Harry walked through the corridors of Hogwarts, his mind unusually scattered. Normally, he could keep his focus on classes, homework, or even the usual bickering between Ron and Hermione, but suddenly none of it mattered. Because today, something kept tugging his attention elsewhere. Draco Malfoy, the blond boy had been strutting around the castle with an extra layer of smugness that morning, and for reasons Harry didn't entirely understand, it was distracting him in a way that made his stomach twist.
Hermione's voice cut through his daze. "Harry, are you even listening? We need to figure out a strategy for..."
"Uh, yeah, sure," Harry muttered, snapping his gaze back to her, though his mind still lingered on Draco. He couldn't help it. There was something about the way Draco carried himself today, his hair perfectly tousled, his robes sitting just right, that faint curl of arrogance at the corner of his mouth, it was unnervingly attractive. And the worst part? Harry felt guilty even noticing it, because he also saw Draco being… a bully.
A first-year had wandered into the corridor, looking utterly lost, clutching a worn map of Hogwarts in trembling hands. Before Harry could think to step in, Draco appeared, gliding up behind the small boy with that familiar sneer.
"Lost, are we?" Draco drawled, tilting his head. "You shouldn't be wandering around unsupervised, little one. Hogwarts is dangerous, you know."
Harry felt an immediate surge of protectiveness, but he also couldn't stop watching Draco. There was a certain charm in the way the boy spoke, smug, yes, but also almost… endearing? No, that couldn't be. Draco was still tormenting the poor first-year, making him stammer and drop his map in panic.
Hermione noticed Harry staring and nudged him sharply. "Harry! Seriously!"
"Yeah, sorry," he mumbled, finally tearing his gaze away. But even as he watched Hermione and Ron argue over some... God knows what, he didn't listen, his mind kept drifting back to Malfoy. The way he had effortlessly dominated the conversation with the first-year, the confidence, the slight tilt of his jaw, it was infuriatingly captivating.
Ron leaned back on his heels, frowning. "What's with you today? You keep spacing out."
Harry shook his head. "Nothing. Just… thinking."
Thinking. About Draco Malfoy. The words made Harry want to groan.
The first-year finally scuttled off, clutching his map like a lifeline, and Draco straightened, smoothing his robes and tossing an amused glance over his shoulder. Harry caught that glance and felt something like a spark, a dangerous, confusing spark he immediately scolded himself for noticing.
They moved on down the corridor, Hermione babbling on about the best ways to approach their assignment, but Harry's thoughts kept looping back. He found himself analyzing Draco's every movement, the way he smirked, the careless elegance of his posture. It made Harry feel things he didn't entirely understand, frustration, distraction, and an odd warmth that he hated to admit.
Ron finally snapped him out of his trance. "You're staring at him again, aren't you? He's a prat, Harry!"
Harry flushed. "I'm not! Well, maybe a little?"
Hermione groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Honestly, you two are impossible. Focus!"
Harry forced himself to pay attention, but every time they turned a corner, he caught another glimpse of Draco, who seemed oblivious to the effect he was having. Today, he looked almost… mischievous, like he was aware of his charm and chose to wield it without care. And somehow, it made Harry's chest tighten.
Later, in the Great Hall, Harry found himself at the Gryffindor table, trying to eat without thinking too much about Malfoy, who sat across the room with Crabbe and Goyle. Draco's laughter rang out, sharp and confident, as he teased Pansy Parkinson about some minor misstep in her homework. Harry watched, almost unwillingly, as Draco's expressions shifted from arrogance to amusement and then something softer, fleetingly, when he looked at one of his friends.
Hermione leaned over, whispering fiercely. "Stop staring, Harry. You're going to get caught, and it's ridiculous."
"I can't," he admitted quietly, though even as he said it, he felt embarrassed. He was supposed to despise Malfoy, not feel… this.
Ron snorted. "You're a goner, mate. You've been gone since first-year, but this is… new."
Harry scowled, shoving a spoonful of stew into his mouth to hide the warmth creeping over his face. He tried to focus on anything else, on the chatter of other students, the clatter of plates but Draco's presence was magnetic, inescapable.
The afternoon air was biting as the third-years trudged across the grounds toward Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures class. Snow still lingered in patches from the last snowfall, and the distant turrets of Hogwarts glinted in the pale sunlight. Excitement buzzed through the students, amplified by Hagrid's booming voice calling them toward a clearing near the edge of the forest.
A collective hush fell as a magnificent creature stepped into view. Its body was sleek and muscular like a horse, its wings strong and feathered, while its chest rose into the proud head of an eagle, eyes amber and piercing. Buckbeak, Hagrid explained, was proud and noble, but sensitive to any sign of disrespect.
Draco slouched, arms crossed and eyes narrowed as Hagrid rambled on about hippogriffs. Every word grated against him, the way Hagrid moved around, laughing and cooing at the majestic creature like a child over a new toy. Draco's patience was wearing thin, and a vein of irritation pulsed along his temple. This was absurd. A grown man teaching children how to bow to a bird with a horse's body? Ridiculous.
