What Happens After Dark - Drarry

𝟡

New word count: 1.8k
Date (re)published: November 9th, 2020
----------------

— Friday - The Room of Requirements - 11:22pm —

Harry was happy. Actually happy. Over the few days that had gone by ever so painfully slow, Malfoy had been there for him. Though they hadn't labeled their friendship they both knew, or at least Harry hoped they both knew, that they were friends. They had even decided to share the room, after all sorts of unnecessary confusion.

Tonight, Harry was sitting in the room alone. He sat on a ridiculously comfortable couch directly across from the green chair Malfoy usually dramatically draped himself over. There was an open book in Harry's hands, and though he was looking at the pages, he wasn't reading it. The book didn't pique his interest, so he admired the way the letters swooped and swirled across the page instead. He was mesmerized by the patterns the words painted, and wondered why he couldn't have a life as calm as the one laid before him.

There was a sudden burst of noise that ripped through the almost tangible silence with claws of flaming fury. Malfoy burst into the room looking like he was on the verge of breaking the little shard of sanity he had left.

"Potter." The greeting was subtle and civil.

"Malfoy." Harry responded with the same amount of class and delicacy.

It was then that Malfoy seemed to think it was a good time to drape himself over the sofa-chair. As he proceeded to do so, Harry sighed deeply.

The two sat in silence that dragged on longer and longer by the second. But seconds were feeling like minutes, and minutes like hours. He hadn't been sitting there long enough, but Harry bet the hours would have felt like days. The silence was deafening, so Harry decided to do something about it. But just as he was about to speak, the Slytherin beat him to it.

"Why are we here?" Malfoy asked with a mystical tone that hid within the shadows that his bright voice cast.

"Whatever do you mean?" Harry played it like himself: nice and simple.

"Why are we still talking to each other, Potter?" Malfoy was visibly more irritated than before, which seemed to dim the entire mood of the conversation.

"Because we made up," Harry didn't know what else to say. He'd forgiven Malfoy, and Malfoy'd forgiven him. They were back on an even playing field.

There was a long silence before Malfoy spoke, and it seemed as if his words had been carefully handpicked. "I think you should leave, Potter."

Harry was flabbergasted. "Excuse me what?" He wouldn't waste any more pleasantries on this son of a bitch.

"You heard me. Leave, Potter. This room is for the attractive and wealthy only." Malfoy's snarl was nothing short of disrespectful.

Little did the Slytherin know, Harry was as rich as he was attractive, and he had to be one of the hottest guys in all of Hogwarts. His parents had left him a large fortune in their Gringotts vault, not to mention all the money he received anonymously from adoring fans. (He felt too guilty to keep that money, so he always donated it to some sort of charity.) He simply didn't broadcast his wealth for the whole world.

"Then this room seems just right for me." Harry responded with sass, but his mind didn't deny that Malfoy was completely right. The Slytherin was attractive. Harry could think a guy was good looking without being gay. Right?