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He awoke that morning as he usually did — alone in bed, bathed in the morning light that streamed in through the sheer curtains. The sun felt hotter than usual, although it was late autumn, and Draco buried himself under the covers to hide. He turned over, away from the light, hoping to catch a few more winks of sleep before Harry returned from his morning jog, but only succeeded in tangling himself in the bedsheets. Yet, it did not bring him the peace he desired. The friction of the sheets felt wrong, and so did the weight of his body beneath him. The dissonance brought him to full wakefulness and it was then that he noticed his peculiar transformation.
Gone were his long limbs and his fine hair, and even his beating heart and its ivory cage, all replaced during dream by a semi-circle of embroidered silk the colour of alabaster lined with an interior of scarlet velvet. A single gold button decorated the fabric where once his voice would have been. He twisted up more and more, as if wringing out the last vestiges of human sensation as he might dishwater out of a kitchen rag. He released himself with what passed as a sigh and stretched himself flat across the bed, relaxing each wrinkle of the fabric until he had achieved the perfection that he could in his new body. He heard the door to the flat open and his love’s cheerful whistling. Suddenly afraid of Harry’s reaction to his new form, he drew himself up off the bed and across the room to drape across the back of the chair.
“Draco?” Harry called, looking into the now empty bed. His brow furrowed with concern and with this the desire to comfort Harry overwhelmed the desire to keep his grotesque transformation a secret. He lifted himself up and went to Harry, who issued a gasp and reached for his wand. Draco trembled with a susurration at the sight. Magic hung in the air between them, ready to condense and discharge suddenly like lightning. He fluttered, like his chest might if he could breathe, hanging in the air and waiting for Harry to make his decision.
Perhaps it was the familiar feeling between them or the way Draco moved that triggered recognition in Harry; he lowered his wand as his mouth hung open in confusion. Draco reached out to him then with a hemmed corner and Harry met him halfway. He traced the swirling embroidery gently with his finger before clutching Draco in his hand and pressing the inner velvet to his cheek. “What happened?” Harry asked, but Draco had no words with which to reply. Instead he stroked Harry’s face from his temple to the tip of his chin. “Oh.” Harry breathed.
His green eyes flickered with desire even then, and Draco wondered if it was for a man or for a cloak. Harry parted his lips with a puff of hot air and closed his eyes, leaning into Draco’s touch. Draco caressed him, touching the red fabric to the blush of his lips, softly pressing inside. Harry moaned then gently bit down, exploring Draco between teeth and tongue. The clock from the kitchen chimed. “Shit!” exclaimed Harry, spitting Draco out of his mouth.
“I have to get to work,” Harry explained, adjusting his clothing self-consciously. “Come with me today?”
Draco spun in enthusiastic affirmation. He settled back down into the chair to wait as Harry readied himself for the day. It was different from some of the mornings he had sitting in that chair, mornings where he would read while sipping his espresso. But his delight in watching Harry move around their shared space was constant, in this new form and the last.
Harry reached for his jacket on his way out the door, but Draco intervened, embracing him over his shoulders, ensheathing Harry’s body inside of him. Harry was warm in a way Draco no longer could be and he delighted in the feelings of vigour and fullness. Outside was stormy and though Harry cast a quick Impervious, Draco hugged Harry tight to keep him out of the wind as they walked to the Ministry, and to keep him cosy in the still air of Harry’s office.The snow turned to sleet by the time the sun set and they both headed home. Harry pulled Draco’s hood over his head and Draco could feel the chill of Harry’s ears. He rubbed them gently, hoping to coax them back to temperature.
“Hey, cut that out! You’ll mess up my hair,” Harry said with a laugh. They both knew that there was little to be done to tame Harry’s hair and little that could be done to make it messier. The strands of it brushed over the velvet as Harry walked, tickling Draco. He would laugh if only he knew how in this new body. Instead, he pushed himself further onto Harry’s head, flattening the fringe against his eyeglasses.
“Draco, darling. I cannot see.” Harry pushed the hood off his head, sending a sudden chill through Draco, and gripped the front of the cloak tightly closed around him.
“Are you cold, Draco?” Harry asked once they arrived home. “You were out in the weather the whole way home.”
Still wearing Draco, Harry stacked the wood high in the hearth — he was expecting a long night by the look of it. He stuffed the tinder into the heart of the logs, old editions of the Prophet and unwanted post, and lit the fire with a touch of his wand. The flame blossomed over the paper and climbed up into the chimney, catching the wood on the way. Draco could feel the heat wash over him. It was almost too much for the delicate silk and he was relieved when Harry moved back towards the sofa and away from the flames.
Harry unbuttoned the cloak at the neck, releasing Draco from his service, allowing him to move about freely. “You kept me warm all day, let me take care of you.” Harry flung him onto the sofa with a soft whumph before walking his fingers over the intricate botanicals of the embroidery. “I don’t suppose you have a care label tag, do you?” He ran two fingers over the long slit where the cloak opened, reverently brushing the seams where the white fabric met the red with an anticipatory sigh. Draco trembled. Harry reached the bottom hem and rolled a corner with his thumb. “You’re a work of art darling. In any medium.” Harry opened him wide, flipping out the edges so that Draco hung down over the side of the sofa. “The finest craftsmanship.”
