New Year's Eve
Draco had grown far too comfortable over the past few days, going back and forth with Potter to the Gryffindor common room or heading out to fly. It was simply too good, and that unsettled him. The system kept awarding him points left and right, as if his proximity to Potter were the key to unlocking some kind of hidden achievement. At first, he thought it might be a bug, but then he realized something—
The system seemed... pleased.
It didn’t stop him. It didn’t punish him. It just let him be.
A week had passed since the truce. It was December 31st. New Year’s Eve, and with it, the unspoken end of his ceasefire with Potter. The next day, the other students would start returning to Hogwarts, and their agreement would come to an end. Until then, until their friends came back, they could be... whatever it was that they were now. They certainly weren’t enemies anymore, but friends didn’t seem like the right word either.
Draco sighed, feeling the weight of reality settling on his shoulders. This was where things got complicated. Potter seemed blissfully unaware of what the date meant, but Draco wasn’t. He knew what came next. The lines would be drawn again, the sharp glances exchanged across the Great Hall, the silent war they had always waged. But now, after all of this... would he really be able to ignore what they had built over this past week?
To distract himself, he had spent most of the day in the library, lost in his own thoughts.
Among them, Buckbeak.
Because of him—or rather, because of the original Draco—Hagrid’s hippogriff was going to be executed. And then there was the whole issue with Sirius Black... another problem he couldn’t just ignore. Not when, technically, that blood ran in his veins.
He let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. He couldn’t let this derail his progress with Potter. He needed a way out.
In his last letter to his father, he had written: Father, it would be unwise to waste our Ministry connections on the execution of a foolish animal. They may prove useful later.
The problem was—how convincing did that sound? In his mind, it sounded exactly like something the original Draco would say. Cunning. Calculated. Vengeful, yet pragmatic enough to see the bigger picture. The system had approved the letter without objections, which was a relief, but now all he could do was wait for his father’s response. And if it wasn’t what he hoped... all his effort with Potter would go straight to hell.
He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice the presence behind him until he felt hands on his shoulders.
Too much contact.
Too much familiarity.
Only one person in the world would dare touch him so casually.
—What are you reading? —Potter asked calmly, standing behind him, smiling warmly.
Draco was going to die. This was too much.
Only Potter—damn Potter—could look so absurdly good with his messy hair and that effortless smile.
He swallowed dryly, a shiver running down his spine, though he couldn’t tell whether it was from the sudden closeness or the sheer absurdity of the situation. He didn’t turn around immediately. He forced himself to take a deep breath, to frown as if he hadn’t just lost the thread of his thoughts. As if Potter hadn’t just shattered his bubble of peace with a single smile.
—Do you have any concept of personal space? —he muttered, trying to sound annoyed, but without much conviction.
Harry let out a soft chuckle, leaning a bit more against the back of Draco’s chair. Draco felt his weight, his warmth, and he hated himself a little for noticing.
—Of course, I do. I just choose to ignore it with you.
Draco rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the slight curve of his lips, a barely contained smile.
⊱⊱ ──── ⊰· ϟ ·⊱──── ⊰⊰
Harry noticed that small smile on Malfoy’s face just before he rolled his eyes and turned back to his book. He had been watching him for a while, not too obviously… or at least, that’s what he thought.
There was something about the way the blond was flipping through the pages more slowly than usual, how his brow furrowed slightly from time to time, as if his mind was too occupied with something else to really focus on what he was reading. Worried. Yes, he definitely was, but if there was one thing Harry was sure of, it was that Malfoy would never admit it. They hadn’t reached that level of trust. He leaned back against his chair, not taking his eyes off him.
—You didn’t answer my question…
Malfoy ran a finger along the edge of the page before responding without looking up:
—Advanced Potions.
Harry rolled his eyes, letting his head fall against the chair with an exaggerated sigh. Of course. Of all the things he could be doing in his free time, Malfoy was reading about potions for fun.
—What’s so special about potions, huh? —he complained, frowning—. They’re hard to make, and Snape is unbearable.
Malfoy raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.
—They’re also very useful —he replied calmly, with that signature condescension of his—. With a potion, I could make you confess your darkest secrets…
Harry immediately frowned, his discomfort growing as he saw that satisfied smirk on the blond’s face. Malfoy knew his words had put him on edge, and he was enjoying it.
Harry sighed, but he couldn’t stop a small smile from tugging at his lips. It was strangely easy to let himself go with Malfoy’s teasing when it didn’t have venom in it. He didn’t have to be on guard all the time, and though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, it was… nice.
—Oh, yeah? And what do you want to know? —he replied with the same playful tone, leaning forward slightly.
Malfoy shrugged nonchalantly.
—Well, there’s not much I don’t already know, you’re practically a celebrity —he said with a smirk—. I was just making a point about how useful potions can be. There’s one, in particular, that lets you take on someone else’s appearance.
—Oh, yeah, Polyjuice Potion. But it tastes awful, ugh —Harry responded automatically, his expression twisting into a grimace at the memory of the taste.
He froze a second later. Shit. He had said too much, he shouldn’t have said that, he definitely shouldn’t have said that. Malfoy narrowed his eyes, immediate suspicion flashing in them.
—And how do you know what it tastes like?
His tone had changed. This wasn’t just casual conversation anymore—now he was analyzing him.
Harry felt his stomach tighten. Malfoy wasn’t stupid; if he let him think too much about it, he’d probably put two and two together and… well, he had no idea how he’d react if he found out that he and Ron had disguised themselves as Crabbe and Goyle the year before to sneak into the Slytherin common room.
He scratched his neck, trying to seem as casual as possible.
—Uh… well, I read it in one of Hermione’s books.
It didn’t sound convincing. He knew it the moment the words left his mouth.
Malfoy didn’t reply right away—he just stared at him. His gray eyes were intense, sharp, scrutinizing. Harry forced himself to keep a neutral expression, as if there was nothing odd about his answer.
Not that he thought the blond would make a scene if he figured it out. Or maybe he would. After all, a year ago, Harry had been convinced that Malfoy was the Heir of Slytherin. He had spied on him, followed him, and had been so sure that he was behind the attacks that he didn’t hesitate to sneak into his common room with the worst excuse in the world.
And now… now they spent their days together, playing chess and exchanging harmless banter, even though it turned out that it had been Lucius Malfoy who had given Ginny the diary. Malfoy had nothing to do with it, and now that they had grown slightly closer, Harry couldn’t see him that way anymore.
The thought of Malfoy finding out and deciding that this whole truce wasn’t worth it unsettled him more than he was willing to admit. Deep down, he still hoped to keep seeing him even after classes resumed—though the blond probably wouldn’t agree to such an idea.
