and about where he fit into the tangled mess of his own emotions. He wandered through the castle, his footsteps echoing faintly against the stone walls. He hadn’t intended to go anywhere in particular, but his feet seemed to know better. He ended up back in the Slytherin common room, where he found Leonid seated in the same chair by the fire as the night before.
Leonid looked up from his book and smiled, his expression warm and inviting. “Malfoy,” he said, his tone as smooth as ever. “Back from your mysterious nightly endeavors?”
Draco paused, his usual retort stalling on his tongue. “I could ask the same of you. Do you ever sleep?”
Leonid chuckled, setting his book aside. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Besides, I enjoy the quiet at this hour. It lets me think.”
Draco moved to sit in the chair opposite him, his movements slower than usual. His mind was still a whirlwind, and the steady presence of Leonid was both comforting and unnerving. “And what exactly do you think about during these late-night musings?”
Leonid tilted his head, studying Draco intently. “You, mostly.”
Draco’s breath hitched, and he quickly masked it with a scoff. “You’re insufferable.”
“True,” Leonid said easily, his smile widening. “But I’m also persistent.”
Draco looked away, his gaze flickering to the fire. He hated how easily Leonid could fluster him, how his usual defenses seemed to crumble under that unyielding gaze. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”
Leonid leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Not when it comes to something—or someone—I want.”
Draco’s stomach twisted, a mix of irritation and something far more dangerous. He opened his mouth to reply, but the words caught in his throat when Leonid stood and crossed the small space between them.
Leonid sat on the arm of Draco’s chair, his presence overwhelming in its closeness. “You’re overthinking again,” he murmured, his voice low and steady.
“I don’t overthink,” Draco said automatically, though the slight tremor in his voice betrayed him.
Leonid chuckled softly, leaning down until their faces were mere inches apart. “You do. I can see it in your eyes.”
Draco’s heart was racing, and he hated that Leonid could probably hear it. He wanted to push him away, to regain control of the situation, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.
“Tell me to leave,” Leonid said, his tone quiet but insistent. “If that’s what you want, I’ll go.”
Draco’s throat was dry, and his pulse pounded in his ears. He wanted to say the words, to push Leonid away and retreat to the safety of his carefully constructed walls. But instead, he found himself doing the opposite.
He reached out, his hand brushing against Leonid’s arm. It was a small gesture, hesitant and uncertain, but it was enough.
Leonid’s expression softened, and he leaned in further, his lips brushing lightly against Draco’s. The kiss was brief, barely more than a whisper, but it sent a jolt of electricity through Draco’s entire body.
When Leonid pulled back, his smile was gentle but triumphant. “See? Not so difficult, is it?”
Draco scowled, though there was no real malice behind it. “You’re infuriating.”
“And yet, you’re still here,” Leonid replied, his grin widening.
Draco rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. For once, he allowed himself to let go of his endless overthinking and simply exist in the moment.
***
The following morning, Draco woke with a sense of unease. The memory of the previous night lingered in his mind, both exhilarating and unnerving. He wasn’t sure what it meant or where it would lead, but he couldn’t deny that something had shifted. As he made his way to breakfast, he found himself glancing toward the Gryffindor table, where Harry was seated with Granger and Weasley. Harry caught his eye and gave him a brief, almost shy smile, which Draco found himself returning before he could stop himself.
“What’s that about?” Pansy asked, nudging him as they took their seats at the Slytherin table.
“Nothing,” Draco said quickly, though his cheeks felt uncomfortably warm.
Pansy raised an eyebrow but didn’t press the issue, much to Draco’s relief. His attention was soon drawn to Leonid, who was sitting further down the table with the other Durmstrang students. Leonid caught his eye and gave him a knowing look, his smile sending a familiar flutter through Draco’s chest.
Draco groaned inwardly. As if his life weren’t complicated enough, he now had to contend with his feelings for both Harry and Leonid. It was a tangled mess, one he wasn’t sure how to unravel.
***
Later that evening, Draco found himself back in the abandoned classroom with Harry. The air between them felt different somehow, more charged and uncertain. Harry seemed distracted, his usual confidence faltering as they practiced.
“Are you all right, Potter?” Draco asked, his tone sharper than he intended.
Harry sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “Yeah, just... a lot on my mind.”
Draco crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. “Well, whatever it is, it’s interfering with your magic. You need to focus.”
Harry looked at him, his green eyes intense. “I am focusing.”
“Clearly not,” Draco shot back. “You’re letting your emotions get the better of you.”
Harry’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, Draco thought he might snap back with one of his usual retorts. But instead, Harry surprised him.
“I don’t know how you do it,” Harry said quietly. “Stay so composed all the time.”
Draco blinked, caught off guard by the vulnerability in Harry’s voice. “It’s not as difficult as you make it seem.”
Harry gave a weak laugh, his shoulders slumping. “Of course it’s not, for you.”
Draco frowned, feeling an unfamiliar pang of guilt. He hesitated, then stepped closer, his voice softening. “Potter... it’s not easy for anyone. Not really.”
Harry looked up at him, his eyes searching Draco’s face. “Then how do you do it? How do you keep everything... under control?”
Draco hesitated, the weight of the question pressing down on him. He didn’t have an answer, not really, but he knew that the truth was far more complicated than he wanted to admit.
“I don’t,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not always.”
Harry’s expression softened, and for a moment, the tension between them eased. It was a small moment of understanding, but it felt significant—like a step toward something neither of them fully understood yet. And for now, that was enough.