Chapter Text
Fighting a war does things to people. Especially when you fought on the wrong side against your will.
Unfortunately for him, Draco is all too familiar with the routines of his mornings at Hogwarts, now that he’s settled in for his eighth year. Brush his teeth, do his elaborate ten-step skincare routine, tie his emerald green tie just the way Father taught him when he was 5. Go down for breakfast. Get jinxed and hexed by multiple students, mostly Gryffindors. Pretend not to hear the occasional slur. He reckons his morning isn’t quite as calm as he’d hoped.
Lessons aren’t all that much better. With the war out of the way, NEWTs are up and coming—and, true to their name, are possibly worse to deal with than the Dark Lord living in his house. But somehow, he makes it through. At least, he’s made it for 2 weeks. Which is how he ended up in Potions lesson, half-listening to jolly old Slughorn. He doesn’t find the energy to correct his mistake.
“—and now, the groupings! As you know, we’ll be following the inter-house unity arrangement. Pick your partners! Two in a group, two in a group…” Draco is jolted out of his jinx-induced headache by a less-than-gentle tap on his shoulder. Naturally, he looks up.
Proper nutrition seems to have done wonders for Harry Potter. After just a few months of recovery (the Healers insisted on writing him strict dietary guidelines), the boy had finally had his much deserved growth spurt, and all of a sudden the Quidditch training seemed to catch up to his originally lanky body. He hadn’t turned into a hulking mountain, but his baggy uniform shirt now noticeably clung tighter to his larger frame.
It looks good on him, Draco thought. He couldn’t help his gaze wandering over the new definition, finally drifting back to his eyes. Oh, his eyes. They were no worse sight than the rest of him—the emerald green seemed to glow in the hued dungeon light. It’s with a hint of pride that Draco notes that the defiant fire was still lit in those green eyes—courtesy, probably, of the unadulterated rivalry between the two. It was then that Draco realised he was being spoken to by this walking, talking statue.
“Slughorn’s assigned me to you. Said I could use some help for this complex potion.” To Draco’s surprise, the Chosen One offers him a strained smile. It’s not quite friendly yet, and his lips seem to press tightly together, but it’s a smile nonetheless.
He jolts out of his trance-like state. “Right. Suppose we’re partners, then…I hope you’ve improved since sixth year. You were absolutely horrible.” That comment gets him a chuckle.
“No worries, I’ve gotten better. Don’t think I’ll be at your level though…if what Slughorn says is true, you’re even better than Hermione. Didn’t even know that was a thing.” To which Draco raises an eyebrow, his cocky expression now carrying a hint of surprise.
“He really said that? Why, I’m honoured. Granger is pretty hard to beat.” He gave his signature bright grin, although his face felt a tad too tight. “We should get started, yeah?”
“Smash those moonstones and grind them into a fine powder.” Still accustomed to the power of his usual presence, Draco couldn’t help giving instructions. To his surprise, Potter didn’t fight it as he would’ve just last year. Instead, he simply nodded, the corner of his lip lifting into a sly smile. Draco tried not to look at it.
The potion, as it turns out, was created for NEWT standard testing. Draco didn’t doubt the level of difficulty was carefully crafted. He himself often studied potion making, finding great interest in the making of elixirs and draughts. Naturally, he shared his findings with Potter in friendly chatter.
“You know, the rose essence was really the perfect ingredient for this. Just a tad bit can help the absorption of the whole thing. The rose also adds a nice sweet flavour to it, and—“ he cuts off, finally noticing the way those green eyes focus on his face.
It was intense, so much so that Draco thought he might need to use Occlumency to stop the boy from reading into every secret his soul held. They bore into his own eyes, seeming to analyse every detail, every blue fleck embedded in icy grey.
“Wh-what is it now, Potter?” He couldn’t help the slight stutter that came on. After all, Potter’s eyes had always had that sort of effect on everyone—they had gained him attention from all the ladies over the years. He gave the boy a firm nudge. “Snap out of it. Focus on the project.”
Potter just gave one of his signature charming grins—the one that showed all his teeth, even his sharp canine. It made him look like an overgrown golden retriever, Draco thought.
Since when was he comparing Harry Potter himself to puppies?