Chapter 6
In Which We See That Beauty May Be Truth, But Fashion Often Lies

Harry arrived at Draco's room freshly showered and empty-handed. "Did you dump the tray on yourself or something, Potter?" Draco's irritating drawl was back in place, and Harry sighed inwardly at the lost momentum.

"Nope. Took a shower 'cos I'm going to be trying on your clothes, presumably, and I thought it'd be the polite thing to do." He pushed past Draco into the tiny room and flopped gracelessly onto the one spot free of clothing, an overstuffed chair he was pretty sure Draco had been saving for himself. "As for the food, the elves insisted on room service."

"Ah," said Draco, rummaging through the piles on the bed and pulling out some mysterious-looking bundles. "And here I was thinking my allure had gotten too great, and you'd gone and had a nice wank in the shower."

Harry's cheeks pinked, but nothing stirred down below. He had, in fact, had three nice wanks in the shower, until even thoughts of Draco naked and begging couldn't make him stir. "I think I can keep from ravishing you for a few more hours, Draco."

"You'd better start stripping, then. I'm assuming you're shy, but there's just not room for a privacy screen." He shrugged, gesturing around the room as though ashamed to have so little to offer.

The room was small, yes, but opulently furnished. A 4-poster bed about half again as wide as Harry's took up most of the space, shoved into the corner farthest from the door. The bed, like everything in the room, was a mahogany so dark the wood seemed almost black, with the bedspread done in an equally dark green velvet with silver snakes embroidered around the edges. There was a small nightstand on one side, with a goblet and a book on it, along with an elaborate silver candelabra of twined snakes. It somehow managed to be graceful rather than menacing, and Harry wondered where it came from.

Along the wall opposite the bed, a wardrobe made a tight fit in the corner with the nightstand, the open doors brushing against the bedspread. Then came a wide dresser with a mirror on top, just barely leaving enough room for the door to open. There was a scattering of arcane-looking jars and bottles and boxes, and a faint carving on the dark wood that suggested more snakes. The chair Harry occupied was wedged in between the foot of the bed and the fourth wall, with a footstool and a spindly little table holding another book and smaller candelabra.

"When you're right, you're right," he said, blushing and echoing Draco's graceful shrug. "But I think I'll wait until after the food arrives to get starkers, thanks."

Draco's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Wouldn't want Dobby to get any ideas about you, now would we."

Harry snorted in an entirely undignified way as he imagined Dobby faced with his nude form crying out, "Harry Potter has given Dobby his very best wish!"

He was saved from coming up with a reply by the appearance of Dobby and another house elf, Harry presumed the one that usually kept Draco's room clean. Harry dissolved in quiet giggles while they set up a small tray in the space normally used to open the door, then bowed and vanished, both giving Harry a very odd look.

"You," he gasped out when they'd gone, "You, Draco Malfoy, are an evil, evil boy."

Draco drew himself up to his rather impressive full height and said, "I'll have you know you are the only boy in this room, Potter."

Rather than get angry, Harry could only laugh more. He managed to get out between giggles, "You volunteering to make me a man, Malfoy?" He even wiggled his eyebrows in a mock-leer.

Draco pinked a touch at the ears, but laughed right along with him. "Right, then. Let's see what there is to eat, and then I can see what I've got to work with."

It turned out there were favourites of both of theirs, spice cake for Draco and treacle tarts for Harry, chicken and blood pudding and some weird green thing that made Draco smile with delight. Seeing Draco in these unguarded moments tugged at Harry's insides and made him wonder what he'd been missing before the potion opened him up to the view. There were potatoes and biscuits and even a little bowl of fresh berries in cream that he had a feeling he'd have to fight Draco for.

"If I'm getting naked, I get the berries," he said, piling food on the plate provided. Draco turned towards him slowly, his face amused but possessive.

"Does that mean if I get naked, I get the berries?" he asked, voice low and even. It tugged on things lying mostly dormant, causing enough of a stir to make Harry worry.

"Then we can share," said Harry, grinning wickedly and adding, "Although if you want to eat them off my naked body, you can have them all."

Oddly enough, that seemed to upset Draco again, stone sliding down to wall off his eyes. "Naah," he said somewhat stiffly, taking his plate and commandeering the chair. "It'd get my sheets messy."

They ate in silence for awhile, uncomfortable now that the mood had been broken. Harry drank a long draught of pumpkin juice, then said, "Whatcha readin'?"

