Plan failed.
The next day in Potions class, the atmosphere was thick with tension that only Harry seemed to feel. As students filed into the dungeon, Harry's heart was still heavy with the knowledge he had gained the night before. He tried to shake it off, to focus on the task at hand, but the words he had overheard between Draco and Pansy echoed in his mind, tainting every thought with suspicion and hurt.
Harry took his usual seat near the back of the room, carefully placing his books and supplies on the table, but something was different today. He felt the weight of Draco's gaze from across the room, but he didn't look up. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the blackboard, feigning intense interest in the day's instructions, though he barely registered the words.
When Draco finally approached and slid into the seat next to him, Harry stiffened, his fingers gripping his quill a little too tightly. Draco seemed to notice the change immediately.
"Morning, Potter," Draco said, his tone light as if nothing had changed between them. He pulled out his potions book and set it on the desk, glancing sideways at Harry.
"Potter?" Draco tried again when Harry didn't respond. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Everything alright?"
Harry's jaw tightened, but he didn't turn to face Draco. "Fine," he replied curtly, his eyes still fixed on the board.
Draco frowned, clearly sensing that something was off. He tried again, his voice more earnest this time. "Did I do something? You're acting a bit—"
"Nothing's wrong," Harry interrupted, his voice cold and clipped. He finally turned to look at Draco, his green eyes hard. "Let's just focus on the potion."
Draco blinked, taken aback by the sudden chill in Harry's demeanour. "Right... the potion," he echoed, the confidence in his voice wavering for the first time in a while.
They worked in tense silence as Snape's low, droning instructions filled the room. Harry measured out ingredients with precise, mechanical movements, his mind racing as he tried to keep his emotions in check. He could feel Draco's eyes on him every now and then, searching for a crack in his icy exterior, but Harry refused to give him the satisfaction.
When Draco tried to engage him in small talk, Harry responded with monosyllabic answers or ignored him altogether, his focus entirely on the task at hand. The once easy rhythm they had established was gone, replaced by an uncomfortable silence that neither could break.
Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat, frustration and confusion evident in his expression. "Look, Potter, if something's wrong, just—"
"Draco Malfoy," Snape's voice cut through the tension, sharp and commanding. "Perhaps you'd like to share with the class what is so important that it's distracting you from your work?"
Draco straightened up, his face flushing slightly. "No, Professor. Just... trying to sort out our potion."
Snape's cold gaze swept over both boys before he moved on, but the interruption only deepened the rift between them. Harry felt a surge of anger, not just at Draco, but at himself for letting this affect him so deeply. He had always known Draco was manipulative, yet somehow, he had let himself believe things might be different this time.
As the class went on, Harry continued to ignore Draco, his heart growing heavier with each passing minute. When they finally finished brewing their potion, Harry quickly packed up his things, determined to get away before Draco could try to confront him again.
But just as he was about to leave, Draco reached out and grabbed his arm, forcing Harry to stop. "Potter, wait."
Harry pulled his arm free, his eyes blazing with anger and hurt as he turned to face Draco. "What, Malfoy? What could you possibly want now?"
Draco hesitated, clearly unsure of what to say. The usual smirk was gone, replaced by something almost vulnerable. "I don't know what's going on, but—"
"Save it," Harry snapped, cutting him off. "I don't want to hear it. Let's get this project done and move on."
With that, Harry turned on his heel and walked out of the classroom, leaving Draco standing there, stunned and more alone than he had felt in a long time.
As Harry made his way to his next class, he tried to push the emotions aside, to focus on anything other than the betrayal he felt. But deep down, he knew things would never be the same between them. The fragile trust they had started to build had been shattered, and Harry wasn't sure it could ever be repaired.
----------------------
Draco lay hopelessly on one of the many sofas in the Slytherin common. He didn't know why Potter had become so stubborn with him all of a sudden, Merlin why is this so difficult?
Pansy saw Draco in his pathetic state and chose to be a good friend today. "What happened now?" she said whilst sitting down by Draco on the sofa.
He scoffs. "Potter is ignoring me."
"Shocker. I told you to be more careful." She flicks his forehead.
"It's not my fault he's so stubborn, he switches up quicker than my hairstyles every year."
"That is true, but still. Why do you care so much? it's not like you actually cared about him."
Draco huffs and rolls his eyes, "Yeah right. I would never care about some stupid Gryffindork."
"The day will come my dear Draco."
"Don't call me that you're not my mother."
"sure seems like I am sometimes," Pansy muttered.
