Harry
The Diagon Alley was no longer the same.
In fact, nothing seemed the same anymore.
Even Hogwarts had lost some of its old magic, and now, on the return train, Harry could sense it.
The earlier conversation with Hermione and Ron about Malfoy still left a bitter taste in his mouth, lingering in his mind like something relentless; incessant.
He leaned out into the corridor of the train, looking back to observe Malfoy. The blonde rested his chin on one arm while watching Pansy and Blaise engaged in an animated conversation. At one point, Malfoy turned toward the window, no longer seeming to pay attention to whatever Parkinson was saying so eagerly, now simply gazing at the landscape rushing by.
Harry slipped a hand into his coat pocket, clutching the powder he had bought from the Weasley twins, still stored there. He gripped it tightly, and, glancing at Malfoy again, felt a chill run through his bones for a brief moment.
Malfoy was looking back at him over his shoulder, only to return his gaze to the window once more.
“Harry?”
“I need some air.” He stood up, not giving his friends time to question him.
He navigated past several students, ensuring his invisibility cloak was with him. He kept his eyes fixed on Malfoy’s compartment, clutching the Instant Darkness Powder from the twins’ shop tightly in his right hand. It spilled out slightly from between his fingers, nearly alive, as he passed Ginny and Dean laughing at something Luna animatedly said. Harry tried not to feel guilty about having to throw it right from that point.
Suddenly, all the compartments in that area went dark, confused voices echoing from every direction as Harry slipped under his cloak, weaving his way through until he reached Malfoy’s seat.
Just as quickly as the darkness fell, the powder dissipated into the air, revealing visibility once again. Malfoy, startled, raised his head and looked around.
“What…? Blaise?”
“It’s probably just the first-years,” Pansy reassured him, resuming whatever idle topic she’d been discussing before.
Malfoy slumped back into his seat, turning his gaze to the window, now with a less pleased expression. He glanced suspiciously toward the corridor, and Harry swore he looked directly at him, sending a shiver down his spine.
He made himself as comfortable as possible in the luggage rack, intending to stay cramped among various bags for the entire journey. Confirming that no one could spot him, he leaned slightly forward to better hear Malfoy’s conversation, but in his clumsiness, he nudged one of the bags, nearly letting it crash to the floor if he hadn’t caught it in time. He put it back and prayed that no one noticed him.
And no one did. At least, that was certain. That is, except for a pair of sharp bluish-grey eyes that Harry hadn’t noticed, watching the little corner of the luggage rack intently.
“...So, what do you think, Draco?” Parkinson asked mockingly, looking at her friend.
“What?” The blonde turned to the two in front of him, his expression quickly becoming bored again.
“Ugh! You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?”
He shrugged, turning back to the view outside the window.
“What’s going on with you, huh? You’ve been like this all year. You don’t listen, don’t talk. Always lost in that pretty blonde head of yours.” She flicked his forehead, making him grimace and briefly rub the spot she’d lightly slapped.
Harry rolled his eyes under the cloak, feeling sick just watching their conversation.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Pansy,” he replied, turning back to the window.
“I wrote to you all summer! So did Blaise! And you barely replied to a single letter.” She turned to Blaise beside her, who simply shrugged.
“It wasn’t that often, but you have been acting strange, Draco, that’s undeniable,” he added, looking questioningly at the blonde.
Malfoy sighed.
“Let’s just say you won’t be seeing me here next summer.”
The two exchanged confused glances but didn’t push further, evidently concluding it would lead nowhere.
The rest of the trip was uncomfortable for Harry. Occasionally, he shifted around with the jolts of the train, trying to find a more comfortable position while being careful not to let the remaining bags fall on his classmates.
After a while, Harry stopped paying close attention to what the trio was discussing. Most of the time, he found himself listening to school gossip instead of anything that could substantiate his theory. Maybe Zabini and Parkinson weren’t involved with the Death Eaters, he thought, but they must know a thing or two about Malfoy that would help him. After all, they were his best friends, weren’t they?
At least, they seemed to be.
Malfoy wasn’t talking much either, Harry noted. Or rather, he’d stopped talking. Throughout the journey, he rarely engaged in the topic being discussed, usually by Pansy, listening to his friends more than he actually participated—or at least pretending to listen. Most of the time, he was, as Parkinson had mentioned, lost in his own thoughts, gazing out the window or tracing tiny floating stars that twirled at the end of his wand as he moved it lightly.
