The Astronomy Tower always felt quieter at night. The wind carried a kind of silence that wrapped around Harry like a heavy cloak, muting the world beyond the stone walls of Hogwarts. It was why he came here, really—because here, it felt like time paused. The wars, the battles, the expectations... they couldn’t reach him here.
What he didn’t expect tonight, though, was Malfoy.
Malfoy was standing by the edge of the tower, leaning against the stone ledge as if he’d been carved there himself. His back was to Harry, pale hair catching the moonlight in a way that made him seem otherworldly. For a moment, Harry almost turned and left. He didn’t need this—didn’t need Malfoy sneering at him, didn’t need another fight when he’d come here to escape all of it.
But Malfoy didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. He just... stood there.
Harry’s feet, stubborn as always, carried him forward. The air was still, too thick with tension to break, but when he stopped a few feet away, Malfoy still hadn’t turned. It was strange, being near him without the sharpness, the biting words. Just standing in silence.
"Why are you here, Potter?" Malfoy's voice cut through the quiet, low and unsteady. It wasn’t the voice Harry was used to—the one filled with venom and smugness. This was different, softer, almost... tired.
Harry didn’t have an answer. “Could ask you the same thing.”
Malfoy huffed out a breath, something between a laugh and a scoff. “Of course you could.”
They stood there for what felt like a long time, neither of them saying anything more. It wasn’t like them. Usually, they’d be throwing insults by now, but tonight... the air didn’t feel right for it. Maybe it was the moon, or the exhaustion of being at war with each other for so long. Maybe it was the way Malfoy's shoulders seemed a little heavier tonight, his whole frame less defiant. Or maybe Harry was just too tired to fight.
He found himself leaning against the wall opposite Malfoy, staring up at the stars instead of at the boy who had been his rival for what felt like a lifetime. The sky looked endless, and for a second, it made the world feel smaller. Less complicated.
“You always come up here?” Harry asked, his voice quieter than usual. He didn’t know why he cared.
Malfoy didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was distant. “Sometimes.”
Harry glanced over. Malfoy's face was cast in shadow, his features softened by the night. There was something fragile in the way he was standing, like the usual mask he wore was slipping. Harry felt a strange urge to ask him more—why he was here, what he was thinking—but it felt too close, too intimate. They weren’t friends, after all.
But the silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. It hung there, thick and heavy, but not in the way it usually did. It wasn’t a silence that demanded to be filled. It just... existed.
Harry found himself coming back to the tower over the next few weeks. He didn’t know why. He told himself it was because it was the only place he could think, but deep down, he knew it had something to do with the fact that Draco was always there, waiting. They never talked much. Sometimes they didn’t talk at all. But there was a strange sort of understanding between them now, something unspoken that neither of them dared to acknowledge.
One night, after what felt like hours of silence, Harry finally broke it. “You don’t look at me the same way anymore.”
Draco’s eyes flickered toward him, silver catching the moonlight. He didn’t answer right away, and for a moment, Harry thought he wouldn’t at all. Then, softly, almost too softly to hear, Draco said,
“Neither do you.”
The words hit harder than Harry expected. He hadn’t noticed, but maybe he had stopped seeing Draco as just Malfoy. Maybe the boy who had once been nothing but a rival had become something else. Not a friend. Not yet. But something... different.
“Why?” Harry asked, his voice quieter now, unsure.
Draco’s eyes dropped to the ground, his expression guarded again. “Does it matter?”
Harry wanted to say yes. He wanted to ask why things felt like they were shifting between them, why the silence no longer felt like a battlefield. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.
Instead, he just turned back to the stars, letting the quiet stretch between them again.
What was happening between them wasn’t something they could put into words. It wasn’t a truce, wasn’t an understanding. It was something in the spaces between their sentences, in the looks that lasted a second too long, in the way they kept finding themselves in the same place without ever meaning to.
Maybe, Harry thought, some things didn’t need to be said. Maybe it was enough to just be.