hi i am so happy u accepting prompts, i would love to have Drarry my OTP with nr.37 because thats my age, could u do something with Harry stealing Draco s clothes but there not together, but Harry has the hots for Draco. promt 37.âOh sorry, is my gay showing?â THANK YOU
Here ya go! Thanks for the request :)
Prompt #37:Â âOh sorry, is my gay showing?â (Read it on AO3)
It started out innocently enough. Harry was laboring away at his Defense Against the Dark Arts work in the library when he spotted it. More accurately, he was ignoring his apprenticeship work when he discovered the perfect distraction: a grey sweater, neatly draped over the back of an unoccupied chair. It seemed its owner had left it behind in their haste to get to class. Harry knew, of course, that the right thing to do would be to find out who it belonged to and return it. And if the mission meant taking a break from his assignments, he was beyond okay with that. After keeping a careful lookout for several minutes to see if anyone came to retrieve it, Harry walked over and picked it up.
It seemed familiar, though he couldnât think why. Generally he didnât notice clothing since, as Hermione was wont to point out, he was more oblivious than a piece of plywood. But he knew heâd seen this particular sweater before. It was thinâtoo large for any of the first through third yearsâand if Harry had seen it, it was likely from someone in seventh or eighth. After checking inside the collar and seeing no name written on the tag, he pulled it close to inhale the scent. Green apples, broom polish, and an expensive cologne Harry could recognize anywhere. The realization hit him instantly.
Without thinking, he shoved the sweater in his bag, packed up his books, and made a hasty exit. Harryâs heart was beating loudly in his ears all the way to the eighth year dorms. He felt conspicuous, like there was a dancing arrow over his head spelling, âthief, thief, thiefâ in neon.
âHiya, Harry,â Seamus greeted as he made his way through the common room. Harry nodded briskly and kept walking. He couldnât risk accidentally meeting Malfoyâs eyes because he was sure one look would give him away. The moment his door shut behind him, he exhaled and took a moment to collect himself.
The dorm was empty since he only shared it with Ron, who was on a date with Hermione at the Three Broomsticks. As eighth year returnees, they were granted more privileges than other students. They could go to Hogsmeade whenever they chose, and they werenât restricted to the Hogwarts dress code which meant Harry practically lived in Muggle jeans and band T-shirts he found in Siriusâ room at Grimmauld Place. They also had the opportunity to work as apprentices with certain professors. Malfoy worked with Slughorn, Hermione worked with McGonagall, and Neville worked with Professor Sprout. Harry quite enjoyed his work with the new Defense teacher, but he still found himself wishing Remus was the one teaching him instead. He did a lot of wishing for lost faces these days.
Pulling the sweater out of his bag, Harry drew it close and breathed in that intoxicating scent. His eyes fell shut, and his thoughts visited cool grey eyes, soft blonde hair, and the sharp angles of Malfoyâs Quidditch-toned limbs. Harry had seen a lot of him since returning to Hogwarts, as the eighth years were in most of the same classes. Theyâd even come to a sort of truce, though Harry wouldnât go so far as to call them friends. During that time, Harry had come to terms with the fact that he was very very gay and hopelessly crushing on said Slytherin. He let his head fall back against the door. As Harry considered his options, a sly smile slid across his face.
It was a moment of weakness that led to the theft of the sweater instead of its return, but it was Slytherin cunning that led to what happened next.
The next morning, Harry strutted into Potions with an easy smirk on his face. He wordlessly took a seat next to Malfoy, and leaned back, resting his hands on the back of his neck. Malfoy was carefully copying notes from the board and didnât seem to notice Harryâs arrival, so the Gryffindor took a moment to study the blond. He was wearing a deep green sweater today, and he sat as posh as ever in his chair. Heâd taken to wearing his hair loose lately rather than slicking it back, and the white tufts looked deliciously soft.
When Malfoy continued to copy his notes, Harry got impatient. âAhem.â
âWhat is it, Potter?â
He didnât look up, so Harry cleared his throat once more.
