I bet that.

The Great Hall during lunch, with students scattered around the room. Harry is sitting with Ron and Hermione, trying to focus on their conversation, but his thoughts keep drifting back to Draco. Meanwhile, at the Slytherin table, Draco, Pansy, and Blaise are talking quietly among themselves.

"I still can't believe how well you played Potter, Draco. Who would've thought that the bet would actually work out in your favour?"

Harry's fork freezes mid-air, his attention snapping to the Slytherin table. The word "bet" echoes in his mind, bringing back the bitter memories of overhearing Draco and Pansy's conversation weeks ago. His heart races as anger and betrayal surge through him.

"Pansy, not here, you idiot," said Blaise.

Pansy oblivious, giggling "What? It's not like he'll find out now. You said it was over, didn't you, Draco? You said Potter believed it was all a joke."

Harry's blood runs cold as the realization hits him like a ton of bricks. He drops his fork, the clatter echoing in the suddenly too-quiet hall. Everyone nearby turns to look at him, but he only has eyes for Draco, who's gone pale as a ghost.

Ron saw Harry's change in attitude, "Harry, what's wrong?"

Harry stood up abruptly, "So it was all a lie? The whole time?"

Draco's stomach drops as he meets Harry's furious gaze from across the hall. The room feels like it's closing in on him, and for the first time in a long while, he's genuinely at a loss for words. Pansy looks between them, realizing too late the gravity of her words.

Pansy whispered "Draco, I didn't—"

Harry said, his voice growing louder as he walked over to Draco, "Was it all just some sick game to you, Malfoy? The bet, the potion—everything?"

The Great Hall falls silent, every eye now on the two of them. Draco stands slowly, trying to maintain his composure, but he can't hide the guilt flashing across his face.

"Potter, I—"

Harry cut him off, "Save it, Malfoy. You're a coward, hiding behind your little schemes and your lies. I actually thought—" His voice cracks with emotion, and he looks away, his anger barely masking the hurt. "You're pathetic."

The words cut deeper than Draco expected, and the guilt gnaws at him. He realizes now that he's pushed Harry too far, and the damage may be irreparable. He takes a step forward, desperate to say something—anything—to fix this, but the words die in his throat.

"It wasn't just—"

"Stay away from me, Malfoy."

Harry turns and walks out of the Great Hall, leaving Draco standing there, feeling more lost than ever. The Slytherin table is silent, and even Pansy looks regretful as she realizes the extent of the fallout.

"You really screwed up this time, Draco," Blaise said softly.

Draco can only nod slightly, feeling a crushing weight on his chest. He watches Harry's retreating figure and feels an overwhelming sense of regret. He knows he has two choices: continue pretending that none of this matters, or finally be honest with Harry—and with himself—about how he truly feels.

But as the hall slowly returns to normal, Draco feels paralyzed, unable to move or decide, knowing that either choice could change everything.

The corridor outside the Great Hall was dimly lit, shadows dancing on the walls as the flickering torches struggled against the encroaching darkness. Harry stormed down the corridor, his footsteps echoing off the cold stone floor. His mind was a whirlwind of anger, pain, and betrayal. He wanted nothing more than to escape—to get away from the humiliation that burned like fire in his chest.

Suddenly, a voice called out behind him, frantic and desperate.

"Harry! Wait!"

Harry clenched his fists, his pace quickening as he heard Draco's voice, but he couldn't outrun the flood of emotions. The betrayal he felt was too strong, too raw. He didn't want to hear any more of Draco's lies or excuses. He just wanted to be alone.

But then, the voice came again, more pleading this time. "Harry, please! Just listen to me!"

Something in the tone made Harry stop abruptly, his breath hitching in his throat. His back was still to Draco, his heart pounding as he fought to keep his emotions in check. When he finally spoke, his voice was cold, a thin veil barely concealing the fury and hurt simmering beneath the surface.

"Why should I?" he spat, his words sharp. "So you can lie to me again? So you can humiliate me even more?"