Draco looked startled, as though he'd forgotten he wasn't alone. "The one by the bed is a history of the last wizarding war. This one," he tapped the heavy book beside him, "is a very old book of defensive spells, many of which have left common usage for one reason or another."

Harry took a deep breath, smelling vanilla and jasmine, dust and parchment and crisp winter skies. Draco's room seemed familiar to him, not because of the colours or the clothes piled on the bed, but because no matter the trappings, it still felt like the room of a man preparing for war. Harry finished the last bite of his tart and snagged two spoons off the tray, along with the bowl of berries. Draco was busy with the last of his beef gravy, trying to soak it up with a biscuit without getting any on his robes, so he didn't even notice what Harry was up to until he sat down on the ottoman.

"What do you think you're doing with those," said Draco, eyes still the grey of unforgiving stone.

"Sharing them, of course," he replied, proffering Draco a spoon.

Draco blinked. Then he set his plate aside, crowding the tiny table to near-overflowing, and took the spoon wordlessly. They each dug into the bowl, and Harry watched the milk swirl in pink and lavender from the berries' juices even as he lifted the spoonful to his lips. He glanced at Draco just in time to see him close his eyes in obvious relish and slide the spoon back out of his mouth in what seemed to be an unconsciously sexy gesture.

Harry wondered what Draco was tasting, his own mouth filled with two blueberries and a fat hunk of wild strawberry, flavours melded together by the sweet cream. He dug in again as he chewed, snaring two fat blackberries and a tiny, fuzzy raspberry. "Raspberries are my favourite," said Draco softly, and Harry looked up to see a strange sort of hunger in his face.

He held the spoon out to Draco, hovering it at his lips like a communion cup. They locked eyes, and Draco slid his mouth forward on the spoon, bottom lip caressing the bowl of it, teeth bared above. He closed down at the end, then slid back out with that same sensual gesture, and Harry leaned back, trying to keep his breathing even.

"Look," he said, closing his eyes to get away from the rapture on Draco's face, "Either you like the flirting or you don't, but you have to pick one." He opened his eyes to see Draco looking somewhat taken aback. "You're almost as confusing as a girl, for bloody sakes, Draco!"

Draco blinked again, which Harry was learning meant he was faced with something unexpected. The gesture was almost familiar now, and it warmed something deep inside of him that he hadn't known was cold. "I suppose you're right," he said quietly, then sat back in the chair's embrace, berries forgotten.

Harry stole another bite before scooting in, getting together one large strawberry chunk, a blueberry and another of the surprisingly scarce little red raspberries. "Open wide," he said, grinning.

Draco's eyes came back into focus much clearer than before, mirroring Harry's amusement but tinged with something like regret. He ate the berries in a much more matter-of-fact way this time, and Harry quelled a slight feeling of disappointment. He'd learned to live without Cho Chang's affections, he supposed he could resign himself to a life of mere friendship with Draco Malfoy just as well.

And that was a thought odd enough to draw him up short, spoon halfway to his own lips. Milk dripped off the end to land on his knee with a splat. Draco grinned, then leaned forward, laying cool fingers against Harry's own and guiding the hand to his mouth. Harry opened wide, unconsciously mirroring Draco's earlier gesture as the spoon slid slowly past parted lips. The spoon tipped forward, spilling milk and berries into his mouth, then retreated while he held his mouth carefully open.

He chewed, swallowed and smiled. Draco stole his spoon and ate a bite of berries, eyes twinkling, a small smile playing around the edges of his expression. "What's your favourite, Potter?" asked Draco, smile blossoming into mischief.

"Er..." said Harry intelligently, eyes fixed on the drop of milk resting on Draco's lower lip. Draco's tongue, now deep red from the fruit, flicked out to catch the drop. "Oh! Blueberries."

Draco dipped the spoon into the nearly-empty bowl and came up with three round, plump blueberries. "Your turn again, Potter," he said.

Harry opened wide, this time consciously trying to act as a child rather than a lover. He leaned in, eyes mostly closed, and stuck his tongue out just a touch. He heard a stifled giggle from Draco and opened his eyes just in time to have the spoon zoomed like a broomstick coming in for a landing. He grabbed at the spoon, pulling it out on his own, glaring even as he chewed his treat.

He looked down into the bowl. Three blackberries, a wedge of strawberry and one lone raspberry were left sitting in a puddle of milk gone decidedly pink. He scooped up two of the blackberries and fed them to Draco, then snagged the strawberry and remaining blackberry for himself. Draco raised one cultured eyebrow at him as he plucked the final berry out with his fingers and held it, only trembling slightly, to Draco's lips.