Maybe he still had doubts about Malfoy. Or maybe he was just worried that the blond’s pride would push him to break this strange dynamic they had built.
Harry swallowed and, with as much nonchalance as he could fake, shrugged.
—What? You don’t believe me? —he asked, putting on his best innocent face.
The blond didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were still studying him, as if trying to unravel the truth behind his mask. As if he knew there was something Harry wasn’t saying.
And for a moment, Harry thought he had blown it. But then Malfoy looked away, letting out a quiet sigh.
—I suppose Granger has some pretty detailed books if they describe things that vividly… —he murmured, feigning disinterest as he turned back to his book.
Harry let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He bought it. Or at least, he decided not to push the issue.
The relief was immediate, but he still couldn’t help wondering if Malfoy had really believed him… or if he was just waiting for the right moment to get the truth out of him.
—So, what are we doing today? —Harry asked, crossing his arms over the back of his chair.
Malfoy lifted his gaze from his book and leaned back slightly, watching him as if he was considering the question for the first time.
—I don’t know… what do you do on New Year’s? —he asked, genuine curiosity in his tone.
Harry blinked, a little surprised by the question. He hadn’t expected Malfoy to be interested in something as simple as his traditions.
He stared at him for a moment, weighing his answer. The previous year, he had spent it in the infirmary with Ron and Hermione, still recovering from the Polyjuice disaster. In first year, it had been his first New Year at Hogwarts, enjoying the feast with Ron without having to worry about the Dursleys.
And with the Dursleys… well, New Year’s had never been special.
—Nothing in particular, I guess just going to the feast and that’s it —he finally said, shrugging—. What about you? What do you do on New Year’s?
Malfoy raised an eyebrow, a thoughtful look crossing his face, as if weighing his answer. It was strange to see him like this, cautious, as if considering how much he should say.
—At Malfoy Manor, we used to have a big dinner, important guests, classical music… all that kind of stuff —he finally answered in a neutral but distant tone.
Harry noticed the detail in his wording: “used to.”
—And not this year? —he asked curiously.
Malfoy shrugged with feigned indifference.
—I guess not. I’m not there, am I?
His smirk was sharp, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
Harry hesitated, realizing something he hadn’t considered before—Malfoy was completely alone at Hogwarts. No friends. That’s why they had started this truce in the first place—because they were both completely alone.
He could have teased him, made a joke about how boring a Malfoy New Year’s party must be, but he didn’t.
—Well… we could do something different —he said as casually as he could—. I don’t know, go to the feast, then watch the fireworks from the tower. I think you can see the ones from Hogsmeade from here.
Malfoy looked at him, and for a second, he seemed surprised.
—Doesn’t sound terrible…
—I’ll take that as a yes —Harry said, grinning.
Malfoy rolled his eyes, but Harry caught the faintest twitch of his lips, almost a smile. And for some reason, that felt like another small victory.
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Draco nearly had a heart attack.
Interacting with Potter was a minefield, a risky game where he was never sure if taking another step would move him forward or blow him to pieces. Every conversation with him felt like balancing on a tightrope without a safety net. And this time, Potter had asked the million-dollar question.
What was he doing on New Year’s Eve?
Or rather, what did the real Malfoy do?
Of course, he had no idea. Such a trivial matter had never been mentioned in the book, nor had there been any deep exploration of how New Year’s was celebrated at Hogwarts.
He forced himself to keep his expression calm while his mind worked at full speed. He wasn’t the original, so he had no memories of lavish dinners at Malfoy Manor, toasts with influential wizards, or extravagant social events. Everything he knew came from fanfictions he remembered from his previous life, and, luckily, most authors seemed to agree that the Malfoys celebrated every holiday as if it were a gala.
It sounded believable enough.
Fortunately, Potter didn’t have a real connection with the magical high society to know if that was true or not. In fact, lately, he seemed so casual with him that he’d probably believe him if he said unicorns could fly.
Draco barely had time to process that thought when the familiar glow of the system appeared before his eyes.
[+20 affinity points with the protagonist]
[+10 B points for adding depth to the character]
…Depth to the character?
What the hell was the system talking about? Draco blinked, confused, and his gaze shifted to Potter, who was looking at him with an expression he didn’t like at all. It was a mix of condescension and pity, as if he were assuming something completely wrong.
Great. Now Potter probably thought he missed his home or something equally ridiculous—because, in the first place, it wasn’t even his home. It was the home of the boy he had replaced.
Should he correct him?
A part of him wanted to snap back with a biting remark, something to dispel whatever mistaken idea Potter had. But then he remembered the damned system.
Ever since he had unlocked the OOC feature, he was supposed to have more freedom… but not enough to prevent the system from punishing him if he acted too out of character. And he didn’t want to lose points just to correct an assumption that, deep down, didn’t bother him too much.
[New side quest:
New Year at Hogwarts: attend the year-end banquet and watch the fireworks from the Astronomy Tower with the protagonist.]
[Failure penalty: -100 B points]
Draco felt his breath catch in his throat.
Since when did failing side quests cost that many points?
That wasn’t normal. So far, side quests had been simple distractions, small tasks that barely affected the plot. But this time, the penalty was absurd.
"System, what are the rewards for completing the event?"
[Rewards will be granted based on your performance in completing the event. Good luck, dear user!]
Draco narrowed his eyes.
So, they wouldn’t even tell him what he could gain. He could only lose.
The system was definitely up to something.
He let out a weary sigh and glanced at Potter, who, to his misfortune, looked very pleased with himself.
—Well, that was easier than I thought —the Gryffindor commented with a triumphant smile.
Draco felt a pang of irritation. Oh, no. He wasn’t going to let him take all the credit.
—Don’t get too excited, Potter —he scoffed, crossing his arms—. I only said it didn’t sound that terrible. Not that I thought it was a brilliant idea.
Potter chuckled.
—Whatever you say, Draco.
And, for some reason, hearing his name in Potter’s voice sent a strange shiver down his spine.
Lately, Potter seemed to take every opportunity to call him by his name, while he avoided saying Potter’s as much as possible. Even so, it still felt strange to hear the black-haired boy use his first name so familiarly.
To make matters worse, Potter sat down beside him on the couch, simply existing. Draco could feel those green eyes watching him intently. After a few minutes, he let out a frustrated sigh.
—And now what are you doing?
Potter didn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed. On the contrary, his smile widened with amusement.
—Me? Nothing at all.
Draco narrowed his eyes.
There was something about the way Potter looked at him that was irritating. Not like in their first encounters since he had transmigrated, when every one of their arguments was filled with hatred and rivalry. No, this was different. It was as if Potter was entertained, as if he found him… interesting?
The thought unsettled him more than he was willing to admit.
