Draco's POV
The great hall had been too quiet lately, and Draco hated it.
So, he made sure today would be different.
He stepped into the Transfiguration classroom with a smirk tugging at his lips, tilting his chin like he used to—arrogant, cold, unbothered. Blaise gave him a brief glance that was more question than greeting, but Draco waved it off with a twitch of his hand. He dropped into his seat beside Theo, folding his arms across his chest as though he hadn't just spent the last week hiding behind silence.
He couldn't afford silence anymore. Not when Potter's eyes had started lingering a beat too long.
"So the dragon's finally decided to rejoin us," Theo said dryly, tapping his quill against the edge of the desk.
Draco snorted, "Please. I needed a break from the circus. You should try it sometime—good for the complexion."
Blaise chuckled beside him, but there was a flicker of scrutiny beneath it. Draco felt it like a dagger under his collar. Everyone was watching him, waiting to see if the old Draco was still in there somewhere. He had to make them believe he was.
Had to make Potter believe it, too.
He caught the golden trio entering—Potter looking tired, Hermione buried in a book even while walking, and Weasley yawning wide enough to swallow a Quaffle. Draco forced himself not to react, even when Harry's gaze briefly found his from across the room.
Just a second. That's all it was.
But it was enough.
Enough to make Draco's spine stiffen, his throat tighten. He rolled his eyes like it was nothing and leaned in toward Blaise. "Did you hear what the second-years did in Herbology? Absolute chaos."
Pansy chimed in with a fake gasp, dramatic as ever. Draco played along, feigning exasperation, sarcasm, superiority—slipping back into the mold he knew so well.
The mask.
Yet underneath, something was coiling in his gut. His smiles were too tight, his smirks too sharp, and every word tasted like chalk. But it was worth it if it meant Potter would stop looking at him like he'd changed.
He had changed. They both had.
But Draco wasn't ready to let anyone see it yet.
Especially not Harry Potter.
Harry's POV
Harry sat slumped in his chair, chin resting on one hand, trying to pay attention as McGonagall discussed the logistics of the NEWT-level Transfiguration syllabus. He usually liked this class—it made sense to him in a way many things didn't. But today, his attention kept darting toward the other side of the room. Toward him.
Draco Malfoy.
Gone was the quiet, brooding boy from the train ride and the first few days of term. In his place stood the Draco Malfoy of the past, or at least the one he pretended to be—the same smirk curling his lips, the same tilt of his head as he whispered something to Blaise Zabini that made Pansy Parkinson giggle obnoxiously. Harry watched him act like he hadn't spent the past few days barely speaking to anyone or storming out of their room late at night like something was tearing him apart from the inside.
It shouldn't have bothered Harry. He shouldn't have cared. But that little sting of jealousy burned hotter every time Draco smiled like nothing had changed.
And the hickey.
Harry's stomach twisted just thinking about it. He could still see it, blooming violet and red against Draco's pale collarbone like some sort of wicked brand. He tried to reason with himself—Draco was single. He could do whatever he bloody well wanted. Harry had no claim over him, no reason to even think twice about it.
But it didn't stop the gnawing feeling in his chest, or the irrational spike of annoyance when Draco laughed too hard at something Theo Nott said.
Hermione noticed. Of course she did.
She leaned over slightly and whispered, "Are you alright, Harry? You've been glowering at Malfoy like he stole your broom."
"I'm fine," Harry muttered, eyes fixed on the board though he hadn't registered a single word McGonagall had said for the last fifteen minutes.
Fine. Completely fine.
Except he wasn't.
Because Malfoy was smiling again—and somehow, that was worse than when he wasn't.
Harry turned away, jaw clenched.
He didn't like this version of Draco, and he didn't understand why it mattered so bloody much.
But it did.
More than he was ready to admit.
Transfiguration had never felt so long. Not even during Umbridge's reign of terror.
Harry had arrived, tired and distracted, only to find Malfoy laughing—laughing—with Blaise and Theo like nothing had changed. As though he hadn't spent the last week stalking around like a ghost in silk pajamas.
Harry hated how it made something bitter rise in his throat. He hated even more that the moment Malfoy smirked, the room noticed. People turned. Looked. Laughed along.
Like it was normal again.
Hermione, thankfully, was too busy comparing notes to care. Ron, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes in suspicion every time the Slytherins giggled.
It wasn't long before the giggling turned into actual teasing.
"Oi, Weasley," Theo drawled lazily, tapping the edge of Ron's desk with the end of his quill. "Didn't know Gryffindor's golden couple survived the war."
Ron looked up, blinking. "What the bloody hell are you on about?"
"You and Granger, of course," Pansy cut in with a grin too wide to be genuine. "So tragic. Star-crossed lovers with no time to snog in the trenches."
Hermione turned pink instantly. "Excuse me?"
"Oh come on," Blaise added smoothly. "You two were practically attached at the hip. Thought for sure you'd come back married with little ginger-Hermiones running around."
Ron's ears went red. "Shut it."
Draco said nothing. He didn't need to.
He just leaned back in his chair, lips twitching like he was enjoying the show—and Harry hated how much that look suited him. Cool. Confident. Smug.
But not cruel. Not like before.
That was the worst part.
Hermione rolled her eyes, whispering under her breath to Ron. But the damage was done. The tension between the tables was rising, and McGonagall's entrance saved them from any further embarrassment.
As the lesson began, Harry found himself glancing sideways more than he should've. Watching Draco, who now leaned forward on his elbows, lazily scribbling notes. Listening. Engaged. And totally ignoring him.
It should've felt like relief.
Instead, it made Harry's chest feel too tight.
He didn't want Malfoy to be cruel. But pretending everything was fine—pretending to be his old self—that stung even more.
He clenched his jaw and turned back to his parchment.
Maybe he was imagining it, but from the corner of his eye, he swore Draco glanced at him, too.
Harry tried to focus. On every lesson. On the strange new calm that had settled over Hogwarts. On anything but the fading bruise that had stained Draco Malfoy's collarbone that morning.
But his brain wouldn't let it go.
It wasn't that Harry cared. It was just… unsettling. That someone like Malfoy, who spent the past week brooding silently across the room, had apparently been out—what? Snogging someone in the dark hours of the night? And then had the gall to come back with that smug look and a blooming purple mark peeking from under his collar like it was nothing?
Harry had told himself a dozen times not to overthink it.
Draco was single. He could do what he wanted.
Hell, Harry wasn't even supposed to notice. But he had noticed. And now, he couldn't un-notice it.
It was maddening.
He tried not to look at Draco now as they sat three rows apart, but every time he caught a glimpse of that pale throat, he remembered it again—sharp, obvious, intimate.
It wasn't about jealousy, he told himself firmly. It was just… weird. Yeah, weird. Because how could someone who barely looked like he was holding it together end up with a hickey and walk around like he hadn't spent the entire week hiding from everyone?
Harry shifted in his seat, irritated.
Draco wasn't supposed to matter this much.
He wasn't supposed to occupy this much space in his thoughts.
And yet, there it was.
That stupid bruise had wormed its way under Harry's skin like a curse. Not because of what it meant about Malfoy, but because of what it said about Harry.
Because deep down, some part of him was disappointed it hadn't been anything more. That the boy who had saved the world was still stuck wondering who had been close enough to leave a mark on Draco Malfoy.