The Truce
The next day, Draco was already regretting his decision. A truce with Potter? What was he thinking?
Morning came too quickly for Draco. The weak green glow of the Black Lake filtered through the emerald and silver curtains of his dormitory, casting a pale light over the bed where he lay awake, staring at the ceiling. He had managed to avoid a system penalty the night before, justifying his decision to accept the truce with Harry as a "strategy to strengthen his position." But he couldn't fool himself: it wasn’t just about the system. Something about Potter’s vulnerability had stirred an uncomfortable desire within him… a desire for what? Redemption? Companionship? It was better not to dwell on it too much.
[Warning: The user is entering a prolonged emotional conflict. Do not forget that your actions must align with the character of Draco Malfoy.]
The message appeared before his eyes, illuminating the room with a cold, metallic glow. Draco scoffed, dismissing the notification with an impatient flick. As if he needed a reminder that he was constantly under scrutiny. The system never granted him a reprieve, not even during the holidays.
—“Bloody hell,” —he muttered as he got up, stretching and heading to the bathroom. The mirror reflected an image he barely recognized: disheveled blonde hair and grey eyes that seemed more exhausted than ever. Draco Malfoy was always impeccably composed, but the Draco he was portraying was starting to crack.
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In the Gryffindor Tower, Harry wasn’t doing much better. He had spent a good part of the night turning everything over in his head. Draco Malfoy—the boy who had humiliated him since his first day at Hogwarts—had accepted a truce. He had even smiled, a genuine smile, devoid of the usual sarcasm and mockery. What did that mean?
"Maybe he's just mocking you in a more elaborate way," Harry thought as he pulled on his robe and headed down to the Great Hall. But a small voice in his head—one he hated to admit existed—whispered that maybe that wasn’t the case. Maybe there was something real behind this change.
When he arrived at the Great Hall, the place was quiet, with only a few students present. Harry sat down with a sigh, but his gaze quickly drifted to the Slytherin table. There was Draco, impeccable as always, chin slightly raised and wearing an expression that could only be described as... restrained. Harry frowned. Something didn’t fit.
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Draco noticed Harry’s gaze almost instantly. Their eyes met briefly before he looked away, pretending to be busy with his breakfast. But the system wasted no time in interrupting that moment of calm.
[New side mission assigned: Participate in the Exploding Snap game and maintain meaningful interaction with the protagonist. Reward: +50 points. Warning: Failure to maintain the original character will result in a penalty.]
Draco felt a knot in his stomach. Of course, the system wouldn’t allow this truce to be a simple act of cordiality. There had to be a greater purpose, and as always, he was just another piece on the chessboard. He sighed and finished his tea, preparing for the inevitable: another interaction with Potter that, undoubtedly, would be filled with tensions he didn’t know how to handle.
"I thought I had removed the OOC restriction," Draco complained to the system.
[Yes, although the user has unlocked the OOC option, an excessive personality change in the character Draco Malfoy could result in a significant alteration to the plot. OOC can be applied gradually.]
Draco furrowed his brows. He didn’t feel he had made a significant change in Draco’s personality, but then he reminded himself that yesterday he had spent time with Potter as if they had been lifelong friends. He ate his toast in silence, feeling the constant scrutiny of the dark-haired boy from across the room. At least Dumbledore had had the decency to return the four tables after the Christmas dinner. Once Draco finished his breakfast, he left the Great Hall with his hands in his pockets, absentmindedly playing with the deck of cards. He hoped Potter hadn’t taken his words from the previous day too seriously, yet he still walked through the corridor slowly, as if expecting the Gryffindor to follow him.
—“Draco!” —he heard his name behind him. Obviously, the Gryffindor had followed him.
The blond turned around, seeing Potter’s friendly smile.
—“Harry.” —He forced himself to greet him using his first name, knowing they had agreed to do so the previous day. The way Potter’s smile widened suggested it gave him some satisfaction.—“I thought you weren’t coming.” —he added with a hint of sarcasm.
Potter’s smile grew even wider as he stepped closer, now barely a few steps away.
—“I wouldn’t miss the chance to beat you at Exploding Snap.” —he answered with an astute grin.
—“Ha! We’ll see who beats who.” —the blond replied with a challenging attitude.
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Harry wouldn’t deny that he liked hearing Malfoy call him by his name. He liked the Slytherin’s challenging but not cruel attitude. He secretly wished they could always get along this well, but he had to remember that this was just a temporary truce until their respective friends returned.
