Chapter Text
“Ow-”
“Stop moving you doofus-”
“My hair!”
“Oh for fucks sake-”
“Remind me why I’m doing this again?”
Draco sighs, heavy with frustration, as he reapplies hair gel onto his hands. “Because,” he pulls on Harry’s hair, gaining a pathetic whimper of pain from him, “It’s my first gala hosting and you’re not getting away with skipping again, Potter. And because father loves you.”
Harry crosses his arms across his chest and glares at Draco through the mirror. He really should’ve faked COVID again. At least then his artfully messy hair wouldn’t be handled like Draco was out for revenge. Though really, he needed to start getting new tricks. It had been his fourth time using this one against Draco and his insufferable political galas. If only he hadn’t gotten caught. On camera. Flirting with Cho Chang on his supposedly cancelled shift at Hog’s Head, while he was “sleeping” his illness away.
“Your dad absolutely hates me,” he mutters sulkily, “He didn’t even look at me when I came to your haunted manor, ah I mean house.”
Draco clicks his tongue, carefully arranging a curl over Harry’s forehead. Harry immediately blows it out of his face and sticks his tongue out at him in the mirror.
“Oh so mature,” he snarks at him. “It’s not his fault that his love language consists of grunts and condescending smiles. Not all of us are emotional whores like you, scarhead.” He stands back and assesses Harry’s hair, a smug smile of satisfaction spreading across his face. “It’s done.”
Harry shoots off the chair and stretches in his suit, grimacing. Honestly, people needed to make more comfortable formal wear. It feels like the suit is trying to choke manners into him or something. He ruffles his hair deliberately and gives Draco a lopsided grin when he sputters in outrage.
Harry leans over the bench and examines himself in the mirror. “It looks like sexy bed hair”.
He shuffles closer to Draco, batting his lashes exaggeratedly. “Do you think I’ll get laid at this gala of yours? Any hot, rich people needing a sugar baby there?” Harry drifts to Draco’s side, tracing idle patterns over his chest as he leans in, whispering breathily into his ear in mock seduction, “I’m very flexible on… demographics.”
The door slams open.
A tall redhead walks through, fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt. “Hey Draco, does this-” he trails off as he comes to a stop inside the room. “What am I seeing right now?”
“YOU LITTLE SHIT YOU RUINED MY MASTERPIECE”
A stray flying pillow hits Ron’s chest and he sighs. He walks over to the couch and watches his best mates fight like rabid dogs.
“WHAT MASTERPIECE? YOU MADE ME LOOK LIKE A SNOB YOU SNOBBY UPPER CLASS”
Harry tackles Draco, chucking the pillow he was just using to defend himself against Draco’s hairbrush at Ron’s face.
Nevermind, Ron thinks, setting the pillow on the couch. These two fight more like angry kittens.