Whispers and Wand Closets

Chapter Three: Whispers and Wand Closets

By breakfast the next morning, it was already happening.

The whispers.

Harry could feel them clinging to the air like fog as he entered the Great Hall. He barely made it three steps past the doorway before Seamus gave a very dramatic gasp and whispered, "They're saying you snogged Malfoy in the library."

Harry choked on nothing.

“I didn’t—I mean—we didn’t—who said that?!”

Seamus raised an eyebrow. “Madam Pince. Loudly. While throwing out a pair of Hufflepuff third-years for breathing on the Enchanted Encyclopaedia of Banned Cauldrons.”

Harry dropped his head to the table with a thud.

Ron slid a plate of eggs toward him. “So it’s true, then.”

Hermione didn’t even glance up from The Daily Prophet. “You kissed him twice, technically.”

Harry groaned. “This is a nightmare.”

Across the room, at the Slytherin table, Draco was entirely unbothered. His hair was perfect, his tie was straight, and he was smirking. Of course he was smirking.

Harry, meanwhile, felt like he was going to combust.

Draco looked up.

They locked eyes.

And Draco—the menace—winked.

Harry knocked over his pumpkin juice.

---

They didn’t speak for the rest of the day.

Not really.

There were moments—fleeting glances across classrooms, brushes of hands when their paths crossed in the corridor, a far-too-long pause by the entrance to Potions before Draco muttered, “You’re rubbish at avoiding me, you know,” and vanished down the stairs.

Harry couldn’t tell if it was nerves or something worse—something hopeful—that made his stomach flutter every time he caught a glimpse of platinum blond in the crowd.

After dinner, a note arrived.

Neat, elegant script on enchanted parchment that folded itself into a tiny origami dragon before unfolding in Harry’s hands.

Greenhouse Three. Ten o'clock. Don’t be late.

No name.

No signature.

He went anyway.

---

The air in Greenhouse Three was warm and thick with the scent of damp soil and moonflowers. Harry stepped inside, careful not to disturb the sleeping Devil’s Snare curled near the entrance. He didn’t have to wait long.

Draco emerged from behind a row of glowing puffapods, expression unreadable.

“You came,” he said softly.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “You did ask nicely. Well. Sort of.”

Draco stepped closer, eyes shadowed in the greenhouse light. “You’re really awful at sneaking around.”

“Is that what we’re doing? Sneaking?”

Draco shrugged, fingers brushing a silver leaf beside him. “You tell me.”

Harry didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached up, gently tucking a pale petal behind Draco’s ear.

Draco blinked. “That was… unnecessarily charming.”

Harry smirked. “You're rubbing off on me.”

There was a silence—not awkward, not uncertain. Just full of something unsaid.

“So,” Draco said finally. “What does this mean?”

Harry hesitated. “I don’t know. Yet. But I want to find out.”

Draco tilted his head. “And you’re not just doing this to beat me at my own game?”

“You kissed me first,” Harry pointed out.

“You kissed back.”

Harry grinned. “Yeah. I really did.”

They might’ve kissed again, right then and there—if it weren’t for the soft ahem that echoed across the greenhouse like a spell.

They froze.

Dumbledore stood just inside the doorway, robes glowing faintly in the moonlight, expression mild and maddeningly twinkly.

“Greenhouse Three,” he mused. “A popular choice for budding romances. Though I must say, I expected you two to favor dueling rooms and secret staircases.”

Neither boy spoke.

Dumbledore stepped forward, inspecting a puffapod like it held all the answers. “Now, I don’t wish to interfere. Young hearts and all that. But perhaps... try not to let Madam Pince catch you again. She’s still hexing the floorboards.”

Harry coughed. “You—you knew?”

Dumbledore smiled. “My dear boy. I’ve known since the day you both tried to hex each other and accidentally caused a chandelier to fall only on Professor Binns’ chair.”

“That was his fault,” Harry muttered.

Draco crossed his arms. “You aimed first.”

“I was provoked!”

Dumbledore raised a hand. “Yes, yes. Provocation, retaliation, accidental romantic tension—it’s a tale as old as time. I simply suggest you be discreet. Hogwarts is... observant.”

And with a final nod, he turned and disappeared into the night, humming something suspiciously like a love song.

Draco exhaled. “Well. That wasn’t horrifying at all.”

Harry grinned. “Could’ve been worse. He could’ve asked for details.”

Draco made a face. “If he ever does, I’m transferring to Durmstrang.”

They laughed—too loud, too free—and when Harry leaned in this time, the kiss was easy.

---

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