Draco didn't sleep much that night.
He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling of the Slytherin dormitory, listening to the soft breathing of the others. The lake's murky glow filtered through the glass windows, casting shifting shadows across the stone walls.
He clenched his hands beneath the blankets, trying to will the thoughts away.
Why did Potter have to notice? Why did he have to ask if I was okay? Why did it matter so much that he did?
It wasn't supposed to be like this. They were enemies—rivals in everything. Draco had built his entire school life around being Harry Potter's opposite.
But lately, he found himself drawn to the very things he used to mock.
The warmth in Harry's laugh. The way he stood up for others. The raw, reckless way he threw himself into danger without thinking—like he had something to prove to the world.
Draco hated it.
He hated that he didn't hate it anymore.
In the Great Hall
The next morning, Draco arrived late to breakfast, dark circles under his eyes. Blaise gave him a side glance.
"You look like you were eaten by a Dementor and spit out."
"Charming," Draco muttered.
He barely touched his food, and when Harry entered the Great Hall, laughing with Ron and Hermione, Draco stiffened.
His eyes followed Harry unconsciously.
Blaise noticed. "You've been staring at him a lot lately."
"I stare at a lot of things," Draco said, voice sharp. "Doesn't mean I'm writing love letters to them."
Blaise raised an eyebrow but didn't press.
But Draco could feel it—he was slipping. And others were beginning to notice.
Defense Against the Dark Arts
Harry didn't expect the spell to hit him.
He and Ron were dueling in class, practicing a simple Disarming Charm under Lockhart's distracted supervision. The class was noisy, spells bouncing off shields like firecrackers.
Then a jet of green sparks hit Harry's back.
He stumbled forward, wand clattering across the floor.
"Potter!" Lockhart scolded, "Pay attention—!"
Harry turned. It wasn't Ron who cast the spell.
It was Draco.
Their eyes met.
But Draco looked more startled than satisfied, like his wand had acted on its own.
Before Harry could speak, Draco muttered something under his breath and stormed out of the classroom.
The Corridor Confrontation
Harry caught up with him in the corridor, just past the armor gallery.
"Hey!"
Draco kept walking.
"Malfoy!"
Draco stopped but didn't turn.
Harry stepped in front of him. "What was that back there?"
"An accident."
"Really? Because it looked like you—"
"It was an accident!" Draco snapped, finally meeting his gaze. His eyes were wide, and for the first time, Harry saw panic behind them.
Harry stepped back. "Fine. Just… what's wrong with you lately?"
Draco opened his mouth, then closed it.
He looked away. "I don't know."
That honesty hit Harry harder than any insult ever had.
From the Shadows
Snape watched from the stairwell above, unseen.
He had been right.
The boy was unraveling—but it was worse than he feared.
This wasn't obsession. This wasn't jealousy.
This was something far more dangerous for a Malfoy.
Affection.