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It’d been bothering him all day. Always there, yet so far, just at the edge of his eyesight and consciousness. Especially since everyone seemed to be talking about it. But no one gave any useful information. At least not while Harry was within earshot.
There was a new student who joined the 8 th year. A boy Harry swore he’d never seen before. Of course, he could just be transferring from another school. But no one's mentioned him. Not Professor McGonagall, not any other teacher.
“Harry? Mate? Yoohoo!”
Rapid movements in front of his eyes pulled Harry’s attention away from the unfamiliar black-haired boy who was sitting, alone, in the other corner of the 8 th year common room, working on school work.
Which Harry was supposed to do, too.
He blinked and turned to look at his friends. Ron was frowning at him, his expression somewhere between annoyance and worry. Beside him, Hermione was also looking at Harry, but her expression was one-hundred-percent worry.
“What?” Harry snapped. He knew he should be kinder; the two of them had been doting on him since the War, caring for him. But he was fine . Them walking on eggshells around him just pissed him off.
“You were daydreaming again,” Hermione volunteered.
“We’re supposed to figure out what’s missing from this Poeticas potion ingredient list, and then write a foot long essay on its importance. Remember?” Ron arched an eyebrow.
Oh, right .
Ron sighed dramatically, and Hermione shook her head. “You were thinking about that guy again.”
Harry wasn’t surprised that she guessed his thoughts correctly. He was very aware that he was mentioning him in almost every conversation, trying to brainstorm who he was, why he was there, and where he came from. Plus, Hermione was the smartest person he knew.
Ron, as expected, wasn’t as observant, and his eyes widened in realization as soon as Hermione said the words.
“You were , weren’t you?”
Harry sighed. He could lie. But why bother? He allowed himself one more glance in the boy’s direction, watched his hand – relatively small, very pale, long fingers – caressed the pages of the potions’ book before he flipped over to the next page.
“Yes, but I mean – we’ve been here for two days already. Don’t you think someone should’ve introduced him by now?”
“Harry, we’ve been over it a million times already,” Hermione sighed. “ Everything’s back to normal. You’re the only one who seems to be so – obsessed – over it when everyone else just accepts the fact that there’s someone new who wasn’t introduced.”
“That’s not true, I keep hearing people talking about him.”
“You hear what you want to hear, mate,” Ron shrugged. “I think it’s mostly just girls in the lower years. They think he’s – hot – or whatever. Something stupid like that.”
Harry froze. He felt his face warming up, felt a knot forming in his stomach. His heart beat increased rapidly, getting loud in his ears. Could anyone else hear that? Concluding by the raised eyebrow on Hermione’s face, maybe.
“Harry, you…” she started, and Harry’s heart just went crazier in his chest. Was this how he was going to die? Of a heart attack in the 8 th year common room? After everything he’d been through – and survived? “Do you fancy him?”
Harry felt as if a fifty-story building had collapsed on him as Ron’s eyes went wide, matching with his jaw dropping as far down as when Harry’s name came out of the Goblet of Fire back in 4 th year. An eternity ago.
“You do!” Ron called, which, of course, made the entire common room look in their direction.
Harry shushed him; the last thing he needed was for everyone else to realise it, too. His friends knew he wasn’t exactly straight; he’d shared that with them over the summer, confiding in them after a long period of questioning his sexuality following his second breakup with Ginny. But that didn’t mean he needed the entire school to know, too.
Hermione seemed to be getting over the greatness of her discovery quickly enough. “Why don’t you go and talk to him, then? Ask him all those burning questions yourself? Maybe over Butterbeer…”
“Do it, Harry, you must!”
Harry had a feeling they were pestering him just so he’d stop pestering them . “I – can’t –“
“Nonsense! Sure you can! He looks pretty lonely, no? I’m sure he’d be happy to have a friend.”
“Or more than a friend.”
“Ron!” Harry wanted to die on the spot.
“Well, Harry. You faced You-Know-Who and survived. I think you can survive facing New Guy. Go on.”
Harry looked at Ron for help but knew the battle was lost.
“Are you a Gryffindor or not? Get up!” Ron pushed at Harry’s arm, almost making him fall off the sofa.
Harry took the hint. Mostly because he was a Gryffindor, and he’d be damned if, after everything, he’d let anyone challenge his bravery. He pushed himself up, shot one glare at his friends, and walked towards the corner of the room, towards the mysterious student.
Harry ignored his raging heartbeat and his heated face. He’d pulled the Gryffindor Sword out of the sorting hat, hadn’t he?
“Hi,” he said, proud of how normal his voice sounded.
The boy stopped moving his long finger along the book’s page and looked up.
Harry gasped.
Up this close, he could see the boy’s features: sharp cheekbones, pointy, almost mousey, nose. Silver eyes.
There was no mistaking that this was Draco Malfoy.
“Need anything, Potter?” Somehow he managed to sound authoritative even when Harry stood over him, and that didn’t help the way Harry was feeling at all.
For a moment, Harry just stared. At the way his black hair – so different from the trademark Malfoy platinum blond – was slicked back on his head; the contrast it created with his fairer-than-porcelain skin. The way it complimented his icy eyes.
“Malfoy – your hair – it’s black!”
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Observant as always, Potter.”
“But…” Harry started. He was too shocked to properly think . “Why?”
Malfoy gave him a look. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I wanted to. People were going to talk about me anyway. I preferred they gossip about my stunning new hairstyle rather than my previous alliances.” He looked uncomfortable, but only for a second before he smirked. “It worked.”
“I…” Harry started. He supposed it made sense. Harry knew all too well how too much attention wasn’t exactly fun. And he assumed, with Malfoy’s past… Harry remembered the time he was an outcast, portrayed as an attention-seeking lunatic by the Ministry.
He understood Malfoy. It felt strange.
“What, Potter?“ the smirk broadened, stormy eyes sparkling. “Like what you see? I have to admit,” he paused, closing his book and standing up, eyes not leaving Harry’s for a moment. “I thought I’d hate it, at first. But I think it gives my looks some sort of edge , don’t you think?”
Harry gulped, trying not to think about how the dark hair made everything about Malfoy’s face bolder. Even his lips looked redder, somehow.
“Well, see you around, Potter.” He delayed for another second, eyes penetrating Harry’s soul . Like he knew exactly what Harry was thinking. “Good to be back, or something.”
He didn’t give Harry enough time to gather his wits before walking away, disappearing into the boys’ dormitories.