Drarry AI Oneshots

A Whisper Away

Harry Potter was not jealous.

At least, that's what he kept telling himself every time he saw Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger huddled together, whispering like they were in on some grand secret.

It didn't help that it kept happening everywhere—at meals in the Great Hall, in the library when Harry swore they were supposed to be studying, and even during Quidditch practice. Harry would glance over from the pitch and spot Hermione, standing with Draco just outside the bleachers, speaking in hushed tones.

Draco would smirk, Hermione would grin, and Harry would feel his stomach twist unpleasantly.

"What's with you?" Ron asked one evening, tossing a chocolate frog at Harry's head.

Harry scowled, catching it mid-air. "Nothing."

"Sure," Ron muttered, clearly unconvinced. "You've been glaring at Malfoy like he stole your Firebolt."

Harry bit off the frog's head a little too aggressively. "He's always with Hermione, whispering about Merlin-knows-what."

Ron blinked. "Wait. Do you think—?" He paused, his face lighting up with a horrified expression. "Oh, bloody hell, Harry! You think Malfoy fancies Hermione?"

Harry felt a scalding warmth rush to his cheeks. "I didn't say that."

"But you do!" Ron grinned, clearly entertained by the idea. "Mate, you've got nothing to worry about. Hermione wouldn't go for a git like him."

Harry wished he could believe that. But every time he saw them together—leaning in, smiling, conspiring—his stomach churned with irrational jealousy. What if Malfoy wasn't as much of a git as they all thought? What if Hermione saw something in him? What if—

No. He couldn't think about that.

The next day, Harry's worst fears were confirmed when he found them together in the library—again. Hermione was seated at the far end of a table, leaning in close to Draco, whose pale blond hair glinted in the soft candlelight. They were whispering, heads tilted together in a way that made Harry's heart clench.

Harry slammed his books onto the table louder than necessary, startling them both.

Hermione shot him an irritated look. "Harry! What's wrong with you?"

Draco, for once, didn't smirk. He just glanced at Hermione with something that looked suspiciously like panic before quickly muttering, "I'll, er, catch you later." And with that, he was gone.

Harry glared after him, his jaw clenched. "You've been spending an awful lot of time with him lately."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "And?"

Harry folded his arms. "And it's weird. What's going on between you two?"

Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples like she couldn't believe how dense he was being. "Harry, there's nothing going on between me and Draco."

Harry huffed. "You've been whispering with him all week!"

"Yes," Hermione said patiently, "because he asked me for help."

Harry's heart sank. "Help with what?"

Hermione gave him a look that could only be described as exasperated. "With you, you idiot."

Harry blinked, utterly confused. "What?"

"He likes you, Harry," Hermione said with a fond but frustrated sigh. "He's been trying to work up the nerve to ask you out, and he wanted my advice."

For a moment, Harry could only stare at her, his brain struggling to process the words. "Malfoy... likes me?"

"Yes," Hermione said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "He's been driving me mad about it. Honestly, how did you not notice?"

Harry's mind raced. All the lingering glances, the half-smiles, the times Draco had seemed nervous around him—it suddenly made sense.

"Oh." Harry felt like a complete idiot. "So... the whispering was—"

"Draco panicking about how to ask you out," Hermione finished with a grin. "And I might have told him you're the kind of person who likes grand gestures."

Harry's stomach flipped. "A grand gesture?"

Hermione just smiled. "You'll see."

The next morning, Harry found himself standing at the edge of the Quidditch pitch, utterly baffled by what he saw.

Draco Malfoy, in full Slytherin robes, was holding a large enchanted banner that read:

"Harry Potter, will you go out with me?"

As if the banner wasn't enough, Draco stood there with his broom in one hand and an awkward, determined expression on his face.

Harry felt his heart stutter. He could hear his teammates laughing and whispering behind him, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Potter," Draco called from across the pitch, his voice loud and clear. "Are you going to say yes, or do I have to hold this thing all day?"

Harry grinned—grinned so wide his cheeks hurt. "Yes, Malfoy. I'll go out with you."

The relief on Draco's face was palpable, and Harry swore he saw Hermione giving them a smug thumbs-up from the stands.

As Draco jogged over, still looking slightly breathless, Harry couldn't help but ask, "So... whispering about me this whole time?"

Draco rolled his eyes but smiled. "I thought you'd never figure it out."

And just like that, Harry realized that all the jealousy had been worth it—because Draco Malfoy wasn't just a secret. He was a possibility. And Harry couldn't wait to explore it.