Behind him, Draco skidded to a halt, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Harry's words hit him like a physical blow, the weight of his guilt crashing down on him all at once. He had known this moment would come, but he hadn't imagined it would be this hard. He swallowed, forcing himself to speak, even as his voice wavered.

"It wasn't all a lie, Harry. Not everything."

Harry scoffed bitterly, the sound harsh in the empty hallway. He finally turned around to face Draco, his emerald eyes blazing with anger. But beneath the fury, Draco could see the pain, the betrayal that cut Harry to the core.

"You expect me to believe that?" Harry's voice was laced with disbelief, his expression hard. "After everything? You made a bet, Malfoy. A bet. You played with my feelings like it was some kind of game."

Draco flinched at the accusation, shame burning in his chest. He took a tentative step closer, his voice dropping to a soft, almost desperate tone. "I know I messed up. I know I shouldn't have done it, but it wasn't supposed to be like this. I didn't plan on..."

He trailed off, the words catching in his throat. How could he admit what he hadn't even fully acknowledged to himself? That somewhere along the way, the lines between the game and reality had blurred? That what he felt for Harry was no longer a pretence?

"It wasn't supposed to feel real," Draco forced out, his voice thick with emotion. "But it did. Somewhere along the way, I stopped pretending. I didn't mean to hurt you, Harry."

For a moment, Harry's anger faltered, replaced by a flash of confusion and doubt. He searched Draco's face, looking for any sign of deception, but all he saw was a mix of regret and something else—something that looked dangerously close to sincerity.

"Then why didn't you just tell me?" Harry's voice was softer now, tinged with hurt. "Why keep lying?"

Draco looked down, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his guilt. He didn't have a good answer, at least not one that could make up for the pain he'd caused.

"Because I was afraid," Draco admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Afraid that you'd hate me even more than you already do."

Harry stared at Draco, the anger in his eyes dimming slightly, replaced by something else—something closer to exhaustion. He felt torn, his emotions a tangled mess of conflicting feelings. Part of him wanted to believe Draco, to forgive him, but the other part of him was still too hurt, too raw.

"I don't know what to believe, Draco," Harry said, his voice shaky. "You say it's real, but how can I trust you after everything?"

Draco felt a pang of desperation, knowing that this was his last chance to make things right. He took another step forward, his eyes locked on Harry's, pleading.

"You don't have to believe me right now," Draco said, his voice earnest. "But I'll prove it to you, Harry. I'll prove that it wasn't all just for a bet. Just... please, don't shut me out completely."

Harry looked at Draco, and for the first time, he saw something in the Slytherin's eyes that made him pause. It wasn't just guilt or regret; it was something deeper, something real. But the wound was still too fresh, and Harry wasn't ready to let his guard down just yet.

"You've got a lot to prove, Malfoy," Harry said quietly, the edge in his voice returning. Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away, leaving Draco standing alone in the dimly lit corridor, a mixture of hope and despair swirling in his chest.

As Harry disappeared around the corner, Draco remained rooted to the spot, his heart heavy. The distance between them felt immense, but for the first time, Draco knew that he couldn't afford to give up—not now, not when there was still a chance to fix what he'd broken. The realization hit him like a jolt: he had to make things right, whatever it took.

Because this time, it wasn't just about the bet—it was about something much more important.

------------------

The Slytherin common room was quiet, the usual hum of chatter replaced by the crackling of the fireplace. Most students had already gone to bed, leaving the space dim and nearly deserted. Draco sat on one of the emerald-green sofas, his mind a tangled mess of frustration and regret. He was staring into the fire, his thoughts consumed by the earlier confrontation with Harry. The words they exchanged kept replaying in his mind, making him feel even more trapped in the mess he'd created.

Pansy Parkinson entered the room, her footsteps light but purposeful. She had noticed Draco's increasingly isolated behaviour over the past few days, and tonight, she'd had enough. She walked over to him, her arms crossed and her expression a mix of concern and irritation.

"Draco," she started, her voice sharp but not unkind. "We need to talk."

