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The rain lashed against the high arched windows of the Seventh Year boy's dormitory, but Harry potter barely heard it. His eyes were fixed on his desk.
Lately, things had been appearing.
It started small: a missing transfiguration essay returned to his bag, completely rewritten in elegant, flawless script, earning him an 'O'. Then, a rare, out-of-print book on defensive counter-curses—exactly what he'd been subtly loking for in the library—found sitting on his pillow. Most unsetilngly, whenever Harry had a nightmare and woke up drenched in cold sweat, he would find a flask of perfectly brewed, still-warm Dreamless sleep sitting on his bedside table.
Harry suspected everyone. Hermione? Too busy. Ron? Brilliant, but not prone to midnight
potion-brewing.
But tonight, Harry was determined to catch his stalker. He threw the Invisibility Cloak
over his shoulders, gripped the Marauder’s Map, and waited.
The clock struck midnight. On the map, a tiny dot labeled Draco Malfoy detached itself
from the Slytherin dungeons and began moving with terrifying intent straight toward the
Gryffindor tower.
Harry’s heart hammered against his ribs. Malfoy? Malfoy had been quiet all year. Distant.
Pale. He barely looked at Harry in class. Was he planning some sort of revenge? A curse?
Harry slipped out of the portrait hole and hid in the shadow of a stone gargoyle, his wand
drawn. Within minutes, the soft, rhythmic click of dragon-hide boots echoed down the
corridor.
Draco Malfoy emerged from the darkness. He looked ethereal, almost ghostly under the
dim candlelight, but his eyes were wide, bright, and intensely focused. In his hands, he
carried a small, velvet-lined box and a fresh, golden Snitch.
Harry held his breath, watching as Malfoy stopped right outside the Gryffindor entrance.
Malfoy closed his eyes, pressing the Snitch to his lips, whispering something Harry couldn’t
catch, before carefully setting the box down by the door. The sheer, unadulterated devotion
on Malfoy's face made Harry’s stomach do a strange, violent flip. It wasn't malice. It was a
terrifying, consuming obsession.
Harry couldn’t take it anymore. He ripped the cloak off. "Expelliarmus!"
Malfoy’s wand flew from his hand, clattering across the stone floor. But instead of
panicking, Malfoy simply froze, a slow, breathless smile spreading across his face as he
looked at Harry.
"Harry," Draco whispered, his voice trembling with a terrifying sort of reverence. "You're
awake."
"What are you doing, Malfoy?" Harry demanded, his wand still pointed at Draco’s chest.
"The essays. The books. The potions. You've been following me. You’re obsessed with me."
Draco took a slow step forward, completely unfazed by the wand. "Obsessed? That’s a
mundane word for it. I am ensuring your survival, Harry. You are far too careless with a life
that belongs to the world. To me. I know every breath you take. I know you toss and turn at
2:00 AM. I know you take your tea with two sugars but always forget to stir it." Draco’s eyes
shone with a manic, possessive light. "I fix it for you. I will always fix it for you."
Harry felt a chill run down his spine, a mix of profound fear and an intoxicating, bizarre
rush of adrenaline. Malfoy was completely mad. He was completely consumed by him.
"You're out of your mind," Harry breathed, his wand shaking slightly. "You think you can
just orchestrate my life? Play god from the shadows?"
"I don't want to be a god, Harry," Draco said softly, taking another step, closing the
distance until the tip of Harry’s wand pressed directly against his sternum, right over his
racing heart. "I want to be your shadow. I want to be the reason you breathe. Fire at me if
you want. It won’t change what I am to you."
Harry stared into Draco’s gray eyes. The sheer weight of Malfoy's obsession was
suffocating, terrifying... and entirely captivating. Harry felt a dark, twisted realization
blooming in his chest. He didn't want to push Malfoy away. He wanted to pull him closer.
Harry slowly lowered his wand. He stepped into Draco’s space, his voice dropping to a
dangerous whisper. "You think you're the one in control here, Malfoy? You think you're the
one pulling the strings?"
Draco blinked, a momentary flicker of confusion crossing his pale face. "I... I am taking
care of you, Harry."
Harry smirked, a sharp, uncharacteristic expression that made Draco’s breath hitch.
"Draco," Harry said softly, reaching out to gently touch Draco’s jawline. "Why do you think
the Gryffindor passwords have been so easy to guess lately? Why do you think I always leave
my window unlocked? Why do you think I sat in the library for three hours talking loudly
about the exact potion I needed?"
Draco’s eyes widened in sudden, absolute shock. The color drained completely from his
face.
Harry leaned in close, his lips brushing against Draco’s ear, his voice a low, possessive
purr.
"You aren't stalking me, Draco. I've been leading you exactly where I want you. I knew the
moment you started watching me in sixth year. I needed you to be obsessed with me. Because
I didn't know how else to make you mine without breaking you."
Harry pulled back, looking down at the frozen, utterly stunned Slytherin. Harry's smile
was dark and entirely triumphant.
"So, tell me," Harry whispered, slipping his hand into Draco’s hair and pulling him close.
"What are we going to do tonight?"