Rating:
PG-13
House:
Astronomy Tower
Ships:
Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Characters:
Draco Malfoy Harry Potter
Genres:
Romance
Era:
The Harry Potter at Hogwarts Years
Spoilers:
Order of the Phoenix
Stats:
Published: 01/02/2005
Updated: 01/02/2005
Words: 2,526
Chapters: 1
Hits: 3,852

A Close Shave

Calliope

Story Summary:
Harry teaches Draco something, and learns something in return.

Posted:
01/02/2005
Hits:
3,852
Author's Note:
I don't normally write Harry/Draco, but this is for legomymalfoy's 31st birthday. Only for her would I write Harry/Draco! Hope you enjoy, sweetie.

There was nothing Harry hated more than running out of hot water in the middle of a post-Quidditch shower. This was probably Ron's fault; he had taken so long in the showers after the game (going to meet up with Luna later, was Harry's guess) that there was no hot water left for anyone else. Cursing and shivering, he shut off the taps, wrapped a towel around his hips, and grabbed his wash bag. It was so long after the game that the Slytherin players were likely long gone; he'd just duck into their changing room and shower before going back to Gryffindor.

Unfortunately, the Slytherin changing rooms were still occupied. Draco Malfoy was at the far end of the room, clad only in a towel, looking critically at his reflection in the mirror. He turned his head this way and that, running his fingertips over his jawline and leaning in to the mirror to inspect it closer. The faces he made at himself really were priceless, and Harry bit down on his lip to keep from laughing. Malfoy opened his mouth, dropping his jaw to pull the skin of his cheek taut, then tilted it back and forth, staring at himself the whole time.

Harry's curiosity got the better of him. "Malfoy, what are you doing?" he asked, trying not to laugh.

Malfoy jumped away from the mirror. "Shut up, Potter," he said, grabbing at his towel, which had slipped dangerously low on his slim hips when he'd startled. A slight pink flush tinged his cheeks and his pale eyebrows knitted together in a scowl. "Don't you Gryffindors have your own changing room somewhere? Out by the thestral pens, maybe?"

Harry rolled his eyes and dropped his bag beside Draco's at the sink. "So why are you making stupid looking faces at yourself in the mirror? Oh wait - I forgot, that's how you normally look."

The pink flush on Draco's cheeks deepened slightly. "Look, whatever it is you're doing, just do it and get out, okay? I haven't got time for this. I've places to go, so just move along."

"Whatever, Malfoy," said Harry, digging the soap and shampoo out of his bag and heading for the showers, half expecting to find them tiled in emerald green with little silver snakes on the taps, and somewhat disappointed to find that they looked exactly like the ones on the Gryffindor side (that is to say, boring beige tile and steel).

Before he could drop his towel and turn on the water, though, he heard a loud yelp and some muttered curses coming from Draco's end of the changing rooms. Annoyed, Harry stalked out of the shower. "What now?"

Draco was clutching his jaw, just where it met his neck, and whimpering, and Harry was shocked to see a trickle of red oozing from between his fingers. "Malfoy? What the hell are you doing, trying to kill yourself?" Harry yanked a towel from the stack on the sink ledge and pressed it roughly against Draco's neck.

Draco looked even paler than usual and more than a little embarrassed. "No," he said, trying to push Harry away. "Malfoys don't kill themselves like common Muggles, you idiot," he spat. He finally managed to pry Harry's hands loose, stepping back with the bloodstained towel pressed to his neck. "And even if I were going to do something that foolish, I certainly wouldn't do it with a do-gooder Gryffindor hanging about."

Harry made a disgusted noise. "I should have let you bleed to death," he said, turning to go back into the shower. Not quite trusting Draco not to come in the shower and hex him in the back - he still hadn't forgot about that whole hiding-outside-the-loo-on-the-train thing from fifth year - he showered quickly, with one eye on the door. When he was done he grabbed a couple of dry towels, wrapping one around his waist and using the other to dry his hair. He almost dropped the towels though when he saw Draco going through his wash bag on the sink, holding up his Muggle razor and inspecting it as if it were something incredibly fascinating.

"Malfoy, what are you doing?" said Harry, trying to snatch the razor out of Draco's hand and not quite succeeding. He was getting really tired of asking Draco why the hell he was doing all these weird things.

"Is this a razor?" Draco asked, with a mix of curiosity and disdain.

