Paint me, Potter
"Mail, Harry!" Hermione announced, entering his flat with the spare key he gave her. She held up a small stack to the boy, who was in the kitchen, cooking breakfast for the two of them. Hermione knew Harry could cook well, so she wasn't worried about him burning the whole building down like she would with Ron.
"Just set it on the counter," Harry said without turning back.
"A package...it's from your Mum."
His mother? What could she possibly send him? Had he forgotten something? There wasn't any holiday coming up.
Harry plated the food and handed one to Hermione before grabbing the sealed package. He carefully opened the mail, not wanting to damage anything inside of it. What was inside wasn't what he imagined.
A small, rectangular canvas was painted with two men, one with short, light brown curls with the other sporting longer, darker hair. He immediately recognized the two has his godfather and uncle, as the two of them were grinning at the other. Maybe his mother did know they were together? Of course she would, she's known them for almost thirty years!
A slip of paper fell to the floor, and when Harry picked it up, he saw that it read,
These two say 'hi'. We miss you very much!
- Mum
No wonder his mother hasn't answered his calls nor called him. He had begun to think that she was in trouble, or that there was something wrong with her phone. She wanted him to contact her through paintings and letters. After all, she was old-fashioned, and Harry remembered her telling him how she would do the same to his father whenever he was away for big projects.
"What does it say?" Hermione asked.
Harry handed her the painting. "They missed me is all."
The brunette observed the painting while eating her bacon. "Really creative of her. This is really adorable—wait, so does that mean Sirius and Remus really are dating?"
Harry pushes his glasses on his face and nodded. "They are. Well, they're together. They've told me. But," he said, seeing Hermione's mouth open, "it means nothing regarding my current situation."
"He walked out of your flat, Harry! He was in here! You don't just let anybody walk in here!"
"I didn't. I let one of my dad's clients in."
Hermione rolled her eyes, eating quietly for the next few minutes.
Harry felt warm and fuzzy inside from the unexpected gift. He knew he had to go and get more canvases like the one he was given so he could send his mother a painting. But what would he paint? Malfoy was definitely out the question. Perhaps Hermione, but she had classes later that day. Maybe the view he has out the window would be nice. His mother lived in the country, so she never had the view of all the buildings and cars like Harry does now.
"What are you doing for the rest of the day?" Hermione asked, sipping her coffee.
"I'm going to respond to this," Harry started, thinking about what else he could do. "Then I'll look for a job again."
"No luck?"
Harry shook his head.
"Ah. Tell your mother and them I said 'hi'. Well, I'll go shower and do some homework."
It wasn't unusual to hardly see Hermione locked in her apartment, focused on homework. She often finished assignments well before the due dates, and spent the rest of the time reading if she wasn't working at her parents' dentist office.
Harry wished her a good day before he cleaned the kitchen, showered, and left for the day.
—
Harry could not seem to get a break. Whenever there's a chance for something to happen, it happens. All he wanted was a few canvases, maybe a couple of new brushes, and some paints. And he wanted to get them with the least amount of distractions possible. Was that too much to ask?
Apparently so, because Draco fucking Malfoy was strolling around the store, looking at each item with too much fascination. Harry tried glaring at him, but it turned more into a longing gaze when Malfoy looked up at him in mock surprise.
"Potter! You shop here too?"
Harry was not a complete idiot. He knew three things: 1) Malfoy has never stepped inside this store before in his life, 2) Malfoy doesn't even do any type of art, and 3) Malfoy doesn't know what half the things inside were. So, Harry concluded, the rich blondie that girls drool over was stalking him.
"I am an artist," Harry said, instead of pointing out the checklist he had in his head and outing Malfoy. Besides, if he wanted to, he couldn't because his throat suddenly went dry when the taller approached him. Was Harry dehydrated or something, because it was getting ridiculous having to get water every time his mouth did that.
"Right. How could I have forgotten?"
They stood there, Harry speechless, and Malfoy observing him intently. What did he want with Harry? They had no connection, besides his father doing business with his family. But that was hardly a reason to stalk somebody. No, Malfoy wanted something else. He had to. But what did Harry have to offer him?