Draco groaned, rolling over on the sofa so that his back was to Pansy. He buried his face in one of the emerald-green cushions, wishing he could block out the entire world. Everything had been going according to plan until Potter had inexplicably decided to freeze him out. Draco hadn't expected things to get so complicated, but now, every interaction with Potter felt like a minefield.
"Draco, you're being dramatic," Pansy said, nudging him with her elbow. "So Potter's ignoring you. Big deal. You've got plenty of other things to focus on."
Draco let out a frustrated sigh, his voice muffled by the cushion. "It's not that simple, Pansy. We're partners on this stupid potion project, and he's making it impossible to get anything done. He won't even look at me, let alone talk to me."
Pansy leaned back, crossing her arms as she studied Draco's slumped figure. "And why do you think that is? Maybe he's figured out you're up to something."
Draco turned his head slightly, just enough to glare at her. "Of course he hasn't. Potter's an idiot, remember? He's just being... difficult."
Pansy rolled her eyes. "Or maybe he's not as oblivious as you think. Maybe he's starting to see through that charming little act of yours."
Draco sat up suddenly, his frustration boiling over. "I've been doing everything right! I've kept him off balance, and made him think I was sincere. But now—" He broke off, running a hand through his hair, which was tousled from his earlier sulking. "Now, it's like he's putting up walls I can't get through. And it's driving me mad."
Pansy tilted her head, a small smirk playing on her lips. "You're putting a lot of effort into this for something that's supposed to be just a bet, Draco."
Draco scowled at her. "What's your point?"
"My point," Pansy said, her tone light but laced with a hint of teasing, "is that you seem awfully bothered by Potter's behaviour. Almost like you actually care about his opinion."
Draco scoffed, though the sound lacked conviction. "Please. I'm just frustrated because he's ruining the plan. He's supposed to be falling for me, not pulling away."
Pansy raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. And what if he doesn't fall for you? What then?"
Draco hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. "Then... then I'll have to come up with something else. I'm not about to lose a bet."
Pansy watched him closely, her expression softening slightly. "Draco, it's okay to admit that this might be more than just a bet now. You've spent a lot of time with him these past few weeks. Maybe you're starting to feel something real."
Draco shook his head, almost violently, as if trying to rid himself of the thought. "No, that's ridiculous. Potter and I... we could never... No."
Pansy shrugged, standing up from the sofa and brushing off her robes. "Whatever you say. But just remember, sometimes these things sneak up on you when you least expect them."
Draco watched her as she walked away, her words echoing in his mind. He flopped back down on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. He hated that Pansy was making him second-guess everything. The bet had always been about proving a point, about winning. But now, with Potter's sudden coldness, it was becoming something else—something Draco couldn't quite define.
He sighed, closing his eyes and letting his mind wander back to the last few weeks. The easy conversations, the way Potter's smile had become less guarded, the surprising moments of camaraderie. It all felt too real, too genuine. And that's what scared Draco the most.
"What am I doing?" he muttered to himself, feeling more lost than ever.
---------------------
Over the next few days, Draco grew increasingly frustrated and anxious as he continued to send letters to Harry, asking him to meet in the library to continue their work on the Draught of Peace. Each note was carefully worded, a balance of formality and subtlety, but the responses—or rather, the lack thereof—were driving Draco to the edge of his patience.
Every morning, he would wait for some sign that Potter had read his letter. He imagined Harry opening it, maybe even considering the request before shoving the note aside, ignoring Draco's attempts to bridge the gap that had suddenly formed between them. But day after day, there was nothing. No response, no acknowledgment, just the silent treatment that was growing more infuriating with each passing hour.
Draco found himself lingering in the library more often, hoping against hope that Potter might show up, perhaps having had a change of heart. He would pretend to be engrossed in his textbooks or scribbling down notes, but his eyes would constantly flick toward the entrance, his heart giving a small leap every time the door creaked open—only for his hopes to be dashed when it was someone else, never Potter.
One evening, as the clock ticked past the time they usually met, Draco sat alone at their usual table, the silence of the library pressing down on him like a heavy weight. His quill tapped absently against the parchment in front of him, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn't concentrate, not with the nagging thought that Potter was purposefully avoiding him.
It didn't make sense. They had been getting along—surprisingly well, in fact. But then, Potter had suddenly shut him out, leaving Draco to stew in his own thoughts and insecurities. Was it something he had said? Had Potter somehow found out about the bet? The idea gnawed at Draco's insides, filling him with a sense of dread.
