The next morning, the Gryffindor table buzzed with chatter, but Harry couldn't focus. His eyes kept drifting across the hall to Draco Malfoy, who sat rigidly at the Slytherin table, his arm heavily bandaged and supported in a sling. The usual sneer was absent, replaced with a pale, uncomfortable frown, and every movement seemed labored.
Harry felt a flicker of sympathy he hadn't expected. The boy's arrogance and teasing were still there, just muted beneath obvious pain. He watched as Draco tried to lift a cup with his free hand, grimacing when the injured arm refused to cooperate.
Hermione leaned over. "You're staring again, Harry."
Harry shook his head quickly. "I… I just hope he's okay. That hit yesterday… it was pretty hard."
For the first time, Harry saw Malfoy not as a rival or a bully, but as a boy genuinely struggling. He clenched his jaw, hoping silently that Draco would recover soon, even if he would never admit it.
By the time the lesson change bell rang, Harry was halfway across the hall before he realized he had been thinking about nothing else for hours. He knew he should feel angry at Malfoy and yet he couldn't shake the weird, distracting warmth, the confusing pull he felt whenever Draco was near.
As he moved toward the next class, Harry shook his head, muttering under his breath, 'What is wrong with me?'
Harry trudged to Defense Against the Dark Arts, trying to shove thoughts of Draco into the back of his mind, but the boy's presence seemed to haunt him no matter where he went. He was halfway through taking his seat when a flicker of movement near the Slytherin table caught his attention. Draco was standing, and Harry's chest tightened automatically.
Draco's gaze was directed at someone Harry hadn't really noticed before, a Slytherin girl sitting a few rows away, pale-skinned with dark hair that fell in gentle waves over her shoulders. She looked slightly nervous, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger as she scanned her notes.
And then Draco smiled. Not his usual smirk, not the sharp, condescending curl of his lips that made Harry want to grit his teeth. This smile was warm, subtle, almost… charming. His eyes softened, and for a moment, the arrogance melted into something lighter, almost inviting. Harry felt a pang of irritation or maybe jealousy? It was absurd. He didn't even know the girl, and yet seeing Draco direct that smile at someone else made his stomach twist.
Hermione nudged him again. "Harry, stop staring. You're doing it again."
"I'm… not," Harry muttered, though he knew it wasn't entirely true.
He couldn't look away, and Draco seemed completely unaware or perhaps aware and deliberately teasing of the way his attention could captivate. The girl's cheeks flushed faintly, and she dropped her quill, fumbling to pick it up. Draco's smile widened just slightly, not cruelly, not mocking, but enough to make her laugh nervously. It was almost as if he had stepped into a different mode entirely: the charming, approachable Malfoy that Harry had never expected to exist.
Ron muttered from across the table, clearly noticing Harry's distraction. "Blimey, mate, you look like you're about to combust."
Harry shoved a fistful of parchment under his notes, feeling his face heat. "He's… he's just being… I don't know."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Aha, so you do notice him."
Harry scowled, turning back toward Draco. The Slytherin boy had now leaned casually against the table, his posture relaxed, and his eyes flicked back to the girl with that same warmth. Harry couldn't figure it out. Draco could be infuriating, cruel, or smug on any other day, but right now… watching him, Harry felt an unexpected mix of admiration and confusion.
Crabbe and Goyle hovered nearby, looking dumb as usual, yet Draco seemed utterly unbothered, as though this was the easiest thing in the world, commanding attention, making people laugh, and effortlessly charming those around him. Harry felt a sharp twist in his chest, a mix of frustration at himself for noticing and fascination he couldn't deny.
Then, just as subtly as it had begun, Draco's gaze drifted back toward the front of the classroom, leaving the girl blushing quietly to herself. He caught Harry's eyes for just a second, and for that brief moment, the warmth in his smile shifted into something teasing, almost knowingly provocative. Harry quickly looked away, his ears burning.
Hermione, exasperated, muttered under her breath, "Honestly Harry? You're hopeless."
But Harry couldn't shake it. The way Draco had transformed so seamlessly from the sneering, cruel boy Harry was used to into this… captivating, charming figure, had unsettled him in ways he hadn't anticipated. It made him question every interaction they'd ever had and every reaction he'd felt to Malfoy's presence.
