Work Text:
It starts with a tie.
Or, better, it starts with Draco’s annoyance at a small detail only himself would ever bother with, as things usually tend to start when he’s around. His eyes twitch and he bites back his scoff, though his lips still turn downwards in disgust at the offending mess he’s seeing.
Pansy does not notice and continues her complaints about goddamn Slughorn and the stupid Hufflepuff that messed with the mandrakes and how her ears are still hurting. Maybe that’s why she screams instead of talking, trying to impale everyone else’s hearing with her banshee’s vocal chords. Greg also does not notice, busying himself with a puzzle he got from Merlin knows where (one that Draco’s pretty sure it’s used to train the owls and not the slightest challenge to a human brain) but Blaise does. While poorly pretending to care about Pansy’s rant, he glances at Draco and follows his stare before rolling his eyes.
Of course Draco would be staring at Potter. He should not be surprised. He should not even bother anymore. With a sigh, Blaise closes his eyes and leans back against Greg’s lap, busying himself with thoughts about a cute Ravenclaw girl he was partnered with in Herbology class.
Which left Draco without babysitters to prevent him from doing anything stupid that could damage his probation. Their whole group believed the interhouse thing with eight years to be nothing but a giant plot to send Draco directly to Azkaban and, considering the recent letters from his father that Draco and is still trying to forget, perhaps Lucius joined the plot, hoping for his son's prison instead of his at how much effort he put in making Draco lose his own mind. Oh, the blissful and wishful ignorance of his father's situation, a so distant dream.
Anyways.
Would Draco risk going to Azkaban because of Potter? Considering he was the one who prevented Draco from getting arrested during the trials, it would at least result in a good joke and serve as a cautionary tale about the unchanging nature of evil. And so, so worthy. He would gladly fight Potter here and now, break all his probation’s clauses if that fixed Potter’s tie .
No, not tie… Lack of tie.
Really? He saved the wizarding world so he’s allowed to disrespect the dress code? And his best friends were prefects, for Merlin’s sake! Why did no one say a thing to him? Of course, Harry, you can wear your uniform without a tie! You don’t even need to wear your uniform, you can do anything you want! While you are at it, why don’t you try this sheer blouse and fishnet stockings, darling? Also, you are allowed to kick my dying grandma and steal all my family photos! Anything for the saviour! Marry me! Draco’s sure the dialogue went that way.
Potter, however, did not seem to notice the angry glaze in his direction, no. Potter, in all his glorious stupidity, seemed to not notice a thing. Instead, he laughed at something Ron had said, opening his legs in a disgustingly manspread fashion that made Draco’s eyes slide down for a second before focusing on the problem again. Potter, with his lack of tie and open buttons. Potter, who did not know everyone’s eyes are on him this year (as if they weren’t before!) and that’s exactly why he should try to pretend to be a role model for once. Potter, who probably knew he was everyone’s idol and basked in attention like a flower in sunlight. Potter, who probably knew it and wanted everyone to think he was not only brave, courageous and their only and one hero but also so utterly hot in those tight pants and exposed neck that everyone should kneel down and ask for his hand in marriage. Potter!
Before he was able to breath in and think about it calmly like the sensible, afraid of sharing a cell with his father and reasonable young bloke he was, Draco was already with his own green tie in hands, clutching it as it had personally offended him.
Greg, always so attentive to him but never perceptive, frowned, “Are you hot, Draco?”
Blaise didn’t even open his eyes, “Isn’t he always?”
Draco did not answer, no. Instead, he got up and walked directly towards Potter, a haze in his eyes that could burn a man to crisps. Pansy said something along the lines of “What the hell?” and Blaise got up to tell them to watch the show (and intervene if so required). Weasley was taken aback, already in position to fight (a fist ready for a punch and a hand on his wand, as if he was ready to take on an ogre and not a malnourished teen), Granger muttered something too quick to be understood by human ears, her widened eyes in horror made Harry turn around and immediately frown at the scene.
Their eyes met, one confused yet prepared while the other still burnt in annoyance.
“Potter”, he said, stopping right in front of him.
“Malfoy”, Harry answered in the same beat.
Malfoy lifted his hands and, from the corner of his eyes, he saw Ron try to react before Hermione grabbed his wrist, telling her man to wait and see. Malfoy's hands came dangerously close to Harry’s neck which made everyone in the room but him flinch. Was it a strangulation? Had Malfoy resorted to muggle methods of assassination? Wait, is he fixing a tie around Harry’s neck?