"So, the flirting's back on, then?" said Draco, lips bruising the fruit ever so slightly.

"That's up to you, Draco," said Harry.

Draco lipped at the berry, breath grazing over Harry's hand. The trembling got slightly more noticeable and heat started trickling downwards. "If I just eat it, no antics, then that's it?"

Harry nodded. "I'll behave myself forevermore."

"Boring," Draco whispered, sliding lips and tongue and teeth over the berry, taking Harry's fingers into his mouth up to the second knuckle. He did something amazing with tongue and suction, and Harry had to force himself to pull his hand back by millimetres.

Harry closed his eyes. He was breathing heavily. "Where do you want this to go, Draco?"

Draco sat back, holding his hand up as his jaw worked. Long seconds later he swallowed and opened his eyes, saying, "Never interrupt a man and his raspberry."

Harry giggled. Draco giggled. They broke out in helpless laughter, leaning on one another for support, milk sloshing dangerously in the bowl. Draco swiped the bowl and drank the liquid off in one loud slurp, holding Harry back with the other hand. "I would like for you to get naked, so I can use you as my personal dressing dummy."

Harry swiped the bowl back, licking the last drops of cream out of the bottom before depositing it on the cart. If Draco wasn't ready to deal with it, that was fine, he could handle the flirting as long as he could tell himself it wasn't going anywhere. He was pretty sure, anyway. He slid off his outer robe, then held it in his hands and looked around the room. "Er..."

"Give it here," he said, standing up and scooting around the foot stool. This brought him within easy touching distance of Harry, who began to wonder once again if this was such a good idea.

"A-aren't you going to, y'know, sit there?" he asked as Draco tossed the robe onto the chair.

"No, no, I can't trust you to pick things out for yourself. I mean, for god's sake, just look at that bloody awful jumper you're wearing."

Harry blushed. He'd thrown on one of Dudley's old sweaters, knowing he'd be taking it off very soon anyway. "It was only temporary," he said lamely.

"Right, and Cruciatus is only a curse," said Draco. He gestured impatiently. "Get it all off, even the knickers. I'm sure whatever you're wearing is sodding terrible and will ruin the line of the pants."

Harry flushed even redder, wondering if his skin would begin to glow with the heat before they were done. He quickly set to shucking out of his clothing as fast as humanly possible, figuring that if he got it over with quickly enough, maybe he wouldn't have time to get more embarrassed with each item of clothing he removed. Unfortunately, this meant that it hit him all at once as he handed Draco his faded blue boxers, pins still at the waist to keep them from sliding off his narrow hips.

He became acutely aware that Draco was still completely and impeccably dressed, while he was left huddling rather ineffectually behind the dinner tray. Draco, however, seemed oblivious to that fact, as he brushed past Harry, robes billowing out to tickle at Harry's bare skin. He rummaged through the dresser, then passed Harry a rather odd-looking bundle of cloth. "There, try those. I may have to shrink them to get a proper fit, but at least you'll stop cringing."

Evidently Draco hadn't been as blind as he'd seemed, and Harry turned ever pinker. He turned the wad of linen around in his hands until something gave and the whole thing sort of unfolded into a pair of short, tight cream-coloured pants, tangled lacings dangling from the crotch. He scurried into them, then stared down in dismay at the huge gap in the cloth that made up the front. He shrugged and laced them up as best he could, now baffled by Draco's comment -- there just was not enough fabric to close over the front.

He looked over to where Draco was picking through the clothes on the bed, then down at his still-bared crotch, then back to Draco helplessly. "How do you..."

Draco looked up and saw the source of Harry's difficulty. He snorted. "Oh for... come here."

Harry scuttled out from the corner, holding a hand loosely over his gradually increasing assets. He was glad for the warmth in the room but equally aware that he had no real excuse for the way his nipples tightened when Draco tugged at his hands. "Hands off, or I can't help you," he said sternly.

Harry forced his grip to loosen, then spent a few seconds awkwardly figuring out what to do with his hands. Draco examined the lacings with the impersonal face of a tailor, pointed at the weird lump in the front of the pants. Harry squeaked and tried to move away before he realized that Draco didn't mean his anatomy. Harry reached in and pulled out the wide flap meant to cover that empty front panel, which had instead ended up down one of his legs.

