muggle studies
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It had been two days since the Quidditch match, and Harry still couldn’t shake the image of Draco Malfoy falling from the sky. His mind kept replaying it—Draco’s body twisting in midair, the dizzying descent, the way the wind seemed to pull the life from him before Blaise caught him in the nick of time.
Harry told himself he shouldn’t care. Draco Malfoy wasn’t someone he should care about, not after everything that had happened between them. Not after the war. But, in truth, the image of Draco—vulnerable, pale, and gasping for breath—stuck with him. It was something Harry couldn’t push away, even though he’d tried.
And that led them to this: the Muggle Studies project.
The assignment was simple enough—pair up with a classmate and write an essay about shared goals. There was a catch, of course. The pairs had been chosen by Professor Binns, who had an uncanny ability to pick the least compatible students, and so, much to Harry's annoyance, his partner for this project was Draco Malfoy.
The first meeting in the library was about as awkward as Harry had expected. He’d been quietly fuming since the moment he saw Draco sitting across from him, his silver eyes flicking up just as Harry took his seat. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
"Potter," Draco muttered, breaking the silence with his usual condescension, though there was no real bite behind it today. "Do you actually plan to do any work, or should I just carry the whole project as usual?"
Harry shot him a look, the old irritation creeping up his spine. “Not unless you’ve magically turned into someone who actually cares about doing well in a class.”
Draco raised an eyebrow, a thin smile pulling at his lips. “And you think I don't care? Interesting. The great Harry Potter, assuming things about people he knows nothing about."
Harry scowled. “I know enough.”
The tension between them was thick—every word, every glance a reminder of the history they shared. But there was something else now, something Harry couldn’t quite name. Underneath the sharp words and icy glances, there was an almost unspoken... understanding.
"Let's just get this over with," Harry said, trying to push the unease aside as he flipped through his notes. “So, what exactly are we supposed to write about? Shared goals, yeah? What’s yours?"
Draco hesitated, his fingers tracing the edge of his parchment in thought. The usual arrogance was gone, replaced by something... softer. “I’m not really interested in making small talk, Potter. But, fine,” he said, a trace of frustration creeping into his voice. “I want to be a healer.”
The words hit Harry harder than he expected. He blinked, momentarily thrown off guard. A healer? Draco Malfoy—Draco Malfoy—wanted to help people?
“A healer?” Harry echoed, his voice unintentionally rising. “You’re serious?”
Draco’s eyes narrowed, but there was no malice behind the look, just a quiet kind of defensiveness. “Yes, Potter. I’m serious. I’m not interested in being like my father or my uncle. I want to do something good for once.”
The weight of his words sank in, and Harry stared at Draco for a long moment, unable to look away. The Draco Malfoy he’d known—the boy who’d mocked him, who’d sneered at the idea of anything good or noble—was gone. The boy sitting in front of him was different, quieter, more uncertain.
“I—” Harry started, but he faltered, unsure of what to say.
It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Draco, but it was so unexpected. So out of character.
“Why?” Harry finally asked. The question felt absurd as soon as he asked it, but he needed to understand. He wanted to understand.
Draco shrugged, but the movement was more tired than nonchalant. “I don’t want to follow the same path. I don’t want to keep making the same mistakes. I’ve seen what healing can do, what it means to people. I’m not... I’m not going to be like them. Not anymore.”
Harry watched him for a long time, surprised by the honesty in Draco’s voice. Draco’s usual pride, the air of superiority he carried so effortlessly, was gone. In its place was vulnerability. A rawness that Harry had never seen before.
And, damn it, it made Harry’s chest ache.
"That’s—" Harry paused, not knowing how to finish. He had been ready to mock, to dismiss it, but he couldn’t. Something inside him stopped him. He took a breath. “That’s admirable.”
Draco raised his eyebrows, clearly caught off guard by Harry’s unguarded reply. “Admirable?” he repeated, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You must be joking.”
But Harry wasn’t joking. He shook his head. “I’m not.”
The air around them felt charged, the weight of their conversation thick with meaning. And for the first time in ages, Harry found himself completely unsure of what to say next. It wasn’t just the surprise of Draco’s words, but something deeper—the realization that he was seeing Draco in a light he never had before. There was more to him than the facade of arrogance and cruelty.
Draco’s gray eyes flickered, like he was trying to read Harry, and for a moment, Harry thought Draco might say something else, something more.
But then he broke the moment, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Well, Potter. I suppose we should... get on with it, then.”
Harry blinked, and the weight of the moment seemed to dissipate as quickly as it had arrived. But inside, something lingered. Something unsettlingly pleasant.
"Yeah," Harry agreed, almost too quickly. "Let’s just get this done."
They worked in silence after that, each lost in their thoughts as they tried to draft the essay. But the words Harry wrote seemed to blur together in a haze, his mind constantly drifting back to the conversation they’d just had. To Draco’s goals. To the softness in his eyes that Harry had never noticed before.
The room felt smaller now, as though something between them had shifted, and Harry couldn’t quite figure out what it meant. Couldn’t quite figure out how he felt about it.
And so, as the evening wore on, Harry found himself caught between the two things he never thought would be true: his growing fascination with Draco Malfoy... and the strange, inexplicable hope that maybe, just maybe, he could get to know this person better.
A person who wasn’t quite as terrible as Harry had always believed.
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