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Summary
Harry Potter didn’t know when it started.
That soft ache that settled in his chest every time Draco Malfoy smiled.
It might’ve been two years ago, when he found Draco asleep in his office, a book on advanced healing potions open in his lap and a half-empty mug of coffee going cold beside him. It might’ve been earlier, during one of their weekly dinners, when Draco had laughed at something Ron said and Harry had blinked like he’d never seen him before. It might’ve always been there. Just… hidden. Unspoken.
Now it burned.