The Changing Lights by lazywonderland

chapter eleven

Malfoy's room was not much different than the regular dorms. It was a bit smaller and it only had one bed, but other than that, the only real difference between it and the eighth-year Gryffindor dormitory was the aesthetic. The Slytherins were, of course, beneath the school in the dungeons, making it so one could see the depths of the Black Lake through the windows rather than the Hogwarts grounds, like in Gryffindor Tower. It seemed ... appropriate, somehow. Malfoy's room was dim even with the lamps burning, his bed hung with deep green curtains that were in a strange way much less warm and hospitable than Harry's own scarlet ones. It reminded him forcefully of a more dressed-down version of the rooms at Grimmauld Place, Regulus's in particular. Snakes were carved into the wooden frame of the bed, making Harry wonder whether all the beds in Slytherin were like that.

It was tidy in a way that Harry's dorm had never been - wouldn't have been even if he'd been living alone, he supposed. Even the contents of Malfoy's open trunk were tidy. With the door shut behind them, he pulled off the Cloak and set it aside on an armchair near the bed, the cushions of which were the same shade of green as the bed's velvet curtains.

"This must be nice," he said, eyes moving from one piece of furniture to the next, smiling to himself each time he saw something that spoke to Malfoy's personality. Sheets of parchment were on the little desk, but they weren't haphazard - a neat pile of them sat off to one side while one remained in the middle, half-covered with writing, a quill set down on top of it like Malfoy had stopped before he'd finished. A bottle of green ink sat nearby. "I mean - having your own room."

"You can have one too, Potter. All you have to do is grow a pair of tits and they'll move you into one overnight."

Harry rolled his eyes, but it wasn't without a pleased grin. It was the first time he'd heard Malfoy make any sort of joke about the situation that wasn't dark or scathing - self-deprecating, yes, but it wasn't as angry as it might have been even a few days ago.

He watched in a way that was probably shameless as Malfoy removed his cloak and draped it neatly over the desk chair, revealing his shimmering green dress robes from earlier in the night. Apparently, he'd never changed out of them.

"Do you mind?" Malfoy drawled when he caught Harry staring. There were two identical spots of colour high up on Malfoy's aristocratic cheekbones. Harry could have shoved him up against a wall and snogged the life out of him without any problem at all. "Turn around a minute. If I have to wear these robes another second I'll go mad."

Harry complied, and when he was allowed to look again Malfoy was dressed in a familiar pair of shorts and a lilac-coloured tee. The perky shape of his breasts underneath was utterly tantalising and nearly impossible not to glance at, yet Harry managed, somehow. However, based on the deepening of the colour on Malfoy's face, he had an inkling as to where Harry's thoughts lay.

"You're completely perverted, Potter. I genuinely never would have guessed."

Harry broke into laughter, too amused to be embarrassed at having been called out.

"It isn't as if you aren't a pervert, Malfoy," Harry reminded him, coming closer to the bed and leaning against one of the posts, grinning at Malfoy where he'd sat down on the edge. "If you think I've forgotten how eager you were to get your hands under my robes, I'm afraid you're sorely mistaken."

Malfoy glowered, bristling like a cactus, only the effect was somewhat ruined by his state of dress and the fact that he looked positively, delectably ruffled. He turned his body further towards Harry, one slim leg crossing over the other at the knee. Perhaps he thought this was a good way to close himself off, but all it did was expose Harry to an enormous amount of soft, pale skin on the underside of his thigh. Harry had to consciously keep his eyes from wandering.