Cut From the Sky

Chapter 21: A Whirl of Colour

"Can I ask you about something?" Draco said on day three of what was rapidly shaping up to be the loveliest week of Harry's whole life. Using a crooked spoon, Draco was chasing pieces of ginger around his mug, squeezing them against the transparent walls to wring out the flavour, or just for something to do with his ever-fidgety hands. They were in the museum of modern and contemporary art. Although claiming that he loved the museum, Draco had shooed him through the exhibition halls within a handful of minutes, citing limited time and the excellent cake that could be found at the museum café.

Harry nodded, willing his smile to stay on his face. Whatever Draco was about to ask, it seemed to make him nervous.

"It's about the people you grew up with. What you told me on the bench." Draco's eyes slid towards him for a moment, then right back towards his thready ginger.

"Ah," Harry said. The café was beautiful. A wall entirely of glass, looking out towards a peaceful courtyard with a spitting fountain and opulent flower beds. Even in the thin grey light, the garden held on to a hint of grandeur. With its lofty ceiling and empty walls, the café was airy and bright. Behind Draco, a tree stretched towards the ceiling, green as summer. Tied to its branches, origami ornaments moved almost imperceptibly in the air conditioning. "Yeah, umm. Of course. Go ahead." Harry kept his eyes trained on a crane above Draco's shoulder, patterned in idle koi floating through a pond.

"It's just," Draco started carefully, "I noticed, when you told me about them, you spent quite a lot of time on their backstory. Your aunt's, in particular. Telling me how she loved your mum, growing up, and how the family struggled with her going off to Hogwarts."

Harry looked at him. Draco's shirt was lilac today, his coat its usual red. "I'm sure you're bored to death by this look, I know I am, plus I told you it helps me differentiate my memory selves if I don't look the bloody same every day, Pot – Harry," he'd explained in a huff earlier that morning. The hectic flush on his face had left no doubt he'd chosen lilac because moments before, he'd seen a memory of Harry telling him he looked gorgeous in the colour. He did, very much so. He had, so long ago, in Luna's hopeful winterscape.

Draco had shot a colour spell at his coat next, turned it a deep forest green, but Harry had loved the lilac against deep red, had boldly asked for it back. "This is a highly questionable combination of colours," Draco had groaned, rolling his eyes and looking more beautiful than ever. Sitting here now, lilac and red, he reached his hand over the table. Rested it between their place mats, open palmed. Harry laced his fingers through his, held on tight.

"Okay?" Harry asked, finding his way back to the Dursleys, not quite knowing where Draco was going. Under their table he felt Draco's leg slide against his. A warm, steady presence.

"It felt a bit like you were trying to justify their cruelty towards you."

Harry took a slow bite of his black forest cake, then found it hard to swallow around it. "Oh," he said.

"We don't have to talk about it," Draco said hastily, "I just hope you know that there is no justification for how they treated you. None whatsoever."

Harry looked at their hands. Draco's many rings glistened in the light. "Thank you," he croaked, voice tight, "Sometimes I get – thank you."

There is no justification for how I treated you, either, Draco didn't say, but the thought hung heavy in the air between them, clouding Draco's moody eyes.

"I think you're incredible," Harry told him once he felt like his voice would come out sounding normal again, and Draco smiled and smiled, and when Harry pulled their joined hands across the table to place kisses against Draco's fingers, Draco blushed and wrinkled his nose in mock disgust, but didn't poke much fun at him.