A/N: heh, herein lies makeover!Draco...

Harry and Draco were sitting on two black leather love seats. They had managed to get far enough apart for that, but they'd had to remove the coffee table and push the couches closer together in order to do it. Ron and Crabbe, after demonstrating for Dumbledore that they were perfectly well separated, had returned to their house dormitories. Draco, Harry noticed, was staring off into space just a little to the right of Harry's head. He had a frown between his brows, and his hands were absentmindedly fiddling with his robes. Harry was petrified, they hadn't said a word to each other since the attempted separation and he was sure that Draco was angry. The way that the Slytherin had spoken to Dumbledore about their continued connection was enough to make him sure of that. Dumbledore's unhelpfulness really hadn't helped with Draco's mood.

"Draco," Harry said nervously. "Are you angry with me?"

Draco glanced over at Harry. Angry? With Harry? Of course not. Why would he be angry with Harry for something that was no fault of his? But then Draco realized, he would have blamed Harry for all of this only a few days ago. It was becoming hard to remember how he would have reacted in the light of how he naturally reacted to him now. No, Draco wasn't angry, he'd just been contemplating their life together. Because obviously, they were going to have a life together now. Dumbledore'd had no idea what had caused them to remain together, and Draco knew he'd been telling the truth. He sighed, all of his life was like this; everything was always decided for him. So, okay, maybe he was a little bitter. But certainly it wasn't aimed at Harry; it wasn't Potter's fault.

"Of course not Harry," he said. "I just hate it when I can't make my own choices, you know?"

Harry nodded calmly. He felt deep down, that this might be his fault, he might be making Draco stay with him. It made him feel enormously guilty, but he didn't know how he might change it. His magic was always somewhat out of control; he'd just had too much flowing through him after the war. Harry could tell in Dumbledore's office that the headmaster thought this was his fault. He had kept looking at him with twinkly eyes and that irritating amused smile. Amused, but disappointed. Well it wasn't his fault! It was proven, there was no way to control his outbursts of magic sometimes. Ugh, more dwelling. He really wasn't made out for the brooding type. He tried to lighten the mood.

"So do you think we did the right thing by telling Dumbledore that Snape was high?" he asked.

Draco laughed. "I think so, the man was definitely on something even if it was just fumes."

"Yeah really, he was almost hyper." Harry ran a hand through his hair and twirled the long strands at the nape of his neck.

Draco watched the progress of Harry's hand. God, he would love to play with Harry's hair. That's it, he thought, I'm a total pouf—and I've lost it, completely. His mind fell back on he and Harry's not-so-almost kiss in the hall earlier. Did you just lick people that you weren't a little attracted to? Maybe Harry could like him? Well—no sense in delaying things… he might as well find out at the beginning of this relationship if he had any chance or not. But how to get close enough to Harry to touch and seduce him? This would have been much easier when they were still hip-to-hip Draco thought ruefully. Then he grinned, it may have been easier then—but there was a certain advantage to being able to be face-to-face now.

"Harry," Draco said, grinning. "Why don't you let me cut your hair, I'm really very good at it."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "Really? When did you learn to…"

"Doesn't matter," Draco smiled. "Will you let me?"

"Uhm, sure, I guess so." Harry said, after all it really did need a cut.

"Great," Draco said. "Take off your clothes."

Harry started. "What?"

Draco grinned slyly. "Your robes, and your shirt—so they won't get hair on them."

Oh, Harry thought. "Oh…ok," he said.

Draco watched avidly as Harry removed his cloak and his sweater. Unfortunately, Harry had on one of those white men's tanks underneath. Damn. Well, it would have to do. Draco took the time to look Harry's body over; he hadn't really had a chance in the shower. It was much like he'd remembered from his glimpse, small but muscular, tan smooth skin. There were freckles on his shoulders and it was all Draco could do not to 'Awhh!' at the sight of them.

"So where do you want to do this?" Harry asked.

"Uh, I—ahem, I guess we should go in the bathroom."

Harry got up and they headed for the bathroom. Draco walked behind and watched the curve of his thigh, the pull of the denim, and the cute way that Harry's little white shirt dipped in at the curve of his back. It was beautiful.

"Wait," Harry said. "You want me to sit on a toilet! No way!"