Then both boys faced a problem they hadn’t foreseen: where to play. They couldn’t just sit on the floor somewhere—it was snowing, and it was far too cold. Madame Pince, the librarian, kicked them out of the library the moment she saw the cards. Most classrooms were closed since no one was using them during the holidays, and heading to either of their common rooms didn’t seem like the smartest idea—though Harry had already sneaked into the Slytherin common room once, a fact Malfoy didn’t know and absolutely shouldn’t find out.
—“Well, it seems we’ll have to cancel our card game.” —the blond commented with feigned disappointment, or at least that’s how it sounded to Harry.—“There’s nowhere to play.”
Harry thought about it for a moment. He didn’t want to lose the sudden connection he had made with the Slytherin. After weighing his options, he said:
—“Let’s go to the Gryffindor common room.”
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—“What?” —Draco said, half-confused.
"System! I'm not the one being OOC here," he mentally cried. This made no sense—Harry Potter was inviting him to the Gryffindor common room? Him, Draco Malfoy? He must have hit his head.
—“Aren’t members of other houses not allowed in common rooms that aren’t their own?” —he asked, raising an eyebrow.
—“Well…” —Potter hesitated.—“They can’t enter without permission. But if you come with me, I don’t think there will be a problem. Besides, there’s no one in the Gryffindor Tower. I doubt anyone would mind if you stayed for a bit.”
Potter shrugged, so damn carefree it hurt. How could he act like this? Oh, right—he was the protagonist and didn’t have a system threatening to deduct points for every decision he made.
—“I’m not so sure about that…” —Draco grimaced. Potter grabbed him by the shoulders lightly.
—“Come on, I thought you wanted to beat me at cards.” —he tried to convince him.
Draco rolled his eyes.
—“Oh, please. What could possibly be so special there, huh?” —he mocked with sarcasm.—“But fine, I won’t miss the chance to beat you in your own common room.”
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Harry smiled in satisfaction. He had known it from the start: Malfoy was far too easy to challenge. All it took was suggesting that he wouldn’t dare to do something, and his pride would do the rest. No matter how absurd the challenge, Malfoy always had to prove that he was above him, and in a way, that made him… predictable.
Harry wondered for a moment if this was also part of the change in Malfoy. Although he was still unbearable, something about his attitude felt different. His arrogance was still there, of course, but it no longer had the same venomous spark as before.
Malfoy followed him with a grimace of displeasure as they climbed the stairs. The ascent was long and exhausting, as always, but Harry barely noticed. He was more focused on the fact that Malfoy was here, in a part of the castle where he clearly didn’t belong. The idea was strange. Malfoy in the Gryffindor Tower.
It didn’t make sense. But there he was.
When they reached Sir Cadogan’s portrait, Malfoy stopped beside him with an expression of boredom, crossing his arms as if he were waiting for something to surprise him.
—Password —demanded the knight from the portrait, brandishing his sword with unnecessary enthusiasm.
Harry glanced at Malfoy.
—How would I know? This isn’t my common room —the blond said with a smug grin.
Harry rolled his eyes but couldn’t help thinking that Malfoy had a point. It was absurd to bring him here just to prove something, but there was something oddly satisfying about pulling him out of his element.
—You don’t expect me to cover my ears or something, do you? —Malfoy added with a smirk.
Harry frowned. Of course, he expected him to do something like that. Malfoy seemed to notice and only laughed harder.
—Well, yeah, otherwise you’re going to hear the password —Harry replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Malfoy let out a light chuckle, as if the very idea amused him.
—Well, it’s not like I have any desire to come back to your common room anyway —he said with his characteristic arrogant air. —It’s incredibly far, and there are too many stairs.
Harry shook his head. Malfoy complaining about walking too much. What a surprise.
—"Vile scoundrel" —Harry said, addressing Sir Cadogan.
The tiny knight bowed deeply in his direction with an exaggerated flourish.
—As you are, sir! —he declared with enthusiasm, lowering his sword to let them pass.
Malfoy stood frozen for a second, his face lighting up with something that seemed like a mix of disbelief and amusement. Then, he let out a muffled laugh, as if he were trying to hold it back but simply couldn’t.
Harry blinked. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Malfoy laugh like that—without malice, without mockery. Just… genuine amusement.
Strange.