At one point, Malfoy was left alone at his table.
Parkinson had left to chat about who knows what with other Slytherin girls, while Blaise had vanished into the other compartments on his own business. Briefly alone, Malfoy took out a book from his bag and began reading it with a certain intensity.
Harry tried to stretch further to get a glimpse of the book’s content, but without success; he was too far away. So he looked at the cover Malfoy was concealing with one hand, which held the book, and noticed what looked like stars on a night sky.
With little else to do, Harry stayed there, watching intently as Malfoy read with focus.
One thing became apparent as he observed: Malfoy had a lot of habits while reading.
His leg bounced anxiously at times, only to stop when he tucked a blonde strand behind his ear to avoid obstructing his view. He also had a habit of biting his nails—never to the point of breaking or damaging them, but always placing them between his teeth at some point. He stretched frequently as well, continuously shifting into positions he deemed more comfortable, repeating the cycle unconsciously.
Eventually, he closed the book, marking his place with a red bookmark and storing it away. He took a deep breath, leaning his head back against the corner of the seat, closing his eyes.
Harry watched this with a certain curiosity, thoroughly wishing he could pay dearly to know what was going through Malfoy’s mind at that moment. Perhaps speaking Parseltongue wouldn’t be enough for this particular serpent.
The journey ended on this note. At some point, which Harry couldn’t quite remember, Parkinson and Zabini had returned to their original seats, maintaining a brief conversation of which he couldn’t make out much.
It had grown dark, he realized, and the train was stopping. Amid the lively voices of different ages, he could hear Hermione and Ron asking about his whereabouts, though none of the answers seemed satisfying.
The train was emptying now, the remaining compartments taking on a somewhat eerie aspect.
“Let’s go,” Zabini’s voice could be heard as he stood up to leave the compartment with Parkinson.
“You go ahead. I’ll come after,” Malfoy said, a certain sharpness noticeable in his tone.
They didn’t question him, simply left for their destinations, leaving Malfoy there “alone.”
Malfoy got up, closing the compartment door behind him and pulling the curtains shut with a wave of his wand.
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you that spying is rude, Potter?” He turned, pointing his wand at the luggage rack where Harry was hiding. “Petrifi—”
“Expelliarmus!” Harry shouted, quickly slipping out from under his cloak and jumping down from the luggage rack to stand in the aisle. Malfoy’s wand flew between the seats to Harry’s left, and he kept his own wand pointed directly at Malfoy. “Don’t you dare talk about her! She’s nothing like you or your father,” he hissed, spitting out the words venomously at the blonde.
Malfoy’s eyes gleamed, Harry noticed—gleamed with rage and hatred, with an expression that couldn’t hide his true feelings. And Harry liked it; oh, how he loved to see Malfoy so raw and utterly defenseless.
Malfoy bared his teeth, almost like a dog warning not to get too close, and Harry smirked, mocking his anger.
“AAAHH!!” The blonde shouted, lunging at Harry with just his hands, knocking him to the floor with all the strength he could muster.
Harry couldn’t react in time before Malfoy tackled him, and with the blonde on top of him, he had little choice but to dodge a punch aimed at him.
He tried to point his wand at Malfoy, who quickly pushed his hand back to the floor, sending a silvery flash toward the compartment walls, the windows briefly lighting up.
Malfoy forced Harry’s wrist against the floor, making him release his wand. Harry glared at him with hatred, clenching his fist and landing a punch to the right side of Malfoy’s face, causing him to flinch, and Harry used that moment to switch positions, pinning him down.
It wasn’t a very powerful punch, Harry admitted to himself; his left hand wasn’t strong enough to really hurt Malfoy, but it was enough to throw him off for a second. He pressed Malfoy’s arms down against the crimson carpet of the train and looked directly into his face, which was trying to wriggle free, the steely grey eyes flashing with pure rage.
“Don’t worry about your daddy, Malfoy; you’ll be joining him soon enough!” he spat, watching Malfoy freeze for a moment, his breathing growing increasingly irregular.
Harry glanced up at his wand, which lay just above Malfoy’s head. He released Malfoy’s wrists and lunged for it, falling beside Malfoy’s body as the blonde quickly jumped on top of him again, reaching for the wand.