Indeed he was. Carefully and totally focused on his task, Malfoy tied his own tie around Harry’s neck, pale and long fingers brushing against his skin as he fixed the loose buttons and tried not to tie it too tightly and strangle their golden boy. Harry, meanwhile, looked down at the blond in trance, too shocked to speak and too mesmerized to react.
The short moment Malfoy took to tie it looked like half an hour to the outsiders who held their breaths and, when Malfoy finished and stepped back, finally creating an acceptable distance between life rivals, everyone but Harry released the breath they were holding.
Draco looked up, showing Harry that face he always had whenever he believed he’d won, the sly smirk and squinting a bit which made his eyes more upturned and puffier under, like a satisfied kitten that finally got the cream. The face Harry was once too used to whenever Draco tripped him down the stairs or hexed his broom during quidditch but never like this.
“Er,” Harry said, eloquently.
“And stop breaking the dress code” was Draco’s last warning before retiring to his room.
────
That was, probably, as most things tended to be, a mistake on Draco’s part.
Surely, now, Harry-Saviour-Potter thought he was onto something. An evil plot that involved enchanted ties and — at least — three dementors. Draco could feel his stares as he went through his mundane chores, sixth year all over again. As he ate, studied, played chess or entertained Greg with children’s toys, all of it was observed by Potter. And, the thing is, he never knew the extent of the stalking back in sixth year but now he was sure that, if not careful, Potter would follow him even into a bathroom cabin to watch him bathe. It felt less like a stalker and more like a murderer preparing his next victim, trying to get him alone.
“I’m inclined to believe that Harry Potter longs for my downfall”, he confessed after a week, during dinnertime.
Against better judgments, Pansy looked directly at Potter, whose fork was moving up and down but catching no bite in it, as he blankly stared towards the Slytherins. Even when Granger moved his plate so he could get some food on that mechanic fork, he didn’t look away.
Pansy shrugged, “I thought that was the thing between you and him.”
“Oh, well. Me? Actively trying to kill him? That was my father, mind you that I was rarely involved in his schemes. I actively tried to get him into detention, not into a coffin. As for his track record, does anyone remember the origins of my scars?”
Greg gracefully answered that one, mouthful, “Your father?”
“Thank you for the brilliant observation, Greg. Such a shame your wisdom is wasted in this pigsty of a school.”
“He would be more subtle. I mean, if he was trying to kill you,” Pansy shrugged it off. “Or not. He always had a few screws loose and, who knows, it must’ve gotten worse after the past year. Maybe he started hearing voices from all the war trauma or something.”
“Well, if he’s looking for his loose screws, he won’t find it in our Draco here,” Blaise winked at him. “He’s the loosest of us all.”
“I'm surrounded by comedy geniuses. So flattering.”
“Anyways,” Blaise now winked at Harry, who seemed to finally notice he was caught and flinched, looking away for a few seconds before commencing the stare again. “If you haven’t noticed, little dragon, he’s still wearing the tie you gave him.”
“Oh, dear, did you imperio him?”
“If I did, he’d be dancing in the table by now.”
Pansy sighed, as if the topic pained her, “But Blaise is right. He must be fuming at the way you humiliated him. He wants revenge, dear.”
“It’s been a week. He could’ve gotten his revenge any day at this point,” Blaise pointed out, going on about all the times Draco gave him the chance to do so, from the time he was seen in his silk pajamas, not knowing there was a late party in the common room, or the wrong answer he gave during class, the one Granger answered perfectly right after certainly just to proof her superiority.
Not one to gloom about past mistakes, Draco decided to stare back at Potter.
As Blaise had observed, Harry still wore the tie Draco gave to him a week ago. “Wore” was a strong word, however, as it hung on Potter’s shoulder more than anything, not tied, just thrown over and carried from one side to the other. Maybe that was his plan, to show Draco that he wouldn’t follow his rules by making a mockery out of it. He was watching him closely, anxious for Draco to react, to lose his temper and get a one way ticket to Azkaban.
Draco refused to fall for his plots.
And that is why, as Blaise commented on each of his failures during the week, Draco made his second poor choice of the month.
He got up and walked towards Potter.
