Harry Potter

The Hogwarts library was stuffy, and dusk had long since set in outside the windows.

Harry was making his way through the shelves, looking for another Potions reference book, but froze when he heard the soft rustle of parchment.

A few shelves away sat Draco. Draco Malfoy. He looked haggard, shoving some alchemy textbooks into his robes. The Slytherin had clearly lost weight, and... he was completely alone—without Crabbe and Goyle. He had only deep shadows under his eyes.

When their eyes met, Harry was already expecting the familiar smirk. But instead, all that followed was a muffled, "What are you doing here, Potter? "

Harry walked up to him silently, pointing to Draco's unusually thin wrists, which had previously been so well-groomed.

— Are you sick? A question escaped Harry's lips, to which Draco merely tugged at his robe, shielding his hand from the Gryffindor gaze with his characteristic "Watch yourself." He smelled not of expensive cologne, but something like... metal and bitter wormwood.

Draco, muttering something like "Of course. You don't know... I even envy your ignorance," quickly disappeared behind the library doors, as if running away from Harry.

The brunette turned sharply, but the library door had already closed, leaving only a heavy silence. He needed to catch up. Ask: "What's he talking about?"; "What's with all this envy? "

Thinking that perhaps he and Malfoy had never been just enemies, the Gryffindor stood up, quickly catching up with the blond.

He caught up with him in the empty corridor on the third floor, grabbed him by the elbow, and spun him around. Something alive flickered in Draco's eyes—not fear, not anger, but rather a look of doomed surprise.

• What are you afraid of? Harry asked, not letting go of his hand.