Title: Best Dressed

Rating: R (for language)

Beta: simeysgirl

A/N: Written from a prompt or two of kitty_fic's over at livejournal's hd_commentfest's August Comment Fest.

Draco pulled at the hem of his... cardigan? Jacket? He didn't even know what the blasted thing was called. He begrudgingly admitted that it was comfortable, though. And he rather liked the zippy-thing. Smiling to himself, he pulled the tiny white tab all the way up to his neck, making the zippy-thing close. Then he pulled it all the way back down again, leaving the zippy-thing open. Muggles had some good ideas occasionally, he conceded—to himself only.

"Come on, stand over there," Hermione called from across the room. "I have to take a photo of this; the world need evidence."

"Evidence of what?" Ron asked. "A Gryffindor/Slytherin piss-up or Malfoy in Muggle clothes?"

"Both!" was the answer called by several people.

"Piss off!" Draco wasn't impressed.

After a few minutes of forceful shuffling and cajoling, Hermione managed to get a few people to stand still long enough for a photo.

Finding himself next to Potter on the end of a line of Gryffindors, Draco smirked at the fact that, even in Muggle clothes, he was the best dressed out of the lot of them. And he didn't even want to think about why Ron had Potter's face on his chest.

The camera that Hermione held up to capture the moment looked unfamiliar to Draco and he could only assume it was another Muggle item. Draco was unsure as to the the nature of Muggle photographs, so when Hermione called, "Say cheese!" Draco simply shrugged, pointed at Potter and rolled his eyes.

Draco had hoped to convey an 'It's all Potter's fault' air in the photograph; it was after all. As soon as the prat had found out that Draco and Hermione were working together at the Ministry, that Neville and Blaise had become friendly after a drunken night at the Leaky, and not to mention the fact that Pansy and Ginny were constantly gossiping together any chance they got, he had insisted the lot of them go out together to... "get pissed and get over it" were his exact words. It had taken the better part of six months for it to actually happen, by which time the getting over it had kind of already happened. The getting pissed part might be fun, though.

Draco's hope for his pose was dashed when Hermione squealed and ran over to show them the photo. Slightly embarrassed was more apt for how Draco felt about the resulting photo. On the back of the tiny silver thing was a screen in which the photo was held. The photo was not moving. In the eerily still photograph Draco was smiling—smiling, how had that happened?—and pointing at Potter. Potter, who had a grin plastered on his face and an arm around Draco's back!

"That's so sweet!" Hermione cooed.

"I think I might vomit," Draco replied.

Potter laughed. "Well don't do it on those clothes; I want them back tomorrow."

Oh yes. If going out to get drunk with a bunch of red-and-golds wasn't enough, Draco had had to borrow Potter's clothes for the privilege. Thankfully Potter wasn't overly large and the clothes fit Draco fairly well. Horizontally, at least. Potter was a good few inches shorter than Draco, so a few charms had been necessary to lengthen the trouser legs. Even then, Draco had been forced to wear the trousers low on his hips. And he hadn't even bothered lengthening the cardigan, so now and again, if he stretched and bent, Draco would—inadvertently, of course—reveal a portion of smooth pale skin. Not that he had spent time in front of the mirror experimenting with that fact or anything.

"You could have them back now, if only you'd let me put my robes back on," Draco complained.

"We're going out in Muggle London, Draco," Potter said, as if to a child.

"I know that, Potter—"

"Harry."

"—Potter," Draco repeated. Potter had been trying to get Draco to call him Harry for the last few months. It wasn't working. "But I like my robes. They're dark, and soft and have room to move in." He knew he was sulking now, but he didn't care. "And they swish around my ankles!" he cried.

The laughter that escaped Potter was gentle and not mean, but Draco still cringed at his own words. In an effort to move swiftly past the embarrassment, Draco quickly blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"Plus they don't smell like you."

At those words, Potter's light laughter stopped and he looked up at Draco. Draco refused to blush. It just wouldn't happen. No.

His face suddenly felt hot.

Fuck.

"What?" Draco decided to be defensive. "You smell bad."

It took a few seconds, but a smile gradually appeared on Potter's face.

"I'm sure by the time I get them back they'll smell entirely of you," Potter said, still smiling. "Which won't be so bad."

Unable to believe what he'd just heard, Draco blinked a few times and didn't know what to say. Draco's shock must have shown on his face.

"What?" Potter asked. "You smell good."

Suddenly feeling very peculiar, Draco didn't know what to do but laugh. Soon, Potter joined in.

A few seconds later Hermione unsubtly cleared her throat and Draco realised she had been standing there silently watching his and Potter's exchange.

"I hate to interrupt you two when you're getting along so well, but I would love to document the moment with a photo." She waved the camera at them and smiled.

"Of course!" Potter said, far too enthusiastically.

Before Draco even had time to think about protesting Potter had plastered another grin on his face and slung his arm back around Draco's waist.

Giving in to the peculiar feelings he'd been having since he first registered Potter had had his arm there for the first photo, Draco smiled once again and casually draped his arm over Potter's shoulders.

At the same moment as Hermione cried, "Say cheese" for the second time that night, Draco distinctly heard a loud sigh from behind them. Then the unmistakable sound of Ron's voice saying, "About bloody time, but do I have to see it!" just as the flash went off.

- End -