A moment in the moonlight
. A moment in the moonlight
The night was unnaturally quiet. The air in the Hogwarts courtyard was thick with tension, as if the ancient walls knew something important was about to happen. Harry Potter had come outside to clear his head. The war was over, but the echoes of the battles still haunted him. Hogwarts was rebuilding, its broken towers and shattered windows slowly returning to their former glory. The castle grounds, however, still bore scars—both visible and invisible. He stood near the edge of the courtyard, gazing up at the night sky. Stars blinked above, distant and serene, untouched by the chaos he had lived through. Harry wished he could feel that kind of peace, even just for a moment. But it eluded him, just as it had ever since the final battle. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps broke the silence. Harry tensed, instinctively reaching for his wand, but stopped short when a familiar voice cut through the air. "Potter." Harry turned to see Draco Malfoy standing in the shadows, his silver-blond hair catching the moonlight. There was something different about him now—gone was the cocky swagger that had once defined him. The war had changed them all, and Draco Malfoy was no exception. "Malfoy," Harry replied, his voice guarded. They hadn’t spoken much since the battle. Draco had been exonerated for his role, but there was a heavy weight between them—years of rivalry, misunderstanding, and perhaps something else neither of them had dared to name. Draco stepped closer, his eyes fixed on Harry. There was a hesitation in his movements, as though he wasn’t sure why he had come out here or what he wanted to say. "Why are you out here?" Draco asked, his voice softer than Harry expected. Harry shrugged, turning back to the sky. "Couldn’t sleep. You?" Draco’s lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t answer right away, but Harry could feel his gaze lingering. It made him uneasy, though not in the way he was used to. This was something different—a strange, electric tension that crackled in the air between them. Finally, Draco spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wanted to talk to you." Harry blinked in surprise and turned to face Draco fully. "About what?" Draco’s eyes flickered, a war waging behind them. He looked as though he were battling something inside himself, something he wasn’t ready to admit. But then, with a sharp exhale, he stepped even closer, until they were barely an arm’s length apart. "Everything," Draco said, his voice tight. "The war. The way things ended. Us." Harry’s heart skipped a beat. "Us?" "Yes, Potter," Draco snapped, though the venom in his voice was half-hearted. "You and me. Don’t act like you haven’t felt it too." Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He had felt something, but he had never allowed himself to think too deeply about it. He had buried it, locked it away beneath the surface of their rivalry, their differences. But now, standing here with Draco in the pale moonlight, it was impossible to ignore. "I—" Harry started, but before he could form another word, Draco stepped forward, closing the distance between them. And then, without warning, Draco’s lips were on his. The world seemed to stop. For a brief, suspended moment, nothing else existed—no war, no rivalry, no confusion. Just the warmth of Draco’s lips against his own, the unexpected softness of the kiss, and the undeniable pull that had been simmering between them for so long. Harry’s eyes fluttered shut, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself go. His hand reached out instinctively, gripping the fabric of Draco’s robes, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, hesitant at first but quickly growing in intensity, as if all the years of unspoken tension were pouring out in this one moment. When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other as they stood there in the moonlit courtyard, trying to process what had just happened. Draco was the first to speak, his voice barely above a whisper. "I hated you for so long, Potter. I told myself it was hate. But maybe it wasn’t." Harry swallowed, his heart still racing. "Yeah. Maybe it wasn’t." For a long moment, neither of them spoke. They just stood there, the weight of their history hanging in the air, and yet, for the first time, there was no animosity between them. Just understanding. And something else—something fragile and new, but undeniably real. Finally, Draco pulled away, though his hand lingered on Harry’s arm for just a moment longer than necessary. "We should… go inside," he said, his voice unsteady. Harry nodded, though his mind was still reeling. "Yeah. We should." As they walked back toward the castle, side by side, Harry couldn’t help but glance at Draco. His heart was still pounding, but there was a strange sense of calm settling over him. Whatever this was—whatever they had just started—it was something neither of them had expected. But perhaps, Harry thought, as they disappeared into the shadowed halls of Hogwarts, it was exactly what they both needed.