Shoulder Pillow

Chapter 12: Jealousy Is An Ugly Color

 It was absolutely mesmerizing, watching Draco's hands as he drew. It was odd, seeing his typically meticulously clean hands covered in smudges, but Harry truly adored seeing this side of him. Even if it was with all their friends, in the Great Hall, during lunch. Watching the shapes on Draco's pages transform into stunning works of art was positively fascinating. Although there was no color on the lily flowers he was creating, the depth and details were incredible. He was incredible.

(The intent was not lost on Harry, either. Lily flowers. Since that night he'd told Draco about his parents, his past, his family, he'd been drawing lily flowers. He'd been painting them: Easter lilies, water lilies, daylilies, oriental lilies, calla lilies, trumpet lilies, even lily-of-the-valley. Draco had created pages and pages of lilies, every single one was different and more breathtaking than the last. They were all different colors, different vibrancies, and hues. Each was a different shape, with a different story held within its petals and leaves. When Harry had first seen them, his heart had skipped a beat. His smile had stretched so wide his cheeks ached and his eyes had pricked with tears, he was so unbelievably happy. He'd scooped Draco into his arms and peppered his face with kisses, bathing in the laughter that came from his boyfriend. He'd kissed his artist's hands, his long, pale fingers. And since then, Draco hasn't stopped drawing them)

All of their friends were talking around them: Hermione was gossiping and giggling with Pansy about Terry Boot and his friends, Theo and Blaise were discussing some Maths assignment, complaining about how difficult it would be to complete in time for the next class. Draco seemed to be able to drown all of them out as he drew, and Harry was content to just sit next to him and watch him work.

"He hasn't drawn like that in months," Pansy suddenly said from his other side, quietly so that Draco wouldn't be distracted.

"What do you mean?" Harry turned to her. "Why not?"

Her dark eyes were trained on Draco's hands as she replied, "His father thinks it's a waste of time. He got annoyed at how much time Draco was spending with his art. He called him out on it, told him that he wasn't any good, that it wasn't going to get him where he needed to go in life." Pansy paused, looking up at Harry, who was staring at her in shock. "His father loves him, in his own way. Lucius just doesn't understand him." A smile spread across her purple-painted lips. "So, thank you. For understanding him. For bringing this part of him back, when he couldn't do it himself."

Harry's eyes were wide at her implications. "I don't—Pansy I don't think it was me. I think he did it by himself."

"Well, Harry," Pansy smirked, "your thoughts aren't exactly known for their intellect or good sense."

Laughter burst from Harry's mouth, causing Pansy's sharp grin to widen. He'd grown fond of her teasing in the past few months; she was something different, always keeping him on his toes.

She shook her head, laughing as she said to the whole group, "I have to get going, I'm meeting Terry."

Harry waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively.

Pansy smacked his arm, "Shut up, Potter." Harry simply laughed at her as she swaggered off. He looked back at Hermione across from him, who was peering at him with an unreadable expression on her face. Her dark eyes were examining him like she would a science experiment. She glanced behind him, then back at Harry.

"What?" he asked.

"Incoming," she warned, voice low.

He only had time to draw his eyebrows together in confusion before someone sat down next to him, filling the spot where Pansy had just been.

"Hey, Harry."

Cedric Diggory was beaming at him, a smile that seemed too bright. (That smile used to have him coming apart at the seams, always extracting a matching grin from him. His smooth voice used to have Harry falling on his knees. Those grey eyes had once looked at him with such love and adoration, his tanned fingers had traced the lines in Harry's skin, known every inch of his body. Harry used to adore his dark, bronze-colored hair, his chiseled face, and his gentle laugh. There were a great many things Harry used to love about Cedric Diggory. But looking at him now, everything was so much different. Looking at him now, there was nothing Harry needed from him, nothing Harry wanted from him) Conversation between Theo and Blaise sputtered out, and he could feel Draco's attention shift away from his papers.