Draco returns to the Slytherin common room on his own later that night, not particularly interested in the company of others for the remainder of the night. Not after whatever had happened outside by the Quidditch pitch earlier – with Potter.
As he all but drags his feet with him down the dark corridors of the castle, his mind is somewhere else entirely. He blatantly ignores the Ravenclaw prefect near the fountain courtyard that stares at him as he passes by, and he simply walks right through Peeves when he pops out of the wall to taunt him. At times it almost feels as if he teleports, blinking sleep out of his eyes to find himself at the bottom of the stairs, or at the end of the hallway.
He thought it had been going so well.
Potter had been so angry at first, so distrusting of him and his intentions. He had thought he was there at the behest of Professor Umbridge, that he was there to do her biddings for the night. For Merlin's sake, he had accused him of coming out there to hurt him and make it seem like an accident.
Then, suddenly his expression had changed, as he had brought the can of broom polish to his nose and peered into it. All his anger had vanished in an instant, brows relaxing and lips parting, and when he had looked over at Draco just then, his eyes had softened. They never do that – have never done that – ever.
Eyes he was so used to catching glaring at him across the room, drawn to him by the rude remarks and hushed laughter between his friends. Eyes he was so used to boring into his own during every interaction they had ever had since their first year. Eyes he was so used to looking at him with nothing but animosity, and hostility, and pure hatred. Earlier however, as they had looked – simply gazed – into his own, they had been different, so… so calm, so gentle, and so green.
Draco hadn't wanted him to look at him any other way ever again.
Then, he had looked so confused, so perplexed, as if he couldn't begin to wrap his mind around what he was discovering. The broomstick polish he had smelled in the Amortentia potion the day prior, the one he had been furrowing his brows at and wondering aloud about to his friends, hadn't been his own. It had been Draco's. Though, even as he had held it in his hands, practically sticking his nose into it, he had still looked so puzzled – so endearing.
Gryffindors, honestly.
Draco is stepping into the common room as he recalls the way Potter had reciprocated the kiss almost immediately. He had held him oh-so-gently, had moved his lips against his own in the softest of kisses, and it was as if he hadn't rejected his hand their first day, and they haven't spent the last five years as sworn enemies. It felt like a glimpse into what could have been – what could be, even, maybe.
When he eventually reaches the dormitory, absentmindedly fumbling about in the dark in an attempt to get ready for bed, he can still feel his skin tingle where Potter had touched him. It feels all numb, like the sensation on his skin after coming into a warm room after being out in the cold, and it feels… nice.
"Draco?" Blaise's voice is slurred with sleep, and in his peripheral vision he sees him rub his eyes. "Did y'find him?"
At once is Draco reminded of what immediately followed the kiss that has been lingering on his lips and in his mind since it happened. Potter had pulled away, rather abruptly, as if he had touched something hot and only then realised it was burning him, and he had left. He had left him standing there in the dark, alone.
"I did," he says, and if his voice happens to waver, Blaise doesn't comment on it. Instead, he lies and watches as Draco digs around in the dark for the pyjamas he knows are around here somewhere. The lack of light makes it hard to see properly, and whatever emotions are running through his body that clouds his mind and makes his hands tremble, aren't exactly helping.
If not for the feeling of Blaise's eyes on him, studying his silhouette in the dark, he would think he has fallen asleep again. Draco can tell he wants to ask, but is unsure about how to go about it in a room full of their sleeping Housemates, and he saves him the trouble.
"He left me."
Now Blaise dares speak, although his voice is quiet. "Did he say anything?"
"We–" He pauses and listens. The dormitory is silent save for the occasional heavy breathing and soft snoring. "We talked, and I– I told him about the potion, and I gave him the polish…"
"And?"
"It's mine," Draco says, and nods, "I'm certain of it, and–" He stops to listen once more, to properly listen, and he looks around the room to find everyone still asleep. "I– I kissed him," he whispers.
Blaise doesn't say anything, nothing other than an almost inaudible silencing charm of some kind. Clearly he knows this is about to take a turn.
"But–" His voice falters and nearly gives up on him. "But then he left me. Just pulled away, and gathered his things, and walked off." His hands tremble even more now, and he struggles to button his sleeping shirt. "Told me to stay away, like he hadn't been kissing me back, like he hadn't– like he hadn't held me and looked at me like he didn't despise me."
He hears Blaise move about in his bed, and he looks up from his shirt to see him sitting on the edge and watching him.
"I thought it was going so well," Draco says, and gives up on buttoning his shirt with an exasperated sigh. "He clearly fancies me, and I– I suppose I fancy him too, so I don't understand what the problem is."
Blaise hums, in agreement he thinks, and he looks deep in thought.
"I need to get him alone again," Draco concludes, and nods, "I need to talk to him."
Harry Potter, however, is not interested in talking it seems. The following days leading up to the weekend, Potter actively avoids him.
The following morning, during breakfast in the Great Hall, Draco finds himself unable to tear his gaze away from the Gryffindor table across the room. Granger and Weasley sit alone today, chatting as they eat, and they don't look particularly worried about Potter's absence. Does that mean he's just late, or that he's not coming?
