Return to Routine

Though classes resumed and corridors buzzed with chatter, everything moved with a strained kind of normalcy. For the younger students, Hogwarts was still a place of awe and laughter—detention-worthy pranks, whispered gossip, and scribbled notes passed during lectures. But for Harry, Draco, and the others who had fought in the war, nothing was quite the same. The shadows seemed longer, the silences heavier. Every classroom, every hallway held memories etched too deep to ignore. And while the juniors rebuilt their school lives with fresh innocence, the older ones bore the weight of ghosts they couldn't explain to those who hadn't seen. It was the same castle—but they were not the same people.

Harry's POV

The castle was too quiet.

Harry tugged his bag over one shoulder as he walked down the stone corridor, boots tapping against familiar floors that somehow felt… off. It wasn't just the physical changes—new portraits, cleaned walls, slightly fewer students than usual. It was the silence behind the noise, like everyone was trying too hard to pretend nothing had changed. Like they weren't still haunted.

His first class was Advanced Potions—why Slughorn had decided to keep it at eight in the bloody morning was anyone's guess.

Ron grumbled beside him, rubbing his eyes. "I miss not having to get up at all."

Hermione didn't miss a beat. "You mean when we were literally running for our lives?"

"Exactly," Ron said. "At least it was purposeful exhaustion."

Harry managed a weak smile. He hadn't told them about the blanket. Or that Malfoy had already moved in without a word. Or that, despite every reason not to, he kept noticing everything about Draco lately. Like the neatness of his side. The sharp lines of his jaw. The way his silence buzzed louder than any words.

They entered the classroom just in time, slipping into seats in the middle row. Hermione sat between Harry and Ron, clearly playing buffer. Across the room, Blaise Zabini lounged in a seat near the windows, smirking at nothing. Next to him sat Draco.

Harry's breath caught.

Draco looked… untouched by sleep, as if the night hadn't touched him at all. Pale, pristine, hair effortlessly in place. He sat with his arms crossed, gaze focused ahead, jaw set like marble. He hadn't looked Harry's way once. Not even a flicker.

Why did that bother him?

Slughorn entered with a booming greeting, forcing Harry's thoughts back into the classroom. There was work to be done. Notes to take. Potions to brew. War or no war, life was pushing forward whether they were ready or not.

Except every time Harry glanced up, he found Draco already scribbling something down. Always one step ahead.

And for some reason, it made him want to win something. Anything.

Even if it was just making him look up.

Draco's POV

He could feel Potter's eyes on him.

He didn't need to look up to confirm it. That awareness had built itself into his bones after years of being rivals, enemies, shadows in each other's path. Even now, when everything had changed, Harry Potter still looked at him like he was something to solve.

Draco didn't plan to give him that satisfaction.

He kept his eyes trained on Slughorn, nodding when appropriate, scribbling notes with mechanical precision. He hadn't touched his potion yet, not really. Not when Blaise kept whispering absurd jokes under his breath about how Hogwarts felt more like a crypt these days.

He'd seen Potter walk in.

Seen the exact moment their eyes almost met—before Hermione pulled him down into his seat like a lifeline. She knew. Granger was observant like that. Always had been.

But Draco wasn't playing that game. Not today.

Not when he was already forcing himself to breathe at a normal rhythm. Not when the ache in his chest hadn't left since that moment last night.

Potter had looked… stunned.

Shirtless was a mistake. He hadn't heard the door open. Hadn't expected the golden boy to walk in like he owned the space already. And he hadn't expected to care so much about how Potter saw him.

He shook it off, returning to his notes.

Blaise nudged him. "He keeps glancing at you."

"I'm aware," Draco muttered.

"What did you do?" Blaise's smirk widened.

Draco gave him a dry look. "Absolutely nothing."

"Exactly," Blaise said.

Draco rolled his eyes.

The class moved on. Instructions flew by. Slughorn demonstrated a new method of infusion, and Draco, determined to win at something today, volunteered his cauldron before anyone else could.

He didn't look at Potter—but he felt it again. That subtle shift in energy. That challenge lingering in the air.

Let him watch. Let him stew.

Draco didn't care.

Except… he did.

Because for the first time, Potter looked like he wasn't angry with him. Or disgusted. Or judging.

He looked… confused.

And maybe that was worse.

Because it meant Potter saw more than he was supposed to.

The class settled into a rhythm, voices murmuring like distant thunder as Professor Vector's chalk scraped across the board. Numbers danced into theories, equations laced with ancient runes and practical applications of Arithmancy that normally would've captivated Harry's attention. But not today.

From where he sat, Harry's hand twitched, his notes growing messier as his eyes flickered across the room again—towards the Slytherin side.

Draco Malfoy.

He was leaned back just slightly in his chair, arms crossed, expression bored to the point of theatrical. But Harry noticed the way his fingers tapped on his arm, subtly, like he was trying to distract himself.

Harry knew that look. He had worn it himself more times than he could count.

Every now and then, Malfoy's gaze would lift from his parchment and drift across the room, meeting Harry's for a fraction too long. Not enough to be seen by others. But enough to make Harry's chest tighten.

He looked away, suddenly fascinated by the margin of his parchment. He could feel Ron beside him shift slightly, muttering something to Hermione.

Draco was watching again.

They kept stealing glances like they were sharing a secret neither of them knew the name of.

Draco's POV

This was ridiculous. Absolutely mental. And entirely Harry Potter's fault.

Draco had spent the better part of the class telling himself it wasn't happening. That Potter wasn't looking at him like that. Like he was trying to see something in Draco no one else had ever bothered to find.

He flicked his quill against his parchment and resisted the urge to scowl. Pansy was leaning toward him, asking something about the last digit in the numeric grid, but her voice was water in his ears.

Because Potter was watching him again.

It wasn't confrontational. Not like it used to be. It wasn't even curious, not really. It was cautious, yes—but with something else hidden in the way his brow furrowed.

Draco hated that it wasn't easy to name.

He shifted in his seat, deliberately meeting Potter's gaze this time. Held it.

The other boy blinked, startled, and looked away so quickly you'd think Draco had hexed him. But his cheeks flushed—Draco could see it even from here.

And Merlin help him, it gave Draco the most ridiculous feeling in his chest.

Back to Harry's POV

He was not blushing.

He was not.

Except he probably was, and the more he told himself he wasn't, the warmer his face got. Hermione's quill scratched next to him in perfect rhythm. Ron was chewing on the end of his, clearly somewhere else.

Harry didn't understand what was happening. Why his heart picked up speed every time Draco Malfoy looked at him. Why it wasn't hate anymore. Or if it was, it had become twisted into something far more complicated.

The classroom's walls felt tighter now, the light filtering in through the windows casting long shadows across the desks. Time moved slower.

The lesson passed in fits and starts. He barely remembered half of what was written on the board. He doubted Malfoy remembered more. They kept stealing glances like they were trying to read the other's mind.

Neither of them said a word.

Draco's POV

When the bell finally rang, Draco stood just a second too late.

Potter was already collecting his things, his hand slow on the edge of his bag, like he was waiting—hoping?—for something. Draco stayed seated a moment longer, watching him through lowered lashes.

He didn't know what he wanted.

Only that something had shifted.

Potter walked out of the room without looking back.

Draco exhaled slowly.

This year was going to ruin him.