But he didn’t have time to think about it. He turned on his heel and stepped into the common room without waiting to see if Malfoy would follow.
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Draco followed Potter through the portrait hole, making an effort to keep his expression neutral, but deep down, there was an excitement bubbling inside him that was hard to ignore. Entering the Gryffindor common room was something he had never imagined doing in his life, and now that he was here, he couldn’t help but feel his inner fan stir at the sight of the space he had read about and seen in movies so many times. However, as Draco Malfoy, it was best not to show too much.
The movies didn’t do it justice, he thought as he took in the room. It was… extravagant, very Gryffindor-like if he thought about it in retrospect, but still, it had that warm, homey feel that made anyone—anyone except him—feel comfortable.
The armchairs near the fireplace were plush and a deep, striking red. The carpet of the same color covered the floor with a soft texture, and the tapestries on the walls displayed intricate golden patterns that gleamed under the flickering firelight. It was the complete opposite of the Slytherin common room, where the atmosphere was much more sober, elegant, and cold. There, darker tones dominated, the greenish glow from the Black Lake reflected off the walls, and the sophisticated decor made it clear that only the worthy could step inside.
Draco narrowed his eyes with a hint of feigned disdain, though in reality, what he felt was curiosity. Even so, the system wasted no time reminding him that he needed to stay in character—a window appeared in front of him with its usual annoying tone.
[OOC Risk!]
Draco scanned the room one last time before shrugging with feigned indifference.
—I suppose I shouldn’t have expected much from the lions’ taste —he murmured with disdain, though deep down, he knew the truth was quite different. The Gryffindor common room had an undeniable warmth, a cozy atmosphere that made him feel strangely out of place. It was different from the cold elegance and controlled grandeur of the Slytherin common room, where opulence manifested in every detail—from the dark leather armchairs to the dim lighting reflected in the waters of the Black Lake.
He forced himself to frown slightly and maintain his composure as he let himself sink into one of the plush sofas by the fireplace. To his dismay, the seat was absurdly comfortable, so much so that his usually tense muscles relaxed involuntarily.
Across the fire, Potter rolled his eyes in an almost automatic gesture, as if he were already used to his comments. Draco watched with a hint of curiosity as the Gryffindor settled into the sofa opposite him. Here, Potter seemed in his element, as if the simple warmth of the fire was enough to make him lower his guard.
The system notification, which had been hovering annoyingly at the edge of his vision, vanished instantly.
Draco smirked to himself. Sometimes tricking the system was easy. Other times, it was harder. It didn’t seem to be too strict about the whole truce situation.
With a swift motion, he pulled the deck of Exploding Snap cards from his robe and began shuffling them deftly, feeling the rough texture of the paper between his fingers. Playing cards wasn’t exactly his favorite pastime, but he wasn’t about to pass up the chance to beat Potter at something, even if it was just a game of luck.
—Alright —he said with a mocking tone as he mixed the cards with practiced ease—. Are you ready for me to defeat you in cards, Harry?
The provocation was intentional. Almost a natural reflex in their dynamic. Draco expected a sharp retort, something to maintain the balance of their ridiculous rivalry, but instead, Potter simply raised an eyebrow with a half-smile, taking the cards Draco handed him.
—Whatever you say, we’ll see who’s better, Draco… —the Gryffindor responded, and although his tone was still challenging, it lacked the usual sharpness.
Draco noticed it immediately. That wasn’t the response he expected.
Not that it was the first time Potter had called him by his name. He had used his first name countless times since the previous night when they had established their ridiculous truce, but never like this. It almost sounded like they were… actually friends.
The silence between them stretched just a second longer than usual, but it was enough for Draco to feel a strange discomfort settle in his chest.
And yet, when he looked at Potter, he noticed the boy watching him with that same curious intensity he had been using lately, as if he were trying to figure him out.
The system seemed satisfied with the interaction, as it didn’t issue any warnings or notifications.
Draco discreetly took a deep breath, adjusting himself in the armchair while he dealt the cards with calculated movements. The important thing was to maintain balance—not to let the truce turn into something more than that.
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To his absolute disappointment, the best player was, without a doubt, Malfoy. He had won every round effortlessly, while Harry accumulated loss after loss, watching as his cards exploded in his face time and time again. He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more, and leaned back against the armchair with a resigned sigh. How the hell was he so good at this?