Draco didn't look up. He continued to stare into the fire, his jaw clenched, his thoughts distant. Pansy sighed, moving closer and sitting down next to him on the sofa.

"Look at me, Draco," Pansy insisted, her tone more forceful now.

Reluctantly, Draco tore his gaze from the flames and turned to face her. His silver eyes were filled with a storm of emotions, and it was clear that something was eating away at him. Pansy could see it too—Draco wasn't just upset; he was unravelling.

"What is it now?" Draco snapped, more harshly than he intended. "Come to lecture me again?"

Pansy frowned, not backing down. "You've been like this for days. You're pushing everyone away, including me. And don't think I haven't noticed how you've been avoiding Blaise too."

Draco scoffed, leaning back against the sofa, his arms crossed defensively. "Maybe I just don't feel like talking. Ever think of that?"

"Draco, this isn't you," Pansy said, her voice softening as she reached out to touch his arm. "You're shutting us all out. You've been different ever since... ever since Potter."

At the mention of Harry, Draco's eyes flashed with anger. He pulled his arm away from Pansy's touch, his voice rising in frustration. "I don't want to talk about Potter, alright? He's the last person I want to think about!"

Pansy sighed, her patience wearing thin. "But that's the problem, isn't it? You can't stop thinking about him. And it's eating you alive, Draco."

Draco stood up abruptly, pacing in front of the fireplace. "You don't understand, Pansy! None of you do! This whole situation is—" He broke off, running a hand through his hair in agitation. "It's all messed up, and I don't know how to fix it."

Pansy watched him, her heart aching for her friend. She had never seen Draco like this—so lost, so conflicted. She stood up, placing herself directly in his path, forcing him to stop pacing.

"Then talk to me," Pansy urged, her voice gentle but firm. "You don't have to go through this alone, Draco. Whatever it is, you can tell me."

Draco shook his head, the frustration and confusion boiling over. "I can't, Pansy! Don't you get it? I've ruined everything! The bet, Potter, everything. And now... now I don't even know what I'm supposed to feel!"

Pansy's eyes softened, understanding dawning on her. "You care about him, don't you? More than you wanted to."

Draco's expression crumbled for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability showing before he masked it with anger. "It doesn't matter what I feel. It's too late. I've already pushed him away, and now I'm pushing everyone else away too."

Pansy took a step closer, her voice gentle. "You don't have to keep doing this, Draco. You don't have to keep pushing us away."

Draco looked at her, his defences crumbling. For a moment, he looked like the boy he used to be before everything became so complicated—lost and in need of someone to lean on. But then, the walls went back up, and he shook his head.

"I'm tired, Pansy. I'm tired of all of it," Draco muttered, turning away from her. "Just... leave me alone."

Pansy hesitated, wanting to reach out to him, to say something that would break through the wall he'd built around himself. But she knew better than to push him when he was like this. With a heavy heart, she nodded and turned to leave, her footsteps echoing softly as she walked away.

Draco stood alone in front of the fire, the warmth doing nothing to ease the coldness he felt inside. As he stared into the flames, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was losing control of everything, including himself. He had never felt so alone, and it was all his own doing.

----------------------------

Harry lay on his bed, staring up at the canopy with wide, unblinking eyes. The dormitory was dark and quiet, the sounds of his roommates' steady breathing filling the space. Everyone else was fast asleep, but sleep was the last thing on Harry's mind. His thoughts were too loud, too chaotic to allow any peace.

The events of the past few days played on a relentless loop in his head. Draco's words, Pansy's careless revelation, the bet—all of it haunted him. He felt like a fool, letting himself get tangled up in Draco Malfoy's twisted games. The anger he'd felt earlier had simmered down to a dull ache in his chest, a heavy, sinking feeling that wouldn't go away.

He rolled over, his fist clenched around the edge of his blanket. He'd been trying to focus on anything but Draco—on his classes, on the Order, on anything that didn't involve thinking about the blond Slytherin. But no matter how hard he tried, Draco was always there, lurking at the back of his mind.