âFor Merlinâs sake, Potter, spit it out. Canât you see Iâm trying to do the assignment?â
Harry rolled his eyes. As if Malfoy even needed to copy these notes down. He could do this potion with his hands tied behind his back. âNotice anything?â Harry asked.
Malfoy finally looked at him. The coldness in his eyes could have turned a Muggle to stone. âYouâre taking up an ungodly amount of space given the size of this table?â
Harry snorted. âTry again.â
Malfoy gave a self-pitying sigh but looked again. âYouâre wearing a womanâs sweater.â
Harry cracked up then, which only made Malfoy scowl more. âI suppose youâd know.â
Malfoy narrowed his eyes. âWhatâs that supposed to mean, Potter?â
Harry wiggled his brows and gestured at himself again.
Malfoy scoffed. âI donât have time for this. Go bother the Weasel.â
Harry grinned but dutifully began copying his notes without another word. Malfoy was on edge for the first few minutes as if he expected another comment or strange game, but soon, he too fell into his work. When it was time to start the potion, Malfoy removed his sweater and set it on the back of his chair.
âWould you mind grabbing the ingredients?â Harry asked pleasantly.
Malfoy stood and walked into the supply closet. Harry, meanwhile, looked around to make sure no one was watching before slipping the green sweater into his bag. He then prepared the cauldron as if nothing had happened and waited to see if Malfoy noticed.
When Malfoy returned, his arms were full and his mind seemed to be five steps aheadâand definitely not on the missing sweater. Harry grinned wider.
âWhatâs so amusing, Potter?â Malfoy asked when Harry didnât stop.
Harry only shook his head. âNothing. Letâs get this potion done, yeah?â
Malfoy studied him in suspicion. âYouâd better not try anything. Iâm up to my ears in apprenticeship work, and I canât handle getting on Slughornâs bad side.â
Harryâs eyes widened innocently. âTry something? Me?â
Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose. âLord help me. Justâwhatever it is, donât fuck up the potion.â
Harry smirked. âI assure you, messing with the potion isnât part of the plan.â
Malfoy looked relieved. âThank Merlin. If you could start cutting up theâwait, what plan?â
Harry only shook his head and got to work. He could see Malfoy opening and closing his mouth in his periphery, but he didnât acknowledge it. Eventually, Malfoy got to work as well, but his jaw was clenched and his fingers stiff as if he was ready for whatever Harry threw at him. Little did he know, Harry wasnât interested in throwing things as much as he was in stealing them. And step two of the plan was already complete.
Dracoâs nerves were in tatters by the time he left Potions. He kept waiting for Potter to doâŚwhatever it was he was planning to do, but he never did. Pansy and Blaise were giggling about something or other, but Draco couldnât get that infernal grin out of his mind. Potter hated Potions, and he was bollocks at it besides. There was no reason for him to be that bloody happy unless he was plotting something. But if he was plotting something, why didnât anything go wrong?
Draco was still wondering what the answer was during Ancient Runes, and then Transfiguration, and then Charms. He felt like he was losing his mind. As he washed his hands in the bathroom before dinner, he noticed he wasnât wearing his sweater. Merlin, I really am losing my mind. Where did I leave it last?
He decided to retrace his steps, which meant the first possibility was the Great Hall. Arriving at the Slytherin table, he realized he would look like a barbarian or an idiot if he started crawling under the tables or checking all the benches while people were sitting on them, so instead he announced, âMy sweater is missing. Has anyone seen it?â
The first years nervously shook their heads, too intimidated to be of any help. Some of the older students looked around briefly before shrugging and muttering their noâs.
âIâd be happy to help. Whatâs it look like?â Astoria asked. She was always kissing up to him because her parents thought theyâd make a good match. Draco could see through it like glass, but it generally served him to have an eager helper, so he hadnât told her to piss off yet.
âItâs a green turtleneck. Iâm off to check the Potions room. Let me know if you find it.â
She nodded enthusiastically, and Pansy and Blaise rolled their eyes. Draco shrugged in reply before taking off for his next stop.
