Work Text:
~~ I ~~
Harry’s been dating Draco for three months now, but somehow, his partner continues to surprise him.
He’d been walking the castle grounds, enjoying the crisp air of approaching fall, when he spotted Draco’s pale hair from beneath a tree next to the Great Lake. Harry’s face broke into a grin, and he made his way over on light feet, hoping to surprise the blonde, but as he got closer, he paused.
He’d witnessed enough of Draco’s expressions throughout the years, that he was confident that he had a good grasp on reading his partner.
After all, they’d spent first and second year antagonizing each other, third growing into a grudging respect which morphed into a secret friendship, meeting up in private and sharing secretive smiles during fourth, until Draco had kissed him a few months into fifth year, and their relationship became official.
This expression was new.
Draco’s face always held a slight tension. Harry had seen his dignified expression morph into something resembling soft as of late, but this was complete relaxation. The furrow behind his eyebrows, tense jawline, and carefully neutral set of his lips were wiped away, leaving him looking open and vulnerable in a way he’d never expected from the regal boy.
It was beautiful.
Harry watched him for a few minutes, transfixed. Eventually, he was able to tear his gaze away from the Draco’s expression and drop to the object of his attention, a sketchbook.
Huh. That was new. Harry didn’t know Draco could draw.
He took a few steps closer, hoping to get a better look at what the blonde was sketching, but as distracted as he was, he forgot to watch his feet and a leaf crunched under his foot.
Draco’s head whipped around, alarmed.
He softened when he saw Harry, but the sketchbook disappeared into his cloak with a practiced movement. If Harry hadn’t watched him use it moments ago, he wouldn’t have caught the way it slid smoothly out of sight.
“Hey,” Harry greeted, taking a seat next to his partner when he was invited by a pat to the hard earth. “Enjoying the weather?”
“Trying to make the best of the sun before it gets truly cold.”
Harry huffed a laugh, pulling his wand from his holster to cast a warming charm. The way Draco’s shoulders relaxed gave Harry an idea of how long he’d been outside.
“That better?”
“Much.” Draco said, leaning into Harry’s side.
Harry desperately wanted to ask about the sketchbook, but the lingering tension in the corners of Draco’s eyes made him think twice.
His boyfriend would show him when he was ready.
~~ II ~~
“Point me Draco Malfoy” Harry mutters under his breath, watching as his wand spins, settling with the tip facing toward the greenhouses.
Harry frowns, Draco has herbology on Thursday, and it’s Friday. Not to mention that it’s currently half an hour past dinner.
Wondering what his partner could possibly be up to, he makes his way across the grounds, pulling his cloak around him to ward off the frigid wind. It would snow any day now, Harry hoped. In his opinion, if the temperature dipped under zero degrees Celsius, he was entitled to some snow.
The greenhouses were blessedly warm. Harry followed his wand to the back of one, pulling up short when he spotted Draco, hands covered in dirt as he transferred a small, leafy plant into a larger pot.
He handled it with care, shoveling more soil into the pot and smoothing the top, muttering a quiet spell to send a light sprinkle of water out of the tip of his wand.
That peaceful, contented look was on his face again, and Harry forgot to breathe for a moment.
How he’d managed to gain the affection of such a beautiful person, he’d never know.
Harry took a step forward, gravel crunching underfoot, and Draco looked up, startled. He smiled at Harry, but once again, that peaceful look was wiped from his face.
Harry hid his disappointment to the best of his ability. He would never begrudge Draco his secrets, but Harry couldn’t wait for the day that his partner would realize that he didn’t need to hide the things he clearly enjoyed.
“I didn’t know you gardened.” Harry comments, voice lacking any hint of teasing. He doesn’t want Draco to think Harry’s mocking him.
Draco scoffs, but there’s a tilt to his lips that gives his annoyance away as nothing but a false pretense, “Of course I can take care of plants, no self-respecting potions master can’t garden. Outsourcing every common ingredient would be outrageously expensive.”
“Does that mean Snape gardens?” Harry tries to imagine his scowling professor kneeling in the gravel, long sleeves getting dirty as he weeded and watered plants. It was a ridiculous thought, but one Harry found himself amused by.
Draco pauses, then grimaces, “I assume that he gets his ingredients from Professor Sprout.”
