He first knew it when Potter was sitting with him during Potions in their eighth year. He could smell him, he could see the way his hands shook whenever he would work on a potions lab.
Seeing Harry Potter in all of his magical glory was really what helped Draco realize it.
"Draco," Potter grinned one morning as soon as Draco sat next to him in Potions, "goodmorning."
This confused Draco to no end. First off, since when were they on a first-name-basis? Secondly, he couldn't understand how it could possibly be a goodmorning for him, considering he had to sit next to Potter and listen to his nonsense for an hour.
The portrait of his godfather explained the potion they would be brewing today, Pepper-Up Potion. Draco quickly sent Potter off to retrieve the ingredients from the cupboard at the back of the room, while he prepared the cauldron and the tools they would be using.
It was common knowledge that Harry Potter was not an excelling student in Potions, but Draco couldn't understand why it took him five minutes to fetch the ingredients. He impatiently strolled to the cupboard to see what was holding him up.
As soon as he entered the cramped cupboard, he ran into the back of the one-and-only Harry Potter. He was having a hushed conversation with Theodore Nott. Once his presence was known, the talking ceased, and Potter grinned at him.
"Why, Draco," he began, "fancy seeing you here."
"Yes, fancy seeing me in my own class," Draco rolled his eyes, "I came here to fetch the ingredients that you obviously couldn't."
He began to collect what he needed, only to notice that Nott had left. He required the "eyelashes of Hippogriff" which was on the highest shelf. Draco wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he wasn't particularly tall. He strained his one hand up, only to feel the pressure of hands lifting him up.
This was not a position Draco Malfoy wanted to be in, at the time, but he took the opportunity and grabbed the jar anyway.
Once he was on his feet again, he nodded at Potter who had rosy-tint to his cheeks, but was smiling nonetheless. Leaving the cupboard, he tried not to look baffled even as everyone (including Dumbledore who "coincidentally" entered Snape's portrait at the time) looked at the duo as if expecting something.
As they arrived at their seats, Draco watched as Harry began chopping up a basil leaf. He saw his hair sticking to his face from the heat of the cauldron, and his glasses fogging up. Oh, Merlin. Draco knew it then.
Once he knew, he figured that the whole school was most likely in on the secret. Except for, newly-appointed, Headmaster McGonagall, actually. He figured this when he was inside of her office (which still smelled like Dumbledore, for the record).
"No, Mr. Malfoy. I will not change your rooming arrangements. We must enforce house-unity, and what better way to get through to the younger wizards than to place the eighth years in mixed-house dorms?"
Draco though of several different methods, perhaps even eliminating houses all together. He knew to keep his mouth closed, though, because the look in the woman's eyes showed that she would not be convinced otherwise.
The wrinkles surrounding her eyes also showed that she was way past her expiration date, and he constantly wondered how she managed to avoid death. If I was death, Draco thought, I wouldn't mess with Minerva McGonagall, either.
"I understand that, Headmaster, but Weasley constantly sneaks into the room in the middle of the night, no doubt from Granger's room." They ignored the chuckle Dumbledore let out from his portrait above them.
"I don't see how a room-change will prevent that from happening." She sighed these words out.
"It doesn't matter to me if it stops, I just don't want to deal with it."
"Mr. Malfoy, I can't ju-"
"No, no, I think the boy is right," Dumbledore spoke gruffly from his portrait. You could hear the smile in his voice, "Perhaps, we should switch Mr. Weasley with Mr. Potter?"
Draco Malfoy couldn't deny that he liked where this was going. What he didn't understand was how Dumbledore caught on to his feelings for the messy-haired boy so quickly. Draco made a decision to hide his feelings better, because if old men in portraits could figure them out, he was sure Potter could.
"Now, why would we do that, Dumbledore?"
Minerva McGonagall was practically competing with Harry Potter to win the title of 'Most Oblivious Person in Hogwarts'.
The sound of Dumbledore sighing was heard in the room, and Draco couldn't help but agree with the man.
"Well, I'll be going now. Perhaps I could get a few hours of sleep before Weasley comes into our room, only to leave again with Granger." Draco spoke as he rose from his seat to leave the room.