When he stepped into the Potions room, he racked his brain to remember if heâd been wearing it during class. Yes, he was quite sure heâd had it in the beginning. But thenâheâd taken it off before getting the supplies. It must be in his chair then. There wasnât a class there, so he didnât have to make a scene, and he whistled a soft tune, pleased to have solved the puzzle.
His hopes fell, however, when he reached his seat. The sweater wasnât there. Did someone pick it up and give it to Slughorn perhaps? Did Draco take it with him and leave it somewhere else? Upon careful review of his memories, he realized the sweater wasnât there when he came back with the supplies. Which meantâ
Potter must have taken it. Which was why he looked so darn pleased with himself. Draco hissed and stormed off into the castle. Of course it was Potter. Why hadnât he thought of it earlier? Draco thought Potter must have gone a bit loony if he thought this was a prank, but maybe there was more to it Draco hadnât discovered yet. Either way, Draco was sure the Weasley twins would be disappointed in the Golden Boy if they witnessed this particular tomfoolery.
As Draco made his way to the Great Hall, he remembered another part of Potions class.
âNotice anything?â Harry asked.
âYouâre wearing a womanâs sweater.â
âI suppose youâd know.â
Fuuuuuuck. Heâd taken Dracoâs other sweater as well. He was wearing it. And heâd gotten Draco to accidentally insult his own fashion sense. Salazar, Draco was going to kill him. He stormed into the Great Hall and made his way toward Potter. Distantly, he heard people snickering, but the sound didnât quite register. When he finally reached the thief, he crossed his arms.
âPotter. Outside. Now.â
Potter grinned, eyes matching the new sweater, which he was wearing now instead of the grey. âSure, Malfoy.â
Draco walked out, and Potter followed. People whispered as they made their exit, but there was something odd about the tone. Usually when he and Potter fought, people placed bets and said their prayers, but today, it was the sound of rumors and suppressed giggles. Draco didnât have time to figure out what that meant.
Once outside, he whirled on Potter. âYou stole my sweater.â
Potter held up two fingers.
Draco exhaled as evenly as possible. âYou stole two of my sweaters.â
Potter was grinning again. âWhat are you going to do about it?â
âIâm going to tear it off you, you stupid prat.â
Potter raised his brows. âHow forward of you, Malfoy. Most blokes would ask a guy on a date first.â The Gryffindorâs lips twisted into another one of those smiles, and Draco thought he might throttle him. Instead, he pinned him against the wall.
âIâm not asking you on a goddamn date, Potter, Iâm asking for my fucking sweater back!â
Potter winced at the volume. âHave fun telling that to the rest of the students.â
Draco stared blankly. âWhat are you talking about?â
âDidnât you hear them whispering?â He seemed genuinely surprised. âThey werenât quiet about it at all. They were making bets on whether or not weâre shagging and gossiping about us being in a secret relationship.â
âWhat? What did you tell them, Potter? Did you tell them weâreâŚweâreâŚboyfriends or something?â
âI didnât say anything.â
âDid you do something then?â
Potter looked nervously at the ground. âUm, no, er, you said something.â
Draco looked even more flabbergasted. âWhat are you talking about?â
Potter shuffled his feet. âYou told everyone this is your sweater, and Iâm wearing it, so they just, um, connected the dots.â
Draco released him like heâd been burned. âWhat the fuck, Potter? Why didnât you tell them off? How the fuck are you planning to convince them weâre actually enemies? You know how these people are.â When there was no response, Draco started pulling the sweater off of Potterâ
âŚonly to realize once it was off that he wasnât wearing anything underneath. Dracoâs face went pink. âUm.â
Potter awkwardly ran a hand through his hair. âFunny enough, I donât think this is going to convince them weâre not fucking.â
Draco blushed even harder at his choice of language. âSorry, Potter, but I didnât expect you to be defiling my sweater my wearing it against your bare chest!â
âAnd I didnât expect you to disrobe me in the middle of the corridor, but look where we are.â
âWhy are you not more upset by this?â Draco hissed. Potter seemed insistent on being unhelpful, so Draco knew it was up to him to make things right. He started unbuttoning his shirt.