But what annoyed him even more was the way Potter smiled. Not the awkward grin he usually gave Weasley or Granger, nor the smug satisfaction he displayed when winning a Quidditch match. No. This was a lazy, arrogant smirk and—worst of all—strangely attractive.
Draco frowned and looked away.
—Don’t you have anything better to do? You’re distracting me.
Potter chuckled, making himself more comfortable on the couch as if he had no intention of leaving.
—From what? —he asked with fake innocence—. You’re not even reading.
Draco clenched his jaw.
Potter was enjoying this way too much. And he was right—he wasn’t reading. Before, at least he had been pretending, occasionally flipping pages. Now he couldn’t even do that. Potter’s gaze made him too nervous, as if, with his protagonist powers, he might suddenly discover that Draco wasn’t the original Malfoy but a transmigrated imposter. Even though Draco knew that wouldn’t happen.
And yet, his skin tingled with an unease he couldn’t ignore.
He exhaled slowly before turning and giving Potter a serious look.
—If I’m not reading, it’s because you won’t let me concentrate.
Potter grinned shamelessly, unfazed.
—Oh? What a shame.
—You really have nothing better to do?
—Not really. And my playmate seems very busy right now.
Potter stretched, lacing his fingers behind his head in a gesture of complete nonchalance. His smirk was almost a silent challenge, as if making it clear he wasn’t going anywhere.
Draco rolled his eyes, exasperated.
—Seriously? Don’t you have anything to do? Maybe writing a letter to the Weasel or something?
—Why would I do that when I’m having such an interesting conversation with you?
Draco’s jaw twitched.
—We’re not having a conversation.
—Sure we are.
—No, Potter. You are annoying, and I am trying to ignore you.
—And how’s that going for you?
Draco pressed his lips together in frustration. The fact that Potter could reply so quickly, without hesitation, as if it were a game he was used to playing, irritated him even more.
—Why are you still here?
—Why not?
Draco snapped his book shut and finally held his gaze, facing him head-on.
—Do you really have nothing better to do?
Potter smirked, resting his elbow on the couch’s armrest and his head on his hand, looking completely at ease.
—No, not really.
Draco sighed in defeat.
—You know what? Do whatever you want.
Potter chuckled.
—That’s what I was planning to do anyway.
And Draco didn’t know why, but something about that phrase made his heart race in a way that made no sense at all. He forced himself to look away.
⊱⊱ ──── ⊰· ϟ ·⊱──── ⊰⊰
Harry was enjoying this. Annoying Malfoy had become an acquired taste over the past few days. He simply found it fascinating how Malfoy frowned and complained but then tried to feign indifference when Harry’s comments clearly affected him—just like now, when he didn’t seem entirely sure what to say.
—Aren’t you acting a bit too arrogant for a Gryffindor? Aren’t you supposed to be noble and all that? —Malfoy asked, looking irritated.
—And who says arrogance and nobility are mutually exclusive? —Harry replied nonchalantly.
The blond clicked his tongue and looked away, returning to his book with more intensity than necessary. Harry knew instantly that he had won this little battle.
It was curious how Malfoy reacted to everything. He wasn’t like Ron, who exploded the moment something annoyed him. Nor like Hermione, who tried to ignore things with forced patience. Malfoy was different. He complained, frowned, pretended not to care… but he always said something. He always responded.
And that was what made it so fun.
Harry couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed teasing someone so much without truly wanting to fight.
—I wonder… —Harry continued, pretending to think— could it be that, deep down, you wish you had been a Gryffindor?
Malfoy dropped his book onto his lap, his eyes widening in surprise.
—Excuse me?
Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
—You heard me. My attitude bothers you so much because, deep down, you know you have the spirit of a Gryffindor.
Malfoy looked truly offended.
—Take that back. Now.
—Or what? Will you give me a speech about the greatness of Slytherin? —Harry smirked—.Because, honestly, I’ve memorized it by now.
Malfoy exhaled in frustration, running a hand through his hair as if trying to summon patience to deal with him.
—I am not a Gryffindor.
—Are you sure? Because you seemed really excited while riding your broom the other day.
—That has nothing to do with it.
—Of course, it does —Harry insisted, leaning in slightly—. You like challenges. You’re competitive. And despite everything you say, you love proving that you’re better than me.
—Because I am —Malfoy replied smugly—, and that’s why I’m a Slytherin.
Harry laughed, shaking his head.
—Uh-huh. Sure.
Malfoy shot him a murderous look before returning to his book, ignoring him with all the dignity he could muster.
Harry settled into his seat, feeling ridiculously satisfied.
Yes. Annoying Malfoy had definitely become his favorite pastime.
But Malfoy wasn’t going to let him win so easily.
—You say I want to be a Gryffindor, but I wasn’t the one practically begging to get into the Slytherin common room these past few days… —the blond said with a teasing smirk, tilting his head in amusement.
Harry frowned.
Well, he had. But he had a logical reason for it. He had spent entire days with Malfoy in the Gryffindor common room, so it was only fair that he got to experience Slytherin’s. Simple equality.
It had nothing to do with the fact that he was curious to see it again, this time as a guest, under the effects of the Polyjuice Potion pretending to be someone else. Nor with the fact that, deep down, the memory of his first day at Hogwarts still gnawed at him.
Lately, those memories had returned more often than he would like to admit. The way Malfoy had extended his hand on the train, with that same arrogance that he now found almost amusing. The way he had rejected it without much thought, drawing an instant line between them.
And the Sorting Hat.
“…You could be great, you know, it’s all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness…”
Harry swallowed hard, his discomfort showing in the way his hand tightened around the armrest of his chair.
Now, sitting across from Malfoy, with how easy their conversations had become, with how their dynamic had transformed into something completely different… He wondered what would have happened if he had made a different choice that day. If he had taken Malfoy’s hand, accepted his friendship, let the hat put him in Slytherin...
The thought was almost nostalgic.
He quickly shook his head, pushing those thoughts away. There was no point in thinking about that now.
—I haven’t begged for anything —he said firmly, crossing his arms.
Malfoy raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.
—Sure, sure. Whatever you say.
With an arrogant smirk, Malfoy returned his attention to his book. This time, he seemed determined to read despite Harry still being there. The black-haired boy sighed, resting his cheek on his hand, bored of being ignored.
He parted his lips to say something else, some new provocation to force Malfoy to look at him, but he stopped when he noticed the way the blond turned the pages slowly, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration.
He looked… calm.
Harry frowned. Just moments ago, he had managed to irritate him, and now Malfoy had already gone back to reading as if he weren’t even there.
Since when had he become someone who analyzed the way Malfoy read a book?
He turned his gaze to the snowy landscape outside the castle for a moment, but his attention kept drifting back to the blond beside him.