"Yes," said Harry. "Don't tell me you've never seen a razor before."

"Of course I've never seen a razor," said Draco. "Razors are for Muggles. Father always used a Shaving Charm."

Harry finally managed to yank the razor from Draco's grip. "I'll stick to a razor, thanks." Then he realised what Draco had just said, and studied him carefully. "Your Father always used Shaving Charms? What about you?"

Draco looked down and began rummaging pointlessly in his bag, muttering something that Harry couldn't quite make out.

"Pardon?" said Harry. "Didn't quite get that…"

"I've never had to shave before," Draco mumbled, his cheeks turning a true pink now.

"You're kidding, right?" said Harry, choking back a laugh. "Never? Ever? How did you get to seventeen and never have to shave?"

Draco straightened, scowling. "I have aristocratic features, Potter. Look at my hair. I have the finest, lightest hair in this whole school." He stuck his jaw out a bit, touching it with his fingertips. "See?"

Harry stepped closer, as he didn't have his glasses back on yet, and squinted. Sure enough, there was the faintest trace of light golden hairs along the creamy skin of Draco's jaw and cheek, the baby-fine hair of someone who had never taken a razor or a charm to his skin, marred only by the small but deep-looking gash in the hollow of his jaw. "Yes, I see." He eyed Draco's wand on the edge of the sink, with a tiny smudge of blood on the counter beside it. "Is that what you were doing just now? Trying out that Shaving Charm?"

The only answer Harry got was a glare.

It made him feel very smug. Draco Malfoy, not knowing how to shave? Harry imagined the laugh he and Ron would have over this when Harry got back to Gryffindor. It would rank right up there with Draco Malfoy the Amazing Bouncing Ferret. But then - Harry could detect the slightest bit of hurt in Draco's expression, maybe even a little embarrassment.

Damn it.

Harry sighed. "Well, I don't know anything about Shaving Charms, Malfoy. Never used one in my life, with living with Muggles in the summers and all."

"Of course you wouldn't know, not having any proper wizard family," snapped Draco.

"Fat lot of good your proper wizard family does you, if you don't even know how to shave," Harry snapped back, annoyed.

"Apparently you don't even know how to use that Muggle razor thing, because every day when you come down to dinner you're all scruffy looking." Draco folded his arms over his bare chest. "Or else the hair on your face is just as messy and ugly as the hair on your head."

Harry rolled his eyes so hard he thought they might fall out of his head. "It's called five-o-clock shadow, Malfoy."

"If that's what you want to call it," said Draco. "I think you're just as incompetent with that as you are with everything else. For God's sake, even the Weasel doesn't look half as scruffy as you do."

"That's because Ron has red hair and red hair isn't as dark as black hair," said Harry through gritted teeth. "Kind of like blond hair."

"Excuses, Potter," said Draco, looking very satisfied. "I think you're just lousy at anything that requires any sort of attention to detail, being the idiot you are. You're so used to Dumbledore having to bail you out of any trouble you get into, I suppose he comes up to Gryffindor's golden tower every morning to do your face for you, doesn't he?"

"You're so full of shit, Malfoy," said Harry. He yanked the can of shaving foam from his bag and shook it angrily. "Now shut up and hold still and I'll show you just how incompetent I am."

Draco yelped and jumped when the can of foam sputtered and spurted into Harry's hand. "Don't come near me with that!" he said, backing into the sink.

"It's shaving foam, Malfoy," said Harry. "You put it on your face before you shave. It doesn't hurt."

Draco sniffed. "It stinks."

"It does not stink!"

"I always thought that stench in Magical Creatures was that oaf of a teacher we have, but now I know it was really just you," sneered Draco.

Harry spread the foam over both palms and then clapped them to each side of Draco's face. "Shut. Up."

The face Draco made was probably supposed to be haughtily superior and offended, but the effect was ruined by the white gobs of shaving foam stuck to his cheeks. Harry tried not to laugh as he smoothed the foam over Draco's face and along his jaw and throat. He was surprised that Draco hadn't fled or hexed him or both, and he was even more surprised to find that he quite liked the way he could feel the rapid beat of Draco's pulse under his fingers. Harry applied a tiny bit of foam just above Draco's upper lip with his fingertips. It was hard to put this stuff on someone else's face, he realised, trying to keep his fingers away from Draco's nose.