It wasn’t like Harry considered himself a master of Exploding Snap, but he almost always won against Ron and Hermione. Now, watching Malfoy shuffle the cards so effortlessly, as if it was second nature to him, made his frustration grow.
—Honestly, I expected it to be harder to beat you… —Malfoy mocked, though his tone lacked its usual malice and instead carried a hint of genuine amusement. —I had expected more after all that ridiculous provocation.
Harry rolled his eyes in annoyance. How irritatingly smug he sounded. It was as if beating him at everything was becoming his new favorite pastime. And in a way, maybe it was.
Because this year, Malfoy seemed to be winning at everything. He had lost the Quidditch match against him, and now this. He crossed his arms, feeling irritation settle deeper in his chest.
—I'm just not focused —he replied, frowning and turning his gaze toward the fireplace.
—That’s strange, considering I’m the one who doesn’t belong here —Malfoy shrugged with feigned innocence, as if he was genuinely surprised that Harry wasn’t at his best. —Since we’re in the Gryffindor common room, you should have the advantage.
Harry rolled his eyes again, but this time, with less annoyance and more resignation.
Malfoy laughed at his reaction, and for a moment, Harry just stared at him, surprised by how natural this all felt.
Him and Malfoy, in the Gryffindor common room, playing cards like it was the most normal thing in the world.
For some reason, instead of feeling strange, it felt… right. Like something that was supposed to happen, as if they were repeating a routine that, in another life, had always belonged to them.
Harry wasn’t someone who usually regretted his decisions, but lately, whenever he looked at Malfoy, he couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if he had shaken his hand that day on the Hogwarts Express. If, instead of rejecting him, he had said yes. Would anything have changed? Would they have been friends? Or were they destined to be on opposite sides no matter what they did?
The card in front of him exploded again, snapping him out of his thoughts. He adjusted his glasses with a frustrated gesture as Malfoy let out a mocking laugh.
—If you keep rolling your eyes like that, they’re going to get stuck backwards —the blond teased with a smirk. —My mother used to tell me that when I was a child.
Harry opened his mouth to retort, but something about the way Malfoy said it made him stop.
It was strange. There was no arrogance in his tone, no trace of the usual superiority with which he spoke about his family. It was… natural. Almost endearing. As if it had slipped out without him meaning to.
Harry felt a twinge of curiosity at the thought of a young Draco Malfoy rolling his eyes in frustration while his mother scolded him.
But he was tired of Exploding Snap. That was when an idea came to him. There was no way Malfoy could beat him at something he didn’t know, right?
—I've had enough of Exploding Snap —he said, standing up and stretching lazily.
Malfoy looked at him with curiosity but didn’t ask. Harry shot him a sideways glance and smirked to himself.
—Wait here.
And without another word, he headed toward his dormitory with new determination.
Let’s see how good you are at Muggle card games, Malfoy.
In his room, Harry rummaged through his things until he found a deck of cards he had “borrowed” from Dudley. Not that his cousin was ever going to play with them. Dudley probably just used them as coasters. At least now, Harry was giving them a better use.
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What?
Draco had no choice but to wait there, though he wasn’t sure how long Potter planned to make him wait. He watched as the Gryffindor disappeared up the dormitory stairs and sighed in exasperation, sinking a little deeper into the armchair. He had no idea what Potter was looking for, but he was certain he was up to something. During their last game, he had been watching him too intently, his brows furrowed, lips slightly pressed together in concentration. It suited him, but it was unusual to see him like that.
He turned his gaze toward the fireplace, watching how the flames danced in a hypnotic sway, filling the room with a warm glow. Being here, in the lions’ den, with no one else but Potter, was a strange experience. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t normal either. As if something in the universe had decided that, just for tonight, everything that had been true until now was momentarily suspended.
The sound of hurried footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. Potter had returned.
—Well, so you decided to come back —Draco teased, sitting up in the armchair with a casual air, though curiosity flickered in his eyes.
Potter flashed a smile, something between mischievous and determined, as he held up a deck of cards.
—It’s time to play something serious —he announced, flipping the cards between his fingers before fixing his gaze on him—. Have you ever played Muggle card games?
Draco had to hold back his smile. Of course, he had. Not only had he played before, but in his past life, he had been quite good at it. But admitting it now would be ridiculous. There was no way in the world that Draco “pureblood” Malfoy would confess to something like that.
He raised an eyebrow with disdain, crossing his arms with feigned incredulity.