As Professor Lupin entered the room and began the lesson, Harry tried to focus. He really did. But he kept catching glimpses of Draco, who seemed so perfectly composed, so effortlessly magnetic, and Harry felt that same spark of curiosity, frustration, and something dangerously close to admiration. It was going to be a long day.
The lesson was moving far too slowly for his taste, Draco was impatiently annoyed. Professor Lupin was demonstrating the Riddikulus charm on a boggart, which now took the form of something absurdly mundane, a dancing broomstick that twirled in exaggerated circles. Draco's grey eyes narrowed. How could anyone find this amusing? How could anyone take this class seriously?
Harry, stood a few feet away, watched him carefully, noting the twitch of Draco's jaw, the way he shifted his weight, and the slight curl of his lip. Even from here, Harry could tell Draco was irritated not just mildly annoyed, but genuinely bothered, as though the very idea of wasting time on this lesson grated against him.
The boggart wiggled and bounced, Lupin encouraging the students to laugh, to make it ridiculous, to master the charm through humor. Harry couldn't help but smile a little at the dancing broomstick. Hermione was scribbling notes, looking determined, while Ron leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the show.
Draco, however, made no effort to hide his contempt. "This class is ridiculous," he muttered under his breath, loud enough that a few of his classmates caught every word. His tone was both scornful and almost theatrically bored, the words dripping with his usual Malfoy arrogance.
Draco huffed, clearly unamused by Lupin's teaching style and the pain shooting through his arm. His gaze flicking toward the Slytherins as though looking for some sympathetic ally, though no one met his eyes. He muttered under his breath, "Honestly, what a waste of time," before turning back to the front, as if daring anyone to challenge him.
Harry caught the brief flare of irritation, the spark of defiance behind it, and even as he tried to focus on his own work, he found himself stealing glances, unable to ignore the familiar mixture of charm and arrogance that made Draco so maddeningly magnetic.
The final bell of the day echoed through the corridors, and students streamed out, laughter and chatter filling the air. Draco lingered by his desk, one arm draped awkwardly in the sling, his other hand absently straightening his bandages. His usual composure was gone; the slight wince every time he moved betrayed him.
Harry, passing nearby with Ron and Hermione, noticed the change immediately. Malfoy's pride usually made him untouchable, untiring in arrogance, but today he looked… vulnerable. Harry's stomach tightened, a strange mix of sympathy and something he wasn't ready to name.
Before Harry could look away, the Slytherin girl he'd noticed earlier approached Draco hesitantly. "Um… are you okay?" she asked softly, concern in her eyes.
Draco froze, his mouth parting slightly as if the words he usually spat with confidence had deserted him. "It… it hurts," he admitted quietly, his tone low, stripped of arrogance. "More than I expected." The simple honesty in his voice was jarring, so unlike the Malfoy Harry was used to.
The girl smiled gently and leaned slightly to be closer, while he talked about it. Draco's eyes flicked to hers, a brief flicker of discomfort and pride, but he answered sincerely, explaining the hippogriff incident without his usual snark.
Harry, walking a few steps behind them, felt his chest tighten. Seeing Draco like this, open, unguarded, and human made his heart clench in a way that startled him. He wanted to look away, to retreat to the safety of distance, but he couldn't. Something about this quiet, unpretentious moment between Draco and the girl made him feel unexpectedly protective, and a strange, unfamiliar ache of longing settled in his chest.
It was only a few minutes, yet Harry knew he wouldn't forget the sight of Draco's honest, unshielded expression for a long time.
Harry's stomach twisted as he watched Draco speak quietly with the girl, stripped of his usual arrogance. The honesty in his voice and the vulnerability in his grey eyes, it was intoxicating, and Harry's chest ached in a way he couldn't ignore.
He wanted, more than he'd ever admit, for Draco to look at him like that: open, unguarded, sincere. Not as a rival, not as an enemy, but as someone trusting, friendly, and real. Every flinch, every flicker of discomfort only made Harry ache more, imagining what it would feel like to be the one to draw that quiet honesty from him.