He's a Death Eater
Previously in ruins, now in brand new shape, the magical school of Hogwarts rebuilt itself to host yet another year of learning. The walls, halls and ground now are as brand new as they were before the war, as if nothing had ever happened. Despite the rebuilt structure, the castle pillars remain tainted with old traumas of the devastation. People who walk through the campus recognize areas where tragedies occurred, where bodies had been and sometimes even recall the sounds they heard in the moments they walked past it not long ago.
There were certain things that could never just be forgotten, no matter how many times the floors were cleaned, walls were painted or even bricks replaced. It was the consequence of going through such an indescribable event; life changing in the worst ways imaginable, and needless to say, everyone being affected was the least that could be said.
Of course, which student would particularly be the most altered by this if not Harry Potter? Defeating Voldemort, though a celebratory thing, wasn't something that was lightly taken on the boy. Quite the opposite, in fact. Young, reckless, afraid. That’s what he was, what he had always been. Sometimes he felt as though he was just lucky, that this nuisance of a scar on his head did him a couple of favours, but yet failed to make him feel like a hero. No one seemed to care. The Boy Who Lived fulfilled his purpose, so why should he be upset? Everyone was too busy with their own problems to care about anyone else. He had already lost everything before it began, he knew pain, he should be used to it by now.
And he, now a full fledged teenager darts his eyes away from past memories, avoiding any recollection to the deaths of those he loved, those he knew. Looking past anything that reminded him of the hardships that he faced, Harry's head and eyes hung low, glued to his shoes, like an anchor held him down by the neck. Though obviously causing inconveniences like running into people and spacing out, it was far more tolerable than recalling painful memories. Then thinking of what he could’ve done differently — thinking of what would’ve been if he wasn’t Harry Potter at all. The name burned him, now, all the names he was given. The Chosen one; it was incredulous, really. Doomed was more like it, marked for death that he so narrowly avoided.
It was often that Hermione and Ron tried to cheer their dearest friend up, but it was difficult when everyone was suffering with their own post-war struggles, even those who weren't directly affected still felt an uneasiness in their being. Ron, although he tried to slap a smile on his face — it was clear he never really coped with Fred’s death. He rather avoided the topic at all costs, mood switching at even the mention of a brother. Hermione was tired, trying to keep the two boys from collapsing onwards into their doom by avoiding responsibilities. She herself remained to be on edge, any whisper, sudden noise or touch had her whipping out her wand faster than anyone could blink. The Weasly did a rather good job of calming her down, however. Harry felt himself as though a lost cause, knowing that the avoidant would catch up to him eventually yet never broke out of the habit.
Although he’d tried his best to avoid thinking of it, people always managed to remind him, even without intention. Those who came up to thank him had grief lingering on their faces, seeping through their voices as they cracked, and always, he couldn’t help thinking that it was his fault he couldn’t save absolutely everyone. Even as much as he knew it was impossible, he just felt like he failed in a way. Wasn’t his whole purpose to relieve everyone of this suffering? The dark lord was gone, but at the cost of the lives of so many people. People who didn’t deserve it. And Merlin, was the reminder of it absolutely everywhere, pestering and lurking and nagging at the brunette’s mind like a fly that never left his side. He ran, and ran, and ran. When would be the day he ran right into a dead end — the day he’d tire himself out so much he can’t run anymore. Well, that wasn’t a problem of the present.
What was, however, is former death eater, Draco Malfoy, as he similarly roamed the halls after being pardoned from Azkaban. Due to his trial, he actively avoided The Boy Who Lived, decreasing their bickering and snarky comments to a lower minimum as they’d see less of their faces. Harry would say he was glad of that fact. However, it wasn't necessarily a special treatment towards only Harry, considering he avoided everyone as he’d seem to notice. Besides, no one wanted to engage with Tom Riddle's prior minion, so it made it all that much easier.
The only people who bothered to put up with his dismissive behaviour were Blaise and Pansy, and Harry didn’t exactly know how those two could possibly tolerate such a wizard. The world’s biggest mystery, at the moment. The silent treatment was a significant improvement from how he used to be, not needing to tolerate his incessant prudishness due to the fact that he was really rather nowhere to be found in the first place. It was rather suspicious, really. There were only so many places to go in Hogwarts.