Harry tried to aim the wand at Malfoy, who knocked the tip out of line, another flash of light hitting the ceiling of the compartment.
Malfoy landed a punch on Harry’s hip, making him groan in pain and tighten his abdominal muscles. Harry gritted his teeth, trying to push the blonde away with his legs as Malfoy continued reaching for his wand.
“You’ll pay for this, Potter! My father’s in prison because of you!”
“Where he belongs!” Harry shouted, rage making his blood boil.
For a moment, Malfoy stopped and looked at Harry, his blue-grey irises meeting Harry’s green ones, and he could swear he saw tears gathering in Malfoy’s eyes.
“You son of a…” Malfoy muttered before landing another punch, this time on Harry’s face.
Harry took advantage of the moment, pushing Malfoy aside with his now-free hand and preparing for another punch with his right hand, aiming squarely at Malfoy’s face.
Malfoy groaned in pain, his face forced sideways, opening a small cut on his cheek that let blood trickle between his teeth.
He spat, and the red of his blood mixed with the crimson carpet beneath them, blonde strands falling messily over his forehead as he wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
Malfoy lunged, throwing himself on top of Harry, who, in turn, scrambled backward, attempting to distance himself from the taller boy, reaching for his wand as he did so. Feeling the familiar weight of the wand in his hand, he gripped it tightly, pointing it at Malfoy, who froze midway in his approach.
They stopped, with labored breaths filling the space between them, their gazes full of hatred, sharp as if ready to pounce at the slightest provocation. Harry tightened his grip on his wand, lowering his gaze as Malfoy slowly raised his hands beside his head in a show of truce.
Both of them stood up slowly, never breaking eye contact, as saliva gathered inside Harry’s mouth, forcing him to swallow hard.
Malfoy glanced to the side between the seats, trying to locate his own wand.
“Don’t even think about it,” Harry warned, watching every small movement of the blonde as if reading a book.
Malfoy lowered his hands, placing them back beside his body, and Harry moved forward as if he were about to cast a spell but paused.
“What are you going to do? Kill me?” Malfoy said suddenly, challenging Harry with his foggy blue eyes.
“I could,” Harry muttered, cursing himself mentally for the uncertainty in his voice.
“Go ahead, then.” Malfoy encouraged, raising his chin in his usual haughty manner. “We both know you want to.”
Harry’s brow furrowed again, but this time he didn’t look at Malfoy—he looked at the tip of his wand, doubt clouding his mind. He turned back to Malfoy, but his gaze was no longer so sure when facing the blonde.
He wondered to himself what he should do, what was the right thing to do. If Malfoy truly was one of them, then…
The compartment door suddenly swung open, causing Harry to turn around quickly, revealing a girl with long blonde hair and a gentle smile on her lips.
“Hello, Harry. Draco.”
“Luna...? What are you…?”
A quick movement made Harry turn back around. Malfoy had retrieved his wand, now pointing it directly at him, his gaze darting between Harry and Luna.
Harry was overtaken by the instinct to protect and stretched his arm out in front of Luna, who already had her own wand in hand but seemed more interested in the compartment’s surroundings than in the standoff. She then pushed her glasses onto the top of her head, smiling sweetly at both boys.
“You know, this place is full of Wrackspurts, especially in your head, Draco,” she declared, returning her lenses to her face.
She walked toward him, passing by Harry’s outstretched arm and stopping about a meter in front of the blonde, studying him with her glasses.
Malfoy, on the other hand, looked at her as if she were a revolting insect and took a step back, his gaze shifting between Luna and Harry, before finally lowering his wand, brushing off some imaginary dust from his blazer.
“This isn’t over, Potter.” He turned sharply to Harry before quickly making his way out of the compartment. “Out of my way, weirdo,” he sneered at Luna, who stepped aside to avoid being pushed.
Harry watched him leave the compartment, still holding his wand, and only after he was sure that the blonde head wasn’t coming back did he put it away, turning to Luna.
“Luna... I…”
“Your head’s full of them too, Harry,” she declared, removing her glasses and placing them back into her bag. Harry looked at her, puzzled. “Wrackspurts. They mess up thoughts, you know?”
Harry laughed incredulously, deciding not to question her further.
“Thanks, Luna,” he said, smiling at his friend, who returned the gesture.
