Nobody can trace the exact moment when Ron and Draco made it their thing to argue about their hair whenever they were in proximity.
The group had come to agree that, despite the sniping, their playful disputes were far better than the harsh words that had once flown between them. After the war, a palpable divide lingered, with many former Slytherins bearing the brunt of the conflict.
Draco had to navigate a minefield of sneers, unwarranted punches, and other hostilities. Yet he managed to prove himself a changed man, becoming a potions master who innovated groundbreaking brews. Among his notable achievements was the Elysian Essence, a deeply personal creation that helped soothe anxiety and alleviate fears—a fix for his own post-war struggles.
Over time, he realized he had been a victim of his upbringing, not the villain everyone thought he was. Albeit, he won’t ever deny he had his own false truths.
His interest in mental health grew after the war, especially after reading Hermione’s articles. Inspired by her insights, he developed the Veilbreaker Elixir which was closely similar to his previous work’s purpose, following his success with the Elysian Essence. This new potion was designed to clear mental fog and help people find their grounding, especially those who experienced visions that others couldn’t see. Mediwizards and Mind Healers published articles that many patients had emerged from the war with different symptoms of stress and trauma.
When the illegal gloomfang wyverns caused chaos after an apparent shipment of the snakes had been hijacked, Draco became the go-to brewer for the poison’s antidote, among other potions that benefited the community. His mission to help others not only eased his conscience but also brought him joy when customers returned to express their gratitude or went back for a refill.
He wasn’t the terrible person they imagined.
Yet some of his old classmates still held onto their biases. Gradually, he made friends with people he deeply respected, especially Hermione, after three years of exchanging letters regarding her research. Their friendship blossomed especially during meals with the rest of the Golden Trio.
Draco almost panicked the first time Hermione invited Harry and Ron without telling him. After years of avoiding the people from Hogwarts (as they were the ones who were mostly aware of most details of what went down), seeing them again without warning left him feeling overwhelmed. He sat quietly, avoiding their gaze except for Hermione’s, who seemed to understand. Quite quiet and oddly professional the entire time.
Eventually, Draco learned to socialize with people again. It was the fear of their anger that prevented him from ever thinking to have a normal relationship with anyone else. After years of expecting people to shout at him, throw things at him, hex him, and falsely accuse him of evil doings resulting in the Aurors destroying his shop (under the guise of searching for any dark magic embedded in mundane items), that made him anticipate the worst to come all the time. All of those had happened, so it wouldn't be unusual for him to assume the worse.
Three years had gone by, and everyone had moved on. Hermione was in the Ministry, while Ron and Harry tried their hands at being Aurors but soon realized it wasn’t their calling. Ron found a home in his brother’s shop, enjoying the creative side of things.
Harry struggled the most after the war. Lost and unsure, he found himself drifting, especially after his breakup with Ginny, which left them both feeling adrift yet still friends. It was during this time that Draco, feeling brave, asked Harry to help test some of his potions, recognizing that he showed signs that could benefit from them. Draco’s proudest works had been of the mental health of the victims of the war, and who better to study of its aftermath other than Harry Potter?
And it was during one of those pursuit for societal benefit, Harry stupidly fell for the blond. He first thought it was admiration—to see Draco so passionate of fixing a problem than wasn’t his but was involved in. He honestly didn’t think he was capable of such empathy to the point of making it his life’s mission to contribute to the mastery of potions to help progress people in understanding mental health.
Then it turned to being inspired to help the cause. Then he attributed it to having the same sense of humor with him whenever they end up clutching their stomachs after a good joke. Then it turned to being excited to see Draco outside their rendezvous in his office to study his body’s reaction to his prototypes, and instead have lunch or dinner with Ron and Hermione. Then it turned to finding him handsome in his blue potion master robes that matched the branding of his shop. Then it turned to wishing to see his grey eyes dilate whenever they spoke intimately, just the two of them and just in arms reach, voice hushed since they were already close enough to hear the other breathe.
Until Harry finally accepted that he was in love with Draco Malfoy.
It was embarrassing at first, knowing their volatile history, but Harry didn’t care after a month of realizing his feelings.
He had plans of letting him know—to finally have him as his. Wanted to see how they’d be as a couple. He pictured it to be romantic when he tells him. After dinner, perhaps. It had to be on one of Draco’s day offs. Maybe Harry could order a fancy wine and impress him by pronouncing the foreign word correctly.
He didn’t have a date in mind to do it but he knew it was getting close. He could tell Draco was getting comfortable with their routine too. It was close to the right time.
Until it was another night with Ron ridiculing Draco again about his hair.
“I’m just saying, Draco, you don’t look good with your hair long,” Ron started, pushing a glass of firewhiskey to the potion master’s direction.
The man in question shot him an appalled look, earning a look of surprise and “can’t believe you just said that, Ronald” faces from Harry and Hermione.
“Quite a bold statement coming from you.” He eyed the roots of his ginger hair, the half bun neatly tied by his wife, and down to the tips that lazily draped on his shoulder. “Albeit, hypocritic.”
“I just had a thought,” Ron continued. “That it’s weird to be in the same friend group with two men both having long hair. And between you and I, I look better, so you have to cut yours.”
The other three starred at him blankly, letting what he had just said register in their heads.
“Ron–” Hermione was about to comment but Draco beat her to it.
“Now, now, hold your horses, Ronald.” Draco took one long sip of his offered firewhiskey, earning snickers from the other two. Here we go again…, they thought. Draco let out a dramatic sigh after emptying the glass. “I’ve got a face shape suited for versatile hairstyle—long hair included.”
Draco did pride his hair. Even wearing black ribbons similar to how his father did his hair. An old method taught by Narcissa to both her boys. Sure, he hated the comparison to his father, but there was no denying that seeing a naturally platinum hair be this well maintained and not lose its shade to a dirtier blond was quite the treat. It made him unique, and nothing made Draco feel better about himself than having his looks be the center of attention.
Ron looked at his face, pretended to assess then said, “You must have poor judgement then.”
The bluntness caught Harry off guard, unable to hold back his laughter. Consequently, Hermione matched his laughter, noting how stupid this conversation was about to become.
Draco glared at the two. “And you agree with him?”
They both shook their heads. Simultaneously choking back their remaining laughter and muttering no’s and “not at all”.
“I say this not to undermine your hygiene practices but to say the truth,” —Draco quirked a brow to the redhead— “If it’s the philosophy of facial aesthetics, you wouldn’t be the advisor I’d be rushing to, Ronald.”