Draco sneezed, sending little flecks of foam everywhere. "That tickles, Potter."

"You'll live," said Harry. He rinsed the last of the foam from his hands and picked up the razor, enjoying the way Draco watched it as if the blade might suddenly fly off the handle and attack him. "Be still."

Draco barely even blinked as Harry made the first long stroke with the razor, starting just below his ear and moving lightly along the curve of his jaw. After each stroke, he rinsed the blade in the sink, swishing away the fine blond hairs and bits of foam before starting again. Each flick of the razor exposed another strip of pale skin, translucent enough that Harry could almost see the faint outline of the bluish veins underneath. Concentrating carefully on what he was doing, Harry brought his free hand up to the back of Draco's neck, tilting his head slightly to get a better angle as he worked on the opposite side of his face. Draco didn't resist, but let his eyes fall shut and tilted his head just as Harry urged him.

Harry crooked a finger under Draco's chin, lifting it up enough to pull the skin of his throat taut and smooth so that he wouldn't nick it. It was harder to see without his glasses, which he hadn't put back on yet because of the steam, so he leaned in a bit closer. It was slower going here and Harry slowed down, carefully avoiding the gash Draco had given himself earlier with his botched Shaving Charm.

"Be careful," said Draco. His breath was warm along the damp skin of Harry's neck. "Cut my throat and I'll tell my Father."

Harry guided the razor just along the edge of the cut. "Yeah, because he can do so much from Azkaban," he said, meeting Draco's eyes. He rinsed the blade again, but didn't look away.

"You're going to pay for sending him there, you know," Draco said. Harry had heard that many times over the last two years, but it seemed to be said more now out of habit than out of any real belief that he was actually going to do anything about it.

Harry ignored it and put his finger just at the corner of Draco's mouth, pulling down slightly to get at the fine hairs on Draco's upper lip. "Stop talking and don't move."

These tiny strokes of the razor took even longer than his throat did, not only because it was delicate work but also because he could not take his eye off the soft pink of Draco's lip, just under his thumb. Harry was almost done now, but he took his time with this last little bit, moving the razor as slowly as possible over that narrow patch of skin. He could feel Draco's eyes on him as he worked, but he didn't look up. He was too focused on what he was doing.

Harry didn't immediately let go once he'd finished. He trailed his fingers lightly along Draco's face, checking for any spots he might have missed. Then he ran a bit of warm water in the sink, dipped his hands in, and wiped the last bits of shaving foam from Draco's skin. Draco sucked in a sharp breath when the warm water came in contact with his newly shaven skin, but he didn't move as the droplets glistened and sparkled and slid down his neck and chest.

One of the droplets rolled down Draco's throat to puddle in his collarbone, and Harry, acting on sudden impulse, reached out to touch it. He flattened the drop against Draco's skin, spreading the glimmering moisture along the hollow there before letting his hand fall away again.

"Potter."

"Malfoy."

Draco looked as if he had something else to say, but he said nothing. Instead, he touched the side of Harry's cheek as if brushing something away. "You had. Some. Of that white stuff, there," he said, his voice trembling a little.

"Oh," said Harry. He started to say 'thank you' as an afterthought, but he was distracted by a tiny bead of water at the corner of Draco's lip, even more enticing than the one at his collarbone had been. He didn't want to touch it, he wanted to taste it. His tongue darted out to lick the drop from Draco's lip, but before he could get there Draco had sucked Harry's tongue into his mouth and was kissing him. Draco's mouth was so much warmer than the rest of him, and Harry could feel the pounding of Draco's heart in his breath. His scent was both foreign and familiar at the same time; familiar for the scent of Harry's own shaving foam, and foreign for whatever soap Draco had showered with before Harry came in.

Draco moaned softly, the vibration of it catching Harry by surprise, and then he broke the kiss, stepping back and clutching the towel still around his waist. "I... er. Have to. Go..." He cleared his throat nervously, mumbling something that sounded like "Pansy" and "meet her later" before snatching his bag from the counter and dashing for the lockers in the other part of the room.

Bracing his hands against the sink, Harry looked at his reflection in the mirror, examining his own scruffy jaw. He could really use a shave, he decided, but there was no way he could sit through an evening with Hermione while his own face smelled of the shaving foam that he would forever associate with Draco Malfoy.