The two left the train, which had nearly taken Malfoy and Harry back to London, and made their way to the carriages that would take them to Hogwarts. The dense forest surrounding the narrow dirt road added a tense atmosphere to the darkness around them, softened only by a faint lamp hanging beside the gate where Professor Flitwick awaited them impatiently.
He could see that Malfoy was farther ahead, seeming to argue with Snape about something.
“What happened to your face?” asked Snape, with the routine sharpness Harry was more than used to—and tired of.
“Nothing, I already told you I’m fine,” Malfoy dismissed, pulling away from Severus’s wand.
“This ‘nothing’ certainly made quite the mark,” Snape scoffed, turning to Harry, who had just arrived, causing Malfoy to roll his eyes.
Harry clenched his hand into a fist, digging his nails into his palm. Malfoy turned to him.
“Nice face, Potter,” the blonde teased, striding alongside Snape, who turned with a sweep of his cape.
Harry narrowed his eyes, releasing his fist and trying to stay calm.
He sighed, turning to Luna, who still had an amused smile on her lips.
“Do you want me to fix that?” she asked, still wearing that playful and kind expression on her face. “I think you look more charming like this, but I can do something about it if you want.”
“You’ve handled a lot of injuries?”
“I helped Neville heal a knee scrape once; it can’t be much different,” she assured him, pulling out her wand and smiling at Harry.
He sighed, nodding for her to go ahead, feeling his face sting in the places where it was bruised, the purplish marks fading and his cuts closing.
A second later, he was healed, with only dry patches of blood left around his mouth.
“So, how do I look?”
“Exceptionally normal,” she said, which was all Harry needed to hear.
They headed to Hogwarts on top of a rather dirty carriage. The old, seemingly fragile wood didn’t make for the most comfortable seating, and Harry could feel his legs going numb with each bump they crossed. He was grateful, however, that Luna hadn’t asked questions about his and Malfoy’s scuffle or why they were rolling around on the floor like animals. In any case, she seemed far more interested in her strange glasses than in Harry’s latest exploits.
His face still hurt, but the piece of cloth Luna had offered him helped clean up some of the stains, at least the ones that weren’t all over his shirt and sweater.
The journey was hard enough to endure, but entering Hogwarts made it even worse. As soon as he parted ways with his friend, who went off to her quarters in Ravenclaw, he noticed a lot of people staring at him, whispering as he walked quickly to his dormitory to change into his uniform. Neither Ron nor Hermione were in the common room, which gave him a great sense of relief, as he wouldn’t have to explain the blood and bruises. He quickly changed, avoiding his classmates as much as possible, and made his way to the Great Hall.
He scanned the crowded tables of the Hall, looking for Hermione and Ron.
It wasn’t hard to find them, given Ron’s unmistakable red head as he eagerly dug into his food, practically eating with his hands. Harry made his way to sit beside Hermione, hoping the barrage of questions wouldn’t be as overwhelming as he imagined.
“Your friend disappeared, and here you are eating as if nothing happened!” Hermione was scolding Ron, hitting him with one of her books.
“He didn’t disappear; he’s right there, you lunatic!” Ron defended, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and finishing a bite of pie.
Hermione turned to see Harry, shoulders hunched, walking quickly toward the empty seat beside her, pressing a small napkin to his nose.
“Is that… blood?”
“It’s always blood,” Ron confirmed, turning back to his food.
Harry sat down, hurriedly trying to smile at his friends, only to immediately regret it when he saw Hermione’s face grow more serious by the second.
“What happened to your face?!” she asked, pulling Harry’s chin to the side to examine the newly—and poorly—healed bruises courtesy of Luna. He quickly pulled away from Hermione’s hands, pressing the cloth back to dry the rest of the blood from his lip.
“Not now…”
“So, did the other guy end up dead?” Ginny interrupted, smiling playfully, while Ron snickered at her side.
Hermione glared at the two disapprovingly.
“What?!” Ron protested, meeting Hermione’s gaze, which was ready to kill.
Harry opened his mouth, intending to mediate the discussion, when he was interrupted by a wave of long white hair making an extravagant entrance into the Hall.
The silver owl-shaped podium in front of Dumbledore spread its wings as if awakening from a long, deep sleep, its imposing chest swelling before freezing back into place as everyone turned to watch the Headmaster begin his speech for another school year.
