Archive of Our Own

The world is full of magic things,

patiently waiting for your senses to grow sharper.

W.B. Yeats

"Bloody hell," Harry mumbles as his wand sends sparks flying close to his face. The blue gem glows, lighting up the curvature of the runes carved delicately into its surface. Harry traces the small carvings with his wand, leaning in closer to inspect the magic curling up and around the gem’s etchings.

The magic floats up, leaving miniscule trails of mist in its wake. Harry moves his wand slowly, gloved hands moving meticulously as he turns the gem clockwise, drawing along the markings with his wand tip. He clicks the first lens of his glasses, the monocle sliding over and zooming in on the gem’s surface. He clicks the second and third lens into place to properly identify the type of magic used in the rune inscription to avoid causing damage to his wand.

"Ah, not a dark artifact then," he whispers, his wand making the circles of magic and mist dance in the air. The gem continues to glow and twinkle gold as Harry finishes piecing the puzzle of runes back together, drawing out the protection spell laced within. The magic shimmers, reminding Harry of fairy lights as the magic twists and turns in the air, forming into words, becoming clear and decipherable. The sentence sparkles. Floating inches above the jewel, moving as if a slight breeze is blowing.

Harry opens his notebook and copies the runes inscription with a self inking quill. Squinting at the notebook, and glancing back at the gem sitting on the small metal stand underneath the iridescent light. The gem cools, the dark blue color returning and the diamonds around the edge returning to their original bright selves. The magic glistens, starting to disappear as the runes cease to glow, hiding themselves once again within the jewel’s surface.

He finishes copying the inscription into the notebook.

My heart is no longer my own, but yours to keep.

He had been running across these in abundance as of late. The protection and love runes etched deep into old jewelry surfaces, almost too blurred to see with the naked eye. Old family heirlooms that kept popping up without a moment's notice. Lost in an old chest under blankets or stuffed within a dresser filled with moth balls. 

He especially liked these types of jobs.

Clients coming to him with old tattered boxes, asking him what exactly was wrong with this piece of jewelry or their old chess set. Anything that could be carved and painted with specific runes he eventually deciphered the meaning and the magic. Some causing the magic in the home to break and go berserk, others completely canceling any and all spells. 

All magnificent and beautiful in their own way. 

He picks up the jewel and shines it, removing any smudges that may have been unwarranted on the piece. Opening the velvet box and placing it back into its cradle. He clicks the lenses on his glasses. The smaller lenses flipping up and wrapping around his frames in waiting for their next use. Remnants of magic still dance around in front of Harry’s eyes as he blinks quickly, clearing his vision.

Cutting a piece of parchment from his roll, he writes the runes and their message, folding it and placing it neatly on the gem and closing the lid. He removes his gloves, pulling from the bottom and curling the thick wool around his fingers so as to not touch his skin and tossing them in the laundry bin, closing the lid. He stretches, his muscles groaning from sitting in the same position for so long.

He turns, picking up the small box and placing it on the shelf, next to the other jewelry he had received earlier in the week. Necklaces, earrings and brooches, all heavily humming with magic. Small runes etched into their backs or chains for protection for their wearers, or curses for enemies. It had taken him less than a week to break many of the magical properties inscribed on each individual piece.

After years of studying and practice, these types of charms had only become easier.

Each one had its own tiny puzzle that he had to unlock and then place back together so as to not damage the original magic. He found the more ancient runes would make him question his expertise. He smiles, turning and walking to the larger shelf on the other side of the room where rows of large bricks were stacked, making two pyramids. 

He grabs a brick off of the first stack and sets it back on the stand where the gem had previously been, moving the lamp closer, shining on the thickened surface of the brick. He grabs a new pair of gloves from a clean and folded pile on his counter and clicks his glasses, lenses unraveling and sliding in place and begins to etch into the bricks surface. His wand ignites, sending red sparks flying, reminding him of the Muggles that would weld. The metals joining together as one, the whites, reds and yellows of the heat sparking. He continues moving his wand along the edge of the brick, etching lightly into the surface. 

He has many clients, being one of the only proper Rune Inscriptors in London, let alone this portion of Europe. Many had fallen back on the practices of the old ways of magic and had decided to move forward with simple charms. The Ministry, however, would still reach out and ask for his aid. Even years after the war, many still believed he was one of the most powerful wizards living.

Harry didn't believe it—doesn’t believe it. He enjoys this niche position in which he has found himself. Weaving new and improved spells into whatever is needed and enhancing an item in new and profound ways.

The riddles were the best part. Threading the magic in and out of different materials. Cracking simple spells or breaking a sweat from more complex designs in objects of old.

Harry knew he wasn't extremely powerful; he was just good at magic. At seeing it. Feeling it wrap around his fingertips and floating by his eyes. How magic could create and protect. How it could build up and leech out of things if not controlled and cared after properly. He had become more in tune with the incantations and magical world around him, and it only continued to grow.

Harry moves his wand, curving and looping it inches above the brick’s surface to begin the process of his new inscription. 

Stability. Protection. Balance.

When Hermione had come with the few building blocks from the Ministry walls, asking Harry to enhance the building with his runes, Harry had merely shrugged and taken the bricks that she had handed him.

After all, he wasn't one to say no to the Minister of Magic.

*

Harry decides to pick up bread from a small bakery on Diagon and a bottle of red wine at the corner shop after finishing with the last portion of his inscriptions. He knows to always bring something to Ron and Hermione's. Even if it was something simple and even if they never expect anything from him. The nights that included his friends always helped him relax and helped his muscles unwind. 

The street is quiet this evening and the sky dark and gray with a light breeze. Not enough to prickle his skin with the approaching cold. He's tired, and a headache is looming at the sides of his temples as he walks, boots echoing softly against the damp stones as he continues down the street, making his way towards the Apparition point. 

Many shops had closed recently. Those going on holiday or restoring some of the older and more dilapidated areas. On occasion, he would stop and look at the shop's goods through windows, seeing if there was anything worth purchasing.

Anything worth wanting.

He stops and moves his packages underneath his arm to rub his eyes, seeing small fireflies dancing around a shop window. They flicker in and out between the glass and door of the shop. Harry moves closer and realizes that it is magic moving in-between the glass, through the door and getting lost on the ground.

He looks up at the shop's sign, seeing if this one is new or being restored.

Pretty Patterns

He hasn't seen this shop before and decides to investigate as he glances at the ground, kicking his boot around. The dirt between the stones shimmers, catching the breeze and floating up. He squints, the top of his boot covered in what looks like glitter and dust. He leans towards the glass, putting his hand on the window, covering the glare from the setting sun.

The shop holds countless fabrics to one side. Many folded and placed onto shelves behind the counter, others draped over wooden holders. Which, Harry suspects, are hand carved if their detail was anything to go by.

The other side of the shop holds clothing. All colors, embroidered patterns, dresses and robes. The light glinting into the windows, highlighting the designs and causing Harry to finally catch sight of the magic threaded into the fabrics.

It sparkles greens, blues, lavenders and golds, flowing throughout the shop and making Harry rub his eyes again. He knew he had worked far too long today. Stuck in that small little lab, so of course he was seeing things.

He scans the shop and continues to see the sheen of magical signatures dancing around the fabrics. It's strange, but Harry knows that this is rune magic, and can see the outlines of the small shapes in the threads closest to him hanging on a rack. 

It's rather an odd thing, as he can't seem to recall when he has ever come across different types of runes woven into fabrics. Unless he's actually going mad this time, which he thinks might be overdue. He wanders over to the other window.

Emerald spirals up from the folded fabric. Curling and winding its way up from being folded over a wooden holder. Harry clicks his glasses, the lenses flipping over so he can determine the type of runes he's seeing.

The threads brighten under his lenses and he can clearly see the markings. Letters floating and joining the curls of magic, coalescing into a rainbow. The threads of the fabric curve and move, twisting into something decipherable. 

The rune shimmers and Harry realizes it's one for beauty, for confidence — nothing evil or vicious about it. He smiles, and can't believe that this is something he's witnessing. Something he can see without his wand to aid him in the type of magic. He wonders how this is something he has been doing for almost a decade and has never seen anything like it. There is something so pure in these fabrics and Harry smiles at it. Smiles at the fact of such a small beauty, of how someone is making such a work of art and, who might not even know they are pouring parts of their own self into sewing and creating. That whoever was making these woven majesties not only had their magic under complete control, but possessed a talent that may surpass many others.

He continues to watch as the magic floats up and away, trying to escape and make itself known. The material is a pearly white, catching the light and shining, with small leaves dyed purple and green, meeting the threads at the edges. It's all so beautiful that Harry loses track of time and isn't sure how long he's been staring into the shop window. The light reflecting off the glass and onto the fabrics in the shop is giving him a sense of nostalgia that he hasn’t felt in — in months. Possibly years he thinks as he watches the tendrils float up and around, twisting and turning into another few letters as they whisper up and into the shimmering dust of the sun.

*

Over the next week, Harry finds himself taking this longer route home after work. He never did take this way before, as it was always a few minutes longer to walk. But he feels that the exercise may be good for him. He figures he can spare some extra time in walking this way and stopping in front of this new shop to see if anything interesting has wandered its way onto the wooden holders or been folded onto the nearby tables.

He couldn’t help but become fascinated. Fascinated at something he’s newly discovered as runes etched into small areas of thread, and it’s all been rather glorious to see. Something more interesting than the items he has been working on. Something different, exciting and so very unique compared to what he has been presented with over the last years that well — well, he just can’t seem to help himself.

The thought does cross his mind that maybe he’s being a bit too creepy. Maybe walking this way home almost every evening rather than his usual way was starting to border on unusual, as he only wanted to see the shop. But, he reassured himself that he wasn’t going to become too obsessive. Because sometimes he still tended to do that.

Become so eager and curious over something that no one would see him for days. Hermione and Ron would eventually realize it and pull him out of his theoretical spiral, making sure he was eating and drinking properly.

He could already hear Ron’s words ringing in his head of ‘Well Mate, you know how you get ’, and Harry always wanted to rebuttal and argue, saying he most certainly did not know how he got.

But he was most certainly aware of how he got.

So, there was no real reason to tell anyone about this recent discovery of his — right now, anyway. He knew Hermione would be intrigued, maybe would even find a book or two on the subject, something of course Harry would have never heard of, and Ron — well, Ron would be interested, make sure Harry was all fine and just be happy to be there all the same. It was all very normal and Harry didn’t have any sort of problem, being huddled up inside a lab all day writing and playing with his magical puzzles, as some clients enjoyed calling them.

He continues walking and he makes the mistake of looking down as he turns the corner, almost but not quite to his destination. He runs into someone, and they both stumble slightly, and for a brief moment Harry is apologetic. For a second has a sorry on his lips and wants to comment about how he was lost in his head again. How he was doing everything but paying attention until he makes the mistake of glancing up.

“Well, it seems you still have all the grace and subtlety of a hippogriff.” 

Harry stands there for a brief moment, a little thunderstruck at who it is that he's run into. He takes a small step back, biting his tongue.

"Malfoy."

Harry hasn't seen him in a good while, well at least up this close. The magazine covers that he had been flaunting on, Harry only discreetly looked at because Hermione had two on the counter of her kitchen.

Malfoy’s hair is loose, a direct contrast to the sleek look he carried around until recently, and Harry can't help but let the thought cross his mind that he looks rather good. He pushes that out of his head as he watches Malfoy raise an eyebrow, looking him up and down.

"Is it Potter?" someone questions by Malfoy’s side. Pansy Parkinson tilts her head, her dark hair bobbing as she moves around Malfoy, her arm wrapped around his. 

Harry doesn't want a chat or a reunion or whatever this is going to turn out to be. He feels vaguely irritated that Malfoy doesn't even have to say his name for Parkinson to guess that it's him. He was not expecting to see anyone while walking home this evening. He feels as if he's slowly deflating, like a day old birthday balloon forgotten on the floor.

"It is," he mumbles and tries to move to the right of Malfoy and continue his journey before questions or curses are fired his way.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" He watches Parkinson slither herself out of Malfoys grasp, her red heels clicking as she walks the few steps to stand in front of him. "My, you've grown into yourself." Her red lips stretch over her teeth, turning her head to Malfoy. "Wouldn't you agree Draco?"

Malfoy leers. He glances down at Harry's boots, eyes moving up, squinting at Harry's chest then up to his face.

"I see your wardrobe is the same."

"Now, Draco," Parkinson leans into Malfoy, turning slightly, patting his arm, "there's no reason to be rude, we haven't seen Potter in quite some time. He doesn't know any better."

"I —" Harry starts and is quickly cut off.

"Yes, don't mind Draco, Potter. He's had a rather long day helping me in the shop and is rather grumpy."

Harry can feel his annoyance rising. Is befuddled at how, of all times within his day, at this precise moment he runs into two of the most infuriating people he can think of.

