Unexpected turns
The next morning, Harry and Draco found themselves once again summoned to Professor McGonagall’s office. This time, she didn’t look quite as exasperated as before, but there was a certain sharpness in her gaze that told them she wasn’t about to let them off easy.
"Since you both seem to have an issue with collaboration," she said, clasping her hands together, "I’ve decided to give you another task—one that will require you to venture outside the castle."
Harry straightened slightly, exchanging a wary glance with Draco. "Outside?"
"You will be gathering historical records from the archives in Hogsmeade," McGonagall explained. "It’s part of the restoration project, and I expect you both to take this seriously. No distractions, no arguments. Just get the job done. Understood?"
Draco rolled his eyes but nodded. "Understood, Professor."
Harry sighed. "Yes, Professor."
A crisp autumn wind greeted them as they arrived in Hogsmeade later that afternoon. The streets were bustling with students enjoying their weekend, but Harry and Draco trudged towards their destination—the old records office tucked behind Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop.
"This is a waste of time," Draco muttered as he scanned a dusty shelf. "These records should be magically indexed. It’s ridiculous that we have to go through them manually."
"Welcome to the real world, Malfoy," Harry muttered, flipping through a stack of parchment.
For a while, they worked in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. But as Draco reached for another stack of documents, his sleeve snagged on an old, tattered book, sending it tumbling to the floor. The pages fluttered open to reveal a set of old, handwritten notes.
Curious, Harry leaned over to read them. "These look like… old student records?"
He squinted at the faded ink, tracing a finger over the parchment. "Look at this—Alexander Montgomery, Gryffindor, got detention for sneaking into the Forbidden Forest after hours."
Draco let out a dry chuckle. "Sounds like an early version of you. Let me guess—detention involved something ridiculously dangerous?"
Harry skimmed further. "Apparently, they had to clean out the owlery without magic."
Draco wrinkled his nose. "Disgusting."
Harry smirked. "I’d take that over scrubbing cauldrons any day."
Draco scoffed. "Typical. What else is in here?" He turned a few pages before his expression shifted to one of amusement. "Oh, this is interesting—some Slytherin got caught charming a Ravenclaw’s quill to write insults about their own House."
Harry chuckled. "Clever, in a twisted sort of way."
Draco shook his head, flipping another page. "And here—1872, Gryffindor student hexed a Slytherin’s broom mid-flight."
Harry snorted. "Now that really does sound familiar."
Draco’s smirk softened into something almost genuine. "I suppose it does."
They shared a brief glance, and for the first time, it wasn’t filled with tension. Just amusement adn curiosity
For a brief moment, there was no hostility between them—just two students sharing a moment of amusement over the mischief of the past.
By the time they returned to the castle, arms full of records, they were surprised to find their respective friend groups sitting together in the common area, chatting animatedly. Pansy and Hermione were deep in a discussion about spell theory, while Ron was gesturing wildly as he recounted something to Blaise and Neville.
Harry and Draco paused at the doorway, exchanging a look of disbelief.
"Are they… actually getting along?" Harry asked.
Draco folded his arms, watching the scene. "It would appear so."
Ginny noticed them first and waved them over. "Finally! Took you long enough. We were just talking about—"
"—Quidditch, of course," Ron added with a grin. "Blaise actually has some decent strategies. Who knew?"
Draco raised an eyebrow at Blaise. "Traitor."
Blaise smirked. "I prefer to think of it as broadening my horizons."
For the first time in a long time, the air between them all wasn’t filled with tension. It was… easy. Comfortable. And Harry wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.
That night, unable to sleep, Harry found himself wandering the corridors again. His thoughts were a mess—between the unexpected bonding in Hogsmeade and seeing his friends getting along with Draco’s, he didn’t know what to think anymore.
He wasn’t expecting to run into Draco again. But there he was, lingering near the Room of Requirement.
"You too?" Harry asked.
Draco sighed. "Yeah."
The door to the Room of Requirement appeared, as if sensing their mutual restlessness. Inside, the room had transformed into a cozy space with a fireplace, soft chairs, and a blanket spread over the floor. Without a word, they both sat down, staring into the flames.
The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. And at some point, without realizing it, Harry’s eyes grew heavy. He slumped slightly, his head resting against Draco’s shoulder.
Draco stiffened, unsure of what to do. But after a moment, he let out a breath and relaxed. He could shove Potter off… but he didn’t.
And soon enough, he, too, drifted into sleep.
Morning came too soon. The creaking of a door opening startled them both awake. Disoriented, Harry sat up, realizing with a start that he had been tangled up with Draco under the blanket. The warmth of Draco’s chest beneath him vanished as he moved, and Draco blinked groggily at him.
"What—?"
Before they could make sense of the situation, a familiar voice spoke.
"Well," McGonagall said, standing in the doorway, "I can’t say I expected this."
Harry scrambled up, Draco following suit, both of them looking guilty as hell. McGonagall sighed. "Relax, Potter, Malfoy. I was merely looking for you because your friends were convinced you’d killed each other."
Draco ran a hand through his hair. "That’s… fair."
Harry flushed. "We just—fell asleep. It wasn’t—"
McGonagall held up a hand, looking vaguely amused. "I don’t need details. Just get yourselves together and go assure your friends that you are, in fact, still alive."
As she left, Harry and Draco exchanged a glance—somewhere between mortified and contemplative.
Things were definitely changing. And neither of them knew quite what to do about it.