—Do I look like the type to play with Muggle artifacts? —he asked sarcastically, dragging out every word with exaggerated dramatics. —Absolutely not.
Potter barely managed to hide the satisfaction creeping into his expression. Draco felt a pang of amusement watching him try not to smile too much, as if he had just discovered an advantage over him. For some reason, that expression was infuriatingly charming.
He rolled his eyes, leaning forward slightly with feigned indignation.
—Oh… I should say, it’s quite low of you to try to beat me in a game I clearly haven’t played —he murmured, in a tone of mock-offense that he didn’t even bother making sound convincing.
Potter let out a light laugh and, without warning, dropped onto the sofa beside him—far too close for what Draco had expected.
He didn’t react immediately, though he felt his back tense for a fraction of a second. Potter didn’t even seem to notice how much he was invading his personal space. He simply settled in naturally, spreading the cards over his lap as he began explaining the game with unusual patience.
Draco listened in silence, pretending ignorance while nodding occasionally. He knew perfectly well the value of the cards, how to form hands, how to read an opponent’s strategy, but he kept up the act skillfully, asking occasional questions at the right moments. Potter seemed satisfied with his efforts, completely unaware that Draco was actually playing a different kind of game.
When the explanation finally ended, Potter pulled away, returning to his seat across from him with a confident smile. Draco let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and settled back into the armchair with studied ease, watching as the Gryffindor began shuffling the cards with effortless skill.
The sound of the plastic sliding between his fingers filled the air, mingling with the crackling fire.
Draco rested an elbow on the arm of the chair, narrowing his eyes slightly, wondering how long it would take Potter to realize he wasn’t going to win this game either.
But then Draco realized—Potter really did know what he was doing.
And not only that, he was too good at it.
It couldn’t be a coincidence. In the first few rounds, Draco thought maybe Potter was just getting lucky, that at some point he would make a mistake and he could take advantage of it. But no. Every round, every hand, Potter played with irritating confidence, as if the game came as naturally to him as flying on a broomstick.
And then, he did it again.
—Royal flush. —Potter announced triumphantly, dropping his cards onto the table with theatrical flair. Then he added, with barely contained arrogance—. That’s another win for me, I suppose…
Draco felt a surge of frustration at the perfect combination of cards. A damn ace and four consecutive cards of the same suit. Impossible.
He let out a growl and threw his own cards down in resignation.
—Agh… —he huffed in irritation, leaning back into the armchair with a deep scowl. He had been aiming for a four-of-a-kind, but had only managed three of a kind. Pathetic.
Potter gave his cards a quick glance before letting out a laugh that made Draco’s jaw tighten.
—Well, you’re getting better —he said, in a relaxed tone, almost as if he were trying to console him. —You scored more points than last round.
Draco felt a shiver of indignation at the comment.
Getting better? He didn’t need to get better, he was good at this game. Or at least, he had been in his past life. In his world, he knew exactly how to read people at the table, how to calculate probabilities, how to bluff with a well-placed expression. And yet, Potter was outplaying him by far.
It didn’t make sense.
He had tried everything. Strategies, small, subtle tricks that no one would notice… but nothing worked. Nothing. Potter played as if the cards aligned in his favor, as if the entire universe was making sure he won every time just because he was the one who had chosen the game.
—You’re cheating —Draco finally blurted out, crossing his arms—. I don’t know how, but I know you are.
Potter looked at him with amusement before leaning back against the armchair with an easy grin.
—Really, Draco? Are you that desperate? —he teased, his tone dripping with that infuriating confidence. —Maybe I’m just better than you at this.
Draco let out a heavy breath and stared at Potter, who still had that self-satisfied smile on his face.
Of course he enjoys this.
The worst part was that Potter didn’t even seem to be gloating. There was no superiority in his tone, none of the condescension that usually accompanied their arguments. No, what made it truly unbearable was the ease with which he played, the ease with which he won, the ease with which he was simply… better at this.
Draco clenched his jaw and turned his gaze toward the fire. He could feel the expectation in the air, as if Potter were waiting for his next move, ready to throw another smug remark the moment he lost his temper. He wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.
—Well, it’s been fun humiliating you, Draco —Potter said lightly as he gathered the cards and shuffled them again with ease—. But if you want, we can stop here. I wouldn’t want you to start dreaming about my victories tonight.