When Ron and Hermione returned, when the hallways filled with students again, when normalcy settled back into Hogwarts…
Would they still be like this? Or would they go back to being what they were before?
Harry wasn’t sure which option bothered him more.
—Not going to say anything else? —he murmured unconsciously, breaking the silence.
Malfoy didn’t lift his eyes from the book, but a barely perceptible smile curved his lips.
—Are you that desperate for my attention?
Harry clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes. Malfoy let out a soft chuckle, turning the page too calmly, as if savoring his frustration.
—I thought you were the one determined to stay and ruin my reading. Can’t the brave lion stand not being the center of attention?
Harry huffed, leaning back into the chair with exaggerated exasperation.
—Oh, please, as if you weren’t the same.
Malfoy let out a dry chuckle.
—I don’t have to try. Attention naturally comes to me.
Harry shot him a glare, but the blond didn’t even bother looking at him, keeping his serene expression as if the book were the most interesting thing in the world.
Harry’s frustration turned into something else. Something closer to determination.
If Malfoy thought he could ignore him, he was very mistaken.
With a sly expression, he leaned in slightly, closing some of the space between them.
—You know? I find it hard to believe you’re actually reading —he said casually, studying his profile—. Since you sat down, you haven’t turned more than a few pages.
—Maybe I’m a slow reader.
Harry smirked.
—Or maybe you’re not even paying attention to the book.
This time, Malfoy did look up, raising an eyebrow defiantly.
—Oh, really?
Harry shrugged, his grin widening.
—Yeah. Because you’re too busy listening to me.
Malfoy’s expression remained blank for a moment, but something in his gaze flickered with irritation.
—You’re insufferable, —the blond muttered, returning to his reading, though this time with a slight furrow in his brow.
Harry felt an inexplicable satisfaction at seeing him react.
Yes, Malfoy might try to ignore him all he wanted, but Harry had figured something important out: The Slytherin might be an excellent actor, but deep down, he always took the bait.
⊱⊱ ──── ⊰· ϟ ·⊱──── ⊰⊰
Draco walked after Potter, watching in disbelief as the Gryffindor moved through the corridors with a light step, clearly pleased that he had managed to get him to follow.
He sighed inwardly.
How was it possible that Potter could drag him into these situations so easily? It shouldn’t be like this. None of this should be happening. If everything went as in the book, they would still be enemies, barely exchanging insults in the hallways, keeping their ridiculous rivalry intact. But now… now he was following Potter through the empty corridors of the castle as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
This was definitely not normal.
Draco frowned, shoving his hands into the pockets of his robe as he walked.
It wasn’t his fault, he justified. It was Potter. Potter had an absurd ability to get under his skin, to drag him along at his pace without him even noticing. He was too persistent, too charismatic in his messy way, too…
Draco came to a sudden stop.
No. He wasn’t going to finish that thought.
He shook his head slightly and quickened his pace to catch up with the Gryffindor, who hadn’t even noticed his brief pause.
All of this was the system’s fault. Yes, that made sense. If the damn system hadn’t imposed that truce, none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t have spent entire days with Potter, wouldn’t have gotten used to his presence, wouldn’t have found himself looking for him when he wasn’t around.
But New Year's was almost here. Tomorrow everything would go back to normal.
But… did he really want that? To go back to being rivals and glaring at each other in the corridors? The idea of being indifferent to Potter felt annoying for some reason, and to his dismay, no, he didn’t want that ridiculous truce to end, because it also marked the beginning of the plot’s knot, where everything would get complicated, and he would have to work behind the scenes to fix the storyline.
Maybe he should take advantage of this last day of rest before he had to start “working.” He should enjoy the moment and spend the day with Potter as his friend, just like he had always wanted. Although… Draco wasn’t sure if that thought was truly his own.
Lately, he had been experiencing certain feelings he didn’t recognize as his, fragments of foreign memories he saw in dreams—memories of the original Malfoy. When he consulted the system, it had mentioned something about a “synchronization,” as if his essence and Malfoy’s were merging. That left him with a bitter feeling, a reminder that he had stolen someone else’s life.
Sometimes he wondered what had happened to the real Draco. Had he taken his body just like he had done? Though, truth be told, he considered it unlikely. He was supposed to be dead in his original world, and that’s why he had ended up in this universe…
Then a snowball snapped him out of his thoughts.
—What the hell…? —Potter was looking at him with an expression somewhere between concerned and amused, as if he were trying not to show his worry.
—Well, at least you’re not a zombie or anything, that’s a relief —he said in a playful tone, forming another snowball.— Hey, whatever’s bothering you, it doesn’t matter, okay?
Draco’s eyes widened in surprise at that comment.
—It’s New Year's, and you shouldn’t be worrying —Potter added with a warm smile.
Draco’s heart skipped a beat, but he managed to react and dodge the second snowball.
—Hey, that’s not fair! You didn’t warn me! —he complained, crouching to make his own snowball, his bare hands against the cold, but at that moment, he didn’t care.— Aren’t Gryffindors supposed to be fair and all that?
—Wow, you’re so literal. I don’t think the Sorting Hat puts people in houses expecting them to embody every single trait perfectly. For example— Potter paused and smiled.— You’re pretty naive for someone from the most evil house.
Malfoy’s eyes widened in shock. What kind of nonsense had he just said? Without hesitation, he threw the snowball straight at his chest.
—You’ve really been trying to insult me today, huh? —he accused, though he wasn’t really angry. He watched Potter stagger slightly from the impact.— You better not call me naive again, or I’ll give you another scar!
Potter laughed at his words, as if, somehow, Draco had just proven him right—though Draco couldn’t quite understand how. Without a second thought, he threw another snowball straight at his face, and Potter failed to dodge it, the snow melting against his cheek.
—So, you’re going to give me another scar with snowballs? —Potter asked between laughs, taking off running as Draco chased after him.
Draco kept throwing snowballs, and Potter did too. After a while, drenched in snow and exhausted from running, they collapsed onto the snowy ground.
Draco panted, feeling the cold air burn his lungs as he let himself fall heavily onto the snow. Next to him, Potter also collapsed with breathless laughter, his breath forming small white clouds in the frigid air.
For a moment, everything was silent. Only the sound of their ragged breaths and the distant crunch of the wind through the trees filled the space between them. Draco closed his eyes, enjoying the strange calm that followed the chaos.
—I have to admit… —murmured Potter, his voice hoarse from laughter—. I didn’t think you’d be so good at this.
Draco turned his head to look at him, raising an eyebrow.
—At what? Burying you in snow?
Potter grinned, his cheeks flushed from the cold and exertion.
—At having fun.
