The Sleeping Beauty Curse

Chapter 17

Harry was late for his interview with the Prophet. He hadn't meant to be, but only because he didn't want to keep Draco waiting. He sent Draco a hasty owl five minutes before he was due to leave work saying he'd have to meet him there, and set off forty minutes later than he should have, still in his uniform.

When he arrived at the Prophet's office, which was crowded in an irritating way that suggested the whole staff, and all their friends, were loitering there to catch a glimpse of him, Draco pushed through the crowd with a bright, "Darling!" and gave him a lingering hug. This hug also gave Draco the opportunity to hiss, "Wanker," in his ear and pinch him in the side, which Harry thought was bloody unfair. It was very, very kind of him to be in the Prophet's office in the first place, he thought, reaching for anger. He couldn't find it, though; he was too busy trying not to laugh.

He'd expected Draco to be wearing his best robes, with his hair back to normal. It was evening now, so he'd had the time to get his hair cut properly. But, instead, Draco was wearing his best robes, topped with his uneven, hilariously dreadful hair. And he was clearly trying to pretend that he looked his absolute finest.

Harry grinned at him. "I have never seen you looking so lovely," he said solemnly – and loudly.

Draco smirked at him. "Thank you, darling," he said as the Prophet's editor-in-chief came out of her office to lead them through.

The interview was shorter than Harry expected, Draco monosyllabic when he was asked about his family, but so gushingly sweet when asked about Harry that Harry almost began to feel uncomfortable. He responded in kind, when questioned by the editor, unable to find a single positive word to say about Lucius and Narcissa, but finding it easy to say embarrassingly nice things about Draco. How he made the house cheerful and bright, how he baked, and read, and—

"You're making me sound like the perfect pure-blood housewife," Draco hissed when the editor left the room for a moment, part way through the interview. "Did I tell you recently how much I hate you?"

Harry sniggered, and laid it on even thicker when the editor returned, making Draco go red and embarrassed beside him.

"Your hair," the editor said thoughtfully to Draco when she'd put away her quill. "I think we might pay it a teensy bit of attention before the photos."

"Oh?" Draco said, eyes widening in mock-innocence. "Why?"

"Just so you're looking your best," the editor said firmly. "You don't want to show up your lovely husband in the photos, do you?"

"Oh! Of course not," Draco said lightly, and elbowed his lovely husband in the side as his lovely husband found it very hard not to start laughing. "What a spoilsport that woman is," he whispered to Harry as they walked out of the office a few minutes later, towards haircuts and photographs, and Harry couldn't help but agree.

A couple of hours later, Harry and Draco had been photographed cuddling, and pouring each other tea, and sitting with a small, random fluffy dog. It was all terrible, and dreadful, Harry thought. But Draco – who'd told the editor that he thought Harry was dedicated to his job and a loyal and wonderful friend and a generous and thoughtful man, and who'd turned up to the interview with his hair looking like shit, to spite his father and make Harry laugh – turned to him, when it was all over. And smiled. And suddenly, to Harry's dismay, the whole fucking thing had seemed worth it, after all.

^^^^^^

The next day, Harry joined Hermione for lunch in her small office at the Ministry. It was cramped with papers, and she had to move a pile of scrolls from the chair in front of her desk so he could sit down. "Sorry," she said, scrubbing her hands through her long curly hair as if she wanted to pull it out. "I'm nearly at the point when I can release my new white paper on house-elf rights, and it's requiring quite a lot of internal negotiation."