Next day, the late afternoon sun dipped lazily over the Hogwarts lawn, casting a soft golden hue across the green expanse. It was the kind of rare, peaceful moment in the school year when everyone seemed to forget house rivalries, OWLs, NEWTs, and even who had kissed whom last week. Blankets were spread out like picnics, laughter echoing across the grounds as students from all years and houses mingled under the open sky.
Ron was tossing Chocolate Frogs at a first-year who kept fumbling them. Hermione sat beside him with a book open but mostly ignored, eyes occasionally lifting to scold Ron with a fond smile. Ginny was showing a group of second-years a new trick with her wand that made mini fireworks explode harmlessly into butterflies.
In the middle of it all, Harry Potter sat on the edge of a blanket, propped up on his elbows, half-listening to Neville and Luna's debate about whether dirigible plums could be weaponized in self-defense. But his eyes kept drifting. To the left. Always to the left.
Draco Malfoy stood a few feet away, arms crossed, hair glinting like it always did in the sun. He was watching a group of fourth-year Hufflepuffs fail miserably at wizard badminton, lips twitching like he was restraining a smirk. Harry couldn't stop looking at him.
They hadn't really… talked much today. Not seriously, at least. Not since the night before, not since everything.
And maybe that was why Harry noticed her before anyone else did.
A girl, Ravenclaw—sixth year, pretty, obviously nervous—approached from the side. She held something in her hands, maybe a notebook or parchment. Whatever it was, it looked like an excuse.
Harry sat up straighter, gut twisting. He saw the way she looked at Draco. The way she tried to mask it with politeness but failed. He also saw how Draco's posture shifted slightly, like he noticed too but didn't know what to do with it.
And that was when Harry moved.
Smoothly, casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he got up, walked the few feet over, and stood beside Draco. Not in front of him. Beside.
He didn't say a word.
He just reached out and gently slid his hand into Draco's. Fingers intertwined. Not possessively. Not boldly. Just… softly. Intimately.
The Ravenclaw girl faltered. Her lips parted slightly. She looked at Harry, at Draco, back again. And then, with a soft, awkward smile, she turned and walked away without saying a thing.
Draco stared after her, then down at their hands.
"You realize," he said, voice just loud enough for Harry to hear, "that was absurdly dramatic."
"I learned from the best," Harry muttered, not quite able to hide his smirk.
Draco chuckled low in his throat. "You're ridiculous."
"So are you."
They stood there in silence for a moment, hands still joined, watching the Hogwarts lawn return to its chaotic, cheerful hum.
Ron looked up from throwing frogs. He blinked once. Twice. Then slowly raised a brow and elbowed Hermione. She followed his gaze.
She smiled. It was small, but it was knowing.
Ron just muttered, "Bloody finally," and went back to tossing frogs.
And in that strange, warm twilight between day and evening, no one said anything more. Because there was nothing else that needed saying.
Draco didn't let go. Neither did Harry.
The sun had begun its slow descent, casting golden streaks across the Hogwarts lawn. The light filtered through the branches of the ancient trees, dappling the grass where students had gathered for one of the first truly peaceful evenings in a long time. Laughter bubbled through the air, blending with the soft strums of a guitar someone from Hufflepuff had brought. Blankets were spread out, food from the kitchens had been sneaked in, and for once, the school felt less like a battleground and more like a home.
Draco Malfoy sat on the edge of one such blanket, his usually guarded expression relaxed as he leaned back on one hand. Harry Potter was beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed, his fingers loosely curled around Draco's in plain sight.
No one commented.
Well, no one dared to after the incident with the Ravenclaw girl who had approached Draco earlier, only to witness him gently take Harry's hand in front of her with an unspoken message: I am taken.
Now, as the group exchanged stories, gossip, and light jabs, Draco and Harry were laughing. Not the careful, polite chuckles they had grown used to in front of others. No, this was real laughter. The kind that warmed the chest, lit up their eyes, and reminded them that despite everything, joy was still possible.
