alan3a

[alan3a]

A little snippet from why can't you stay? on ao3

Then, breaking the quiet between them, Pansy leaned in slightly, her voice low. “Potter’s staring.”

Draco blinked, the tension in his shoulders tightening. Potter. Of course. It was always Potter. The boy could never leave well enough alone. Draco raised an eyebrow, glancing toward her, not yet turning his gaze toward Potter. “What?”

“Harry Potter. Gryffindor. The Boy Who Lived,” Pansy continued with a slight roll of her eyes. “You know, the one you—”

“Yes, Pansy, I’m well aware of who ‘Harry Potter’ is,” Draco cut in sharply, his voice edged with irritation. He didn’t need the reminder of his past entanglements with Potter, the years of rivalry and hatred. It felt like a lifetime ago now. None of it seemed to matter anymore. He didn't feel the urge to taunt Potter, to flaunt his possessions or brag about his achievements like he had in the past. It all seemed childish now. Yet somehow, Potter’s presence was enough to draw Draco in a different way.

He shifted in his seat, trying to find a position that didn’t aggravate the dull ache in his chest. It was always there now, a constant reminder. He needed the pain, craved it on most nights. As long as he focused on it, he could ignore everything else. It was so easy—just pain, over and over again. His nails dug into his palm, drawing a sharp sting that satisfied a deep craving inside him.

“Yeah, well, he looks like he’s this close to marching over here,” Pansy said, her tone laced with annoyance as her eyes flicked toward the Gryffindor table. “As if we haven’t been through enough without having him breathing down our necks".

Draco frowned, forcing himself not to turn and meet Potter’s gaze. It was a small battle, but one he was determined to win. He could feel the heat prickling at the back of his neck, as though Potter’s stare were a tangible force, pressing down on him, demanding his attention.

“Probably just lost in thought,” Draco said dismissively, though the words lacked conviction. He could feel it—Potter’s gaze wasn’t casual. It wasn’t the idle curiosity of someone whose thoughts had wandered. It was something sharper, more intense. He could feel it burrowing into him, as if Potter was searching for something. What did he think he would find?

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This definitely happened in 6th year when Harry was all in on Draco, and I’d love to think Draco’s inner 11-year-old self was tucking his hair behind his ear and kicking his legs.