The Breaking Point (Harry and Draco’s POV)
The days after Draco’s confrontation with Harry dragged on in an unbearable blur. Draco could feel the distance widening between them—each day they avoided each other, each class they sat through without so much as a glance exchanged. It was infuriating, and Draco hated the constant tension gnawing at him. He wasn’t used to this feeling—this uncertainty that seemed to follow him like a shadow, making everything seem more complicated than it needed to be.
He wasn’t sleeping well, either. Every time he closed his eyes, the image of Harry’s face haunted him—those moments in the corridor, the look in Harry’s eyes, the frustration and confusion that mirrored his own. Draco hated the way it all made him feel—vulnerable, out of control. He had always prided himself on being calm, composed, but now, everything was unravelling.
Harry’s POV
Harry had been doing everything in his power to pretend that conversation with Draco hadn’t happened. He threw himself into Quidditch practice, spent more time in the library with Hermione and Ron, and even went on extra patrols as part of his duties as a prefect. But no matter how hard he tried, Draco was still there—lingering in the back of his mind, an ever-present distraction he couldn’t shake.
He knew it wasn’t just about their rivalry anymore. Harry could feel it in the way his stomach twisted whenever Draco was nearby, the way his pulse quickened when they accidentally brushed against each other in Potions. He hated it—hated the uncertainty, the confusion, the pull he felt every time Draco was around. And yet, no matter how much he tried to deny it, he couldn’t escape the truth: something had changed between them, and Harry didn’t know how to handle it.
Draco’s POV
The breaking point came one evening in the Slytherin common room. Pansy was going on about something meaningless—probably gossip about one of the other houses—while Blaise sat next to her, looking just as bored. Draco sat by the fire, staring into the flames, barely listening. His mind was elsewhere.
"Draco, are you even listening?" Pansy’s voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present.
"What?" Draco asked, blinking at her.
Pansy rolled her eyes. "I said, you’ve been acting strange lately. What’s going on with you?"
Draco tensed, his jaw tightening. "Nothing’s going on," he said quickly, not wanting to have this conversation.
But Pansy wasn’t convinced. "Don’t lie to me," she said, leaning forward and lowering her voice so that only Draco could hear. "Is this about Potter?"
Draco’s heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, he wondered how much Pansy knew. He hadn’t told anyone about what had happened—about the tension that had been building between him and Harry for weeks. But Pansy had always been perceptive, especially when it came to Draco. She could tell something was wrong.
"It’s none of your business, Pansy," Draco said, his voice sharp.
But Pansy didn’t back off. "I saw the way you looked at him in Potions the other day," she said quietly. "Something’s changed between you two. You can deny it all you want, but I know you, Draco. You’re not yourself right now."
Draco clenched his fists, his temper flaring. "Drop it, Pansy."
Pansy raised an eyebrow, but after a moment, she leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. "Fine," she said softly. "But whatever it is, you need to figure it out. You can’t keep going like this."
Draco said nothing. He just stared into the fire, his mind racing. He knew Pansy was right—he couldn’t keep going like this. The tension between him and Harry was becoming unbearable, and the longer he let it fester, the worse it got. Something had to give.
Harry’s POV
A few days later, Harry found himself walking through the corridors after dinner, lost in thought. The castle was quiet, most of the students either in the Great Hall or back in their common rooms, and for once, Harry was grateful for the solitude. He needed space to think, to clear his head.
But as he turned the corner, he froze. Draco was standing in the middle of the corridor, staring out one of the large windows that overlooked the grounds. He looked just as lost in thought as Harry felt, his expression tense and distant.
Harry’s first instinct was to turn around and walk the other way—to avoid another confrontation. But something stopped him. Maybe it was the way Draco looked, so much like the Draco Harry had seen in the Room of Requirement during the war—troubled, conflicted. Or maybe it was the fact that Harry was tired of running, tired of pretending that nothing was wrong.
He took a deep breath and walked forward, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridor.
Draco must have heard him coming, because he turned around, his eyes narrowing when he saw Harry approaching. "Potter," he said, his voice cold but lacking its usual bite.
"Malfoy," Harry replied, stopping a few feet away. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to start this conversation, but he couldn’t just walk away. Not this time.
They stood in silence for a few moments, the tension between them thick and heavy. Finally, Draco broke the silence. "What do you want, Potter?"
Harry hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest. He had spent so long avoiding this, avoiding Draco, but now that he was standing here, face-to-face with him, he couldn’t stop the words from spilling out.
"I don’t know," Harry admitted quietly. "I don’t know what I want. I just… I can’t keep doing this."
Draco’s expression flickered with something—anger, frustration, confusion. "Doing what?"
"This," Harry said, gesturing between them. "Pretending like nothing’s changed. Like everything’s the same as it was before."
Draco’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, Harry thought he was going to snap back with some biting remark. But instead, Draco just stared at him, his expression unreadable.
"What do you think has changed, Potter?" Draco asked, his voice low and dangerous.
Harry swallowed hard, his heart racing. He didn’t know how to put it into words—this strange, confusing pull between them, the way his emotions had twisted into something he didn’t understand. But he couldn’t deny it anymore.
"I don’t know," Harry said honestly. "But I know something has. And I know you feel it too."
Draco’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked like he was about to argue. But then, to Harry’s surprise, Draco’s shoulders sagged, and he let out a long, frustrated breath.
"You think I don’t know that, Potter?" Draco muttered, his voice filled with a bitter edge. "You think I haven’t been trying to figure out what the hell is going on?"
Harry blinked, taken aback by the admission. He had expected Draco to deny everything, to push him away like he always did. But instead, Draco was standing here, admitting that he was just as confused as Harry was.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them was thick with tension, but this time, it wasn’t the angry, volatile tension that usually filled their interactions. It was something else—something unspoken, simmering just beneath the surface.
Finally, Draco spoke again, his voice quieter this time. "What do you want from me, Potter?"
Harry didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t know what he wanted from Draco—didn’t even know what he wanted from himself. All he knew was that he couldn’t keep pretending that everything was normal, because it wasn’t. Not anymore.
"I just want to understand," Harry said softly. "I want to understand why I can’t stop thinking about you."
Draco’s eyes widened slightly, and for a brief moment, Harry saw a flicker of vulnerability in his expression. But then, just as quickly, Draco’s walls came back up, and his face hardened again.
"You’re not the only one, Potter," Draco said quietly, his voice filled with a bitter edge. "But that doesn’t mean we can just…"
He trailed off, his words hanging in the air between them.
Harry took a step closer, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know what he was about to say. But before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out.
"Maybe we should stop fighting it," Harry said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Draco stared at him, his eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and something else—something Harry couldn’t quite place. For a moment, neither of them moved, the tension between them thick and heavy.
But then, before Harry could second-guess himself, he closed the distance between them.