A New Chapter at Hogwarts [Drarry]

Chapter 32: Silent Retreat

The atmosphere inside Hogwarts had shifted, or perhaps it was simply Draco's perception, warping the familiar corridors and towering stone walls into something altogether more claustrophobic. His footsteps echoed off the cold, ancient stones, the sound magnified in the silence of the late afternoon. It had been four days since the potion mishap in his classroom, but the event itself wasn't what weighed on him. The thought of a near-disaster barely crossed his mind now. What gnawed at him—relentlessly, persistently—was much more personal, something he refused to let himself acknowledge fully.

That day, in the confined space of the classroom, trapped with Harry as smoke thickened and tension swirled, Draco had been forced to confront something he had long buried. The tension hadn't come from the potion alone; it had come from Harry's steady gaze, the way his presence seemed to fill every corner of the room, leaving Draco with nowhere to hide from the truth that had been slowly unraveling inside him. Harry's calm amidst the chaos, the strength in his voice, the light touch of his fingers when they passed the vial—it had all left Draco raw, his defenses stripped bare.

And now, the aftermath. He couldn't seem to escape it.

The best course of action, Draco had decided, was distance. It was simple, logical even. Distance meant control, and control meant survival. He needed time—time to gather his thoughts, to piece himself back together, to shove everything that had surfaced into a box and lock it away again. So, he spent the next few days avoiding Harry at every opportunity. He meticulously planned his route through the castle to ensure their paths wouldn't cross, and when duty made it unavoidable, Draco kept their interactions brief, curt, and strictly professional. It was a far cry from the easy companionship they had fallen into over the past months, but it was necessary. It had to be.

He made a point to sit as far from Harry as possible during meals in the Great Hall, no longer lingering over idle conversation or trading glances across the table. He stopped his frequent visits to Harry's classroom, which had once felt so casual—an excuse to check in on a lesson or borrow a book. Now, the mere thought of being near him felt dangerous, as though any proximity might tip the precarious balance Draco was desperately trying to maintain.

His Potions classroom had become his sanctuary once again. It was a place of control, of order—where nothing unexpected happened unless it was a result of a miscalculation he could identify and fix. Here, everything made sense. The ingredients responded predictably to his touch, the alchemical laws governing their reactions a welcome contrast to the unpredictable swirl of emotions churning inside him. This was what Draco needed: precision, logic, control. Not the chaos of feelings that had begun to bubble to the surface, threatening to spill over at any moment.

Now, standing behind his desk, Draco moved with practiced ease, arranging the ingredients for his next class. Powdered moonstone, armadillo bile, crushed asphodel—each carefully measured, each ingredient a small piece of a larger whole. His fingers danced over the vials, his movements precise, methodical. The familiar textures of the herbs and powders grounded him, the earthy smells and cool glass under his fingertips offering him the kind of solace that words never could.

But even here, in the one place he felt safe, Draco's mind betrayed him. Thoughts of Harry crept in uninvited, like a persistent draught through a cracked window. He could still feel the warmth of Harry's hand when it had brushed his, could hear the low timbre of his voice, calm and steady amidst the chaos. Could remember the way Harry had looked at him, concerned, his eyes searching Draco's face as though trying to find the source of the storm brewing inside him.

Draco's jaw clenched, his hand tightening around a vial of crushed asphodel. He shook his head sharply, trying to dislodge the thoughts. This wasn't who he was. He had always prided himself on his ability to compartmentalize, to maintain control, to keep his emotions in check. But lately, with Harry—always Harry—he felt that control slipping, bit by bit, like sand through his fingers.