𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭 & 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 | drarry

25

After their latest encounter, things only seemed to get worse-if that were even possible. Harry had thought that matters between them couldn't possibly disintegrate any further, but he was quickly proven wrong.

The following morning, Draco was a complete wreck-his eyes bloodshot, dark circles carved beneath them. He stumbled out of his room, looking nothing like his usual pristine self. Even during the war, Harry thought, Draco had somehow managed to look composed, despite the anguish in his expression, the hollows of his cheeks, and the dirt staining his skin. But now, Draco's hair was a chaotic tangle, his robes were wrinkled and thrown on haphazardly, and his white shirt beneath was buttoned incorrectly.

He nearly tripped over his own feet as he rushed past the kitchen, fumbling with the lock before practically fleeing from their quarters.

Harry felt the urge to ram his head into a wall.

For the next several days, it remained like this. Harry tried to meet Draco's eye or start a conversation, but Draco would scramble away as if he were escaping a Hungarian Horntail coming straight at him. Each attempt ended in frustration, leaving Harry more and more at a loss.

He hated seeing Draco like this-hated feeling like they were going backward instead of forward. But Draco's avoidance was absolute, and the wall between them only seemed to grow higher.

Several weeks passed, and the tense atmosphere between Harry and Draco continued to evolve, taking on new, intricate forms of interaction. Draco's initial flustered avoidance gradually gave way to awkward stammering whenever Harry entered a room. That stuttering, in turn, morphed into scowls and sneers-reminiscent of their old schoolboy rivalry.

It seemed as though they had regressed into their old habits, using animosity as a defense mechanism, a crutch to avoid confronting what truly lay between them.

Harry could discern that Draco had made up his mind-decided that treating Harry like a hated rival was the best way to cope with the complex entanglement of emotions that had formed between them.

Gone were the days of forced politeness and professionalism. Instead, they reverted to barbed remarks and pointed glares, the kind of exchanges they had perfected during their youth at Hogwarts.

But this time, Harry noticed something beneath Draco's sneering disdain-something that spoke of desperation, a desire to regain control of an increasingly chaotic situation.

In a peculiar way, this resurgence of hostility was almost comforting. The return to rivalry felt familiar, a way in which neither of them had to pretend to be indifferent. They could channel their frustrations and their unaddressed feelings into the insults that had once been their daily bread.

It was safer for Draco, Harry realized, to resent him than to confront whatever it was they had tried-and failed-to cultivate. It was easier to be adversaries than to wrestle with the vulnerability that came with being something more.

Yet, beneath the antagonism, Harry could not deny a persistent sense of longing. He missed the moments when things had seemed hopeful-when there had been laughter shared between them and the glimmer of something deeper, something genuine. But Draco, with his steely demeanor and sharp-edged words, seemed intent on extinguishing those possibilities, shoving them back into the shadows where they could be conveniently forgotten.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Harry sat at the staff table, trying to enjoy a peaceful breakfast. He should have known better. Draco, seated at the opposite end, looked up from his plate, his eyes narrowing as they landed on Harry.