The silence that took over the Great Hall was filled with anticipation, with everyone pausing to listen to what Dumbledore had to say. After so much turmoil, everyone seemed eager to hear something positive from the person they trusted most in that place.
After introducing the new Potions professor, however, the Headmaster’s speech was not the uplifting one everyone hoped for. He looked over the students seated in the Great Hall with a weighted expression, as if warning them all, “Dark times are coming; be prepared.” Times that Harry knew all too well.
The speech ended in uncomfortable silence, followed by slow applause.
“Pfft, very uplifting,” Ron muttered, clapping along with the other students.
Harry mentally agreed with him, stopping his applause with a sudden urge to look back. Across the Hall, at the Slytherin table amidst a sea of students, Draco Malfoy sat with his head resting on one hand. He was looking directly at Harry, holding eye contact with an intensity that made Harry feel a strange sense of nausea.
Harry unconsciously held his breath for a second, and before the blonde looked away, he felt something twist in his stomach as if all the acid within him had erupted, flooding his entire body.
Malfoy, on the other hand, got up with his gaze lowered, said something to his friends, and headed toward what Harry guessed were the Slytherin quarters.
Harry followed him with his eyes until the blonde’s head disappeared through the Great Hall doors. It wasn’t long before the other students finished their meals and followed suit.
After several scoldings from Hermione, along with playful questions from Ron about how bruised Malfoy’s face had ended up, Harry finally settled onto the soft, cushioned couch in front of the Gryffindor common room fireplace, unable to stop himself from wondering what the blonde was doing at that very moment.
He looked up at the staircase leading to his dormitory and thought of the magical piece of parchment locked in his trunk—it would be much easier to find out what Malfoy was up to in the dark, away from the watchful eyes of teachers and prefects, with the help of that map.
An itch spread across his palm, the urge to prove that Malfoy was just like his father consuming him, making him restless again.
“It’s your move, mate.”
He was pulled back to the present by Ron, seated in front of him on the floor near the fireplace. In front of them, on the coffee table, a wizard’s chessboard awaited his command.
His eyes drifted around the room, pausing on Hermione seated in an armchair nearby, deeply absorbed in one of her books.
He sighed, adjusting himself on the couch.
***
Those two months of classes that had passed were definitely not as Harry had imagined. Hermione barely had time to talk with him and Ron, as she was so focused on her OWLs. Even though Ron kept insisting that they still had over a year to prepare, she spent hours upon hours in the library tirelessly getting ahead on all her subjects.
Harry, too, found himself with a challenging task, and his frequent visits to the Headmaster's office did nothing to ease his anxiety.
His focus, he reminded himself, was to win Slughorn's trust as soon as possible, and now, with that old, annotated book in Potions class, that’s exactly what he was doing.
His potion had turned out perfectly thanks to the unknown author, and the Felix Felicis weighed pleasantly in the inner pocket of his robe, along with the book he constantly carried with him.
However, leaving Slughorn’s office without any useful information didn’t keep his spirits high, and frustration nearly consumed him, especially with the upcoming tryouts for the new Gryffindor Keeper.
Now, back in his bed watching Malfoy on the Marauder's Map pacing back and forth in front of the Room of Requirement, Harry felt a tingling sensation in his hands and feet.
“Do you think I should practice more?” Ron’s question snapped Harry out of his reverie, blinking in confusion. He turned to his friend on the next bed over, noticing the faint glow of Lumos on Ron's wand.
“Sorry?”
“For the tryouts, mate.” Ron huffed, sitting up with a heavy sigh. “I don’t think I stand a chance against that arrogant git.” He sighed, his shoulders slumping as he turned his wand over in his hands, the Lumos dimming.
Harry took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as his glasses slid down. He adjusted himself on his bed, crossing his legs on the sheets and closing the map.
“Don’t think that way, mate,” Harry encouraged, giving Ron his best reassuring smile and leaning forward to place a hand on his shoulder. “Our team would be lucky to have you, trust me.”
Ron gave a weak smile, searching Harry’s face as if looking for some hint of a lie.
“Do you really think so?”
Harry nodded, turning back to his bed and reopening the Marauder’s Map.
“Do you think Hermione will be there?”
Harry glanced over at him again. Ron was now lying down, staring at the canopy above his bed, his wand lazily spinning between his fingers.
