"What do you make of that mate?" Ron raised an eyebrow, furtively glancing towards a group of their fellow Eighth Years seated around the Common Room fireplace.
"Hmm...?" Harry hummed, distracted, playing idly with his wand, twirling it in his fingers.
"That." Ron repeated, voice full of meaning.
Grateful for the distraction, Harry followed his best mate's gaze and it landed right on the subject of his scattered thoughts. He inwardly sighed, frowning.
He'd been pretending to play Wizard's Chess with Ron but his mind had clearly been elsewhere. It had been preoccupied with a certain blond Slytherin, who, to Harry's immense shock, had not uttered a single insult to anyone. Even the blond's patented sneer was absent from his face.
Draco Lucius Malfoy had been the picture of a polite gentleman --- civil, almost friendly, towards his fellow Eighth Years and unnaturally quiet, subdued, by Malfoy's previous standards. And Harry was struggling with the sudden change. He didn't know how to act around Malfoy. He'd been so used to trading insults, barbs, curses, and hexes. Now that there was nothing but curt nods and cool indifference, Harry was at a complete loss.
Choosing to feign ignorance, Harry ordered his Knight to smash Ron's Bishop to pieces and asked. "What do you mean, Ron?"
"Blimey, mate, don't tell me you haven't noticed how odd Malfoy's been acting?" Ron hissed under his breath, eyes wide.
Shifting his gaze once again towards the blond, Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "People change. The War changed a lot of things, especially the way people think. After the shite he's been through, I'm not entirely surprised."
"Malfoy? Change? C'mon, mate." Ron scoffed derisively. "I'd sooner think he's up to something rather than believe someone like him could change." Turning his attention back towards the chess board, Ron lowered his voice even further. "That bloody Death Eater is probably cooking up a plan to break dear ol' dad out of Azkaban."
Suddenly feeling oddly defensive, Harry straightened in his seat and shot Ron an icy glare. "I know more about his situation than you do, Ron. That was the main reason why I spoke for him at his trial. I wouldn't expect you to understand though and that's fine." Smoothly rising to his feet, Harry ignored the look of shock on Ron's face. "I'm going to bed."
Striding towards the stairs that led up to the Boy's Dormitory, Harry felt eyes following his progress. On instinct, he looked over and emerald green met stormy gray.
Malfoy was laying on the couch, his head cradled on Parkinson's lap. The girl was chatting animatedly with Zabini, carding her slender fingers through Malfoy's silken hair. This show of affection was nothing new. Everyone in their Year believed the two were together --- had been together since Fourth Year. But for some reason, it sent a troubling surge of something through Harry's insides. Odd, that.
Malfoy had divested himself of his fashionable gray coat, leaving him in only his black short-sleeve shirt, clearly exposing the Dark Mark. But what had fascinated everyone, including Harry and, although he'd never admit it, Ron, was the fact that the Mark had been artfully hidden in an intricately and gorgeously designed forearm sleeve tattoo. Draco had wryly admitted that it had been done by a Muggle Tattoo Artist based in London, much to the shock of his fellow Eighth Years.
The half-sleeve was beautiful. Looming trees, coiling vines, winding rivers, a mosaic of shrubbery and soaring birds wound around Draco's pale forearm. It was a gorgeous painting of a vibrantly dark forest with the Dark Mark expertly integrated within. It reminded Harry of the Forbidden Forest, strangely beautiful and undeniably dangerous; very much like Malfoy himself. Harry frowned at the unbidden thought. He gave Malfoy a cursory nod before turning away, taking the stairs two at a time. He didn't bother to see if Malfoy had acknowledged his lame attempt at 'good night'.
Harry suddenly felt incredibly weary, more so than usual. He hadn't been sleeping much after the War. Even with Voldemort gone, their unwanted connection forever severed, the nightmares that plagued Harry were still a constant companion. The only reason he'd managed thus far was due to constantly ingesting Dreamless Sleep Potions.
Nodding at his classmates as he passed by their dorm rooms, he trudged down the long hallway, looking for the door with his name on it. Finally finding it, he sighed with relief, his hand on the doorknob. Then he froze, eyes wide, incredulously reading and re-reading the name beside his own. His roommate's name. He hadn't thought any of it. He'd just assumed it'd be Ron. He couldn't have been more wrong. Because right there, written in beautiful cursive below his own name, were the words he'd never expected to see.
