Forced Collaboration

The morning air in the Great Hall was filled with the usual sounds of breakfast—the clinking of goblets, the chatter of students, and the occasional hoot of an owl delivering letters. Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, absently shoveling food into his mouth as Ron did the same beside him.

"Honestly, Harry," Hermione sighed, watching him with mild exasperation. "You’re eating like you haven’t seen food in days."

Harry swallowed hastily, wiping his mouth. "I am hungry."

"You always eat a lot after a stressful day," Hermione pointed out. "But you should at least chew properly unless you want to choke."

Ron, mouth full of toast, muttered something unintelligible in agreement.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry mumbled, taking another large bite.

Hermione rolled her eyes but didn’t press the matter further. Instead, she glanced between them, her tone shifting to something more inquisitive. "So, how’s the Defense Against the Dark Arts essay coming along?"

Ron groaned. "Horribly. I swear, if I have to write one more thing about nonverbal spells, I’m going to set my parchment on fire."

"You know, that would be a fitting end to it," Harry said, smirking.

Hermione huffed. "It’s not that bad. Professor Blackwood gave us more than enough resources—"

"Which you’ve already read three times," Ron interrupted.

"And taken notes on," Harry added.

Hermione pursed her lips. "Well, someone has to be prepared."

Harry sighed, rubbing his temple. "I tried working on it last night, but I couldn’t concentrate. Too much on my mind."

Hermione frowned slightly, clearly noticing the tension in his voice. "If you need help—"

"I’ll manage," Harry said quickly. He didn’t want to admit that Malfoy had taken up far too much space in his head lately.

Ron stretched, finishing off his pumpkin juice. "Anyway, what do you two say to a quick visit to Hagrid’s after breakfast?"

"Sounds good," Harry said, grateful for the change in topic.

After classes they made their way to Hagrid’s hut. The half-giant greeted them with his usual enthusiasm, waving them inside.

"’Bout time yeh lot visited!" Hagrid boomed, setting down a large cauldron of something suspiciously lumpy. "I was beginnin’ to think yeh’d forgotten ol’ Hagrid."

"Never," Hermione assured him with a smile.

Fang, Hagrid’s boarhound, immediately made a beeline for Harry, nearly knocking him over as he slobbered all over his robes.

"Oi, Fang, give ‘im some space!" Hagrid chuckled, pulling the dog away.

Ron wiped dog drool off his sleeve, making a face. "So, Hagrid, what have you been up to?"

Hagrid’s face lit up as he launched into a story about a new group of baby thestrals that had been born in the Forbidden Forest. The trio listened, laughing at his enthusiasm, enjoying the easy familiarity of his company.

Harry found himself relaxing for the first time that day. No projects, no Malfoy, no overwhelming responsibilities—just Hagrid’s warm presence and the comfort of being with his friends.

Eventually, as the sun climbed higher in the sky, they took their leave, heading back toward the castle.

"That was nice," Hermione remarked.

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "Nice to have a conversation that does not involve draco or this annual houses project for once."

Harry hummed in agreement, though the weight of everything still lingered at the back of his mind.

—-

The reply from Sirius and Remus had arrived that morning, and Harry had read it at least three times throughout the day. Their words had been both frustrating and predictable:

Harry,
I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but try to be patient. People aren’t always what they seem, and sometimes, the ones we least expect can surprise us. Give Malfoy a chance—if not for him, then for yourself. You don’t have to like him, but you do have to work with him. Don’t let your frustration cloud your judgment.

—Sirius & Remus

Harry had scoffed at it at first, crumpling the parchment before smoothing it out again. He didn’t want to give Malfoy a chance. Malfoy had never given him one. But now, as he sat in the Gryffindor common room, staring at his open textbook and failing miserably to concentrate, Sirius and Remus’s words looped in his mind.

It wasn’t just the project. He was falling behind on his studies, and tonight, no matter how hard he tried to focus, frustration kept bubbling up. He had a Transfiguration essay due, but the words blurred together as Neville slumped into the seat beside him, sighing dramatically.

"My gran is furious with me again," Neville groaned. "She says I’m not applying myself enough, but I swear I’m trying."

Harry set down his quill. "You’re doing fine, Neville."

