Prompt by johanneismyqueen

Wow look who's still alive

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"Dare."

The grin Pansy gives him makes Draco immediately regret his words, but he's already blurted them out, and his pride stops him from taking them back.

"Switch clothes and styles with a stranger for a week."

"Pansy," Draco groans. "This was supposed to just stay here."

"Not anymore!" Pansy cheers, throwing the remainders of her sandwich in the trash.

"Fine. Who is it?" Draco asks. "Let's start this bullshit now so I get it over with sooner."

She scans the cafeteria, brown eyes sharply assessing each victim before resting on one poor soul.

"The new kid," she says, one deep purple fingernail extending to point at her chosen victim.

Draco's heart sinks before he even turns around. He already knows who she's talking about. 

Harry had only moved here a week before, and he had the unfortunate luck of ending up in Draco and Pansy's chemistry class. He's one of those kids who wears pastel all the time and glittery makeup, and that's not Draco's style.

"Pansy, really?" Draco groans, but she is already calling out to the boy.

"Aye! Harry!"

Harry turns, bright eyes scanning the cafeteria with confusion before landing on Pansy. He frowns, still confused.

"C'mere!"

He frowns again, but stands, grabbing his backpack and swinging it onto his shoulders. He approaches them with a slightly annoyed look, glittery cheekbones catching the light.

"What's up?" he asks, dropping his bag onto the table and sitting down.

"Draco here lost a bet, and he has to switch clothes with someone for a week. I've chosen you, because, well, look at you. You have a very different style than him."

Harry blinks slowly. "Is this a joke?"

"I wish," Draco groans.

Amused green eyes briefly catch Draco's, before flicking back to Pansy. "Why would I want to do that?"

She shrugs. "Why not?"

Harry considers this. "Point. When do we switch?"

Draco hits his head against the table. "I hate you, new kid."

"Fuck off," Harry replies good-naturedly, smacking the back of his head.

"I like you," Pansy decides. "Draco can pick you up after school."

"Fuck you, Pansy," Draco groans. "New kid, be at the front of the school five minutes after the last bell or I'm leaving your ass."

This is only met with good-natured laughter.

*******************

Draco can't help but be disappointed when he pulls up to the front of the school and Harry hops into his car. He had really hoped the boy wouldn't make it.

"Let's get this over with," he groans, pushing the gas pedal.

"Are we going to your house or mine first?"

"Mine, I suppose."

"Alright."

Awkward silence ensues, and Draco tries to focus on the road to distract himself. 

"What do you like about your style?"

Draco groans. Why can't he just shut up? "I don't know."

"I'm trying to make conversation."

"Stop trying, new kid."

"You know my name, we have chemistry together. Why do you keep calling me new kid?"

"Because it annoys you."

"No it doesn't!"

"Yeah it does. Your nose gets all scrunched up and your eyes get all angry."

"How can your eyes be angry?"

"You tell me."

Harry slumps back in his seat, defeated. Draco grins. Small triumphs.

"We're here."

Harry sits up, studying the house before him with interested eyes.

"Get out of the car, loser."

Harry glares at Draco, but does as requested. They go in together, and Draco leads Harry up to his room.

"Your room is a mess," Harry comments.

He's not wrong. Dark clothes are scattered all over the floor. Papers hang dangerously off of the desk. Paint is all over said desk. Dirt is on the carpet below his plants. His bed is unmade. One of his curtains has fallen down. Several posters have also succumbed to gravity.

"Shut up. I didn't know I was having company."

"You paint?" Harry asks, interested. He reaches out to one of the papers. Draco smacks his hand.

"Don't touch that. You're here for clothes."

Harry frowns, rubbing his hand, but follows Draco to the closet.

"Pick whatever you're wearing for a week," Draco says casually, throwing open the doors.

"Jesus Christ, there's no color," Harry groans.

Draco shrugs. "Welcome to my world." He turns and started picking up some of the clothes on the floor, throwing them into the hamper.

"Oh, I'm definitely taking the leather jacket."

"You ruin that thing, and I'll kill you."

"Noted. I'm taking the ripped jeans too."

"Same rule."

"I get it. I break it, I buy it."

"No, you break it, I kill you."

Harry just rolls his eyes again, grabbing a black shirt with the name of a band Draco doesn't really like that much scrawled across the front.

"You didn't answer my question."

Draco sighs. Why does he insist on having conversations? "What question?"

"What do you like about your style?"

"I dunno, my friends look good in it."

"Do you think you look good in it?"

"Sure."

Harry pauses in his search for clothes to stare at him. "You wear this shit because your friends look good in it? That's it?"

"Shut up. Why do you wear pink, you fuckin... nerd?"

Harry stares at him for such a long time that Draco starts feeling uncomfortable.

