Drarry - It Was All Just a Game (REWRITE - MATURE VERSION)

CHAPTER 8 - THE SECOND TASK

January passed in agony, and so did the first few weeks of February. If anything, Draco's crush on Potter grew, and Potter became more reluctant to even acknowledge his existence.

And it was the worst feeling Draco had felt, but in a special way. Because when dealing with his father, it was a sickening fear he could learn how to avoid by behavior. It had never felt good. But being with Potter felt good. And there was no way to change or avoid the feelings he had.

If there was a positive, however, Draco grew closer to Pansy and Blaise. Instead of retreating to his dorm after only a few minutes' conversation, he stayed up and played exploding snaps with them, which Draco was quite bad at. And though competitive, it was more fun than he'd had with them in years. At least since the days of vacationing in France when they were young children.

But laughing with them felt nothing like laughing with Potter, which Draco had wrapped his head around that he'd probably never get to do again.

Four days before the Second Task, Draco walked back to his dorm after dinner, wiping his hands within themselves because chip crumbs covered them. No matter how many times he finished eating, telling himself the utensils had a purpose, Draco became addicted to eating with his hands; it was just so convenient.

Damn Potter for teaching him it.

Draco headed to the boy's bathrooms on the first floor and lathered soap between his fingers. Then, a stall door opened behind him, causing Draco to look up.

Potter stepped out, and their eyes met in the mirror. Potter stopped at the sigh of him, then rolled his eyes as he picked the furthest sink from Draco.

Draco continued washing his hands. To talk to him, not to talk to him... He looked in the mirror's reflection to find all the stalls empty.

Draco swallowed, his hands running under the water. "I know I'm not supposed to talk to you, but good luck." Potter said nothing. When he turned off his sink and went to wipe his hands, he decided he had to do whatever it took to get this mad feeling to go away. "I like you, Potter," Draco gulped. "I fell for you. I was supposed to make you fall for me, but I fell for you, too."

"The task is in four days," Potter spoke through his teeth. "If you think I don't know what you're doing—"

"I'm not trying to distract you, I promise. I mean it. I fancy you."

At first, it was like Potter was going to ask really, as if he was hopeful, but then his face fell and he looked at him in a way that made Draco flinch. "That's your fault. Deal with it."

"I'm so sorry. I want to make it up to you."

"Truly?"

"Yes."

"Then keep not talking to me. That's what I want. If you do that, then maybe I'll forgive you by the time we graduate. Maybe."

"Potter—"

"Leave me alone. I mean it."

Draco's face turned red, his chest searing with the failure. "I want the snitch socks back."

Potter crossed his arms. "I burned them."

Draco gasped. "You arsehole!"

"Me? I'm the arsehole?"

"Those are nice socks."

"From a bad person. Why would I want to keep them?"

"They're still nice socks, to hell with who gave them to you."

Potter said nothing. He stared back at him.

"Did you figure out the egg," Draco asked, trying to fill the screaming silence as they both wiped their hands on towels.