Chapter Text
Harry has shit eyesight. Now, this has been a fact of life since Harry was a kid. He couldn’t see jackshit, and he’d been living with that up until the war ended and Hermione convinced him to get magical eyesight correction done.
And holy fucking shit was the world so much clearer than he had ever imagined. Turns out the glasses he’d been using for the past seventeen years of his life were not the most accurate (shocker), and he was seeing things in a whole new light.
Neville had way greener eyes than he’d remembered, and had Hermione always had that many curls? And since when had Ron had that many fucking freckles?
But the main issue was Malfoy. Harry first sees him in the ministry atrium (while Harry is in Auror training and Malfoy is making his Healer rounds), and he nearly has a heart attack. Because fuck. Fucking fuck fuck.
Since when were Malfoy’s eyes that grey? They were as light as silver, but dark enough that you could mistake them for being as deep as the ocean. And his stupid fucking hair. It shone like anything, and Harry could swear it was damn near glowing. It was hard to ignore, especially now that Malfoy had grown it out to his shoulders. And Malfoy’s face was not nearly as pointy as Harry’d remembered it. It was… pretty? Attractive? He was starting to see why half their year had fancied Malfoy.
And his physique- he looked nothing like he did when they were 16. There was almost an elegance to his lean but toned body, the form-fitted Healer robes hugging all the right places. Like he was some fucking model. Holy fucking shit, this is not happening. Harry does not find Malfoy hot like he’s some kind of schoolyard girl.
“Morning,” Malfoy mutters, walking past him while he gapes at him like a fish. Has Malfoy always been this gorgeous? No, there was simply no way. It must be an illegal spell. Or perhaps it was an imposter. Or maybe Draco Malfoy had decided to become a Veela. Yes. Yes, that would explain why Harry felt like he was losing his mind.
“Malfoy!” Harry calls out before Malfoy turns into the next hallway. Malfoy pauses, looking back at him, confusedly, as if he thought Harry was calling someone else.
“Yes?”
“You, er, look nice.”
Malfoy stares at Harry like he’s just announced that he’s going to elope with McGonagall. For a moment, Harry thinks Malfoy is going to yell at him, throw something at him, or slap him, and Harry almost runs away. But he does not, deciding that that would not be very Aurorly of him.
Malfoy blinks. “Thanks,” He mumbles, walking away. Harry is very grateful that his eyesight is good enough to see the faint flush rise in Malfoy’s cheekbones and neck.