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Poncy Prat No.5

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“Harry, I was wondering if -“

Whatever Malfoy had been about to say was interrupted by the loud shout of one Ronald Weasley.


In the few seconds it took for Ron to reach them, Harry saw a mixture of frustration and annoyance flash across Malfoy’s face before he pulled it into a calm sneer. Harry thought there might have been a trace of something else there too, something he wouldn’t allow his brain to put a name to, that softened Malfoy’s features for the last second they were alone.

“Hope I’m not interrupting -“

“No.” Malfoy cut him off sharply “Just marvelling at the lamentable state of Potter’s hair.” 

He wasn’t looking at Harry anymore, which Harry decided he was very much not keen on. 

“I guess they had run out of whatever fancy hair potion you use,” said Ron, “what is that? Poncy Prat No.5?” 

And to everyone’s surprise, Malfoy snorted a little laugh at Ron’s joke.

“There isn’t enough Poncy Prat No.5 in the wizarding world to fix that.”

Malfoy gestured vaguely to the top of Harry’s head. 

Ron laughed a friendly laugh and Malfoy smiled easily and Harry didn’t feel jealous about it, he didn’t. 


“I guess we can’t all look as handsome as you can we Malfoy?”

The words were out of Harry’s mouth before he could stop them and if that wasn’t bad enough, he realised he wasn’t the only one who noticed the distinct lack of venom attached to them. Amusement maybe. Fondness. 


Ron goggled at him while Malfoy raised a speculative eyebrow.

Fix it, fix it, fucking fix it. 

And so it was that instead of calling Malfoy a posh twat or laughing in his face or telling him his hair looked stupid, Harry found his hand - acting quite separately from the rest of his body and most certainly his brain - reaching towards Malfoy, who had shifted inexplicably closer. Harry’s fingers stretched and he watched them rise and push themselves through Malfoy’s pleasantly soft white-blond locks, giving them a rather affectionate ruffle. 

So fucking lovely.

“Potter - what the fuck!


Harry snatched his hand back, utterly horrified. He grabbed Ron’s elbow and marched them away from Malfoy down the nearest corridor. 



“What the fuck was that?” 

“I don’t fucking know.” Harry didn’t look up as they walked, thinking it was much more sensible to concentrate on the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other. 

Clearly he had taken leave of all his other senses. 

“Right. Where are we going?”

“Not sure, just keep walking please.”

“You just ruffled Draco Malfoy’s hair.” 


“And you called him handsome.”

“As a joke.”

“Yes, he looked particularly wounded by that insult.”

“Fuck off.”

“Hermione would probably have some things to say about that.”


“I’m not going to lie, I’ve got some thoughts.”

“Please keep them to yourself.”

Harry had his own thoughts to deal with, he didn’t need to be worrying about what Ron or - Merlin forbid - Hermione would have to say about him ruffling Malfoy’s stupid poncy hair

And if those thoughts stayed with him well into the night, after everyone else in his department had gone home, and he cast a locking charm on his office door, as he fisted his cock and imagined tightening his fingers in Malfoy’s silky-soft locks as he sucked Harry off...well, that was Harry’s fucking business.