Draco shivered, and it had nothing to do with the weather.
Potter was looking at him differently—not with the usual teasing or competitiveness that always accompanied their interactions, but with something else… something more genuine.
Draco averted his gaze to the winter sky.
—What? Did you think I spent all my days locked in a dungeon plotting evil schemes?
—Something like that —Potter joked, turning onto his side to look at him better.— But I think I could get used to this version of you.
Draco clicked his tongue and sat up with a sigh, brushing the snow off his coat, trying to act like he didn’t care.
—Don’t get too used to it.
Potter smirked, as if he knew something Draco wasn’t ready to admit yet. He simply chuckled softly.
—Whatever you say…
And for some reason, that response left a strange warmth in Draco’s chest, even in the middle of winter. He stood up, shaking the snow from his clothes.
—Let’s head back to the castle, it’s too cold —he said, extending his hand toward Potter.
The dark-haired boy smiled and didn’t hesitate to take his hand. Once on his feet, he dusted off his clothes and ran a hand through his hair.
—Let’s go.
It all felt too familiar… too pleasant. Draco sighed as he walked alongside Potter, who kept talking about the weather and how, according to him, he had won their snowball fight. Once they reached the base of the staircase, they agreed to meet for dinner, and each went off to their common rooms to change.
⊱⊱ ──── ⊰· ϟ ·⊱──── ⊰⊰
Time passed far too slowly for Harry in the Gryffindor common room. When he went down for lunch, the Slytherin was naturally nowhere to be found. During that week of coexisting, he had discovered that, in reality, the blond tended to skip meals—except when they were together. It was no wonder he was so thin. And a couple of times… well, many times, he had used the map Fred and George had given him to “check” where Malfoy was. Not because he missed his presence or anything like that. And it wasn’t like he was spying on him—it was just curiosity. Or so he told himself.
Although, Malfoy never did anything interesting besides being with him, of course. He went back and forth between the dungeons and the library, sometimes wandering around the castle, only to return to the dungeons again.
For some reason, Harry was genuinely excited about watching the fireworks with Malfoy from the Astronomy Tower. He was also certain that the blond would try to escape with some poor excuse about it being too cold or something like that. So, he took a couple of blankets up to the tower and left them in a corner—he wasn’t going to let Malfoy’s pride ruin his little plan.
Still, deep down, he kept questioning himself and his decisions. Was it the absence of Ron, Hermione, or any other Gryffindor that pushed him to spend time with Malfoy? Or was it something else? Something like actually enjoying the blond’s presence?
When night fell, he went down to the Great Hall, where, once again, Dumbledore had arranged a single long table—this time with fourteen seats. So he assumed Professor Lupin would be joining them this time. The other students and professors were already there.
Harry sat next to Malfoy in the only available chair beside him, offering him a small smile. The blond greeted him subtly with a quick wave. Harry could feel Snape’s scrutiny from his seat near Professor Dumbledore.
When Professor Lupin entered and took his seat next to Snape, he gave Harry a slight wave. Harry returned the greeting.
Seeing that everyone had gathered, the headmaster stood up, smiling widely.
– Good evening, everyone! I’m glad to see you all here tonight – he said jovially, dressed in an extravagant orange robe.
At that moment, Professor Trelawney entered the Great Hall.
– I apologize for my tardiness, Headmaster – the woman said as she glanced around the table. – I’m glad that tonight we are an even number. Professor Lupin, how are you? The stars have spoken to me of your recovery.
– Uh… yes, well, thank you for your concern… – he replied, clearly uncomfortable but managing a small smile.
Harry glanced sideways at Malfoy, who observed the scene with a neutral expression. But the glint of amusement in his eyes betrayed what he really thought about it.
When Professor Trelawney took her seat, the feast began.
Plates filled with food appeared on the table in the blink of an eye: golden roasted turkeys, mashed potatoes with gravy, pumpkin stew, steamed vegetables, and freshly baked rolls. The warm, spiced aroma filled the air, and Harry’s stomach growled in response.
The black-haired boy began eating enthusiastically and noticed how Malfoy seemed to be playing with his vegetables rather than eating them. He sighed in frustration.
Lately, Malfoy had been far too distracted—like that morning when they were walking through the snow, and the blond seemed to be in another world, not reacting until the snowball hit him. But right now, he didn’t seem as dissociated as he had been then, just thoughtful.
It really frustrated Harry not to know what was going on in the blond’s head. What could possibly worry a rich and high-achieving kid like him? He was good at school, had plenty of friends, was popular, and certainly didn’t lack money. So what was making him so nervous?
Harry had never thought much about what worried Malfoy before. In the past, the only thing that interested him about him was how to beat him at Quidditch or how to respond to his insults. But now…
Now it was different. And he had no idea what to do about that difference. It was just irritating.
So he nudged Malfoy’s arm lightly. The blond looked at him with a slight frown before silently resuming his meal.
Harry had the impression that, in reality, the Slytherin wasn’t capable of taking care of himself, and that was why he always had his little entourage around him. But he wouldn’t dare say it out loud—otherwise, Malfoy might get seriously angry this time.
He chuckled softly to himself and continued eating.
⊱⊱ ──── ⊰· ϟ ·⊱──── ⊰⊰
Draco had no idea what the hell Potter found so amusing, but he definitely wanted to wipe that smile off his face. He let out a resigned sigh. Potter, as expected, wasn’t going to give him the chance to slip away; he had sat beside him with the patience of someone who knew he would win this little battle. Did he not understand the concept of subtlety? If they got up and left together, it would be way too obvious…
Clicking his tongue, he continued eating, doing his best to ignore Potter’s satisfied expression. However, he found himself watching him more than he should. It didn’t matter. After tonight, everything would go back to normal: they would be the same rivals as always, pretending this ridiculous truce had never happened.
He should feel relieved.
He wouldn’t have to measure every word, watch every gesture in Potter’s presence anymore. He could return to his routine, to his endless hours of studying, and focus on handling the plot without unnecessary interruptions. But for some reason he couldn’t quite grasp, the idea of returning to that monotony felt… uncomfortable.
Throwing insults at him in the hallways, looking at him with disdain as always… it no longer seemed as appealing. Because, even if he didn’t want to admit it, he had enjoyed watching Potter’s frustration, seeing his reactions. Now, no matter how hard he tried, he doubted he could do it with the same ease.
He finished eating and stood up. Immediately, he saw Potter move as if he were about to follow him. With a quick motion, he grabbed his sleeve, silently telling him not to be so obvious. He could feel Snape’s gaze on them like a weight on his neck—there was no way he would escape that conversation later.
To his relief, Potter wasn’t as much of an idiot as he seemed and got the message, though he frowned in clear annoyance. Draco left the Great Hall with as much dignity as he could muster, his chance to disappear into the hallways right in front of him.
