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drarrily-we-row-along · 2 years

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July 9: Festival

It should come as a surprise to absolutely no one that Harry didn't particularly enjoy art museums.

Art was pretty enough, he supposed, but honestly he wasn't quite sure what he was meant to do. How was he supposed to critique things? How was he meant to not say that some things that people put on display and called art looked just plain hideous?

His friends had insisted he come to a charity art gala exactly one time before realizing the catastrophic mistake they'd made and informing him he was never allowed in polite company again. Which honestly suited Harry just fine.

Still. Luna was a different matter entirely. Harry never had quite worked out how to say no to her. And with Ginny glaring menacingly behind her when she invited him to the art festival where she was displaying some of her work, he was hard pressed to say no.

Which was how he found himself wandering into a muggle park with white tents set up all over. Trying very hard to avoid making eye contact with the artists or looking at any of the art for too long. Especially the pieces that he didn't understand.

It felt like it had been an eternity of looking for Luna's tent, he really ought to have gone with someone else, when one of the artists at a tent got a little too enthusiastic to sell him something because he'd peeked in trying to find Luna. He did the only thing he could do and pretended that he'd been looking for the tent next door.

Only, the art in this tent was actually really pretty. "Woah," he said to himself as he took in the vibrant landscapes that had been lovingly brought to life on the canvas. The brush strokes, the paint itself seemed to bring the work to life in a way that made Harry wish he could jump in.

Without really thinking about it he started to reach out to touch the canvas, the hankering desire to feel the art vibrating at the core of his being.

"Potter," a voice he'd recognize anywhere drawled, "surely you know that you aren't supposed to touch paintings."

His hand snapped back and he turned to find Draco Malfoy leaning against the table in the back. Malfoy looked nothing like Harry remembered and he had a difficult time reconciling what he'd expected to see with what he was seeing.

Gone were the stiff, fussy outfits of their youth. In their place, Malfoy wore a pair of high-waisted flowing trousers; they were a pale pink and looked soft to the touch, swishing against Malfoy's body when he moved. On top was a white crop top that was fitted through the bodice but had flowing sleeves, and intricate straps that layered and crossed over each other and left tantalizing bits of shoulder and collarbone displayed. Malfoy's long blond hair was loosely braided, daisies and buttercups woven through.

"Oh for Salazar's sake," Malfoy snapped and Harry was brought back to himself. "Out with it, Potter. Whatever vicious slurs you want to throw at me, go ahead. I've heard them all already-"

"What?" he yelped. "No!" he said, "no," he reiterated, shaking his head for emphasis. "I wasn't thinking anything mean-"

"Right," he sneered, hands bracketing his narrow hips. "I'm sure that you wer-"

"I was thinking that you're really fucking pretty," Harry spat before he could actually think through the consequences of that sentence.

"Oh," Malfoy murmured, looking a bit stunned, cheeks flushing a lovely shade of pink.

Harry swallowed, "I just wasn't expecting it. I wasn't thinking anything mean," he repeated.

Malfoy's chin tipped up, "I'm gender fluid," was offered like a challenge.

He wondered how often that had led to a fight, wondered at Malfoy's bravery for a moment before asking, "What are your pronouns?"

Malfoy's shoulders eased, "they/them is my preference."

"Alright," Harry replied. "Do you still go by Draco?"

"I do," they said, looking at Harry appraisingly for a long moment as though he was something inconceivable.

"Can I call you Draco?" he asked because this person standing in front of him, free in their body for the first time since Harry had known them, was not the person he'd spit the surname Malfoy at when they were in school.

"Do you want to?" they replied a bit helplessly.

He couldn't help but smile, "Yeah. Yeah I do."

----------------------

Harry'd stayed at Draco's tent listening to them talk about their art, about the way they'd traveled; just left the whole world they knew behind to explore all the things they'd never known. "And it was beautiful," Draco said wistfully. "Merlin, it was so beautiful. And I just wanted to capture it all," they said gesturing around the tent helplessly. "Muggles have amazing technology for capturing images on their phones but it's not the same as actually creating it."

"So you just what?" he asked with a laugh, "picked up a paint brush and got to it?"

Draco flushed, "Well," they said, "Art is taught to pureblood children from a very young age. It's not a suitable career, but it is a prestigious hobby."

"Bucking all of those traditions, then," Harry laughed, gesturing around them at the tent.