And then there were the nightmares. They had returned with a vengeance, more vivid and terrifying than before. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Cedric's lifeless body, felt the cold touch of death as it crept closer, and heard the chilling echoes of Voldemort's laughter. He would wake up drenched in sweat, his heart racing, the darkness of the dormitory pressing in on him.

The worst part was that Draco had somehow known about his nightmares. That stupid potion... Harry didn't know how Draco had managed to get it into his room, but it made his skin crawl just thinking about it. Was it just another part of the bet? Another way for Draco to manipulate him? The thought made his stomach churn.

But at the same time, the memory of the potion working—of finally getting a full night of peaceful sleep—was almost enough to make him forget his anger. Almost. He had been tempted to use it again, to slip into that dreamless void and escape from the horrors that plagued his sleep. But the idea of accepting any more help from Draco made his blood boil.

He needed to stay strong, to push through the nightmares on his own. He couldn't afford to let Draco Malfoy of all people see him as weak.

Harry sat up in bed, rubbing his tired eyes. He glanced over at the clock on his bedside table—3:47 AM. There was no point in trying to sleep now; he knew it wouldn't come. With a sigh, he threw off the covers and quietly got out of bed. He needed to clear his head, to get away from the suffocating thoughts that kept him up at night.

As he slipped on his robe and grabbed his wand, he couldn't help but wonder how everything had gone so wrong. A few weeks ago, he'd been fine—focused on his mission, on the Order, on protecting his friends. But now... now he felt like he was losing control like he was unravelling.

And it all led back to Draco.

Harry clenched his jaw as he stepped out of the dormitory, careful not to wake anyone. The castle was eerily quiet at this hour, the shadows long and menacing in the dim torchlight. As he wandered through the empty corridors, his thoughts kept circling back to the same question: Why had Draco gone through so much trouble? If it was all just a bet, why did he keep trying, even after Harry had pushed him away?

A part of Harry wanted to confront Draco again, to demand answers. But another part of him—the part that was still hurt, still angry—was too afraid of what those answers might be. What if there was nothing real behind those fleeting moments of connection Harry had felt?

He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts away. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this than just a stupid bet. That maybe, just maybe, Draco had been telling the truth when he said that things had changed.

But even if that were true, could Harry ever trust him again? Could he ever forgive Draco for what he'd done?

The questions hung heavy in the air, unanswered, as Harry continued to wander through the darkened halls of Hogwarts. All he knew for certain was that nothing would ever be the same between them, no matter how much he wished it could be.

-------------------

The Great Hall was decked out in its usual festive splendour for the holiday season. The enchanted ceiling reflected the gently falling snow outside, creating a warm, magical atmosphere. Christmas trees glittered with ornaments, and garlands of holly and ivy wound around the pillars. Despite the cheer, Harry felt an odd tension in the air as the last week before the holiday break began.

Harry sat with Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table, half-listening to their conversation about holiday plans. His thoughts kept drifting, unable to fully focus on anything. Cho Chang had been spending more time with him recently, and it was clear to everyone that they were growing closer. They had even shared a few quiet moments together, away from the prying eyes of their classmates. Harry liked being around her—Cho was easy to talk to, and she understood him in a way few others did.

But even as Harry tried to enjoy the time he spent with Cho, there was a gnawing feeling in the back of his mind that he couldn't shake. It was as if something—or someone—was pulling at his attention, refusing to let him fully relax. And that someone was Draco Malfoy.

Draco had been acting...strange lately. Ever since the confrontation in the hallway and the fallout from the bet, Draco had been different. He wasn't openly hostile like before. In fact, he seemed to be making an effort to be civil, which was bizarre in itself. But what really threw Harry off was the way Draco would occasionally look at him, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't bring himself to do it.