With McGonagall's complete lack of knowledge towards Draco Malfoy's feelings for Potter, he assumed that maybe the school didn't know. Maybe it was only Dumbledore. That thought alone made him feel a bit at ease.
He was strolling down to the Great Hall that morning, only to be yanked into a corridor. Pansy Parkinson and Hermione Granger looked at him expectantly, as though he was the one that pulled them into a corridor.
"What?" He questioned impatiently. If their little chat was going to happen at this rate, he would miss the fried tomatoes.
"We think that you should stop acting oblivious, and just be with Harry." Granger rushed out as Pansy nodded alongside her.
"I'm the oblivious one?" Draco said incredulously.
"Oh, you have to forgive Harry," Granger waved his comment off with a flick of her hand, "he doesn't get things sometimes."
"I'll have you know, I am completely fine with pining after Potter. Leave me alone." These were words that Draco never thought he would ever say in his life. His father was writhing in his grave.
Draco now figured that, yeah, the whole school was probably aware of his problem. You would think that maybe someone would actually help him solve it, but he continued to talk to Parkinson and Granger about how this was all his fault for not taking action and winning Harry over.
The thing is, Draco isn't a man of action.
So people knew, that is, except for Potter (and maybe McGonagall, as she tended to watch them closely nowadays, as though they would break out into a fight at any moment). Which was quite a nuisance really, because now here he was in the library. The Boy Who Lived was his only companion, completing a Transfiguration Essay, and he was burning with want.
Over the past few weeks, Potter had weaseled (no pun intended) into Draco's everyday life. They played chess, went to Hogsmeade, and ate together. Draco was in no position to complain, but everyday he found that he craved Potter more and more.
The library was silent, except for the quiet sound of Dumbledore trying to make his breathing inconspicuous. All he smelled was musty, magical books and the boy next to him. He seriously wondered how a boy capable of defeating the most powerful dark wizard in the world could be so absolutely oblivious.
Now, for the record, Draco Malfoy was not an observant person, himself. He had only realized his true feelings for the Golden Boy a few weeks ago. Whereas, the majority of the school population had figured it out during their sixth year (according to Seamus Finnigan who explained that he and Nott have a bet going on how long it will take for Draco to cave into Harry. The bet has been running for over two years.). Draco didn't understand how he could have gone for so long without thinking about Potter that way.
Harry Potter, however, was a different level of obliviousness than Draco had ever had the displeasure of encountering in his life. It was a wonder that the boy realized there was a nose-less man after him in the first place.
"What are you reading?" Potter turned to him and pushed his glasses up.
Draco simply turned his book to show Potter the cover.
"You know, you don't have to stay with me while I finish my essay." Potter smiled at him.
"Well, I can't leave you alone, now can I?" Draco rolled his eyes.
Potter casually toyed with a piece of Draco's hair, and even though his face was set in a frown, it secretly drove him mad.
He and Potter continued to share light conversation. They covered news concerning Quidditch, their N.E.W.T.s, and the other eighth years. Draco found talking with Potter was quite easy. Their conversations drove late into the night, and Draco was still not fulfilled. Eventually, Harry decided he ought to complete his essay, and Draco finish his book.
Draco had yet to figure out what got him in this dilemma. He had half-a-mind to pin it on McGonagall and her attempts at enforcing "house unity" between the eighth years. If he had stayed with his fellow Slytherins in their chambers, he would have never noticed the way Potter's hair flopped into his eyes. He would've been too busy restoring the Malfoy name to care about Potter's matured voice. He definitely wouldn't have noticed the way the boy's eyes gleamed with determination as tried to complete a potion. He would've never realized what he'd known all along. Damn it, Minerva.
As Draco pondered over the absurdity of his situation, a light snoring from his side shook him out of his thoughts. Potter had fallen asleep on his parchment and the ink on his quill was beginning to drip. He looked so vulnerable and delicate lying there. The light pink of his cheeks, accompanied by the gentle rise-and-fall of his lungs shook something inside of Draco.
