A Good Fit
Draco liked to think of himself as someone who thrived under pressure, but the past few days had tested even his considerable patience. He sat at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, idly swirling his spoon in a bowl of porridge. Around him, the usual chatter of his housemates filled the air, but Draco paid little attention to it. His thoughts were elsewhere, stuck between frustration at Harry Potter’s infuriating disappearance and the lingering warmth of his last conversation with Leonid. Across the hall, Potter sat with his precious Gryffindors, his head bent low as Granger whispered something to him. Draco felt his jaw tighten despite himself. The prat hadn’t even glanced his way once, and yet he was there, occupying Draco’s mind like an uninvited guest. It wasn’t just Potter’s absence from their practice sessions that irked him. It was the way he’d stormed off after their argument, leaving behind nothing but a stinging hand and too many unanswered questions. Draco had told himself to let it go. But he hadn’t.
“Draco.”
The low, accented voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and he turned to see Leonid standing beside him, his imposing frame blocking out the light. Leonid’s dark eyes sparkled with quiet amusement, as if he could see exactly what—or who—had Draco so preoccupied.
“Morning,” Draco said, forcing a small smile.
Leonid’s lips twitched into a smirk. “You’re brooding.”
“I don’t brood,” Draco replied crisply, pushing his bowl aside.
“Of course not,” Leonid said, sliding into the seat beside him with the kind of confidence that made others shift to accommodate him. “You just look like you’ve been plotting someone’s untimely demise all morning.”
Draco couldn’t help but chuckle at that, though it came out more bitter than amused. “If only.”
Leonid tilted his head, studying Draco with a level of intensity that always made him feel slightly off-balance. “Something troubles you.”
“It’s nothing,” Draco said quickly, brushing off the comment. “Just schoolwork.”
Leonid raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. Instead, he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “Come for a walk with me after breakfast.”
Draco hesitated, glancing briefly at the Gryffindor table. Potter was still engrossed in whatever Granger was saying, oblivious to Draco’s scrutiny.
“I don’t know if—”
“No excuses,” Leonid interrupted smoothly, his hand brushing briefly against Draco’s arm. The touch was light, almost casual, but it sent a ripple of warmth through Draco’s chest. “You’ve been working too hard. Let me distract you.”
***
Half an hour later, Draco found himself walking alongside Leonid through the frosty grounds of Hogwarts. The air was crisp and cool, the early morning sun casting long shadows across the snow-dusted grass. Leonid was talking about something—a story from his time at Durmstrang, perhaps—but Draco was only half-listening. His mind was still tugged in two directions, caught between the comforting solidity of Leonid’s presence and the maddening uncertainty of Potter’s absence.
“Draco,” Leonid said suddenly, stopping in his tracks.
Draco blinked, realizing he’d fallen several paces behind. He quickened his step, coming to stand beside Leonid, who was watching him with a mixture of amusement and concern.
“You’re distracted,” Leonid said.
“Am I?” Draco asked, feigning innocence.
Leonid gave him a knowing look. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know.”
Draco’s stomach tightened. For a moment, he considered brushing off the comment, deflecting as he always did. But something in Leonid’s steady gaze made him pause.
“It’s just... complicated,” Draco admitted finally.
Leonid nodded, as if that were answer enough. He reached out, his hand resting lightly on Draco’s shoulder. “I don’t expect you to share everything with me,” he said softly. “But I want you to know that I’m here. For whatever you need.”
Draco felt a flicker of warmth at the words, a quiet reassurance that steadied him in a way he hadn’t expected.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice quieter than he intended.
Leonid’s hand lingered for a moment longer before he pulled back, his smirk returning. “Now, tell me more about this ‘complicated’ life of yours. I’m curious.”
Draco rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite to it. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, you keep my company,” Leonid shot back, his grin widening.
***
By the time they returned to the castle, Draco felt lighter, the weight of his thoughts temporarily eased by Leonid’s easy humor and quiet support. But as the day wore on, the familiar tension crept back in. He caught glimpses of Potter here and there—always at a distance, always surrounded by his friends. And every time, Draco’s frustration flared anew. He hated how much space Potter occupied in his mind. He hated how much he wanted to march across the Great Hall and demand answers. But most of all, he hated the way his chest ached with something dangerously close to longing every time he saw him.
“Draco,” a small voice said, pulling him from his thoughts.
He turned to see Petar standing a few feet away, his hands clasped nervously in front of him.
“Petar,” Draco said, softening his tone. “What is it?”
