Sunlight poured through the new Potions classroom. The old one was wrecked by the war so they had to adjust in a classroom on the seventh floor. The ventilation was definitely better than in the dungeons, without any magic, but with the loss of the cauldrons they had to use only phials and beakers.
Slughorn drawled about dragonflies and dried dittany for dreamless sleep. The boy beside him had fell asleep.
And that boy was his roomate. That boy was Draco Malfoy.
Harry was thankful that Slughorn didn't seem to notice that nobody was listening. Well, maybe except Hermione, whose hand shot up as soon as his stretched syllable came to an end.
He decided that he would spend the rest of the class watching the world right outside the castle, the birds flying over the forbidden forest and the campfire that Chang and Hermione convinced McGonagall to add.
He rested his face on his cheek, tilting his head to look past the shadowed face in front of him, mostly covered by his Slytherin scarf.
Malfoy's hair was shining white at the edge of the horizon, yellows and oranges pooling at the top of his head.
He was unconscious, defenceless. A strange feeling rose in Harry's stomach upon seeing him in such a vulnerable position. He swallowed, his hand returning to his desk as he looked away. The rest of the class had accio'd their beakers to the table.
He copied them, floating two glasses in front of them. The clank when it hit the wood woke Malfoy up.
He rose, then the sun illuminated him completely. A fringe that Harry never knew Malfoy had fell over his squinting grey eyes, only they were not grey, the one of the right of his face was a desaturated blue and a faint scar was running over–
"If you're done staring, can you tell me what's going on?"
Harry's ears pinkened, "Well, uh, Slughorn is–"
"Never mind, I figured it out for myself," he leaned back, covering his mouth as he yawned.
Harry looked back at Ron with a look of desperation, then down at his notebook where he was playing pic-pac-poe with Seamus.
Hermione spotted his quiet cry for help and mouthed, Wormwood and lavender.
Harry nodded and hoped she didn't know he had no clue what Slughorn was saying because he was too busy staring at Malfoy.
He floated the wormwood over his beaker.
Malfoy was frowning at the potion. His concentration broke as the wormwood fell beside his vessel.
Now he was frowning at Harry, "Everyday I get more and more surprised at how incompetent you can be," and dropped it into Harry's beaker.
He conjured a transparent liquid for him. Harry rested one elbow on the table and went back to staring with his face on his hand, half of Malfoy's figure hovering in the refraction of the beaker.
Malfoy's hands worked effortlesly through each leaf of lavender. The same arm bared the Dark Mark had helped Harry. Even if it was just an inconvenience to Malfoy to have his deskmate dropping ingredients, he smiled at the possibility that Malfoy simply wanted to help him.
"Still staring?" He glanced at him from the corner of his eye.
Harry didn't have a justification, "You look good in the light."
He swore he could've seen a second of a smile on Malfoy's face–
"Oh, but I look better when it's dark."
It was the middle of the night, and the two insomniacs couldn't sleep– but Malfoy had brewed a perfect Dreamless sleep in class, and said he'd split it amongst him and Harry. They decided to wait an hour to celebrate being able sleep in on the weekend. The third years were celebrating something as well, at the campfire — the flames flew up and outside the glass window on the wall of Malfoy's bed.
Malfoy insisted on finding Harry to a good book and 'feel the thrill of finishing an amazing story.'
"Do you think it would be weird if I popped up in a dream?" Harry asked, leaning against the bookshelf.
"Can't say you already haven't."
He blinked, not expecting such a response. "The same here. Was it bad?"
"Some were bad, some were not."
Draco peeled a book from the shelf, and placed it in Harry's hand, "Wouldn't you like to know?"
He couldn't see the title of the book in the dark, so he ran his fingers along the spine.
Malfoy retreated to his bed.
"I want to read it," Harry said.
"Not now, I need to sleep."
"You can't rattle on about a book and–"
"Then come sit by the window."
Harry climbed into Malfoy's bed. He sunk into the soft mattress, perpendicular to him. The had to bend his knees so he didn't throw his legs over Malfoy.
An hour passed, and Malfoy hadn't taken the potion yet.
"The night is a thief that steals the colours from the day." Harry read from the book,
Harry noticed, "It's kind of pretty, if you like words. But it's not exactly true."
"Do enlighten me, Potter."
"There are colors at night," he put down the book and crawled beside Malfoy, "The burning red of passion," he grabbed one end of his scarf, "The angry green of jealousy."
Jealous eyes met those filled with sorrow.
Then met oblivion as the fire outside extinguished.
"And the ugly, terrifying black."
He heard Malfoy's lips part and tugged the scarf, finding him breathing on his face.
He brought his fingers to Malfoy's cheek, quietly feeling it as if wiping away tears.
Malfoy let out a sharp exhale, "Will you–"
He was silenced by the kiss.
Harry opened his eyes. There was something heavy on his chest,
and that something was white,
the sunlight that met the dawn
made it very hard for him to tell.
He rubbed his eyes. Then realised that it was Draco Malfoy on his chest.
And that they had both fell asleep without any potion.
"All we needed was eachother," Harry buried his face in Draco's hair, "I'll be the Sun to your stars."
Thanks for reading! This work is a part of @flashfictionfridayofficial.
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