Although he did basically nothing throughout his days, even as little as speaking, people still grew suspicious of him —- Harry being a prime example . It could've been because his usual bully persona and cruel attitude almost completely diminished, but people fail to sympathise with a person like Malfoy. A lot of people changed after the war, but once a death eater, always a death eater, right? That's what everyone believed; what The Boy Who Lived swore by. Malfoy was always a cruel and bitter person, from the day they had both met till as far as Harry knew, so what drove him to hide away in the shadows of the crowd? Surely he had to be hiding something. At least that's what Harry told himself, which is the unfortunate thought process that led him to his current days.
He found a way to occupy himself, and to distract himself from his calamities. Staring at the Marauder's Map for hours on end at one particular student's name sure got the job done. Falling back into old habits, Potter managed to convince himself that the former death eater was up to something, despite the war being over. He just had to be, otherwise, what else would the boy who lived think about? Certainly not the not so distant past. But it was a fact he was sure of, that had to be true. Malfoy was dripping vile through and through, bad habits tend to stick around, after all.
On one particular day, the trio of friends sat together in the Gryffindor common room, talking about a collection of random events of their afternoon, nothing too important but to rid the area of silence. They often did so, fooling around or talking about whoever and whichever came to mind. There still stood minor drama and events around school now that everything was up and running again, but naught that was significant to Harry. Hermione blabbered about a new book she started to read which in response got a playful eye roll from Ron, that she probably hadn’t even noticed. However, it didn't seem like Harry was paying attention to any of this at all. Not to either of his friends..
“Oi,” Ron snapped his fingers in front of Potter's face, which was glued to his map. The common room was empty besides the three who sat within it, so having it here wasn’t rather an issue of the moment.
“Mate, what are you staring at?” He didn't flinch, but The Boy Who Lived lazily looked back up at the ginger.
“What?”
“Harry, are you alright? You haven't done anything besides.. Well.. that lately. What's keeping you busy?” Hermione chimed in, leaning forward. She clearly seemed worried, he hadn't been acting like himself, not since after the war. Like everyone else — it was understandable, sure, but he didn't even try to talk about it to either of his closest friends. He hadn't even gone to counselling like most others, nor showed any interest in doing so, though it was easily accessible due to the new hiring of a therapist to help with all the student's states of mind. In fact, Harry didn’t even know the counsellor’s name.
“.. Nothing. Nothing! I'm fine, see?” He lied.
“Yeah, your eyebags look bloody fantastic if I do say so myself—” The curly haired Gryffindor rammed her elbow into the Weasly's side, making him clutch onto it and groan in pain, as his statement was cut short.
“Ow! What was that for?” Ron yelped.
Hermione looked sympathetically back at Harry. “What Ron's trying to say is that you don't really look fine.” She was right.
“I'm okay, promise.” He liked to believe it, sure. That didn’t negate the fact that it wasn’t true.
She looked disappointed with his answer, but she wasn't going to push, Hermione never did, so she nodded with a sigh, hoping he'd open up some other time. Besides, it wasn’t that bad since he couldn’t quite take the map outside of his quarters, and it wasn’t always that he remained dismissive. There were times where he was distracted enough to enjoy himself with his friends, but upon feeling that imminent doom once again, he found himself thinking of what Draco Malfoy could be plotting, as in these past few weeks, he had fully convinced himself that there truly had to be a problem that needed solving at hand. That problem was one vicious Slytherin.
His friends didn’t realise who he was looking at the entire time, not until one particular moment where he vaguely confirmed it — leaving them still unsure. It was a day off, and instead of relaxing with his lot, he was nowhere to be found. It was unusual but not enough for them to begin a man hunt. He eventually did reappear, as they’d hoped, yet angrier than anticipated. He bolted through the common room with seething rage upon his face. Harry seemed too frustrated to say anything except: “Bloody Malfoys!” before stomping towards his bed to shove his face in his pillow.
They didn’t really know what he was on about, but they connected the dots to notice it was that blonde boy’s name he’d possibly been staring at the entire time — it made the most sense than other options, unless he was really keen on memorising the Hogwarts’ layout. What exactly happened that day, only Potter and Malfoy knew about, because he’d been replaying it in his brain so much lately yet refusing to commit the atrocious act of confirming it verbally. He had doubts that the Slytherin would tell his friends since he’d been quite a silent dove lately, as far as he knew, so it was not one of his concerns.
