right person, always the right time drarry

the potion problam

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"Harry?" Hermione's voice was filled with concern from the other room.

I didn’t feel like moving, not yet. My eyes stayed on Draco as he started braiding his white hair, the strands catching the dim light.

"Your hair grows really fast," I said, watching his long, delicate fingers work effortlessly through the braid. They looked almost fragile, each joint pronounced under the pale stretch of skin.

"You’re too stunned..." he muttered, still facing away, but I could see the flush creeping up his neck. "We haven’t seen each other for six months. Of course my hair’s longer."

"Harry!" Hermione stormed into the room, her hands on her hips. Her face was red with irritation. "I’ve been calling you for hours, and here you are, chatting with Malfoy!" She looked like she’d kill me if we weren’t friends.

"Fine, I’m coming," I sighed, rolling my eyes as I got up.

When we walked into the main room, the house was a complete disaster—potions scattered everywhere. That’s when I realized Hermione wasn’t red from anger but from embarrassment.

"Remus, Sirius, and I worked all night, but we still couldn’t get the potion right... If we don’t make it soon, Draco will continue to suffer," she admitted, her voice quiet with worry.

"But he doesn’t seem like he’s in pain," I muttered more to myself than to her.

A laugh from behind startled both of us. We hadn’t realized Draco had followed. "Don’t worry about that," he said, his voice light as he winked. "I already took the potion."

"But how? How did you know what to make?" Hermione asked nervously, clearly doubting him.

Draco smiled, a victorious glint in his eyes. He stepped closer—closer than ever before—and whispered, "Because I led them all into the smoke."

Hermione’s face turned pale, her fingers fidgeting with a strand of her hair. She looked terrified, but I couldn’t understand why. "What? How?" I asked, confused. "Aren’t you on Voldemort’s side?"

Draco took my hand, his voice dropping so low I could barely hear him. "If I were, would I have led 205 of his followers to their deaths?" His eyes sparkled with a kind of happiness I hadn’t seen before. My cheeks burned, and for a moment, I forgot Hermione was even there.

Until she spoke again. "Does this mean... you’re on our side?"

Draco shrugged. "No. I just don’t want any trouble. If you win, I’ve helped in some way. If Voldemort wins, well, I’ve got the Dark Mark to save me."

Hermione frowned, pressing further. "But who do you think will win?"

"I don’t know. I just know I don’t want to get caught in the middle," he said with a grin that grew wider, almost gleeful.

I couldn’t help but interrupt the moment, as usual. "By the way, why did Remus and Sirius say you couldn’t speak English well?"

"Oh, that." Draco looked away for a second, embarrassed. "It’s not that I can’t speak English. It’s just my second language, and I didn’t start learning it until a few years ago, so I don’t know that many words."

"Really?" I asked, surprised. I never would have guessed. "What don’t you know, for example?"

Draco raised an eyebrow, but before he could answer, Hermione snorted. "How do you expect him to give an example of something he doesn’t know?" she teased.

Draco joined in her laughter, and it wasn’t long before I caught on and laughed too.