"Paint me, Potter."
His heart hammered against his rib cage as Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "What?" He dumbly said.
"You heard me. Paint me."
Harry couldn't believe his ears. Were his dreams coming true? His desire was about to become real. He was going to paint this painfully beautiful man and not feel like some sort of creep about it.
"Wh-why?"
But Harry couldn't believe it so much he had to continue to question it.
"Honestly, are you really that thick? I want to test out your artistic skills. And, maybe, even hire you to work at my company."
Somehow, his mouth and throat were relieved of their dry spell, as Harry talked. "Why would I work there? I'm no designer."
"Décor, décor!"
"Is that French?"
Malfoy rolled his eyes before his expression turned into a smirk. "No, but I do know some French, if you want lessons."
The invitation sounded so sexual to Harry, and he had to look away from the man to compose himself. Not that it worked very well, as he could feel the breath of the taller man and smell his alluring scent. For crying out loud, Harry needed to get away from the man before he loses his mind.
"Uh, I'll paint you," he finally said, taking a wobbly step backwards.
"Excellent," Malfoy's mouth curled upwards even more before he stood straight and tall, regaining his posture back, and looking loads more composed than Harry, who looked like he might collapse any second. "Tomorrow at eight is when we start."
"In the morning, right?"
Malfoy raised an eyebrow slightly. "Of course, Potter. Unlike you, I have some sense. Now, I'll be wearing a grey suit, and make sure you have a color to match my hair, because I don't want to look old or have banana hair—"
"I'll just mix the colors," Harry quietly said.
"Yeah, do that. And I just want my upper half painted to hang in my mansion when it's done. I might wear a watch. Yes, get some metal coloring too. I'll be sitting by your window as well, and I'll bring food, since you possibly couldn't have anything I'll even remotely like..."
Malfoy went on, and Harry noticed he didn't look as intimidating when he was mouthing off his preferences. In fact, it was kind of hot how bossy he looked and sounded.
"...No, I'll have my painting against a wall. That looks more professional, don't you think, Potter?"
Malfoy finally stopped talking, eyes on Harry, who merely shrugged. He snorted and rolled his eyes.
"Of course you wouldn't know. Why did I even ask?"
"Maybe because I'm painting you. And depending on where you sit, the light could hit you in either a breathtaking or a horrifying way. I'll probably have to move you around to achieve the desired affect I want—"
"You mean what I want?"
Harry gave a short chuckle, seemingly more relaxed with the taller. "No, I mean what I want. You don't know how you look until I show you the finished product."
Malfoy scrunched his nose before giving another eye roll. "Okay, fine. But I'm still doing all those other things I want. Do you have any allergies?"
Harry shook his head.
"Fabulous."
Malfoy reaches in his pocket and pulled out some bills, giving it to Harry, who stared at it.
"What's this for?"
"The art tools, obviously. And get a haircut while you're at it."
Harry ignored the other's insult, and pushed the money back in his hands. "I don't want it. I can buy things myself."
"Then consider this as pay."
"No."
Malfoy took a long look at Harry, no particular expression grazing his features. Harry was about to say something when the rich heir accepted the money back and slid it in his pocket again, eyes still on him.
"Very well, then. See you tomorrow."
Malfoy took in Harry's full body once more before walking away, hand going up to fix his tie.
The green-eyed boy let out a shaky breath he hadn't known he was holding, then went on to finish his shopping.
Draco Malfoy is weird.
That's what he kept telling himself even as he arrived home, thinking over his interaction with Malfoy. The whole...thing he had with Malfoy was just weird. He, Harry Potter, was talking to the rich, and apparently well-known model Draco Malfoy. Harry, a nobody, was being stalked by Draco, a somebody. He was waiting for someone to pop out, saying 'gotcha!', or even Hermione confessing she paid Malfoy loads of money to shake Harry up so he would convince himself that he was gay—even though he's not, right? There had to be some explanation for everything bizarre going on in Harry's life.