“Listen, man to man, long hair just isn’t working for you,” Ron said, shrugging. Before Draco could respond, Ron continued, “You’ve got those sharp features and that perpetually bratty expression. Pair that with your snobish attitude, and you end up looking like a grumpy pubescent uncle. Sure, I’ll admit, there was a time you could pull off any style. But let’s face it, you’re not young anymore. That “versatile” features of yours is slowly going away. With a long hair, you just look off. Either grow a beard to add some maturity, or cut the hair to give yourself a fresher look.”
There was a brief moment of silence. Hermione and Harry’s expecting eyes dart to Draco to wait for his reply. The blond was rendered speechless for a second, looking at the other man in disbelief. The audacity, honestly! To call him old when they’re the same age. Yes, he may have some dark circles from those nights of research but Ron’s crinkles and wrinkled forehead when he gets expressive is more noticeable.
“Where was this sentiment when Harry grew out his hair?”
“Oi!” the said man exclaimed. “Why am I suddenly dragged into this?”
“When you said to cut it, he did. So, with you it’s me this time. You’re the Harry and I’m the Draco at this moment,” Ron said nonchalantly, his voice never once raised. Quite the weird unexpected twist from him. None of them knew if it’s the firewhiskey talking or if he let his opinion on Draco’s hair harbor for so long it had rendered him numb.
Harry obediently cut his hair that time because he had got out of his depressive state. He had neglected his appearance for quite the time and let his body naturally do its thing. When he started working for Draco, he gradually became self-conscious of the contrast of their looks. It became a need for him to become worth it to stand next to Draco who was the epitome of high value and narcissism when it came to appearance.
His self-respected started to grow when Draco started complimenting his smile. How it started to get wider each day, indicating his psychological improvement as aided by the blond’s potions. It honestly made him happy with his progress. He wanted to do better for Draco’s project. Then he took beard grooming seriously when Neville showed him a popular style among wizards, he got it trimmed to a more pleasing cut—a good advice from a man. He also started experimenting with accessories when he got a ton of compliments that time Luna put on beads in his hair and beard. The gold stuck him the most as supported by Draco who said it complimented his skin tone.
Draco’s eyes began to shake, panicking at this sudden forwardness from Ronald. “Every male Malfoy always grew out their hair. It’s my time now,” he said, his voice unsteady.
Ron smirked, leaning back casually. “You’ll be the first among the Malfoys,” he teased, giving a mock bow. Draco shot him a glare so sharp it could’ve cut glass.
“Asking him to cut his hair…” Harry began, trying to cool the simmering tension in the circle. “Isn’t that a bit much?”
“Was it too much for you when Draco asked you to cut yours?” Ron fired back, though the hint of humor in his voice softened the sting.
“Ron,” Hermione warned, placing a hand on his arm. “Guys, he just—”
“Mione, no!” Ron chuckled, clutching her arm to stop her from playing peacemaker. The two exchanged a knowing glance, and Hermione couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head. She indulged her husband’s playful antics, well aware of his intent.
Draco, not about to let this go so easily, crossed his arms with a smirk. “You’re going to have to flip the entire world upside down thrice to convince me I’d be better off listening to your advice on aesthetics, Ronald. Our Yule Ball back in our time at Hogwarts may have been a decade ago, but that awkward, lanky, color-coordinated disaster of a kid—no sense of style, ill-fitting robes, not even a clue on how to tame his hair—still lies within you,” he spat, but his voice was more mocking than angry. None of them took offense.
"Hey," Ron said, pointing a finger at Draco. "Have you seen me tonight? I look good." He gestured proudly to his robes—emerald green, the color he’d chosen to add a touch of flair for the evening, especially since they had watched Luna’s play earlier to match the festivities. The robes actually complimented his hair, though Draco would never admit it. But that was because he knew it was Hermione who had the good sense to coordinate outfits. In fact, Ron and Hermione’s robes were from the same shop, in the same shade of green, with the same lacing underneath, though they were cut differently.
Draco’s eyes narrowed, and a smug smile spread across his face as he addressed Ron’s earlier jab. “Ron, you really think I’d take your advice on style? Please. The only reason you look halfway decent these days is because Hermione—” he glanced at her with a dismissive flick of his hand, “—was kind enough to dress you up like a doll. Don't pretend you're some fashion expert. You can't even match your socks half the time.”
Ron grinned and leaned forward. “Well, at least I learned to dress myself, Malfoy. Unlike you, who’s still stuck in the ‘I’m so superior’ phase. You look like you belong in a grandpa's portrait gallery.” His voice dropped into a playful mockery. “You sure you don’t want me to bring you some high-waisted trousers and a monocle next time?”
Draco scoffed, clearly annoyed by the ongoing teasing. “You're all the same. You think this is some sort of joke, don’t you? Look, I don’t need your opinion on style, Weasley. I’m not the one who needs a makeover.” He glanced at Ron. “Remember that night we all went to the Blaise’s charity ball? You wore robes that looked like they’d been picked out of the charity bin. Not even Hermione could save you back then.”
Ron’s face flushed slightly, but he quickly regained his composure, throwing a teasing smile Draco’s way. “You sure you're still hanging onto that ancient grudge, Malfoy? That ball was years ago. And besides, I was just fine in my own way.” He paused dramatically, as if he were about to say something grand. “You, on the other hand, still act like you’re some sort of aristocratic prince. You know, half the people in this room would probably bet you’re the one who’s still wearing the same clothes from that night.”
Draco opened his mouth to retort, but before he could get a word in, Ron raised a finger. “And let’s not forget that for all your talk about precision and control, you’re still clinging to that tragic hair of yours. You should’ve cut it ages ago, but here you are, looking like you stepped out of a shampoo poster with all that extra fluff.”
“Ron, just shut up,” Draco snapped, his voice a little sharper now. He could feel his patience wearing thin. “Don’t lecture me on hair when you barely know what a comb is. What’s next, Weasley? You going to offer me advice on how to style my hair like you’ve somehow become the expert?”
Ron’s grin widened. “Well, considering how much you’ve let your hair grow out, maybe you could use some guidance. Maybe something practical—like a nice little trim?”
Draco’s lips curled into a disdainful sneer. “A trim? Please. When are you going to let this go? Do you even know what ‘elegance’ means? You might think ‘short and practical’ works, but I’m Malfoy. I don’t do ‘practical. I want elegance.’”