The younger boy hesitated, his gaze flickering nervously to the floor. “I just... wanted to thank you. For helping me with my Charms assignment last week.”
Draco smiled, a rare warmth seeping into his expression. “You’re welcome, Petar. How’s it coming along now?”
“Better,” Petar said quickly. “Much better. I—I think I might even get an ‘Exceeds Expectations’ on the next essay.”
“That’s excellent,” Draco said, genuinely pleased. “Keep at it.”
Petar nodded, his cheeks flushing with a mixture of pride and embarrassment. “Thank you, Draco. Really.”
As Petar hurried off, Draco’s smile faded, replaced by a pensive frown.
He couldn’t help but wonder if Potter was avoiding him because of the argument—or if there was something deeper at play. And if Draco was being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure which possibility unnerved him more.
***
That evening, as he sat in the Slytherin common room with Leonid beside him, Draco’s thoughts returned once again to Potter.
Leonid must have noticed his distraction, because he nudged Draco lightly with his elbow.
“Still brooding?” he teased.
Draco rolled his eyes. “If you must know, I’m contemplating the meaning of life.”
“Ah,” Leonid said, smirking. “Let me know if you figure it out.”
For a moment, the two of them sat in comfortable silence, the flickering fire casting warm shadows across the room.And despite the turmoil in Draco’s mind, he found himself grateful for Leonid’s steady presence.
The Slytherin common room had emptied out as the night stretched on, leaving Draco and Leonid alone near the fire. The silence was comfortable, broken only by the occasional crackle of burning logs and the shuffle of parchment as Draco half-heartedly worked on his Potions essay. Leonid, as usual, seemed unbothered by the quiet. He leaned back in his chair, long legs stretched out in front of him, a book open on his lap. Draco wasn’t sure if he was actually reading or simply staring at the pages to pass the time, but he appreciated the stillness Leonid brought to the room.
“Draco,” Leonid said suddenly, his voice low and steady.
Draco glanced up, startled out of his thoughts. “Yes?”
Leonid closed his book and set it aside, fixing Draco with that intense gaze of his. “I’ve been thinking.”
“That sounds ominous,” Draco replied, trying to keep his tone light, but his pulse quickened slightly.
Leonid smirked, though his expression softened quickly. “I meant what I said earlier. I don’t expect you to share everything with me. But I’d like to think you trust me enough to let me in a little more.”
Draco’s chest tightened at the words. He wasn’t sure why they unsettled him—perhaps because they were spoken so plainly, without pretense or expectation.
“I do trust you,” Draco said carefully, setting his quill down.
“Then why do you hold back?” Leonid asked, leaning forward slightly. His tone wasn’t accusing, just curious.
Draco hesitated. He wasn’t used to being asked such direct questions, and he wasn’t sure how to answer.
“It’s not that simple,” he said finally.
“Things rarely are,” Leonid replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But complicated doesn’t mean impossible.”
Draco frowned, his fingers curling slightly against the edge of the table. “What are you getting at?”
“I like you, Draco,” Leonid said bluntly, and the words sent a jolt through Draco’s chest. “I think you know that.”
Draco swallowed, suddenly finding it difficult to meet Leonid’s gaze. “I—”
“You don’t have to say anything,” Leonid interrupted gently. “I just want you to know where I stand. I won’t push you into anything you’re not ready for.”
Draco’s breath hitched slightly, his mind racing. He felt a strange mix of emotions—flattered, uncertain, and, if he was honest with himself, a little overwhelmed.
“I don’t know what to say,” Draco admitted quietly.
“Say whatever you feel,” Leonid replied, his voice softening. “Or don’t. I’m not going anywhere.”
For a long moment, they sat in silence, the tension between them palpable but not uncomfortable. Draco felt the weight of Leonid’s words settling over him, and he realized, with a pang of guilt, that he wasn’t sure he deserved someone as steady and patient as Leonid. But he couldn’t deny the pull he felt toward him—the way Leonid’s presence seemed to ground him in a way few others could.
“Leonid,” Draco said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes?”
Draco hesitated, his gaze flickering to the fire before returning to Leonid’s. “I... I like you too. I think. I’m just... not very good at this sort of thing.”
Leonid’s smile widened slightly, but it wasn’t mocking or condescending. It was warm, reassuring. “You’re better at it than you think.”
Draco felt his cheeks flush, and he looked away, suddenly self-conscious. “Don’t make me regret saying anything.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Leonid said, the amusement in his voice making Draco glance back at him.
