2.
Harry woke up, feeling the wrinkles in his robes as they left a mark on his face. How did he fall asleep at his desk again? Even worse, when Malfoy was sitting next to him.
- Maybe you should clean that drool off your face, Potter.
Reaching for his glasses, still quite groggy, Harry answered:
- What?
- You look like a mess. What is wrong with you that you would fall asleep in the middle of an assignment?
Oh, right. Assignment. The potions one he had been assigned with Draco as a partner. He had come back to take his 8thyear, since the war had left little time for studying. The change was unexpected but not unwelcome. Since the war, he had become less of a social person than he already was, lacking the patience or skill for small talk and usually losing his train of thought in the middle of conversations. Or anything really. Much like he had gotten side tracked from potions now.
Harry shook his head, trying to shake the sleepiness off. He then rested his head against his hand and looked at Draco, who was sitting next to him, though half closed eyes. The blonde had also changed since the war. That summer he had shaved his whole head, disassociating with the Malfoy lineage. The blonde hair was now growing back but still looked quite spiky and at the same time soft. Harry wondered what it might feel like to run his hands through that beautiful hair. Wait. No, he didn't. No no no, he was just sleepy.
- You might want to get back to work.
Draco's eyes were soft in contrast to his words.
- Why didn't you wake me?
Harry asked, as he turned to look at the library clock that was behind him. His jaw fell.
- You let me sleep a whole HOUR?
- You clearly needed it. You look like walking death lately.
So, he had noticed his dark circles…
- Didn't see you as a caring type, Malfoy.
- Just finish the damn work.
Harry pretended not to notice how Draco's ears turned red, or how he had almost finished the whole assignment by himself, leaving the easiest parts for Harry, as if he knew it was his weakest subject.
Harry smiled to himself, feeling his face go a bit hot. He dipped his quill in some ink and got to writing. His heart felt ten times lighter than it had an hour before.
