The Great Hall of Hogwarts was transformed into a winter wonderland for the Yule Ball, with icicles hanging from the enchanted ceiling and snowflakes drifting softly down without ever touching the ground. The tables were adorned with frosted holly and candles that flickered with a warm, golden light. Students in their finest dress robes mingled, danced, and laughed, filling the hall with an air of celebration.
But Harry Potter was not in a festive mood. He sat at one of the tables near the edge of the dance floor, his expression a mix of frustration and boredom. Parvati Patil, his date for the evening, was beside him, trying her best to engage in conversation, but Harry's responses were short, distracted. His mind was elsewhere, watching the swirling crowd of dancers but not truly seeing them. He occasionally glanced over at Ron, who was equally discontented, sitting beside his own date, Padma. It seemed neither of them had much luck in the way of romance tonight.
Yet, Harry was oblivious to the pair of stormy grey eyes locked onto him from across the room. Draco Malfoy stood near the entrance, his sharp features contorted with a mixture of anger and longing. He had been watching Harry all evening, unable to tear his gaze away, no matter how much he wanted to. But it wasn't Harry that had his fury boiling; it was the girl at his side, Parvati, who laughed too brightly and leaned too close.
Draco's hands clenched into fists at his sides. He should be the one at Harry's side, not her. He should be the one holding Harry's hand, leading him out onto the dance floor for the first dance, making him smile and laugh in a way that no one else could. But that was impossible, wasn't it? His father would never approve—Lucius Malfoy had drilled into Draco from a young age that the Potters were the enemy, especially Harry. He was supposed to despise everything about him.
So why couldn't he stop thinking about Harry? Why did he find himself drawn to him, even in the darkest moments? It wasn't just a passing infatuation, Draco knew that much. It was something deeper, something that made his chest tighten every time he saw Harry, something that made him want to walk right up to him, push him against a wall, and kiss him until the world around them disappeared.
Draco's breath caught in his throat at the thought. The idea of Harry's lips on his, of the warmth of his body pressed against him, of the soft sounds he would make if Draco dared to let his inhibitions go—he wanted all of it. He wanted nothing more than to forget about the rest of the world, to grab Harry by the hand and run away with him, to a place where no one could judge them, where they could be who they truly were without fear.
But Draco was not Gryffindor; he was not brave. He had never been taught to embrace what he wanted, only to conform to what was expected of him. And yet, the more he watched Harry, the more the urge to defy those expectations grew, until it was nearly unbearable.
As the evening wore on, Draco's internal struggle intensified. His mind raced with possibilities, with dreams of what could be if only he dared to take that step. But each time, fear held him back, the fear of rejection, of his father's wrath, of losing everything he had ever known.
Harry shifted in his seat, his green eyes flickering over the crowd once more, and for the briefest of moments, they met Draco's. Draco felt his heart stop. There was something in Harry's gaze, something that made him wonder if, maybe, just maybe, Harry felt it too. That same longing, that same unspoken connection that neither of them could fully understand.
The music changed, a slower, more intimate tune filling the hall, and couples began to pair off for the next dance. Draco watched as Parvati tugged at Harry's sleeve, trying to pull him to his feet. But Harry hesitated, his eyes searching the room, almost as if he were looking for someone else. Almost as if he were looking for Draco.
