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Draco scowled at his wand. The Patronus Charm which they were practicing today of all days, was among the most powerful defensive spells in existence. Complex. Demanding. Infuriating. He couldn’t possibly be more annoyed.
He glanced around the room from the corner. The dim classroom was lit only by the silvery blue glow of drifting ethereal creatures. Foxes and otters floated like half-formed dreams. A lion stretched lazily near the ceiling. And all the way at the back, Harry’s stag glided with infuriating serenity, hooves whispering against stone like it wasn’t even trying.
Draco’s jaw tightened. Apparently, he could be more annoyed.
He stood a few metres away, wand clutched in his fist like a lifeline, breath fogging faintly in the chill. Ten attempts. Ten failures. Nothing but pathetic wisps that died as soon as it lived.
Draco risked another glance. The blue stag shimmered, steady and luminous, radiating quiet confidence. It moved through the room as if it had always belonged, utterly sure of itself. His stomach twisted. Maybe it was irritation. Maybe it was something else, something far more humiliating.
“Perfect Potter and his stupid perfect Patronus,” he muttered, his voice low and venomous.
As if he’d heard it, Harry turned and was already walking toward him. His hands were tucked into his pockets with that familiar look of calm curiosity on his face. Draco cursed silently, yanked his wand into a neutral position and flicked it in a fake-practiced arc.
His heart, of course, had other plans. It pounded against his ribs like fists on a locked door. He forced himself to breathe slowly, deliberately, pretending everything was fine.
“You’re having trouble?” Harry asked, trying to keep it casual.
“I’m fine,” Draco snapped, hoping the heat creeping up his neck didn’t betray him. He straightened, spine rigid with defiance while trying to look perfectly composed. He was certain, almost certain, he could manage it on his own. “Go… go help someone else, if you’re so keen.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “But I think you’re the one who needs help.”
“I don’t care what you think.” Draco’s voice was sharp, but the edge wasn’t steady. He, once again, flicked his wand. A thin wisp of silver hovered briefly, then disappeared like breath on a windowpane. Traitor. But still, he thought it was enough. He lifted his chin and gave a smug little smirk. “See? Perfectly fine.”
Harry stared at the air where the wisp had been. “That looked… not awful.”
“Say it louder,” Draco muttered. “Maybe it’ll get worse.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “Do you get some kind of thrill from being impossible?”
“Do you get some kind of spiritual high from telling me what to do?”
“Only when you listen, which is basically never.”
Draco let out a thin, irritated breath, the kind that fogged slightly in the cool air of the unused classroom. Dust motes drifted lazily through the shafts of afternoon light, annoyingly peaceful for a moment this stupid.
For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke. Harry watched him with that maddening mixture of concern and stubbornness. Draco refused to meet his eyes, staring at the floorboards like they’d personally offended him.
Harry nudged the toe of Draco’s shoe with his own. “I wasn’t trying to insult you. That last attempt really wasn’t that awful.”
Draco’s head snapped up, glare razor-sharp. “Please don’t comfort me, I might combust.”
“Fine,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “You want the truth or a compliment?”
Draco scoffed, shoulders curling in. “I want you to piss off Potter.”
Harry didn’t move. Draco scowled so deeply it could’ve cut stone. “Piss. Off.”
“Well, that’s not happening. I'm not leaving you stuck with a half-formed gas cloud for a Patronus,” Harry said, irritatingly calm. “Magic’s not luck. You just have to try.”
“Why should I? It’s fine the way it is. At least it’s… something.”
“You call that something?” Harry shot back, leaning forward. “It’s barely there. And you know it.”
“Maybe I don’t care.” Draco’s teeth ground together. He could feel Harry’s emerald eyes scanning all over him. He ran his fingers through his hair, adjusting the already neat soft blond strands as if straightening them might somehow straighten out the tension of the situation.
Harry gave a small, exasperated sigh. “You’re stalling.”
Draco opened his mouth, ready to snap something back, but Harry moved before he could. He stepped behind Draco, and the sudden closeness made him freeze.
“What are yo- ” Draco started, tensing, but stopped when he felt Harry’s hand wrap gently around his wand hand.
“I learnt it this way,” Harry murmured. “Relax.”
“Relax? Are you deranged? This is-”
“Hold still,” Harry said, adjusting Draco’s grip. “Your wrist is too tense.”
