You Look So Young
Every Monday and Thursday morning since the start of seventh year, Draco Malfoy would show up five minutes early for class, securing his seat in the very front row of chairs, right next to the window. And every morning Draco would unpack early, pull out the Daily Prophet and peer out from the top of the paper, an unoriginal and unimaginative way of disguising his staring for reading.
Draco's eyes darted to the unread print ahead of him as the door opened to allow some more students inside, along with the object of his scrutiny, who bustled past them to get to his desk. The steaming mug of coffee in his hand was placed on the desk right next to a pile of papers Draco knew were being handed out today, his among them, hoping that at least the professor noticed his rather… personal touches to the essay that they had been assigned for last week.
The beige and brown tartan scarf that wound around the older man's neck – not much older, Draco corrected himself, at least… nineteen years? – stayed in place as he removed his outdoor cloak to reveal a plain, rather boring, white shirt, brown blazer and matching tweed-ish trousers. The cuffs of his shirt were rolled up to elbows, revealing pale, almost hairless skin, which surprisingly looked good in contrast to the man's long flow of coppery brown hair, lightly stubbled chin and fine-boned features of his face.
More students pushed their way through the door, distracting Draco. He coughed lightly and folded his paper in half, pretending to look nonchalant as he leant over to stuff it back in his bag and turn to the boy who had just plonked himself in the chair next to his.
"You're always here early. I'm starting to think you actually like this class, now." Harry mumbled as he emptied the contents of his bag onto the table top, a stray half-eaten packet of slug jellies falling onto Draco's lap.
"It's alright," Draco sighed, picking up the sweets and handing them to Harry, noticing the Gryffindor's hair was wet and the collar of his shirt was askew, tie hanging in a knotted clump around his neck.
"It's great that Lupin's back, I think that's what's getting us all into gear," Harry said as he arranged his desk into some sort of order.
"Hm," Draco said distantly, gaze flicking to the man at the front of the classroom. "Indeed."
Before Harry had a chance to reply, Professor Lupin started the lesson, plunging the students into respected silence that eased the tightness in Draco's chest, allowing him to drink in the soft Scottish tones that could romanticized even the dullest of Defence techniques.
"… Mr Malfoy, fantastic work," Near to the end of the lesson, Professor Lupin handed back their essays, eyes lighting with a warm glow when Draco peered up through his lashes at the older man, ignoring the dull thump of his heart against his ribcage. "… Mr Potter... Miss Granger…"
As the teacher continued to hand out the work, Draco packed his things away with the rest of the class and sighed.
"Great. Potions. My favourite subject," Harry muttered sarcastically beside him.
"It's only 'cause you're shit at it," Draco said with a small, playful smile.
Harry's mouth opened, retort at the end of his tongue, before his shoulders slumped. "True," He admitted, swinging his bag on. "C'mon," He said warmly, sliding his hand into Draco's.
It felt warm, it felt like home, but turning round as he walked out of the class, Draco couldn't help but catch Remus' eye and stare at the man for what felt like an eternity. It wasn't his home, it wasn't who he was supposed to be with but there was something about the danger of drinking in the older man's presence, of wandering what it would feel like to be under that touch once… just once… that made Draco realise that sometimes home isn't always what you wish for.
fin-