Earlier that morning, Harry had caught Draco staring at him across the Great Hall. Their eyes had met for a brief moment, and Draco had quickly turned away. But before he did, Harry could have sworn that Draco had tried to smile at him. The attempt had fallen short, however, and what was meant to be a friendly gesture ended up looking more like a smirk—the same old Malfoy smirk that Harry had seen a thousand times before.

It had left Harry feeling more confused than ever. Was Draco trying to be nice? Or was this just another one of his games? And why did it bother Harry so much?

"Harry, are you even listening?" Hermione's voice cut through his thoughts, bringing him back to the present.

"Yeah, sorry," Harry mumbled, picking at his food. "What were you saying?"

Hermione gave him a knowing look but didn't press the issue. "I was just asking if you've decided what you're doing for Christmas. Are you staying at Hogwarts, or going to Grimmauld place?"

"I'm not sure yet," Harry replied. "I might stay at Grimmauld place to see Sirius."

Harry smiled faintly, but his mind was already drifting again. He glanced over at the Ravenclaw table where Cho was sitting with her friends. She caught his eye and smiled warmly, making Harry's heart lift a little. Maybe spending more time with her would help take his mind off things—off Draco.

But as Harry's gaze travelled further down the hall, he saw Draco again, sitting with the Slytherins. This time, Draco wasn't looking at him. Instead, he seemed to be deep in thought, his expression uncharacteristically sombre. For a moment, Harry wondered what was going through his mind. Was Draco regretting the bet? Or was he just playing at something else?

Harry shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He needed to focus on what mattered—on Cho, on his friends, and on making it through the rest of the term. Whatever was going on with Draco would have to wait.

But deep down, Harry knew that things were far from over between them. The strange tension that had developed between them wouldn't just disappear, and he wasn't sure what it meant or what would happen next.

As the meal came to an end and students began to leave the Great Hall, Harry stood up, ready to follow Ron and Hermione. But before he could move, he felt a presence behind him. He turned around, half-expecting to see Draco, but found Cho standing there instead.

"Hey, Harry," she said softly, a shy smile on her face. "Do you want to go for a walk? I thought we could talk...alone."

Harry hesitated for a moment, glancing over his shoulder toward the Slytherin table. Draco was still there, watching him with an unreadable expression. For a split second, Harry considered going over, saying something—anything—to clear the air between them. But then he turned back to Cho and nodded.

"Yeah, I'd like that," he said, trying to push Draco from his mind.

As he walked out of the Great Hall with Cho by his side, Harry couldn't help but feel like he was leaving something important unresolved. And despite his best efforts, the thought of Draco's almost smile stayed with him, nagging at the back of his mind.

-----------------

Draco sat at the Slytherin table, absently pushing his food around on his plate. The noise and chatter of the Great Hall faded into the background as his focus drifted elsewhere. His mind was far from the conversation happening around him, lost in thoughts he didn't want to admit to himself.

He hadn't been able to stop thinking about Harry. Ever since that day in the rain, ever since their awkward, tense interactions, Draco had found it increasingly difficult to get the Gryffindor out of his head. It was infuriating. He shouldn't care. He shouldn't even be thinking about Harry, and yet... here he was, unable to think about anything else.

And then there was the bet. The stupid, reckless bet that had started all of this. It had been a game at first, just something to pass the time, to prove a point. But somewhere along the way, it had spiralled out of control. Draco hadn't intended for it to go this far, hadn't expected to feel this way. But now, every time he saw Harry, something twisted uncomfortably in his chest, and he hated it.

He hated that he cared. He hated that he was jealous.

Draco's eyes flicked up just in time to see Harry standing up from the Gryffindor table, ready to leave with his friends. But instead of heading toward the doors with Ron and Hermione, Harry paused. Draco's heart gave a strange, painful lurch when he saw Cho Chang approach him.

He watched as they exchanged a few words, and then, to Draco's dismay, Harry smiled—an easy, genuine smile that Draco hadn't seen directed at him in weeks. Without a second thought, Harry nodded, and the two of them walked out of the Great Hall together, side by side.

