Redemption | Drarry

Chapter 11: Capabilities (Edited)

Draco leaned back slightly in his chair, his fingers drumming idly against the wooden surface of the desk as Slughorn dismissed the class. He wasn't one to be easily surprised-he had been raised to maintain an unshakable composure-but Potter's effortless victory over the Draught of Living Death had left him unsettled.

It wasn't that he doubted Potter's capabilities. Even Draco could admit, albeit begrudgingly, that the Gryffindor had a peculiar talent for defying expectations. But this... this was something else entirely. Hadrian had followed the instructions with an uncanny precision, correcting the standard process with an air of quiet certainty, as if he knew the potion in ways others didn't. And when the cauldron had settled, the mixture had been flawless-more perfect than Draco's own.

That had been the real insult.

Draco exhaled through his nose, his expression schooled into one of perfect indifference as he closed his own textbook. He wouldn't dwell on it-couldn't dwell on it. The Malfoy name did not wallow in self-pity over something as trivial as a classroom exercise. And yet... his gaze flickered toward Potter, who was still staring at his book cover, brows knitted together in contemplation.

Draco allowed himself a moment of scrutiny.

It wasn't a drastic transformation-nothing so overt as a physical alteration or a complete personality shift. No, this was something subtler. He moved differently. Held himself differently. There was an ease to his posture, a quiet confidence that had not been there before. Even the way he had sat beside Draco, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, had been absent of the usual tension that accompanied their proximity.

Draco let out a sigh as he rubbed between his eyebrows. This year turning out to be a disaster of sorts, and there was no way he would allow that to stop him no matter how perturbed he felt.

Draco's fingers stilled.

For the briefest of moments, before Ingrid's voice had broken the trance, there had been a flicker of warmth curling around him, subtle yet persuasive, beckoning him closer. He had resisted, of course but the fact that it had reached him at all was troubling.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco blinked, his attention snapping toward Slughorn, who was peering at him with an indulgent smile. The classroom had emptied without his notice, leaving only himself, Slughorn, Potter, who had finally closed his book and was now standing to leave.

"Would you be so kind as to assist me in storing these ingredients? I imagine your expertise would be quite helpful."

Draco hesitated for the barest second before inclining his head. "Of course, Professor."

Hadrian lingered near the door, gaze briefly meeting Draco's before slipping away. He did not speak, nor did he offer any of his usual passing remarks. Instead, he merely gave a nod and exited, leaving behind a silence that felt strangely weighted.

Draco exhaled softly, schooling his thoughts as he approached Slughorn's desk. Which led to a couple of minutes of clinking vials and Slughorn's commentary once in a while.

As soon as he was done, he went to his desk, took is book bag and left after exchanging polite pleasantries with Slughorn.

Draco Malfoy did not storm through the castle.

That would imply frustration, or worse-lack of control. And Malfoys were always in control.

Instead, he moved with purpose, his steps even and unhurried, his expression schooled into aristocratic impassivity. It did not matter that Potter's potion had been superior. It did not matter that something unseen had brushed against him, something warm and intrusive that had no business touching him.