Ron was dramatically retelling the story of the time he accidentally cursed himself to speak only in rhymes, with Hermione occasionally correcting the details while trying not to smile too fondly. Lavender leaned against Seamus, who was animatedly debating Neville about which magical plant would most likely eat a first year.
Through all the buzz, Harry kept glancing at Draco. And Draco kept glancing back. Sometimes, their eyes met mid-laugh, and there was something unspoken in the way their gazes held: a mutual understanding, an appreciation, maybe even awe.
Harry leaned over slightly, his voice low so only Draco could hear. "I didn't think today would feel this…normal."
Draco turned, eyes soft. "You're sitting beside me, Potter. It's anything but normal."
Harry rolled his eyes but his smile was wide. He squeezed Draco's hand, and Draco returned the pressure without hesitation.
Every time someone spoke or laughed louder, Harry would glance toward Draco, half expecting him to pull away, to hide. But Draco didn't. He never once let go. Even when he sipped his drink or turned to respond to Theo, their pinkies stayed connected, their palms aligned, their warmth shared.
Hermione caught sight of the small interaction and offered Harry a knowing smile, but didn't interrupt. She didn't need to.
As the sky deepened into hues of lavender and rose, someone lit enchanted lanterns. They floated lazily above the lawn, casting a gentle glow over everyone. Laughter softened into low conversations and idle humming. Dean and Luna had started painting small stars on each other's hands with magical ink.
Draco, still holding Harry's hand, leaned in a bit closer. His voice was quieter now. "I thought I wouldn't know how to be part of this. That I couldn't belong."
Harry turned his hand so their fingers could interlace fully. "You do. More than you think."
Draco didn't say anything, but his smile then was the most honest Harry had ever seen. It was the smile of a boy who had been lost in the dark for too long, finally finding a light worth walking toward.
A small breeze swept over them, and Harry shivered slightly. Instinctively, Draco pulled him closer, draping his arm around Harry's shoulder without letting go of his hand. It felt natural, as if they'd always fit this way.
Someone nearby started a new story, and the group leaned in to listen. But Harry wasn't listening to the tale anymore. He was listening to the steady beat of Draco's heart beside him, the softness in his breath, the uncharacteristic peace in his expression.
And Draco, even as he made a snarky comment about Ron's storytelling abilities, never once stopped tracing soft circles into Harry's knuckles with his thumb.
When the stars became clearer and the lanterns brighter, someone suggested heading back inside. Blankets were folded, crumbs brushed away, and one by one, groups began to move.
But Harry and Draco stayed.
Still seated on the grass, fingers intertwined, laughter slowly fading into comfortable silence.
Still looking at each other like the world had finally stopped asking them to fight and had instead given them this one moment to simply be.
And neither of them planned to let go anytime soon.
The sun had was about to set, casting golden ribbons across the Hogwarts grounds. Laughter still echoed faintly behind them from the gathering, but Harry and Draco barely noticed. Their hands were still entwined, warm and steady. Not even once had they let go—not when they stood among friends, not during the light teasing or knowing glances. And not now, as they quietly slipped away from the group.
The walk toward the Astronomy Tower was slow, unrushed. It wasn't awkward like it might have been once. There was a calmness between them now—earned, weathered, and deepened. The kind that doesn't beg for words, only presence.
Harry occasionally glanced sideways at Draco, who had that softened look he rarely wore unless they were alone. His platinum hair shimmered under the waning light, and Harry couldn't help but wonder how many others had ever seen him like this—unguarded, quiet, and almost peaceful.
They didn't speak. Not until the stone steps beneath their feet turned into the familiar coolness of the tower's floor. Hogwarts stretched before them, bathed in oranges and rose-golds, the Forbidden Forest casting long shadows against the horizon.
Draco leaned forward against the ledge, his hand still not leaving Harry's. "Funny," he murmured, his voice barely above the hush of the wind. "I used to come here alone."