Draco's grip tightened around his fork, his knuckles turning white. The sight of Harry and Cho walking away together made something hot and ugly flare up inside him—jealousy, raw and bitter. It was irrational, he knew that. Harry could walk with whoever he wanted, could talk and laugh and smile with Cho as much as he liked. But that didn't stop Draco from wanting to hex something—or someone.

"Draco, are you listening?" Pansy's voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to reality.

Draco blinked and realized he had completely tuned out the conversation. He glanced at Pansy, who was looking at him with an expression of mild concern mixed with curiosity.

"What?" he snapped, sharper than he intended.

Pansy raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed by his tone. "I was just asking if you wanted to go over the Defense essay later. But you seemed a bit... distracted."

"I'm fine," Draco muttered, though his tone betrayed his irritation. He pushed his plate away, no longer interested in the food. "I've got other things to do."

Pansy didn't push further, but Draco could tell she was watching him closely, probably trying to figure out what had him so worked up. Normally, he would've cared enough to keep his emotions in check, to not let anyone see how much Harry Potter was getting under his skin. But right now, he was too angry to care.

He turned his gaze back to the doors of the Great Hall, but Harry and Cho were long gone. Draco felt a fresh wave of anger and jealousy wash over him. It wasn't fair. After everything that had happened, after everything Draco had done—was doing—Harry still chose someone else. It made him feel foolish like he'd lost control of the situation entirely.

Draco didn't know what to do with these feelings. He wasn't used to being the one left behind, the one watching from a distance as someone else got what they wanted. He wasn't used to feeling so... helpless.

But one thing was certain: this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

Draco stood up abruptly, ignoring the curious glances from the other Slytherins. He needed to get out of there, to clear his head, to figure out what he was going to do next. Because one way or another, he wasn't going to let this—whatever it was—end like this.

Draco hadn't planned on following Harry and Cho, but before he knew it, his feet were moving, carrying him out of the Great Hall and into the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts. The echoes of their footsteps ahead of him were faint, but Draco was determined not to lose track of them. He stayed just far enough behind that they wouldn't notice him, but close enough to keep an eye on them.

He told himself it was just to make sure nothing happened. After all, Harry had been acting strange lately—more reckless, more withdrawn. Draco wasn't sure what was going on with him, but he knew something was wrong, even if Harry refused to admit it. And as much as Draco hated to acknowledge it, he couldn't just stand by and let something bad happen to him. Not anymore.

That's what he told himself, anyway.

The truth was, the sight of Harry walking away with Cho had stirred something deep and bitter inside him. It wasn't just jealousy—it was something more. Draco had known about Harry's feelings for Cho since last year. Hell, he'd even spread the rumors about it, enjoying how it got under Potter's skin. But now... now it wasn't so fun. Now it felt like someone was twisting a knife in his gut every time he saw them together.

As he trailed after them, he could hear bits and pieces of their conversation, Cho's soft laughter mingling with Harry's low voice. Draco clenched his fists, fighting the urge to just turn around and go back to the dungeons where he belonged. Why was he doing this? Why couldn't he just leave Harry alone?

But every time he thought about walking away, the image of Harry's face, pale and haunted from lack of sleep, flashed in his mind. The memory of that night when he'd found Harry passed out in the corridor, when he'd carried him to the hospital wing, still weighed heavily on him. Draco had seen the exhaustion in Harry's eyes, had seen how close he was to breaking. And despite everything, despite how much he told himself that he didn't care, Draco did care.

He couldn't just let this go.

When they finally stopped, Draco hid behind a corner, peering around just enough to see them. Harry and Cho stood near a window, the moonlight filtering in and casting a soft glow over them. Draco could see the way Cho was looking at Harry—like he was the only person in the world. It made something hot and uncomfortable coil in Draco's chest.

He knew Harry had a thing for Cho, but seeing it up close like this was different. It was real, and it made Draco's blood boil.

Cho reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Harry's face, and Draco felt a surge of possessiveness he couldn't explain. He wanted to march over there, pull Harry away, and tell Cho to stay the hell away from him. But he couldn't do that—he had no right. Not after everything he'd done, not after the bet, not after how he'd treated Harry.