But, against all odds, he stayed. Leaning against the corridor wall, he crossed his arms and waited.
A while later, Potter finally emerged, frowning with the obvious irritation of someone who knows they’re being watched. Draco couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight.
—Wow, I almost thought you stayed behind to have tea with Dumbledore —Draco commented with a light tease, without the usual sharpness of his sarcasm.
To his surprise, Potter didn’t react with annoyance. Instead, he barely smiled, as if he actually found the comment amusing. He looked at him with something like disbelief, clearly surprised to find him there, waiting. And he couldn’t blame him—not even he knew why he hadn’t left.
—I thought you’d be gone, Draco —Potter admitted, shrugging—. It’s a real surprise to see you were waiting for me.
Draco let out a small breath, as if it were nothing important.
—Well, I didn’t think it was fair to make you chase me through the corridors like always —he replied, mimicking his shrug—. But don’t get used to it.
Potter rolled his eyes, but his smile didn’t fade.
—Whatever you say.
And, without warning, the Gryffindor closed the distance between them and grabbed Draco by the wrist, gently pulling him along as he started walking down the corridor.
Draco blinked, surprised by the unexpected contact. He could have pulled away, complained. But he didn’t. Instead, he let Potter lead him, more curious than uncomfortable.
After all, by now, he had gotten used to the other’s strange behavior, even if the system insisted that the protagonist was perfectly fine and that there were no errors.
Draco let Potter guide him through the corridor, feeling the warmth of his hand around his wrist. It wasn’t a strong grip, but it didn’t seem like he intended to let go anytime soon.
—Weren’t we going to the Astronomy Tower? —Draco asked, raising an eyebrow—. I don’t think holding my hand is necessary, is it?
Potter glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, wearing an expression Draco couldn’t quite decipher.
—Don’t make me think you mind —he replied calmly, as if it were obvious that Draco could pull away at any moment if he really wanted to.
And that was the worst part. That he could. That there was nothing stopping him—except his own curiosity.
Draco clicked his tongue and looked away, feigning disinterest. Potter chuckled softly.
—Don’t worry, Draco. The last thing I want is for you to think I’m courting you.
Draco stumbled slightly, his brain catching on a single word.
—What—?!
Potter let go of his wrist with an open laugh, taking a few steps ahead before turning to look at him in amusement.
—Relax. I’m just joking.
Draco shot him a glare, but his heart was beating a little faster than he’d like to admit.
—You’re an idiot.
—I know.
And for some reason, Potter’s smile seemed a little brighter than usual.
—Oh, come on, don’t be mad —Potter teased lightly, tilting his head slightly toward him—. Let’s go.
He extended his hand naturally, but Draco could only look at it with distrust. Something about the scene sent an uncomfortable shiver down his spine. Since when did his life feel more like a romance novel than a fantasy one? Because, definitely, nothing like this had ever happened in the series.
With a grimace of displeasure, he swatted his hand away and kept walking, hoping Potter would give up. But, of course, Potter never made things easy. Before he could react, he felt an arm drape over his shoulders with shameless confidence.
[+40 affinity points with the protagonist.]
Draco blinked in disbelief. A while ago, he was convinced the system would appear to warn him about an error in Potter’s programming. Instead, it was rewarding him. Fantastic.
He shrugged off the hold with a sharp movement and shot him a warning glare.
—For Merlin’s sake, what’s wrong with you? —he snapped with a frown—. You’re acting like a damn clingy dog.
⊱⊱ ──── ⊰· ϟ ·⊱──── ⊰⊰
Harry, for his part, was enjoying Malfoy's utterly bewildered expression far more than he should. It was rare to see the blond without a sharp retort ready, as if he truly didn't know how to react. And honestly, Harry had no idea where the impulse to grab his hand had come from. He had just... done it.
But now, seeing Malfoy with slightly flushed cheeks—whether from anger or embarrassment—he felt an almost childish urge to keep teasing him. Not that he would ever admit it out loud, but seeing Malfoy like this, frowning and without his usual composure, was strangely entertaining.
What he hadn’t expected was the comparison to a dog.
Harry blinked, stunned, before bursting into laughter.
– A clingy dog? – he repeated, placing a hand over his chest in mock dramatics – Wow, Draco, that hurts.
Malfoy clicked his tongue, visibly irritated.
– It should – he grumbled, crossing his arms again.
But Harry only smiled wider and, without warning, ruffled his hair with a teasing pat before walking off down the corridor.
– Come on, Draco. If you don’t hurry, I’ll have to carry you like the pampered princess you are.
Malfoy's outraged growl was completely worth it.
– I dare you to say that to my face!
Harry let out another laugh and took off running before Malfoy could react. The sound of his footsteps echoed through the hallways as he sped up the stairs toward the Astronomy Tower. He turned his head just in time to see Malfoy chasing after him, his expression one of pure indignation.
– Stop!
Harry laughed even harder as he watched Malfoy stumble clumsily in his desperate attempt to catch up. Despite all his pride, the Slytherin wasn’t exactly the best when it came to physical endurance. On a broom, he was a prodigy, sure—but running? A complete disaster.
Finally, Malfoy came to a stop, panting, hands resting on his knees. Harry halted a few steps ahead, amused, watching him with a teasing grin.
– Already giving up? – he taunted, tilting his head in fake innocence.
Malfoy shot him a deadly glare before launching himself forward in one last attempt to grab him. But his own clumsiness worked against him, and he was about to crash face-first onto the stone floor—if Harry hadn’t reacted quickly, grabbing him by the hood of his robe.
– Careful – Harry murmured, holding him firmly.
Malfoy stayed still for a second, surprised, his breathing still heavy. When Harry let go and he managed to regain his composure, he huffed in exasperation, smoothing down his robe as if that could restore his dignity.
– Stop doing that… – he muttered, turning slightly away.
Harry raised an eyebrow, amused.
– Doing what?
Malfoy avoided his gaze, crossing his arms with clear frustration. Harry could swear he had blushed again.
– Touching me like that, so casually – he snapped irritably – Are you this clingy with everyone?
Harry just smiled.
– No, only with you, Draco.
The blond clicked his tongue but didn’t respond right away. Maybe because he didn’t have a comeback ready… or maybe because, though he would never admit it, the answer had thrown him off more than he would have liked.
⊱⊱ ──── ⊰· ϟ ·⊱──── ⊰⊰
What was wrong with him?
On the very last day of their damn peace agreement, Potter just had to act like this—with that absurd familiarity, as if they weren’t about to go back to ignoring each other in the hallways. He wasn’t making it easy at all to pretend this had never happened.