“You say that now,” Ron shot back, “but that hair of yours is screaming ‘I don’t know what to do with my life.’”
“I know exactly what I’m doing with my life, Weasley,” Draco retorted, now stepping closer with an air of superiority. “I’m preserving the legacy of my mother’s beauty too, not wasting time trying to figure out how to fit in with your... standards.” His voice dropped to a low, mocking tone. “But sure, Weasley, let’s hear more of your expert opinion. It’s really inspiring.”
Ron’s grin faltered just for a second but then came back with renewed intensity. “Alright, you know what? I’m done with this. Let’s settle this like men.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “I propose a wager. The next one to cut their hair—and I mean actually cut it—pays the other a lump sum of money. And I’m talking serious amount, Malfoy. Plus, you owe a favor. A big favor. No backing out, either. And it can be used anytime... but only once.”
Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued now. He had once been impossibly wealthy before the trials, but he’d lost most of it in atonement for his past sins—something he didn’t mind. It was either that or Azkaban. Besides, he was considering expanding his shop, maybe opening a branch near Hogwarts for old time’s sake. Harry had also mentioned the idea of teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts there, which could serve as his way to stay connected to the Chosen One beyond their usual collaboration.
“A favor, you say?” Draco mused, eyes narrowing. “Interesting. What sort of favor are we talking about here? Something... humiliating?”
Ron winked. “Something embarrassing, yeah. You know, something you’d never do on your own, but you will do it for me. And it’s all legal. No funny business.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “You two are really serious about this?”
“Dead serious,” Ron said, voice steady. “What do you say, Malfoy? You game, or are you going to back out like the coward you are?”
Draco studied Ron with a cold, calculating look, his eyes narrowing slightly as he weighed the challenge. His lips curled into a devilish grin, the kind that meant trouble. “You think you can actually get me to cut my hair for a bet, Weasley? You’ve got some nerve.” He paused, fingers tapping thoughtfully on his glass, savoring the tension. “But I can’t resist a challenge, can I? Alright, Weasley. You’re on.”
Ron’s eyes gleamed with mischief as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “Wait, wait, I just thought of something.” He raised a finger, clearly about to make the rules even more ridiculous. “If we both end up cutting our hair on the same day, the winner will be decided by how short our remaining hair is.” He grinned, clearly proud of himself.
Harry, his expression a mix of disbelief and genuine amusement, let out a long sigh. “What is happening here?”
“How many have you two had to drink?” Hermione quipped, raising an eyebrow, her tone playful but slightly exasperated.
“Four glasses, but I’ve been sobering up for the past minute,” Draco replied quickly, never once taking his eyes off Ron, his voice sharp and confident.
“You can’t be serious, Draco,” Harry tried, but when he saw the determined look on both Ron and Draco’s faces, he knew the answer before it even came.
“Oh, I am, Potter,” Draco’s voice slid smoothly over Harry’s last name, and he glanced at him with that all-too-familiar smirk, as if the entire situation was somehow just another day in the life of Draco Malfoy.
Merlin, Harry thought, he wasn’t even tipsy, but with the way Draco was looking at him in that brief moment, it felt like the room was spinning.
“You’re really going to do this, Draco?” Hermione asked, a note of concern lacing her voice, but the spark of mischief in her eyes said she wasn’t exactly trying to stop him, either.
Draco shrugged, unbothered.
“Draco,” Harry tried once more, his voice tinged with incredulity. “Think about it. Tomorrow morning, when you both come to your senses, you’ll see just how ridiculous this is.”
Ron, who had been quietly observing, leaned forward with enthusiasm. “No, no, I’m in this, Draco. Are you?”
Draco shot one last look at Harry, who was trying his hardest to make him reconsider, before turning back to Ron. “Hair is hair,” he said with a shrug, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “I’ll use the money for my shop, and the favor for your labor, Ronald. I’m opening a new branch, after all.”
Ron’s grin widened, and without hesitation, he grabbed Draco’s hand, shaking it firmly. “You won’t regret it, Malfoy. Well, you will... just not yet.”
Draco smirked, but there was something darker behind the smile. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll regret it,” he said coolly, “but not for the reasons you think.” He released Ron’s hand, flicking his hair back dramatically, as though the entire world were watching. “I’m going to make you regret this, Weasley. Believe me.”
Harry, still processing the absurdity of the situation, leaned back in his chair, his amusement growing by the second. “Wait, seriously? You two are really doing this?”
Hermione, who had been watching the exchange with a mixture of disbelief and faint amusement, raised an eyebrow. “You think they’re kidding?” she asked, her voice incredulous. “You haven’t been paying attention, have you?”
Harry gave a half-shrug and a wry smile. “Seems like it’s going to be a lot more fun than I thought.”
Draco and Ron exchanged one last heated glance, both silently daring the other to back out. There was no turning back now.
“Brace yourself, Malfoy,” Ron said with a wink, his grin mischievous. “This is going to be one for the books.”
Draco’s smirk deepened. “You won’t even know what hit you.”
____
“Umm…” Harry stared back and forth between Draco and Ron, trying to find the right words. “When you guys said you were going to cut your hair, I wasn’t exactly expecting all of it.”
At that, Hermione couldn’t help but laugh, her chuckles echoing through the room.
It had been six days since they made the bet, and, to Harry and Hermione’s amusement, both Draco and Ron had kept their word. The morning after the wager, they both confirmed that they remembered it clearly and that the firewhiskey had—in fact—no influence in their agreement, and the countdown to the fateful day had begun.
Today was their usual dinner together, and Harry and Hermione were in for a treat. They’d done their best to contain their agitation as they waited for the result of Ron and Draco’s stupid wager. As usual, Ron and Hermione were the first to arrive at their regular table, and Ron couldn't resist running his hand through the newly spiked feeling of his new haircut. He felt a strange mixture of pride and disbelief. This was a decision he was both ecstatic and horrified by.
Harry was the second to arrive, noting that he didn’t know what Draco’s hair looked like, so he couldn’t give any spoilers. So, when Draco walked in, Ron's face immediately shifted between anger, glee, and a touch of horror. Both he and Draco had done the exact same thing. They had both gotten buzzcuts.
“I didn’t think Draco would have the same idea!” Ron practically shouted, doubling over with laughter. “I really thought I’d have the upper hand when I decided to cut all of it off! Why do you think I added the rule that the person with the shortest hair wins?”
