Brewing Trouble (Harry's POV)
Harry was dreading Potions class again. After the tense and confusing moments with Draco during their last project, he had spent the night tossing and turning, trying to convince himself that it was nothing. That there wasn’t anything unusual about a little competitive tension. Except, it wasn’t just that, and deep down, he knew it.
When he arrived at the dungeon classroom the next morning, his eyes immediately sought out Draco. He was already seated, his silver-blond hair catching the dim light. There was an air of calm about him, but Harry could feel it—the tension simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to explode again.
“Morning, Potter,” Draco drawled as Harry took the seat next to him. His tone was casual, but his eyes glinted with something unreadable. “Ready to not make a fool of yourself today?”
Harry’s heart skipped a beat at the familiar, biting tone. There it was again, the same push-and-pull, that strange energy between them. “As long as you can stay out of my way,” he shot back, though there was less venom in his voice than usual.
Professor Snape began his lesson, instructing the class on brewing a particularly tricky Elixir of Growth. It required precise measurements and perfect timing, and with Draco as his partner again, Harry was determined not to let their earlier tension mess things up.
But that was easier said than done.
As they worked, the tension between them only seemed to grow, manifesting in small gestures. Draco’s hands brushed against Harry’s as they measured out ingredients, lingering for just a second longer than necessary. Every time they exchanged glances, the intensity in Draco’s eyes made Harry’s pulse quicken, and it was becoming increasingly harder to focus on the task at hand.
“You’re going to spill it again,” Draco whispered, leaning in close as Harry carefully poured a vial of liquid into the cauldron.
Harry tensed at how close Draco was—close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off him. “I’m not going to spill anything,” he muttered, though his hands shook slightly under Draco’s gaze.
“Right,” Draco smirked, but his voice was softer now, almost teasing in a way that sent shivers down Harry’s spine. “Just like last time.”
“I said I’ve got it,” Harry said, a little sharper this time, trying to regain control over himself.
They continued working in a strained silence, and as they added the final ingredient, the potion began to bubble and swirl, a soft glow emanating from the cauldron. Harry could feel Draco’s gaze on him, and when he glanced up, he saw something flicker in those silver eyes.
Was it amusement? Curiosity? Or something else entirely?
“You look like you’ve got something to say,” Harry finally muttered, unable to stand the tension any longer. “Spit it out, Malfoy.”
Draco hesitated for a fraction of a second, his expression unreadable. Then he leaned in, just enough that Harry could feel the space between them shrink. “It’s nothing, Potter,” Draco whispered, his voice smooth and unsettling. “I’m just wondering how long you can keep pretending.”
Harry’s heart raced. “Pretending? What the hell are you talking about?”
Draco tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
For a moment, Harry felt like the floor had dropped out from under him. His mind raced, scrambling to understand what Draco meant, but his thoughts were a jumbled mess. Was Draco hinting at the strange tension between them? Or was he just playing another game, trying to get under Harry’s skin like always?
Before Harry could respond, Snape’s voice cut through the thick silence between them. “Time’s up! Bring your potions to the front.”
Harry hastily bottled their potion, his hands still shaking slightly from the closeness of Draco and the implications of his words. As they approached Snape’s desk, he could feel Draco’s gaze burning into the back of his neck, as though he was daring Harry to acknowledge whatever was happening between them.
After class, Harry quickly gathered his things and headed for the door, desperate to get away from the confusing mess of emotions swirling in his chest. But just as he was about to escape, a hand grabbed his arm. He turned around, expecting to see Ron or Hermione, but instead, he found Draco standing there, his expression unreadable.
“Potter,” Draco said, his voice low and serious now. Gone was the playful teasing, replaced with something far more unsettling. “We need to talk.”
Harry blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in Draco’s demeanor. “Talk? About what?”
Draco glanced around, making sure no one was watching. The other students had already filed out of the classroom, leaving them alone. “You’re not as oblivious as you pretend to be,” Draco said quietly, his eyes locking onto Harry’s with an intensity that made Harry’s heart pound in his chest. “You feel it, too. Don’t you?”
Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He tried to deny it, tried to brush off Draco’s words as just another attempt to mess with him, but something about the look in Draco’s eyes stopped him. There was no malice there, no mocking smirk. Only the truth.
“I—” Harry started, but the words caught in his throat. He didn’t know what to say. Because, deep down, he knew Draco was right. He had felt it too—the strange pull between them, the tension that went beyond mere rivalry. But acknowledging it was terrifying.
Draco’s grip on his arm tightened slightly, his gaze unwavering. “It’s not just me, Potter,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And you know it.”
Harry swallowed hard, his mind racing. This was the last thing he had expected, the last thing he wanted to confront. But now, standing there, so close to Draco, the truth felt inescapable.
Before Harry could respond, Draco let go of his arm and stepped back, his expression guarded once more. “Think about it, Potter,” he said quietly before turning on his heel and walking out of the classroom, leaving Harry standing there, stunned and speechless.