Feelings?
Draco leaned against the cold stone wall of the Slytherin common room, his mind racing. He couldn't get Potter out of his head, and it was starting to drive him mad. The plan had seemed straightforward enough when it was first suggested: get close to Potter, make him trust you, make him... care. It was supposed to be a means to an end, a way to get information, to manipulate him. But now, Draco wasn't so sure.
He'd watched Harry for years, always from a distance. First with disdain, then with something more complicated that he couldn't quite name. He had been taught to hate him, to see him as the enemy, but now that he was forced to get closer, he couldn't help but see something else.
Draco sighed, running a hand through his pale hair. "What the hell am I doing?" he muttered to himself. This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to actually feel anything. But every time he saw Potter—whether it was in class, in the corridors, or even from across the Great Hall—there was this strange pull, something that made his chest tighten and his thoughts jumble.
He had never been good at dealing with emotions. His father had made sure of that. Emotions were weaknesses and vulnerabilities, and Malfoy couldn't afford those. But Harry Potter seemed to defy all the rules that Draco had been taught to live by.
Draco's hand tightened into a fist, his nails digging into his palm. He hated this. Hated feeling like he was spiralling, like the ground was shifting beneath his feet. And most of all, he hated the idea that he might be developing feelings for the one person he was supposed to hate the most.
But what if this wasn't just about the plan anymore? What if, somehow, Harry Potter had managed to get under his skin?
The thought scared him more than anything else. He couldn't let this happen. He wouldn't. Draco Malfoy didn't fall in love, and certainly not with Harry bloody Potter. He'd have to find a way to fix this, to make it right. Because if he didn't... well, he didn't want to think about that.
For now, all he could do was play his part, keep his distance, and hope that whatever he was feeling would pass. Because it had to. It just had to.
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Harry sat at his usual spot in the dimly lit Potions classroom, absently stirring his cauldron. The bubbling liquid inside did nothing to distract him from the thoughts that had been plaguing him since he overheard Malfoy's conversation. The classroom was quieter than usual, but that was only because he was deliberately avoiding looking anywhere near where Malfoy usually sat. He knew if he made eye contact with him, he wouldn't be able to keep the confusion and hurt off his face.
He couldn't stop replaying the words in his mind: Malfoy wants me to fall in love with him. At first, he thought it was some twisted joke, something Malfoy would say to get under his skin. After all, it was Malfoy—his long-time rival, the boy who had made his life at Hogwarts difficult for years. But the more he thought about it, the less sure he became. There was something in Malfoy's tone when he spoke that day, something that didn't quite match up with the usual sneering arrogance.
Harry shook his head, trying to focus on the potion in front of him. He'd agreed to the stupid bet because he thought it was nothing more than a ridiculous game, a way to prove that Malfoy couldn't get to him. It had been a moment of recklessness, a challenge he didn't think twice about accepting. But now, knowing that Malfoy might actually be serious, it made him feel like he'd walked into a trap of his own making.
Why did I agree to that bloody bet? Harry thought, feeling a knot tighten in his stomach. It seemed so trivial at the time, just another way to outsmart Malfoy. But now, it felt like there was more at stake than just a silly wager.
He chanced a quick glance in Malfoy's direction, just to see if he was looking over, but of course, Malfoy's attention was entirely on his potion, his face set in a mask of indifference. Harry couldn't read anything from it, and that frustrated him even more.
What does he really want? The question had been eating away at him ever since that overheard conversation. Was Malfoy just trying to mess with his head? Or was there something else going on, something Harry couldn't quite grasp?
He gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white. He hated this—hated feeling like he didn't know what was happening like he was being manipulated. And the worst part was that a tiny part of him, a part he barely wanted to acknowledge, wondered what it would be like if Malfoy wasn't lying. If, somehow, this wasn't just a game to him.
But that was impossible. It had to be.
Harry forced himself to focus on the potion again, determined to push all thoughts of Malfoy out of his mind. He couldn't afford to let this distract him, not with everything else that was going on. But as the minutes ticked by, the thoughts refused to leave him alone, lingering like a dark cloud over his mind.
He wasn't sure what was worse—the idea that Malfoy might be playing him, or the idea that he might actually be serious.
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Draco hesitated for a moment outside the Potions classroom, his usual swagger faltering as he caught sight of Harry sitting alone at their shared table. He had spent all night thinking about what he had said—what Harry might have overheard—and the thought of facing him now sent a jolt of nervous energy through him. But he couldn't avoid this; he had to play it cool, pretend like everything was as it should be. So, with a deep breath, he pushed open the door and walked in.
The classroom was quieter than usual, the low murmur of students talking in the background doing little to ease the tension Draco felt as he made his way over to Harry. He could feel eyes on him—watching, waiting to see what would happen. But he didn't care about them. His focus was entirely on Harry, who was staring determinedly at his cauldron, clearly trying to avoid looking in Draco's direction.
When he reached the table, Draco slid onto the bench beside Harry, keeping his movements casual, though his heart was pounding. "Potter," he greeted, his voice deliberately smooth, as if nothing had changed between them.
Harry stiffened but didn't look up. "Malfoy."
Draco frowned slightly, the coolness in Harry's tone wasn't unexpected, but it still stung more than he'd like to admit. He knew Harry had heard him—had heard just enough to misunderstand everything. But that was the whole point of the plan, wasn't it? To confuse him, to make him question things. Yet now, sitting next to him, Draco found it hard to stick to the script.
"So," Draco started, trying to sound casual, "how's the potion coming along?"
Harry's jaw tightened as he stirred the contents of his cauldron a little more forcefully than necessary. "Fine."
Draco clenched his fists under the table, fighting the urge to say something—anything—that might clear the air. But he couldn't do that. Not without giving away too much. Instead, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "You seem a bit off today, Potter. Something on your mind?"
Harry's hand stilled, and for a moment, Draco thought he might actually look at him. But then Harry shook his head, his voice clipped. "Nothing I can't handle."
Draco bit back a retort. This was harder than he thought it would be. He had expected Harry to be confused, maybe even angry, but not this... cold. It was like there was a wall between them now, one that hadn't been there before. And it was driving Draco mad.
"Listen, Potter," Draco said, his voice a little softer now, "about that bet..."
Harry finally looked up, his eyes sharp and guarded. "What about it?"
Draco opened his mouth, unsure of what he was even going to say. He knew he should play it off, make a snide remark, keep Harry off balance. But instead, what came out was, "It wasn't supposed to be like this."
Harry's eyes narrowed, suspicion evident. "What do you mean?"
Draco hesitated, feeling like he was standing on the edge of a cliff. One wrong move, and he'd fall. But before he could say anything else, Professor Snape's booming voice interrupted them, calling the class to order.
Draco forced himself to turn back to his cauldron, his heart sinking as he realized the moment had passed. Harry was still watching him, a flicker of confusion in his eyes, but the wall between them remained firmly in place.
As they worked on their potion in silence, Draco couldn't shake the feeling that things were slipping out of his control, and the worst part was that he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to stop it.