They gave Harry a tentative smile and tucked a loose strand of fine blond hair behind their ear, "I like to think so."

Harry knew he was grinning like an absolute sod but he couldn't seem to stop himself. Then, "I don't have any artwork in my house."

Draco blinked at him, "Sorry?"

He shrugged, "I don't have any artwork. Like I just don't understand how to pick artwork that is right for a space."

"Honestly," they laughed, rolling their eyes. "It's not that hard."

"Would you help me?" he asked before he could really think through what he was asking. "Like, I would pay you," he continued quickly, "I just," he shrugged, "I really like your art and the way it makes me feel," he added a little sheepishly. "It would feel nice to have my house full of it."

Draco was blinking at him uncomprehendingly, like they couldn't understand what had just happened.

"Or not," he said backpedaling. "That's probably a really weird thing for someone to ask an artist for in retrospect. Right?" his palms felt itchy as he tried to fix it. "Sorry-"

"Harry," Draco said, their voice calm and warm, and it soothed something inside of him. "I would love to," they replied earnestly, "I've never had anyone ask me to do that, but I'd like to try."

"Great," he said, his tummy flipping at the thought of spending more time with Draco. "What, uh, what would you need next?"

"Do you know what you want?"

Harry shook his head.

"Sizes of paintings you'd need for your rooms?"

He shook his head again.

"Price range?"

"Money isn't," he cleared his throat, "Money isn't a problem."

Draco smirked, "There were rumors about the Potter vaults, you know."

"I did not," he replied with a little laugh.

"I always wondered when I was young," they said, "when nothing could fill the void of not being who I was, how you managed to not use your money at every conceivable moment."

"I-"

"Sorry," Draco said, standing up abruptly, "That was too much, I didn't mean-"

"Hey," Harry said, reaching out and grabbing their wrist, brushing his thumb along the smooth curve of flesh over bone. "You're not too much."

Draco looked like they wanted to run.

So Harry repeated himself, softly and slowly, keeping his eyes locked with Draco's, "You're not to much for me."

Their eyes slipped shut and the tension drained from their body.

And just as Harry was about to say something else, something about wanting rather desperately to know everything about Draco, another customer wandered in.

Draco pulled away, "leave me your number and we can schedule a time for me to look at your house so we can make a plan."

"Right," he said dazedly, hastily scribbling down his number on the pad of paper on Draco's table. "I'll talk to you soon?"

Draco gazed at him for a long moment before nodding. "Soon."

-------------------

Soon, as it happened, was a couple of hours later when Harry was having dinner with his friends, celebrating a big sale Luna had at her tent.

His phone buzzed and he looked down to see a message from a number he didn't recognize

Hello. This is Draco Malfoy. I wanted to reach out about a time that might be convenient for me to come and look at your home and make a plan for the art commission we'd discussed. My week this week is fairly open but I start traveling again next week.

He smiled down at the message before starting one of his own.

Hey! Thanks for getting back to me. Is tomorrow morning too soon?

He hit send then sent another:

I really liked seeing you today. Is that too much?

A message popped up a second later

Tomorrow morning works for me. Is 9:00 suitable? It's not too much.

He grinned and was about to reply when Ron said, "What's got you grinning at your phone like that?"

He laughed and shook his head, not quite ready to share Draco with his friends yet. It was too new, too exciting. And honestly he liked Draco too much to want to hear what his friends might say.

"It's not a what, it's a who," Luna replied airily.

Ginny perked up at that, "What's his name?" she asked at the same time as Ron spoke up again, "What's her name?"

"Their," he corrected absently.

"Ah," Luna said and Harry glanced over to see her broad smile. "I'm really happy for both of you," she said genuinely.

And their friends started clamoring over each other to ask Luna, which Harry found mildly amusing since she never gave straight answers. He turned back to his phone in the ensuing chaos.

9:00 sounds perfect. What do you like in your coffee? Do you like coffee?

I'm fairly certain that coffee is my one true love.

Stiff competition, then.

Are you flirting with me, Potter?

Depends.

On what?

Is it working?

There was a long pause and Harry worried a little that he'd pushed it too hard, too fast.

"Harry!" Ron shouted, from his tone it wasn't the first time.

He looked up, "What?"

"When are you seeing this mystery person again?" he asked and everyone seemed very invested in his answer.

His phone buzzed and Harry couldn't resist looking down to read the message.