"Well, I —" he begins again and is immediately interrupted for the second time.

"As I was saying, and I have to agree with Draco, what you're wearing isn't the least bit flattering." She flips her hair and pulls up a small red purse that matches her heels and lips.

"So, here," she hands Harry a card that shines red, then purple and blue, "come by the shop anytime you like for fittings—when it opens, of course. I know Hermione has already started a new wardrobe with me. Busy, brilliant woman that she is."

Harry flips the card over in his hand, it flashes pink, then the words appear in cursive:

Pretty Patterns

He almost loses his balance as he stares at the shop's name written on the card. The same shop that he had been staring into for the past week. The same shop that he had been trying to figure out who was making such exquisite clothing with such delicate runes.

He swallows, blinks and looks up, muttering a quiet thanks because he honestly has no idea what else to do at this moment. He catches Malfoy's eye, who is still staring at him warily.

Harry's brow furrows.

"Hermione? You've been, what, making clothes for her?"

"Absolutely. Why wouldn't I?"

Malfoy laughs, and the noise prickles Harry's skin, his annoyance creeping back with a flush to his neck.

"I, well, I didn't know this was something that was — er, well I mean —"

"Heavens, Potter. Can't dress, can't talk, might as well be a bloody infant."

"Draco! Honestly," Parkinson hisses and slaps Malfoy square in his chest. He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms tightly over his chest.

Harry glances over, seeing Malfoy's arm glint at the seams of his coat. A tiny purple shimmer, then it's gone, and if Harry hadn’t been looking he may have missed it.

However, it does throw him for a small loop, and now he can't seem to look away from Malfoy's arms. Which turns out to be rather awkward as he realizes it a moment too late, when Parkinson clears her throat.

"Right, yes, well, we do need to be going Potter, and please, do pop in. Draco would love to make something specific for you."

Harry breathes in and chokes, sending himself into a coughing fit, covering his mouth.

"Yes," he clears his throat, eyes watering, "yes, alright thanks."

He knows the strange looks he's receiving from the two of them, but he can't help it. There's been too much information thrown at him in such a short amount of time. He breathes in with a tender throat and places the card in his jacket pocket.

"Tell Hermione hello for me when you see her." 

Parkinson turns and grabs onto Malfoy's arm, linking it with her own as they continue around the corner.

"Was he always that awkward and odd?" He hears Parkinson ask Malfoy as they walk further down the street. "I don't ever remember him that way before."

"Most likely," Malfoy suggests, and Harry feels a spike of anger in his chest as he walks around the corner and leans against the brick wall and coughs again. He glowers silently, hands stuffed into his pockets as he tries to calm himself down.

His curiosity has peaked and is only fueled by the astonishment that he feels crawling around underneath it. He rubs his chest absentmindedly and then rubs at his eyes, moving his glasses up to the top of his head. They tangle in his hair, pulling the dark strands, and it grounds him for a moment.

He stands straight, the bricks scratching along his back as he gains his footing and starts walking towards the shop. Malfoy and Parkinson are long gone, their footsteps retreating quickly in the other direction.

He glances down and sees the stones mixed with purple dust, glistening in the setting sun. The remnants of rune magic wear woven into Malfoy's dark purple jacket. It had been beautiful, now that Harry's thoughts are more focused, instead of being tossed around haphazardly in his skull.

There had been small vines curled around the sleeves, stopping at Malfoy's elbow with dark ebony roses opening and closing around his forearms. 

Harry continues walking, looking at the ground and glancing up every few steps so as to not run into anyone else. The stones still catch the purple residue of magic, clumped together and heavier the closer he gets to the shop. He squints and clicks the frame of his glasses, the first lens falling into place as he approaches the window.

There's so much magical residue. 

It looks like tiny fireflies floating around the fabrics, floating down slowly to meet the floor. The colors of the dye are stark purples and dark greens, and Harry can't help but wonder if Malfoy had just finished the coat and decided to wear it home.

There's new clothing set out on some of the racks. The floor of the shop is organized differently. The wooden holders are taller, with long white lace garments that look extremely delicate and catch the light of the sun and shine with an iridescent hue.

Harry moves, becoming distracted by something to the left, seeing it out of the corner of his eye.

He can see the runes peeking out of a piece of clothing that is neatly folded on the corner of a long display table. It's the darkest that Harry has seen thus far. Velvet and soft, swallowing any and all light around it besides the deep red designs flowing throughout the folds. It looks like a wave, rolling soundlessly and calmly. The red and black moving together, twisting and curling, making swirls and unique patterns, then growing still again.

The runes in the fabric are unmistakable. They move to form letters and lazily shift into the beginning of a sentence.

Harry places a hand on the glass and leans in, his nose almost squished against the window. He can see them now, the simple rune of hope. The letters jumping out clear as day, but slightly hidden in the folds:

I once wished for many things. But ~

The rest of the sentence is cut off and Harry knows now, without any doubt, that he's slowly going to be driven round the bend by this entire situation. How, for some bloody reason, the universe decided to throw him into a scenario which he could never just walk away from. Could absolutely never ignore.

How, once again, after all of these years he was going to be driven mad, and oh so very annoyed by Draco Malfoy.

*

"I had picked up a Witch Weekly — oh, I don't know, a few months ago? Anyway, Pansy had an article describing her new line of clothing and honestly, it was all so gorgeous."

"Pansy."

"Yes."

"Pansy Parkinson."

"Yes, Harry, why is this so astonishing?"

Hermione picks up her glass and takes a long slip of her wine, then twirls the glass. Harry watches the red cling to the sides and drip down slowly.

"I — well, I'm just surprised."

Hermione sighs and picks up her fork, poking the vegetables on her plate.

"I know, but it's been — well it's been a decade, right? I'm not exactly saying people change but, they do grow and we've actually had some unique and deep discussions."

"Have you?" Harry crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, waiting for her to continue. He picks up his own glass and drinks..

"Yes, actually," Hermione brings her fork to her lips and chews thoughtfully, "we did talk about the war. We talked about the dark side of things. The fear, regret and the ostracization she dealt with for many years." 

Harry nods his head and places his glass back on the table, picking up his fork, tapping it against the plate.

"I mean," Hermione continues, a thoughtful look on her face, "I have seen her throughout the years, and she was always courteous. It's only been in the last few months that we have seen each other more recently."

Harry nods again, thinking how he had also run into Pansy Parkinson multiple times throughout the last few years. She had never caused trouble and only stopped him for simple chats here and there, but the most recent interaction had been an odd one. Even with Draco Malfoy at her side.

"Well, I don't think either of them would try to bring attention to themselves ever again."

"Them?" Hermione asks.

"I ran into her and Malfoy yesterday, coming home." Harry pokes a carrot with his fork and glances up at Hermione. 

"Did you, now?" Harry watches her smile at her plate.

"What's funny?"

"You are, of course." She smiles, leaning back in her chair.

Harry blinks and frowns.

Hermione sighs and flips her curled hair over her shoulder.

"It's always been the same over the years for you, hasn't it? Still following him around?" Her sentence ends on a high note, the question hanging in the air.

Harry stares. "What? I haven't been following anyone."

Hermione rolls her eyes and picks up her glass again, draining the liquid in one long swallow. "Oh, please, Harry."

Harry scoffs, a light noise as he picks up his own glass, downing the rest.

"No, really Hermione, what're you on about?"

She stands, the chair grating against the floor, making an awful noise.

"Clearly, this calls for more wine."

Hermione walks farther into the kitchen, leans down and opens a cabinet, pulling out another bottle of red wine. She uncorks it with ease and fills Harry's glass up more than halfway.

"So, yes, over the last few years anytime Draco Malfoy was brought up, you'd perk up like a recently changed old lamp and talk about him for days. Not only that, but I'm pretty sure you tried to find out where he lived and tried to follow him then!"

She sits down dramatically and laughs a little. Harry can see her cheeks have grown rosy. He takes a long drink of his wine and laughs.

"You're out of your mind." He rolls his eyes. "When are Ron and Rose going to be back anyway?"

"Don't you dare try to get out of this conversation, Harry James Potter." Hermione wiggles a finger at him. "Ron said probably later tonight, George has something new made for the shop, and Molly wants time with the baby."

"Got it, so…"

"So, as I was saying, I also ended up missing some magazines where Malfoy was oh so charmingly posed on the front."

Harry stares.

"You know, the stack of magazines I had on the end table." Hermione's eyebrows rise.

"I took those for reading materials."

"Yes, of course, not the gardening or cooking magazines — the fashion ones."

Harry scratches his forehead.

"Was for a bit of light reading, honestly," he hears his voice drop, soft and quiet.

Hermione takes another sip from her glass, finishing the food on her plate. "Since when do you read?"

Harry looks at her with a thin lipped expression.

They sit in silence for a few moments as Harry gathers his strength in order to talk about the shop and not be held under the spotlight, or be further accused of things he may or may not have taken.

"You had said you ran into them both? Where were they?"

Harry taps his fingers on the table and licks his lips, finding some remnants of wine.

"I'm fairly sure they were coming out of a shop on Diagon."

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, "Is it open? Did you go inside and have a look around?"

"Er — well, I…"

Hermione looks at him expectantly, waiting patiently for him to continue.

Harry draws in a deep breath. "I told you I bumped into them. I literally ran into Malfoy rounding the corner."

"You did say that." She laughs, picking up her plate and Harry's, and walks over to the sink.

"It's just been…weird, because — well, I guess Malfoy helps with the clothing?"

Hermione spells the dishes. A small sponge scrubs while the water rinses the bubbles. She turns back around, leaning on the counter and crosses her arms.

"Yes, I do believe he's been her designer since they began her line?"

Hermione places a finger on her chin and purses her lips and walks back over to sit.

"But, the thing is — is, there's magical residue outside of the shop and inside, on the clothes and…" Harry trails off, glancing at the table then up to Hermione.

Hermione's eyes have gone wide, a speculative look on her face.

"Are you being weird again?"

"I — what, Hermione!" Harry says with exasperation, "No, I — I have been wanting to find out who owned the shop because of the magic."

"You know, Ron did say you've been spending too much time confined in that tiny room. He's been saying, 'Mione, just watch. Watch and see how weird Harry gets, and he'll go sneaking about as if he thinks it's normal."

Hermione shakes her head and picks up her wine glass.

Harry scowls and crosses his arms, leaning back in the chair with a small thunk.

"I'm playing, Harry." She nudges him with a hand, making him lean farther into his chair. She laughs again. "No, but in all honesty, what did you see?"

Harry sighs, his hand coming up to rub his forehead.

"I'm seeing rune magic."

"Rune magic?"

Harry leans in, hands clasped together tightly.

"Yes. It looks like they're sewn into the clothing?" He states it as a question, because he honestly has never seen it before and hopefully Hermione will know something about it. "It's just — I've never seen them written into fabric."

"Never?"

"No, definitely something new? There were letters I could distinctly see."

"Well, you do know Harry, runes can be placed onto or in anything? — so, maybe fabric isn't all that new, you've just never come across it?"

Harry knows she's right. Knows that the normal types of items he receives from clients are old and dusty. That he's never had someone drop off any clothing or even a blanket that had runes sewn into it. He thinks about it, tapping his fingers on the table lightly and can't honestly remember anyone giving him fabric to work out any magical runes.

"I don't think I ever have?" He looks at Hermione and shrugs.

"So, this is something new, and of course something you want to explore?"

Harry smiles, bites his cheek, and leans closer, placing his elbows on the table.

"The thing about these is that I can see almost all of the magic without the extra lenses on my glasses."

Hermione's eyebrows raise. "Oh, that's interesting."

"Yeah, I thought so too." Harry grins and takes a small sip of his wine, warmth spreading through him.

Hermione looks lost for a moment, staring at the light fixture on the ceiling. Her eyes squint as she moves to hold her head in one hand.

"Do you think that you're able to see this type of magic because it's so new?" The question hangs in the air as Harry mulls it over.

"I mean, you mostly get older types of magical artifacts, and the others that you work on are your own runes that you create." She moves her head and intertwines her fingers and shrugs, "I could probably find something in one of the rune books I have stashed away."

Harry takes a deep breath and nods. So much information has been tossed at him the past few days. Exciting and wonderful new information that he wants to explore. However annoying those associated with it may be.

"So, because it's so new, organized and strong, maybe that's why I can see it?"

"That would be my first guess?" Hermione says.

Harry shakes his leg, and it rattles the table. He thinks about the dirt and dust in-between the stones outside of the shop and how it almost looked ethereal. Thinks about how the magic was so abundant in some spots that it looked as if someone had spilt glitter all along the street. Then remembers how Malfoy's jacket had glimmered and moved. How Harry had seen the threads shimmer and had wondered if there was anything written within the folds of Malfoy's jacket.