Draco gave him a sidelong glance, his new buzzcut making him look utterly ridiculous in a way only Draco Malfoy could manage. His sharp features were emphasized more now that his once long locks acted as frames to hide his angular bone structure. “What? You didn’t think I had the balls to do it?” he challenged, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Honestly? No,” Ron replied with surprising sincerity. “I thought you'd chicken out, what with all that talk about the Malfoy legacy or your mum’s beauty or whatever you’ve been blabbering on about. I figured you’d never go through with it.”
Draco smirked, crossing his arms. “Pay up, Ronald. The money’s going straight into my new shop’s funding.”
“Oh, no. Not just yet,” Ron smirked back, shaking his head. “We need to figure out who actually cut their hair first.”
“What? My hair was longer than yours, and I chopped all of it off! Clearly, I win.” Draco’s tone was almost comical, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing—not winning yet.
“No, no,” Ron retorted, “I said the winner would be whoever had the shortest left. Not who cut the most hair off.”
Draco let out a frustrated groan. “Fuck you, Weasley.”
The two continued to bicker, their voices rising in playful frustration. Ron eventually conceded, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, I’ll admit it—I was wrong. I thought you’d look better with short hair. But seeing this now, I’d prefer the snobish long haired Malfoy. But I have to say... you actually look alright with the buzzcut. Better than I thought. It’ll just need some getting used to.” That last part earned him a slap from a floating bread. No doubt the work of Draco.
Draco raised an eyebrow. “You finally admitting that I can look good with short hair? Shocking. I told you I look good no matter what.”
Ron grinned, “Don’t get used to it.”
“Where did you go to get your hair done?” Draco asked, genuinely curious now.
Ron leaned back with a smirk. “I went to Gutierrez’s shop. What about you? You went to some fancy stylist?”
Draco chuckled, his expression gleaming with self-assuredness. “Nope. I did it myself. Got the clippers, found a decent mirror, and went to work. It was liberating, actually.” He paused, then added, “Although, I did ask myself a few times if I was sure. But you know what? It felt good to just go for it.”
Harry, who had been listening to the exchange with mounting disbelief, finally spoke up. “Wait—hold on. Neither of you told the other you were getting buzzcuts? You both ended up with the same thing, by sheer coincidence?”
Draco and Ron exchanged a look, then both burst into laughter. “How ridiculous is that?” Ron said, wiping his eyes.
“Yeah, it’s almost as if we were destined to have the same haircut,” Draco said, mocking the idea with a dramatic flourish.
Harry, still in shock, raised an eyebrow. “It’s like I’m seeing a new side of you two. Both of you, too, had long hair! Honestly, I can’t believe neither of you mentioned it to the other. But now that I see you both like this—” Harry smirked, looking directly at Ron— “I feel like I might finally be seeing the face of an Auror in training. Isn’t it required for all new recruits to get buzzcuts?”
“Quit Auror training just to look like an Auror in training. Call it a sign.” Ron laughed. “It’s him, honestly, I can’t get over. With you yapping about facial aesthetics the other day.”
“Contrary to popular belief, Ronald, my pride has been quite fragile.”
“Yeah, right. Exactly. I understand what you mean.” Ron nodded with feigned sincerity.
Hermione, who had been watching the whole thing unfold with a barely contained laugh, finally spoke up. “Alright, alright. I have to confess something. I’ve actually been trying to get Ron to cut his hair for ages now. But he didn’t want to do it unless he dragged Draco into it for the sheer fun of it.” She grinned sheepishly, glancing at both men.
Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “So this whole thing was your idea?”
“His idea,” Hermione said with a shrug, her smile widening. “It started as an excuse, saying “I’ll cut my hair the day Draco cuts his”,” she quoted. “It was supposed to be hyperbole and somehow, it ended up like this.”
Harry looked at the two men again, clearly uncertain of what to say. “I don’t know if I can give an honest opinion about this,” he said hesitantly. “But... it’s not bad.” He bit his lip. “I mean, Draco—your hair was part of your whole ‘thing,’ so... I don’t think you look quite the same with it gone. But hey, I’m not going to say that to your face.”
“You’d better not.” Draco shot him a sideways glance. “Wait, who won?” Draco asked, turning to Ron with a raised eyebrow. “Since we both have the same amount of hair left, I guess the winner comes down to when we cut it, right?”
Ron grinned, clearly eager to put this to bed. “Exactly. Now we just need to figure out the dates.”
Both of them scribbled on napkins in a small moment of tense silence, then held them up in sync. On the count of three, they revealed their answers. To their surprise, they had both gotten their buzzcuts on the exact same day—three days ago.
Draco grinned in triumph because he wrote his time (2pm), taking it as a courtesy bonus for adding in that detail.
“No way,” Ron scoffed, glancing at his napkin.
“What time did you go, then?” Draco challenged, his lips curling into a smirk.
Ron hesitated, clearly reluctant to give Draco the satisfaction. “I went after my shift, okay?”
“Around 6pm,” Hermione finished, earning a look of disappointment from her husband since he silently wished he could hide that from Draco.
Draco’s eyes lit up with sudden realization. “I definitely win. Pay up, Weasley.”
Ron groaned. “I’ll get you back for this, Malfoy. Don’t think this is over.”
Draco just smirked, leaning back in his chair. “That get this twisted, Ronald. I won’t be crediting you as a shareholder since I won this money.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Ron waved his hand dismissively, a little bitter from losing the wager.
It pretty much ended there. Hermione, taking the reigns of the dinner, placed their orders without even asking for input. “You all clearly can’t make up your minds on what you want,” she said with a teasing smile, effectively cutting through the tension. Her voice held a light, playful edge as she leaned over the menu, leaving Harry and Draco with nothing to do but settle into their shared silence.
Harry, who had been staring at Draco’s new look, was uncharacteristically quiet. It wasn’t like this was the first time he’d seen Draco with short hair. In fact, Harry was the first person Draco had told about his decision to get a buzzcut. Harry didn’t believe he’d follow through with it, even discouraging him when Draco seemed so determined. When the blond didn’t owl him prior to their dinner tonight, Harry did fear he’d go through with it, and, oh, how right he was to fear.
Draco with short hair was something Harry wasn’t quite ready for. He liked Draco with longer hair—liked running his fingers through it while sharing accessories to “show him how Luna told me to do it”. There had been moments, intimate little exchanges, where Draco would borrow Harry’s gold clips, despite his insistence that silver metals suited his skin tone better. Harry liked to think that Draco just wanted a piece of him to carry with him wherever he went, a token of sorts. But now, with Draco’s head shorn to a buzzcut, that small, personal connection was gone. No more hair accessories. No more running his fingers through cinnamon and argan-scented locks. Now, there was just this... buzzcut.