"Right. I think I've got it from here," he said, and Draco let his fingertips drag ever so slightly across Harry's hip, smoothing the fabric and causing another marked shift in the size of Harry's problem. The little flap of linen barely covered him now, as the pants were evidently supposed to ride low on the wearer's hips.

"Er, sorry about... um." He looked down meaningfully, then forced himself to meet Draco's eyes.

He thought it might be lust he was seeing, but it could be anything, really, that darkened those eyes from silver to gunmetal grey. "Don't be," said Draco softly, running his thumbs over Harry's hipbones and making him whimper. He was completely hard now, no denying the cause or fighting its effects. "It's intoxicating."

For one frozen moment he thought Draco was going to do something more. Instead, he closed his eyes and let out one long, warm breath as his fingers dropped away. Draco took another breath in and swallowed, and Harry found himself copying the motion. "I don't know that it's a good idea for you to show me how it feels to have this kind of power, Harry," he said softly.

Harry's mouth went dry, remembering suddenly why love potions were considered Dark Arts. "Do you want me to go?" he asked breathlessly.

Draco shook his head, eyes still closed. He shook himself, then opened his eyes and grinned at Harry. "They're not a bad fit, anyway. A touch long, but that'll be all right. You've got nice strong thighs to fill them out."

Harry had no idea how to respond to that, so he followed Draco's lead and changed the subject again. "So, I get to keep these on until we're done?" he asked, hopeful.

"Might as well. There's a few outfits they won't go with, but I don't really fancy trying to resize them anyway, so we'll stick with things that cover at least that much of you." He was rummaging through the pile on the bed again, and Harry laced himself up dutifully, trying not to imagine Draco in anything that covered less than the underwear. "Ah-ha!" he said, pulling out a pair of white trousers and tossing them to Harry. "Give those a try."

Harry slithered into them, the fabric tight but smooth, with just enough give that he could get them on. They were tight across his thighs, and calves, but too long in the ankles, and they did things to the line of his front that were more than vaguely obscene. "They don't fit," he said sullenly.

"Aptare Juste!" said Draco, flicking his wand at Harry with a practiced wrist. The pants slithered around him in a way that made him profoundly glad the underthings had fit, and when they were done, they were like a second skin. "Perfect."

"They're obscene, Draco," he said petulantly.

"If you weren't so excitable, they'd be fine," Draco replied, in an echo of his usual scathing tones.

He gave Harry an appraising look. "No undershirt, I think," he murmured to himself, grabbing a long coat off the bed and passing it to Harry. It had no sleeves and a high, stiff collar, but the lining was soft as -- and now that he thought about it, probably actually made of -- silk. He was still fumbling with the row of tiny buttons when Draco turned back, holding more mysterious bits of the dark velvety cloth. The buttons started at his waist and went up, closing the fabric tightly around his broad chest. The rest of the coat flared wide around him, flowing gracefully down to his still-bare feet.

"Aptare Juste!" cried Draco again, and suddenly he was no longer straining to get the thing closed. "You're bigger in the chest and shoulders than I am."

Harry shrugged, then finished buttoning it. It fit like the pants, leaving nothing to the imagination, his crotch framed by the wide skirt of it. "It's still obscene," he said, but even to himself the protest sounded token. Something about the outfit seemed to lengthen the lines of him, making him look tall and lithe. He blinked when he realized that what he liked most about it was that it made him look like Draco.

Draco just snorted and said, "Give me one hand." Potter held his arm out obediently, and something like a handless glove was slid up his arm. It fit around his upper bicep on a little strap that Draco spelled tight, then there were small strips of the fabric connecting the strap to the rest of the sleeve, leaving little rectangles of his upper arm showing, as well as the entire shoulder. The rest of the sleeve fit so tightly that there were more buttons inside the wrist, and a point of fabric spilled down over the top of his hand.

The other sleeve went on like the first. Draco took his glasses away to keep him from staring in the mirror while he was supposed to be putting on the supple knee-high black boots, and they seemed different when he gave them back. The frames were lighter thinner, slender black wires around the rounded lenses. Draco moved to the dresser now and began rummaging through jars.

"That's got the outfit, now I just have to see about the hair," he said absently, talking once again like Harry wasn't really there. Harry felt a bit girlish, but he gave in to the urge to rock his hips from side to side, twirling the supple fabric around his legs.