As he stared blankly at the parchment in front of him, Draco's frustration finally boiled over. He crumpled up the latest letter he had written—one he had been planning to send to Potter first thing in the morning—and tossed it aside.
"Stupid, stubborn git," Draco muttered under his breath, his fists clenching in anger. "Why won't he just talk to me?"
A quiet voice startled him out of his thoughts. "Talking to yourself now, Malfoy?"
Draco's head snapped up, and his heart lurched at the sight of Blaise Zabini standing by the table, a curious smirk playing on his lips. Draco hadn't even noticed him approach, too lost in his own thoughts.
"What do you want, Zabini?" Draco snapped, more harshly than he intended.
Blaise raised an eyebrow and took a seat across from him. "Relax, Draco. I just came to see how our resident Slytherin charmer is doing with his little project."
Draco scowled, his frustration flaring again. "Not that it's any of your business, but it's not going as planned."
Blaise's smirk widened. "Oh? Trouble in paradise with Potter?"
"Shut up," Draco hissed, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening. "He's just being difficult, that's all."
"Difficult?" Blaise leaned in, his tone teasing. "Or maybe he's onto you. Maybe Potter's smarter than we all gave him credit for."
Draco's expression darkened. The thought had crossed his mind more than once, and hearing it from Blaise only made it worse. "He doesn't know anything," Draco said, though the words lacked conviction. "He's just being... impossible."
Blaise studied Draco for a moment, then leaned back in his chair, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. "You know, Draco, for someone who claims not to care, you're awfully worked up about this."
Draco glared at him. "What's your point, Blaise?"
"My point," Blaise said slowly, "is that maybe this whole thing has gotten a little out of hand. Maybe it's not just about the bet anymore."
Draco bristled at the suggestion, but before he could retort, Blaise held up a hand to stop him. "Look, I'm not judging. I just think you need to figure out what you really want out of this before you dig yourself in any deeper."
Draco said nothing, his mind whirling with conflicting emotions. He knew Blaise was right, but admitting it—even to himself—wasn't something he was ready to do.
"I don't need advice from you, Zabini," Draco finally muttered, though his voice lacked its usual bite.
"Suit yourself," Blaise replied with a shrug, standing up and giving Draco a final, knowing look. "Just think about it, Draco. Before it's too late."
With that, Blaise walked away, leaving Draco alone with his thoughts once more. He sat there for a long time, staring down at the crumpled letter he had discarded, the words of his friend echoing in his mind.
Maybe it was time to confront Potter directly, to find out what had changed and whether there was still a chance to fix things—or if he had already ruined whatever tentative connection they had begun to build.
----------------------------
Over the next few days, Harry withdrew further into himself, the sting of betrayal still fresh in his mind. He moved through his daily routine like a ghost, going to classes, meals, and the common room without really engaging with anyone. His friends noticed the change, of course, but every time Hermione or Ron asked if something was wrong, he brushed them off with a forced smile and a vague excuse about needing to focus on his studies.
But the truth was, Harry couldn't stop thinking about Draco. Every time he saw him in the corridors or during class, a knot of conflicting emotions twisted in his chest. Anger, hurt, confusion—they all swirled together, making it impossible for Harry to sort through them. He had thought Draco was different, that maybe they were starting to build something real, but now it all felt like a cruel joke.
In Potions class, Harry made sure to arrive early, settling into his seat before Draco could show up. When Draco did arrive, Harry kept his eyes fixed on his textbook, ignoring the hesitant glances Draco sent his way. The silence between them was heavy, almost suffocating, but Harry refused to be the one to break it. He couldn't let Draco see how much this was affecting him.
When they had to work on their potion together, Harry kept the interaction strictly professional, speaking only when necessary and avoiding any eye contact. Draco tried to make small talk a few times, his voice lacking its usual confidence, but Harry shut him down each time with short, clipped responses.
Outside of class, Harry avoided places where he might run into Draco. He stopped going to the library during their usual study times, choosing instead to do his research in the Gryffindor common room or in the quieter, less frequented parts of the castle. The letters from Draco that continued to arrive every morning went unopened, tucked away in the bottom of his bag where he wouldn't have to see them.
His friends noticed his growing distance, and Hermione, especially, became increasingly concerned. One evening, as they sat together in the common room, she finally confronted him.
"Harry, this isn't like you," she said gently, placing a hand on his arm as he pretended to be engrossed in his notes. "Something's bothering you, and it's not just schoolwork. Please, talk to us."
Harry looked up, meeting her worried gaze, and for a moment, he considered telling her everything. But the words caught in his throat. How could he explain what he was feeling when he barely understood it himself? How could he admit that he had let himself believe Draco Malfoy might have changed, only to have his hopes dashed?