It was on that day on an early morning where Harry Potter was getting his daily dose of distraction by fixating both eyes and mind on the Marauders Map due to his inability to sleep, and saw that Draco Malfoy was suspiciously alone, how he saw it. He was in an empty classroom, which was quite strange considering that, well, there were no classes due for anyone today or this ridiculously early. Up until this moment, he hadn’t done a lot besides just looking, perhaps stealing a few glances in the halls and bickering when they ran into each other, but it was then and there where he decided that that was not enough. He had to go and see what this Death Eater was up to right this very moment, once and for all, so he grabbed his wand and coat, and stormed outside before anyone had woken up.
The halls were bitterly cold, large and empty. There was no sound except his own echoing footsteps as it was but the crack of dawn for anyone to be awake at all, and on a day off no less. Anyone except Potter and Malfoy, apparently. It could be argued that the Boy Who Lived was acting quite suspicious himself, but there was luckily no one around to argue with him, or to refrain him from his impromptu endeavour that would inevitably end rather terribly.
He was quite angry, but he himself didn’t really know why, he wasn’t even sure what the other boy was even doing but he was somehow sure it was devastating. And worth all his current attention. At least he didn’t want to face why he was actually uneasy, so he directed that anger towards poor old unsuspecting Malfoy. Truthfully, it was pent up stress and anxiety from suppressing anything and everything that had to do with a certain event. He couldn’t face it yet, and frankly he had convinced himself that he did not have to, not now, probably not ever, no matter what anyone said. What could a stupid counsellor do anyway? It was not like anyone would understand what it really felt like to bear the name of Harry Potter. No one could understand the never ending pressure and distress he had to carry on his shoulders except himself, so it was pretty easy to also convince himself that he could not be helped. What was there to be helped? He was fine, just swell.
The Gryffindor had eventually reached the classroom Draco Malfoy was tucked away in. It just so happened to be the potions hall, and that just gave him all that more fuel to be suspicious. All the ingredients and tools inside that could be used and stolen for nefarious things were exposed to the blonde, and Harry took it upon himself to stop whatever he was doing. How’d he even get access to it in the first place was a mystery, and it made Harry all the more distressed.
Harry forcefully pushed the doors to the classroom open, a loud bang as they slammed against the walls which created quite a startling sound in contrast to the peaceful silence the school once relished in, reverberating a lot more than the brunette thought they would, but he charged forwards anyway. Malfoy immediately flinched and jolted upwards in surprise, staring directly at the messy haired boy who just rammed into here without warning. He looked bewildered, shocked and confused as he tried to process the sudden intrusion. The Slytherin was sitting at a desk with a cauldron, book and parchments and he looked as though to be studying and brewing something. Of course that only fueled Harry’s suspicion and unnecessary anger. Malfoy was quick to change his expression to one of fury as he’d recognised the fool who walked into the place, rightfully so, but he was still confused on how this boy even found him, or why he was awake at this hour.
“Malfoy! What are you doing here?” He stood in front of him, glaring and furious.
“Er, why is that any of your concern? I could ask you the same.” He glared at the boy who was panting and sweating as if he had been running, and Draco didn’t really know what to think of it. He spoke rather calmly despite the situation because it was honestly too early in the morning to yell. The Gryffindor thought otherwise.
Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes as he stepped closer to face the other directly. “I know you’re up to something. Why else would you be sneaking out at this time? To brew? Really? What, a poison?” He was quick to assume.
Malfoy looked rather offended.
“Poison? What are you on about, Potter?” The boy with the round glasses was not pleased with that response, and truthfully was perplexed. Per usual, the blonde would be throwing a multitude of insults by now. Was it really that early in the morning? He hadn’t bothered to check.
His hands went to grip the sides of the cauldron as both the boys scowled at each other. “You’re no good, Malfoy. You never were. You’ll never make me believe that anything you do is less than horrid, and that this is something innocent, which you will never be. What are you even making, huh? Who are you planning to hurt?” He was going too far, he knew it. But that was the point, he needed to find out — perhaps this was the wrong strategy but his mouth was moving before he could stop and think of the consequences. Fatigue took over his rational thought, and he’d regret this later. Harry just didn’t know it yet.
Malfoy took his words, it clearly enraging him from the way he tensed and resisted from reaching out to grab his wand. The way they stirred one another up was dangerous, both of them would inevitably end up hurt. The both, alone, in a room together was the greatest recipe for absolute catastrophe. Neither could keep their mouths shut or hands to themselves when they were in close proximity, it was only a matter of who threw the first punch.
“I don’t owe you anything! I don’t care what you think I’m doing or why, you aren’t a bloody professor, so you just better stay out of my sodding business. You think I’m fool enough to make a poison in a classroom in daylight? If I wanted to hurt anyone, Potter, you’d only know about it when it happened. Just pray it isn’t you.” Malfoy spat threateningly, volume control now out the window as he was riled up enough. An invitation for a fight, really.