Draco thought quick about what one of Potter's friends would do. Making a natural decision, he gently shook Potter's sleeping form.
"Potter," his shaking only resulted in Potter crinkling his nose and then recommencing his snoring, "wake up."
Draco sighed and felt a bit bad for trying to awaken the boy. He had been working so hard recently. It was no surprise he was exhausted. So, Draco carefully scooped the boy up in his arms. Throughout the past year, Draco had grown slightly taller than Potter, whilst keeping his lanky form. He silently enchanted their equipment to follow them as he begun to walk to the Eighth Year Common Room. There weren't a large amount of returners, and they couldn't simply sleep with the underclassmen. McGonagall decided to place them all in the same quarters. This was also another attempt to promote the idea of house-unity to the younger wizards.
Draco tried to walk without running into any bumps. He narrowly avoided any disruptions that may wake Potter from his slumber. He would occasionally check to see if their possessed possessions were still trailing behind him.
Upon reaching the portrait of Sir William Arthur that hid their common room, Draco quickly mumbled the password. He tried to act as though he didn't see the knowing look the man gave him as he entered.
Potter's room assignment had been with Blaise Zabini, some Hufflepuff boy, and Neville Longbottom. Draco was sure they were asleep, but had no problem waking them up.
He knocked at their dormitory door, until a very frazzled-looking Blaise Zabini opened the door.
"I believe this belongs in your room." Draco said gesturing to the boy in his arms.
Zabini rolled his eyes and moved to let Draco enter the room. It smelled like pine and there was only one untouched bed in the corner. He carefully set Potter on the bed, perhaps standing to look at him a bit too long.
He was met with a grunt from Zabini as the door shut behind him. Draco found his way back to his room with the Weasel, Finnigan, and Nott. There wasn't even a shift in the room when he entered. Draco laid in his bed and thought about what mode of action he should take.
However, Draco wasn't a man of action.
He knew this, and he doubted he ever would be. He fell asleep that night already accepting his Potterless future.
The next morning, he went down to the Great Hall only to notice Potter. He only ever thought of Potter these days. Today was the day that the ceiling had begun to snow and everyone was planning their plans for the break. Potter, however, sat and ate his fried tomatoes glumly. Draco didn't understand why though, it was no secret that the boy would typically accompany the Weasel to his Weasel home.
He decided to take a seat next to the gloomy boy.
"It's a wonder you were given the name "the Golden Boy," Draco began, catching his attention, "what with your depressed persona."
He watched as Potter laughed, and ignored how good it made him feel to bring joy to the boy next to him. Damn it, Potter.
"I wouldn't be so "depressed" if you would have told me." Potter now sat with his chin is his hands facing Draco. Draco resisted the urge to straighten his glasses which were slightly crooked.
Once the words left Potter's mouth, Draco didn't know what he should do. He didn’t know how to respond to this situation. He looked at his nearby eighth years, and saw Neville Longbottom giving him a nervous thumbs-up. Pansy tried to hide her grin as she drank her pumpkin juice. Damn it.
"I didn’t think you wanted that," Draco tried to speak as clearly as he could, given the heart-shattering circumstances.
"I think I know what I want better than you do," the boy gave Draco a grin as his words sunk in.
"It’s not my fault you were completely oblivious to my advances." Draco let a smile through. He ignored the way that the corner of Hermione's mouth quirked up at his words.
"Advances? Draco, you won’t even touch my skin! Last night was the closest we've ever been, and I was asleep." Potter threw his hands up and grinned.
"Well, I'm gentleman, and I have yet to even properly court you." his eyes twinkled as he said this, and Potter's cheeks were rosy with life.
Potter bit his lip before he spoke. Draco tried not to let his eyes focus on the action, or the way that Dumbledore inconspicuously wandered into the portrait behind them.
"You're going to court me?"
Draco was suddenly a man of action.
"I don’t think your dad will be too happy with this news." Potter chuckled and danced his hand closer to Draco.
"Well, he's not the one doing the courting." Draco gingerly played with the boy's fingers.
This was the second time Draco knew it. He knew he was in love. Potter did, too.