"I'm fine, Hermione," he said finally, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I just need some space, that's all. I'll be okay."
Hermione didn't look convinced, but she nodded, squeezing his arm before letting the matter drop. "Alright, Harry. But we're here for you, okay? Whenever you're ready to talk."
Harry nodded, grateful for her understanding, even though he knew he was keeping her at arm's length. As she and Ron returned to their own work, Harry sighed, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. He hated feeling like this—so isolated, so confused. But more than that, he hated that he couldn't just shake off the hurt and move on.
The worst part was that, despite everything, he still couldn't stop thinking about Draco. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw flashes of the moments they had shared over the past few weeks—their conversations, the way Draco's expression had softened when he let his guard down, the fleeting connection Harry had thought they were building. It all felt tainted now, but it was still there, haunting him.
As the days passed, Harry kept to himself, the walls he had built around his heart growing thicker and more impenetrable. He told himself that this was for the best, that distancing himself from Draco was the only way to protect himself from further pain. But deep down, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he was only making things worse, not just for himself, but for Draco too.
And as much as he tried to push it away, that thought lingered in the back of his mind, refusing to be ignored.
-------------------------
After days of silent tension and unanswered letters, Draco finally reached his breaking point. He couldn't stand being ignored any longer, the uncertainty gnawing at him like a persistent itch he couldn't scratch. So when he saw Harry slipping out of the Great Hall one evening, Draco seized the opportunity and followed him, his heart pounding with a mix of frustration and something else he didn't want to name.
He caught up to Harry just outside, in a deserted corridor where the torches cast long shadows on the stone walls. "Potter!" Draco called out, his voice sharper than he intended.
Harry stopped but didn't turn around. Draco could see the way his shoulders tensed, the way his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry's voice was cold, distant.
Draco took a deep breath, trying to keep his own emotions in check. "I want to know why you've been avoiding me," he said, moving closer. "Why you won't answer my letters, why you're shutting me out."
Harry finally turned to face him, and the look in his eyes sent a jolt of something painful through Draco's chest. "You really want to know, Malfoy? Fine. I overheard you and Pansy in the hallway the other night."
Draco's heart sank. He had a sinking feeling where this was going, but he forced himself to keep his expression neutral. "And?"
"And I heard everything," Harry spat, his voice trembling with barely contained anger. "The bet, how you're just manipulating me for a laugh. How you think I'm too stupid to see through it."
Draco flinched, but he quickly masked it with a sneer. "So what? It's just a stupid bet, Potter. Why are you getting so worked up over it?"
"Because I trusted you, Draco!" Harry's voice broke, and for a moment, Draco saw something raw and vulnerable flash across his face. "I thought maybe... maybe you'd changed. But you're just the same manipulative git you've always been."
Draco's anger flared at the accusation, his frustration boiling over. "And what about you, Potter?" he shot back. "You think you're so righteous, so perfect, but you're just as much a liar as I am. You've been pretending too—pretending that you care about this project, about me. But the moment things get tough, you run away, like the coward you are."
Harry's eyes narrowed, the hurt in them quickly replaced by fury. "You don't get to call me a coward, Malfoy. You're the one who's been lying from the start! Everything we've done, everything we've said—it's all been a lie, hasn't it?"
Draco's heart raced, torn between anger and something dangerously close to regret. "Maybe it started as a lie, but—" He cut himself off, the words he wanted to say getting stuck in his throat. He couldn't admit it, not now. Not when Harry was looking at him with such raw pain and betrayal.
"But what, Draco?" Harry demanded, stepping closer, his green eyes blazing. "Go on, finish your sentence. Tell me how you've been playing me this whole time, how you've been laughing at me behind my back!"
Draco clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He could feel the truth bubbling up, but he didn't know how to say it without everything unraveling. "Potter, you don't understand—"
"No, I understand perfectly," Harry interrupted, his voice cold and final. "You're a coward too, Malfoy. You can't even admit what you've done."
The words cut deep, and Draco felt something inside him snap. "You think you know everything, don't you?" he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "But you have no idea what's really going on."
"Then enlighten me," Harry challenged, his tone biting. "Tell me what's really going on, Draco."
Draco opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the corridor. Both boys froze, the tension between them crackling like electricity in the air.
Draco's eyes darted to the end of the corridor, and when he turned back to Harry, the moment was gone. The anger, the confusion, everything that had been teetering on the edge of revelation, was swallowed up by the silence.
"I-"