“It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve been foolish, death eater. Try and hurt me, see what happens. You’ll end up where everyone knows you will eventually.” He bit back, and oh, he hit a nerve.
The Slytherin furrowed his eyebrows — clenching his jaw, hands gripped into fists. “Is that what this is about, oh great Harry Potter?” He mocked. “You’re truly unbelievable. If you’re so interested, I was just studying, you self-centred egotistical twat! Not everything is about you and your bloody saviour complex!”
“Savior complex?! How is it my fault you’re sneaking around plotting—..plotting something! And studying is your remarkable excuse?” He sputtered over his words, mind going too fast and heart racing too angrily to form a proper sentence.
“Well what the fuck am I plotting if you’re so knowledgable, Potter? Really, do tell me! I’m all fucking ears.” The blonde leaned forward, gesturing angrily.
“You’re—!”
Harry’s grip slipped away from the cauldron, tipping it over to make it crash and spill everywhere, as well as on himself. “Shit.” He took multiple steps back, in fear of the unknown substance that was now all over him.
“My potion! Oh, you dickhead, that took bloody ages!” He took a deep breath, death-staring Potter as he rubbed his temples, perhaps at an attempt to calm himself before he lunged at him. “Get out.”
“I—”
“Get out, for Merlin’s sake!”
“With pleasure.” Harry stormed out of the classroom, soaking wet and furious, stomping his way back to the dungeons. Luckily, whatever it was, it was gone. Unfortunately, it was now on him.
He certainly did not bother with the stares he got and the questions his friends asked upon returning to the common room, as by now a few people had awoken. The only thing he could bring himself to say was a random remark about Malfoy, something that he couldn’t quite recall due to his anger. The boy made his way to his quarters to wash up and change out of these robes that he hoped weren’t withstanding permanent damage.
His remark and frustration were brought up later that day, in which he responded with a grumble indicating his lack of enthusiasm to share. Ron and Hermione decided to leave it, but it left them rather concerned. After all, it was unusual for him to be so worked up about Malfoy, as he hadn’t been that way since 6th year, not this much, at least. He’d usually at least tell them, or they’d be there to witness it. In spite of that, they decided to just chalk it up to a bad interaction, it wasn’t strange for them to bicker.
Nonetheless, his dolour stopped him from looking at the map for a while, although it didn’t last too long. At first he decided that Malfoy wasn’t worth his time, he was too pissed to even glance at his name, but Harry quickly changed his mind upon further suspicion due to his avid thinking about the outburst. He never did really find out what the Slytherin was brewing, and he was far too defensive about it. Besides, the brown haired boy didn’t exactly have anything else to distract himself with, and what’s better than making sure a death eater doesn’t have any tricks up his sleeve? Anger was a pretty effective way to get his mind off of grief.
The next time that he saw him was the next day, well and alive and as blank faced as ever.
Potions class, his mortal enemy. The Boy Who Lived found himself staring at a familiar cauldron on this schooling day, waiting for the further instructions that he inevitably will fumble due to severe lack of interest. Whether or not this was better than looking at that damned map all day was debatable, and after further thought, it would be more preferable than this.
“Alright!” Professor Slughorn yelled out to get everyone to settle down, and it worked. He cleared his throat, and began to explain the goal of the class which Potter failed to pay attention to. That was until Slughorn said something about working in pairs, in which he looked around to find everyone picking their partners.
In a true act of utter betrayal, he looked over to find Hermione and Ron pairing up, and they glanced over at him to give him a “sorry but not really” look. The brunette boy sighed, jerking his head left and right to see who it is he would have to work with, as everyone else seemed to be taken already. Preferably someone who knew what they were doing.
And of course, with his incredible luck, it was dear old Malfoy who was the only one left without a partner. Of course. Who’d willingly pair up with him, anyway? They’d have to be mental. Maybe he could just work alone? He didn’t really wanna be with the wizard that he spilled the potion of just the other day, they still weren’t exactly pleased with one another. But alas, that is what fate had decided today.
“Go on, you two. We haven’t got all day” Slughorn tried to encourage. Harry didn’t move, but he found the blonde unhappily approaching his table, and he felt himself tense up within his presence.