Before Draco could think too much about it, Leonid reached across the table and took his hand. The gesture was simple, but it sent a surge of warmth through Draco’s chest.
“You don’t have to figure everything out right now,” Leonid said softly. “We can take things one step at a time.”
Draco nodded, his fingers tightening slightly around Leonid’s. “I think I’d like that.”
***
The next few days passed in a blur, and Draco found himself spending more and more time with Leonid. They didn’t make any grand declarations or sudden changes to their routine, but there was a subtle shift in the way they interacted—a quiet understanding that they were something more than just friends now. Draco wasn’t sure what to call it, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to put a name to it just yet. But he couldn’t deny the way his chest felt lighter when Leonid was around, or the way his heart seemed to race every time Leonid smiled at him. It was... nice.
But even as Draco began to settle into this new dynamic, a nagging sense of unease lingered at the back of his mind. He couldn’t ignore the way Potter’s absence still gnawed at him, or the way his thoughts seemed to drift to the Gryffindor more often than he cared to admit. He caught glimpses of Potter every now and then, usually from across the Great Hall or in passing between classes. But Potter never looked his way, and Draco told himself it didn’t matter. Except it did.
“Draco,” Leonid said one evening, pulling him out of his thoughts.
They were sitting by the fire again, and Leonid was watching him with a faint frown.
“Sorry,” Draco said quickly. “I was... distracted.”
Leonid raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been distracted a lot lately.”
Draco opened his mouth to protest, but he stopped himself. Leonid wasn’t accusing him of anything—he was simply stating a fact.
“Is it about Potter?” Leonid asked, his tone careful but not judgmental.
Draco stiffened slightly. “Why would it be about him?”
Leonid gave him a knowing look. “Because every time you’re lost in thought, you glance toward the Gryffindor table.”
Draco felt his cheeks flush, and he looked away, irritated with himself for being so obvious. “It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like?” Leonid asked, his voice gentle but insistent.
Draco hesitated, his fingers curling against the armrest of his chair. He wasn’t sure how to explain it—how to put into words the tangle of emotions that seemed to tighten around him every time he thought about Potter.
“I don’t know,” he admitted finally.
Leonid didn’t press further, but the understanding in his gaze made Draco’s chest ache.
For now, it was enough to have Leonid’s steady presence by his side. But deep down, Draco knew he couldn’t avoid his feelings forever—whether they were for Leonid, Potter, or some complicated mix of the two.
***
Draco found himself standing in the Durmstrang common room, gazing at the high-arched windows as the last rays of sunlight painted the snow-covered grounds in fiery hues of orange and red. The warmth of the fire crackled behind him, but it did little to ease the cold knot of tension sitting in his chest. He wasn’t sure what had drawn him to this part of the castle today, but the familiar sight of Durmstrang students moving in small, tight-knit groups gave him a sense of grounding. It reminded him of the unspoken camaraderie he had always valued in Slytherin. Or perhaps he was just looking for a distraction.
Leonid had been remarkably patient with him these past few days, his quiet strength offering Draco a reprieve from the chaos in his mind. Yet, despite that, Draco found himself circling the same thoughts over and over again—thoughts that stubbornly refused to settle. Potter. The name alone was enough to set his teeth on edge, though the anger he tried to summon always fizzled out into something murkier. He hadn’t seen much of Potter since their fight. The other boy seemed to be making a concerted effort to avoid him, and while Draco told himself it was for the best, it left a bitter taste in his mouth.
More troubling was the other avoidance he’d noticed: Petar. The young Durmstrang student had barely been in the same room with him since that night in the corridor. Draco had spotted him once or twice in passing, but Petar would always duck his head and scurry away before Draco could call out to him. It was unlike the boy, whose quiet admiration and eagerness to learn had been a source of pride for Draco. And if Draco was being honest with himself, Petar’s avoidance hurt far more than he cared to admit. It was with this swirling mess of emotions that Draco finally decided he’d had enough.
***
He found Petar in the library later that evening, hunched over a stack of books at one of the smaller tables near the back. The boy looked up as Draco approached, his eyes widening in alarm. He immediately dropped his gaze to the book in front of him, but his fingers fidgeted nervously against the pages.
“Petar,” Draco said evenly, keeping his tone calm but firm.
Petar didn’t respond at first, but when Draco pulled out the chair across from him and sat down, the boy’s shoulders stiffened.
“I thought you were avoiding me,” Draco said bluntly, deciding that a direct approach was best.
Petar’s eyes darted up to his face before quickly looking away again. “I... I wasn’t.”
