Drarry AI Oneshots

Notes on a Wall

It started with the milk.

Draco Malfoy, of all people, didn't seem to know how to replace the milk when it ran out. Harry had stumbled into the kitchen one morning, bleary-eyed and barely awake, only to find the fridge empty of the one thing he needed for his tea. Draco, of course, had already disappeared to wherever he spent his mornings, leaving Harry with an empty carton and a sour mood.

So, he left a note.

"MALFOY, if you use the last of the milk, BUY MORE. -Harry"

That was supposed to be the end of it. One small annoyance, easily dealt with. But Draco, being Draco, couldn't let it go without a response.

The next morning, there was a reply stuck to the fridge:

"Dear Potter, I am not your personal grocery shopper. If you require milk so desperately, perhaps you should be more diligent in checking its availability. -Draco"

Harry could already feel his blood pressure rising. He scribbled back, his handwriting angry and sharp:

"You drank it! Just buy more! How is this complicated??"

Draco's reply, stuck neatly on top of Harry's note the next day, was infuriatingly calm:

"I don't drink milk, Potter. Clearly, you're mistaken."

And thus, the passive-aggressive note war began.

Sharing a flat with Draco Malfoy wasn't Harry's idea. It had been Ron's, actually, of all people. When Harry mentioned needing a new flatmate after Seamus moved out, Ron had casually brought up the fact that Draco was also looking for a place in London after leaving his family estate behind.

"It could be... interesting," Ron had said, his voice full of barely contained amusement. "Think about it. You're both working at the Ministry, you barely hate each other anymore..."

In a moment of exhaustion and poor judgment, Harry had agreed. He thought it wouldn't be that bad. Draco had changed a lot after the war, and they'd even managed to work together on a few missions without hexing each other. How hard could living with him be?

He soon discovered that Draco Malfoy, while no longer an outright enemy, was still an absolute menace as a flatmate.

After the milk incident, the notes became a permanent fixture in their flat. At first, they were exclusively about practical matters-cleaning, groceries, dishes. But it didn't take long for them to evolve into something else.

"If you're going to leave your laundry out in the living room, Potter, you might as well make it more fashionable. The pile of socks is a particularly tragic sight."
"Maybe if you didn't take two-hour baths, I wouldn't have to leave my laundry there while I wait for the bathroom. Merlin's beard, Malfoy, what are you even doing in there?"

"For your information, Potter, I enjoy long baths. Unlike you, I take care of myself."
"And what, my messy hair is some sort of crime now?"

Draco's response had been an underlined "Yes."

Harry couldn't pinpoint when the notes started to change in tone. It was subtle at first, with less passive-aggression and more teasing.

"Potter, you left your glasses in the kitchen again. Trying to stumble around blind isn't exactly a great life choice."
"Maybe I enjoy a bit of danger. You should try it sometime, Malfoy."

And then:

"Danger? Is that what you call sleeping in until noon on Sundays?"
"I would sleep better if you didn't sigh dramatically every time you walked by my room."

"Those sighs are out of sympathy for your tragic decorating choices, Potter. Beige walls? Really?"

It became a sort of game, a daily routine of finding Draco's note waiting for him in the kitchen or by the bathroom mirror, and scribbling a quick response before heading off to work.

Harry found himself looking forward to it.

One evening, Harry came home to find Draco standing by the fridge, staring intently at the newest note in their ongoing exchange. He was in his usual casual robes, his blond hair slightly tousled from the day, and there was something oddly... fond in the way he read Harry's last message.

Draco looked up when Harry entered, his eyes flicking toward the note in his hand before setting it down with a smirk. "Potter, do you honestly think my hair looks better messy?"

Harry blinked. "What?"

Draco tapped the note pinned to the fridge. "For someone so high-maintenance, Malfoy, your hair actually looks better when you don't obsess over it."

Harry hadn't thought much of it when he wrote that, but now, standing in front of Draco, he realized how it must have sounded.

"I-uh-yeah," Harry stammered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "It looks... nice. When it's like that."

Draco's smirk softened into something that wasn't quite a smile, but close. "Interesting," he murmured, his eyes lingering on Harry for a beat longer than usual before he turned away.

Harry swallowed hard, his heart doing an uncomfortable flip.

The next morning, Harry found Draco's latest note waiting on the bathroom mirror:

"If you think my hair looks so nice messy, perhaps you should spend less time staring at it."

Harry stared at the note for a full minute, his heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with the early hour. It wasn't just teasing anymore, was it?

He scribbled a reply:

"Maybe I like staring."

Things escalated from there. The notes became bolder, more flirtatious. Every morning, Harry found himself lingering over Draco's words, wondering if this was still just a game or if it was something more.

One evening, after a particularly long day at work, Harry came home to find Draco sitting at the kitchen table, a small smile playing on his lips.

"No note today?" Harry asked, trying to sound casual as he grabbed a glass of water.

Draco raised an eyebrow, looking amused. "Do I need to write it out, Potter?"

Harry's stomach flipped. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Draco stood up, closing the distance between them with a slow, deliberate step. "It means," he said, his voice low, "that maybe we've been hiding behind these notes long enough."

Harry's breath caught in his throat as Draco's hand brushed lightly against his arm, the touch sending a shiver down his spine. "And maybe," Draco continued, his eyes locked on Harry's, "it's time we stop pretending this is just some silly game."

Harry swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. "You're saying..."

Draco's smirk softened into something real, something honest. "I'm saying, Potter, that maybe you're not the only one who's been staring."

Before Harry could respond, Draco leaned in and kissed him-slow and steady, like it had been waiting to happen for months.

And for the first time in weeks, there were no more notes left to write.