The noise outside the room told Harry the shoot was getting in full swing, and the test shots were probably already going from the sounds of the clicking camera. But having Draco's hands on him, soothing him, Harry didn't get anxious or angry like he used to. He would be done in an hour or so, people would be happier for it and the world would continue to tick on as it should.

The water shut off and Draco squeezed Harry's dripping hair of excess water. He was ashamed to admit a tiny moan crawled up his throat, and he quickly coughed and opened his eyes, hoping Draco hadn't heard him. "Uh, you done?" he asked unnecessarily and Draco began towelling him dry.

"I want to give it a trim," Draco said, pushing him back upright in his chair and vanishing the wet towel with a flick of his wand. He plucked a brush with thick bristles from his trolley and began gently untangling Harry's hair, unaware of Harry watching him in the mirror.

He wasn't sure if it was Draco per se, or his no-nonsense but mindful care of him, but Harry had come to realise that he only did these events anymore because he loved spending time with his former school rival. Draco didn't treat him like he was made of glass, or like a hero either. He just treated him like Harry, and he seemed to very much enjoy turning his hap-hazard, scruffy look into something even Harry had to admit photographed well.

There was something wonderful about having someone else play with your hair. Harry watched on as Draco worked his comb and scissors, his face alive with concentration as he slowly snipped at the edges of Harry's damp curls. He'd trained in Paris apparently, with one of the best schools Europe had to offer, and Harry trusted him implicitly. He didn't even ask what he was doing anymore, he just let him do it.

"Pansy was dragged away to another appointment today," Draco said, as if they'd been having a conversation.

"That's a shame," Harry said sincerely. He'd come to like Draco's best friend and business partner almost as much as the blond himself.

"She pouted most profusely, I assure you," said Draco, looking up to catch Harry's eye before reaching for his wand. "She was scared what I might do with you in her absence."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah," he said, knowing full well Draco couldn't make a fashion faux-pas if his life depended on it.

"You're not scared I'll put you in bunny ears and a tutu?" Draco goaded, gently drying Harry's freshly trimmed hair with a warm Deprimo charm.

"I'd like to see you try," Harry shot back with a lop-sided grin.

Okay, so maybe there always seemed to be a little bit of flirting that went on when they met like this. Harry didn't really see any harm in it. He felt like there was a safety barrier between them thanks to Draco's professionalism...and also the sharp scissors he was usually wielding. Harry had realised a couple of years ago that he much preferred men to women in that respect, but it was hard to come out and say something like that when you were The Chosen One. This little bit of banter was generally the closest he ever got to pulling.

He hoped Draco didn't mind, he always seemed keen to tease him back. In fact, he normally started it with his deploring of Harry's untameable hair, so Harry figured it was all innocent enough.

"So you're in charge or wardrobe today?" Harry asked as Draco declared him done by whisking off the cape he'd draped over his shoulders to catch the wisps of hair as they fell.

Draco nodded. "I wasn't thinking of anything too complicated, but I did have something in mind."

He lead the way, something that could have been described as a twinkle in his eye as the two men came back into the bustling bedroom. Two racks of clothes were parked to the side, and Harry knew they'd all fit him perfectly if he'd had the inclination to try them on. He only glanced fleetingly at the bed, trying not to be flustered that it was there with him and Draco, because there was also a dozen of more people running around too.

"Ah good," said Lisa, coming over and inspecting Harry's hair. "Lovely job as always Malfoy. Where's Parkinson?"

"Morocco," he said, pulling at the garments on their hangers. "But don't worry I know what I'm doing – here – try this." He thrust a couple of items at Harry, and he looked dubiously down at the black t-shirt and leather jacket he'd been given. "You can leave your jeans on," Draco added with one of his winks, and Harry mustered all his chill not to flush. He was, after all, a trained government agent.

"You're the boss," he said, hoisting his t-shirt over his head. He loved any excuse to get his abs out in front of Draco, but as always the cool bastard just kept his eyes on Harry's face, holding his hands out for the glasses he knew Harry would be taking off next.

I'll get him flustered one of these days, Harry chuckled silently to himself, slipping on the t-shirt and then looping his arms down the leather jacket. It was soft and fit pricelessly, and he stood still as Draco stepped forward and started fussing with the collar. "Actually," he said, glancing his fingertips over Harry's jaw, angling him to check his handy work. "Turpin's the boss, and she's looking murderous."

"Makeup's waiting for you," she said, unfazed by Draco's mischievous tone. "Are you happy with your side of it Malfoy?"

Draco licked his lips and grinned at Harry. "Perfectly," he said.