Draco arched an eyebrow. “You’re a terrible liar.”
Petar’s cheeks flushed, and he fumbled with the edge of his sleeve. “I didn’t mean to... I just—”
“Is this about the other night?” Draco interrupted, leaning forward slightly. “Because if it is, I’d rather we talk about it than have you skulking around corners every time I walk into a room.”
Petar’s silence spoke volumes, and Draco felt a pang of guilt twist in his chest. He softened his tone.
“Petar,” he said gently, “I know you saw something that night. I won’t deny it. But whatever it is, it doesn’t change the way I see you. I still trust you.”
The boy’s head snapped up at that, his wide eyes filled with uncertainty. “You trust me?”
Draco nodded. “Of course I do. You’ve never given me a reason not to.”
Petar bit his lip, his fingers tightening against the book in front of him. “I... I saw his magic. When he left.”
Draco’s stomach tightened. “Potter’s magic?”
Petar nodded hesitantly. “It was... wild. It felt dangerous. And it hurt you.”
Draco glanced down at his hand, now healed thanks to Leonid’s intervention. The memory of the stinging cut was faint, but the lingering tension it represented was harder to shake.
“It was an accident,” Draco said carefully, though he wasn’t entirely sure he believed it himself.
Petar looked unconvinced. “You’re not afraid of him?”
Draco hesitated, the question catching him off guard. He thought of Potter’s erratic behavior, the outbursts, the way his magic seemed to swell and crackle unpredictably.
“No,” Draco said finally, the word surprising even himself. “I’m not afraid of him.”
Petar frowned. “Why not? He’s dangerous.”
“Maybe,” Draco admitted. “But he’s also... confused. Lost, even. I don’t think he means to hurt anyone.”
Petar stared at him for a long moment before finally nodding, though his expression remained wary.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt again,” Petar said quietly.
Draco felt his chest tighten at the boy’s words, a surprising wave of protectiveness washing over him. He reached across the table and placed a hand on Petar’s arm, offering a reassuring squeeze.
“I’ll be fine,” he said firmly. “But thank you for worrying about me.”
Petar relaxed slightly at that, though the tension in his shoulders didn’t completely dissipate.
Draco stayed with him for a while longer, helping him sort through his books and offering advice on his studies. By the time they left the library, Petar seemed more at ease, and Draco felt a small sense of satisfaction at having repaired the rift between them.
***
Later that night, as Draco made his way back to the Slytherin common room, his thoughts returned to Potter. It wasn’t the first time he’d found himself thinking about the other boy, but tonight the memories felt sharper, more immediate. The argument in the corridor replayed in his mind, along with the hurt in Potter’s voice when he’d shouted that they weren’t friends. Draco clenched his fists at the memory, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He hated the way Potter got under his skin, the way his presence seemed to unsettle everything Draco thought he knew about himself. And yet, despite everything, Draco couldn’t bring himself to hate him. If anything, he felt... drawn to him. It was a maddening realization, one that Draco wasn’t sure how to reconcile with his growing attachment to Leonid.
Speaking of which—
“Draco.”
Draco looked up, startled to see Leonid standing at the entrance to the common room.
“Leonid,” he said, his voice softening instinctively.
Leonid smiled, though his eyes flicked over Draco’s face with a hint of concern. “You look like you’ve had a long day.”
Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You could say that.”
Leonid stepped closer, his presence warm and steady. “Want to talk about it?”
Draco hesitated, but the gentle encouragement in Leonid’s gaze made him relax.
“Not tonight,” he said finally, offering a small smile. “But... thank you.”
Leonid nodded, his expression understanding. “I’m here whenever you’re ready.”
Draco felt a strange sense of comfort at the words, even as the tangled mess of his emotions continued to churn beneath the surface.
For now, he told himself, it was enough.
***
Draco stood on the Astronomy Tower, the brisk night air biting at his skin. The vast expanse of stars spread out before him, their distant, cold light reflecting the storm of emotions roiling inside him. He’d left the Slytherin common room after another charged moment with Leonid, unable to quiet his mind. Leonid had been understanding, kind even, and yet... it wasn’t enough to quiet the relentless tug in Draco’s chest whenever he thought about Harry. He gripped the railing tightly, his knuckles whitening. It was absurd. Utterly ridiculous. He had been so sure of himself before—so sure that he could keep things neat and compartmentalized. Harry Potter was a distraction, nothing more. Leonid was steady, charming, and uncomplicated. He should have been everything Draco needed. And yet...