Draco blinked slowly and let a lazy smirk creep onto his lips.
—Oh, how considerate of you, Harry… —he replied sarcastically, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees—. Tell me, are you always this unbearable when you win, or just with me?
—Only when you make losing look this entertaining. —Potter grinned even wider.
Draco held his composure. Fine, if that’s how you want to play it.
—Didn’t know you were such a fan of watching my expressions. Have I kept you that entertained this whole time?
The comment was intentional, perfectly timed.
For just a second, Potter hesitated.
Perfect.
Potter stood up, turning toward the staircase that led to his dormitory.
—Give me a second. I’ll bring the board.
Draco remained seated, the shadow of a smile still lingering on his lips as he watched Potter disappear up the stairs.
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Harry was more than entertained by the whole thing. He couldn’t deny that beating Malfoy had been incredibly satisfying, especially because of how frustrated the blond got every time he lost. But deep down, he also knew Draco was right—he had cheated.
Of course, he hadn’t tampered with the cards or anything, but taking advantage of the fact that Malfoy had never played Muggle card games definitely tipped the scales in his favor.
Still, it had been fun.
As he rummaged through Ron’s things in search of the chessboard, his mind kept drifting back to Malfoy’s words.
"Wow, I didn’t know you were such a fan of watching my face. Have I kept you entertained this whole time?"
Harry felt a slight warmth creep up the back of his neck at the memory. Malfoy had noticed.
And the worst part? He was right.
Harry had been looking at him too much.
He had started noticing little details about the blond that he had never paid attention to before—like the way he scrunched up his nose when he was concentrating, or the faint dimples that appeared on his cheeks when he smiled. Something that, now that he thought about it, he had never seen Malfoy do so naturally before.
He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. This was just a truce. Something temporary. As soon as the holidays were over and Hogwarts filled up with students again, everything would go back to normal.
Draco would go back to being Malfoy. The same arrogant, unbearable Slytherin as always.
But… what if he didn’t want things to go back to normal?
The thought caught him off guard, leaving a strange sensation in his stomach—a mix of unease and curiosity that he chose to ignore.
When he returned to the common room with the chessboard in his hands, he found Malfoy sprawled against the armchair, staring at the fire with a frown. He still looked irritated about his losing streak, but Harry couldn’t help but find the sight amusing. Malfoy hated losing.
—Alright, this time I’m going to beat you —the blond announced confidently as he sat up in the armchair.
Harry smirked, leaning forward slightly with a teasing glint in his eyes.
—Are you sure? —Harry challenged as he began arranging the pieces on the board with calculated precision.
Draco looked up and gave him a smug smile, straightening with an air of superiority that felt absurdly natural to him.
—Very sure.
And so, they began to play.
The hours passed without either of them noticing. At some point, they probably should have gone down to the Great Hall for lunch, but between the constant challenges, the teasing, and their hunger for victory, neither of them even thought about food.
The sun began to set, painting the sky in warm shades of orange and pink that filtered through the windows of the common room, reflecting in the fire that still crackled softly in the fireplace. Harry had no idea how long they had been there, but he didn’t care.
Finally, after three intense matches, Malfoy was crowned the absolute winner.
Harry let out a heavy sigh, sinking against the back of the armchair with a frustrated grimace. He was good. Incredibly good.
—You know… chess really isn’t your strong suit —Malfoy commented in a condescending tone, making Harry glare at him.
Harry sighed, feeling his mind aching from so much thinking. His head hurt, probably from concentrating on the games for too long… or from thinking about Malfoy too much.
—Alright, that’s fair —he finally admitted with a shrug—. Your strong suit wasn’t card games, after all.
Malfoy raised an amused eyebrow, but before he could reply, Harry smirked.
—Well, in any case, isn’t the goal to have fun rather than to win?
Draco clicked his tongue and shook his head with mock disappointment.
—Not at all. If you’re competing, it’s to win —he replied with a sly smile, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. But then, after a brief pause, he tilted his head slightly and added in a more relaxed tone—. But it was fun. I can’t deny that.
Harry wasn’t sure why, but his chest felt strange at those last words.
Maybe because it was the first time he had ever heard Draco Malfoy admit something like that.
Maybe because he didn’t want this to end.
—Do you want to go get dinner? —Malfoy offered, stretching lazily as he stood up—. Beating you has worked up my appetite.
Harry let out a chuckle, shaking his head. Of course, he would say something like that.
