Drarry AI Oneshots

The Wrong Notebook

It was a regular Tuesday in the middle of February, and Harry was running late for Potions class. Again. The only good thing about the entire situation was that he wasn't running that late, just late enough to make him scramble for his things and sprint out of the Gryffindor common room with his bag half-packed.

Professor Slughorn had been assigning way too many essays lately, and Harry was exhausted. As he rushed into the classroom, he barely noticed Draco Malfoy sitting at their shared worktable, already set up with his ingredients and looking, as usual, annoyingly composed.

"You're late, Potter," Draco muttered without looking up, as Harry slid into his seat, breathless and slightly frazzled.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry replied, dropping his bag onto the floor with a thud. "Tell me something I don't know."

Draco smirked but said nothing, instead turning his attention back to his notes.

The class went by in a blur of stirring, chopping, and avoiding Slughorn's scrutiny. By the time the bell rang, Harry was already thinking about his next class, not realizing that in his rush to leave, he had scooped up both his and Draco's notebooks, shoving them haphazardly into his bag before heading out.

It wasn't until later that evening, back in the quiet of his dormitory, that Harry realized something was off. He had sat down at his desk to go over the day's Potions notes, only to find that the notebook in front of him wasn't his. The elegant handwriting on the first page was unmistakably Draco's.

Harry blinked, staring at the neat, almost too-perfect script. Merlin, of course Malfoy has neat handwriting, he thought, flipping through the pages. His first instinct was to return it, but curiosity got the better of him. After all, this was Draco Malfoy's personal notebook. How many times had Draco teased him for being a terrible student? How many snide comments had Draco made over the years? It couldn't hurt to see what Malfoy had been writing.

Harry skimmed through the first few pages, noting the detailed Potions notes. Draco clearly paid attention in class. Each page was filled with intricate diagrams and explanations, far more thorough than Harry's scribbles. But as he flipped toward the back, something else caught his eye.

It wasn't Potions notes. It wasn't even school-related.

It was a sketch. Of him.

Harry's eyes widened as he stared down at the drawing. There, in the corner of one page, was a detailed sketch of his face. It wasn't like the doodles people drew in the margins of their notes when they were bored-this was deliberate. His messy hair, his glasses, even the scar on his forehead-it was all there, perfectly captured with just a few strokes of a quill.

"What the...?" Harry muttered to himself, flipping the page.

There was another sketch. This time, it was of Harry during Quidditch practice, flying high above the pitch, his robes billowing behind him. The attention to detail was incredible. It was clear that Draco had spent a lot of time on these.

Harry's heart started to race as he flipped through more pages, finding sketch after sketch, all of him. Some were just simple portraits, while others were of Harry in various moments-sitting by the fire in the common room, laughing with his friends, concentrating during class. It was... unsettling. Why was Draco drawing him?

As Harry reached the final sketch, he found something even more surprising. Written in the margins, next to one of the drawings, were words. Not Potions notes, not homework assignments-just a few hastily scrawled words that made Harry's stomach flip.

"He has no idea."

Harry stared at the words, his mind racing. What did Draco mean by that? He has no idea about what? That Draco was drawing him? That Draco was... watching him?