Just when he was right there, in front of the legend himself, that Potter flinched, understanding that this was more than an illusion and that Draco himself, his future victim, was right in front of him, unsatisfied expression, hands against his waist, waiting to be recognized as a person and not an hallucination.
“Malfoy,” he said, a reflection of last week’s interaction.
“Potter”, Draco cleared his throat. “I see you’ve still not learned the proper dresscode.”
“Oh,” he blinked. “Oh”, then said again, more excitedly, as if remembering a prior script he must follow. “And? What will you do about this, Malfoy?”
Of course, shove right up your arse. That thought briefly passed through his mind but, as good always wins, Draco calmly raised his palms and, once again, came to rest on Potter’s — or his? — tie. He straightened it against Potter’s unfortunately broad shoulders and then fixed it around his neck, tying as gracefully as he did last week.
“Wear it properly, Potter. It’s made of silk, understood?” As much as he wanted to nag about him never owning a silk tie before, he knew better and had a faint idea that the Potter’s vault must be more loaded than the Malfoy’s recently.
Potter, against all common sense and the gasped mouths around them, appeared to gleam. “What if I don’t want to, Malfoy?”
Draco blinked, “What?”
“What will you do if I don’t tie my tie?”
Shove up your… Don’t wear it then, for Merlin’s sake! Is what a weak person would do. Draco, so much more stubborn and annoying than your average bloke, would never. He gritted his teeth, taking on the challenge, “Then I’ll tie it everyday for you.”
And, once again against all common sense, Harry Potter smiled.
“Alright. Let’s see.”
“What?”
“Let’s see if you’ll fix my tie for me, Malfoy. Everyday. Just like you said.”
“Oh.”
He’s mental.
Luckily, Draco is also like that. Not once in his life was he ever described as “normal”, afterall. So he takes on the challenge.
A new routine started. One where Harry waits for him everyday before breakfast, by the door of their shared common room where Draco will perfectly tie Harry’s tie around his neck. Sometimes red, sometimes green, it seemed to depend on Harry’s mood if he'd pick one of his own or Draco's. They would then have breakfast together and follow with their daily activities as planned. If Harry’s tie, by any chance, got untied along the way, be it during quidditch or his own recklessness, he’d find Draco (how did he manage to find Draco every single time? That was the true question) and Draco would fix it for him.
And it’s been that way for a month now.
“I wish I could have a pretty thing like you fixing my tie everyday,” Blaise sighs once, hand dramatically resting against his heart. “How jealous I am of Potter.”
Well, Blaise’s tie indeed had a tendency to look messy, sometimes, especially after his escapades with the boy or girl of the month. Draco wrinkled his nose, seeing how particularly loose it was.
It was only fair, really, Potter couldn’t be the only one receiving his tie-services.
So that’s how they are found by Potter: Blaise sitting on the couch, legs spread open to have Draco’s knee in between, being stabilized in that position by Blaise’s hand that held his waist, as Draco concentrated on the green tie in front of his eyes.
“What are you doing?” Harry gritted his teeth.
“What?” Draco looked up, letting go of the finished product. Blaise whistled from behind him. “Fixing Blaise’s tie, what else?”
“Why?”
Draco tilts his head, “The same reason I’m doing yours everyday?” It was messy, obviously.
Harry opens his mouth, for no reason at all, as he closes it back immediately, lips pursed. He has the same look he had when he followed Draco into the bathroom sixth year, which sends shivers down his spine. Oh, Harry was mad. And for no apparent reason this time, since Draco considered himself really good at understanding Harry's emotions. Draco frowns in confusion. “What’s wrong with you?”
“With me?” he scoffs. “Nothing. Keep doing whatever you are doing, I don’t care.”
Draco couldn’t even debate that he can’t, as he already finished it, but Harry struts upstairs and the door to his chambers is closed with a loud bang that echoes through the common room. Blaise whistles again and Draco, though confused, shares the same anger as Potter, for some reason.
The next day, Harry doesn’t wait for him to fix his tie.
Neither does he appear in front of him after quidditch training, tie hanging out between his fingers.
It’s only during dinner that Draco sees it, that terrible sight: Harry Potter, just sitting there as if he was a normal student and not the nations’ heartthrob, messy red tie, if you could even call it that. The stupid man only gave it a twist and called it a day, shoving it's tip on his chest pocket.
Draco was overcome with anger.