Malfoy didn’t say anything at first, simply opening his textbook to look through what they needed. Harry, of course, had no idea what it was they were doing, so unfortunately, he had to speak to him if he wanted a chance of graduating with a passing grade to Slughorn’s class.
“Er.. what exactly are we making?”
“Don’t you ever pay attention in class, scarhead?”
“No, thanks for asking,” he said, frustrated already, even though they’ve barely exchanged a few words yet. “Could you answer my question?”
The blonde sighed, slicking his hair away from his face. Harry noticed that the Slytherin no longer used hair-gel like he used to in younger years, so he often slicked it back out of habit. It looked nicer like this. Well, as nice as hair on a death eater can get, at least.
“We’re making a draught of peace. We have to write about the process as well, and you’re gonna be doing that. I’m not letting you near the cauldron.”
Fair, the boy thought. But instead of repeating his thoughts, he scoffed, and Draco rolled his eyes. He’d reached for a couple parchments and quills, though he wasn’t confident in his literary ability to write about a potion he wasn’t going to make.
Malfoy, distracted and flipping through pages, spoke up. “Get me the ingredients, will you?”
“Gee. Alright, oh potions master, what do you want?” The boy mocked, crossing his arms. Actually, he was quite grateful he didn’t actually have to do any of the brewing. He’d be damned if he ever said that out loud, though.
“Powdered moonstone, hellebore syrup, stewed mandrake, powdered unicorn horn, and powdered porcupine quills.” Malfoy read. “Careful.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry knew exactly what it meant, and he was angry at the implication. The Slytherin remained silent, and he took it as his queue to go and get what they needed, which he did.
Once all the ingredients were laid out on the table, Malfoy immediately got to work quite skillfully. Harry watched as he followed the exact instructions, how his hands swiftly moved and how his eyes seemed so focused. Isn’t it a bad thing that a death eater is so good at brewing? He thought, and decided it was, so he had to watch him extra carefully. But then, the focused eyes of the wizard were now on him.
“What are you waiting for, Potter? An invitation? Get to writing.” Draco commanded, and the Gryffindor immediately began to fumble for a sheet and quill. Perhaps he was staring for a bit too long, a bit too obviously. The one by his side didn’t seem to care all that much, and he got back to work. It wasn’t like he was particularly thrilled about writing up this paper.
He wrote what he was supposed to as well as he could, and he was almost finished. Harry used the book for reference and looked to Malfoy’s work for more detailed reference and wrote until his hand was starting to go numb, as a while of the class was passed. However, he was soon rudely interrupted.
“Tsk. You didn’t get enough moonstone. Pay attention to the cauldron while I go fetch it, yeah?” And without waiting for a response, Malfoy walked off. He wasn’t exactly sure which step the boy paused during and what on earth he was meant to do so it was quick for panic to settle in.
After a few seconds of idly staring at the liquid and attempting to figure out what was meant to be done, the colour seemed to go a bit odd as it began to boil rather rapidly. With that, came a horrid smell and Draco rushing back over to the table. He’d fucked up.
“Merlin’s sake, Potter! You’ve let it boil for too long! Weren’t you reading the instructions this entire time?!” Draco was hurrying to fix the mess that the brunette watched unfold, and watching was all he seemingly was able to do.
Of course, Malfoy was furious as this was the second potion he’d ruined for him. Admittedly, Harry didn’t really have the time to think of potions, let alone how they were made. He was quite busy last year, with other matters. He could barely remember what the last potion he properly made even was. Trying to defeat a dark lord was hindering his studies, but who could blame him? Draco Malfoy, that’s who. This was a particularly difficult potion to make, he knew, but that didn’t matter.
The Slytherin didn’t utter another word, or anything further than angry sneering after that. Instead, Harry Potter watched as the process was repeated once again as the previous batch was discarded, but this time, there appeared to have been no mistakes. It made him think of the potion he spilled last time, still wondering what it possibly could’ve been. Undoubtedly, Malfoy was never going to tell him, so he just had to figure it out himself. He’d continue writing the rest of the paper, thanking Merlin that this was a double class, otherwise Malfoy would have absolutely no chance at redemption.
The Slytherin was good at potions, he could probably solo even the hardest of them, considering he had just watched him do it twice. The boy did recall that he said it took ages, so that could’ve been a hint, and his only one. The only problem is that the only thing he remembers about interrogating the wizard is glaring at his face and yelling. He didn’t even get a good look in the cauldron, or what surrounded it, so this was going to be a bloody mystery, unless he just told him.