"Aren't you going to eat anything?" Pansy asks, and it's only then he looks away. She eyes his untouched plate of toast and eggs curiously, and when she looks up at him, she almost looks concerned. "Lunch isn't for several hours, you know."
"I will," he assures her, though his attention quickly slips back to the other side of the room again, "I just…"
His voice trails off into nothing as the doors of the Great Hall open, and Potter walks through them. He looks as disheveled today as he always does, hair sticking out in all directions and tie hanging loosely around his neck. Draco simultaneously wants to mess him up even more, and put him together. He should have run his fingers through that hair last night, when he had the chance, just to feel it.
Much to his disappointment, he makes a beeline for the rest of the trio without as much as a glance in Draco's direction, and sits down at the table with his back to him.
"So…" Pansy follows his gaze to the other side of the room, finishing the rest of her pumpkin juice before continuing. "Hannah told me you threatened her last night."
That snaps Draco right out of his absentminded staring. He tears his gaze off of the back of Potter's head to see her grinning into her empty glass. "What?" he says, and watches as she sets her glass down and turns to Blaise.
"Some words of advice," she says, lowering her voice and furrowing her brows in mock seriousness. Blaise continues eating his breakfast, though the hint of a smile pulls at his lips. "Hurt her," she pauses to suppress her giggling, and to stop the hand reaching out to muffle her, "and you'll regret it, got that?"
"I did not threaten her," he denies, hiding his own grin with his glass of juice. "I was just–"
"Intimidating her?" Blaise suggests, entirely unhelpful.
Draco ignores him to grab a bite to eat, having been too caught up in Potter to notice just how hungry he is. "I was making sure she treats you well," he explains, and begins buttering one of his toasts. "You're very welcome, by the way," he adds with a glance thrown in Pansy's direction.
She smiles, and nudges him gently with her elbow. "Thank you."
In all their shared classes for the rest of the week, Potter sits as far away from him as he can. He almost always has his friends on either side of him, as well, so even if he did want to approach him in the middle of class, he would have to get past Granger and Weasley first.
He resorts to just looking at him – or rather, the back of his head – and hoping he looks back.
He never does.
It's only in their last class for the week – Defence Against the Dark Arts – that he decides he needs to take matters into his own hands. Ever since Potter left him that night, he hasn't as much as looked at him, all but ignoring his very existence, and Draco has had enough.
"I need to get him alone," he whispers to Blaise when Professor Umbridge is out of earshot, and after yet another staring contest with the back of Potter's head. One could almost think Potter has forgotten he's even at this school, if not for the times he has quite literally turned and walked away at the sight of him in the hallways. "He's going to drive me mad."
"Is he never alone?" Blaise asks, picking up his textbook to find the page written on the board.
"No." He casts a glance in the trio's direction, and as if on cue, Weasley looks over his shoulder at him. The weasel glares at him, and he glares right back. Potter might not have been sparing him any glances, but this one sure has. "He's always got his guard dogs with him."
"You could catch him outside again," Blaise suggests.
Draco shakes his head, and begins flipping through his own textbook. "I talked to Pansy about it yesterday. According to Hannah, he's not gone out after curfew these past few days," he says, and rolls his eyes. It seems Potter had thought he might come look for him again, and was clearly not very interested.
"I just…" His gaze is drawn back to the unruly hair, as it so often is these days. "I don't understand what I did wrong."
When the professor finally dismisses them, everyone eagerly rises out of their seats and begins gathering their things. Chatter about plans for the weekend and the fast approaching Valentine's Day fills the room, and people begin to leave. Whether they rush to leave to start their weekends, or simply to escape Professor Umbridge's class, he doesn't know. He supposes it's a mixture of both.
Draco looks around as he waits for Blaise to see the Gryffindor trio taking their sweet time getting ready to leave. Or rather, Potter is taking his sweet time, all the while the two guards – ever at his side – stand by and wait. Honestly, do those two have free will?
"Oh, I completely forgot," Granger exclaims just then, and she takes a look in her bag, "I was meant to pick up a book for my Arithmancy essay. I asked the librarian to hold it for me." She parts ways with the group, for what can't be more than the third time these last few days. Perhaps they do have some sense of free will, after all.
Draco watches her hurry out the door, leaving Potter alone with Weasley, who stares after her longingly. On the one hand, he supposes this is a good thing. Half his problem has just left the room, after all. On the other hand, what is arguably the worst half of it is still left.
However, that is not for long.
"Uhh, Harry," Weasley says, gaze still stuck on the door as he stands and waits. He looks torn between wanting to follow her, and staying by Potter's side. Please choose the former, Draco thinks, repeating it in his mind like a mantra. Be useful for once. "I just remembered I have a… thing I forgot to do."
"What thing?" Potter asks, finally rising from his seat and looking ready to leave. Draco has to hold back a scoff, and hopes the weasel has a better excuse ready, one better than "a thing he has forgotten to do".
