Harry didn't sleep much. The note was folded neatly under his pillow, read and re-read so many times that the parchment was beginning to soften. He didn't know why it bothered him so much. Or why it thrilled him, either.
He was used to attention, but not like this. Not kind, not thoughtful. Not from...who?
It had to be a joke. It had to be some sort of distraction, something planned to throw him off before the next triwizzard task. But it didn't feel like a joke. It didn't feel like something Ron would write to make him laugh, or something malfoy would use to mock him. And yet...
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"Someone's got a secret admirer," Seamus teased at breakfast, nodding at the parchment Harry kept reading like it held the answer to the meaning of life.
Harry shoved it into his pocket, cheeks pink. "It's nothing."
"It's something," Hermonie said, lowering her voice. "You've been quiet all morning."
Ron scowled, "probably some slytherin trying to mess with you like him."
Harry didn't have to look to know Ron meant Malfoy. But Malfoy had been...different. He'd smiled again just yesterday outside the library, catching Harry's eye as if it were intentional. He hadn't insulted Jim in nearly three days. Bot even a muttered "scar-head" in passing. It was unnerving.
Later, Harry passed a quiet cortidor near the charms classroom again. He didn't mean to go that way. but something pulled at him, that strange gravity he couldn't explain. And then he heard it. Whispers.
Two voices. Just behind a statue, he slowed his steps.
"He actually blushed." Pansy whispered, delighted.
"You're imagining it," Draco muttered, but he sounded smug.
"Im not! This is better than I thought. Keep it up, and smile again tomorrow. And I'll write the next note myself if you chicken out." Pansy said, keeping her voice hushed
There was a pause. A beat of silence. And then, "You know, I think I really like him." Draco said, keeping the act up.
Harry's breath caught. The voices stopped. The statue creaked slightly as someone moved behind it. He could see dracos hair. Harry darted away before he could be seen, heart hammering.
That night in bed, he stared at the ceiling for hovers. Did Draco Malfoy like him? No.
No. It had to be a joke. Malfoy hated hi. This had to be some kind of game. But then again... Harry remembered the soft smile. The look that lingered a little too long. The absence of cruelty in their most recent encounters.
He was spiraling, and he knew it.
But merlin, it felt good to be seen.
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Across the castle in his dorm, Draco sat slone at his desk. He had a quill in his hand and a piece of parchment in front of him. He didn't know what he wanted to write yet.
But the idea of having Harry Potter rereading his words again made his stomach twist in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant. Not that he was catching feelings.
No.
That would be ridiculous.