Brewing Tensions (Harry’s POV)
Harry’s hands gripped the edge of the wooden desk, his knuckles white as he stared down at the failed potion in front of him. Thick black smoke billowed from the cauldron, filling the dungeon with the acrid stench of singed ingredients. He could feel the eyes of his classmates burning into his back, but none were more piercing than the cold, mocking gaze of Draco Malfoy.
“You’d think the Chosen One could manage a simple Draught of Living Death,” Draco’s voice cut through the air like a blade. He didn’t bother hiding the smirk playing on his lips. “Or is this just another thing you’re hopeless at, Potter?”
Harry’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. He didn’t look up, refusing to give Malfoy the satisfaction of seeing how angry he was. Instead, he muttered a quick cleaning spell under his breath, trying to salvage what little remained of his pride.
“Ten points from Gryffindor, Potter,” Professor Snape’s silky voice added insult to injury as he swept by, his dark eyes narrowing with disapproval. “Perhaps if you spent less time daydreaming and more time paying attention, you wouldn’t embarrass yourself.”
Draco snickered from across the room, his silver eyes gleaming with delight at Harry’s misfortune. Harry could feel the heat rising in his face, but he forced himself to focus on tidying up the mess in front of him. He wasn’t about to give Malfoy the satisfaction of reacting.
The rest of Potions passed in a blur of barely contained frustration. By the time the class ended, Harry’s head was pounding, and his patience had worn thin. As soon as Snape dismissed them, Harry grabbed his bag and stormed out of the dungeon, not even bothering to look back at Draco.
He barely made it halfway down the corridor before a familiar voice called out behind him. “Running off so soon, Potter? What, don’t want to stay and discuss your latest failure?”
Harry stopped in his tracks, his blood boiling. He should have known Draco wouldn’t let it go. Gritting his teeth, he turned around, his green eyes locking onto Draco’s smug expression.
“What do you want, Malfoy?” Harry snapped, his voice low and full of hatred. Draco stepped closer, his pale blond hair gleaming under the dim torchlight of the dungeon corridor. His lips curled into a smirk as he eyed Harry up and down. “Oh, nothing really. Just thought I’d remind you that being a hero doesn’t mean you’re good at everything. In fact, you’re not good at much at all, are you?”
Harry’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. He wanted to punch that smirk right off Draco’s face. Years of resentment bubbled to the surface, memories of every insult, every sneer, every time Draco had gone out of his way to make Harry’s life miserable.
“Why do you care so much?” Harry shot back, his voice rising with frustration. “You can’t seem to go a day without obsessing over what I’m doing. It’s pathetic, really.”
For a moment, Draco’s smirk faltered, but he recovered quickly, his eyes narrowing. He took another step forward, closing the distance between them until they were almost chest to chest. Harry could feel the heat of Draco’s breath, the sharpness in his gaze.
“Obsessed over you?” Draco’s voice was low, venomous. “Don’t flatter yourself, Potter. I just enjoy watching you fail.”
Harry’s heart pounded in his chest, the familiar anger bubbling up inside him. But there was something else there, too—something unsettling that he couldn’t quite place. Draco was standing too close, his voice too low, his eyes too intense. It wasn’t like their usual fights. There was something different, something that made Harry’s skin prickle in a way he didn’t want to acknowledge.
“You’re unbelievable,” Harry muttered, shaking his head as he turned to leave. But Draco wasn’t done. “Oh, I’m unbelievable? This coming from the Boy Who Lived? Tell me, Potter, how does it feel knowing that everyone expects you to be perfect when you can’t even brew a simple potion?”
Harry froze, his back still turned. That familiar knot of frustration tightened in his chest. He wasn’t perfect. He knew that. But hearing Draco say it—mock him for it—was more than he could take. He spun around, his eyes blazing. “Shut up, Malfoy.” Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Make me.”
For a second, Harry considered it. He imagined grabbing Draco by the collar and slamming him against the wall, he imagined Draco's reaction, wiping that smirk off his face once and for all. But something held him back—something that had been nagging at him for weeks now. Draco’s words had been sharper lately, yes, but so had his stares. And the way he always seemed to be wherever Harry was. Like he was watching. Waiting.
Draco took a step closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “What’s the matter, Potter? Don’t have anything to say? Or are you too busy trying to figure me out?”
Harry blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
Draco smirked again, though this time it seemed… different. “You heard me. Maybe I’m not the only one who’s obsessed.”
Harry’s heart skipped a beat, confusion swirling in his mind. Draco’s words were taunting, but there was something beneath them, something Harry couldn’t quite understand. And that terrified him more than any of their usual fights.
Without another word, Draco turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Harry standing in the empty corridor, his thoughts racing. He stood there for a long moment, staring after Draco’s retreating form, feeling the weight of something unspoken hanging in the air between them. What had just happened?
Harry shook his head, trying to clear his mind, but the unsettling feeling remained. It wasn’t just anger anymore. It was something else. Something he wasn’t ready to confront.
As he made his way back to Gryffindor Tower, his thoughts were a jumbled mess of frustration, confusion, and—if he was being honest—curiosity. Why couldn’t he just let it go? Why was Draco always at the center of his thoughts, even when he wasn’t around?
Harry scowled to himself, gripping the strap of his bag tighter as he walked. It didn’t matter. Whatever was going on with Malfoy, he wasn’t going to let it get to him. Not now. Not ever.
But deep down, he knew it wasn’t that simple.