Drarry Oneshots (𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆)

Lucid

Top!Harry

Bottom!Draco

author: dracoladon ( on ao3)

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There's a sky in Draco's living room. Not a proper one, but not not a proper one either. It's all very confusing, and Harry's had a long day.

"It's the sky," he says, and then bites his lip, because he knows what's coming and— yeah, Draco's mouth is curling into a smirk already. Fuck.

"Really?" Draco says. He reaches over and pulls Harry's glasses off his face, sliding them onto his own. (Harry sometimes thinks his life would be easier if he just shacked up with one of those perfectly nice women who are always stopping him in the street and telling him how dashing he looks in his Auror's robes. Because Draco isn't nice. Draco is an arsehole.) "Merlin!" he squints. "You're right, Harry. I can't believe I didn't notice."

It's awfully sarcastic, and awfully hot, and also one of the reasons Harry knows he would never leave Draco for one of his many suitors. He loves it when Draco's a prick. Preferably not to him, but anyway. If Harry voiced this thought aloud, Draco would surely come back at him with some delicately veiled nonsense about 'beggars, and their inability to choose'.

"You're hilarious. I meant why. Why the sky. And give me back my glasses."

Draco makes a petulant noise, but obliges. "The sky for the stars, Harry. Obviously."

"You did this —" Harry gestures to the inky, twinkling blackness swirling where Draco's high, white ceiling and poncy (elegant, fuck you, Harry) tierd chandelier used to be "— so you could look at the stars?"

"Study them," Draco corrects.

Harry presses his thumb and forefinger into the bridge of his nose, and then his temples. Ron once told him that it's exactly what Professor McGonagall used to do when they were called into her office and she was too tired to scold (and he's right), but sometimes that's how he feels with Draco, so there. "Why?"

Draco shrugs elegantly. "Academic curiosity."

"Draco, you're mad," says Harry. "How much did this cost? Is it even legal? Fuck, this is like, fucking, ridiculously complex charmwork."

"Twas easy."

"No it twasn't. Draco."

"One simply had to read Hogwarts; A History" (Harry's not even being dramatic when he says that this inspires traumatising flashbacks) "familiarise themselves with the Charms used on the ceiling of the Great Hall —"

"— those are part of the castle's ancient magic, you fuck —"

"— and hire a specialist to replicate them."

"A specialist?" Harry says.

"Mm. Hideously expensive, but I'm happy with the results," Draco says. He ponders the night sky above him lovingly.

"A legal specialist?" Harry prods.

Draco turns back to him with a wicked smile. "Ask me no questions and I shall tell you no lies, Auror Potter."

"For fucks sake," Harry says, adopting his disapproving-McGonagall pose once again. "Why don't you just go outside, Draco? Or do a Transparency Charm?"

"Don't be dim, Harry. London's far too polluted for a Transparency Charm to be any use. I wouldn't be able to see anything. And I can't just 'go outside'" — Draco somehow manages to convey his disdain for the concept through an air quote — "It's chilly."