That's a no then, Harry thinks to himself, a little smugly.
“Would you like a hand?”
Draco gives him a doubtful once over, “I don’t recall your herbology grade being exceptionally good.”
“That’s fair,” Harry grimaced, “But I’m good at following directions.”
Draco’s gaze grows heavy at Harry’s words, “That you are.”
There’s a moment in which Harry’s sure the blonde would going to abandon his plants for something a little more exciting than gardening, but Draco’s attention goes back to his dirt-covered hands. “Get over here, I’m sure I can find something you can't possibly manage to muck up.”
Harry grins.
~~ III ~~
Harry didn’t know that Hogwarts had a music room, and the dungon seems a strange place for one, but as he peeked his head in, following the Marauder’s Map, he blinked, shocked.
Draco was playing the piano.
The blonde glanced up when Harry nudged the door open far enough to slip in, but doesn’t stop, turning his attention back to the instrument.
His jaw had clenched at the opening of the door, but it relaxed as he continued to focus on the sheet music in front of him. It was the closest Harry had seen to that vulnerable expression he’d caught on Draco the first time he’d encountered one of the blonde’s hobbies.
It sent a thrill through Harry’s heart to know that his boyfriend was becoming less and less afraid of showing his true interests to him by the day.
Draco’s fingers fly across the ivory keys, graceful and without hesitation. It’s a clearly practiced skill and the longer Harry watches, the more he's drawn to his partner’s hands.
The silver ring with his family crest on the middle finger of his right hand, a black snake wrapped around his pinky, making his delicate bone structure even more stunning. Draco keeps his nails well-kept, and they shine as he presses the pads of his fingers gently on each key. The veins on the back of his hands move under his skin, showing a faint blue tint to his milky complexion.
Harry can feel himself blushing as he imagines those hands- no this was not the time to fantasize. He’s here to listen, nothing more.
“When did you learn to play?” He asks, hoping to distract himself
“Mother insisted I learn an instrument,” Draco says, the music continuing despite the blonde’s attention being split.
Harry tries to remember to breathe. He’ll be the first to admit that he finds competency very attractive and Draco’s blatantly showing off his skill, but he’s still talking so Harry makes an effort to listen.
“Piano is regarded as a high-class instrument, so Father agreed to pay for my lessons. Not that he took an interest in my music.” His face darkens a little, and Harry scowls. He’s glad that he has very little interaction with Lucius Malfoy. He might just throw caution to the wind and hex the man.
“You’re very good.” Harry remarks, trying not to let the undertone of anger ruin the moment. By the sideways glance, Draco throws at him, he’s unsuccessful, but he refocuses on his instrument, so Harry doesn’t think he minds.
“I’m a Malfoy,” Draco sniffs haughtily, “Of course I’m good.”
There’s a light of amusement fully present in his eyes, as Harry takes a careful seat on the bench, doing his best to stay out of the way of Draco’s moving arms.
Yeah, Harry really was lucky to be dating Draco.
~~ IV ~~
On the way out of potions, Draco bumped into him with a sneer.
They both had their roles to play, Golden Boy Harry Potter and the son of Lucius Malfoy weren't supposed to be seen fraternizing. They’d turned it into a bit of a game though, throwing light-hearted insults under the pretense of baleful glares and scathing comments.
Harry didn’t think he or Draco would admit it, but insulting each other had always been skirting the edge of flirting in their books.
Ducking into an alcove at the soonest opportunity, Harry reaches into his pocket, pulling out the scrap of parchment to read the elegant handwriting.
Third floor on the east wing - classroom 315 - 8pm
Re-reading it a few times to memorize the instructions, Harry burns the paper on the tip of his wand, watching it crumple into ash with a smile. He wasn’t sure what his partner is up to now, but he’s eager to find out.
. . . .
Hogwarts had to have had an art class at some point in the past, for there was no other possible explanation for the dusty easels propped against the wall, the drying racks in the corner, and large, distinctly tilted desks meant for drawing.
Harry find himself unable to give the room much thought though. His attention was solely focused on his boyfriend, sitting in front of an easel, an open sketchbook on the table to his left.
“What are you doing?” Harry asked, curious at the unfamiliar sight.
Draco raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “What does it look like I’m doing, Harry?”