"Do you have any idea who is making the runes?"

Harry looks at her as if she's reading his mind.

"Er, actually I — I think it's Malfoy."

Hermione chokes on her sip of wine and puts a hand on her chest as she continues to cough. Of course, he would get that reaction from her. She collects herself and swallows and twists her hair around her hand, pulling it over her shoulder.

"I don't know why I didn't see that coming." It's a blunt statement, and Harry sighs.

"I got caught up in the magical signatures and runes, I guess," she continues and laughs breathlessly, "but, it's all very intriguing."

Harry stares at the table and figures that he should have kept all of this information to himself. Should have waited, thought about a thing or two before he spilt his curiosity to anyone.

"Well, I —"

"How do you know it's Malfoy and not someone else?" Hermione questions.

"Er — um, when I bumped into him I saw the jacket he was wearing." Harry rubs his palms together and glances up at Hermione. 

"Right. So, you were caught staring?"

"I — how — am I this easy to read? Am I really this awkward that you can guess everything that actually happened without even being there?"

"Probably." She shrugs and, leans her arm across the table. "But really, do you think it's Malfoy?"

"Honestly — it has to be. Everything that I have seen within the shop; Parkinson saying he can make anything and even you said he's been helping her."

"Yes, right. But, what would be the purpose of him spelling runes into clothing?" Hermione's eyebrows draw together and the corners of her mouth are pulled down.

"There's nothing dark or malevolent about the magic or the runes that I have seen." Harry breathes in deeply and shakes his head. His thoughts scatter around and become disorganized all over again.

"Is he aware of what he's doing?"

Harry shrugs and picks up his glass, swirling the liquid so it catches the light. He glances up at Hermione, "I really don't think he is."

*

Harry never did think of himself as one that was so inconceivably nosy that he gained some sort of reputation from it. At least, he tried to be nonchalant; he really did, but that never seemed to work out in his best interest. Ron would always catch on and ask why he was so stiff in the shoulders, and Hermione would just sigh and say he was most likely drawing attention to himself. So, he would just continue his nosy business and try to figure out certain things and or people that particularly sparked his interest.

One such bloke, a Patrick Montague, had been sneaking about the Ministry, or at least Harry had thought. Harry had resorted to following him around for about three weeks, until he realized that Montague was indeed only making preparations to propose to his current girlfriend, or whatever they had decided to be. Harry had learned so much information about Montague that he could probably pass as knowing him for most of his life.

Harry had retreated back into his small hole of a room and continued working with small gems and books with magical signatures and runes he could decipher. He didn't necessarily think of himself as bored, but maybe missing something in his life. The something Harry wasn't exactly sure but was almost positive that he lost the plot.

Ron had also used the term of completely bonkers and mad as a cheese toasty, and Ginny had laughed so hard that she had almost fallen over from her fits of giggles. Harry wasn't sure how he was comparable to bread and cheese, but Ron was never really the imaginative type.

However, this is how Harry tries with an extreme amount of effort to find other ways home after a long day of work. He had started walking the other way, finding newer shops and a small pub. He had specifically left earlier or later than anyone else in any of the buildings being occupied around him or within the Ministry, hoping that everyone would be long gone so he wouldn't have to stop to have long conversations on how have you been.

He really was trying, and this is how he found himself in front of Pansy Parkinson's shop again. On a Tuesday. Just staring into the window.

The shop is dark, not having had its opening yet. He sees the new clothing hanging on different racks about the shop and sees tiny specks of gold floating around some new robes. He presses his face against the glass and is only briefly reminded of a child squishing their face to see inside of a sweets shop. He also knows that he has smudged up the otherwise clean window that he has decided to rub his grubby face on. 

He presses his face a little closer and brings both hands up to cup around his eyes. The table of folded garments that had been close to the front has now moved, and a few more racks and changes to the shop had been done. He blinks and tries to focus his eyes to make sure that he is definitely seeing small pin pricks of magic floating around. He presses his hand harder against the glass and realizes quickly that there's nothing touching his face or hands any longer.

He stumbles and almost falls into the shop but catches himself on the ledge. The ledge in which there is now no glass. Harry lifts his hands, and they only come in contact with air. This is only the second time this has happened. The first being so many years ago, with a snake involved.

"Shit."

He looks down at the ledge where the glass would fit perfectly, if it hadn't disappeared under Harry's hands. He takes in a breath and closes his eyes. His magic starts to swirl and slowly calm down, he hadn’t even realized it was getting out of control.

He opens his eyes, hands still firmly placed on the stone and realizes Draco Malfoy is standing in front of him within the shop, arms crossed and looking extremely perturbed.

"Um — hello," Harry simply states as Malfoy continues to stare.

"Normally," Malfoy drawls, "people come through doors to enter shops..."

He pauses and continues to stare. Gray eyes looking Harry up and down and moving his head to the side.

"They normally don't vandalize the property."

And there is such a long drawn out pause that Harry begins to grow concerned.

"Potter," Malfoy continues and sighs so heavily that it worries Harry even more, "why are you here? In my window? With the actual glass gone?"

"I was looking in the shop," Harry replies truthfully as he stands, pulling on his jumper, glancing glumly at the missing glass.

"Right. Yes. However, as it so happens, part of the shop has disappeared, and I would most likely say it is your doing?"

"Er — sorry about that, actually." Harry rubs at the back of his neck, looking at Malfoy bashfully.

Malfoy's face is made of stone, until he sucks on his teeth, making an obnoxious sound with his mouth.

"You better fix it before Pansy has the pleasure of seeing how you've reduced the front of her shop to some empty space."

Malfoy stares at Harry for another moment, and Harry has the slightest feeling like he's on display. Which doesn't make any sense, as for one, he's outside of the shop, and two, Malfoy is definitely not happy to see him.

"I — yes, of course, I'll fix it." Harry stares and stands up straighter, feeling rumpled and out of place.

He watches Malfoy walk away silently as he opens up the door to the front of the shop. He walks outside and holds the door open with an eyebrow raised. Then shakes his head, and gestures his hand for Harry to come inside.

Harry hustles over, and almost tripping over his own feet before abruptly stopping in front of Malfoy. He still stands taller than Harry. Light hair combed to the side nicely.. He's wearing a high collared shirt with a jacket to match. Black with a pink pastel paisley pattern that keeps jumping around. 

Harry blinks and can't remember the last time he was this close to Malfoy. Cannot seem to possibly remember when he had become so very attractive.

Harry is most definitely losing it.

Which, Hermione may have already guessed, but he decides to keep this information to himself.

"Are you going to go in?" Malfoy asks quietly, eyes intent. "Or are you going to continue to stand extremely and uncomfortably close to me?"

Harry swallows and then blinks, realizing he's been caught staring again.

"Oh, um yes, sorry."

Malfoy continues to stand holding the door as Harry walks past him into the shop.

He stops suddenly, seeing small wisps of color floating and twinkling around the clothing.

"You can come in, Potter, there's nothing in here that is evil and vicious," Malfoy whispers close to Harry's ear, and gooseflesh rises on his arms and up to his neck.

Malfoy walks around him and stops at the counter near the back. He proceeds to fold some dark burgundy cloth and takes out his wand. Thread begins winding up above his wand as Harry watches with wonder. The magic flows effortlessly. Twisting and turning until a small braid appears, and Malfoy holds up the rich colored fabric with his other hand. 

He knew, deep in his gut, that it was Malfoy who was making these creations. Knew that maybe, just maybe, he had such finite control of his magic that he was creating runes within the fibers of jackets and robes and scarves and dresses.

"I do trust," he begins and it startles Harry out of his trance, "that you are fixing that window instead of doing your normal gaping?"

Harry fumbles for his wand, completely forgetting about the front of the shop he decided to vanish due to his excitement. He hadn’t realized his magic could still go a little haywire every now and again. He turns to look at Malfoy, who is still focused on the threads and fabrics on his counter.

Harry blinks, once and then slower as he can see Malfoy's magic turn a bright blue, then green, matching the color of the thread.

"And Potter," Malfoy says, "please don't dissolve or melt anything — I would so hate for Pansy to come and see what you've ruined."

Almost as an afterthought.

"However, it would be amusing to watch her dismember you."

Harry rolls his eyes hard and turns to the open area of the shop. He starts to walk towards the front and stops momentarily to run his hand along a pair of robes that have small checkered patterns. He moves the fabric and sees small runes inlaid within a few of the squares. He runs his hand over the material and the thread sparkles, catching the lights from the ceiling.

The runes twist and form into letters as Harry watches. A small sentence becoming clear:

I have fallen so very far ~

Harry looks at the words, puzzled. He tries to see the rest of the sentence, but it is blurred and smudged. The runes are always cut off, as if they want to hide from Harry's prying eyes. He moves to the next article of clothing, a small stack folded on a table. He unfolds it, finding that they are scarves. Scarves that are white with small golden snitches flitting about, their small wings leaving tiny dotted trails across the white.

"Oh," Harry whispers to himself and smiles.

One trail of dots disappears and transforms into more runes that run along the edge of the scarf. Harry can't believe this — is absolutely baffled by the intricacies and deluge of runes that are jumping out on almost every article of clothing. 

Letters begin to emerge, and Harry hopes beyond hope that this will be one he can fully read, and can fully understand what type of rune this one is. It starts in the middle:

~ in my chaos, there was always you.

Harry feels the magic from this rune so fiercely that the air is knocked out of him. He rights himself and eventually notes that this is one for contentment. He breathes in through his nose quietly and holds it in his chest. He looks over at Malfoy from the corner of his eye. He rubs the scarf in his hand once more and then refolds it. It isn't as nice as it was, but Harry tries to even out the fabric. The contentment rune jumps up subtly and slowly disappears as he folds the corners back.

Malfoy is still working at the back, and Harry finally turns, focusing on the front of the shop to fix the vanished window. He isn't sure how he should feel. The contentment from the rune in the scarf sinking into his chest, his stomach and even down to his legs.

He pulls out his wand and runs his hand along the corner and side of the ledge, head still swimming with runes and magical signatures. He lifts his wand, pulling sand and small stones from the side of the block and from in-between the cobblestones outside. The sand floats as Harry moves his wand. He forms it into a small ball, heating it and making it shine. He stretches it and widens his hands as the sand slowly forms into a clear crystal glass, the corners fitting perfectly into the empty space where the previous pane had resided.

The glass shakes slightly as Harry secures it. He carves all four corners with large designs, ending them with small swirls and loops. Engraving a small symbol for flexibility and stability —  to help with any unforeseen erratic magic. He places this on the glass mostly for himself, so this won't happen again. 

Because he knows he'll be back again and again, hoping to see more.

He finishes the glass, coloring the letters gold with dark blue at the edges. He taps the glass with the tip of his wand, feels it's secure and smiles to himself.

"Well, I must say I wasn't expecting this."

Harry startles a little and turns his head to the side, looking at Malfoy out of the corner of his eye. He's expecting something derogatory to drop from Malfoy's lips. Something more insulting and criticizing as Malfoy knocks on the glass with one finger.

"What did you say your occupation was, Potter?" Malfoy shifts and looks at Harry, blinking curiously.

"I'm a Rune Inscriptor."

Malfoy’s eyebrows rise, and his forehead wrinkles as he hums and turns his attention back to the glass pane, shining from the shop's soft lights.

"How interesting," he pauses with a calculated look on his face, "and here I thought there was only air behind those bright eyes of yours."

*

Harry can't get over the way Malfoy looked after he had repaired the glass.

Bright eyes, Malfoy had said.

Harry takes a deep breath in and can't seem to understand why Malfoy keeps lingering in his head. That interaction had been over a week ago, and it's still replaying itself over and over. So, he tried to bury himself in work, picking up more clients while avoiding specific interactions.

Which meant not walking by the shop, avoiding trying to talk about Malfoy or Parkinson with Ron or Hermione and busying himself with more work. Which hadn't worked at all as Hermione had invited them both out to lunch, which was where Harry had found out how interesting Malfoy had become. Everything he had accomplished within the past few years. Finally deciding on partnering in clothes.

Maybe Malfoy had always been interesting, but he was just too much of a prat for Harry to see past.

He was still a prat, but now Harry could see more — especially how Malfoy was baring his soul in modest sentences throughout different types of apparel.

He had then seen Malfoy a total of three more times over the past few days and Harry had no other choice but to blame Hermione for the coincidence that he had popped up wherever Harry had been concerned.

Harry shakes his head, focusing his attention back to his most recent assignment. He couldn't keep distracting himself with thoughts of Malfoy.

Harry opens the small clock, the face a dark shine with the numbers in Roman numerals as they glimmer gold. He taps the face with the tip of his wand, then clicks his glasses so his lenses slide into place. 