He stretched as well, feeling his back protest after spending so many hours hunched over the chessboard. His legs felt numb, and when he stood up, he felt a slight wave of dizziness. Not just from sitting for too long, but because, until that moment, he hadn’t realized how hungry he was.
—I don’t know why I’m surprised that the first thing you think about after winning is food, —he commented with a grin, running a hand through his hair, trying to tame it a little.
Malfoy rolled his eyes with an exaggerated expression.
—Not my fault that victory works up an appetite, Potter. You should try it sometime.
Harry huffed and gave him a light shove on the arm as he passed him. Malfoy rolled his eyes again but didn’t comment on it.
They left the common room and began descending the staircases, Harry a step ahead, guiding them through the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts. At this hour, the castle was completely silent, except for the faint whistle of the wind sneaking through the high windows and the occasional creak of stone beneath their feet.
It was… strange. Not uncomfortable, but strange.
Walking alongside Malfoy without arguing, without throwing insults or hateful glares. Just the sound of their footsteps echoing through the empty halls, accompanied by the dim glow of the torches on the walls.
Harry shoved his hands into the pockets of his robe, unsure of what to say. They had spent the entire afternoon between challenges, teasing, and stifled laughter, but now, with the night’s calm settling over them, the energy between them seemed… different.
—You know —he finally said, breaking the silence—, if someone saw us right now, they’d probably think we’ve been friends forever.
Malfoy let out a sharp, amused snort and shook his head.
—Please, don’t say such ridiculous things before dinner. I might lose my appetite.
Harry rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop himself from smiling.
—I’m serious, —he insisted, glancing at him sideways—. This… doesn’t feel like something that should be happening, you know?
Malfoy didn’t answer immediately. He seemed to be thinking about his words, though his face betrayed no emotion.
—I suppose it’s because it shouldn’t be happening, —he finally said with a shrug—. But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.
Harry felt a strange pang in his chest.
"That doesn’t mean it’s wrong."
It was true, though until recently, he never would have considered it a possibility. If someone had told him that he would spend an entire afternoon playing games with Malfoy without wanting to kill him by the end of it, he would have laughed in their face.
But now…Now he wasn’t sure what to think.
⊱⊱ ──── ⊰· ϟ ·⊱──── ⊰⊰
When Potter said those words, Draco froze for a moment.
There was something in the way he had said it, something that made him hold his breath, as if his mind was bracing for an imminent punishment. Maybe it was too obvious that he wasn’t the real Malfoy. He almost expected the system to flash a warning notification, a penalty for acting out of character, but nothing happened.
Silence.
They continued walking down the empty corridor, their footsteps echoing against the cold stone. Draco felt the slight tension in his shoulders, the persistent sense that something was off. His interaction with Potter… hadn’t been bad. In fact, it was the first time he had spent so much time with him without wanting to strangle him.
He shouldn’t feel comfortable around Potter. He shouldn’t remember so clearly how his brow furrowed in frustration whenever he lost, or how he ran a hand through his hair when he thought too much. And he definitely shouldn’t have noticed that he had a few faint freckles scattered across his cheeks.
They crossed the entrance to the Great Hall and, without another word, each went to their respective tables. Draco slid into his seat with his usual elegance, not bothering to exchange words with the only other Slytherin student left in the castle. Some first or second-year kid—he didn’t even remember his name.
Not that it mattered.
He supposed Potter was in the same situation. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted him at the far end of the hall, sitting completely alone at the Gryffindor table. For some reason, Potter almost seemed to grimace as he lowered his gaze to his plate.
Draco took a bite of his food absentmindedly, his mind replaying the events of the day. His hands shuffling the cards. Potter’s easy laughter. Those green eyes watching him with such intensity that he had felt exposed.
The thought made him sit up straighter and set his fork down.
A shiver ran down his spine, but not from the cold of the castle— it was because, for the first time since finding himself trapped in this story, he couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he had stopped acting.
The system had been too quiet. It had only appeared once the entire day and then left him alone. Why?
It wasn’t as if he had kept a safe distance from Potter—quite the opposite. He had sat with him in the Gryffindor common room, played cards with him, laughed with him…
The system had only assigned him a single game of Exploding Snap.
But he had spent basically the entire day with Potter.
He had no idea what consequences that could bring.
His stomach churned. What if the system was just waiting for him to realize his own mistake?
