Shoulder Pillow

Chapter 3: The Cold Shoulder

 It had finally happened. Draco had finally seen Harry in the hallway. He had been walking from English to Maths, and Draco had caught a glimpse of that fluffy, unruly black hair, and he knew that it couldn't possibly have been anyone else. Harry's green eyes sparkled as he talked with another boy, a red-haired one that Draco didn't know. Draco waved his hand, trying to get Harry's attention. Those green eyes finally flashed in his direction and settled on Draco's face.

Only, they lost the sparkle they had seconds before. In their stead came a steady coldness that spoke volumes, even from across the hallway, where Harry kept walking in the direction that Draco had just come from. His smile slipped and melted off his face, as Harry slightly shook his head, leaned closer to his red-haired friend and whispered something, who then gave him a similar look.

Draco stopped in his tracks, staring at Harry's receding back. The other students pushed past him, some of them bumping his shoulders in an attempt to get him to walk again, but Draco seemed rooted to the ground. His fingers had gone slightly cold, as if missing the warmth they might have gained if Harry had stopped to touch his hand.

Have I done something? Does he already hate me? Finally, a particularly hard shove from Blaise, who had come out of nowhere, got him moving again. He walked as if on autopilot, just taking the necessary steps he needed to get to his next class. It was his last for the day. Afterward, he could contemplate and overanalyze what had happened.

"Draco, are you alright?" Blaise asked. He didn't respond. They finally reached the Maths classroom; Draco walked to his seat and sat down, staring at the wood of his desk.

"Really mate, what's got your knickers in a twist?" Blaise nudged him again as he took his seat next to him. Blaise continued to stare at him until Draco lifted his eyes from the desk.

"I think I may have done something, but I've no idea what."

Blaise seemed to catch his meaning. "Is this about that Harry fellow? I saw him walk past you, why don't you just text him? Ask what crawled up his arse."

Draco's lips twitched at the sides, an attempt at a smile, and that seemed to be enough for Blaise. He turned and faced the front of the classroom where Professor Vector was beginning class. Draco paid her no mind as he pulled out his cell, hiding it under his desk so the professor wouldn't see.

Is everything alright?

The message sent, and no more than a few seconds later, the "read" banner came up beneath it. But Harry wasn't typing. Draco mentally cursed himself. He cursed himself for his own patheticness, that he seemed so reliant already on a boy he had only just met. He cursed Harry for his stupid power over Draco. For the effect that he seemed to have on him. He cursed Harry all throughout Maths because, by the end of it, Harry still hadn't messaged him back. And Draco was beginning to think that he wasn't going to.

***

Harry had no plans to respond to Draco's message.

No, everything is not alright, you git, Harry thought. This certainly hadn't been Harry's first time dealing with someone not being who they seemed, but this time felt different, for some reason. His chest ached with heaviness, his eyes constantly seemed fixed on finding that blond head of hair in the crowd, and his head was constantly filled with the memory of his lemon-scented shampoo, his cold, smooth skin, and the way his face flushed whenever Harry smiled at him.

"Mr. Potter, I do not expect you to be fully aware of your surroundings, what with you only having half a brain, but surely you must notice that Longbottom requires assistance," Professor Snape, the chemistry teacher, drawled at Harry in his snobbish, slightly nasally voice, the one that always set Harry on edge. Harry looked up to see that hooked nose, and the professor's beady black eyes looking down on him.