Red permeates the numbers, glowing and beating like a heartbeat. He can feel the resentment of this rune flowing off of the clock with a nasty feeling of evil. He spins his wand over each number, they disappear and take on the shapes of curved letters and what appears to be crescent moons. He hasn't had a piece like this in ages.

Harry's eyebrows raise as the malicious intent beats from the magic, making the rest of the room glow a deep red. He almost reads the first rune, spelling out a sad and lonely curse on the small timepiece. He stops when there is a knock on his door.

He hears Hermione's muffled voice say, "Harry, may I come in?"

"One minute." He sighs, closing the clock. "Yeah, come in."

Hermione opens the door, face radiant with a smile.

"I've come to get you out into the light and possibly lunch?" She clasps her hands together and smiles.

"I'm not sure if I should trust you, because it seems each time that we have gone out, others decide to join."

She tilts her head and places a hand on her hip. "I'm not sure what you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

He picks the clock up from the table and moves it to one of the farther shelves in the lab, making sure it doesn't come in contact with any other items. Harry narrows his eyes and pulls off his gloves, careful to fold the other over his hand so the material doesn't touch his skin and tosses them in the waste bin. He turns back around to Hermione who has a questionable look on her face.

"That is a very hateful clock," Hermione says, nodding.

Harry laughs and touches his glasses, the lenses folding back onto the frames and walks over to where Hermione stands.

"Yes, I haven't had something with such ill intent in quite some time."

"So, lunch?" Hermione says and opens the door.

"It depends," Harry answers and walks out into the hallway, "just us?"

"Just us at lunch, but then I figured we could take a walk and get you out into the sun."

"I think you're scheming."

They walk down Diagon, the breeze picks up and Harry admits to himself that he needed a walk outside. Needed some fresh air and move his legs.

"I'm not scheming. I was hungry, wanted to see you and talk about the gala I'm hosting in a few months."

"Gala?" Harry questions and continues to walk.

They find a small café to sit and have some food. Harry realizes he's starving and maybe he should have eaten something for breakfast. They order food and continue to talk about Harry's work and what he's recently received to work on. Hermione talks about the on goings of the Ministry, only brushing over more sensitive topics as she talks. She tells Harry the things that she still wants to change and how slowly she hopes to see some light at the end of the tunnel.

"That's why I wanted to host a gala."

Harry picks up his mug of coffee, the steam still curling high as he blows on the liquid. He sees Hermione watching him with a small smile.

"And?"

"And — I'd like you to help me with it."

Harry holds his mug still in his hands, the steam clouding his glasses.

"Um, how can I help?"

"Well, I'd like you to make a few things for the wards I'll put up. I'm not expecting anything to escalate, but considering where I've decided to have it may throw up red flags — I want to be cautious."

"Where exactly are you having it?" Harry sips his coffee.

"Malfoy Manor." 

Harry chokes. He coughs, covering his mouth, and sets down his cup. 

"Malfoy Manor?" Harry squeaks out, throat still burning.

"Yes, well, you see, I wanted to make an impression on everyone. One of change and where we can all move forward."

Harry understands it completely and knows that Hermione would never make a decision such as this without careful consideration while understanding any possible backlash.

"So, Malfoy agreed?"

"Yes, Draco agreed — he was rather fond of the idea."

"He was?" Harry says with a hint of confusion, noticing Hermione's use of his first name.

"Yes, he explained how it's been empty for years — he doesn't live there any longer. But said how it is sentient and needs magic moving through it."

"That makes sense," Harry cautiously says, "and, so, how do I help?"

She tents her fingers and places her elbows on the table.

"I'd like you to help make sure it's clean. I know you have countless experiences now when dealing with specific magical signatures — along with runes and artifacts."

Harry leans his head back and looks around the café, stretching his arms out wide. He places his head in his hands, elbows on the table to match Hermione and exhales a long slow breath.

"Don't be so dramatic, Harry."

"I mean — this is kinda big though? Right?"

"It is, but I think it may be necessary for a few reasons. We need to grow and learn from the past, we need to find what is important, and I think having you there will help everyone feel more comfortable. We'll probably start next week sometime, just to plan ahead and make sure there isn't anything we can’t actually handle."

Harry finishes the last few drops of his coffee and shakes his head.

"Alright, as long as you are perfectly fine with it. You know I would always help you, Hermione."

"Of course, Harry, I know that."

She sets her napkin down on the table and stands, careful to not have her chair scrape across the floor. Harry stands and follows Hermione out of the café. They walk down the street in comfortable silence as Harry thinks over everything Hermione has just told him.

He thinks of which wards he'll have to help her establish once they get to the Manor. Thinks about the types of dark magic that may be residing in the house and of the last time Harry had set foot in it. How maybe, this will all be a good thing and procure more ways for Harry to build his own occupation. He starts thinking of the inscriptions he can use for the Manor, and then pauses and realizes that maybe Malfoy won't want him in his home carving magic into its walls.

" — and anyway, I thought it would be a good way to raise money as well."

"Sorry?" Harry says, glancing sideways at Hermione.

"Oh, were you not listening? Where did you run off too?" she says laughing. "I'm sorry, is this too much to handle?"

"No, I think it'll all be fine, I just — wait, what did you say?"

"I said I'd like to have an auction as well, to raise money for additional funding."

"Oh, right. What do you plan on auctioning?"

"Well, for starters, Pansy said we could have some of her finer items to auction." Hermione stops in front of shop doors as Harry realizes too late where she has taken him.

"It's actually getting harder to trust you."

Hermione places an open hand on her chest and gasps dramatically.

"Harry, I just know you all too well," she opens the door and pushes him through, "and when it comes to Draco Malfoy, you are easily distracted."

Harry stands at the front of the shop realizing quickly that it must be open to the public as so many witches and wizards are bustling about. He glances over to the side where the glass pane he fixed still holds and sparkles in its glory.

There's more clothing set out on the floor. Racks and tables, even hooks curled around the walls holding scarves and what Harry believes to be shawls and wraps. They glitter and move slightly from the people pulling them off their hooks, the magical residue cascading to the floor dramatically. He sees runes wrapping around specific fabrics and articles of clothing. They wink at him from where he stands, and he is still perplexed as to how no one else seems to notice any of the additions added onto the clothing they're about to purchase.

"Harry, do you want to have a look around? See if anything catches your eye?" Hermione asks from behind a rack, the metal hangers making a tinkling sound as she moves them.

He does want to look around. Wants to finally find a rune that will give him a full sentence and a partial understanding of why Malfoy is sewing them into his pieces.

Or maybe, give him more subtle hints to understand Malfoy at all.

He begins to wander, careful to not draw too much attention to himself as he looks through the clothing. He walks around racks, around the wooden stands and to a few shelves and can't seem to find many runes. The magical residue and firefly lights that he'd become so accustomed to isn't as abundant as it was during his prior stops.

He grabs a few robes and looks between the folds, hoping to see any sort of signature but sees nothing. He sighs and puts the robes down and back on the racks. Maybe all the clothing with the runes had been purchased, or Malfoy had stopped making things. He walks around another stand and stops in front of a small table with folded colorful clothing.

"Think I've been selling dark wizards their robes, don't you?"

Malfoy says behind him, and Harry isn't going to dissect how much he missed his voice.

Malfoy smiles, licks his lips and laughs softly. Harry can tell he finds the thought quite amusing as he holds his stomach and laughs again.

"No, I assure you, one tyrannical snake is good enough for anyone's lifetime. All of these are just plain, old, normal robes."

Malfoy bends over the table, straightening a pile of soft shirts, then stretches to grab at another pile. His long limbs easily move and grasp the fabrics, and Harry feels an odd sensation pooling in his stomach as he watches him.

Malfoy stands up, a few robes and shirts thrown over his arm as he picks invisible lint off of them. Harry can see the small particles of magic dance as Malfoy moves his hands across the material but no runes show themselves. Harry looks at the table, then back to Malfoy.

"Were you actually here for something or…?" Malfoy's smile fades and Harry wants it back.

The question hangs in the air, and Harry blinks. Once, then again, as he tries to focus his eyes on Malfoy and not the stardust that is littering the air where he's standing.

"I came with Hermione, just to shop around," Harry half lies.

Malfoy picks at the robes again. "Ah yes, Granger is getting her finishing touches on a few dresses and robes."

Malfoy looks at him, eyes piercing. "Did you want anything specific? Or were you just following her around like a puppy?"

Harry feels himself starting to scowl and glances down at the robes thrown over Malfoy's arm. They twinkle, and Harry can see a letter or two peeking out from a fold and his eyes widen at the sight. He steps closer and picks up part of the robe, lifting it slightly. He sees Malfoy startle, just a small movement as he quickly corrects himself at Harry's sudden close proximity. Harry rubs the fabric in his fingertips and lifts it, and can see the small rune markings within the seams. They're smeared and Harry isn't going to use his glasses here, in front of Malfoy to decipher anything.

"No, I don't need anything today, just being nosy about the shop."

Harry drops the robe, but doesn't move away from Malfoy as he looks up and grins.

Malfoy turns his head slightly and narrows his eyes.

"Right." Malfoy sets his jaw and Harry can see his annoyance. Can practically feel it being thrown off of him in waves.

"Enjoy being your usual annoying self, Potter." 

He turns with a flourish, and Harry is strangely reminded of Snape and his glorious exaggerated movements when leaving a room. "And don't make anything disappear again," Malfoy throws over his shoulder as he strides off.

Harry stands in the middle of the shop and watches Malfoy walk away and sighs. He should probably get a new hobby.

*

"You made a part of the shop disappear?" Hermione asks as she gathers gloves and additional cleaning supplies.

"It was just the front glass. I repaired it, and now it's fine." Harry rolls his eyes and organizes the gloves and additional magical chests needed for any dark artifacts they may encounter at the Manor.

Hermione hums and laughs, "Yes, Pansy was extremely annoyed about it, but then said what you did was actually better than the previous."

She ties a few bags up and places them in a chest before closing and locking it. 

"She did?" Harry asks, confused.

"Yes, so did Draco. Said that he was quite surprised at your skill."

Harry feels a swell of pride at the compliment and bites his bottom lip. He feels Hermione watching him and he looks over, her gaze questioning.

"Right. Do we have everything we need?" he asks and looks away.

"Yes, I believe we do. This is just precautionary, as I've said before. We'll see what we find and what is needed and go from there. If I need to find another place to host, then that will also be acceptable."

Harry nods and hopes it all works for Hermione's favor, but also knows she's extremely resilient and can come up with another plan quite easily. They pack up the rest of the equipment, and Hermione shrinks everything into a smaller bag that she places on her shoulder. Harry never gets tired of her little tricks.

She pulls out a small porcelain plate decorated with Gilderoy Lockhart's smiling face. Harry grimaces at it.

"What's —"

"The portkey, I had no control over what it was."

"Right, right." Harry smirks.

Hermione rolls her eyes as she keeps her hand on one side of the plate while Harry grabs the other. The cold pressured sensation around his stomach increases as the portkey activates and they drop in the front of Malfoy Manor. The gates are still as breathtaking as Harry can remember. Large iron gates with tall spikes at the top. The only difference is he is able to take in and appreciate the beauty, rather than collapsing from exhaustion and adrenal fatigue.

"Draco has been here since this morning and Pansy — honestly I'm not sure if she's coming."

"Oh, leave us with the dirty work I see?"

Hermione laughs as they continue up the path. Harry sets his gaze on the larger portions of the Manor. The high peaks and large windows, some stained glass with a mixture of colors. They approach the doors, where two large knockers decorate each door shaped like snakes.

"I don't remember this." Hermione sounds extremely curious while Harry can't remember many things from his time here. Which is probably for the best, he thinks ironically.

One door opens. The wood creaking as Malfoy steps out, a small smile on his face.

"I would say welcome to my humble home, but seeing as we've already done that, let's just have you both come in the normal way. Shall we?"

Hermione gives a small startled laugh, and Harry is stunned into silence at the dark joke. They walk into the entryway, and Harry hears the emptiness within the home. Can almost feel the sadness of the house as if it's breathing.

Harry glances over at Hermione who looks how he feels. Uneasy but in slight awe of the whole situation.

Malfoy continues to walk, his footsteps echoing off the shined floor.

"I have been coming here around once or twice a month for about a decade," he says and turns, stopping for a moment. "I've cleared a lot of things out." He hums and Harry sees how uncomfortable he is.

How uncomfortable they all are.

"So, if you like, we can venture around, and I can show you that nothing will jump out of the shadows," he pauses and furrows his brow, "or nothing should, anyway."

Harry finds that the Manor is different. Isn't as dark and foreboding as the first time they had all been taken. It feels different, and at first he can't place it. Doesn't understand where all the dark is hiding.

They walk through the drawing room, into the large ballroom and even up one of the grand staircases. The walls have lightened and the wood gleams as the house recognizes the new life that's in it. Harry sees the gold carvings along the walls that run up into the ceilings and disappear into the crown moldings. 