"My father will hear about this," he muttered under his breath, loud enough for Crabbe and Goyle to hear. They nodded nervously, unsure whether to support him or stay out of the line of fire. Draco's jaw tightened as he glanced at Buckbeak, nostrils flaring slightly. The creature was impressive, yes, but that did not justify the farce of the lesson. He hated feeling trapped, forced to participate in something so beneath him.
Every time Hagrid instructed another student on proper bowing etiquette, Draco's irritation grew, simmering beneath his calm exterior. He wanted to scoff, to demand something more "useful," and yet he remained in his seat, plotting how he could report this to his father and perhaps ensure that no other Malfoy would ever be subjected to such humiliation.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged glances, awe written across their faces. "Respect, mind you," Hagrid cautioned. "Always bow first. Let him approach you. Do that, and you'll be fine."
Harry's heart pounded as he stepped closer to Buckbeak, following Hagrid's careful instructions. Bowing respectfully and holding steady eye contact, he felt the hippogriff study him with intelligent, amber eyes. When Hagrid signaled it was safe, Harry extended his hand, touching the curve of Buckbeak's beak and feeling the smooth feathers beneath his fingers. The creature's wings twitched, but it remained calm, recognizing his respect. Hagrid picked Harry up helping him climb onto Buckbeak's back, without even him wanting to. Buckbeak shifted, then spread his massive wings, lifting off with a powerful thrust. Wind whipped through Harry's hair, he was flying, weightless, exhilarated, and completely free.
Draco Malfoy stood at the edge of the clearing, watching Harry effortlessly climb onto Buckbeak's back, his chest tight with a mix of irritation and disbelief. How could Potter, of all people, do it so easily? The boy had approached calmly, shown respect, and within moments, was riding the weird creature, wings spread wide as he soared over the snow-dusted grounds. Draco's grey eyes narrowed. If Potter could do it… why couldn't he?
As the creature came down and Harry climbed down, he stepped forward, chin high, trying to mask the tremor of unease running through him. "Ridiculous," he muttered, ignoring Hagrid's warning. Respect? Patience? Draco scoffed at such notions. He would show everyone how a Malfoy handled a beast.
Buckbeak's eyes followed Draco, as he strode forward with an air of arrogance and determination. He approached without bowing, convinced that the creature would recognize his superiority immediately.
"Stand back!" Hagrid instructed nervously, but Draco ignored him, reaching out to touch the hippogriff's beak.
Buckbeak's eyes narrowed. Then, with a sudden, sharp movement, the creature kicked out, striking Draco squarely in the arms. Pain shot through him, and he stumbled backward, shrieking dramatically.
"It's killed me! It's killed me!" he cried hysterically, flailing his arms, eyes wide with exaggerated terror. His voice echoed across the clearing, drawing laughter and startled looks from the other students.
Crabbe and Goyle froze, unsure whether to step forward or flee, while Hermione was genuinely worried, and Ron grinned openly, struggling to contain his amusement. Even Harry, was too stunned to speak or intervene.
"You're gonna regret this!" Draco screamed clutching his injured arm. "You'll pay for this, beast! My father will hear about it, and you'll..."
Hermione, shaking her head in exasperation, rushed forward. "Hagrid! Hurry, he's really hurt himself!" she called, her voice a mix of concern and disbelief.
Hagrid didn't hesitate. Striding over, he gently scooped the squirming, shrieking Draco into his arms, careful not to let the boy's kicking and flailing harm either of them. "Easy now, Malfoy," Hagrid said soothingly, though a hint of amusement lingered in his deep voice. "I've got you, just calm down."
Draco shrieked again, dramatically flinging an arm toward Buckbeak as if the hippogriff were personally conspiring against him. "He's going to pay for this! Potter, I'll..."
As Hagrid carried the squirming Draco toward the castle, Harry felt an unexpected pang of concern. The kick had been sharp, powerful, and despite Draco's dramatic cries, Harry couldn't shake the thought of the force behind it. He knew Buckbeak was a proud creature, capable of judging and defending himself, but the hippogriff's strength was undeniable. What if Draco had actually been hurt badly?
By the time they reached the infirmary, Draco was still wailing loudly, snow clinging to his robes and hair, arms sore from the kick. Madam Pomfrey appeared instantly, ushering them in and preparing to tend to his injuries as Draco continued his dramatic complaints.
Hermione and Ron glanced back at him, noting his unease. "He's fine," Ron muttered, though Harry wasn't entirely convinced. The boy's face had gone pale, his arms bent awkwardly as Hagrid cradled him, and the snow clinging to his robes highlighted every flinch and groan.
Harry clenched his fists, a strange mix of irritation, amusement, and worry twisting in his chest. For a moment, he imagined Draco genuinely injured and realized that even though he'd laughed at the spectacle, he couldn't ignore the possibility.