Draco Lucius Malfoy.
It was a sick joke. Fate seemed hellbent on making his life as miserable as possible. The three words even seemed to be mocking him. Then he realize he wasn't alone in his suffering. He wondered how Malfoy would react at this unexpected turn of events. He could already see it --- a Malfoy tantrum of epic proportions. Harry chuckled in resignation as he pushed the door open. He didn't doubt for one second that Malfoy's new indifferent facade would crack under this circumstances. Maybe then, this sense of unease bubbling in his gut would fizzle away. It was, after all, much easier to deal with an antagonistic Malfoy. Harry was well-equipped for it.
Striding into the room, Harry raised an eyebrow at the two four-poster beds standing at opposite ends of the bedroom. One was draped in Gryffindor colours, the other in Slytherin hues. A small fireplace was quietly burning between the beds, two comfortable armchairs situated before the hearth. Against the wall at the foot of the beds were two identical desks and matching wardrobes line up beside ornate bureaus. The room was adequate for two people. There was just enough space without being in one another's way.
Another door at the opposite wall caught Harry's eye. Closing the door behind him, he swiftly crossed the bedroom and pushed it open. It was a bathroom. He was surprised. He hadn't expected that each dorm room would have its own private bath.
Eyeing the tub and shower, Harry suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to soak himself in hot water. He made his way towards his trunk that sat at the foot of his bed, stripping off his shirt and jumper as he went. Tossing his discarded clothes onto his red duvet, Harry kicked off his red Converse trainers and crouched beside his trunk, rummaging for a pair of sweatpants. Finding one, Harry shucked his jeans off and stalked back towards the bathroom, pulling the door shut as he entered.
The hot water pelting down his head and back felt absolutely divine. He could feel his tense muscles relaxing. With a soft sigh, he rolled his shoulders and tilted his head back, letting the water drench his face. He didn't know how long he stayed under the shower but he knew he had to get out as his fingers had begun to shrivel up. With some reluctance, he turned the tap off and dried himself with the Gryffindor red bath towel he'd found hanging on the wall. Pulling his navy blue joggers on, Harry draped the towel over his head and made his way out the door, idly scrubbing his hair dry.
A noise in the bedroom caught Harry's attention, making him jump reflexively. Standing in the middle of the room with piles of clothes in his arms was Draco Malfoy. Harry swallowed the irrational urge to panic and casually shifted his gaze from Malfoy, to the blond's open trunk, then to the bureau that was half full of Malfoy's designer clothes.
"Uh... hey." Harry muttered, inwardly celebrating that he managed to sound almost normal.
Draco didn't reply. Becoming increasingly uncomfortable, Harry risked a glance at the blond and was stunned at the pair of dilated pupils that seemed to be wandering over his body. Feeling a heady rush assault his senses, Harry suddenly felt a dangerous heat coiling in his underbelly. Tossing the towel onto his bed, Harry leaned against one of his bed's posts, leisurely crossing his arms, a smirk curving his lips.
"Like what you see, Malfoy?"
Harry's voice was low, somewhat raspy, teasing but offering nothing.
As though remembering where he was, Draco snapped his head back, blinking violently, but not before Harry caught the distinct smoulder of desire in his molten silver eyes.
Harry froze, gobsmacked at the discovery, but the initial shock quickly gave way to an odd surge of delight. This was a rather strange yet interesting development. The smirk on Harry's face slowly morphed into a bemused smile.
Draco cleared his throat, turning towards his drawer. "You wish, Potter." he threw Harry a sardonic smile over his shoulder. "I've seen better." Draco's cool indifference was firmly back in place, gray eyes impassive once again.
Harry snorted, shaking his head as he climbed into bed, scooting underneath his covers.
He idly watched Draco work, meticulously putting his clothes away. Harry had expected him to crack, even explode, upon discovering who his roommate was. Well, the blond did crack but in the most unexpected way and it left Harry completely puzzled and decidedly fascinated.
Harry smiled, unconsciously licking his lips.
***AN: Here's an idea of how I envisioned Draco's sleeve tattoo would look like. (See picture)
****AN: Minor edits.