It was strange, and a little bit sad, but mostly, it felt empty.
Draco, who had just been engaged in a light conversation with Hermione, turned toward Harry as he noticed his gaze lingering a little too long. “What? Still don’t like it?” Draco asked, eyebrow raised, voice playful but a bit curious. They were both seated next to each other, Ron and Hermione across them.
Harry pressed his lips into a thin line, refusing to answer immediately. Instead, he just stared at Draco, the air thick between them. Draco’s smirk deepened as he laughed, low and knowing, because he couldn’t really tell if Harry was being serious or not.
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re pouting over a haircut,” Draco teased, but Harry could hear the underlying challenge in his tone.
Harry shifted in his seat, a subtle blush creeping onto his neck. He was silent for a beat too long before meeting Draco’s eyes. “It’s not that. It’s just... different. I’ve had fantasies, you know?” His voice dropped, the words almost too quiet for Hermione and Ron to overhear.
“Fantasies?” Draco nearly gasped, raising a brow.
“Fantasies about running my fingers through your hair,” he added, turning it into a weird perverted flirting.
Draco’s lips twitched at the comment, his eyes glinting with that same mischievous spark. “You fantasize about my hair, Potter?” he asked, his voice a touch deeper now, leaning into the conversation as if daring Harry to continue.
Harry swallowed, glancing over at Hermione, who was still lost in conversation with Ron. He leaned in closer to Draco. “Not just the hair. Everything about it. The way it feels when you let me share my clips with you... how you look when you—”
“Alright, alright,” Draco cut him off, but his expression softened, revealing something more genuine underneath. “I get it. You miss the long hair. Just... try to hold back your fantasies about it through dinner. It’s just hair, Harry.”
“Just hair?” Harry laughed softly, almost under his breath, before letting the teasing tone fade. “You know, you looked... amazing with longer hair. I liked the way it framed your face. I even liked when it got in your eyes sometimes, and you’d brush it back just so.” His voice trailed off, an unexpected wistfulness creeping in.
Draco's lips curled upward again. “Flattery, Potter? I didn’t know you had it in you. Been waiting to hear something like that from you for years now.”
Harry bit back a smile, enjoying the banter but feeling a little unsteady in his chest. “I’m serious. But—" he paused, glancing down at his hands, "—it’s just, now you’ve got this buzzcut, I guess I’ll have to find new ways to share my accessories with you.”
Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Oh? Didn’t think it’d mean that much to you.”
Harry smirked, but the conversation shifted just as quickly. “You keep mentioning this new shop you’ve been thinking about. You’ve never really told me what it’s about, though. What’s going on with that?” he asked in a low voice, only intending for Draco to hear it.
Draco’s eyes flickered slightly, his gaze darting away before he turned back to Harry. He leaned in a little, as if lowering his voice would somehow make the revelation more personal. “I’ve been thinking about it. A lot, actually.”
“Oh yeah?” Harry smiled, leaning forward ever so slightly, feeling the heat between them grow. He knew that look in Draco’s eyes—the one that always came when they were close, that subtle dilation that gave him away. “And when are you starting it? Or has it already started? Sorry, I-I might have missed it before, or maybe you didn’t mention it...”
Draco chuckled, breaking their gaze for just a moment to glance over at Hermione and Ron, who were deep in their own conversation. When he returned his eyes to Harry, his voice dropped even lower, almost shy. “I haven’t started it yet. I was hoping to launch it around the time you start your job in Hogwarts. I want to have it in Hogsmeade...”
Harry froze for a moment, his heart skipping a beat as the words sank in. “Hogsmeade?” he repeated, his mind running wild with the implications. “Close to where I’ll be?” He tugged at Draco’s sleeve gently, pulling him back into their private bubble. “You’re going to be in Hogsmeade for me?”
Draco gave a small, almost shy chuckle, his eyes still locked with Harry’s. “Yeah.”
A warm feeling spread through Harry’s chest, a mix of excitement and something deeper, something he didn’t fully understand yet. Draco wasn’t just moving closer to him geographically; he was making choices that revolved around him. Harry wasn’t blind. He knew Draco had been dropping hints for a while now, but to hear him say it outright was different.
“I... I guess I’ll see you around there, then,” Harry said quietly, his fingers brushing over Draco’s sleeve again.
For a brief moment, there was a pause, a knowing look between them. And without a word, Harry reached under the table, his hand finding Draco’s. Their fingers intertwined, the quiet connection grounding them in that shared moment. They didn’t even need to look down at their joined hands to know that something real had just shifted. Their eyes were locked, and they both felt it—a connection stronger than anything they had ever shared before.
Neither of them needed to say anything. It was all there, in the way their hands fit together, in the unspoken promises that lingered in the space between them.
Then, of course, Ron ruined it.
“Urgh, you two are unbearable. Go on a different date if you’re just going to be all lovey-dovey in front of us,” Ron groaned, his voice full of exaggerated disgust.
Draco shot him a playful scowl, but it didn’t even come close to dampening his mood. He was more than content to ignore Ron’s comments, especially with the reassuring squeeze Harry gave his hand, grounding him in the moment. It was like nothing could shake the quiet joy that had settled in him, no matter how much Ron whined.
Harry’s grip on Draco’s hand tightened just slightly, a silent reminder that they were both fine, and that this—whatever this was—was real.
~.~
Hermione and Ron were nearing the apparition point after deciding to call it a night. Ron, in his typically protective manner, insisted on making sure Hermione rested properly—especially now that she was pregnant. He’d been a bit overly cautious, trying to ensure that she didn’t overdo it and was getting all the sleep she needed. This was their first pregnancy, after all, and the weight of it all had made him a tad delusional when it came to keeping her comfortable.
Harry and Draco didn’t mind their extended evening. They were happy to give the couple space. It was understandable; this was a big, new chapter for them, and everyone knew how crucial this first pregnancy would be. The group had spent the evening at a small gathering, laughing and talking, but now it was time to go back to their lovely little home—a haven they had carefully built over time.
As they arrived in front of their cozy house, Hermione sighed contentedly. The place was so full of their personality, a perfect blend of them both. They had carefully chosen every detail, from the little pieces of furniture to the colors of the walls. It wasn’t just a house; it was theirs, and it felt like the slow, steady beginning of their family—a family that would soon be expanded. It was warm, inviting, and already so full of promise.
