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If anyone asked when it started, nobody could answer.
Not even them.
It was a Tuesday when Draco Malfoy first realised he was, apparently, sharing his lunch with Harry Potter.
This wasn’t unusual.
What was unusual was that Potter had not asked.
“That,” Draco said, watching in disbelief as his treacle tart vanished forkful by forkful, “was mine.”
Harry didn’t even look up. “You weren’t eating it.”
“I was pacing myself.”
“You were talking.”
“I can talk and eat simultaneously!”
Harry shrugged. “Missed your chance.”
Draco narrowed his eyes.
Then, very deliberately, he reached across the table, picked up Harry’s pumpkin juice, and drank it.
Harry blinked.
Ron choked.
Hermione slowly lowered her book.
“You,” Harry said carefully, “do not like pumpkin juice.”
“I do now.”
They stared at each other.
Ron leaned toward Hermione. “Are we witnessing a territorial dispute?”
Hermione, who had been observing this strange behaviour for months, simply muttered, “No. This is something much worse.”
It escalated.
No one could pinpoint how.
One day they were bickering in corridors. The next, they were always sitting together. Then they were studying together. Then they were walking to classes together.
And then—
“Well that’s new,” Ginny said, stopping dead in the common room doorway.
Harry was sitting in an armchair.
Draco was sitting on Harry.
Not beside him.
On him.
They were arguing over a Transfiguration essay like this was completely normal.
“You used the wrong citation,” Draco snapped.
Harry leaned around him to grab the book. “It’s not wrong, it’s just not your way.”
“You cannot just invent academic structure!”
Ginny backed out of the room.
Closed the door.
Opened it again.
They were still like that.
“…Right,” she said. “I’m getting Ron.”
Soon, everyone noticed the patterns:
• Draco would steal food off Harry’s plate like a vengeful seagull.
• Harry would tug Draco down into chairs by the sleeve without thinking.
• They leaned into each other during conversations.
• They walked so close their shoulders bumped constantly.
• They played increasingly ridiculous pranks on one another.
Not mean pranks.
Personal pranks.
Like charming Draco’s quill to write compliments about Harry in the margins of his notes.
Or Draco transfiguring Harry’s shoelaces into tiny snakes that hissed encouragement.
“You’re both insane,” Ron told them.
“We’re hilarious,” Harry corrected.
Draco smirked. “There’s a difference.”
They never noticed they were always together.
Other people did.
Always.
Together.
At breakfast.
In the library.
In the corridors.
During free periods.
Once, McGonagall found them sitting on the floor outside her office, sharing a box of Honeydukes sweets and arguing about Quidditch statistics.
She stared at them for a long moment.
“…Is there a reason,” she asked, “you are not in your respective Houses?”
“We’re conducting research,” Draco said smoothly.
Harry nodded. “Very important research.”
McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose.
The confrontation came in February.
It had been building for months.
It happened in the Great Hall.
With everyone watching.
“You know,” Pansy said loudly, “people are starting to think you’re dating.”
Harry nearly inhaled a bread roll.
Draco looked scandalised. “We are not dating.”
Ron gestured wildly. “You sit on each other!”
“That is seating convenience!”
“You feed each other!”
“That is theft!”
“You walk around like you’re tied together!”
“We are efficient!”
Hermione finally spoke. “You act like a couple.”
They both recoiled.
“We do not,” they said at the same time.
There was a pause.
Then Seamus added, “Honestly, if you don’t like each other like that, you might want to stop. No one else is going to ask either of you out if they think you’re already taken.”
Draco frowned.
Harry laughed it off.
But the words stuck.
They didn’t talk about it.
Not properly.
But the next day, they didn’t sit together at breakfast.
It felt… intentional.
Harry told himself it didn’t matter.
Draco told himself it was practical.
By the end of the week:
They stopped stealing food.
Stopped sitting close.
Stopped walking together.
Stopped touching.
Stopped laughing the same way.
Their conversations became polite.
Careful.
Short.
People got what they wanted.
It was easier.
Less confusing.
More appropriate.
It was also miserable.
Harry hadn’t realised how quiet Hogwarts could be.