He tried to keep eating, but he couldn’t focus on anything else. Only the memories of the afternoon. How strange it had been to see Potter so relaxed around him, without the usual tension, without the resentment that had always existed between them.
And the worst part was that, if he was being completely honest with himself, it hadn’t been terrible.
He finished eating before he even realized his plate was empty. He stood up almost automatically, shaking off the heavy feeling in his chest as he headed toward the exit.
He needed to sleep.
The hallway was quiet, illuminated only by the flickering torches along the walls. Hogwarts always had this special atmosphere at night, as if it kept secrets hidden in every shadow. Draco shoved his hands into the pockets of his robe, trying to clear his mind, when he felt a slight tingling at the back of his neck.
Someone was following him.
He turned instinctively, and just as he feared—there was Potter.
The Gryffindor was smiling at him with a warmth that completely caught him off guard. It wasn’t the usual smug or arrogant grin, but something more relaxed, more genuine.
For the first time in a long while, Draco didn’t know what to say.
If it had been the usual smug smile, the one Potter always threw at him before making some infuriating remark, Draco would have known exactly how to react. But this… this was different. There was no challenge in his eyes, no trace of the usual condescension.
There was something warm in his expression. Something that made Draco tense up.
—Are you following me? —he finally managed to say, crossing his arms in an attempt to regain control of the conversation.
—It’s not following if we’re going in the same direction, —Potter replied smoothly, with that absurd ease he had of making everything seem simple.
Draco narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
—If you think I’m going to walk you all the way to Gryffindor Tower, you’re more confused than usual.
Potter chuckled under his breath.
—You’re not that essential, Draco. I just wanted to talk.
Draco couldn’t help it—something about this was suspicious.
Potter didn’t just follow him down hallways to “talk.” He didn’t seek him out unless he had a reason. And he definitely didn’t smile at him like this, as if it were something normal between them.
—Talk about what? —Draco asked cautiously.
Harry shrugged, glancing away for a moment before fixing his gaze back on him.
—I don’t know. The game, I guess. Today. It was fun.
Draco felt a strange discomfort creep up his spine.
Harry Potter.
The same boy he had spent years exchanging insults with. The same boy who always looked at him with distrust whenever their paths crossed in the hallways. Now he was standing here, telling him, with complete ease, that he had enjoyed spending the day with him.
But he had to be aware of it—they had spent the entire day together. No insults, no sarcasm, no petty fights. As if they had been friends all along.
Draco had no idea how to respond to that.
Potter seemed to notice because he smiled, slightly amused, before tilting his head a little.
—We can play again tomorrow, —he suggested—. Or do something else, if you want.
Draco blinked.
Potter was still standing there, hands in his pockets, completely relaxed, as if what he had just said wasn’t absolutely bizarre. As if it were normal for him to suggest spending more time together.
Draco could feel his mind working at full speed, scrambling for a response—something witty or sharp to break the tension that had just settled in his chest.
But he couldn’t find anything.
—You want to play again? —he finally said, unable to keep the skepticism from his voice.
—Why not? —Potter smirked—. I’ll admit, you’re decent at chess… though not so much at cards.
Draco shot him a glare, but the irritation felt lighter than usual.
—Don’t think for a second that I’ll play Muggle card games with you again, Potter. I won’t let you take advantage of my lack of experience.
Potter let out a short laugh.
—Then chess it is. Or something else.
Draco opened his mouth, ready to refuse—to say something like, “Why the hell would I waste my time with you again?”—but for some reason, the words got stuck in his throat.
And maybe… just maybe… the idea didn’t bother him that much.
He ran a hand through his hair and let out a breath, feigning exasperation.
—Do whatever you want. I don’t care.
Potter grinned, like he had just gotten exactly what he wanted. Draco felt a flicker of irritation at having fallen into his game, but let it go.
—Then I’ll see you after breakfast tomorrow, —Harry said, walking up the stairs with a satisfied smile.
As Draco turned toward the dungeons, he realized that he hadn’t even questioned why Potter had followed him.
Or why a part of him was already wondering what they would do the next day.
[Mission successfully completed! Keep it up! +50 B points]
[+200 protagonist satisfaction points]
[+200 protagonist affinity points]
Draco’s eyes widened in surprise.
The system was back.
And it seemed to be in a remarkably good mood, showering him with points left and right.
Maybe today had been more successful than he thought.