Drarry AI Oneshots

L'amour Inattendu

Harry Potter had never been one to back down from a challenge. Facing dark wizards, hunting Horcruxes, and defeating Voldemort had all tested him in ways he could never have imagined. But this latest challenge was of a very different sort.

Draco Malfoy.

It wasn't just the fact that Draco had become a surprisingly civil presence in his life since they returned for their eighth year at Hogwarts, or that they had ended up spending more time together in shared classes and study groups. It wasn't even the fact that Draco seemed to be... softer, more vulnerable, when they were alone.

No, the challenge lay in the fact that, somewhere along the line, Harry had started to fall for Draco. Hard.

And Draco had absolutely no idea.

Harry had tried everything to get closer to Draco, to find some common ground. But there was one thing Draco had that Harry couldn't compete with-or at least, hadn't been able to.

Draco spoke fluent French.

Harry had discovered this fact quite by accident one evening when he overheard Draco speaking French to Blaise in the common room. His words had flowed effortlessly, the language sounding both elegant and sharp coming from Draco's lips. Harry hadn't understood a word of it, but he had been mesmerized all the same.

So, naturally, Harry had decided to learn French.

It had been slow going at first. French was a tricky language, and Harry had never exactly been the best at picking up new subjects. But with a combination of study books, secret tutoring from Hermione, and an almost obsessive amount of practice, Harry had made considerable progress over the past few months.

He had kept it quiet, of course. He didn't want Draco to know until he could actually say something impressive. And more than that, Harry wanted to be able to understand what Draco said when he spoke French-just in case Draco ever let something slip.

Little did Harry know, that moment was closer than he could have ever expected.

It was late in the evening, and the common room was quiet. Most of the eighth years had already gone to bed, but Harry was still up, finishing some last-minute reading for their Transfiguration class. He was sitting in one of the armchairs by the fire, absently flipping through his textbook, when Draco walked in.

Draco looked... tired, though in a way that was strangely endearing. His platinum hair was slightly tousled, and he had discarded his usual air of polished composure in favor of something more relaxed. He glanced around the room and spotted Harry sitting by the fire.

"Potter," Draco greeted, his voice soft.

"Malfoy," Harry replied, looking up from his book with a small smile. "Late night?"

Draco sighed, flopping down into the chair across from Harry. "You could say that. I've been going over Arithmancy notes with Pansy, and my brain feels like it's going to melt."

Harry chuckled. "I don't know how you manage all that. I barely get by in Transfiguration."

Draco smirked, though there was a hint of exhaustion in his eyes. "Some of us are just naturally gifted, Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes, but there was no real heat behind it. Draco's teasing had become almost friendly over the past few months, and Harry had come to enjoy these moments of banter between them.

They fell into a comfortable silence for a while, the only sound in the room being the crackling of the fire. Draco seemed lost in thought, staring into the flames with a faraway look in his eyes. Harry watched him for a moment, wondering what was going through Draco's mind.