Even after they’d apparated inside, their conversation picked up right where it had left off, bubbling with laughter and joy.
Hermione couldn’t contain her amusement, looking over at Ron with a grin. “I can’t believe you actually got Draco to shave his hair,” she said, disbelief still coloring her voice.
Ron chuckled, the sound light and carefree. “Neither can I,” he agreed, his face lighting up in a broad smile. “I honestly thought I’d win the bet. I mean, Draco’s not exactly the type for a buzzcut, is he? But... he did it. And I gotta say, I’m impressed with his bravery. He didn’t even seem to regret it.”
Hermione laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. “I never thought I’d live to see the day when Draco Malfoy—of all people—would voluntarily chop off his hair. The same hair he once made a special conditioner for, just to preserve that shade of platinum blonde, mind you.”
“Yeah,” Ron agreed, “I thought I was being generous make it about who cut our hair first.” He ran a hand through his newly buzzed hair. “But, hey, the man’s got guts. And I’m starting to get used to mine.”
They shared a glance, and Hermione raised her eyebrows playfully. “You’re starting to get used to it? It’s not even a week, Ron.”
“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, “I’m not exactly used to it either. But it’s… it’s different.” He looked at his reflection in the hall mirror, touching the short spikes that were so foreign compared to the previous man bun that he had once been so proud of. “At least it’s easy to maintain. I won’t have to worry about split ends, and it feels nice, actually.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about it yet,” Hermione teased. “It’s so drastic. I mean, last week, you were all about your man bun, and now—this?”
“I know,” he said, grinning sheepishly. “But hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it, right?”
Hermione shook her head, still laughing. “I’m not sure that’s a look I can pull off. But I’ll let you have your moment.”
“Well, at least I’m not the only one who had to suffer for it,” Ron pointed out. “Did you see Harry’s face when Draco walked in with that buzzcut?”
“Livid,” Hermione said, laughing. “Absolutely livid. He kept giving Draco these looks like he was ready to throw a tantrum. And then when he realized that Draco actually liked it, it was like the world was ending for him.”
“Poor bloke,” Ron laughed, putting his arm around Hermione’s shoulder as they stood together in the living room. “He didn’t even know what to say.”
“Not at first,” Hermione agreed. “But he’s Harry. He gets over things quickly. Still, I can’t believe this all happened because of a hyperbole.”
“Well, it was a lot of change all at once. I mean, Draco’s hair was practically his identity. I reckon Harry just thought it was a step too far.” Ron shrugged and ran his fingers through his hair again, getting more comfortable in his own new style.
“It’s going to take a while for me to get used to it,” Hermione admitted, half-wistfully. “I’ll give you that, though—at least it’s not so long that you get knots in it anymore.”
“Yeah, that was a hassle,” Ron said, visibly relaxing. “But now I feel like I’m more... effortlessly presentable. No more of that tangled mess I used to deal with. It’s a new chapter, right?”
Hermione smiled fondly, though there was a touch of teasing in her eyes. “Well, as long as you don’t start wearing turtlenecks, I suppose I can learn to like it.”
“No promises,” he laughed, clearly proud of himself for taking such a bold step.
Their playful back-and-forth was interrupted when Ron began to prepare some tea. It was one of those little routines that had become so important to them over the past few years. Their life had settled into this comforting rhythm, and it felt right to keep going with it. The kettle hummed quietly as it heated up, and Ron busied himself with pulling down two cups from the cabinet.
“So,” he began, his voice changing slightly, “have you had a chance to think about taking leave for your pregnancy yet?”
Hermione sat down at the kitchen table, looking thoughtful as she rested her hands on the surface. “I’ve been meaning to. I just haven’t gotten around to it. It’s all a bit overwhelming, isn’t it?”
“I can imagine,” Ron agreed, stirring the tea as he sat down across from her. “I know you’ve got a lot to juggle. But if it helps, I’m more than happy to talk through any details with you. We can figure out a good time for you to take leave.”
Hermione smiled at him, her eyes softening as she regarded him with affection. “I know. It’s just... I feel like there’s so much to prepare. And I know I’ll have time off, but I want to make sure everything is in place first.”
Ron reached across the table, gently taking her hand in his. “We’ll figure it out together,” he said reassuringly. “There’s no rush. It’s all part of the process. And I think it’s important that you’re ready—not just physically, but emotionally. This is a big change.”
Hermione nodded, her fingers tightening around his. “I know you’re right. It’s just hard to make all the decisions when it feels like everything is moving so fast. It’s easy to get caught up in the logistics.”
Ron gave her a reassuring smile. “Well, I’m here for all the logistics. Let’s just take it one step at a time. No stress.”
She smiled back, feeling a little lighter. As much as she had to deal with, it was comforting to know she wasn’t alone. They would handle this together, as they always had.
After a quiet pause, Ron brought up a topic that had been on his mind. “Speaking of decisions, have you thought at all about names for the baby?”
Hermione’s heart skipped a beat, the thought of their future child always bringing a rush of warmth to her chest. “I’ve thought about it,” she admitted. “But there are so many options. I don’t know where to start.”
“Well,” Ron said, his voice tentative as he shifted in his seat, “I’ve got a few ideas. I know it’s early, but I’ve been thinking about names, you know?”
“Oh?” Hermione raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
“Yeah,” Ron said, leaning forward a bit. “What do you think of ‘Rose’?”
Hermione blinked, taken aback by how much she liked the idea. “Rose…” she repeated softly, her mind already wandering to the possibilities. “It’s beautiful,” she said, her voice full of warmth. “Simple, elegant, and strong. I really like it.”
Ron grinned, clearly relieved that she liked the name. “I thought it was a bit cliché, but... I don’t know. It just feels right. Like something that would suit her—if it’s a girl, of course.”
“Well, we’ve got plenty of time to figure that out,” Hermione said, feeling a flutter of excitement. “But I think ‘Rose’ would be lovely.”
Ron smiled, clearly pleased. “Yeah, I think so too.”
“Hope our Rose will like your hair.”
Ron shrugged, nonchalant. “4 months will give me hair by then. But we'll see how I feel like getting, you know?”
They sat there for a moment, the tea forgotten for the time being as they let the idea of their future sink in, content in the silence. Soon, they would have to get back to the practicalities, but for now, they simply enjoyed the joy of imagining their little one—Rose, or whatever name they would ultimately choose.