Continuing to spy on him would work as well, but maybe he didn’t have to be so direct next time. As he started to plan out a great investigation, Draco was finished, and so was class, so that thought was put on hold. Slughorn was intimately impressed, cheering the blonde on. Harry did reckon that he watched him repeat the process all over again considering he was just barely finished by the time he was over at their desk, and that he didn’t exactly have much to say to Harry himself.
After a long day of classes and extensive thought, Harry made the decision to put his invisibility cloak to use. All this staring isn’t really getting him anywhere, as technically, to find out what an evil person is up to, one must investigate. And that’s what this was; investigation. He couldn’t do so properly at such a distance, and when they’d burst into brawl at any form of contact. Knowing the death eater’s location isn’t exactly doing much since he’s usually always in the same places. As an avid overthinker, Potter realised he would’ve gotten much better results if he used his cloak to find out what it is the Slytherin was doing rather than barging in with no clues, plan, or strategy. This was what inspired this new plan, one where he got to put his neglected cloak to use.
But before all this was put into action, he had to angrily rant to his betrayers. Hermione and Ron.
“You left me! With Malfoy! Of all people. Ron, we always pair up together!” He yelled furiously.
“Relax, mate, it was only one class.” Ron’s decision was fair, he knew that, but he was too angry to be rational. He and the ginger were equally as terrible at brewing, and Hermione was a better option if he’d rather not have a potion explode right in his face.
“Yeah, one where I almost set a draught of peace on fire!” It sounded funny when said out loud but Harry Potter was far from humoured. What the pair didn’t know was his incident with the bloke just a day before, which really added to the destruction to it all. He wasn’t going to tell them though, not at the moment.
Hermione couldn’t help but laugh, and that got her a wretched glare from Harry.
“What? You had the book, didn’t you? He was gone for less than a minute, and you know it’s a precise process.” She expressed. Granger was such a nerd that sometimes it was particularly infuriating.
“He left without telling me what on earth I was meant to be doing! How’s that my fault?” Frustration made his cheeks red.
“Well, you should’ve followed along now, shouldn’t you have?” She bit back, particularly peeved about this because she’s worked with the likes of Harry before.
“I mean he made it twice, anyway. Slughorn didn’t tell you off, did he?” Ron intercepted, leaning forward to pit Harry’s attention onto him.
“No.”
“See? Good thing he’s smart.” Hermione continued, and with the way Harry looked at her, it felt as though he was about to bite her head clean off. Compliments towards that death eater probably infuriated him more than the blonde himself.
“Come on, I can’t even say that? He is! He made the potion almost perfectly. Twice, might I add. With no flaws. Except your—”
“Yes, ‘Mione, except my brilliant fuck-up.” Harry threw his hands up, then crossed them as both his friends laughed.
“Alright Harry, we get it. We’re sorry. You can’t be that upset about it, can you?” Ron chimed.
“It was Malfoy. I have every right to be upset about it. In fact, I will dangle this above both your heads for the rest of your lives.”
“Merlin,” was all that Weasly had to say.
“You defeated a dark lord, surely a potion and one measly Slytherin isn’t what’s getting you all up in a twist,” Hermione remarked as the ginger gave a nod in solidarity. It was more out of concern for him than a remark about the past, but that is far from how Harry took it.
“Yeah, alright, whatever. I’m The Chosen One! I can’t have problems, now can I?” he threw his hands up in the air once more as he rapidly stood up to begin to walk away. “I’m so happy because of course, nothing can compare to my inevitable doom! No, no, The Boy Who Lived isn’t allowed to have bad days! I have to be perfect and make lovely potions with Draco fucking Malfoy!”
“Harry— Wait! That’s not what we meant—!”
But they were too late, and the brunette stormed up to his quarters, leaving both his friends alone and with his problems that they had to figure out how to solve. It was a bit dramatic of him, sure, but the stress was starting to add up.
A few minutes into angrily lying in his bed, Harry realised that he was probably overreacting. He didn’t know why he was so worked up over Malfoy, there was always just something about that wizard that got under his skin so effortlessly. One glare, one scoff and probably even if he just walked passed him could make Harry so frustrated and tense. He always felt this feeling at the pit of his stomach each time he was around, and it was difficult to decipher.
Either way, he should know better than to lash out at his friends. Groaning into his pillow, he decided he’ll apologise later. For now, he was going to sleep his problems away. This way, he didn’t have to think of Malfoy. Or, in fact, anything at all. He was grateful students got to keep a few vials of the potions they’d made, because Merlin did he need them.