Harry treasures these moments. He lies boneless and sated in Draco’s too big bed, allowing his heart to settle and find its rhythm again, after a half hour of being taken apart carefully by expert hands. His skin still tingles where he cast a cleaning charm, and he slowly regains control of his lungs, synchronizing his breath with the quiet rustling of cloth as Draco gets dressed at the foot of the bed.
He’s beautiful, standing between Harry and the window, the low evening sun shining behind him and giving him a halo of floating particles. For a moment, he seems imaginary, elusive, like light. Then his eyes meet Harry’s as he finishes buttoning his shirt and the corner of his lip turns up.
“You have no idea how beautiful you look,” he says, eyes fixed on him, and Harry’s heart stutters. “I almost want you to stay like this, not wear clothes ever again.”
There’s people outside the room. Harry can hear them, but it’s as if they don’t exist. Draco’s voice is the only thing his consciousness latches onto.
“Unfortunately, we’re already late for dinner,” Draco continues. Harry’s eyes follow his movements as he bends down to pick up a white shirt. He motions at Harry to sit up, and he does, sliding closer to him on the bed, until he has him standing between his legs. He helps Harry slide his arms into the sleeves of his shirt, and buttons it as he speaks. “Someday, though, when we’re out of here, I’ll have you all for myself, and we won’t have to wear clothes at all if we don’t want to.”
Harry can imagine it. Both of them out of Hogwarts, spending their nights together and finally being able to sleep in. Not having to be a secret.
He smiles. “Is that a threat, mister Malfoy?”
“A promise, mister Potter.”
Draco picks up a tie and wraps it around Harry’s neck, he begins to tie it with the easy confidence that comes from performing a well practiced motion. His pale eyebrows are furrowed as if in concentration, but Harry knows he could tie a windsor in his sleep. He bites down a smile.
“Mister Malfoy?” He sing-songs.
He doesn’t get an immediate reply, but he sees Draco’s smile widen as he finishes the knot. Once it’s done, he wraps his fingers around the green silk carefully and pulls, bringing Harry up. Grey looks into green, smug, playful.
“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” His hands come to Harry’s face and straighten his glasses.
“Unless you’re calling me a snake, I believe my tie is over there,” he points at his desk with a finger, where he can see red and yellow spread on the backrest of his chair.
“I’m not calling you a snake,” the smile is evident in Draco’s voice, a glint in his eyes betrays excitement. “What would your friends say if you walked into the Great Hall like this? If they knew you’re mine?”
The words travel down Harry’s body, straight to a recently fulfilled part of him, that nevertheless recognizes the attractive promise in Draco’s elegant voice. “They would think something’s going on between us.”
He stands there against the light, an angel, ethereal, and until very recently, untouchable.
Harry wants him. He wants to wear his colors, he wants the world to know he would do anything to keep him smiling like that.
“You wear mine,” he whispers. Draco’s grin transforms his teasing expression into one of triumph.
To hell with the consequences. He’s Draco’s. It’s time for the world to know.
Enormous thanks to @buttertyrant for reading over it, and @mzuul because pretty much everything I write these days comes from my conversations with her ❤️