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“Potter!” Draco’s voice rang through their flat. Harry choked on his coffee. Draco only ever called him “Potter” in bed or when he was especially pissed off at him. They were not in bed. Harry braced himself.
“Yeah?” Harry called back, wiping the dribble of liquid from his chin. Harry heard Draco stomping his way to the kitchen. Seconds later, Draco was standing in front of him, clad in only a towel around his waist, dripping water all over their kitchen floor.
“Why. Is. My. Hair. Orange?!” Draco snarled, each word a staccato of fury.
“Oh, oh.” Draco’s hair was the same violent shade of orange as the Chudley Cannons’ kit. If this had happened during their Hogwarts years, Harry might have laughed. Now, he was too busy weaving excuses through his head.
“Erm, I swear it was an accident,” Harry stuttered. Draco didn’t look any more forgiving.
“An accident?” Draco sneered. Oh, Merlin, Draco hasn’t been this angry with him in a long while.
“An accident for having Ron and George over while you were away for that shoot in Italy,” Harry corrected, “but, yes, it was an accident.”
“You – “
“I told you that I’d be having them over!” Harry defended. “But I had no idea that they’d do that, Draco, really.” Draco looked less mad now, knowing that it wasn’t Harry that messed with his hair products.
“I’ll find out how to reverse it, I promise.” Harry offered his pinky to Draco. “I’ll hex those two if I have to.” Draco let out a heavy sigh and hooked his own pinky with Harry’s.
“You better,” Draco grumbled. “And it better be quick – I have an important photoshoot tomorrow.” Harry pulled him down to give him a chaste kiss.
“I will,” he promised. “And I’ll figure out how to make their hair silver blond, too.” They exchanged devious grins.
“Good.”