But that didn't stop him from watching, from waiting, from making sure that Cho didn't do anything to hurt him. Because if she did, Draco wasn't sure he could hold himself back.

"Get a grip, Malfoy," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. He needed to leave, to stop obsessing over this, over Harry. But his feet wouldn't move. He was rooted to the spot, watching as Harry and Cho talked quietly, as they laughed together, as Cho leaned in just a little closer.

And all Draco could think was how much he hated this—how much he hated that he wasn't the one making Harry laugh, the one standing close to him, the one Harry looked at like that.

He hated that he cared so much. And he hated that no matter what he did, he couldn't seem to stop.

Draco heard chatter coming from the other side of the hallway, Ravenclaw girls. He hated them. When they came Cho stood up and left, Draco would never do that to Harry. Stupid scarface.

Draco's attention snapped to the sound of approaching voices—Ravenclaw girls, giggling and chatting as they walked down the corridor. His scowl deepened. He had never been particularly fond of Ravenclaws, but now, their presence was even more irritating. They always seemed so self-assured, so convinced of their own intelligence and superiority. And now, they were about to ruin whatever fleeting moment Harry and Cho were having.

As the group of girls drew closer, Cho glanced over her shoulder, noticing them. She hesitated for a moment, then stood up, brushing off her robes. With a final, lingering look at Harry, she offered him a small smile before turning to join her friends.

Draco's irritation flared. How could she just leave like that? If it were him, he wouldn't walk away, wouldn't abandon Harry just because some chatty Ravenclaws were on their way. But that was the difference between him and Cho, wasn't it? She didn't understand Harry, not the way Draco did. She didn't see the exhaustion in his eyes, the way he was barely holding it together. She didn't care enough to stay.

"Stupid scarface," Draco muttered under his breath, his anger simmering just below the surface. How could Harry fall for someone like her? Someone who would just walk away at the first sign of company, leaving him alone in the middle of the hallway.

Draco's gaze shifted back to Harry, who was now standing there alone, staring after Cho as she disappeared down the corridor with her friends. He looked... disappointed. Draco's chest tightened at the sight. That idiot Potter, always looking so strong in front of everyone, always pretending like nothing could touch him. But Draco knew better. He saw through the cracks, saw the vulnerability Harry tried so hard to hide.

And for a brief, irrational moment, Draco wished he could be the one to fill that emptiness, to be the one Harry turned to instead of Cho. But that was impossible, wasn't it? Harry would never trust him, never look at him the way he looked at her. Not after everything that had happened between them.

Draco clenched his fists, forcing himself to turn away. He needed to stop this—stop caring, stop watching, stop feeling anything for Harry Potter. But as much as he told himself that, the truth was that he couldn't. Not anymore.

Because, stupid scarface or not, Harry had somehow wormed his way into Draco's thoughts, into his heart, and now, no matter how much Draco hated it, he couldn't get him out.

--------------------------

Harry's eyes lingered on the spot where Cho had disappeared, a frown creasing his brow. He couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled in his chest. Something about their conversation had felt... off. As if Cho wasn't really there with him, not in the way he wanted her to be. But before he could dwell on it further, a strange sensation prickled at the back of his neck—like he was being watched.

He turned his head slightly, scanning the dimly lit hallway. His eyes narrowed when they landed on a familiar figure half-hidden in the shadows a short distance away.

Draco Malfoy.

Harry's first reaction was confusion, followed quickly by irritation. What was Malfoy doing here, lurking around like some kind of predator? And then it hit him—was Draco seriously stalking him now?

Harry's heart pounded as their eyes locked, a mix of anger and something else—something he couldn't quite place—swirling inside him. But before he could say anything, before he could even process what was happening, Draco's expression shifted, something unreadable flashing in his mercury eyes.

Harry's breath caught in his throat, the words dying on his lips.

What the hell was Malfoy up to?