“Of course she will. She wouldn’t miss it for anything,” Harry assured him, returning to the map and scanning the halls for Malfoy. Not seeing him in front of the Room of Requirement sent a chill through Harry’s body, suddenly filling him with a sense of urgency.
“Yeah, I hope so… Hey, mate, where are you going?” Ron asked abruptly, watching Harry jump up and head to his trunk.
“Um… I….” Harry looked around as if searching for an answer in the walls of the dormitory, his anxiety growing with every minute as he glanced at the map again. “Bathroom! I need to go to the bathroom!” he blurted out suddenly, hurrying to close his trunk and make for the stairs leading down to the common room.
“And you need the cloak for that?”
Harry didn’t reply, just shut the dormitory door with a muffled thud and rushed down the steps two at a time, his hand sliding along the wall for balance.
He entered the common room cautiously, looking around. Once he was certain no one was there, he slipped out of the tower and into the hallways.
The cloak brushed against his feet as he walked as quietly as possible through the stone corridors, his eyes shifting between his path, dimly lit by the faint Lumos on his wand, and the map in his hand.
After avoiding the names of every prefect, teacher, and even Auror brought in to reinforce school security, he stopped. An arched stone entryway framing a small door leading to a broom closet held his attention. The entrance to the Room of Requirement.
Draco Malfoy, supposedly, would be inside, doing who knows what.
Harry stood there, taking in every small detail of the wall before him, each weathered stone brick. His heart pounded in his chest; what exactly was he supposed to do next? Entering and confronting Malfoy would, in theory, be the most logical course of action, he knew.
Suddenly, Harry grew restless, his mind racing with plans on how to catch Malfoy in the act, something that would give him solid proof of what the blonde was up to.
He leaned against a nearby pillar, sighing heavily; his glasses slid down his nose as he passed a hand over his eyes. Adjusting his grip on the invisibility cloak, he pointed his wand to check the map, and his heart skipped a beat.
Malfoy’s name was moving on the other side of the castle, near one of the exits from the Room of Requirement. Harry jumped up, tracing Malfoy’s name with his finger; he was headed toward the corridors near the Ravenclaw dorms, and Harry barely held his breath before taking off, running through the castle’s corridors.
His hurried, rhythmic footsteps echoed all around, any worry about the noise pushed to the back of his mind. All he could hear was the steady pounding of his own heartbeat, deafening and filling his veins; Harry couldn’t bear the thought of Malfoy doing something to one of the students. He couldn’t let that happen.
Gradually, his pace slowed as he neared the corridors leading to Ravenclaw Tower, his heartbeat still racing to supply blood to every inch of his body. He checked the map once more, scanning each of the names in the tower, but Malfoy was nowhere to be found.
He blinked. Again. And again. It was as if his blood had frozen in his veins, unable to reach his brain; he felt dizzy, likely from the sudden sprint, and his head throbbed. He placed a hand on his scar, massaging the area, and continued with slower steps.
Checking the Marauder’s Map once more, he saw Malfoy’s name higher up—in one of the towers, but not the one he had thought.
Malfoy was standing in the Astronomy Tower, near the edge of the parapet.
Harry furrowed his brow, doubting his own eyes, but he headed toward the tower anyway.
Now calmer as he climbed the spiral staircase to the tower, Harry noticed just how cold it was that night and how the green of summer had gradually given way to the red and gold of autumn. Many clouds covered the night sky, but the moon’s silvery light was still powerfully visible from there.
He ascended the staircase with extra care, his breathing becoming heavier with each step. According to the map, Malfoy was at the top.
Whispering a quiet “Nox,” he extinguished his wand and reached the final step, greeted by the clear sight of the moon. A halo surrounded its circumference, giving it rings, as if it wore a crown; the clouds, thinner now, parted only around it, bathing everything in silver-blue light. It was beautiful, and Harry found himself lost in that view for a moment.
When Malfoy moved near the parapet, Harry blinked, focusing on the blonde, who was examining something in his hands. Under the moonlight, he looked deathly pale, his hair shining silver, casting shadows of blue and silver. A cold breeze lifted a few of his blonde strands.
Harry adjusted himself under the cloak, his heart racing as he carefully moved further into the room. The map now felt heavier in his sweater pocket, his wand slick in his sweaty palm.
