Draco could not understand why the Gryffindors were all staring at him. It was not new that Potter was staring at him — that was a daily affair — but the Weasleys' attention was unnerving. The twins had not taken their eyes off of him since he had entered the Great Hall for breakfast and they had been muttering between themselves the entire time. Draco did his best to ignore them, instead concentrating on drinking his tea.
He felt it was his solemn duty each morning to drink the entire pot, since his father had threatened several years ago to withhold donations unless Draco had his daily Darjeeling. So he poured cup after cup of tea each morning, until he had the too-much-caffeine jitters. Draco cherished the feeling; it made him feel closer to his father. The fizzing in his chest felt almost how he envisioned the hugs he never received might feel.
The tea tasted a bit off this morning. There was a mustiness that Draco could only assume had come from improper storage of the leaves. He debated telling one of the house elves about it, but it was not so terrible that he would refuse to drink the tea. Perhaps he would let the matter slide.
"Oi, Malfoy," one of the twins yelled. Draco could never tell them apart, but he thought this one might be Fred. "Did you see Potter's here?"
Many heads in the hall turned to them, some to Draco, some to the Gryffindors. Draco sneered at the Gryffindor table. Of course he had noticed Potter was there. He always noticed when Potter was around.
It was as though his body was specially attuned to Potter; he always knew where to find him. It was as if Potter were a pole, and Draco was a compass needle. Potter was his North Star. He was Draco's point from which he could always get his bearings, even confused as they were. Potter was the reason Draco questioned his father's blind loyalty to the man he called Lord. Because how could the Dark Lord be the path forward if it meant a world without Potter?
Some days, Potter felt like Draco's reason for getting up in the morning. Other times, he was the reason Draco wished he did not exist in this iteration of the world, where the gulf between them was wide and Dark Lord shaped. No matter which way he looked at it, that distance appeared insurmountable.
"Why would I care about that?" Draco asked, raising his voice just enough to be heard. He did his best to sound disinterested, did his best to keep up the charade.
"No reason," said Maybe-Fred. Draco glared at him for a moment before wrinkling his nose and turning back to his porridge.
He strained his ears to hear what Potter's group were talking about, but there were two tables of students in between them, so it was impossible to make out their words. He watched them, though, as he picked idly at the fruit on top of his porridge. The other twin — which, if the first one was Fred, was presumably George — grabbed Potter's arm.
Draco put his spoon down, his jealousy stealing away his hunger. He pushed his bowl away and watched as Presumably-George fawned over Potter. He felt the envy turn to anger as he watched Potter go from laughing to looking distinctly uncomfortable, with his shoulders getting closer to his ears with each word out of Presumably-George's mouth. Next to him, the Weasel was laughing so hard that he was falling off of the bench. Draco curled his lip, wondering what on earth could be so funny to them, yet so upsetting to Potter.
Maybe-Fred held out a flask. Presumably-George took it and sipped from it. His demeanor changed almost instantly. One second he was staring at Potter the way that Draco would if he were not so good at controlling his features, the next he was laughing. Draco thought he heard a snatch of an apology in the laughter, but he could not be sure. The Weasel slapped his hands down on the table and said something else that Draco could not quite hear. Then all their heads turned to him again.
Draco busied himself with his teapot. He poured more tea into his cup, even though it was still half full, and took a sip. He did not want them to know he had been staring.
By the time he looked up again, they had turned their attention to something else.
He let himself stare at Potter for a long moment. He allowed himself to yearn for a touch from him that was not hostile in nature. He imagined running his forefinger down Potter's cheek, running his thumb across his lips. He let himself wallow in the fantasy for a blissful minute. Then he tucked his feelings away again, back in the farthest recesses of his heart where they belonged.
Potter glanced his way one last time, his brow furrowed. Draco did not know what he was confused about. Knowing Potter, it could be anything. He returned the stare with his usual disinterest, even as his heart picked up its cadence. Draco told himself it was the caffeine.
He downed the rest of his tea, picked up his bag and headed to Potions.
