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Harry frowned, puzzled, at the large pumpkin set in front of him. He’d walked in late to Potions, as had very quickly become normal for him, and had missed Basu’s explanation. In front of him, Hermione was too busy doting on Ron to be of any help. To his right, Draco smirked unhelpfully, looking superior as usual, with sparkling eyes the only hint of hidden laughter.
Harry ignored him. He’d learned to pick his battles with Draco several months ago, and asking why a large pumpkin occupied their desk would surely result in his own loss.
Draco continued to stare at him as Harry tried to figure out which potion they were making this time. Perhaps the pumpkin was a major ingredient and they had to carve it? After a moment, Harry decided that was a good a place to start as any. He grabbed knife, and though it was too small to carve a pumpkin, he set about cutting a circle at the top. Several minutes of struggling later, Harry felt an icy wave of magic wash over his hand as his knife transfigured into an actual carving knife.
An hour later, Harry had filled three large cauldrons with pumpkin guts, and an emptied pumpkin stood in front of him. Draco, who’d proceeded to sit back in his chair with his feet put up on the same table at some point, had been completely useless, and looked mildly refreshed as he read a book while Harry had sweat beading on his forehead. It was in anger and frustration that he finally turned towards the blonde.
“Are you planning on helping at all?” asked Harry.
Draco glanced up at him, and raised a pale eyebrow. “What do you need help with?” he returned, back to smirking.
Harry gritted his teeth. In the fourteen months since they’d wound up as friends, Draco hadn’t lost his tendency to be absolutely infuriating at the most inopportune times just to get to on Harry’s nerves. Unfortunately for Harry, he had yet to learn how to stop rising to the bait.
“I don’t even know what we’re supposed to be brewing!” Harry spat out.
“A pumpkin potion,” responded Draco, his face the picture of innocence. Harry felt a strong urge to punch the blonde. His own body felt strangely hot, and standing still did not seem to be the solution. Harry could feel the blush that colored his cheeks, and moved slowly down the back of his neck. At least he wasn’t Ron.
“What’s a pumpkin potion?”
“A potion brewed in a pumpkin, of course.”
“Of course.” As if that was the most obvious thing about the lesson. Harry hadn’t even realized that potions could be made in anything other than metal and stone cauldrons until the beginning of the school year. And wouldn’t the pumpkin just burn under the heat?
He looked around and saw that most of the class had started adding ingredients to their potions, but each group seemed to be making something different. In front of him, Ron alternated between panicked and confused expressions.
“We’re brewing a dementor repellent,” said Draco, finally standing up and placing his book in front of Harry. It was an old tome with colorful illustrations of the make-shift cauldron, and the ingredients they would. It appeared to be written in Middle English (which Harry only recognized because Draco had sat him down one night and explained, in excruciating detail, the development of the English language). Beside him, Draco summoned ingredients from the closet, and supplements the missing ones with his personal store.
The next three hours passed relatively quickly for Harry, who had to balance his time between paying attention to the potion, taking extensive notes – unlike Draco, he wasn’t fluent in Middle English, and could barely make sense of the language – and dealing with an overexcited blonde. Harry had finally had enough of the other’s teasing when Draco cast a spell at Harry’s notes which suddenly made them disappear. The taller boy turned to smirk at Harry once more, and Harry reached his arm around to dig his fingers into the fleshy part of Draco’s hip. He pressed in hard, and glared at Draco, who stilled immediately. An angry flush took over his face before the grey eyes looked away.
Draco cancelled his spell, and for the remainder of the lesson, appeared to be on his best behavior. They were the first ones to finish cleaning up, and Draco had handed Professor Basu their flask of repellent and left the room before Harry could blink, but he hurried after the boy anyway.
“Draco, wait!” Harry called out, his voice echoing strangely down the dungeon hallway. Of course, the blonde didn’t stop, but he did slow down, and that was enough for Harry to catch up with him.
Harry turned to stand in front of him, and reached out a hand from which Draco immediately flinched away. The blonde glared at him in challenge, and Harry knew that he still hadn’t gotten used to Harry’s need to touch everyone and everything. To be entirely honest, Harry hadn’t entire. The habit had only developed after the war, and he hadn’t noticed it until he’d started to spend time with Draco, who back then used to be “Malfoy”. The Weasleys were already quite tactile, so he hadn’t felt the loss until he’d been assigned to the blonde.
Harry knew Draco didn’t really mind, so he curled his fingers gently around Draco’s arm, trying to convey his apology for touching the pale boy in public without his permission without having to say it. Harry knew he understood when his glare softened and Draco leaned forward to knock his forehead gently against Harry’s.
Harry smiled. Before he could respond however, the echoes of student’s footsteps reached his ears. Draco abruptly pulled away and created distance between them. By the time Ron and Hermione caught up to him, Draco had started walking away once again. Hermione, after a soft goodbye, followed after him towards the Arithmancy classroom.
Beside Harry, Ron sighed, a dopey smile taking over his features, staring as Hermione grew smaller in the distance. Harry continued to watch Draco as well, a frown marring his features. There was always something about their moments that made Harry want to hold on to them forever, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
Before the two turned down the hallway, however, Draco pinned him with a knowing smirk. “You haven’t forgotten the pumpkin, have you, Potter?” the blonde asked as Hermione pulled him away.
Harry saw Ron was carrying his own pumpkin cauldron with him under one arm. Harry suddenly realized he couldn’t remember if he’d even turned off the fire below their cauldron before leaving. He’d been too distracted, trying to make sure Draco was okay.
“Fuck!” Harry cursed, before sprinting off back to the Potions classroom.
At his table sat the cauldron, happily on fire as charred bits fell to the surface.