"Glasses," said Draco, and Harry obediently handed them over. "Accio ottoman!" said Draco, and the foot stool slid over to thump gently into Harry's legs. Draco watched him for a moment before saying impatiently, "Well? Sit!"

Harry sat. In for a penny and all that. He heard the snip snip of scissors, the almost-inaudible brush of falling hair, and the muttering as Draco either cast a host of unfamiliar spells on him, or was just swearing under his breath in a language Harry didn't know. He let himself be soothed by the touches, calling up a host of old memories of similar moments at the barber's to stave off his arousal. A cleaning spell swept away the stray cut hairs, and long fingers mussed the rest, tugging this way and that until his glasses were handed back to him with a flourish.

"Voila!" said Draco, stepping back so Harry could use the mirror.

The boy in the mirror seemed totally unfamiliar. His hair had been practically shorn in back, but left long in front so it still covered his scar. Instead of the disorderly crow's-nest it usually reverted to immediately after combing, it held together in soft, artfully mussed clumps. His glasses were smaller, more subtle, and they complimented the planes of his face and the height of his cheekbones, rather than hiding them. His shoulders looked strong, and his hips undeniably male in the midst of the almost-feminine folds of the coat.

Even his hands looked more graceful, the velvet points drawing the eye down like an arrow to his long Seeker fingers. He realized he was holding his breath, and let it out. "Damn, Draco. What do I have to do to get you to do this every morning?"

Draco snorted. "Put out, probably. I am not a morning person."

Harry laughed. "I do look rather like trade in this, don't I?"

Draco gave him a once-over and said, "Right. Where I look elegant and unavailable in that outfit, you look like you take appointments." He went over to the dresser and rummaged. "Wait, I've got it, take your glasses off and close your eyes."

Harry did as he was told, confident by now that whatever Draco did, it couldn't embarrass him any worse than he already had done to himself. He felt a gentle prodding at his left eye, however, and felt compelled to point out, "Blinding me will get you nowhere, Draco."

"Don't worry, Po- er, Harry, I know what I'm doing. Stop smiling." The poking continued, but he'd stopped caring. Draco had called him 'Harry'. "Look up." More prodding, this time underneath his eyes, making them water. He felt something soft blot the tears away, and then Draco handed his glasses back. "There."

He slipped them on, then did a double take. Draco had put kohl around his eyes, making them look somehow larger, bringing out the green until they almost seemed like cats' eyes. "I look like Slytherin trade, now," said Harry, unable to believe the vision in the mirror was his. Even the hair had stayed in place through Draco's ministrations.

"I'd certainly have you for a kept boy," said Draco teasingly, putting the hair things away.

Harry grinned. "Even you couldn't afford me, Draco."

Draco snorted. "You get all tarted up and start thinking above yourself. You'd better watch it, Harry, or you might think you're some kind of legendary boy hero- oh, right."

"Yep, already got that delusion," said Harry, unable to keep all the bitterness from leaking out into his tone.

Draco gave him a curious glance but wisely kept silent on the issue, instead saying, "Well you might as well keep the clothes, now that they're your size." He grinned suddenly, evilly. "Plus, this way I can say I've been in your knickers."

Harry rolled his eyes. "So we're done? All this," he gestured towards the bed, "for one outfit?"

"I couldn't decide," he pouted. "Plus, I didn't know until you stripped if you'd be secretly pudgy or anything. I mean, who knew you were hot under those horrible clothes?"

"Y-you think I'm hot?" Harry's entire train of thought derailed again, tugged downward with his blood supply. There was just enough left to make his cheeks a bright pink as he realized Draco would be able to see his reaction through the thin pants.

Draco politely ignored it, instead grabbing him by the shoulders and turning him back to the mirror. He laced his arms loosely around Harry's waist and leaned in. "You think you're hot, too, now."

Harry couldn't deny the appeal of the boy in the mirror, blushing shyly on top while advertising down below, eyes wide with kohl. Draco's blond head next to his added to the appeal, and he realized, "We look like a couple."

Draco rubbed his cheek against Harry's like a cat, then pulled away. "Let's see if we can't stop being enemies first."

Harry laughed, then laughed more when he realized he'd smiled more in the last day and half with Draco than he had all year. Even with his weird off-again, on-again thing with the flirting, even with the occasional relapses into arrogance, he was already more fond of him than he had any right to be. "You never made me smile like this when we were enemies," said Harry.

"Not even when I was a bouncing ferret?" asked Draco.

Harry's eyebrows shot up, but this time he knew just what to say. "Not even then."