Harry was stood outside Draco’s cell. One hand holding a metal bar and the other in the pocket of his crimson Auror robes.
He was looking down at Draco’s curled up figure, and Draco was looking up at Harry through the fringe of his platinum—now longer and a dirtier shade of it— hair.
Harry squinted and slowly crouched down, the hand on the bar sliding down with the motion, coming to rest above Harry’s head as Harry reached Malfoy’s eye level.
“How the hell do you manage to look so good even in a goddamn prison cell?” Was what Harry said.
That wasn’t what Draco had expected.
“Wh-what?” He stuttered in response, eyes wide with apprehension.
“I was expecting more, ah,” Harry waved the hand from his pocket around vaguely, “Nearly dead sort of complexion.”
“Oh.” Draco said. “Sorry?” He tried with his voice low and uncertain. He didn’t know what Potter wanted him to say. Was this a good thing or bad? Was it suspicious that Draco wasn’t on the verge of death?
Harry hummed.
“Am I not supposed to be?” Draco ventured. “Are you going to arrest me for it? Put me in a prison?— Oh wait.” He raised his eyebrows slightly in mock realization.
He was probably playing with fire.
But luck must have been on his side (for a change) because Harry only smirked slightly.
“That’s more like it.” He said nonsensically.
What’s that even supposed to mean? Draco wondered in bewilderment.
Harry stood up, dusting the knees of his uniform trousers.
Bastard, Draco thought. His knee didn’t even touch the floor.
“You know Malfoy,” Harry said. “I could put in a good word for you.”
Draco raised an eyebrow. He really wanted to say something scathing. Or at least be annoying about this. Because that was the natural state of him wasn’t it?
Well, it had been. Previously. Not anymore. He was too tired for that shit.
“And why would you do that?” His voice sounded sad and dejected even to himself.
“It’s a waste for you to be here.” Was Harry’s response.
“What’s that even supposed to mean ?” Draco asked in tired sort of exasperation.
Harry leaned forward again. His face in front of Draco’s from behind the metal bars.
“Just behave , won’t you? For a few weeks. Then I’ll show you what I mean.” Harry told him in a low voice.
He straightened after that, and with a final nod, turned around and walked off.
Had Draco been more obsessed with Potter, he would have spent some time analyzing why Potter’s low baritone sent a shiver up his spine. Or why Potter had looked slightly pleased, or perhaps, amused when he nodded before leaving.
If Draco had any energy left, he would have wondered why Potter had even come to visit him and why he was so insistent upon ‘ putting in a good word’ for the likes of him.
But he didn’t.
And so he only sat and waited for Potter to define ‘a few weeks’.