the miracle of us || drarry

05 | draco's story

"Is that supposed to be Diagon Alley?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "No."

"It looks like Diagon Alley."

"Thanks."

"What is it?"

Draco sighed. "Hogsmeade."

"How?"

"Harry, I haven't made the small details yet. Like the shop names, or frankly, even the shops. And would you please stop breathing down my neck long enough for me to draw a simple drawing?"

It was Harry's day off. So naturally he annoyed Draco.

"Are you done?"

"No, Harry."

"Really? Does it take that long?"

"Yes, Harry."

Silence filled the air, the only sound being of Draco's pencil scratching on paper.

"Are you done now?"

"HARRY POTTER."

"What?!"

"You said you wanted to watch me draw, did you realize that involves me actually being able to draw?"

Harry raised his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth quirked up ever so slightly in a tiny smile. He put up his hands in fake surrender. "Alright, alright, I'll leave you to it. I'm gonna go clean up this place."

He heard Draco mutter something about good riddance, and chuckled to himself.

Harry headed for the back room, but walked past Draco's room (the guest room) as he did so. Backtracking a few steps, he peered inside, wondering if he should pretend to "clean". Finally he decided he wasn't that good of a person to give him full privacy anyway. So he went inside.

The first thing Harry noticed was the smell.

It smelt like you would expect Draco Malfoy to smell. It smelt like mint and dark chocolate, bitter but refreshing, it smelt like the sea wind on a hot day, salty and sweet, with an air of finality, as if everything good in life had faded, but still, held a beautiful light.

Harry loved it. If Draco was a smell, this would be it.

Harry walked in, and noticed the room was considerably tidy. The desk contained nothing but a shirt, and the coin that Harry had given him.

Harry smiled at that, and looked around the room again. It was tidy and clean. There was nothing really special about it: Draco hadn't bothered to make it his own.

There was nothing to clean up.

When Harry walked out again, Draco was examining his (Harry implied, finished) drawing.

"Done?"

Draco turned, mouth set in a straight line. The corner of his lips quirked up. "Done."

Harry walked over to him, studying the drawing. Draco was right: it looked like Hogsmeade.

Harry was speechless, but whispered, "How'd you manage to turn Diagon Alley into Hogsmeade?"

Draco laughed and shoved him.

"Hey!" Harry laughed back, pulling up a chair and watching him sign his name.

The way he did it was beautiful. His handwriting was graceful and lingering, and the pen seemed to glide on the paper. Harry watched the crease in his forehead as he perfected his signature, studied the set expression in his silver eyes.