Drarry AI Oneshots

Miscommunication at Its Finest

Draco Malfoy had asked Harry to "hang out" at Hogsmeade next Saturday, and since the words had left Draco's mouth, Harry's heart had been doing somersaults.

Of course, it had to be a date. Why else would Draco Malfoy-a boy who had spent years sneering at him-be so casual and friendly about spending time together in Hogsmeade? Over the past few months of their eighth year, Draco had become surprisingly approachable. They'd partnered up in classes a few times, shared polite conversations, and-dare Harry say-there had even been a few moments of what could only be described as flirting.

It all pointed to one thing. This was a date.

As Saturday neared, Harry spent far too much time fretting over what he should wear. He didn't want to overdo it and make it obvious that he thought it was a date in case Draco wasn't quite there yet. But he also didn't want to underdress and look like he hadn't put any effort into it at all.

"Mate, you're being ridiculous," Ron said, watching Harry rifle through his wardrobe for what felt like the hundredth time. "It's Malfoy. Since when did you care about what he thought?"

Harry shot Ron a look. "This isn't just hanging out, Ron. This feels different."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Different how? Didn't Malfoy just ask if you wanted to grab drinks at The Three Broomsticks? That doesn't exactly scream 'romantic night out.'"

Harry ignored Ron's skepticism. He knew there was something there. He could feel it.

By the time Saturday arrived, Harry had finally settled on wearing something casual but flattering: a navy jumper that Hermione had once mentioned made his eyes stand out, paired with his best jeans and a smart jacket. It wasn't too much, but it was enough that Draco might take notice.

He arrived at Hogsmeade feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. When he spotted Draco waiting by the entrance to The Three Broomsticks, Harry's heart did a little flip. Draco was leaning casually against the doorframe, dressed in his usual impeccable style-a sleek, dark coat with a green scarf loosely draped around his neck. He looked effortlessly composed, as always.

Draco looked up when he saw Harry approaching and gave him a small, polite smile. "Potter. You're right on time."

Harry smiled back, feeling the nervous flutter in his stomach again. "Yeah, didn't want to be late."

They headed inside together, finding a quiet table near the back of the pub. The warm atmosphere of The Three Broomsticks buzzed around them-students laughing, the smell of butterbeer thick in the air. Harry couldn't help but feel a bit giddy. This was it. His first real date with Draco Malfoy.

As they settled in, Draco ordered two butterbeers, and they spent the next few minutes chatting about school, the latest Quidditch matches, and some of the more absurd rumors floating around Hogwarts. Harry found it surprisingly easy to talk to Draco-he always had, lately. There was something about the sharp wit, the subtle smirks, and the way Draco's eyes seemed to light up when he was amused.

But halfway through the conversation, something started to feel... off.

Draco was relaxed, perfectly at ease, and there was no awkward tension between them. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that Draco seemed too relaxed. Harry had expected some sign that Draco was thinking about this the same way Harry was-a little extra eye contact, a hint of nervousness, maybe even some subtle flirting-but Draco was treating this like it was the most normal, casual hangout in the world.

There had been no lingering touches, no compliments, no playful teasing. Just easy conversation. Friendly conversation.

And then, just as Harry was about to suggest they check out Honeydukes after their drinks, Draco said something that made Harry's stomach plummet.