Everything seems clean though not new, by any means, but just so much better than before. He can't seem to find any traces of dark magical residue or artifacts. He can't help but be suspicious about the whole thing.

"Does — does it feel different to you, Harry?" Hermione comes up to his side as she looks up at the ceilings. "I'm not sure how much we have to go by — but it seems nicer, nothing dark?"

"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing?" Harry questions and continues their journey further through the Manor.

Malfoy continues to walk ahead of them, opening up a few doors and large drapes covering a window. He pulls them back and the light streams into the room revealing furniture covered in white sheets.

That's when Harry sees the specks of magic floating down subtly from the drapes. He squints his eyes and walks towards them, opening them up and looking at the inside. The velvet is heavy in Harry's hands as he pinches the fabric, revealing a few runes scattered along the edges. They aren't old, but they look new. As if a beginner had created them. They don't glimmer like the others Harry has seen, but these feel familiar in a way he can't put his finger on.

"Is there something wrong? Those shouldn't hold anything dangerous —I made them."

Harry turns with the drapes still in his hand, clutching at the material as the magic floats in front of his eyes. He takes a look at Malfoy, standing behind him with his arms crossed loosely around himself. There's firefly lights around him. They take small little dives and twists, some are blue but mostly white.

"You what?" His question comes out quiet. His stomach is starting to feel off as he looks at Malfoy.

"I made these," Malfoy repeats and steps closer, opening up the curtains wider as Harry drops his hand. Harry watches Malfoy open the drapes, feeling the velvet between his fingers. He watches Malfoy's careful hands pull at the material and has a sudden strange longing to have those hands on him. He looks away.

" — after the trials, I was put on house arrest."

Harry comes out of his reverie and realizes Malfoy has been talking.

"When you're stuck somewhere, you become resourceful, I suppose." He still holds the drapes in one hand, Harry watches it with his stomach still in knots.

"The Ministry was kind enough to leave the Manor, after taking anything of value, of course." 

He tilts his head towards Harry, and Harry realizes how close they are and takes a small step back. Malfoy sighs, still reminiscing. "After Father died, Mother wanted to breathe different air than the wretched English countryside, and moved to Spain."

Harry doesn't remember Malfoy ever talking this much. Doesn't remember him ever talking about his past or parents in such a way.

"I digress," Malfoy drops his hand, "yes, I made these because the previous ones I didn't particularly like. The house was fine with it, but won't let me replace them."

"Won't let you replace them?" Harry asks.

Malfoy turns his head and looks at Harry and frowns.

"Yes, it won't let me take these down. I suppose it fancies them."

Harry glances back at the drapes. The magical signature moving in-between the folds of fabric, almost as if it's dancing.

"Did you use anything special for these?" Harry asks before he can stop himself.

"Special? No, I made them using a pattern — these of course being the third ones, as the first two were awful," Malfoy says, then makes a face. "Is there something wrong with these?"

"No, no," Harry stammers, "I was just seeing the magic in them, was wondering if you decided to weave anything specific into them or into the house itself?"

Harry tries to not come across as being too obvious, but now he just feels silly asking.

"Are you asking me if I've placed runes into my draperies, Potter?" Malfoy actually laughs at the question, and Harry is getting very used to the noise.

"Er, I was wondering if —"

"No, absolutely not. I'm utterly rubbish at runes, was in school and can't spell them to save my life or anyone else's."

Harry's brain stutters to a halt. That has to be a lie. There's no possible way that Malfoy can't spell runes. Can't write them or weave them into thread like he's been doing for the past, well, years Harry surmises.

"Granger was the master at that, and clearly you are as well." 

Malfoy's eyes widen and seems shocked at the compliments that he has just given and clears his throat.

Harry is still very aware of the close proximity in which they stand.

"Actually, where is Granger?"

Harry looks around the room, the white linens still covering the furniture and Hermione nowhere to be found. He's an idiot for letting his guard down like this, in an older dark wizard's home, and kicks himself for silently keeping all of his focus on Malfoy. He panics for a brief moment and thinks the absolute worst, then realizes exactly what has happened.

"Do you have a library?" Harry amusingly says.

"Oh, yes, that makes perfect sense." Malfoy snorts.

*

Over the next few weeks Harry learns more about Malfoy and the Manor than he thought he ever would. He learns more about the Malfoy family, generations of dark and possibly half-crazed wizards, if the stories Malfoy tells are true. But, he also learns Malfoy's favorite colors and how he likes his tea.

They start off in small conversations while cleaning the rooms of any dust or unwanted items. Somehow, it always ends up being just the two of them in some far away room, and Harry can't figure out how it keeps happening.

He starts to blame it on the house, because he swears the rooms are changing and the stairs move just like Hogwarts. He hears Hermione in the drawing room giving orders to the others that have come from the Ministry to help organize. He's been trying to find her for at least twenty minutes. It's all so very strange because Harry swears he was on the other side of the house.

He walks down a long hall, the carpet stretching the farther he walks. There are paintings on the walls, and Harry was sure he would find portraits of the rest of Malfoy's family, possibly scowling at him. But all he finds are landscapes with the morning sun or large flower pieces caught in a forever picture . Most of them move, trees swaying in the breeze and flowers opening slowly as if to say good morning.

They'd been coming to the Manor for days now, and Harry still can't believe how different it is.

He keeps walking, the hallway a never ending expanse of rooms and stairs, and Harry finally finds himself lost. He stands in the middle of the hallway, or what he thinks is the middle, and decides to turn into another room.

He finds Malfoy straightening a large mirror and sweeping his wand over it to clean any debris off of its surface. Harry sees him make a face, reflected in the mirror at him.

"Have you gotten lost again?" Malfoy says it quietly and continues to clean, small sparkles of magic coming from his wand. Harry briefly wonders if he can see it.

"I —" Harry turns towards the doorway and looks back at Malfoy, "I keep getting turned around?" He's really not sure how this keeps happening.

"You know, ever since we've been spending all of this time together, I still wonder how you actually defeated the Dark Lord." 

Malfoy smiles and stretches up to a corner of the frame to clean. Harry swallows and watches him, then shakes his head and looks at the floor.

"It's your bloody house." Harry grumbles and walks into the room, sitting down in a chair grumpily.

Malfoy reaches up to the other corner and then bends, giving Harry a wonderful view of his arse. Harry stares.

"Are you honestly blaming your misdirection on my home?" Malfoy stands and turns quickly. He pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his hands, his jaw works as if he's biting his tongue. Harry flushes, feeling caught.

Malfoy's brow furrows as he tucks the cloth back into his pocket.

"What I am saying is that — yes, I am lost," he finishes lamely and glances up at Malfoy who is smiling. 

"I try to go one way and I get all turned around, and yes it's your house." Harry stands and puts his hands in his pockets, nervous now and not knowing what to do and feeling extremely foolish. 

Malfoy steps closer and smiles wider. "Potter, you can't be good at everything, you know."

Harry blinks and breathes in slowly. He looks at Malfoy's face, his light hair, his gray eyes and stops at his lips.

"Now," Malfoy says and brings Harry back to the present, "if I promise to walk with you and hold your hand, will you stop getting lost?"

Harry screws up his face as Malfoy has the nerve to chuckle and starts to walk out of the room through the large doorway.

"Come," Malfoy says, and Harry realizes he blindly obeys. "That's a good boy." 

Harry scowls and feels himself react to the tiny praise, the feeling deep in his gut. He follows Malfoy down the hall and decides to ignore the enjoyment he gets from such a comment.

He walks behind Malfoy, the hallway still as bright and seemingly not as long as he thought. Harry's eyes stray to Malfoy's clothing, his shirt a crisp white, the thread black with stars embroidered every few inches. The magic sparkles from them, dark blue then black and Harry thinks it's probably the darkest thing in the Manor now.

Letters glow and flow off of Malfoy's frame, fluttering in the air and Harry reaches out to try and catch them on his fingers.

The moon and the stars only know my love for you.

The rune jumps out at Harry so suddenly that it shocks him. Harry makes the mistake of rushing forward touching Malfoy's shoulder, then runs straight into the back of him.

" — find Granger and see — honestly, can you not even walk?" Malfoy grunts, stopping to look at Harry.

Harry blinks rapidly and tries to clear his vision from the letters that still float in front of Malfoy. The magic curls around his bicep and down the side of his shirt following the thread. The admiration and love that Harry feels from this magic is the strongest yet, and it makes him sway. He stops for a second to regain his balance and sees the magic in the threads of Malfoy's shirt recoil and disappear completely.

"Potter?" 

Malfoy looks at him strangely, like he's grown a second head, and Harry feels like he has.

"Er — sorry." 

Malfoy doesn't say anything, but Harry sees him narrow his eyes.

"Should I get Granger? Are you having some sort of fit?"

Harry shakes his head and starts to walk past Malfoy down the rest of the hall.

For the remainder of the day Harry can feel Malfoy's eyes on his back. Finds him staring before quickly glancing away, and Harry can't help but feel foolish about the whole thing.

It had all just happened suddenly, and he wasn't expecting such an onslaught of rune magic thrown his way.  He sighs and places his focus on cleaning.

*

"Really?"

"Yes. Really." Harry bounces up and down on the chair in Hermione's office. The cushion is soft and comfortable.

"Stop that." She throws a crumpled up piece of parchment at his head.

Harry bounces again and settles down into the chair, slouching.

"I'm still not sure what to make of it," Harry explains, folding his hands in his lap, shrugging.

Hermione hums and holds a quill to her face. The large feather is almost as large as her head. Harry smiles as he watches her wiggle it around then twirl it in her fingers.

"So, what I think is happening is runes can lay dormant, which you and I both know," she points to herself and Harry using her quill, "but this isn't magic that's sleeping. I think it's magic that wants to be known." 

Harry feels his brain crack.

“Magic that wants to be known?” Harry repeats and feels the room close around him.

He knows exactly what Hermione is talking about. The magic that sits and waits for the specific person it was meant for. Harry has dealt and still deals with runes like this — has dealt with it many times before. The type with ill intent, like the clock he still has sitting in his small lab. Or, the type of magic that is asleep for years and wakes up with a flourish to focus on a specific individual. The kind of magic that is strong, full of kindness, hope and love.

“Yes,” Hermione bites her lip, “you know the kind I’m talking about — like the clock you have in your lab? It was obviously made to be cruel to anyone that would come near it.”

Hermione is spot on, and Harry feels like she’s reading his thoughts.

Harry focuses on Hermione’s desk with his head spinning. He can’t believe he had never thought of this before, after these past few months. After countless times he had run into the runes woven into the fabric and designs that Malfoy created. Even the heavy curtains at the Manor had made a spectacle for him, albeit insignificant and smeared.

“Can you see the runes? Or the magic that comes with them? It’s all over their shop — sometimes heavier than others.”

“I can’t see it the way you can, and it obviously is trying to get your attention over everyone else's because you’ve been able to see it without your additional lenses,” Hermione states as a matter of fact. She squints her eyes and stares at Harry with a curious look, “The shop feels similar to the Manor now — clean and inviting, wanting attention of a specific sort.”

“You felt it too?” Harry feels relief flood through him.

“I did. The Manor feels so different that I was beyond surprised.” She pauses and fiddles with her quill. “You said that this rune was admiration?”

“And love.”

Hermione hums again and splays the feather of her quill. She places her hands flat on her desk and Harry can see her mind turning as she thinks. She glances up, purses her lips and sighs out a quiet laugh.

“Honestly Harry — and I don't want to say this and be wrong, but I think Malfoy is trying to get out of himself, let some emotions be known. He was never particularly efficient with that sort of thing.”

Harry's stomach plunges and his chest tightens and he knows that this all makes perfect sense. How runes are made with specific spells and incantations that they eventually can grow in power or stay sleeping for years. He stares at his hands folded in his lap and isn’t sure what to do with himself.

“I think it’s like poetry,” Hermione pipes up and Harry is pulled back into the conversation.

“What?”

“You said Malfoy is unaware of the runes, even expressed how rubbish he is at them — but magic always finds a way, and his way is reaching out. Completely exposing what he's feeling. Poetry.”

Harry sits and contemplates what Hermione has just said. He thinks about all the previous magical residue that he has run into. From the shop, out into the street and spun into so many articles of clothing or different fabrics that it makes Harry's head spin.

“I —,” he begins, then stops suddenly and tries desperately to collect his thoughts. He sees Hermione patiently waiting for him to continue.

“If Malfoy is unknowingly creating these runes and they're all focused on how he is feeling or has been feeling then what was the one at the Manor?”

Hermione looks down at her hand and picks at her nails, which Harry knows is a nervous habit. She stays silent for a few heart wrenching seconds, and Harry feels like it's a bloody eternity until she finally answers.