And the worst part was that he seemed to have found his weak spot: physical contact. Draco had never been particularly fond of physical affection, but he didn’t hate it either. He had always let Pansy cling to his arm or throw an arm around his shoulders without it bothering him too much. But Potter… Potter was different.
Maybe because he wasn’t used to being touched so casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Or maybe because Potter was treating him like some damsel in distress, which was twice as irritating. Draco had to hold back from pointing out that, at the moment, he was several centimeters taller than him. But of course, Potter always found a way to make up for his lack of height with that arrogant and ridiculously self-assured attitude.
And that… that was what was truly annoying.
Because somehow, Potter had the audacity to make it look attractive—the way his messy hair fell over his forehead, the faint freckles on his cheeks, or maybe even that infamous scar. Was his fascination with Potter like that of a reader with their favorite character? Or was it something else? He couldn’t say for sure, but no matter how much he denied it, he was falling headfirst into a game he didn’t fully understand. Like a moth flying straight into the flame, fully aware he should stay away, yet unable to do so.
He turned around and slapped his cheeks lightly. He needed to think clearly. He couldn’t let his guard down just like that. He could almost hear Potter’s quiet laughter. Taking a deep breath, he turned back around, locking eyes with those emerald-green ones with renewed determination. If Potter wanted to play this game, then so could he.
— Do you like me that much? — he asked, standing up straight in front of him, looking down at him slightly with a smug smile.
This time, it was Potter’s turn to blush.
The effect was immediate.
Potter’s eyes widened just a fraction, and Draco could see the exact moment his brain processed the question. A faint flush crept up his neck to his cheeks, and for the first time all night, he was the one left speechless. Draco took in the sight with something close to cruel satisfaction.
Potter blinked, his mouth opening slightly as if about to respond, but nothing came out. Draco felt a spark of triumph watching him falter—though it didn’t last long.
Because instead of looking away or stammering out some clumsy excuse, Potter narrowed his eyes, and his expression shifted.
— And what if I do? — he shot back suddenly, with a confidence Draco hadn’t expected.
It was his turn to go blank.
His brain took a second to process the response. Wait, what? That wasn’t what Potter was supposed to say. He should have been offended, scoffed, or, at worst, changed the subject. But instead, he was throwing the game right back at him, effortlessly.
Draco felt an annoying heat rise to his ears.
— Don’t say nonsense — he snapped quickly, crossing his arms again to hide his discomfort.
But Potter only smiled—that confident, slightly challenging smile.
— Why not? — he pressed, tilting his head in mock innocence.
Draco clicked his tongue.
— Because it’s you — he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Potter raised an amused eyebrow.
— And what’s that supposed to mean?
Draco shot him a glare, but Potter didn’t even flinch. On the contrary, he crossed his arms, mirroring his stance, patiently waiting for an answer.
For Merlin’s sake, why was he doing this? Why did Potter have to be so…?
Draco huffed in frustration, turning his face to the side.
— A Gryffindor and a Slytherin is scandalous enough already — he muttered.
Keeping up with Potter in this ridiculous push-and-pull was getting difficult. The raven-haired boy remained still for a moment, while Draco decided to do them both a favor and change the subject.
— It’s barely ten. What are we supposed to do until midnight?
Potter considered the question. Draco watched him expectantly. Instead of answering, Potter pushed himself up onto the railing, sitting on the edge with all the nonchalance in the world. Draco felt his heart lurch.
— Merlin’s beard, Harry! Are you a complete idiot?
But Potter only laughed, swinging his feet slightly in the air.
— Relax, Draco. I’m not going to fall… probably.
Draco ran a hand over his face, wondering at what point in his life he had ended up in something like this.
Midnight couldn’t come fast enough.
— Do I have to be in danger for you to call me by my name? — Potter asked with a slight smirk.
Draco realized he had, in fact, called him by his first name instead of his last—something he had carefully avoided throughout their ridiculous truce. He didn’t know what to say to that. Potter watched him, satisfied, from the railing.
— You’re an idiot — Draco said for what felt like the hundredth time that day.
Potter looked amused.
— I know.
He swung his feet casually.
Draco felt like he was going to have a heart attack. He was fully aware that even if Potter fell, nothing would happen to him—because he was the protagonist—but the doubt still nagged at him. What if, for once, things didn’t go as expected? Everything had been feeling off-canon lately, too strange. So when Potter leaned forward just a little more, Draco didn’t hesitate to reach out and grab his hand.
— Are you suicidal? — he demanded, eyes wide.
Potter, on the other hand, looked almost pleased by his reaction.
⊱⊱ ──── ⊰· ϟ ·⊱──── ⊰⊰
Harry was testing two things, and both were confirmed almost instantly. First, that Malfoy did, in fact, care about him. And second, that he would disguise it with some sarcastic comment to avoid admitting it. He had already learned to predict it.
—If you fall, they’re going to say I pushed you. Would you mind thinking about me for a second? —Malfoy complained, frowning with evident irritation.
Harry had to bite his lip to stop himself from bursting into laughter right then and there. There it was, just as he had expected.
With a satisfied smile, he climbed down from the railing with a fluid movement and let himself drop onto the tower floor, leaning against the cold stone.
—Always so considerate… —he remarked with amusement, stretching out his legs and making himself comfortable as if he were in the common room.
The blond huffed, crossing his arms, but after a few seconds of apparent indecision, he ended up sitting beside him with a theatrical sigh.
The night wind tousled both of their hair, and for the first time that night, there were no immediate provocations or disguised jabs. Only the distant sound of the lake stirring. The cold night breeze brushed against their skin, carrying with it the whisper of distant leaves and the faint glow of the stars that illuminated the Astronomy Tower with an ethereal light.
—So? —Harry broke the silence, his voice barely a murmur in the wind. He turned his head toward Malfoy, watching him intently—. What happens after tonight?
The blond didn’t answer right away. His gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his eyes reflecting the vastness of the sky, as if the question had caught him by surprise, as if he truly hadn’t considered it until now.
—Well, a new year begins, genius —he finally replied, with a lopsided smile and a hint of mockery—. That’s what New Year’s is.
Harry didn’t look away from him.
—I’m talking about us, Draco —he said firmly, turning completely to face him—. What happens with us?
Malfoy blinked, and though his expression didn’t change immediately, Harry noticed the slight stiffness in his posture.
—God… you talk like we’re in a relationship… —he let out with a dry laugh, though, almost imperceptibly, he shifted just a little, putting more distance between them—. Well, I suppose we go back to the usual…
Harry tilted his head in curiosity, his inquisitive gaze reflecting the moonlight.
—And what is "the usual"?
