Tiny Insects
Harry was starting to learn the rules of punctuality. Show up early to interviews, on time to gatherings, and at your friend's door 90 minutes earlier than when you're supposed to meet said friend's other friend.
“Draco, it isn't even nine,” Harry said. “I wasn't going to be late.”
“I'm well aware of the time, Harry,” Draco said. “Believe it or not, I do not enjoy waking up early either. But I cannot be seen accompanied by you dressed the way you usually do.”
“Ouch,” Harry said. “Isn't that what this whole trip is for?”
“Yes. In the meantime. . .” Draco pulled an outfit on a hanger from behind his back. “These are Blaise's. You're wider than me so I figured his clothes were a better option.”
“Ah, thanks. That's very kind of you, actually,” Harry said. “Although it could've gone without the insult.”
“It provided context,” the blond replied. “I'll be staying to assist you in getting ready.”
“You don't need to—”
“It's decided. Step aside.”
“What about Ron?”
Draco sighed. “We both know Weasley isn't awake at this time, not on a Sunday. Besides, he knows better than to interact directly with me. I expect him to ignore me the entire time and that suits me just fine.”
Draco's reassurance did nothing to quell Harry's concerns, but Ron was still asleep. Hopefully, it stayed that way and a row between the two would be avoided entirely.
“All right. Come in,” Harry said finally and stepped aside.
Draco walked past him and hooked the hanger onto the chair of Harry’s desk as Harry shut the door. Harry watched as Draco took off his messenger bag and set it on Harry’s desk. He opened it and fetched a comb and a tube of hair product.
“What’s that for?” Harry asked with a frown.
“Don’t look too worried,” Draco said, running his fingers against the teeth of the comb. “This is just to help you look presentable before your appointment. I won't be doing much. I assume you don't have lice?”
“Well. . .” Harry itched his scalp.
The horrified look on Draco's face was well worth it and Harry couldn't help but laugh as the blond took a step back.
“I'm joking, you know. I don't have lice,” Harry assured him. “Though it would be hilarious if I did and didn't tell you.”
Draco gave him a disapproving look but was obviously relieved. “Don't joke about such things. Do you know how difficult it is to get rid of a lice infestation?”
“I've never heard someone call it an ‘infestation’,” Harry said, thoroughly entertained by his friend’s reaction.
“What else would you call it? They are little insects that crawl all over your head and lay eggs in your hair,” Draco shivered as he spoke. “Could you imagine? What an awful fate to be doomed to.”
Harry was quickly learning that despite his aloof demeanour, Draco was quite the melodramatic. Harry couldn't deny that he wasn't slightly charmed by it. “There are worse things.”
“Such as?”
“Bed bugs.”
“Are you trying to tell me you have bed bugs?” Draco asked.
“No, I don't— Know what? How about I go have that shower?” Harry said.
Draco nodded. “Please. This conversation is making me itchy.”
Harry chuckled with a shake of his head. “All right. No more talk about little tiny insects.”
“Just turn around, Potter, and don't get your hair wet.”
Harry flashed him a cheeky smile that Draco rolled his eyes to. Satisfied with the reaction, he turned around and walked into the bathroom.
~*~*~
Harry wiped his glasses with his towel and put them back on his face. He looked at himself in the mirror. His face was a little red from the steam but that was normal. He looked up at his hair, swiping a bit of his overgrown fringe to the side. He hadn't noticed how long his hair had gotten.
Vernon and Petunia never bothered to take him to a barber so Harry was used to cutting his hair himself but with everything as of late, it must have slipped his mind.
It worked out though, because he now had enough hair for whatever haircut he wanted. He had somewhat of an idea too.
Harry made his way out of the bathroom. Ron was still
sleeping, now laying in an awkward position that apparently left his airway partially blocked as he was now letting out a loud snore.
Harry turned to his bed to find Draco on the edge of it, his shoes off and legs crossed, reading a book that Harry was pretty sure Trelawney had assigned to them for literature.
“You're doing homework right now?” Harry said, very much judging. “You're just as bad as Hermione.”
Draco didn't bother to look up as he responded. “I wasn't expecting a day out or I would've done this in the evening. I imagine this will be the only time I have to get anything done today.”
“It's still weird.”
“And that is precisely the reason Granger and I are top of our set,” Draco said, folding the corner of the book and shutting it. “And why you're here on a pity scholarship.”
Harry brought his hand up to his heart and mimicked offense. “Low blow.”