“Damn it,” Draco muttered under his breath, tilting his head back to stare at the sky.
The argument with Harry replayed in his mind for the hundredth time. The way Harry’s magic had lashed out, sharp and wild, the anger in his voice as he’d declared they weren’t friends—it had all cut deeper than Draco cared to admit. But it wasn’t just the argument. It was everything leading up to it—the late-night practices, the rare, unguarded moments where Harry’s walls seemed to drop just enough to let Draco glimpse the person behind the legend. It was the way Harry’s magic felt alive in a way that resonated with Draco’s own, as if their magic recognized each other in a way their minds couldn’t yet comprehend. And it was the way Harry had been avoiding him since then, like a coward.
Draco let out a frustrated breath, the memory of Harry’s absence gnawing at him. For days, he had waited—waited for Harry to come to his senses, to seek him out and apologize. But no. Harry had chosen to run, leaving Draco to stew in his own hurt and confusion. Leonid had been there in the aftermath, of course. He always seemed to know when Draco needed someone, his quiet strength and unwavering attention a balm for Draco’s frayed nerves. And yet, even as Leonid offered comfort and stability, Draco couldn’t help but feel like he was standing on uneven ground. It wasn’t fair to Leonid. It wasn’t fair to himself.
Draco closed his eyes, the cool breeze soothing against his heated skin. He needed to make a choice. Leonid was... easy. But perhaps that was the problem. There was no challenge, no spark that set his blood alight the way Harry did. Harry was messy, infuriating, and entirely unpredictable—and yet, Draco couldn’t seem to let go of him. It was maddening. But perhaps that was the answer.
Draco opened his eyes, the clarity of the stars above mirroring the sudden clarity in his mind. He couldn’t keep running in circles, couldn’t keep pretending that his feelings for Harry didn’t exist. And as much as it terrified him, Draco knew he needed to confront Harry—properly this time. No games. No pretenses. He needed answers, and he needed closure. Whether that meant resolving their issues and rebuilding their tenuous partnership, or finally admitting that whatever connection they shared went far deeper than he was ready to acknowledge. Draco straightened, his resolve hardening. He would give Leonid the respect he deserved, too. If he was going to pursue this thing with Harry—whatever it was—he owed it to Leonid to be honest. Turning on his heel, Draco made his way back down the tower stairs, the echo of his footsteps steady and purposeful.
***
The next morning, Draco found Leonid in the Great Hall, seated at the Durmstrang table. The boy’s sharp features lit up when he spotted Draco approaching, but the smile faltered slightly at the determined look on Draco’s face.
“Leonid,” Draco said, his voice low but firm as he reached the table. “Can we talk?”
Leonid’s expression shifted, his eyes searching Draco’s face. “Of course,” he said simply, standing and gesturing for Draco to lead the way.
They walked in silence until they reached a quiet corridor just outside the Hall. Draco stopped and turned to face Leonid, his hands clasped tightly in front of him.
“I need to be honest with you,” Draco began, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him.
Leonid crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. “Go on.”
Draco hesitated, but only for a moment. “I’ve enjoyed spending time with you. You’ve been... a comfort to me in ways I didn’t expect. But...” He trailed off, searching for the right words.
“But you’re not sure how you feel about me,” Leonid finished, his tone neutral.
Draco winced but nodded. “I care about you, Leonid. Truly. But I don’t think it’s fair to you—or to me—to continue this when my feelings are... divided.”
Leonid studied him for a long moment before sighing. “It’s Potter, isn’t it?”
Draco’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t deny it. “How did you—”
Leonid gave a wry smile. “You talk about him more than you realize. And the way you look when you do... it’s not hard to figure out.”
Draco flushed, feeling both exposed and oddly relieved. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
Leonid shook his head. “Feelings are rarely something we choose, Draco. I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but I respect your honesty.”
Draco felt a surge of gratitude. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
Leonid nodded, his expression softening. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re making the right choice. Potter may be a mess, but he clearly means something to you.”
Draco’s heart twisted at the words, but he managed a small smile. “He does,” he admitted.
Leonid clapped him on the shoulder, his touch warm and grounding. “Good luck, Draco. You’re going to need it.”
***
By the time Draco reached the Slytherin common room, his thoughts were sharper than they’d been in days. He had a plan now, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he knew what he needed to do. He would confront Harry, face whatever came of it, and finally put an end to the uncertainty that had been eating away at him. One way or another, he would find clarity. And he would no longer let his fears hold him back.