Draco sighed, what was it with Potter and the toilets?

"I guess we could do it out there," Draco said. "It's not as if we have to clean it up."

"True," Harry said. "But we should, I mean—it's rude to leave it and expect…"

Draco huffed impatiently.

"Fine," Harry said.

Draco pulled a chair up into the center of the room and motioned for Harry to sit down, then he pulled off his own robes and folded them. He hesitated a moment, then removed his shirt as well. He, was not wearing a tank.

"Draco what?" Harry said.

"I don't want your hair on me either Potter. That shirt is very had to get clean."

Harry nodded, but reluctantly.

Draco did a mental victory dance that involved hugs and banners and muggle fireworks, then he accio'ed his scissors and approached a very skittish Harry Potter.

"You won't cut it too short?" Harry asked. "I mean, you don't cut Crabbe's hair do you?"

Draco smiled. "You doubt my fashion sense Harry? Or do you think I'm going to do something mean to you just for the hell of it?" Draco paused. The words had come out of his mouth easily, but the thought that Harry might actually be contemplating that really rather hurt. "Is that what you're thinking?" he demanded.

"No," Harry said. "I just have bad experiences with hair cuts. My uncle…nevermind. I trust you."

His grin got slightly evil. "Maybe that's not a good plan Potter."

"What?"

Draco laughed. "I'm joking, Christ, calm down Harry. I'm going to cut your hair, not change your life."

"A haircut can be a life changing experience. You're not you unless your hair looks like you. And don't expose my scar."

Draco snerked. "I thought it was the clothes that made the man?"

Harry sighed. "Can we just get on with this horror?"

Draco nodded, and moved behind Harry; he reached out and ran a tentative hand through the hair. It wasn't exactly soft, but it wasn't horsehair either. Harry's jet-black locks caressed his white fingers beautifully, and for a minute he was mesmerized by the sight of it. He pushed all of the hair forward, then smoothed it back down and ran his fingers through it again.

"Uhm, are we ever going to get to the actual cutting?" Harry asked.

"I'm just judging the way your hair falls," Draco lied. "I'm trying to figure out what the best cut for you would be." The truth was, that from the moment he'd seen Harry he'd known how he would cut his hair. He judged everyone's hair; it was just something he did. Harry's face required something short on the sides, and rather long and spiky on top. It would be so hot, and Draco hesitated doing it. He was more than attracted to Potter now, even with his tragic hair. When Harry had the proper hair cut, would he be able to control himself?

Harry's hands lay stiffly on his knees and he was doing his best to keep his head upright and stare straight ahead, but the way that Draco kept massaging his head and playing with his hair was making it hard not to lean back and groan in pleasure. Draco who was, Harry remembered, half naked—and standing right behind him. If he had ever doubted that he was actually attracted to Malfoy, this would have been enough to prove it. He shifted uncomfortably in the hard chair, and lamented the lack of his robes. Restlessly, he untucked his shirt and pulled it down as far as it would go.

Harry was really very squirmy, Draco thought. When Harry untucked his shirt and tugged on it, Draco had the happy idea that perhaps the situation was turning him on. As casually as he could, he leaned his body into the back of Harry's chair and reached for Harry's fringe. Holding it between two fingers he made his first cut. A tiny snip really, since he was keeping most of the hair there—but it was worth it to feel Harry draw in a quick breath.

"Something the matter, Harry?" Draco asked.

"N-No, I'm fine," Harry lied.

Draco smiled, this was promising.

Eventually Draco had cut the back and the sides of Harry's hair as much as he wanted, and he had to move to the front to see how things were looking. This would be a delicate maneuver, he knew. How to stand crotch-to-face with Harry, and not come off too aggressively sexual? Well, he would play it by ear. He walked around the chair, but Harry had his knees pressed together like a sixteen-year-old nun who's desperately afraid of appearing unseemly.

"Potter, you have to let me get a little closer," Draco huffed. "Come on, open up," he said, nudging Harry's knees apart. Well, he thought, I've just failed subtlety 101.

Harry's knees ground apart at a rate slower than the gates of Mordor parting. His legs shook slightly, and he braced his hands on his outer thighs in an effort to make them stop. Draco slipped both legs carefully between his thighs, and pretended nonchalance.