Harry was getting worked up over everything, and when he was worked up, he liked to draw, to paint, to knit—which Hermione taught him to do—to do something with his hands. He poured some water in a cup, then brought his newly bought items over and plopped down against the window. Then he set to work painting as much of his living room as he could onto the little rectangle.
It wasn't long before he was finished with most of it, just needing to shade it appropriately, and there was a knock at his door. He was about to tell Hermione come in when he stopped himself, because Hermione would've just used the spare key she was given.
Harry hopped up and looked through the peek hole, sighing in relief before opening the door to his uncle.
"Hi, Remus," Harry said with a small smile.
"Evening, Harry. How's everything?"
"Everything's fine." Harry moved aside to let the taller man through to his home.
Remus looked around, nodding his head in approval. "Very nice, Harry. You have a hand for decorating."
The younger rubbed the back of his neck. "Actually, Hermione did it."
Remus chuckled, taking a peek around the corner at the kitchen. "Leave it to you, and your walls would be filled with paintings after paintings, right?"
It was true; Harry was very indecisive. He would have to pick between two things, eventually getting both as he couldn't choose one without thinking about how he might be at a loss without the other. Harry nodded, then invited Remus to sit on the couch he got.
"Would you like something to drink?" Harry asked.
"No, no, I'm just making a quick stop."
Harry sat down in the couch, beside Remus. "How's everybody back home?"
Remus nodded. "They're doing fine. Your mother keeps coming over, which Sirius and I are always delighted about. Sirius keeps talking about all the hearts you're going to break, which I'm not entirely against, since you are a handsome man and you're trying to figure yourself out. The Weasleys are doing great, with the farm and whatnot. Miss Ginerva, on the other hand, is not taking your absence too good."
Harry chuckled, remembering the crush she had on him. "What's she doing?"
"She asks about you whenever Sirius and I go over there, she talks about you to Miss Lovegood—"
"Lovegood?"
"The girl with almost white hair? Wait, the Lovegoods moved in a few months before you left. Remember meeting her father?"
Harry cringed when he ran into Mr. Lovegood, who was talking about trying to be a nudist for a month or so. Very awkward conversation it was.
"Oh, yeah. Is she anything like her father?"
"Well, she's definitely not walking around nude, that's for sure."
They laughed, Harry painfully realizing he missed hearing that laugh. He missed being around his family more than he thought. He missed visiting the couple whenever his mother was out or busy. He missed painting beside his mum and comparing paintings. He missed playing volleyball with the girls, getting help with studying for finals with Hermione, learning about the Weasley farm with Ron. He missed it all.
He tried to smile as if he wasn't pained by those memories he left behind.
"You should come visit soon," Remus said, lacing his fingers together. "I'm sure everybody would enjoy seeing you."
"It's hardly been two months," Harry pointed out.
Remus shrugged. "So? I'm sure everybody would love to see you so soon."
As much as Harry wanted to take the offer, he shook his head. He knew that if he went back, he would never leave and just drop out of school.
"Sure?"
Harry slowly nodded, smiling slightly. "I wouldn't be able to control myself if I did go back. I probably wouldn't leave."
Remus chuckled, as if in understanding. "Of course. Well, do come visit, will you?"
"I wouldn't dream of staying away, Remus."
They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment before Remus asked, "Have you found someone lucky?"
Harry hesitated, thinking about Malfoy. He was a somebody, but not in the way Remus was suggesting. No, he wasn't seeing anyone.
"No."
Remus raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that?"
It looked and sounded as if he was on to Harry. But about what? Malfoy is just some super rich model who is obviously stalking him. They didn't have anything even remotely close to a relationship. And besides, Harry—Potter—is—not—GAY.
"No, why wouldn't I be?"
It seemed enough for the man, as he backed off the subject.
After a couple more minutes, Harry seen Remus out, and he closed the door behind him, willing himself to not pack his bags and chase after the man. He had to stay strong. For his career and for figuring himself out.
He sighed, then turned to his window, giant and showing the world what he was doing at that very moment. He looked down at the painting he had for his mother, then over to the big blank canvas leaning against the wall, waiting for tomorrow to come so it could be used.
Harry ran a hand through his untidy hair. "Fuck."