It was a normal day. That’s all it was supposed to be.
Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, half-listening to Hermione talk about some Transfiguration essay, his gaze wandering across the Great Hall. It was routine at this point—dinner, banter with Ron, catching a few words from Hermione, and stealing glances at his usual points of interest.
But something was different today.
His eyes fell on Malfoy—nothing new there; it was always Malfoy, standing out like a bloody beacon. He’d always been hard to ignore with his sharp features and that stupid, arrogant expression. But this time, Harry didn’t look away as quickly as he should have.
Malfoy was sitting at the Slytherin table, his chin propped on one hand, eyes narrowed as he listened to something Blaise was saying. Except… except those weren’t just any eyes, were they?
No. They were silver. Bright, piercing silver, andMerlin, why hadn’t he noticed that before?
Harry blinked, his throat tightening for reasons he couldn’t quite understand. Since when did Malfoy’s eyes look that... striking?
He tore his gaze away, staring resolutely at his plate. It was just a trick of the light, he told himself. Something about the candles in the Great Hall, reflecting off his pale hair or—wait. His hair.
Harry risked another glance.
Malfoy’s fringe had fallen across his forehead in that perfect way that looked entirely accidental. It framed his face, softening the sharp angles that usually made him seem unapproachable. And for a split second, Harry thought—no, knew—he looked... quiet pretty.
Wait. Pretty?
His stomach clenched as the word sank in, the realization hitting him like a Bludger. Since when was Malfoy pretty? Since when did Harry, of all people, think that Malfoy—Draco Malfoy, of all people—was... attractive?
Malfoy wasn’t supposed to be attractive. Malfoys weren’t supposed to be anything but obnoxious, and boys weren’t supposed to be attractive to him at all. Right? That’s what the Dursleys had drilled into him—basic human etiquette. Marry a nice girl, settle down, have a family. Simple, clean.
But Harry wasn’t thinking about girls right now. He wasn’t even thinking about Cho, or Ginny, or anyone else. His eyes kept drifting back across the hall, kept landing on that slim figure, those silver eyes, that soft fringe.
And then Malfoy looked up. Directly at him.
Harry froze. His heart lurched in his chest as those silver eyes locked onto his. The usual sneer wasn’t there, just a neutral, unreadable expression. But for some reason, that made it worse. His pulse quickened, panic rising up in him. He quickly looked away, but not before he saw something strange flicker in Malfoy’s eyes. Something curious. Something almost... soft.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
This wasn’t happening. He couldn’t be—he didn’t—he wasn’t gay. Boys weren’t supposed to do this to him. Boys weren’t supposed to make his heart race or his mind stutter like this. Especially not Malfoy.
But as the minutes ticked by, Harry couldn’t deny it. There was no mistaking the way his pulse quickened, the way his throat tightened. There was no mistaking the pull in his chest, the way his mind kept circling back to Malfoy—no, Draco. That’s who he was now. Just... Draco.
And that was the worst part.
Because Draco wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t like Cho or Ginny or anyone Harry had ever been interested in. Draco was sharp edges and biting words, but at least he was consistent. At least he treated Harry the same way he treated everyone else. No special treatment, no pedestal, no hero worship. Draco gave him what was real, what was true—even if it was sometimes cruel.
And now Harry couldn’t stop thinking about him.
His mind was racing, a thousand thoughts all at once, none of them making any sense. Did this mean he was... gay? Did he like boys? Or was it just Malfoy? Why did it have to be Malfoy?
Harry clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists on the table. He wasn’t ready for this. Wasn’t ready to even think about what this might mean. What would Ron think if he found out Harry... liked Malfoy? No, not liked. Not yet. Just... noticed. But even that felt like too much.
Oh god.
He closed his eyes, willing the panic to settle, but it didn’t. This was bad. This was very, very bad. Because there was no going back from this. No way to unsee the way Draco’s eyes softened when he thought no one was looking, or the way his voice—so sharp and eloquent—cut through the room like a blade. There was no way to unfeel the way Harry’s heart had stuttered when their eyes met.
Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world, was in deep, deep trouble.
And it was all because of Draco Malfoy.