Breaking the ice
Harry nodded and skimmed the paper, his eyes gliding over the words. The work was solid, surprisingly so. Draco’s writing style was meticulous, but it had a certain flair to it that Harry couldn’t deny. It wasn’t just technical; it had depth, even if it was a little more reserved than Harry was used to. For a brief moment, Harry found himself wondering about the things Draco had seen—things that had led him to this path, this goal of becoming a healer. It was still hard to reconcile the image of the Draco Malfoy he’d known—the bully, the tormentor—with the person sitting next to him now. The one who had shared his ambitions, who had revealed the softer parts of himself in those quiet moments. "Looks good," Harry muttered, his voice betraying his unease. He couldn’t quite focus on the work in front of him, his thoughts constantly drifting back to what had happened over the past week. Draco glanced at him sharply. “You’re not actually paying attention, are you?” “Of course I am,” Harry lied, his face betraying him as he struggled to keep his composure. Draco didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned in closer, his gaze flicking over Harry’s face as if he were searching for something. It made Harry’s breath catch in his throat. There was a quiet intensity in Draco’s eyes that made the room feel smaller, more intimate, as if the noise of the common room had faded away completely.
For a moment, they just stared at each other, the weight of the silence pressing in between them. Harry could feel his heart beating a little faster in his chest, and he swallowed, suddenly aware of just how close Draco was. The old habit of mockery, the sharp words that always followed Draco’s gaze, seemed far away now. All that was left was the hum of something—something Harry wasn’t sure how to name. “What?” Harry finally muttered, his voice hoarse, as though he’d been holding his breath. Draco’s lips quirked upward, a faint smirk curling at the edges. But it wasn’t the usual mocking grin. It was softer, more... knowing. “Nothing,” Draco said, pulling back slightly. Harry couldn’t decide if he should feel relieved or unsettled. But before he could say something , the moment was gone, replaced by the awkward shuffle of papers and a change in subject. Draco turned his attention back to the essay, and Harry did the same, but the air between them had shifted. For reasons he didn’t fully understand, Harry found himself relieved. But there was also something else. Something stirring inside him. The fact that Draco had just looked at him like that—really looked at him—made Harry’s chest ache in a way he wasn’t prepared for. As they finished up the paper, the silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t the silence of enemies, but something else—a space filled with unspoken words, unexplored possibilities.
Draco’s earlier confession about wanting to be a healer, about trying to leave his past behind, played over and over in Harry’s mind. And with each passing second, Harry felt something shifting between them—a tentative connection, fragile but real. Harry didn’t know what would happen next, but he knew one thing for sure: he was beginning to care far more about Draco Malfoy than he had ever intended to. And that scared him more than anything.