Drarry AI Oneshots

Sketching Secrets (Part 2)

In the days that followed their encounter in the library, something quietly shifted between Draco and Harry. It wasn't a dramatic change—there were no grand declarations or sudden confrontations—but it was undeniable.

They started spending more time together, often in the same quiet spots where Draco could study and Harry could, as he so casually put it, "sketch a bit." It became their unspoken routine. Harry would sit nearby with his notebook open, occasionally glancing up to capture Draco's expression or posture, while Draco buried himself in textbooks or scribbled down notes.

At first, Draco had felt awkward. He wasn't used to having someone watch him so closely, especially not Harry Potter of all people. But as the days went on, the awkwardness faded, replaced by a strange sense of calm. Harry's presence became... comforting. The quiet scratch of his quill, the occasional soft hum of concentration—it all blended into the background, like white noise that Draco hadn't realized he needed.

And, to Draco's surprise, he started looking forward to these moments.

It wasn't just about Harry's drawings anymore, though those were still remarkable. Draco found himself enjoying the simplicity of their time together—the way they could sit in silence for hours without feeling the need to fill the space with words. It was peaceful, almost intimate in a way that made Draco's heart beat a little faster.

But that was the problem.

Because the more time Draco spent with Harry, the more he started to realize that his feelings were... changing.

At first, he had been flattered by Harry's attention, amused by the awkwardness and the strange dynamic that had developed between them. But now, as Harry sat across from him in the library, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sketched another line, Draco couldn't help but feel a growing sense of... affection.

It was subtle at first—just a fleeting thought here and there, a quick glance that lingered a little too long. But over time, it became impossible to ignore. The way Harry's hair always seemed to fall into his eyes when he was focused, the way his lips would twitch into a smile when he caught Draco looking at him, the quiet contentment that radiated from him as he drew—it all made Draco's chest tighten in ways he didn't understand.

He didn't know what to do with these feelings.

Draco had never been good with emotions. He had spent most of his life keeping them bottled up, hidden behind a carefully constructed mask of indifference. But now, sitting here with Harry, his feelings were anything but hidden. They were bubbling to the surface, and Draco had no idea how to handle it.

One afternoon, after they had settled into their usual spot in the library, Draco found himself stealing glances at Harry more often than usual. Harry was sketching again, his quill moving smoothly across the page, and Draco couldn't help but watch him—watch the way his fingers gripped the quill, the way his green eyes flicked up every now and then to capture some detail of Draco's posture.

It was unsettling, how easy it was for Draco to get lost in the sight of him. He quickly looked down at his book, trying to refocus on the text, but the words blurred together. His mind was too distracted, too preoccupied with thoughts he didn't want to admit.

I'm falling for him, Draco realized, the thought hitting him like a bolt of lightning. Bloody hell, I'm falling for Harry Potter.

The realization made his stomach twist with anxiety. He had no idea how to deal with this. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't just tell Harry—not when things had been going so well. Not when their newfound friendship was finally starting to feel natural. Besides, what were the chances that Harry felt the same way? This was Potter, after all. The same Gryffindor golden boy he had spent years despising—how could he possibly like Draco back?

And yet, Draco couldn't deny the warmth that filled his chest every time Harry smiled at him, or the way his heart seemed to race when their hands brushed accidentally while reaching for the same quill.

He was completely and utterly lost.

The next few days passed in a blur of quiet afternoons and stolen glances. Draco tried to ignore the growing tension in his chest, but it was impossible. Every time Harry smiled at him, every time his fingers grazed Draco's as he handed him a book, the feelings only grew stronger.

One evening, they were sitting by the fireplace in the Slytherin common room—an unexpected place for Harry to be, but no one seemed to mind. Most of the other students had retired for the night, leaving them alone in the quiet room, the flickering fire casting soft shadows on the walls.

Harry was sketching again, as usual, his notebook balanced on his lap. Draco, sitting across from him with a book in hand, tried to focus on the words, but his mind was elsewhere.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silence, Draco couldn't take it anymore.

"Why me?" he asked suddenly, his voice quieter than he had intended.

Harry looked up, surprised by the question. "What?"

Draco set his book aside, his fingers fidgeting in his lap. "Why do you keep drawing me? Out of everyone you could sketch, why me?"

Harry blinked, his quill pausing mid-air as he considered the question. For a moment, Draco thought he might not answer. But then, Harry smiled—a small, almost shy smile—and shrugged.

"I don't know," Harry admitted softly, his eyes meeting Draco's. "You're just... interesting to draw."

Draco's heart skipped a beat, and he swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady. "Interesting how?"

Harry's gaze flickered down to his notebook, then back up to Draco. "There's something about you that's... complicated. Layers, I guess. When I draw you, I try to capture that. It's like... there's more to you than what people usually see."

Draco's breath hitched, and for a moment, he didn't know what to say. The warmth in Harry's voice, the sincerity in his eyes—it was too much. Draco had spent years hiding behind walls, keeping people at a distance, but now, sitting here with Harry, it felt like those walls were crumbling.

"Potter, I—" Draco started, but the words caught in his throat.

Harry tilted his head, his expression softening. "What is it?"

Draco hesitated, his heart racing as he struggled to find the right words. How could he possibly explain what he was feeling? How could he admit that somewhere along the way, he had started falling for Harry—falling for the way he smiled, the way he listened, the way he made Draco feel seen in a way no one else ever had?

But before Draco could say anything, Harry's hand reached out, brushing lightly against his.

"It's okay," Harry said quietly, his voice full of understanding.

Draco's breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, they just sat there, the weight of everything hanging between them. The flickering fire cast soft shadows on their faces, and Draco felt the world slow down around them.

Maybe he didn't have to say anything. Maybe, just maybe, Harry already knew.

And in that quiet moment, as Harry's hand lingered on his, Draco realized that maybe he wasn't as lost as he thought.

The End... or perhaps, just the beginning.