Malfoy exhaled slowly, as if every word cost him more than he was willing to admit. When he finally looked at him again, his face was carefully neutral, but his fingers idly toyed with the sleeve of his robe.
—You know… the usual —he murmured—. Pretending we hate each other… or not?
The silence that followed Malfoy’s response left Harry at a loss for words.
Because, deep down, he was right.
Somehow, he was going to miss this. More than he’d like to admit. He had found in Malfoy a dynamic different from the one he had with Ron and Hermione; a rivalry that, instead of being bitter, had turned into a sort of game between them. Always competing, always challenging each other, walking a fine line between seriousness and amusement.
He lifted his gaze to the starry sky for a moment, letting the breeze ruffle his hair, then turned back to Malfoy, who was now hugging his knees while staring at the horizon. The moonlight gave him a certain glow, highlighting the contours of his face, the pale elegance of his skin, the softness of his blond hair.
Harry caught himself admiring him.
Malfoy, as if sensing his gaze, glanced at him with a sly smile.
—At this rate, I’m going to start thinking you actually like me, Harry…
Harry felt the heat rise up his neck, settling in his ears. That was the worst thing Malfoy could have done—saying his name like that, in that mocking tone, just to get a reaction out of him. And the worst part was that it had affected him more than it should have.
To avoid his gaze, he turned abruptly and fumbled through the backpack he had left there earlier. He pulled out the deck of Muggle cards and held it up, as if nothing had happened.
—Alright, let’s do something fun while we pass the time.
Malfoy narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
—Oh, no. I don’t like your little Muggle game —he complained immediately.
Harry smirked and started shuffling the cards effortlessly, enjoying the look of annoyance on the other’s face.
—Still upset that I’m way better than you at poker?
—Yes.
Harry blinked. He hadn’t expected Malfoy to admit it. Just like that. No hesitation.
—Uh… —He let out a quiet laugh, scratching the back of his neck—. Then… I could teach you another game. It doesn’t have to be poker this time.
The blond shot him a skeptical look. Harry simply held the cards out to him, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.
—Trust me.
Malfoy huffed, but after a moment of hesitation, he took the deck begrudgingly.
—This is a terrible idea…
—The best ideas usually are.
And with that, Harry settled more comfortably on the ground, ready to stretch the night out just a little longer.
The night air was cold and sharp in the Astronomy Tower, their figures tucked away in the shadows as they played cards on the stone floor. Harry had taught him blackjack—a simple game, but exciting enough to hook Malfoy in. At first, the blond had lost several rounds, growing silently frustrated, but over time, he had refined his strategy, even managing to beat Harry a couple of times.
Now, with less than ten minutes to midnight, the deck lay forgotten between them, and conversation had taken its place. Malfoy’s nose was reddened from the cold, his eyes heavy with sleep, and he had already complained at least twice that he was tired.
Harry, however, wasn’t about to let him off the hook so easily.
—Oh, come on, don’t tell me you actually go to bed early —Harry teased as Malfoy yawned for the third time.
The Slytherin shot him an irritated look before responding with feigned dignity:
—Normal people sleep eight hours a day, Potter. I don’t know what kind of life you lead, but you should try it sometime.
Harry let out an amused laugh.
—I can’t believe it. Are Slytherins seriously just good little kids who go to bed at eight? I always imagined you all as more… I don’t know, mysterious and nocturnal.
Malfoy huffed, rolling his eyes dramatically.
—And what do you expect us to do? Stay up all night plotting evil schemes? —He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms with mock indignation—. That sounds much more like something a Gryffindor would do. Breaking the rules, sneaking around the castle at ungodly hours…
Harry smirked mischievously, leaning in just slightly.
—You say that as if you aren’t doing exactly that right now.
Malfoy fell silent for a second, narrowing his eyes. Harry chuckled, pulled a blanket from his bag, and tossed it over Malfoy’s head.
—Hey! —Malfoy protested, grabbing the blanket.
—Take it. You look like you’re about to get hypothermia —Harry said with feigned indifference, but his gaze remained fixed on Malfoy, almost daring him to reject the gesture.
Malfoy stayed quiet for a moment, his gray eyes studying him suspiciously. Harry held his gaze, pretending indifference, though deep down he was bracing himself for a sharp remark—some sarcastic comment about how a Gryffindor had no reason to care about him.
But to his surprise, instead of a snide remark, Malfoy simply sighed and pulled the blanket more securely over his shoulders.
—Mhn… how considerate —he murmured, his tone more relaxed than usual, almost grateful.
Harry felt an inexplicable sense of pride at seeing him accept the blanket without too much resistance. A small victory. But then, the thought hit him like a brick: when had he started caring about Malfoy like this?
He quickly averted his gaze to the starry sky, as if that could erase the thought from his mind. It was ridiculous. Just a year ago, he wouldn’t have wasted a single second worrying about whether Malfoy froze to death in one of his petty tantrums. And yet, here he was, handing him a blanket like it was the most natural thing in the world.
—Don’t get excited, I only did it because I don’t want to deal with the guilt if you get sick and Snape decides to kill me —he added with feigned disdain, trying to dispel the strange warmth settling in his chest.
Malfoy clicked his tongue and glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, amused. He didn’t respond—he just laughed.
Before Harry could say anything else, a loud bang shattered the night’s silence. A golden flash lit up the sky, and a second later, it exploded into a fan of shimmering lights. More bursts followed, painting the darkness in red, blue, and silver. From the Astronomy Tower, the fireworks looked so close they could almost touch them, reflecting in the windows of Hogwarts and the snow-covered rooftops of Hogsmeade.
Harry felt the moment suspend in the air. Beside him, Malfoy had gone still as well, the reflection of the fireworks dancing in his gray eyes. The flickering light accentuated the curve of his nose, the sharp line of his jaw, the soft flush on his cheeks from the cold. But what caught Harry’s attention wasn’t any of that—it was the way his expression seemed… different. Relaxed.
—Hey… Happy New Year —Malfoy murmured suddenly, turning slightly toward him with a smile.
It wasn’t the usual smirk he wore like a mask, nor one of those crooked grins he gave right before saying something cutting. It was something softer, something real. His lips curved with an unusual ease, no mockery, no ulterior motive.
And Harry felt something inside him come to a halt. He had never seen him smile like that. Not like that.
It was a smile both familiar and unknown, something that felt strange and yet… right. As if it had been there all along, waiting for him to notice. As if, without realizing it, he had been searching for it.
His chest filled with an unexpected warmth, a soft, dizzying kind of confusion. He didn’t know if it was because of the fireworks reflected in Malfoy’s eyes, or because, for the first time in a long while, he didn’t look like an enemy, or a rival, or even a schoolmate.
Just Draco.
—Happy New Year, Draco… —Harry answered softly.