“Harry, you both have had a lot of history together and, well I don’t want to say the wrong thing and have you start to spiral.”

Harry nods and sinks lower in his chair. He isn’t sure what he’s feeling because everything is a tangled mess in his chest, in his stomach and his head. He tries to sit up straighter and looks at Hermione, who is giving him a small sympathetic smile.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he grumbles.

“Well, I — it’s always been like watching a bad accident with you two.”

“Thanks.”

She sighs, “I’m not saying it to be rude, I’m just saying — I’m saying maybe it’s always been inevitable.”

Harry doesn’t like what that sounds like, doesn’t like what it could mean. Doesn’t enjoy the dread that comes with whatever is going to happen now. Maybe nothing needs to happen, and he can ignore it and not bother with it at all. 

The office is silent, and Harry is glad for it. Hermione knows him well enough to just let him contemplate and soak in new information so that he can panic silently until he is ready to discuss how he is feeling or what he should do. Except, this is new territory and he has no clue what to do about it.

“Hermione, what do I do?” He sounds like he’s pleading and he hates it.

“Well, I would suggest a conversation could be in order.” Harry feels himself grimace, the strength of it making him twitch.

“Or,” Hermione has that sympathetic look, “you can start by looking through this.”

She reaches to the side of her desk and pulls out a silver box wrapped in simple twine and hands it across her desk. He reaches over and grabs it. The box is longer and isn’t very heavy and Harry isn’t sure of what could be inside it at all.

“Pansy wanted me to give this to you.”

“Oh.”

“It’s actually quite nice; she said something about not letting you wear your normal clothing to such a nice social event, or something like that.” Hermione waves her hand as if she didn’t just deliver and insult via third person. “I had also asked to have her make you something, Ron as well.”

Harry opens the box and pulls out a set of dress robes in a dark emerald, almost so dark that they could pass for black.

“I also wanted to thank you for helping me set everything up so we can have a nice giant party.” Hermione grins and Harry can’t help but match her wide smile.

“I’ll always help with anything you need, and honestly, I thought it was going to be more difficult than what it ended up being.”

“I know! I’m so glad it was rather simple.”

Harry unfolds the robes and lifts them above his head. They are made of a lighter material, which he is extremely thankful for, and probably one of the nicest things he has ever owned.

“These are actually very nice.” He says it quietly and Hermione makes a small sound of approval.

“Yes, Draco did make them, of course.” Harry drops the robes back into the box.

“That’s why I said to have a look — maybe he’s placed some sort of special message in those for you.” She smirks and lifts a stack of parchments from the corner of her desk and places them in front of herself.

“See, the trust between us is wavering.”

“Harry, that’s extremely rude of you.” She sticks out her tongue then grins. “The gala is in two days, so don't forget to look your absolute best.”

“Yes, yes.” Harry tosses the robes back into the box, crumpled and unfolded, placing the lid on the box carefully. He thinks glumly of how he may have already ruined them. He stands and holds the box at his side, a type of treasure he didn’t know he was going to receive. He gives Hermione a gentle wave and starts to walk out the door before she calls out to him.

“Oh, and Harry,” he turns to look at her, “don’t do anything silly.”

“Right, nothing silly.”

Harry walks out, proceeds down through the atrium and into the lifts to get out of the Ministry as quickly as he possibly can. He doesn’t ever remember sprinting and being so eager to get to his flat in a very, very long time. He Apparates and runs to his door, unlocking it and nearly falls trying to sprint to his kitchen counter. Hermione must have known how he would react upon him acquiring such a gift and thinks that she probably had this for a few days before giving it to Harry. He scowls at the thought and places the box gently onto the counter and lifts the lid.

He’s not sure what to expect. Some sort of fireworks as he opens the box this time, or maybe a miniscule explosion of magic or twinkling of fairy lights like he had become familiar.

Nothing happens.

He waits patiently and unfolds the robes, feeling the soft material under his fingertips, and still nothing. He blows out a harsh breath, blowing his hair away from his eyes as he clicks his glasses to help him focus.

Nothing. 

No glitter, no magic, no runes.

He doesn’t want the disappointment to reach a level of being obnoxious, so he pushes it away. He’s not really sure what he was expecting from this pair of robes. Just because something was specifically made for him, he thought — well, he thought there would be something. Anything, really.

He extinguishes his hope that Malfoy would create something so lovely and refined for him that — Harry hesitates for a moment. That, what exactly?

That Malfoy would make something specifically for him on purpose? That maybe he had been writing small poems and love letters to Harry for months and Harry had only just realized it? Why would he even want that in the first place? 

He stops himself from continuing that thought. Stops himself from wondering what his feelings for Malfoy are now, and if they have changed. How they have morphed into something new, or have possibly always been this way, just out of Harry’s reach to fully understand them.

Harry runs a hand through his hair and clicks his glasses, the lenses making a soft noise as they fold around the frames. He’s tired and realizes that he’s so emotionally drained that he should probably shower and head to bed. 

He feels ridiculous and glad no one is there to witness it besides himself. He grabs the robes once more out of the box and looks through them closely, trying to find even a glimmer of a magical signature. He sees the dark green thread creating patterns up the sleeves, down the sides and at the ends, but no runes.

Nothing. Just a normal set of robes.

Harry exhales and places the robes back into the box, closing the lid, leaving them on the counter as he strides down his hallway to the bath.

*

The champagne flute is cold in Harry’s hand. The condensation drips down causing his fingers to become wet and a little slippery. He brings the flute to his lips and takes a sip, the bubbles dancing on his tongue. He’s one of the first to arrive and decides to stay out on the front stairs until Hermione and Ron decide to show.

He doesn’t really trust himself to go inside just yet.

He stands by the door and watches the guests slowly arrive, nodding and saying hellos to whoever decides to acknowledge him. He taps his foot and waits patiently looking up at the sky. The sun is still setting and casts oranges and purples across the grounds as the stars slowly begin to emerge. Harry takes a deep breath in and walks closer to the large doors that are open and inviting. He hears the sound of violins playing some classical tune and looks inside, seeing the large chandeliers casting triangles of light across the walls and floors. He really doesn’t want to walk in, just wants to wait a few more minutes.

“Harry!”

Harry glances back in time to see Hermione rushing up the stairs, holding portions of a gorgeous gown in one hand and trying to balance with the other. She tries to run, then slows herself and gives Harry a tight hug. He lets her go and holds her by her arms watching the magic drift around her.

“Hermione, you look beautiful,” Harry says and smiles. Her gown shows off her shoulders and shimmers with gold and red starbursts down the hem and flaring at the bottom. Her hair is tied in a bun, with small curls loose and around her face. The starbursts glow and jump off her dress, forming into the firefly magic that Harry has grown so accustomed to. She sparkles and shines and all Harry can think to compare it to is a star.

“Harry!” Ron comes bounding up the stairs and gives him a strong long hug, “Mate, I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages! All good then?”

“Yeah, yeah, all good.” Harry looks at Ron, at his robes that match Hermione’s beautiful gown. He also has small red starbursts decorating the seams of his arms and along his sides. Blues and purples are accented with hints of gray.

“You both look amazing.” Harry laughs and is so happy to see the both of them that his anxiety subsides for the time being.

“What’re you waiting out here for?” Hermione asks, taking his flute out of his hand and taking a small swallow.

“Er — I was waiting for you both.” He tries to grab his champagne back but she avoids his grasp.

“Well, let’s go in, it is a party, after all.” She hooks her arms into Harry’s and does the same to Ron, still balancing the champagne with both of them on either side. She starts to walk, and Harry feels himself being dragged through the large doors..

“By the way, Harry,” Hermione leans in and whispers, “those robes are a perfect fit for you.”

He smiles and continues inside, passing people that he has no recollection of ever seeing as he releases himself from Hermione’s arm. People walk past and stop him, wanting to talk of pleasantries and to say hello. He loses Ron and Hermione fairly quickly in the crowd as people bustle by him, the low murmur of conversations making his ears buzz. He finds someone carrying another tray of champagne, so he quickly grabs one before they walk past. He spins and walks through the main corridor and comes to an abrupt halt.

There’s magic everywhere.

His eyes widen as he takes in the tiny sparkles that flit around, getting lost amongst guests' clothing, underneath their feet and stuck to their hair. He shuts his mouth knowing that it was hanging open for some time. He stands at the edge of the room, watching everyone make merriment, laughing and chatting as he watches in wonder at the magic enchanting the ballroom. 

Everything glitters from the chandelier that hangs high on the ceiling. The crystals casting rainbow prisms around the room, mixing in with the fairy lights that Harry keeps seeing out of the corner of his eyes.

“I think we did a very good job, don’t you agree?” Hermione appears by his side and he almost drops his drink.

“Yes, it's definitely beautiful,” Harry says as he continues to look around.

“Make sure to go and say hello and mingle Harry, don’t stand in the corner all evening.” She taps him on the shoulder and walks away. Harry stares at her retreating form and watches the starbursts on the back of her dress spring to life. The runes twisting and turning until the letters form and the sentence floats around her, and if he wasn’t watching so closely, he may have missed it.

The brightest witch of our age.

Harry's heart warms as he reads the sentence. The rune glimmers and reveals itself to be for beauty and perseverance. He can’t help but smile, and knows now, without any doubt, that Malfoy has been creating with the openness and kindness of his heart. Which no longer bewilders Harry as it did in the beginning.

He follows Hermione, the rune on her dress shimmers and hangs onto her middle like a pretty magical belt. Harry glances at it again as she stops, talking to Ron.

“Alright there, Harry?”

“Hmm?” Harry says as he glances up to look at Ron.

“Yeah, looks like you found something interesting.”

Harry decides not to say anything just yet, to just wait it out because it is the beginning of the party. He looks at Hermione who is giving him a quizzical gaze and he just smiles at her, trying to look inconspicuous.

It doesn’t work as well as he’d have liked.

“Did you see something Harry? Nothing dark I hope?” It’s an honest question and Harry shakes his head no, letting her know that everything is still clean and bright, the wards still sparkling with protection around the walls.

“No, everything is fine.” He beams at her as he catches Ron turning around to talk to Neville Longbottom. Harry is about to say hello himself when he notices the back of Ron’s robes glimmer and take shape.

Massive Twat

This one catches Harry so off guard that he lets out a loud guffaw, then quiets himself to a chortle and coughs viciously. That is one rune that he has never, ever seen in his entire career and he tries to calm himself down from laughing so hard. Tears prickle his eyes and Hermione gives him a stern look over her shoulder.

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry whispers close to her ear and meanders off.

Harry mingles, just like Hermione wants him too.

He hates mingling.

Hates doing things like this over and over and has decided this is probably why, for the most part, he sticks himself away in small labs all day. He stops by the grand staircase and greets a few more people as they walk by. Some, he hasn't seen since Hogwarts, and some he isn't particularly sure if he's met them prior to this event.

He gives an awkward wave to Theodore Nott and eventually stops to finally talk with Neville, who has been very active in Herbology. Which Harry doesn't find surprising in the slightest.

He tucks himself away by a giant flower display and sips his champagne, boredom finally overwhelming him. He stands and continues to watch everyone and can spot runes peeking out of robes and dresses every now and again. He wonders how many  have some sort of rune threaded into them at this event and finds the chandelier and fairy lights from the hints of magic make a spectacular sight. This is something he could never grow tired of watching. 

He blinks and rubs his eyes, moving his glasses to the top of his head and stifles a yawn. He covers his mouth with his hand, placing his glasses back over his eyes and makes the mistake of looking up towards the stairs.

He sees him walking down the grand staircase and can’t take his eyes off of him. There’s glitter and lights and Harry feels a wave of awe comparable to when he first learned of magic and decides hastily that Draco Malfoy is some sort of different creature in disguise. Because no one looks like this. No being that Harry can ever remember encountering has looked like this — and then he thinks that quite possibly, someone spiked his drink. He watches Malfoy descend the stairs gracefully, talking to who Harry believes to be Blaise Zabini.

Malfoy stands still, yet shimmers and glows. His robes are white fading into a gray ombre at the bottom with a swirl of black at the edges.

Malfoy turns his head and locks eyes with Harry and smiles. The smile almost knocks Harry from his feet, and he suddenly doesn't know how to hold himself.

“He does look rather ravishing, doesn’t he?”

Harry startles, spilling some champagne over his hand and glances out of the corner of his eye to see Pansy Parkinson standing rather distressingly close to him. He glances around and wonders how long she's been standing next to him. He hasn't seen her in days.

Harry swallows, “Er – what?”

“Draco, of course.” Pansy grins, and all Harry can think of are animals with sharp teeth.

Harry stays quiet, still looking at Pansy with what he hopes isn't an extremely stupid look on his face and takes a long slow slip from his flute.

“That is who you were staring at so intently, were you not?”

