like it's the only thing i'll ever do || drarry

[ three ]

The homely atmosphere of The Three Broomsticks had always brought Harry immense comfort with its friendly chatter and clinking glasses. In his third year, during their first visit here, Madam Rosmerta had immediately clocked him as his dad's son and warned him against any mischievous behavior while in her pub. Since then, she has always provided him Butterbeer on-the-house as some sort of 'thank you' for his disinterest towards Marauder-level pranks. A reward for good behavior, his mom had called it.

Harry sipped from his free Butterbeer as he slouched in his chair. The first Hogsmeade trip of the year had gone wonderfully. Ron had analyzed all the new products at Zonko's to report back to the Twins, Harry had restocked on candies and treats from Honeyduke's, and Hermione had raided Scrivenshaft's for her favorite type of ink that often sold out. They had then met up with a few more of their friends here for some rest and relaxation before making the trek back up to the castle.

Harry refocused on the conversation after a piece of scone flew past his face.

"No, you idiot," Ginny said, her voice mocking. "There is absolutely no chance for the Chudley Cannons this season. Just like last year, and the year before that, and the year before—"

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Ron pointed an accusing finger at her. "Dorkins said he was pleased with their recent progress as a team!"

"They still have Gudgeon as seeker. There's no way they're winning anything, mate," Neville butt in.

Ron looked to Harry in desperation, who consolingly shook his head. The redhead groaned loudly and thudded his head against the table. Hermione smacked his shoulder and admonished him after having to rescue her book from the drink he knocked over.

Harry snickered at Ron's stricken expression. He lifted his stein of Butterbeer for another sip as he heard a new group of people enter the pub and froze when he saw who they were. Zabini stepped in first, scanning for an empty table. Nott and Greengrass followed, then Goyle and Crabbe, and then him. Harry gulped. Right before he looked away, feeling creepy because of his staring, Parkinson walked in last and unfortunately caught his gaze. A wolfish smirk appeared on her face for the briefest moment before she looked away.

To the best of his ability, Harry kept his attention on the drink in his hands. For as long as he could, he pretended to find the white foam floating at the top very interesting. This, obviously, didn't last long. Harry decided he was very weak-willed.

He glanced up at the Slytherins pulling out chairs around a table on the other side of the pub. He watched as Parkinson steered the prat by the shoulders towards an empty chair on the far side of the table. A chair directly facing Harry.

Harry wasn't sure whether he should be thanking her or not. He would be able to sit here and stare at gorgeous, blonde hair and beautiful, grey eyes, but those same eyes could just as easily stare back. Harry felt his cheeks already heating up, his pulse beginning to race. The more he thought about it, he really wouldn't mind those eyes staring back at him.

It only took a second after getting settled for Malfoy to spot him. The small, seemingly automatic smile he sent over had Harry biting his lip to tamper down his own. The blonde's skin began to flush the more Harry stared, so of course he didn't look away. Harry rested his elbows on the table and hid his smile behind his folded hands. Malfoy's eyes narrowed, and he languidly copied Harry's position.

The longer they looked at one another, the more everything else around them became muted and obsolete. At first, Harry found he couldn't stop smiling. This felt like a bizarre imitation of the years they spent glaring daggers at each other, and he found the idea humorous. But the longer they stared, the calmer he became. His heartbeat slowed and his face stopped burning. Grey eyes seemed to soften, as if the other boy felt it, too.