____
The wards of Draco’s shop notified him that someone had entered. "Harry?" he guessed, his voice full of expectation.
"Yeah?" came the familiar voice in response.
“Oh, good. You’re here.”
Harry couldn't see Draco, but he could tell he was crouching under the counter, likely wrapping up whatever he’d been working on before Harry arrived.
“Err, hello,” Harry called, reaching for the counter and hearing the soft clink of glass bottles. "Not ready yet? I can’t wait."
Today was their date. An actual date this time, one with all the intention of being romantic, rather than just two colleagues—Potion master and his muse—going out for some casual dinner or lunch as a reward for their success.
“I have something to show you first,” Draco said, and a moment later, he came into full view, his hair shining under the light.
"Woah..."
“Like it?” Draco struck a playful pose.
"It’s…green," Harry said, almost whispering in disbelief. His lover stood before him, looking honestly ridiculous. Draco's buzzcut was now dyed a pine green—reminding Harry too much of Draco’s Slytherin roots.
"Thought I’d try something new," Draco said, batting his eyelashes, fishing for a compliment. But his exaggerated confidence faltered when Harry’s expression remained flat—almost confused. "What?"
"Is this a choice, or did Ron come back and hex you?" Harry asked, his brows furrowing in bewilderment.
"The first one didn’t really sound like a compliment." When Harry continued to stare, his lack of approval clear, Draco sighed dramatically. "Well, that sucks, doesn’t it? This is dyed, too, so you’ll have to live with it for a bit."
Harry’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Dyed?! As in the muggle way?” It really didn’t help that Draco looked so meek when he nodded. ”Blimey, Draco. You should’ve tested it out with glamour or— or a temporary coloring potion, or something! Where the hell did you even find hair dye?"
"Pansy," Draco shrugged casually.
"Merlin," Harry muttered under his breath. "From Elven beauty to a punk on the street..."
"What’s a punk?" Draco tilted his head, genuinely confused, ignoring how Harry just compared him to an elf.
Harry struggled for words, clearly trying to soften his response. He was quiet for a moment, then finally said, "This…" he motioned to Draco’s hair, "mixed with Ron’s comment about you getting… mature…" Harry immediately faltered when Draco narrowed his eyes, a warning in his gaze.
"So you agree with his sentiments? We’re the same age, Potter, in case you forgot." Draco's voice grew colder, emphasizing the use of his last name as a sign of his disappointment with Harry’s lack of enthusiasm.
Harry held up his hands in defense. "I just… it screams mid-life crisis, I’m sorry."
Draco crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Who gave you the idea of a change of style as a mid-life crisis?"
"Luna made a comment like that about Arthur when he had that working-out phase," Harry admitted, nervously scratching the back of his neck. "It applies to hair, I think. So yeah, you’re kind of giving off mid-life crisis."
Draco turned his nose up, clearly offended, before spinning on his heel and walking to a nearby corner. When he returned, he was wearing a brown fox fur trapper hat with the flaps pinned, effectively hiding his hideous green dyed hair.
Harry blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden change.
"You’re lucky I’m still deciding to go out with you tonight, Potter," Draco muttered, clearly trying to save face.
Harry, however, couldn’t help but imagine Draco’s hat as his long hair again, the image of it—the hair he loved—lurking behind that bulky hat. He suppressed a grin, but the sight of Draco trying to cover up his hair made him chuckle despite himself.
"You’re lucky," Harry repeated, his grin wide now, "but I’ve been known to make questionable decisions before, so I don’t see it as a complete turn off."
As Draco reached for his winter coat, Harry followed, smirking. "Well, it’s not bad to try new things. Just… could’ve been a better choice," Harry teased, his voice light and filled with affection as he hoped to soften the blow of his honest opinion.
Draco sharply turned to face him, eyes narrowed. "Alright! I get it. This was a regret," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Draco," Harry tried to calm him, his hand reaching out for his. But Draco swiftly shoved his hands into his pockets, showing him how miffed he was.
"Let’s go," Draco muttered, heading toward the door of the shop. As they exited, Draco felt Harry’s magic closing the protective covers around Draco’s potion shelves behind them. It wasn’t the first time Harry had done this—his wandless, wordless magic, to show courtesy for the potion master casually. Even as they left the shop, Harry did the same with the main door, closing it behind them without a word.
Through the layers of Draco’s winter coat, he could feel Harry placing his hand on his lower back, guiding him toward their destination. "Come on, Draco. You’re usually the one with an eye for fashion. Did you really let this one slip?"
"Thank you," Draco’s voice was dry, "that’s the nicest thing you’ve said all evening." He refused to look at Harry, instead staring straight ahead.
“Draco, you’re so dramatic. I mean, it is a look.” Harry couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. “Just a truly dreadful one”
Draco shot him a pointed glance. "Says the self-proclaimed no-fashion expert." His step faltered, and Harry could almost feel the shift in his posture. "And while we're on the subject, how do I know this isn't just a terrible take from someone who doesn’t even get fashion? You just don’t see the vision the way I do."
When Draco stopped walking, Harry took that as an opportunity to move closer, his nose pressing into the crook of Draco’s neck, offering the smallest of comforts. "Your head looked like moss. It’s kinda funny."
Draco reluctantly complied, leaning his head to the side so Harry could settle in. The touch was almost playful, but Harry could feel that subtle tension in Draco’s shoulders. "I like to amuse you, Potter. This whole thing was actually an elaborate plan to humor you."
A chuckle escaped Harry. He could see Draco's cheeks, nose, and ears flush—whether from the cold or from embarrassment, Harry wasn’t sure. Draco always had a way of hiding behind his bravado, but Harry knew this wasn’t Draco’s style.
"Oh, how Slytherin of you," Harry teased, reaching up to tug at the edge of Draco’s hat, lifting it slightly. The green fuzzy hair peeked out.
"You hate it," Draco chuckled now, his previous irritation softening.
"It’s… a look," Harry repeated, his voice amused. He gently pulled Draco’s hat back down. "But yeah, I hate it."
"Noted," Draco huffed, a small laugh escaping him as he shoved Harry’s shoulder with his own. “I should’ve figured since you did say you had…what was the word? Fantasies of running your fingers through my hair?”
Harry held his gaze for a moment, a slight smirk playing at his lips. "You remembered correctly," he replied in a low voice, feeling the warmth of the winter air rise between them as the heat from his words lingered, almost defiant against the cold.
