Diffraction Patterns (I Don't Know How to Forget You)

Chapter 3: Entanglement

"Was that a shock? For your parents?"

Draco smirked. "Probably. We've never really talked about it. We haven't talked about much of anything, since..."

"Right."

Harry drew his knees up to his chest, pulling his cloak around himself.

"Now you're cold," Draco complained. "Come on, let's get back."

"Will you be okay? Walking back?"

"Yes, yes," he snapped. "I have two legs, haven't I?"

As Harry stood, Draco took a minute to compose himself. In truth, his head was still spinning, and his chest was tight, but if they waited for him to feel better, they would be in the forest until morning.

"Here," Harry said, offering his hand.

Draco waved him away. "I'm fine. Just give me a second."

"Don't be a prat," Harry said, reaching down for him. Draco relented, sighing loudly as he took Harry's hand.

"You do realize," Draco sneered as he slowly stood up, "that you could have just conjured another blanket for me? Or used a Warming Charm? You didn't need to give me your beloved jumper."

Harry shrugged. "I like you wearing it. You should keep it."

Draco blinked at him. He was at a loss for words. And he wasn't very impressed with Harry's ability to say things that threw him off-kilter. Pursing his lips, he took his hand back. "If I keep this ratty thing, you'll have nothing else to wear. It's all I ever see you in."

Harry turned to Vanish the blanket and pillow, a furtive smile on his face. "That's a funny thing to notice."

Mortified, Draco pulled the bloody jumper off as quickly as he could. He ignored Harry's sniggering, his heart beating frantically in his chest. As Harry sorted out his cloak and jumper, Draco strode to the edge of the clearing. With his back turned to Harry, he felt along his throat, startled at how quickly his pulse was racing.

Was it so odd, to notice these things? It was normal, he had told himself stubbornly over the years. Everyone looked. And he couldn't help it if there weren't exactly that many good-looking blokes in their year, and if Harry just so happened to have the brightest green eyes he had ever seen. And he couldn't help it, either, if Harry looked fantastic on his broomstick, all wiry strength and tanned skin and arrogant smile that Draco both did and did not loathe. And what was he supposed to do when Harry was so innately tactile, so physical, when he laughed so easily with his friends and wore his stupid navy jumper that looked so soft and so cozy? Even Blaise had admitted once, after several firewhiskies, that Harry wasn't bad-looking. And for Blaise, that was very high praise indeed.

Bewildered, Draco followed Harry back to the castle. He kept as much distance between them as he could. He knew what was happening. Once again, it seemed, he had decided to betray himself. His perpetual attempts at self-sabotage knew no end. In a moment of panic, he wondered if perhaps Harry would be able to see what he felt, going through his memories. But no, he wouldn't. It would never come up. Because whatever he felt for Harry, it was the exact opposite of all the misery and malevolence associated with his Mark. The two things could not have been more diametrically opposed.

***

Draco was in an unusually good mood when he arrived at breakfast the next morning. This meant, of course, that Pansy interrogated him the moment he sat down.

"What's happened?" she asked, watching as he poured himself a cup of tea.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked. "Nothing's happened."