"Y'know," Weasley says, like the intellect he is. Draco's not sure whether he'd be more happy if Potter sees through his obvious lie, or if he believes it. "A Potions thing," he explains, "that I need to go do."
With that, Weasley hurries out the door ahead of his friend, and there is no way Potter believes him. There is just no way. It's obvious; the way Weasley's eyes had followed her as she had left, the way he had swayed on his feet as if he had wanted to follow her right out the door, and not to mention his poor "excuse". They don't have Potions until next week, and there is certainly no "Potions thing" to be done until then. Draco would know.
Either way, whether he believes him or not, doesn't matter for very long. When Draco walks out into the hallway, the very last one to leave, he spots Potter walking by himself.
Perfect.
"I'll see you back at the common room," Blaise says with a knowing look in his eyes, giving him an encouraging pat on the back, before he walks off in the opposite direction.
Draco stands there for a moment after he has left, stares at the back of Potter's head as he walks down the hallway on his way who-knows-where, and his mind begins filling with all the things he wants to say – wants to ask. Only when the Gryffindor nears the stairs does he take off after him, running down the hallway to catch up. He is not about to miss this opportunity that has been so generously offered to him.
"Potter," he calls after him as he runs.
As if he hadn't said anything, as if his footsteps aren't echoing off the stone walls, as if he doesn't exist, Potter heads down the stairs without a word – without as much as a glance over his shoulder.
"Potter," he says again, louder this time, and he speeds up to cut him off. Halfway down the stairs, he stops and turns to face him, breathless from either exhaustion, or something else. "Just– just wait."
The eyes that finally meet his own are filled with animosity and distaste, and look nothing like they had at some point that night a few days ago. When he attempts to push past him, unsuccessfully, they narrow behind his glasses. "Out of my way, Malfoy."
"Wait–" He attempts to get past him again, but Draco doesn't let him. "Please, just wait."
Potter takes a step back, and he's nearly a head taller than him like this. Under his cold stare, Draco all of the sudden feels so small and insignificant, so guilty. It reminds him of coming home to the manor during the holidays and feeling the indifferent – almost displeased – gaze of his father on him, looking at him like he has done something wrong.
Has he?
"I told you to stay away, didn't I?"
"Yes, but–" he sputters, moves to block the stairs when Potter attempts to pass him once more. "Why did you leave?"
He doesn't get any reply, at least not a verbal one. Potter simply stares down at him as he waits for him to get out of his sight, presumably so he can go back to ignoring his presence and pretending he doesn't even exist.
"I–" Draco looks around to see they're alone, not a student or professor in sight. Even the nearby portraits avert their gazes elsewhere. Though, he highly doubts very many would dare interrupt their conversation – or perhaps dispute, rather – were someone to stumble across them. "I smelled you in the potion, Potter. I'm– You know what that means, don't you?"
Once again, there is no reply.
"I'm attracted to you, Potter," Draco exclaims, a little louder than intended, and it slips out before he can think too much about it. He doesn't regret it, however, because he's tired of all of this. He's tired of staring at the back of Potter's head, waiting for him to stop being so bloody oblivious, and just admit his feelings already. "I fancy you, alright. You and your ridiculous hair, and your stupidly green eyes, and–"
He gestures between them as he tries to find his words again. All the while, Potter simply stares at him, waiting for him to finish. "I know you're attracted to me too. I can tell, but you just won't–"
"What if I don't want to be?"
Draco stills, arms hanging limp by his sides and brows furrowing. "What?"
"You're a right git, you know," Potter begins, and when he takes a step towards him, Draco takes a step back. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but he doesn't get the chance. "You insult my friends. You call them names, laugh at them with your 'friends', and walk all over them because they're not good enough for you. If they don't have money, or status, or blood purity, they're not worth your time, isn't that right?"
"I–"
Potter's eyes narrow, and he looks down at Draco as if he's nothing but a nuisance, like he's nothing. "Well, Malfoy, you're not worth mine. Get out of my way."
"Wait–"
Before he can say anything else, Potter grabs him by the collar and shoves him to the side. His breath is knocked out of him as his back hits the railing, digging uncomfortably into his spine. Instinctively, he reaches for his wrist to push him away.
Potter releases him before he can do so, however, and descends the stairs in quick strides. Only at the bottom does he stop, and lingers for a few moments before he turns to look up at him.
"I'm attracted to you," he says, and an odd feeling wells up in Draco's chest just then. Whether it is good or bad, he's not entirely sure. "I don't know why, but I am. You're just so– I can't–" His eyes leave his own, and he takes a deep breath. His shoulders visibly relax. Draco waits for him to continue, for him to explain just how he really feels, because he can tell he's desperately trying to find the words to express it.
He doesn't. Without another word, Potter turns and leaves.
And, it's only as he turns a corner and disappears, the feeling in Draco's chest sinking to his stomach, that he recognises it. It sits there, uncomfortably heavy, and it shows no sign of leaving anytime soon.
Guilt.