âMalfoy, what are you doing?â
âGiving you my shirt, so you donât walk in there half naked.â
Harry nodded dazedly. âRight. Good thinking.â His eyes followed Dracoâs fingers as they undid each button one by one. âExcept the reason they think weâre together in the first place is because I was wearing your clothes. So us switching clothes isnât going to help our case.â
âDo you have a better idea, Potter?â
Breathlessly, he managed, âNo, sorry. Keep going.â
Draco looked up at the tone of his voice. âSalazar, Potter. Youâre flushed. Are you trying to make it look like we just shagged?â
Potter threw his hands in the air. âOh, sorry. Is my gay showing?â
Draco froze on the last button. Fuck, did he just imply that he was flushing because of me? Potter bit his lip, realizing what heâd just said. Draco met his eyes. There was a moment of tension so heavy it squeezed at Dracoâs lungs.
âIâll try harder,â Potter said quietly. âI donât want to ruin your reputation or whatever over a stupid prank.â
Draco nervously broke eye contact and pulled his shirt off. Without a word, he handed it to Potter, who took it and began to put it on. When he got to the buttons, Draco brushed those tan hands aside and did them up himself. He heard Potterâs breath catch. His own breath was shaky as he reached the last button, and his hands werenât much better. He straightened the collar and met Potterâs gaze once more.
Potter was a little shorter than him, but not by much, so he could feel his breath on his neck. Electricity sparked between them, threatening to close the gap and press them together. Draco hadnât realized how much heâd wanted just that until the electricity won over and he found himself kissing the Gryffindor. Potterâs lips were chapped, and when Draco didnât pull away, they began to move with a hot, insistent pressure against Dracoâs. Draco let his hands slip down from Potterâs collar and onto his torso. He regretted doing up the buttons already, but heâd needed that time to convince himself to kiss Potter at all, and the white button down was thin enough. Potter looped his fingers through Dracoâs belt loops and pulled him up against him before wrapping his hands around to Dracoâs back. Draco felt each touch like fire on his skin, and he knew there was no chance of looking innocent now. His pale skin would be flushed to match Potters, and his lips would likely be bruised too. He must have been somewhat lightheaded because that thought didnât even bother him.
He finally broke away for air. Potterâs eyes were bright and his lips were parted in a way that made Draco want to kiss him again.
âWas that part of the plan?â Potter asked. âBecause you look thoroughly snogged, and I highly doubt youâre going to convince anyone of anything.â
Draco raised his brows. âOh sorry. Is my gay showing?â Potter shoved him with a smile, handing Draco his sweater. âYou know,â Draco said as he pulled it over his head. âWe could always justâŚnot go back. Then we donât have to prove anything.â
Potter narrowed his eyes. âYou know theyâll assume anyway, right?â
Draco smirked. âLet them. Itâs not like theyâre that far off track.â Then he glared. âThis was your plan all along, wasnât it?â When Potter didnât respond, Draco continued, âIf it hadnât been absolutely bonkers I would have seen it from the start.â
âIt worked, didnât it?â Potter looked hopefully at him from beneath his fringe. Draco considered objecting to that, but he figured maybe it was alright for Potter to best him sometimes if it led to snogging. âSince weâre not going back to the Great Hall,â Potter continued, âwhat are we doing?â
Draco pretended to be in deep thought. âWell, Iâve recently made a new discovery, but before Iâm convinced, I have a few more trials to do.â
âAnd what might that discovery be?â
âThat you look devastatingly handsome in my clothes. Care to come to my dormitory and see if the results are consistent?â
Potter hid a smile, tapping his chin. âHmmâŚI could be convinced to try on your clothes. But only if youâre willing to take them off of me.â
Draco smirked. âI think I could be persuaded.â
Harry did smile now, gesturing down the hall. âLead the way.â
Hope ya liked it! Read it on AO3 here or request a fic :)