Harry rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly. “I didn’t know you could paint”
At that, Draco scoffed. “Yes, well, I don’t go around making a fuss about it.”
If he hadn't even told Harry after 5 months of dating, Harry suspected he did more than just not flaunt it. Actively hide it was more accurate.
He crossed the room, coming to a stop next to the sketchbook. The page open had an incredibly detailed picture of his face. Harry blinked in surprise, reaching for it, but paused, fingers hovering an inch away from the paper.
He looked to Draco, “May I?”
Draco nodded, watching Harry’s face carefully.
There were dozens of drawings of him in various positions and lighting. Some were clearly just portraits, while others showed him reading in the library or flying on his broom. Astonished by the clear showing of an incredible memory and eye for detail, Harry found himself studying each one carefully.
“These are beautiful,” Harry breathed, delighting in the way Draco’s face flushed pink, a small, pleased smile pulling at the corners of his lips.
Harry continued to flip to a part of the sketchbook that seemed to be reserved for sketches of the castle grounds. Landing on one of the lake, Harry smiled.
“This was a few weeks ago, wasn’t it?”
“Ah, so you did catch me. I wasn’t sure if you’d seen when you didn’t mention it.”
“I didn’t want to press. I knew you’d tell me when you were ready.”
Draco groaned, “Always the gentleman.”
“At your service.” Harry bowed dramatically, earning another groan. The sketchbook was pried from his hands. Harry was loathe to see it go, but he didn’t try to hold onto it. Hopefully, he’d get a chance to look at it again some other time.
Draco turned his attention to the easel, coating a brush in something a little too thick to be paint.
“What’s that white stuff?”
“It’s primer. I use a coat or two before starting my sketch to prep the canvas.”
“Prep the canvas?” Harry echoed, not following.
“They’re made of fabric,” Draco explained, patiently, “And therefore have minuscule holes that if not filled, will give your painting a textured look. If I was working on an abstract or landscape piece, I might leave it be, but portraits are best smooth.”
He murmured a drying spell, watching as the primer went from shiny and wet, to matte. Harry hadn't thought about the perks of magic when it came to art, but the ability to dry a canvas in seconds seemed like something that would be coveted by muggle artists.
“Mind if I watch?” Harry asked, still unsure as to why he was there.
“You can do me one better. I was going to paint you. Obviously” he adds, cheeks flushing. “Would you be so kind as to model for me?”
Harry gaped at him for a second.
Draco wanted to paint him? Right now? If his sketchbook was anything to go by, it would be a marvelous piece of art, and the blonde certainly had experience with Harry’s face, but he’d never expected someone wanting to paint him, just because.
It made something in his chest grow warm, and he surged forward to capture the blonde’s lips in a heartfelt kiss.
Pulling back once he’d conveyed the adoration he felt for his boyfriend, he rested his forehead against Draco’s. “I think I can manage that.”
With some reluctance, Harry let Draco prod him away from his preferred location -draped around his boyfriend- and into a position the blonde was happy with.
Draco clearly held his hobbies close to his heart, but Harry was glad that the blonde was willing to share them with him.
. . . .
Harry was right, the painting was stunning. Draco had filled the dark windows with the fading golden light of a dying sunset, a few rays dusting over Harry’s neck and face. There were specks of dust illuminated in the sunlight that shimmered behind him, making his light brown skin seem to glow.
In the painting, Harry’s lips were quirked in his trade-marked lopsided smile, but the thing that really caught Harry’s attention was the love displayed clearly in his eyes. Harry was looking at Draco like the blonde was his everything, and Draco had captured it like he’d taken a photo.
The blonde seemed pleased with himself as he painted a top coat over the whole thing and sat back.
“I’d say it’s one of my better works.”
“It’s gorgeous.” Harry breathed, unable to pull his gaze away.”
“I’ll have to show you the others I’ve done sometime. Mother turned one of the studies into a gallery of sorts.”
“Are you going to add this one to the collection?”
Draco shifted, “I was rather thinking of putting it up in my room.”
Sweet Salazar, this man would be the death of him. Harry thought as he pulled Draco in for another kiss. It was slow and sweet, and they only pulled away when their lungs protested form the lack of oxygen.
“I love you,” Harry breathed into the air between them, and finally, Draco’s face fully relaxed.