“Oh please. Nothing I do could be described as ‘low’,” the blond replied and Harry scoffed. Draco stood from the bed and gestured to the dresser. “Now sit, this won't take too long.”
Harry complied and watched as Draco squeezed and rubbed the hair product into his hands and applied it to Harry’s hair. Draco was thorough and his hands in Harry’s hair were extremely relaxing. Harry couldn't help but close his eyes and sigh softly. He hadn't noticed before but Draco smelt really good. It was a soft scent, light and not quite airy. The sort of scent that reached out, captured, and slowly grounded you. It smelt nothing like any of the commercial perfumes Harry knew.
And Draco was so close. As he began to comb and style Harry’s hair, Draco’s hand grasped Harry’s head, his fingers on his jaw, moving his head so Draco could have a better look at his work. When it finally seemed like he was done, Draco nodded approvingly and his eyes met Harry’s.
Almost immediately, Harry flushed pink. Draco was really attractive. Well, Harry already knew that, but Draco was really attractive.
He hadn't registered before that Draco's slim eyes were
steel grey and if Harry didn't know Draco better, he would have been easily intimidated by the sheer intensity of their gaze. The rest of his features were just as refined, his face slim and jaw sharp, his nose pointed, and his skin smooth and well-cared for. His pale blond hair was slicked back as usual and it only complemented his manicured appearance.
“All done,” Draco said, pleased with his work. “You look like you have some semblance of dignity now.”
Harry’s eyes dropped to Draco’s lips as he spoke but before he could linger on how soft they looked, Harry turned his head to the side, making Draco let go of his face and stand straight.
“Thanks,” Harry said, still refusing to meet Draco’s gaze. “Can I have a look?”
Draco gestured to the bathroom door. “Be my guest.”
Harry got off the dresser, stood in front of the bathroom door, and looked at his hair. It was nowhere near as polished as Draco's, but with the heaviest part of his fringe coiffed back and his sideburns combed behind his ears, he had a tidy look about him. Harry could really see his forehead now and that unsightly off-centre scar. God, Harry hated that thing.
“Thoughts?”
Harry looked back at Draco. “I look like one of you now,” he said.
Draco let out a patronising scoff. “Oh no, you have a long way to go before you could pass as us,” he said. “But I do believe we can make a gentleman out of you in due time.”
Harry gave him a half-smile. “Thanks.” He turned his head back to the mirror and brought his hand up to his scar to feel the rough scar tissue.
Harry didn't hate the scar because of how it looked. He hated it because it was just a reminder of how different his life could have been and having the moment his parents died permanently marked on him angered him.
Harry shut his eyes and took a deep breath to settle down his heart. He could feel the heat in his face and now was certainly not the time to be flustered about this.
“Harry? Is there an issue?” Draco said again and when Harry turned back to his friend, he found him looking at him with a concerned expression.
“Um. . .” Harry contemplated. His hand was still on his scar and Draco’s eyes were already fixed on his forehead. There was no point in lying now.
Harry laughed to ease some of the tension in his chest but it came out more awkward than anything. “Well, it's just my scar. I. . . I feel weird when I see it.”
“I was inclined to ask earlier,” Draco said. His voice was gentle. “May I ask why?”
Harry pursed his lips and curled his fingers into his palms. He fixed his gaze on the floor, unable to meet Draco’s eyes. “I got it the day my parents died.”
“Oh.” There was that pitying tone Harry so despised. “Is it appropriate to ask how?”
“Home invasion. Shot my dad at the door and my mum upstairs while she was holding me. She dropped me and I landed on my head. The scar’s from the surgery.”
Harry braced himself for the onslaught of sympathy.
“Those are some terrible surgeons,” Draco remarked.
Harry looked up at him, his eyes wide.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Harry said. “I was just expecting you to say ‘sorry’ or something.”
“Why would I do that? I didn't kill your parents,” Draco replied and though his words were harsh, Harry wasn't the slightest bit offended. “I can't say I don't feel bad for you, but if you started crying we would be late meeting Blaise and Pansy.”
Harry didn't quite know if he appreciated Draco’s bluntness but it was very different from the reactions he normally got, even from adults. It was surprising but not unwelcome.
“Speaking of which, are you going to get dressed or keep staring at me with nothing but a towel on?” Draco said, a brow sharply raised.
“Ah.” Harry flushed as he glanced down at his waist. He hadn't even realised. “Sorry. I'll do that right now.”
Before Draco could reply, Harry grabbed the clothes off the dresser and ran back into the bathroom.