“Maybe because someone grabbed me from behind!”
Harry huffed a laugh. “You’re dramatic.”
“You’re irritating.”
The grip was firm but careful, guiding Draco’s wrist into the right curve. Harry’s other hand settled on Draco’s waist to maneuver him to stand properly. The moment felt as though they were mid-step in a silent waltz, and somehow Harry had taken the lead. A rush of heat surged up Draco’s spine. Everything around them seemed too close, too quiet.
“Stand like this. You’re leaning weird.”
“I do not lean weird.”
“You really do.”
“You have no authority here.”
“Malfoy,” Harry said, “I literally taught half the class. Just trust me.”
“I’d rather trust a blast-ended skrewt.”
Harry shook his head with a faint, amused smile. “Pick a memory.”
“Like what? Birthday parties? Family vacations? Please.”
“It doesn’t have to be perfect,” Harry said softly. “Just something that made you feel… good. Even once.”
Draco muttered, “You’re unbelievably sentimental.”
“And you’re stalling again,” Harry said, voice gentle but firm. He moved Draco’s hand through the familiar motions of the spell. Draco half-expected to recoil under the touch, to resist. But he didn’t. He stayed absolutely still.
Draco’s mind scrambled for something to anchor itself to, but all he could feel was the warmth of Harry’s hand and the even cadence of his voice. Harry’s chest pressed lightly against the back of his shoulder, their arms aligning side by side, down to the point where Harry’s hand enclosed his with gentle certainty. He was far too distracted by the rising heat blooming beneath his skin to notice the movement of his wand, only the seam where their hands met.
Harry leaned closer, breath brushing the edge of Draco’s ear. “Just try. It’s not about blasting a strong spell. You’ve gotta focus on… you know, the happiest you’ve ever felt."
Draco gave a dry laugh as he stepped away slightly. “Bit presumptuous, isn’t it, Potter? Assuming we all have one of those just lying around?”
“Oh, come on. Just give it a try already,” Harry said, annoyance edged with something softer. Draco didn’t notice when Harry stepped closer and took hold of his wand hand again, adjusting the angle.
Draco stood still, eyes closed, his wand raised and pointing into nothing. He racked his brain, searching wildly for anything that might count as a ‘happy memory’.
At first, there was nothing. Just the familiar grey pressure and the buzz of static in his mind.
And then, a flicker. A flash.
A blurry scene played out behind his eyes. Snow crunched beneath their boots. Laughter echoed off the cobbled streets of Hogsmeade. The scent of sugar and warm parchment lingered in Honeydukes. He saw himself and Harry, walking side by side into the shop, pockets light and fingers cold. He saw himself drifting past cluttered shelves, reaching for chocolate frogs and licorice wands. He glanced up to find Harry at the counter, arms full of sweets, as if he’d chosen every single one with Draco in mind.
The scene shifted seamlessly to them sitting across from each other in The Three Broomsticks, cheeks flushed from the cold. Empty mugs levitated lazily through the air, colliding with unsuspecting victims. A flick of Harry’s wand sent one drifting into a startled group of third-years. Their laughter spilled out before either of them could hold it back, bright and weightless. It was almost foolish in how freely it came. It had that rare, unarmored ease, the kind that didn’t bother pretending to be anything but joy. They laughed until their faces ached, lightheaded from something too warm to name.
And just then, clearer than any other moment, Draco sees Harry. Smiling. Right at him. As if it’s the easiest thing in the world.
The warmth bloomed in his chest, slow and certain, reaching all the way to his fingertips. It caught him off guard. Not with its heat, but with how right it felt.
“Expecto Patronum!”
Light surged from his wand like a river unbroken. Horns formed at the tip, sweeping and elegant, until the full shape of a luminous elk appeared. It gracefully galloped across the room and stood beside Harry’s stag as if it belonged there.
Harry froze. “Malfoy… that’s- that’s brilliant.”
Draco blinked, chest tight. He jolted forward. “I’m leaving.”
“What- why? You jus-”
But Draco was already halfway to the door. Shoulders stiff and wand clutched like it might explode.
Harry called after him, “Malfo- Draco wait!”
Draco bolted.
He definitely wasn’t running from Harry’s voice, or the memory, or the warmth still buzzing under his skin.
Definitely not.