He ran his palms down the velvet, gently at first, before increasing the pressure and the speed, building heat in the friction. Draco trembled. It was a very different sensation than the heat of the fire, different too from the heat of a man. It spurred him to action. He gathered himself up and off the couch and pushed up beneath Harry’s shirt, winding around his torso and delighting in the feel of his bare skin covered in places with its own plush pile. Harry gasped, hugging Draco to him for a moment before stripping off his shirt.
“Hang on a sec.” Harry sat up, panting, and Draco let himself crumple away from the man, to rest on the arm of the sofa. Harry stood and undid his belt. “I want to be naked — except for you.”
He was beautiful in the dancing light of the fire. It cast long shadows across his body, highlighting all of his hard and soft parts. If Draco could breathe, he would have stopped in the awe of him. Draco slid off the couch and pooled at Harry’s feet, lapping at them with his desire, as hungry as a storm on a beach.
“You would think you’d be made of terry cloth for how thirsty you are, darling.”
It was a new experience, with Draco knowing exactly what Harry liked and when, and Harry rediscovering Draco anew. Draco, knowing to brush over Harry’s nipples, lightly at first, then pulling quickly over them so the embroidery threads would catch at them. Harry, biting into the collar as if it was a neck and sucking a wet mark into the fabric. Draco, running his button down the length of Harry’s spine, pressing into that one spot just so and making him shudder. Harry, circling his fingers together and pulling Draco through them inch by inch with the soft music of rustling fabric.
A decentralised tension built within Draco as they explored each other. Within and over and through him, a static electricity that could discharge at any moment. He could feel the pile of the velvet standing on end as Harry brought Draco’s button to his lips, peering at it as if it were a mirror to his true self. “Please,” was all he said before taking the button into his mouth and rolling it around with his tongue. Draco, with an indulgent pass by Harry’s underarms to delight in the musky sweat collecting there, wrapped himself around Harry, cloaking him again, and draped over Harry’s waiting shaft.
Harry wrapped his hands around them and began to stroke. Draco could feel the friction and heat building, could feel the wet desire already leaking from Harry’s tip. Harry’s breaths grew ragged and heavy around the button in his mouth. He swayed where he stood. Draco squeezed around him in alarm.
Harry steadied himself, walked over to the sofa, and spread Draco across it. He trailed tender kisses from hood to hem, before stretching long over Draco and pushing himself and Draco into the space between cushions. He buried his head in the hood and began to thrust. Draco could feel the sound of his cries and he began to shake in sympathy. Harry grabbed fistfuls of fabric and Draco felt as though he might be torn apart.
“Draco,” Harry whispered, before biting into the fabric and groaning fiercely around it.
He spilled into Draco, the fabric drinking it up until it was only a stain, a mark he hoped would remain so he could remember this moment whenever he wished. He could almost taste it, salty and metallic. Delicious. The energy Draco felt gathering around him released at once, pushing out all sensation and replacing it with ecstasy.
Then, with a poof, he was solid under Harry. He flexed his arms and pointed his toes. He stretched his body long and then curled around Harry, lightly scratching his back. Harry hummed.
“Hello, handsome.” Harry said fondly, brushing the hair out of Draco’s eyes. Draco blinked, trying to remember what eyes were for.
Draco cleared his throat, but did not speak.
“Quite a day you had,” Harry said. “What happened?”
“A potion.” Draco frowned at the memory. “I was working on a potion. To grant the heart’s greatest desire.”
“And what was yours? To be a cloak?”
“To keep you safe and warm.” Draco blushed with the realisation.
“You’ve never needed to be a cloak for that.” Harry tucked his head under Draco’s chin. “Not that I minded.” He trailed his fingers along Draco’s side.“How do you feel, now?”
“Tired.” Draco managed. “Sore. Still….” He searched for the right words and succeeded only in releasing a puff of breath.
“...desperate for me?” Harry finished with a low chuckle, tilting Draco’s chin to meet his face. Draco’s stomach dropped and he could already feel his core tightening with need.
“Yes. Still.” He swallowed as the words stuck in his throat. “Always.”
“Then there’s plenty of time.” Harry swiped a thumb along Draco’s jaw and his eyes sparkled behind the reflection of the fire on his lenses.
Harry summoned a cosy blanket and a piping hot ginger tea from the kitchen. Draco sipped it, now seated on the sofa, feeling the dryness in his throat ease. Harry rubbed his back and worked the muscles there loose with his hands. When the tea was drained, as Draco felt drained, Harry wrapped first himself and then the blanket around him. And there they stayed on the sofa until the dying light of the fire was replaced with the cheerful rays of dawn.