Harry blinks at her, obviously caught and looks down at his robes,  pressing them with his hand. Anything to not look her in the eyes at this particular minute so he can right himself.

"It's honestly the strangest thing," she says and pauses for so long that Harry looks up to make sure she's still standing next to him. She's smiling still. A rather feral grin as she clinks her glass with Harry's.

"I never thought I would see Draco's looks reflected back at him."

"What?" Harry is confused.

Parkinson rolls her eyes. "I didn't stutter. You know exactly what I said and exactly what I'm speaking of."

Harry glances back up to where Malfoy has stopped on the stairs. Still radiant and stunning and glistening like some sort of ethereal creature.

"That look. You're so enamored that it's actually sickening." She laughs. It holds no sarcasm and Harry finds it to be genuine.

Harry wants to pretend that he is better at hiding his emotions than he lets on. No idea what look is on his face that is giving her any sort of ideas. He smothers any and all thoughts about Malfoy and focuses on her instead.

"What — where have you  been the past few days?"

"Oh. I've been around. I'm a very busy and important person, Potter. As you know."

She takes the tiniest sip from her flute, leaving a red lipstick stain on the glass.

"Are you now?" Harry stops himself from looking at the stairs again and glances at her gown. 

The ebony fabric wraps around her one shoulder, glittering underneath the lights. There are small woven flowers in the folds of her dress, yellow, reds and purples twinkle up at Harry. The magic glistens for a moment, and a message appears slowly:

I can count on you just as I count on flowers to bloom.

The words curl and sit on the small flowers that decorate her dress. The runes magic reaches out to Harry like a warm hug or a kiss on the forehead late at night. Such comfort and nostalgia in this one that he realizes how close Malfoy and her actually are. He looks at her again, feeling a little overwhelmed for a moment at the magic that rolls off of her.

"You do need to practise on your poker face, Potter," Parkinson whispers and twirls away. Harry watches her saunter off. She interlocks her arm with Blaise Zabini, turns and lifts her flute glass to him in a cheer. Harry raises his glass in return and isn't sure if he understood that whole interaction properly. He feels overstimulated and wired, as if there are too many things happening at once and he's not sure where to focus. 

He’s mingled enough for one social event and if Hermione doesn’t see him leave to get some fresh air and quiet, then he should be in the clear. He looks around and sees Hermione with a small group. She’s smiling, and Harry can hear her laughter over the hum of the other conversations around him. 

He makes his way towards the balcony, the doors wide open and beckoning. The cool night air washes over him as the noise from the inside dissipates. He can still hear the music from the chamber ensemble inside, drifting out to the edge of the doors, catching the wind. Harry feels himself relax as he walks over to the railing overlooking the edge to see the gardens of the Manor. He walks along the railing as it curves, carrying his flute glass as careful not to drag the bottom on the stone.

“Are you walking closer for a reason?”

Harry stops abruptly and finds Malfoy standing a few feet away from him, leaning against the railing with both elbows on the stone and back curved like a cat. Harry walks closer, sets his glass down and turns to look out at the landscape.

“I didn’t know you were out here,” Harry says and doesn’t look at Malfoy.

“So, you decided to move closer?”

Harry figures the question is rhetorical and doesn’t say anything. He stands and enjoys the light breeze and the notes of the music that he hears periodically from inside. He appreciates the silence and the peace. They stand in the quiet for a brief time, and Harry focuses on the moonlight. It bathes the landscape in a light blue, creating a delicate and heavenly look that he would never have guessed would suit the Manor and its grounds.

“Did you need a break from the festivities as well?”

Malfoy’s faint voice drifts over to Harry and he realizes how much he enjoys the sound. Wants to hear it more and in different tones.

He turns to see Malfoy looking at him. It shouldn’t be as intense as Harry feels, but he can’t read the expression on Malfoy’s face — doesn’t know this specific look. Harry feels his heart speed up and all of a sudden doesn’t know where to place his hands. He nods at the question and focuses his attention on his champagne, the bubbles floating up from the small dimple in the bottom of the glass. Harry wants to talk, tries to will himself to speak, but he’s not sure where to start. Knows that Malfoy came out here to probably be alone, but hasn’t told Harry to go away, or shoo him off like some tiny dog.

“I hope — I hope this is all to Granger’s liking?” Malfoy asks with a higher pitch at the end of his sentence, and Harry sees him take a long drink from his glass.

“Yeah, actually, she seems thrilled with the whole thing.”

The whole interaction is too cordial for Harry, and his automatic reaction is normally that of sarcasm and bitterness. The small talk is just uncharted territory for them both. The silence stretches again, and Harry briefly considers if he should leave, maybe find another balcony to stand on.

“Good, that’s nice to hear.” Malfoy stretches, standing straight up and runs his fingers through his hair.

Harry is at a loss, but doesn’t want to stop the conversation just yet, no matter how awkward it may be.

“Did you make all the clothes for this event?”

Malfoy gets comfortable again and draws circles with his fingers on the stone, “No, not all of them — I made a few choice items for the auction and the others Pansy insisted on for the rest of us.”

“Insisted on?” Harry asks with a frown.

“Yes, Pansy can actually be quite subtle. If that isn't so surprising." Malfoy sets his glass against the banister and looks up at the night sky. Harry watches him. His pale lashes and hair catching the light of the moon.

"She wanted a wide theme for all the clothing for this event, and she decided on nature, the elements and stars." He shrugs and pinches the stem of his glass and looks at Harry with half-lidded eyes. Harry thinks about it, and knows that all the dresses and robes were beautiful and crafted with care, but he isn’t sure he sees any connection to the theme.

“I guess I don’t see it.”

“That’s why I said subtle, Potter. She wanted everyone as a matching set, if you will, for this affair.”

“Matching?” Harry asks and is surprised at how intricately planned this whole event actually was. Between the fabric, time spent creating the robes, and organizing and decorating the Manor. Harry finds himself impressed at the whole ordeal.

“Yes, for instance, wildflowers are the inspiration for Pansy’s gown, while Blaise’s robes are that of a large forest.”

Harry remembers Pansy’s dress, the jeweled flowers blooming and moving between the fabric and how the rune displayed itself with such comfort and affection.

“Granger’s was the easiest because she’s bright as a star, but then of course I had to make Weasley’s  — he’s a small annoying moon that orbits her presence.”

Harry laughs a little, even though he knows he shouldn’t.

“Mine is clouds, or rolling thunder as Pansy wants it to be named.” Malfoy moves and his robes sway. Harry watches as the white turns to gray, clouds moving across the expanse of the fabric. The thread ripples and turns dark almost black like a storm on the horizon. He sees small pinpricks of magic, but nothing to yet suggest runes hidden within the expanse of Malfoy’s robes.

“So, who matches yours then?” Harry is intrigued. The idea is fascinating and unique.

Malfoy chuckles at that. It’s warm and inviting, making Harry take a step closer.

“I’m really starting to wonder where your head is most of the time,” Malfoy states and that is normal territory for Harry. Not this quiet and interesting conversation.

“You.” Malfoy reaches out and grabs the fabric of Harry’s robes.

Harry looks down, the change is slow but the material starts to lighten, giving flashes that are bright, then dim. The thread thickens in certain areas as the flashes continue, then fade away completely. That hadn’t happened when Harry had first received the robes and he couldn’t pull the magic from them before. He thinks about the previous conversation with Hermione. About magic being dormant or only showing itself when brought out. Wanting to be seen.

“Lightning,” Harry whispers and looks up at Malfoy with adoration.

“Obviously. Yours was the simplest choice.” 

“Lightning and rolling thunder.” Harry puts two and two together. His heart soars.

“Yes, simple enough.” Malfoy smiles. “I’m rather proud of these pieces for this go around — the only problem being Weasley, massive twat that he is.”

Harry gives a loud laugh and covers his mouth, still laughing behind it. He’s honestly surprised that Ron’s robes had spelled out exactly how Malfoy felt about him while making them.

“What’s funny?”

“Oh, I’m just a little surprised you said that because that’s exactly what his robes spelled.” Harry continues to laugh and catches sight of Malfoy’s confused expression.

“His robes spelled?” Malfoy repeats and Harry can hear the confusion in the question.

He calms himself and then realizes what he’s done, what he has said out loud and isn’t sure how to explain it now.

“Ron’s robes —”

“Yes. I heard that bit. I’m asking because I’ve never spelled out anything on the items that I have made.” Malfoy crosses his arms. 

Harry doesn’t know where to begin and realizes very, very quickly that he has dug himself into a hole that he may not be able to climb out of easily. He looks at Malfoy, who still has his arms crossed. His robes begin to sparkle, the threads moving again to make clouds, the threads shining and changing into runes. Harry sees them begin to change and emerge. They follow the threads and roll with the clouds that form on Malfoy’s robes.

Harry feels dizzy watching them.

“You said you are rubbish at runes but — but you aren’t. You’ve been spelling them into your threads.”

The confession rolls off Harry’s tongue, and he instantly feels guilty for it. Malfoy’s face contorts into one of bewilderment as he watches Harry click his glasses, lenses sliding over.

“Here,” Harry walks closer and grabs Malfoy’s hand, moving it briefly, “can you see them?”

The runes flicker, then burst to life. Flowing along the threads that Malfoy used to sew the robes. They flow and move, following the cloud formations on the fabric. Harry hears Malfoy give a low but startled gasp as he watches the letters that morph and begin to appear.

"Can you see them with those glasses of yours?" 

“Yes, they help with the magic. But, can you see them?” Harry asks and is so excited he grabs onto Malfoy’s hand again.

“Yes, one is here, but it — it’s changing?” Malfoy follows the thread with a finger and doesn’t let go of Harry’s hand. It’s cool and soft in Harry’s grip. The rune takes shape and Harry’s heart jumps into his throat and immediately plummets as the sentences begin to appear:

 ~  I'm mostly scared, I am mostly unprepared, I'm a mess*

 ~  I've bought up all my dreams and sold off most my heart*

 ~  I've been lying to myself just to bury all my thoughts*

They both stand close together as the sentences begin to materialize from the fabric of Malfoy’s robes. They twist and settle on the pleats and folds, expressing more sadness, loneliness and such an aching want that it rattles Harry to his core.

“I —” Malfoy begins and closes his mouth, ripping his hand out of Harry’s grasp and moves away. He looks at Harry with astonishment and a look of guilt, or hurt, Harry isn’t sure which would be more impactful at this moment.

“I — excuse me.” Malfoy openly panics and walks swiftly off the balcony and back into the ballroom, quickly lost amongst the crowd.

Harry looks at the open doors where Malfoy hastily ran off. Hears the soft music of the piano and feels the notes in his veins and the cold emptiness of his palm.

He picks up his forgotten champagne and drains it in one long gulp and presses his glasses so the lenses disappear.

*

Harry taps his wand against his desk and slumps lower in his chair, in the dark and quiet of his lab. He sighs heavily and has the urge to throw something against the nearest wall. Wants to hear and see something shatter to pieces, that way he’s not the only thing in the dark that’s broken.

He scowls and tosses his wand. It clatters on the desk and rolls off onto the floor.

Only a few days had passed since he decided to show Draco the rune magic within the clothing he had been designing. Harry actually hadn’t thought that the magic would reveal itself so quickly, but it wanted to be seen, needed to be. He runs his hand through his hair and scratches his scalp and rubs his neck.

Only a few days and so many more questions had piled up. So much more information was handed to him in a set of robes that Harry had torn off and searched as soon as he had gotten home to his flat. It had only taken Draco to touch the fabric for the magic within to light up and make itself known. The threads woven into lightning would flash, revealing runes of such magnitude that Harry had to pause every thirty minutes or more just to collect himself. There were so many and so deep that he used a few inches of parchment just to write them all down. Draco had created such a detailed piece with multiple runes that it was a surprise the material didn’t burst from all the magical residue residing within it.

Harry had picked apart runes that expressed apologies, sorrow, jealousy and one that carried such a deep want and lust that it had made Harry’s knees shake. He had taken a quick shower and made himself a cup of tea after that one.

He sighs and leans back in his chair, moving his head from side to side to pass the time. He glances over at his shelf of items that he should be working on, that he has neglected for days and should probably get back into his regular routine. He stands, his chair sliding out from underneath him as he bends to pick up his wand.

A loud and forceful knock at the door interrupts his self loathing. He picks up his wand and opens the door.

Pansy Parkinson is on the other side, bright red lips forced into a fake sharp smile.

“Harry, darling,” she says, and shoves him into the lab. He stumbles backwards and she slams the door behind her. Harry regains his footing as he watches her turn, pulls out her wand and casts a powerful locking spell on the door, complete with a silencing spell on the room.

“Now,” she says with her hands on her hips, “we need to chat.”

“Chat?”

