Drarry AI Oneshots

Sketching Secrets

Draco Malfoy was used to being the center of attention—whether it was for good reasons or bad, people always had their eyes on him. But this? This was different.

For the past few weeks, he'd noticed Harry Potter acting... strange. Stranger than usual. He'd catch Harry lingering nearby in the corridors, standing awkwardly behind bookshelves in the library, and once, Draco had even spotted him peeking around the corner of a doorway in the Great Hall.

At first, Draco thought it was some kind of prank. Maybe Potter was gathering intel for some new Gryffindor scheme. But after days of this bizarre behavior, it became clear that Harry wasn't up to his usual hero antics. If anything, he seemed... nervous.

The strangest part, though, was the notebook.

Every time Draco caught Harry watching him, Harry would be holding that small, worn notebook, scribbling furiously into it before stuffing it hastily into his bag and scurrying away like a skittish first-year. And each time, without fail, Harry would turn beet red, stammer out some half-hearted excuse, and vanish before Draco could ask what the hell he was doing.

It was starting to drive Draco mad.

The first time it happened, Draco had been walking to Potions, minding his own business, when he felt a prickling sensation at the back of his neck. He had glanced over his shoulder to find Harry standing a few feet behind him, hunched over a notebook, scribbling something down with a furrowed brow.

"Potter," Draco had called out, raising an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

Harry's head snapped up, eyes wide in surprise, and in an instant, his face flushed crimson. "I—uh—nothing! Just... taking notes."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "On me?"

Harry had sputtered for a moment, his hands fumbling with the notebook as he shoved it into his bag. "No! I mean, yes. I mean—no, not on you specifically! Just—uh—class notes! For Potions."

Draco had blinked, utterly baffled. "Right. Class notes. Before we've even gotten to class."

Harry had looked like he was about to spontaneously combust from embarrassment. "I've gotta go!" he had mumbled before darting away down the corridor, leaving Draco standing there, thoroughly confused.

After that, it kept happening. At lunch, in the library, during breaks between classes—everywhere Draco went, Harry seemed to be lurking nearby, always with that damned notebook in hand. And every time Draco caught him, the same pattern followed: Harry would blush, get flustered, and flee the scene without offering a proper explanation.

It was maddening.

Draco was no stranger to Harry's odd behavior—Potter had always been a bit of a mystery to him—but this was something else. It wasn't like Harry was avoiding him, either. In fact, Draco was starting to think that Harry was going out of his way to find him. But why?

Draco decided he had had enough. He needed answers.

It was late one afternoon, and Draco was sitting in the library, flipping through a Transfiguration textbook, when he spotted Harry yet again. This time, Harry was half-hidden behind a shelf, his eyes darting toward Draco every few seconds as he scribbled something furiously in his notebook.

Draco smirked. Got you.

"Potter," Draco called out, his voice calm but firm.

Harry froze, his quill hovering mid-air, his eyes wide as if he'd been caught doing something illegal.

Draco stood up, crossing the room with slow, deliberate steps until he was standing in front of Harry. "Care to explain why you've been following me around with that notebook for weeks?"