"What?" he asks, running his fingers through blue-tipped hair.

"You didn't say it," Harry says, almost in wonder.

"Say what?" Draco asks, pretending to be irritated, but he already knows the word Harry's thinking of. He's heard it a million times.

"Faggot. When a boy wears clothes like I do, people call him a faggot."

Draco shrugs, trying to hide his blush at the way Harry is staring at him. "I dunno, I think that's a bit hypocritical."

"WHAT!?" Harry shouts, but Draco has already ducked away, sticking his head into the closet to grab a shirt and throw it at Harry.

"Hypocritical. Adjective. To pretend to be something you're not, or make fun of something you are. Sentence: If I called you a faggot, that would be hypocritical of me."

"I know what it means, you fucking idiot. You're gay?"

Draco lifts one of his posters that has fallen over his rainbow flag pinned to his wall. He tapes the poster back up, pretending not to notice what he's just revealed. "Yep."

This is met by silence, and Draco turns, worried.

Harry's mouth is opening and closing, and he seems stunned.

"Are you having an aneurism?" Draco asks, irritated. Is Harry homophobic?

"You're pretty, and you're gay? Are you trying to make me have a crisis?" Harry finally shouts, blushing deeply as he laughs, stunned.

Draco blinks. Well, that wasn't the reaction he had expected.

"Thanks, I guess," he mutters, throwing one of his Doc Martens at Harry's head.

"Hey!" Harry shouts, laughing as he ducks away and picked up the fallen boot. "Where's the other one?"

"Find it," Draco suggests. "This is taking longer than it needs to."

"Maybe I just enjoy spending time with you."

"You don't even know me."

"Draco Malfoy, seventeen, blonde hair, grey eyes, appears to like Blink-182 if you look at his posters, but if you look at the autographed picture on his desk, The 1972 is a favorite. I'd guess your favorite color is blue, given the color of the pots your plants are in. You enjoy art and having plants, and despite how dark you try to make your room look, you have candles and fairy lights. You only dress punk because your friends do, and you're a gay bitch, just like me."

Draco stares at him for a long moment.

"Shut up," he finally settles on saying, because he's speechless on what this boy has picked up on in the past twenty minutes.

Harry's grin tells him he's seen right through the attempt to brush him off, and he pulls the other Doc Marten off the floor from underneath black jeans.

"How do you even know Blink-182? It doesn't even say the name, it's just a picture of Travis Barker."

Harry just shrugs. "It's a famous band, he's a good drummer."

"How do you know he's the drummer?"

"I listen to them sometimes. Jesus, all up in my business," Harry laughs, smiling brightly at him. "I think we have enough," he decides. "Let's go to my house."

Draco takes a moment to move, because he's still stunned by Harry's smile, but then he grabs a bag of clothes and takes them out to his car.

***********************

Harry's room is exactly what Draco would have expected. Soft white curtains, pale pink walls, white candles, lights everywhere, a chaotic closet full of light colors, and a dresser with makeup strewn all over it.

Draco sighs as he pulls a soft blue crop top out from the mess of a closet that Harry has. "How do you find anything? At least mine are laid across my floor, so I can see them."

"I don't want to deal with them, so I just cram them all in there." Harry shoves his makeup into a bag and sets it on the bed.

"Why do you wear makeup?"

"Because everyone associated gayness with femininity, so I figured I'd follow that so they'd believe me."

"Is that why you wear pastel too?"

Harry nods.

Draco stares at him. "I can't believe this! You give me shit for wearing black because my friends do, but you just wear all this shit because people don't believe you're gay?"

Harry blinks. "Yeah."

Draco sighs, shaking his head. "Stupid."

Harry just shrugs, a shy grin on his face.

Something catches Draco's eye, and he turns toward it, gasping sharply. 

"You play electric guitar?"

Harry nods, grabbing a purple shirt and shoving it into one of the bags.

Draco runs his fingers along the guitar. It's at odds with everything in the room; sleek, black, pointed, cold. 

It's incredible.

"Play something," he says breathlessly.

"Now?" Harry asks, raising an eyebrow. Draco nods.

He sighs, and picks up the guitar, plugging it in. He messes around, before he strums a chord.

"The mirror's image, it tells me it's home time, but I'm not finished, 'cause you're not by my side."

Draco's eyes widen as he recognizes the Arctic Monkeys song. He's never been a fan of it, but when Harry sings it, he thinks it might be the best song in the world.

"And as I arrived I thought I saw you leaving, carryin' your shoes, decided that once again I was just dreamin' of bumpin' into you." 

Harry sets down the guitar, unplugging it and setting it carefully.

"Happy?" he asks, a grin on his face.

"That was incredible," Draco whispers breathlessly.

And when Harry smiles at him brightly, Draco realizes maybe things aren't always as they seem.