Harry moved closer. "Do you still want to be alone?"
Draco didn't answer right away. He only turned his head, eyes landing on Harry, soft and unreadable. "No," he said at last. "Not anymore."
They stood like that for a while. Shoulders brushing. Fingers still laced. The light danced over their skin as the sun dropped lower, casting an amber glow across Draco's pale cheekbones, making Harry's eyes look like they burned from within.
Harry smiled—slow, small, but unmistakably real. "We're ridiculous."
Draco huffed a short laugh. "Speak for yourself, Potter."
Silence followed, but it wasn't empty. It was full—of unsaid things, of the weight they'd dropped and the feelings they carried. It was full of beginnings. And for once, neither of them was afraid of it.
As the last sliver of sun dipped beneath the horizon, Harry gave Draco's hand a squeeze.
Draco squeezed back.
They stayed.
The fading light of the sunset draped the Astronomy Tower in a warm, golden haze, casting long shadows that mingled with the cool evening air. The castle grounds stretched out beneath them, a tapestry of greens and grays, the whispers of the distant gathering fading softly behind the thick stone walls. Yet here, up high and away from it all, there was only the two of them—still, breathing, close.
Draco's hand in Harry's felt like the only solid thing in the shifting twilight, their fingers interlaced with a quiet certainty neither had dared to voice until now. The air between them thickened with something unspoken, an electric charge that made Harry's heart thud so loudly he was almost afraid Draco could hear it too.
Their eyes met—an unguarded, searching gaze that spoke volumes in silence. Draco's usual guarded smirk was gone, replaced by a softness that made Harry's chest tighten. It was like looking at someone new, someone he'd always wanted to know but never dared approach so intimately. And yet, it was the same Draco—only more real.
For a long moment, neither moved. They simply stared, studying each other like the world had slowed just for this. Harry's eyes traced the sharp line of Draco's jaw, the way his lashes cast delicate shadows over pale cheeks, the faintest flush that crept beneath his skin as the cool breeze teased them both. Draco's gaze was steady but searching, as if trying to memorize every detail before it vanished.
Harry felt his breath hitch, heart hammering with a raw, aching urgency. The space between them felt smaller with every passing second—like the air was charged and thick enough to reach out and touch.
His fingers tightened around Draco's, hesitant but growing bolder, tracing little circles against the warmth of his palm. Draco's eyes flickered, a spark of vulnerability flashing before the familiar pride crept back into his expression. But that smile, that little tilt of the lips, held something new: an invitation.
Harry's breath came faster now, the ache inside him swelling. Everything in him wanted to close the gap, to bridge the silence with something tangible, something real. His heart screamed for it.
Without quite thinking, his free hand lifted slowly, trembling slightly as it moved toward the back of Draco's neck. The moment his fingertips brushed against the soft skin, Draco's eyes fluttered closed briefly, and when they reopened, they were brighter, more open than Harry had ever seen.
Time seemed to hold its breath as Harry leaned in, the world narrowing until there was only the heat of Draco's gaze and the nearness of his breath. When their lips met, it was gentle at first—tentative and searching—like they were both testing waters long forbidden.
But then Draco's hand rose, sliding up the back of Harry's neck, fingers threading through his hair with a delicate strength that sent a shiver down Harry's spine. The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, each movement carrying a weight of longing and unspoken promises. The rest of the world faded away completely.
Harry pressed closer, feeling the slight tremble beneath his hand, the way Draco melted into the kiss as if he'd been waiting for this moment just as much as Harry had. There was no rush, no desperation—just the sweet ache of two souls finally finding a fragile kind of peace in each other.
When they finally pulled apart, breaths mingling and hearts still pounding, Draco's eyes were half-lidded, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Harry rested his forehead against Draco's, whispering, "I've wanted to do that for a long time."
Draco's smile deepened, fingers squeezing Harry's hand gently. "Me too."
And at the end of their story, neither of them felt alone, ever.