In a place where all students currently enrolled gathered, Draco risked breaking his probation for a second time, though this time with more testimonies than the court would ever allow to attend. He stopped in front of Harry Potter — who didn’t even glance his way, the audacity — and tugged on that terrible, horrendous tie.
Harry tries to take it back, but Draco’s got a pretty strong hold on it, “What’s wrong with you, Malfoy?!”
“What’s wrong with you, Potter! I can’t let you walk around like this!”
“Yeah? Why is that?”
“People will think I made this mess of a tie! And I don’t wish to be associated with whatever this is, thank you very much.”
“And now you care?”
“When did I not?”
They tugged the poor tie back and forth as they yelled in each other's face. If Draco ever manage to get it, he'd use it to strangle Potter, he decided. However, after Draco’s last quote, Harry hesitated, which allowed Draco, under all the shocked stares of their fellow students, to pull Harry out of the great hall by the tie, like a dog’s collar.
“Stay still”, he commanded when they reached a clear hall.
Harry scoffed, weakly, but let Draco do as he pleased, “Go fix Zabini’s tie, isn’t that what you want?”
“Why are you bringing up Blaise? I’m doing yours, now.”
Grey eyes were completely focused on the red tie in front of him, too focused to see how attentively green eyes watched those pale fingers move with expertise, moving from his hands to those lips, pursed in total concentration. Harry gulped, looking away like a stubborn child.
“Don’t pretend like you don’t prefer his tie.”
“I don’t know what’s your problem, Potter, but I was just fixing his because it was undone. It’s yours that I work on everyday,” Harry kept quiet at that, letting Draco palm the finished knot against Harry’s chest, flattening it. “And done.”
He made a move to step back, but was stopped by Harry, who loosened his tie the moment Draco let go of it. Draco’s mouth was opened in utter surprise, but Harry acted as if nothing had happened.
“It’s undone,” he said cluelessly.
“Yes, you’ve undone it! What’s wrong with you!”
“Fix it.”
“Why? You’ll just unmake it again”, though opposed to his own words, Draco moved closer to fix it again. “This will be the last time today.”
Harry spent a beat in silence, lips pursed as he hesitated on what to say, “You know that it sounds like a proposal?”
“What?”
“Saying that you’ll fix my tie everyday. It sounds like a proposal.”
Draco looks up, their eyes meeting immediately, though it takes a moment for Harry’s words to click. When it clicks, however, his face goes fully red. Merlin. It really sounded like a proposal. He tried to let go of the tie, snake away, far away from Harry and hide somewhere, but Harry was quicker, grabbing his wrists in place and oh. Oh. Draco’s face heated up even more, seeing how Harry held both of his wrists with just one palm.
All his defense mechanisms were activated, trying to prevent his brain from frying up, “You were the one who agreed to it, you don’t have the right to say it sounded like a proposal now!”
“What if I wanted it to be a proposal?”
At that, Draco widened his eyes, “What?”
“What if I tell you I want you doing my tie everyday? Even after we graduate?” Harry pulled him closer, whispering into his face. “Will you keep your promise?”
Merlin.
There was no way this was happening. Draco would pinch himself, if they weren’t trapped in Harry’s stronger grip. Harry Potter, the saviour of the wizarding world, golden boy, chosen one, choosing him? Cute, handsome, stupid Potter whom he’d a crush on for what, six years? The crush he tried to bury away, since there’s no chance Potter would ever think of him like that? Draco was sure his face could not get more red.
Harry fidget, perhaps the lack of answer also making him a bit nervous. It can’t be, Draco thought, he’s serious about this, isn’t he?
“I can’t–”
One could see the exact moment Harry withered, the grasp weakening. Draco bit his lip, adding before he could lose his dream chance: “I can’t be the only one. If I’m going to fix your tie everyday, you’ll need to learn to do mine.”
────
Next day, when they arrived for breakfast and sat down together, Pansy smirked at him.
“Your tie looks a mess.”
Indeed, Draco’s red tie was poorly tied. And not only it, but his hair and robes were also a mess, as if he was thrown around in someone’s bed minutes before. Instead of embarrassed, the culprit behind that terrible work looked proud oh himself. Draco's cheeks reddened. “Shut up.”
Blaise whistles, “Draco, dear, can you fix my tie for me?”
“Sod off, Zabini.”