"This is getting ridiculous," Harry muttered to himself as he watched Draco disappear into his study. Harry had barely walked through the door in time to see his partner vanish in the other direction, without even a hello. It'd been the same way for over a week now, ever since they'd… well, you couldn't really call it an argument. Harry had woken up later than Draco, and had got dressed in their bedroom before coming downstairs for breakfast. When he had entered the kitchen, Draco had been in the middle of making eggs and bacon and they had talked quite normally for a minute or so. But then Draco had turned to look at Harry… and it had almost been as if he'd been hit by some sort of grumpy-fying curse. Admittedly, Harry probably shouldn't have said that out loud; it seemed to make everything worse. They had spent the rest of that Saturday (usually their together time) silent and uncomfortable, Draco avoiding eye-contact for no reason Harry could fathom.
He'd given Draco his space for a while, but he wouldn't put up with this forever, he decided. After hanging up his wet cloak to dry by the fire and toeing off his boots, he padded over to the door to Draco's study. Odd; he couldn't hear the sound of a quill on parchment , which would usually mean that Draco was reading something, but there was this peculiar, quiet, clicking sound.
Harry chewed his lip. Usually he would have knocked, but he'd tried that twice this week and only received a curt "I'm busy," in response. Going straight in it was. He turned the handle and pushed the door open.
"Draco, we need to talk – what the ferret is that?"
Draco remembered to glower at Harry for the ferret comment despite the rising blush on his cheeks.
"I was –" he started, but then stopped himself. Harry looked at the thin grey needles and the mess of wool in Draco's lap, and raised his eyebrows.
"Knitting?" he asked. "I thought you thought home-made clothes were ridiculous."
Draco had frequently voiced this opinion (normally regarding Weasley family jumpers), preferring the professional, expensive garments he was used to. He opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it again. Harry waited, his eyebrows still raised.
"I do," the blond man managed eventually.
"So why –"
"It's ridiculous! I select the best robe-makers, I even find the most high-quality designers of casual wear so that I can get you something perfect for you, and then you take every opportunity to wander around in those hand-knitted, poorly-fit, probably-moth-infested jumpers!"
Draco himself looked shocked at his own outburst, and promptly closed his mouth again. Harry blinked a few times before he understood.
"So… for the last week and a bit…" he said slowly, "you've not been talking to me because I didn't wear what you got me?"
At this, Draco's expression became sheepish – or, at least, as sheepish as Draco Malfoy's expression could ever be.
"I was trying to make you something that you'd like," he muttered. "But it was harder than I thought, and I haven't even done a whole sleeve yet –"
He didn't finish his sentence because Harry walked around his desk and gave him a swift kiss.
"Draco?"
"Yes?"
"I don't wear what you get me around the house because I'm saving them for special occasions."
"More special than the jumpers?" Draco looked hopeful, and Harry laughed.
"A completely different kind of special." He moved Draco's knitting experiment off his lap and put it on the desk. "And anyway," he continued, moving to straddle Draco's legs and leaning in to kiss him again, "I thought you preferred no clothes at all?"
x
Sometime the next morning, Draco agreed that he had no problem with the Weasley family jumpers, but had to be persuaded before he would agree to Harry putting on clothes ever again.
Fin.