The note burned a hole into Harry's pocket all day.
"Meet me behind the trophy stands at midnight, come alone."
It was the kind of thing that should have made him angry. Suspicious. Furious, even. And yet, it haunted him like a promise.
By evening, he was useless in every class. He barely registered Ron and Hermonies voice at dinner. All he could think about was whether he'd go and, more terrifyingly, what he expected to find and whether he wanted it.
In the corridors between classes, it started. Subtle things. Draco passed him on the stairs, close enough their shoulders touched. "Looking tired, Potter," he muttered under his breath, his voice lower than usual, neither cruel nor mocking. But something else... something familiar
Then, near the library, Draco leaned casually against the pillar as Harry walked by, their eyes meeting. Draco smiled again, one corner of his mouth lifting just the right amount of suggestion. No sneer.
Harry stumbled on the step. Later, he opened his Transfiguration book to find another note tucked carefully between the pages:
"You look distracted today. Thinking of me?"
The audacity made Harry want to explode and blush at the same time. He tore the parchment into pieces and shoved it in his pocket, where he'd fish it out at least 6 times before curfew.
At 11:59pm, Harry slipped out of Gryffindor tower with the invisibility cloak draped over his shoulders, and his wand clenched in a sweaty palm His heart pounded harder with each step down the marble staircase. He wasn't sure if he was walking into a prank or something else entirely, something worse. Something he wanted.
The trophy room was quiet, eerie in the moonlight. Rows or polished silver and gold glinted like watchful eyes. The air was cool, thick with dust and tension. Behind the trophy stands, Draco waited. He stood with his arms crossed, his school tie loosened around his neck, and his usual pristine posture a little slouched. Relaxed. On purpose.
As Harry emerged from the shadows, their eye's met, and for the first time, there was no crowd. No barrier. Just them. "Potter," Draco said, voice low.
"You left me a note," Harry said carefully. "Why?"
Draco tilted his head. "Maybe I was curious what it'd take to get you to meee me in the dark."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "If this is a setup-"
"It's not." Draco stepped closer. "What if I told you I just wanted to talk?"
Harry frowned. "You don't talk to me."
Draco gave a soft shrug. "Maybe I'm changing."
Harry laughed once, bitter. "People like you don't change."
"People like me?" Draco echoed, mock-offended. "And what exactly am I, Potter?"
Harry stepped in, too. Close now. Closer than they'd ever been without wands drawn or words like knifes between them. "Someone who doesn't know what the hell he's doing."
Draco's breath caught. His mask slipped just for a second. "Maybe I don't," he admitted, eyes flickering to Harry's lips.
They stood there in silence, breathing the same air, heat building between them like a lit fuse. Nither moved. Neither looked away. Harry didn't kiss him. But he wanted to. And Draco knew it. So he smiled. The soft, infuriating, intimate smile.
"Sweet dreams, potrer." Draco wispered before slipping past Jim and vanishing into the shadows, leaving Harry rooted to the stone floor, reeling.
In the dormitory that night, Harry laid wide awake, staring at the ceiling, heart in a chaotic drumbeat in his chest. he wasn't sure what that was. But whatever it was, Har started. And he wasn't sure he wanted it to stop.