Harry desperately searched for someplace to look, as staring straight ahead was no longer an option. Straight ahead was Draco's waist, and a little lower—his crotch. His crotch, that was not exactly flat and innocent. Harry tried looking up, but then he could see up Draco's nose and that was awful. He tried looking straight down, but that just gave him a view of Draco's gorgeous legs encased in slim black trousers that hugged just right at the hip, and thigh. Looking to the left or the right was too uncomfortable, it gave him a headache, so Harry closed his eyes.

Draco glanced down, Potter had closed his eyes. It was just as well, he was immensely embarrassed that he was shoving his er—excitement, in Harry's face. Still, he had wanted to send a message loud and clear and he guessed he had done that. Draco ran his fingers back through Harry's hair, making it stand up at odd angles. He grinned, he'd always liked it like that. He accio'ed styling gel and rubbed some between his hands and then started placing the hair more artistically, some pulled down to cover the scar, some straight up, some back, some towards the sides. Then when he had the hair where he wanted it, he took his wand and lightly touched here and there while whispering a lightening spell to give Harry some brown highlights. Why not? They were temporary. He gasped when Harry's hands reached up and held him by the hips.

Harry smiled. Whatever Draco was doing felt so funny, like the warm tingle when someone cracks an "egg" on your head. He reached up and held Draco by the hips, afraid that soon the moment would be over, and he would back up, and this intimacy would be gone. As deathly afraid of this closeness as he was, he wanted the warmth—the strangeness—the tingle of having Draco so close. He tightened his grip, and pulled Draco forward slightly; his willowy form swayed in Harry's hands. Harry inhaled deeply and took in the smell of sweat and citrus and Draco, he was in heaven.

Draco's hands fell to the back of Harry's neck, and he pulled his head towards him until it rested on his naked belly. He felt Harry inhale again and smiled. He petted slowly down Harry's shoulders and slipped a hand down the top of his tank top, rubbing tiny circles between his shoulder blades. Beautiful Harry, what he wouldn't do to have this moment last.

Harry sighed, this was so perfect, he wished they never had to pull apart. His arms came up and he wrapped them around Draco's waist, holding as tight as he dared and burrowing his face further into his belly. Draco giggled a little, then tightened his grip as well.

They stayed that way, embracing in the middle of their dorm, until Draco started to get a crick in his back from the unnatural leaning he was doing.

"Harry," he said. "Can I dress you up?"

Harry's voice was slightly muffled by Draco's skin. "Absh whamf," he said.

Draco pulled back. "What?" he said.

"Yeah," Harry said. "As what?"

"What?"

Harry sighed. "What do you want to dress me up as?"

"Oh," Draco laughed. "No, I mean in fancy clothes. I just want to see…" Draco felt awkward. He was painfully aware that boys who were just friends didn't play dress up to see what their guy friends would look like in certain clothes.

Harry gave him a lop-sided smile. "Sure," he said. "Sounds fun." Which it didn't, but it would probably please Draco.

Draco smiled and pulled away, tugging on Harry's arm to make him follow him to the wardrobe. Harry sighed, but stood patiently while Draco rummaged around.

"Here we are!" Draco said, pulling out a dark green shirt and a very small looking pair of dark indigo jeans.

"Malfoy," Harry said, "There is no way I'm going to fit into your jeans."

Draco grinned evilly. "Try," he said.

Harry sighed.

Draco reached out and pulled Harry's tank top over his head. Harry was surprised, but offered little resistance. Draco used the shirt to swat the hair cuttings from Harry's shoulders, back, and chest—walking around and around him to do it. If he spent a little too long cleaning his back, then neither of them complained. He picked up the green shirt and held it out to Harry like you would a to a child.

Harry laughed, and threaded his arms through it. He was surprised how good it felt on his skin, even though it was excessively tight in his opinion. He reached down and unbuttoned his jeans and slid down the zip. He was grateful when Draco merely handed him the jeans and turned around, it felt like his face would spontaneously combust.

Draco couldn't believe it, Harry had undone his pants in front of him—like he was just going to pull them off and change while he watched! Surely that was some sort of sign? Behind him, he heard Harry struggling with the jeans.