There was no running commentary beside him.
No sarcastic observations.
No familiar shoulder bumping into his.
Meals became something to finish quickly.
Studying felt like a chore instead of a competition.
Even Quidditch victories felt oddly flat.
Ron noticed first.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Fine,” Harry said.
He wasn’t.
Across the castle, Draco discovered that winning arguments was significantly less satisfying when there was no one worth arguing with.
He finished essays early.
Ate alone.
Walked alone.
No one annoyed him.
No one challenged him.
No one looked at him like they expected him to be there.
It was… dull.
Painfully dull.
Pansy found him staring at nothing in the common room.
“You look tragic,” she said.
“I do not look tragic.”
“You’ve been holding the same page of that book for twenty minutes.”
Draco shut it.
“…I hate this.”
It took two weeks.
Two long, uncomfortable, joyless weeks.
Before everyone else noticed.
Hermione watched Harry push food around his plate.
Ron noticed he’d stopped talking mid-sentence more than once.
Ginny saw Draco leave the Great Hall without eating.
It didn’t take a genius to connect the dots.
They met—without Harry and Draco—in an empty classroom.
“This is our fault,” Hermione said.
Ron nodded. “We told them to stop.”
Ginny crossed her arms. “And now they’re miserable.”
Seamus frowned. “I thought they weren’t dating.”
Hermione sighed. “That’s not the point.”
The apology happened awkwardly.
Because of course it did.
Harry and Draco were both summoned under vague pretences.
They arrived at the same time.
Paused.
Looked at each other.
“Hi,” Harry said.
“Hello,” Draco replied.
It felt like talking to a stranger.
Before either could escape, the door shut behind them.
Their friends stood there.
Looking guilty.
Hermione stepped forward.
“We were wrong.”
Draco blinked. “That’s a strong opening statement.”
“You shouldn’t have to change how you act just because we don’t understand it,” she continued.
Ron nodded. “You were happier before.”
Ginny added, “We all could see that. We just… didn’t realise how much you mattered to each other.”
There was a silence.
Harry glanced at Draco.
Draco glanced back.
Something familiar flickered.
“You mean,” Harry said slowly, “we can go back to normal?”
“Yes,” they all said.
“Please,” Ron added. “For everyone’s sanity.”
It didn’t snap back instantly.
But it returned.
In small ways.
Harry made a sarcastic comment Draco couldn’t resist correcting.
Draco stole a chip off Harry’s plate.
Harry didn’t stop him.
The next day they walked to class together.
By the weekend they were arguing over seating again.
And somehow—
Draco ended up sitting on Harry’s lap in the common room.
They both froze.
Looked at each other.
Waited.
No one said anything.
Ron just gave a tired thumbs-up.
“Nature is healing,” he muttered.
Things were normal again.
Except…
Now they noticed things they hadn’t before.
Like how easy it was to lean closer.
How natural it felt to reach for each other.
How strange it was when they weren’t side by side.
The question lingered.
Neither asked it.
Until one evening in the library.
“You know,” Harry said quietly, “everyone already thinks we’re dating.”
Draco didn’t look up from his book. “They’ve thought that for months.”
“We’re the only ones who don’t.”
Draco turned a page.
Paused.
“…Are we terribly stupid?”
Harry grinned. “Possibly.”
Draco closed the book.
They stared at each other.
“Well,” Draco said, “this would explain why I disliked the idea of you dating other people.”
Harry laughed. “Good. Because I hated the thought of you doing that too.”
Another pause.
Less uncertain this time.
“So,” Harry said, “should we try it?”
Draco smirked faintly. “We might as well. We’ve apparently been practising.
When they told everyone, the reaction was not what they expected.
It was not shock.
It was not drama.
It was confusion.
Ron frowned. “Wait.”
Hermione blinked. “You weren’t already together?”
Ginny tilted her head. “What do you mean you’ve just started dating?”
Seamus looked genuinely baffled. “Haven’t you been together this entire time?”
Harry and Draco exchanged a look.
Then laughed.
Because honestly?
They kind of had been.
Just… not officially.
Until now.