"What are you drawing now?"
The blonde looked over his shoulder, rolling his eyes at his roommate's curious emerald eyes, "It's the contour for a sunset, Potter."
"Another one?"
"Don't question my preferences, Potter, or I won't show you it anymore," Draco mumbled, sketching the outline of a tree.
"We've been sharing a room for the past three months, Draco, you can call me Harry."
Draco growled under his breath, "I prefer to call you Potter, and I'd prefer it if you'd call me Malfoy, as we always had."
Harry sighed, not in the mood to banter on this. He slid back on his bed, twirling his wand in his hand, bored. He hadn't expected returning to the Hogwarts for what would be the seventh year that he missed out on, or rather, 'Eighth year,' to have a shared room with Draco Malfoy. Then again, he couldn't complain; It was a small tower made just for those students who didn't finish their seventh year, and Harry Potter was not one to use his status to get what he wanted. And no matter how irritating Draco's 'nothing more than roommates' policy was, Harry tolerated it for glances at Draco's secret talent.
Malfoy's art always seemed to fill Harry with a sense of peace. He was particularly keen on sunsets; Harry had noticed by his paintings over time.
He glanced at Malfoy, knowing he wouldn't spare Harry any attention while he worked deciding to go ahead and try to go to sleep. He stripped down to his boxer short, crawling under the covers, "I'm going to go to bed, wake me up when you finish," Harry announced to the focused blond, sitting his glasses on the nightstand.
"I know the drill Potter, we do this every night," Malfoy mumbled pulling out a oil pastels from his desk.
Harry nodded smiling at the busy boy at work before nodding off into a comfortable sleep.
***
"Potter, wake up."
Harry groaned, blinking his eyes open, sitting up, "You finished?" He asked Draco groggily as he slid his glasses on.
Draco nodded, grabbing Harry's wrist, pulling him from the bed and sitting him down in the desk chair. Harry shivered as the cold air hit his exposed skin, before he stared down at Draco's newest creation. He nearly gasped at the explosion of color on the page, blended so softly. The clouds seemed to dance along the sky in excitement.
Harry grinned, setting the work back down, turning to face Draco.
"So, what do you think?" Draco asked with wide eyes, the same as he always had after showing Harry his masterpieces.
"It's amazing," Harry said breathlessly, "it's so vibrant, Draco, you have remarkable talent," Draco tried to hide his grin at Harry's words. Harry took another glace at the sunsets he had done that were hanging on the wall around the desk, "Draco can I ask you something?"
Draco raised an eyebrow, "I suppose."
"Why do you like sunsets so much?" He asked, "They're beautiful, don't get me wrong, but you do a lot of them."
Draco gave a coy look, as if debating his revealing his reasoning behind his art before meeting Harry's eyes and speaking, "Because they're never the same; They have different complexities, different personalities. But even though every one of them is different, they're all considered to be the same. And somehow, even though they're so contrasting, they are the same. Whether stormy or sunny, at the end of the day, when the sun goes down, it will always be a sunset."
Harry stared at him, trying to understand the deep meanings he had behind his works, "I'm not sure I follow."
"It's symbolic, Potter," Draco said, too caught up in explaining to get frustrated by Harry's cluelessness, "Sunsets symbolize people. Good people and bad people, wizards and muggles..." He broke eye contact, staring down at his hands, "The Order and Death eaters. These titles we're given, they don't matter because when it comes down to it, we're all people," He took a deep breath and sighed, grinning back up at Harry, "that's why I like sunsets. They show that everything, whether it's good or bad, comes to an end at some point, thus the start of a new beginning. It's enlightening."
Harry felt his heart clench in his chest at such wholesome words coming from none other than Draco Malfoy. He was different behind closed doors: They were different behind closed doors. This was the side of Draco Malfoy that nobody ever saw, nobody but Harry. He was deep, compassionate, honest.
Draco got up, pulling clean pajamas from his trunk, "I'm going to shower, then I might stay up a while longer. I'll try to be quiet, so you can sleep."
Harry nodded as he disappeared into the en suite. After he heard the water running, he turned back facing the desk, eyeing the same pastel piece. He had only seen a few pictures done by Draco that weren't sunsets, of course there had to be more.
Harry let curiosity get the best of him as he grabbed a stack of his parchment, filing through them.
Indeed, there were many sketches that Harry hadn't seen before, magnificent sketches. There was a sketch of the Whomping Willow, one of cauldrons that seemed so realistic, but Harry couldn't believe his eyes at the next drawing in the pile: Him.
He was smiling brightly in the picture; the resemblance was uncanny as the details popped off the page. Harry felt warmth in the pit of his stomach thinking of all the time Draco must have spent drawing him. He smiled, flipping to the next one, surprised by another picture of him.
Asleep this time, peaceful. Draco managed to catch every fixture of him, every flaw in the bedding.
But the last picture took his breath away.
Detail after detail, there he was again.
This time with his lips pressed firmly to Draco's, the passion leaping off the page, bringing stinging tears of joy and shock to Harry's eyes. No wonder Draco had a rule on how close they got. He was too scared to live out his fantasies.
"What are you doing?"
Harry jumped, spinning around, to face Draco, clad in his clean pajamas with damp hair. Harry hide his hands behind his back at the sight of him, "Nothing!"
Draco swallowed hard before going and snatching the parchment from Harry's hands, tears coming to his own eyes, "You went through my sketches?" He looked back up at him, "Harry, I trusted you."
Harry's heart fell at words. The first time Draco used his first name, and it was because he had hurt him, "Draco, I'm sorry. I just think your work is amazing, I wanted to see more."
"You should have asked!"
"You would have said no," Harry said back desperately.
"Yeah and for a damn good reason," Draco said bitterly, holding up the sketch of them kissing, gesturing to it.
Harry looked at the picture, then back at his sunsets.
His sunsets.
"Draco," Harry said softly, "I get it."
Draco scoffed, crossing his arms, "There is nothing to get, Potter."
"Yes, there is," Harry said, getting up and standing in front of Draco, "Things end. Like sunsets. But in your fantasies, the sun never has to go down if you don't want it to. Sometimes though, Draco, the end isn't really the end," he reached up, cupping Draco's face, wiping his tears away, forcing him to look him in the eye, "Sometimes its just the end of that day. The sun may set as a friendship then rise as a... relationship. Does that make sense?"
"What are you getting at, Potter?" Draco asked, searching his eyes for an answer.
Harry smiled and gently pulled the picture of them kissing and held it for him to see, "Let's make the sun rise."
Draco gasped before smiling at his words, the best words he could have said. Harry smiled back, tucking Draco's damp hair behind his ears, pressing there foreheads together, brushing lips lightly, pressing together in perfect sync, their passion exploding vibrantly. Harry brought his hands to Draco's waist as Draco rested his tingling fingertips on Harry's bare chest, his fantasies spinning off the page.
They pulled away both smiling, their foreheads still pressed against one another's, "Draco?"
"Yes, Harry?"
"The sun won't set on us," Harry whispered, "I promise."