Draco flopped down onto his bed, breathing out deeply and feeling exhausted. Today had been a long day, and it seemed a million years since he had sat and had breakfast with Harry.
Breakfast with Harry Potter. It had been surreal, but also quite nice, for lack of a better word. He wasn't entirely sure when it had happened, but his predisposition to be annoyed with Harry seemed to have faded, and now they could talk without any prickly defensive anger making things difficult. For the most part anyway. And rather annoyingly, after talking with Potter about his sexuality, it really did feel like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Trust his friends to be right, again. It seemed he'd broken down so many barriers, and in such a short amount of time.
He flipped open his bag and went to delve through it. He poked past his half finished Potions work – bugger, he really needed to get that finished, – his Transfiguration textbook, his quill case, and then paused, frowning. Something was missing.
His bloody scarf! He'd forgotten all about wanting it back after the impromptu breakfast, and hadn't given it another thought, until now.
Trust Potter to forget something, he thought grumpily. It wasn't like it was cold or anything. No, November in the Highlands was clearly a delight. Draco was going to love being buried in snow until February, without his bloody scarf.
Potter, you've forgotten my scarf.
Draco felt a shiver of alarm run through him and paused, intrigued. He wasn't alarmed by the fact Potter had his scarf, but it seemed that Harry was.
Are you sure?
Draco's eyebrows flew up. The reply from Harry seemed feeble even through the link. He had a sudden mental image of Harry nervously scratching the back of his head, tugging at his hair.
Yes, I'm sure, I left it with my bag and it's not in here.
I don't think I picked it up. Ask around, maybe someone else has got it.
Draco frowned. That didn't make sense at all - if Harry didn't have the scarf then why didn't he just admit that the minute Draco had asked for it?
Okay, I'll ask around.
He chose not to harass Harry about the mysterious vanishing scarf any more, instead turning the issue thoughtfully over in his mind. Harry had his scarf, he just knew it. Would he think Draco would be furious if he admitted he'd forgotten it? Draco was briefly indignant; he'd been very well behaved and possibly even nice to Harry today, and this was the thanks he got for it?
He shook his head. Harry wasn't afraid of him and his temper. Never had been, probably never would be.
A thought occurred to Draco, a hesitant flutter in the back of his mind, hardly daring to be acknowledged. Harry knew full well Draco was gay. Draco suspected that Harry had eyes for the boys, even if Harry hadn't quite worked it out himself…
Had Harry kept his scarf on purpose?
He'd had a monumental battle with Pansy in fifth year over the same bloody scarf. Draco remembered her wide eyes when she'd seen him after the summer; he knew he'd gotten taller and discovered cologne, but apparently to the girls in his year it was a bigger deal than he'd anticipated. Their attention had been endlessly annoying, especially considering that during the same summer holidays, Draco had discovered that he quite liked kissing boys. Draco's patience wore thin when Pansy had taken to stealing and wearing his scarf, saying how nice it smelt. One hex later and Draco had his scarf back, wrinkling his nose in distaste because all he could smell was Pansy and her stupid, girly, flowery perfume.
If he applied the same logic to Harry and the situation they were now in…Merlin, he was exactly the bloody same as the girls, just three years later.
Draco imagined Harry sat in his dorm room, wearing Draco's scarf, and a shiver ran down his spine. Harry may be oblivious, but Draco sure as anything wasn't.