“Yes, Potter.” She places herself on the edge of Harry’s desk and shakes her head. Her black bob swishes around her face without putting a strand out of place.

"You see, I would love to know exactly what transpired between you and Draco."

"What exactly —?"

"Yes, he hasn't been his normal sarcastic adoring self, and I am blaming it on you."

"I didn't —"

"You did, and the reason I know it was you is because he explained how you decided to show him specifics about his designs, but won't delve into any juicer details." She crosses her legs and stretches out her arm looking at her nails. "Not only that, and the real issue at hand, is that he hasn't been in, is missing appointment times and due dates for specific designs, and I just cannot have that."

"You're more worried about your clothes than Draco?"

"Don't be foolish." She shakes her head and waves a hand at him then narrows her eyes. "It's Draco now, is it?"

Harry clamps his mouth shut quickly, teeth biting down on his bottom lip. He doesn’t know when that changed. Maybe recently, or over the past few months — when Malfoy turned into Draco.

"I cannot have my talented friend become so drenched in melancholy that he ceases to create — however, I also cannot have someone dragging him around by his heart."

Harry's breath catches in his chest and a cold sensation forms in his stomach.

"What?" His voice comes out as a small crackling noise.

"You heard me, Potter," she spits.

"I'm not dragging him around by his heart." Harry feels the twinge of anger and smothers it before it can become a fiery roar. 

"Then what is it? You can't play with something that has been burning like that for years."

"Burning?"

"Are you a halfwit?"

Harry stands by one of the walls in the lab and leans against it.

“I — I didn’t know any of that, I didn’t —”

“Odd, because I clearly remember saying something about that at the party.” She throws her hands in the air furiously. “I clearly remember telling you how Draco looks at you, and then you go and, well I’m not even sure what!”

“Look, Pansy, I —”

“Oh, don’t you even, Harry.” Pansy scowls at him, sliding off his desk easily as she approaches him. She pokes him in the chest, her nails long sharp and sparkling as she continues, “You go kiss and make up with him, or you and I will have trouble.”

She shoves him once more and takes out her wand and cancels the spells around the lab.

“He’s currently at the shop because he is behind on his work. But do go and say your apologies or whatever needs to be cleared up.”

She opens the door and slams it behind her, leaving Harry confused, guilty and apparently needing to fix his cock up that he wasn’t entirely aware was a cock up in the first place. 

*

Harry isn’t sure how he manages it, but he does. Really doesn’t understand the impeccable timing that the universe has granted him, but here he is, in front of Pansy Parkinson’s bloody annoying shop. Which, in reality, has created more trouble in Harry’s life recently then he would ever like to account for. He’s not going to say that he was too nosy again, or that maybe he had trouble letting things go. Because clearly, he was both of those things. But now he stands in front of this troublesome shop, staring at Draco’s back as he seemingly tries to lock the front door.

“Er — hi,” Harry awkwardly says and Draco startles so incredibly hard that he slams against the front of the door, squishing a cup against the glass, contents shooting skyward. 

Tea. Harry is pretty sure it’s tea.

Draco swivels his head in Harry’s direction and his cheeks have gone so pink that he may have invented a new color. Tea dampens his hair, the front of his robes and slides down the glass of the door.

“Potter,” he says in acknowledgement and sighs, standing straight, hands at his sides with liquid dripping down his front, looking so very defeated. “What is it?”

“Let me help you.” Harry pulls out his wand, cleaning Draco of his splattered clothing and wiping down the glass of the door.

Draco watches him closely as Harry finishes cleaning.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to startle you so badly.” Harry places his wand back up his sleeve and looks up.

“What do you need?” Draco quietly asks and blinks.

Harry can’t help but think how Draco looks so tired. Dark smudges underneath his eyes and his hair looking a little limp.

“Was wondering if you had time to fix my robes,” Harry bluntly lies and watches Draco breathe in heavily and swallow hard, his eyes shifting to the right.

“Alright.” He unlocks the front, ushering Harry in as he closes the door behind them. The sign on the shop door still flipped to closed on the outside.

Draco walks past him in a flourish, past the racks of clothing, past the tables with folded items, all the way to the far back where another small door appears. He walks through it and Harry follows, catching his breath as another room comes into view.

A large table sits against the edge of the room, littered with many fabrics ranging from cotton, velvet and even silk, from what Harry can guess. Thread is being worked and pulled into specific colors, weaving in and out of one another. Harry can see two muggle sewing machines sitting in the corner, along with sewing kits and a few large vats that are used for dying fabric. He continues to look around and can see the magic that follows the thread as its being weaved and gathered. Small sparkles settling on the many colored fabrics.

“What is it that you need, Potter?” Draco asks, sitting on a stool with his head resting in one hand.

“Actually, I came to talk.” Harry takes a step closer to where Draco is sitting. He visibly tenses and stands from his stool, stepping back and leaning on the counter.

“I don’t have time to talk — I was on my way home actually, and would prefer it —”

“Pansy came by today.”

Draco stops talking and gives Harry an exasperated look. The silence stretches, and Harry decides to focus on the small rustling noises the thread and fabrics are making around them. Draco stares at him and places his arms behind himself on the counter. Harry looks at his arms, his long frame and finally his face and realizes how completely and utterly captivated he is by this man.

He glances away for a moment, collecting his thoughts and his courage. 

“She said you’ve been in a slump — that I caused you to, well, stop everything for a bit.” Harry doesn’t know what to call it, so he ends the sentence with that hoping that Draco will fill in the blanks.

Harry watches him intently, sees his jaw working and his gray eyes looking Harry up and down. It’s all so unnerving and Harry just wants him to say something, anything, even if he kicks him out of the shop. The quiet is too loud, and the way Draco is staring isn’t doing anything wonderful to Harry’s insides.

“I realized the other day, due to your help, that I have been pouring myself into my designs.” Draco swallows and clicks his tongue. “That isn’t figuratively, of course, but I have quite literally been sewing threads of myself into clothing.”

Harry stands still, doesn’t breathe, doesn't blink. All that fills his head are the runes from his robes that Draco made. The ones of hope and want and love. 

“No one else can see them, apparently,” Draco has his arms crossed, but throws them up in the air to convey his point, “Luckily, no one else can see the rubbish that my consciousness has decided to pour out onto their items — is that it? Is that what you want to talk about?” 

“Er, yes.”

Draco stares at Harry angrily, his gray eyes boring into Harry’s soul.

“Look, I didn’t mean for it to happen that way — I was just excited that you could see it. When you had told me that you were shit at runes, then all I could see were your runes and messages, how could I not?”

“Potter, I don’t know everything that I could have spelled into these fabrics — what if there is something unforgivable in them, floating about somewhere?”

It surprises Harry to hear that. Surprised that Draco would be worried that maybe some sort of curse had wriggled its way into one of his many threads.

“I assure you, there’s not,” Harry guarantees. "You create art. Pour your heart and soul into it. You give it life and meaning."

“Please, you have been waiting for something dastardly to pop up again.” Draco rolls his eyes and places his hands back onto the counter behind him. “Waiting for me to fuck it all up again. That’s why you show up every few months and then of course, recently, it changed to weeks, then days.”

Harry can feel himself starting to get angry, doesn’t want to but can’t seem to help it when Draco and him decide to fight. How they always have been like this with each other. He decides to take a page from one of Hermione’s books.

"How long have you been writing poetry?"

Harry sees the shock glint in Draco’s eyes, then as quickly as he sees it, it’s gone. 

"You know, it was rather odd seeing all of those messages. Floating around and flowing after people. I honestly thought I was starting to go mad. Being stuck in a tiny dark room for too long."

Harry continues to talk, his voice growing louder as he talks, stepping closer to where Draco is standing.

“But then I realized that those runes had no hate in them. Nothing vicious or immoral — they were all good and kind.”

Draco looks away at that. Places a hand on one shoulder and rubs it unconsciously, his pale hair falling in front of his face.

“The only ones that were different are the ones that came to life on my robes, after you touched them the other night.” He evens out and lowers his voice as if he’s talking to a scared animal. "I want to know if these are for me — did you write these for me? Weave all those inscriptions into that material of those robes that you knew were going to be mine?"

"You are not allowed to do this, after all these months you just think it's perfectly fine to —"

"I can see them. All of them. You've been baring your soul, and didn't even know it until I showed them to you.”

Harry watches Draco’s eye twitch slightly, and he swallows, throat constricting with the movement as he tries to steady his breathing. The flush from his neck creeping up into his cheeks.

"Nonsense. There — there isn't anything written in those robes of yours."

“Do you want to know some of them? Because there are so, so many Draco.”

Draco’s eyes snap back to Harry’s at the mention of his name. He opens his mouth slightly, then closes it again with a tight lipped expression. Harry pulls out the parchment that he wrote most of the runes on, filling up a few inches of the page. He unrolls it and Draco’s eyes widen.

“What — What’re you —”

"My heart has always burned for you."

Harry watches Draco’s face crumple with embarrassment and anger.

"You're just spewing nonsense —”

"Oh, here's another: I never craved attention as much as I craved yours."

"This isn't in that bloody robe I made, you're making up —

"This one is my favorite: I love you, and it's killing me."

Harry breathes in and crushes the parchment in his fist. He stares at Draco and can see the blush high on his cheeks and wants to kiss it away.

"I didn't write any of that." Draco's voice is venom.

"You did, I brought it to show you if you want." Harry can hear his voice and it's so quiet. So very quiet. 

He decides to take a small step forward and Draco takes a distinctive side step away from Harry, placing a hand up, fingers curled. Harry takes another step forward coming into contact with Draco’s hand, and he stops, searching Draco’s face for any movement of emotion. They stand there together, and Harry doesn't want to move or make a sound, afraid that he might break this moment between them.

“I didn’t know you could be cruel, Potter,” Draco finally whispers. 

“I’m not being cruel.” Harry shakes his head, smiling and steps closer still, realizing that Draco hasn't moved away, only that his hand is slowly creeping upwards towards Harry’s neck and radiating warmth. Harry can see Draco's eyes search his face. They move from Harry’s hair, down to his eyes and stop on his lips.

“Fine,” Draco says. It comes out harsh, annoyed and crushed.

"I must've felt something the first time I saw you — because I loved your oversized clothes and your broken glasses. Loved the way your hair never stayed put — looked like a crow made a nest."

Harry isn’t ready for this. He’s not ready for the honesty and the look in Draco’s eyes, the way he’s looking at Harry with unabashed affection and longing. But Draco continues.

"You lodged behind my breast bone and have sat there for — for years. Growing and becoming so cumbersome and everything that I have ever wanted.”

Harry’s eyes are wide behind his glasses, and he isn’t sure what he’s feeling, isn’t sure what he is supposed to do at this moment. Wasn't prepared for Draco to give in so quickly after everything.

“Is that what you want to hear, Harry?”

Draco moves his hand up Harry’s neck and before Harry can stop himself, he leans in, touching his lips lightly to Draco’s. He feels a hand come up to curl around his chin as Draco rushes into the kiss. He hears Draco make a small happy noise, and it makes Harry smile. He opens his mouth and runs his tongue against Draco's bottom lip, and he opens his mouth wider for Harry, one hand still on Harry’s chin and the other curling around the back of his neck.

Draco bites at his lip, then pulls back, breath coming in short quick spurts. He’s still holding onto Harry for dear life as he places his forehead against Harry’s.

“Oh — I wasn’t expecting that,” Draco gasps out as Harry moves his head and decides to kiss behind Draco’s ear and down his neck. His breathing is quiet and even in Harry’s ear.

Harry has no idea how he’s controlling himself so well, because Harry feels like he can barely contain himself.

“What were you expecting,” Harry whispers into Draco’s ear, biting his earlobe softly.

“A Stinging Hex or something painful,” he answers and pulls away from Harry slowly. Harry steals a quick kiss before Draco turns his head and looks around the room.

“Shit,” he says, and it makes Harry stop, hands moving from Draco’s sides.

“Um — what happened?”

Harry glances around, the threads have all become tangled and messy, thrown across the floor and wrapped around the hooks and wooden shelves hanging on the walls. The fabrics that were all neatly folded are thrown across the room, some in giant piles across the floor and others ripped to shreds. A vat of dye in the corner grows slowly and then explodes, covering everything in bright pink.

Harry starts laughing, holding his stomach as he takes a look at Draco, light hair now splattered with pink.

“Apparently, you happened,” Draco says and pulls out his wand, cleaning his face and hair quickly.

“Me?! You can’t blame me for everything,” 

“I can — my magic helps keep this room balanced and…,” he looks away and blushes, picking up a piece of fabric that is blotchy and wet with pink dye.

“Are you saying that I did this? But to you?’ Harry points at himself, then to Draco.

“That’s exactly what I am saying, Potter.”

Harry laughs and grabs Draco’s chin in one hand and leans in for a kiss.

"We'll clean it together, then."