Neville shot him a doubtful look. "Tell that to my last Charms grade."

Before Harry could reassure him, Ginny appeared, dropping into the chair across from them. She looked just as frustrated.

"I need to vent," she declared. "Quidditch practice was a nightmare. Half the team can’t keep up, and I swear Ron is going to hex himself if he doesn’t calm down."

Harry exhaled, rubbing his temples. He wanted to be there for his friends—he was there for them—but the weight of his own stress pressed down like a heavy cloak. He listened, nodded, offered reassurances, but inside, he felt like he was suffocating.

By the time he climbed into bed, his mind was still racing. His breathing was unsteady, his chest tight with the overwhelming feeling of too much.

He needed air.

Slipping out of the Gryffindor dormitory, he navigated the dark corridors, hoping a walk would clear his thoughts.

Meanwhile, in the Slytherin dormitory, Draco was having a battle of his own.

Narcissa’s words from the beginning of the year echoed in his mind: Stay out of unnecessary trouble, Draco. Try to get along with the other houses. It will benefit you in ways you don’t yet understand.

He had scoffed at the time. Getting along with Gryffindors? With Potter? Impossible. And yet, here he was, stuck in this ridiculous project, bickering every day, only to end up in the hospital wing over something as trivial as stubbornness.

It wasn’t that he cared what Potter thought of him. But for some reason, the sight of Harry earlier that day—frustrated, exhausted—had stuck with him.

Draco wasn’t sure why, but instead of sleeping, he found himself wandering the empty corridors, lost in thought.

And that’s when he saw him.

Harry turned a corner and nearly walked straight into Draco Malfoy.

They both froze.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The castle was eerily quiet around them, the dim torchlight casting flickering shadows across the walls.

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked first, arms crossing over his chest.

Harry huffed. "Could ask you the same thing." 

Draco tilted his head, scrutinizing him. "You look like you’ve been hit by a rouge spell”.

"Thanks, you look like you just got lectured by Snape" Harry deadpanned countered as he wished he would have grabbed his invisibility cloak to avoid this encounter.

Draco sighed, leaning against the stone wall. "Trouble in Gryffindor paradise?"

Harry hesitated. Normally, he would have snapped back, but he didn’t have the energy. Instead, he let out a breath and muttered, "Something like that."

That seemed to catch Draco off guard. His usual smirk faltered, replaced by something almost contemplative.

For reasons neither of them could explain, they didn’t walk away. Instead, Draco sat down on the windowsill, and after a beat of hesitation, Harry joined him.

They didn’t speak.

They just sat there, watching the moonlight stretch over the Hogwarts grounds, listening to the distant hoot of an owl. The quiet wasn’t tense, nor was it awkward—it was something else entirely.

It was... peaceful.

Harry didn’t understand why, but for the first time since the project started, he wasn’t thinking about failing, or fighting, or proving a point. He was just there.

Draco, too, seemed lost in his own thoughts. He stole a glance at Harry, frowning slightly.

He looks... Draco wasn’t sure what word to use. Not just tired, but weary, like something heavy was weighing on him.

At the same time, Harry noticed something too—Draco’s usual sneer was gone. He looked almost... sad.

Neither of them addressed it.

As the sky began to lighten with the first traces of dawn, reality hit them again. They needed to get back before anyone noticed their absence.

Silently, they stood and parted ways, heading in opposite directions.

The moment Harry stepped back into Gryffindor Tower, Seamus frowned. "Harry, you okay? You look exhausted."

"I’m fine," Harry muttered.

Neville sat up, concerned. "Are you sure? You’ve been pushing yourself a lot lately."

"Just couldn’t sleep," Harry said quickly.

Across the castle, Draco slipped back into the Slytherin dorms.

Blaise gave him a long look. "You look terrible. What’s going on with you?"

"Nothing," Draco replied, pulling off his robe.

Theo frowned. "You haven’t been yourself lately. Something’s bothering you."

Draco hesitated for a fraction of a second before scoffing. "You’re imagining things."

As he lay in bed, though, neither of them could shake the strange feeling lingering from their shared silence in the corridors. His mind  was on the strange, quiet hours he had just spent with Harry Potter.

And for the first time since the project started, he didn’t feel quite so irritated about it.