"Draco these are too small," Harry complained through his heavy breathing.

Risking a glance, Draco was amused to see Harry bouncing around with the jeans around his ankles, trying to pull them up. Then Harry fell flat on his ass. Draco sighed.

"You are so hopeless sometimes," he said.

Harry gave him a mock-hurt expression. "Just because I don't use a shoe-horn to get into my pants everyday…"

Draco snorted. "Why would you? Generally, three of you can get into your pants with room to spare. Though these," Draco said, picking up Harry's discarded jeans, "were better than what you used to wear."

"Help me up, you great pouf," Harry snarked.

Draco theatrically held a hand to his breast, then lowered it to help Harry up. When he was back on his feet, Draco bent down and grabbed the waistband of the jeans. Slowly, he wriggled and pulled and yanked until the jeans were all the way up. Harry panted as Draco eased them around his ass. Draco pretended to ignore it, and took a minute to smooth them down over said ass. He grinned to himself.

Draco was molesting him! Harry was absolutely shocked. Not only had Malfoy purposely picked the most impossible pants in the world, but he was now bodily shoving Harry's ass into them and then fondling it once it was encased. Well, Harry decided to be shocked. Then, he decided to just breathe as much as possible before Draco tried to close the pants.

Draco slipped his hands under the waistband of the jeans and buttoned them with some difficulty, then he reached down and carefully did up the zip. He stood back a moment to enjoy his handiwork. Harry looked at him expectantly.

"Well?" Harry asked. "What do you think?"

Draco hmm'ed. "You should see this yourself," he said, and they walked into the bathroom to the full-length mirror.

When Harry caught sight of himself he guffawed. "I look like a sausage," he said, then plucking at the shirt, "a moldy sausage."

Draco snerked. "Yes, you do a little. I stand by the color though."

Harry grinned, and shifted uncomfortably. "These pants are demon pants," he said.

"Yes, well they're not as bad as the potatoes," Draco murmured.

"What?"

"Nothing, Uhm, yes," he said. "Those pants are way too tight." He pulled out his wand and tapped the button lightly, and the pants eased into a perfect fit. Harry whirled on him in outrage.

"You could have done that all the time!" he accused.

"What?" Draco asked innocently.

"You could have made the pants bigger so that I could get them on without help!"

Draco looked shifty. "Maybe…but I wanted to see if they would fit first."

Harry grinned evilly; he took a step towards Draco. "You wanted to grope me," he said.

"I didn't! I was just helping."

"Yeah," Harry snorted. "You helped me hold my ass in place for awhile."

Draco's face turned red. "You can prove nothing! I'm not going down for this! It's your word against mine! I'll talk to an attorney if I have to!"

Harry smiled, and took another predatory step. "You don't need an attorney," he said.

"I don't?" Draco whispered.

Harry grinned evilly; he threw his arms around Draco's waist and yanked him into his body. "No," he said.

"Oh," Draco said, his arms coming up to circle Harry's neck. His hands idly running up the freshly cut back of Harry's hair. He pulled slightly, and Harry's head came towards his with no resistance. He smiled.

Harry leaned forward, and pressed his lips to Draco's. It wasn't magical or earth shattering, but it was the best thing that he'd ever felt in his life.

Draco groaned, tilting his head and taking Harry's bottom lip between his lips. This was perfect, it couldn't get better—but then it did.

As their kiss became more fervent Harry pulled Draco to him and ground his hips against the other boys. They became more and more feverish and Harry couldn't get Draco close enough to him, it was madness, it was ecstasy, he had never felt such pure—guilt free—lust. Until, Draco cried out in pain. Harry jerked away from him.

There were tears running down Draco's cheeks, and his eyes were closed. Harry stared in shock. What had he done? He realized, that he didn't even know. But, clearly he had hurt Malfoy, and since he was crying—he had been hurting him for some time. Harry had never felt so empty, not even in the war when he had murdered men. Something inside of him had just been broken, permanently. He pushed past Malfoy and raced out of the room, free and unattached.

"Wait," Draco said weakly. "Harry wait." But, his only answer was the slam of their dormitory door.

Draco slumped against the sink, wheezing in his breath. Ironic, Draco thought, the minute that he wanted Harry attached to him most—was the one in which Harry broke free.