Draco’s eyes darkened with a hint of challenge, his voice dropping to a teasing murmur. “And dare I ask under what circumstances?” His gaze narrowed, daring Harry to push further.
Harry’s smile curled with quiet intent. "Better to find out eventually," he murmured, taking Draco’s left hand in his own rather than have it hidden in his pocket. His fingers curled around Draco’s wrist, pulling their arms closer, locking them together. The contact was electric, and Draco shot him a playful, though still slightly annoyed, smile, as if daring him to make the next move.
Harry had certainly gone full Gryffindor mode, proving just how far he'd go to impress his lover by securing a reservation at Le Jardin de Lumière. And, oh, how he adored the way Draco pronounced it—each syllable rolling off his tongue like velvet.
They were seated at the best table in the restaurant, naturally—because when it came to the two of them, anything less simply wouldn’t do. Harry, ever eager to give Draco the best of everything, and Draco, equally determined to ensure everything was flawless for them—not just for themselves, but to make sure the rest of the room couldn't help but envy them. Their table, set beneath a large glass dome, offered a perfect view of the stars above, the twinkling sky stretching out in all its beauty. There were no neighboring tables, ensuring their privacy, yet the strategic position allowed every eye in the room to catch glimpses of them from afar.
Draco, with a subtle but knowing smile Harry didn’t catch, decided it was time to remove his hat, tucking it into his bag with a swift motion. He was well aware that Harry wasn’t thrilled to see his "moss" hair on full display, judging by the way Harry’s gaze narrowed in mild disapproval.
“It’s rude to wear hats at dinner,” Draco teased, his voice dripping with amusement. “I have quite the table manners, you know.” Leaning in closer, Harry couldn’t help but mirror the motion, their faces almost touching. Draco’s lips brushed Harry’s ear as he whispered, “And I wouldn’t want to disrespect my date.”
When Draco pulled away, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts and that smug grin, Harry groaned inwardly at the sight of Draco’s wild, green hair. “That hair is the disrespect,” he muttered under his breath.
But rather than rising to the bait, Draco simply chuckled, leaning back and cupping Harry’s chin gently in both hands. With a soft, chaste kiss, he silenced Harry's complaint, leaving him momentarily speechless but satisfied.
Dinner went by smoothly, like their previous ones together. Not much had changed, really—the same routine conversations about updates on Teddy and Narcissa, peppered with the occasional quip or playful jab.
Harry, however, had managed to pull off something new: successfully ordering wine and pronouncing it correctly, an accomplishment he'd practiced in his mind more times than he cared to admit. With a smug wiggle of his brows, he said, “I like to impress.”
Draco hummed, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Flattery and French? What's next?”
Harry, unusually quick on his wits tonight, leaned in slightly and said, “I can think of another word that starts with F.” His voice dropped as his arm slowly slid behind Draco.
Draco's eyes lit up, catching on to Harry's implications. “Yeah?” he drawled, narrowing his eyes and biting his lower lip to stifle a grin. “Think I can get you to fuck me with this hair?”
Harry froze mid-advance, abruptly reminded of Draco's current look—a buzz cut he was still adjusting to. The reaction earned him a chuckle and a mock whine from his date.
Draco, unwilling to let Harry escape, grabbed his collar and tugged him back. “You got this far, Potter. You have to take me for everything that I am.”
“But wouldn’t it have been better if I pulled your hair during sex?” Harry teased, regaining some of his footing.
Draco lightly slapped Harry’s chest, though the latter didn’t flinch, thankful no nearby tables overheard them.
“Sexualizing my long hair, Potter?” Draco feigned indignation.
“You looked hotter with it compared to now,” Harry countered, his gaze unflinching and serious, sending Draco into another fit of amused laughter.
The hand that had tugged Harry closer began to wander—traveling to his shoulder, then his chest, and finally, ever so slowly, lower. Draco’s voice dropped into a purr as he said, “Alright…”
“Alright?” Harry echoed, his mind too preoccupied with Draco’s hand now to think of anything clever.
“You’ve always been my muse, Harry,” Draco murmured, emphasizing the name as he finally reverted to using it again. “I’m easily swayed by your... aggravations.”
“What do you mean?” Harry leaned back slightly, though he didn’t break their closeness.
“From you being my test subject for my potions, you have inspired my greatest creations. Can’t I try to satisfy you this time? As my muse once more?” Draco’s lips curled into a sly smile.
“Satisfy me how?” Harry raised a brow, his curiosity piqued.
“If a potion for healing broken bones is possible, then growing keratin shouldn’t be out of reach. Have you seen my work with potions?” Draco’s confidence was palpable.
Harry blinked, feeling somewhat foolish for not suggesting it himself earlier. “You’re telling me all this time, you could’ve just brewed something?”
Draco chuckled, clearly enjoying Harry’s exasperation. “What, and miss seeing you struggle with how to compliment me without lying? Never.”
Harry groaned, frustrated but clearly amused. “You’re the worst, you know that?”
“And yet, here you are,” Draco teased back, his laughter crinkling his eyes and coloring his cheeks a faint pink. He grabbed Harry’s hand, kissed it gently, and cradled it against his cheek. His smile was so genuine it almost disarmed Harry entirely.
Harry, only slightly unimpressed, reached for his glass with his free hand and raised it. “Cheers.”
Draco let go of Harry’s hand to grab his own glass, clinking it against Harry’s. They both downed their wine in unison, but before Harry could set his glass back down, Draco seized the opportunity to grab his face and kiss him. This time, it wasn’t a chaste kiss—their lips moved against each other, slow and deliberate. Harry hummed into it, his body relaxing under Draco’s touch.
When they finally parted, Harry could see Draco more clearly in the dim lighting. The buzzcut framed his face in a way his longer hair never did, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the striking prominence of his cheekbones. His gray eyes seemed more piercing, his features raw and exposed. Harry had always thought Draco was beautiful, but now, stripped of the softness his hair once provided, he looked utterly magnetic.
Harry leaned in again, and Draco eagerly met him halfway. Draco’s hand came up to cradle Harry’s cheek, while Harry’s arm, still resting around Draco’s lower back, pulled him so close their chests pressed together.
They pulled apart again, both a little breathless, and Draco spoke, his voice low and teasing. “So, Potter... What do you think? Still miss the hair?”
Harry smirked, brushing his thumb over Draco’s flushed cheek. “A hundred times, yes.”