He sidestepped the large telescope in the center of the room, one hand resting lightly on the cold metal. Now, standing in front, he could clearly see what Malfoy held with such care. It was a necklace, with several dark green stones so deep in color that they almost blended with the night sky. It lay atop a red cloth that Malfoy used to hold it, as though not wanting the material to touch his skin.
Tightening his grip on his wand, Harry took another step.
But he didn’t get far.
A creak from the floorboard beneath him made him freeze. Cursing internally, he held his breath, hearing Malfoy’s sharp intake of breath as he turned.
“Who’s there?!” he demanded, his voice sharp, wand pointing in all directions.
When no answer came, Malfoy began scanning the room with his gaze, actively searching for any intruder in his private space.
Maybe if he stayed completely still, Malfoy would think he was hearing things, or that it was just the wind whistling in his ears.
Apparently, Harry was right.
Malfoy spent a few more moments staring directly at the room’s entrance, his brows knitted and his breathing uneven. He hurriedly wrapped the necklace in the blood-red fabric and shrank it to fit into his pants pocket. Then he slumped heavily onto the small raised platform in front of the tower's parapet, letting out a loud sigh, running his hands over his face.
Then Malfoy stared down at the wooden floor, his wand loosely aimed in the same direction. He lazily spun it, causing tiny shimmering particles to emerge from its tip, spreading into the air and gradually fading away.
From that angle, now facing him, Harry noticed the dark circles under Malfoy’s eyes; he looked exhausted.
Harry had never seen Malfoy like this, with his shoulders slumped, sitting in a position that wasn’t rigidly straight, his lips pressed into a line so thin he might as well not have had any.
The grip on Harry's wand loosened unconsciously, and a strange feeling twisted in his stomach. This wasn’t the Draco Malfoy he knew. A fleeting urge to reach out and touch Malfoy's shoulder vanished as quickly as it appeared, remembering how distraught Ron had seemed made Harry push the thought away.
He couldn’t forget who Malfoy was, not even under a sullen frown.
Just as Harry was about to approach, a sudden flapping of wings startled him.
An owl, dark brown with a puffy chest, perched on the parapet railing, hooting to announce its arrival. Malfoy quickly turned his attention to the small bird, jumping up and hurrying toward it with a new sense of urgency and concern in his gaze.
The owl had a small piece of parchment tied to one of its legs, which it stretched out for Malfoy as he approached. He carefully unfastened the note, quickly scanning its contents, and his worried expression shifted to one of shock. He folded it back up.
One of his pale hands immediately flew to his hair, fingers raking through the blond strands and messing up his previously neat hairstyle. His other hand, still holding the note, was trembling.
The oppressive silence that filled the space left Harry with that familiar itch in his palms; he wanted nothing more than to snatch that letter from Malfoy’s hands and hex him to Merlin knows where just to read its contents, but he stayed there, watching Malfoy’s every movement with eyes full of curiosity. His own heartbeat and breathing drowned out everything else, making him even more anxious.
The owl’s hooting startled him nearly to death.
Not just him, but apparently Malfoy as well. The blonde pointed his wand at the bird in alarm, his breathing ragged in short gasps from his chest; the letter was now crumpled in his fingers.
The owl, irritated, hooted again and flapped its wings, moving aside to distance itself from Malfoy.
“I must’ve gone completely mad,” Malfoy muttered so softly that Harry barely thought he’d heard it. He approached the now disgruntled owl again and reached out to gently stroke its head, causing the previously menacing bird to soften under his touch.
The corners of Malfoy’s lips seemed to curve into a faint smile, but just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished when the owl flew off.
Malfoy stayed there a few more moments, bathed in silver and blue light, staring at the horizon with eyes that showed nothing but exhaustion, then glancing once more at the letter in his hand. Harry thought of approaching him, perhaps to see what Malfoy was reading so intently, but he dismissed the idea when the blonde made the first move, this time heading toward the exit of the tower.
Harry watched him descend the stairs below, and now it was Harry’s turn to gaze at the nighttime view of Hogwarts. He emerged from under the cloak, feeling the cold breeze brush against his face and sending chills down his spine.
He glanced at the Marauder’s Map once again, his eyes quickly finding the Gryffindor common room. Ron was there, seated by the fireplace.
He let out a heavy sigh, slipping the cloak back on and taking one last look at the scene before leaving the tower.
The clouds had once again covered the moon.